Tricks

Doesn’t slow. Can’t take it. Can’t.

  Through the rhythmic pain, apple.

  Pressure. Pressure, deep. Oh!

  Nothing has ever felt so good.

  Exquisite. Exquisite. No! I won’t.

  No matter what, I won’t. This isn’t me.

  I’m only here for Mom. Cory. I won’t!

  But I do. And when I do, it’s over the top.

  I Leave, Emptied

  And when I get home, the house

  is emptied too. Emptied of life.

  Emptied of love. Emptied of … us.

  I suppose Mom might find another man,

  but he can never be Jack. And Cory?

  He’s already harder. A stranger.

  If there’s anything left of my brother,

  I don’t know where it is. I hate to visit

  him because when I look into his eyes,

  all I find is death. He’s a walking,

  talking, breathing corpse. Lockup

  will only make that worse.

  I go into the bathroom, turn the shower

  as hot as my skin can stand it. Scrub.

  But the universe doesn’t hold near

  enough soap to wash this filth away.

  The slippery lather does what it often

  does to me. But when I touch it, I hear,

  The little boy likes that, doesn’t he?

  Scrub harder. I keep at it until the spray

  goes cold, shrinking every body part

  and raising rows of goose bumps. Can

  I ever feel decent about a shower again?

  Can I ever feel okay about me?

  A Poem by Eden Streit

  Shrinking

  Do you know how it

  feels to be shrinking?

  Withering away into

  nothing

  more than a memory?

  You need to put one foot

  in front of the other,

  but

  running in place

  is all you can do.

  How do you overcome

  pain

  when it’s something

  you breathe, a blast

  of hot exhaust

  in your

  face, something turned

  you must eat, or starve?

  How do you search for

  tomorrow

  when you’re mired

  in an endless today?

  Eden

  They Say Freedom Isn’t Free

  I agree. My bid for freedom from Tears

  of Zion has already cost me dearly.

  I don’t know what will happen to me

  if Jerome keeps his promise, unlocks

  my door tonight, steals me away from

  Father’s house of rehabilitation.

  I have no clue where I’ll end up. Maybe

  right back here (please, God, no). The one

  thing I’m sure of is, should I leave this

  place, I will not touch down in Salt Lake

  City. Will not set up housekeeping with

  Jerome. I will find a way to escape him, too.

  I sit in the dark, heart racing as seconds …

  minutes … hours creep by. Did he change

  his mind? Did someone change it for him?

  The air in the room grows heavy. I sink

  into it. Can’t find breath. I start to drown.….

  Suddenly I wake up. A key is turning

  in the lock. Jerome came for me after all.

  He pulls me to my feet. Ready? he whispers.

  The compound is dark, everyone asleep.

  We sprint across a cushion of sand

  to Jerome’s Malibu, slip inside. It is old,

  but tuned, and starts easily. Still, the engine

  sounds very loud from where I sit, looking

  for lights to blink on. Not a one. Nothing

  but a billow of dust, lifting into the night

  sky. Night! It’s been weeks since I’ve seen

  the stars. A voice drifts from not-so-distant

  memory: Pretty tonight. Looks like you

  could reach out and touch the stars. I close

  my eyes, transported to a sleeping bag

  in the bed of a Tundra. Andrew is warm

  beside me. I want what I’ve no right to take.…

  Tears fall freely as Jerome turns south on

  Highway 93 toward Wells. He doesn’t notice,

  so I let them fall. By the time we reach I-80,

  the stars are nothing but blurry streaks.

  Old Malibus

  Aren’t exactly fuel efficient. As we roll

  into Wells, Jerome slows down, checks

  the gauge. Better gas up. There’s a truck

  stop ahead. Hungry? It’s a long way to SLC.

  “A little,” I fudge. I’ve barely eaten a bite in

  two days. “Thirsty, too. Any chance of a Coke?”

  What’ll you give me for it? He snickers

  at the old joke. Only he isn’t joking.

  He pulls up at the pumps, opens the glove

  box, reaches for his wallet. And there, on

  a folded road map, is his cell phone. A buzz

  like a high power line vibrates in my ears.

  Jerome doesn’t seem to notice. He gets

  out of the car, puts his keys in their usual

  resting place on the front floorboard.

  Do you have to use the bathroom?

  I shake my head. “Not until after the Coke.”

  When he goes inside, I grab the phone.

  One eye on the door, I dial Andrew’s cell.

  This AT&T customer is not accepting incoming

  calls. No! Quick. Dial his home. The number

  you are calling is no longer in service.

  Andrew! Where are you? No time to worry

  about it now. Not if I want to get away

  this side of Salt Lake City. I need to buy

  some time. The keys … I reach down,

  locate them, toss them under the backseat,

  just as he comes out the door, goodies

  in hand. I have maybe five minutes.

  As Jerome starts toward the island, I jump

  out of the car. “Decided I should pee after

  all,” I say, passing him on the sidewalk.

  Nerves ping-pong in my stomach. I feel

  like I’m going to vomit. But I don’t, and

  he doesn’t seem fazed at all. Over my

  shoulder, I watch him go to the car, open

  the door. As he leans inside, I duck

  around the corner of the building.

  It’s quiet this time of day, and in the steel

  blue of just-before-dawning, a row of semis

  waits silently for their drivers to wake. I dash

  across the short span of asphalt to the far side

  of the trucks. Maybe there’s somewhere

  to hide behind them. No! Nothing but desert,

  stretching all the way to the freeway. What

  now? He’ll come looking any second!

  I run down the row, hoping for …? Can I

  hide in one of them? Don’t think so. If I try

  to open one of the back doors, it’s sure to make

  a racket. About three-quarters of the way

  down the line, I pass a travel trailer, attached

  to a big crew cab. Something about it calls to me.

  If the owners are asleep in the trailer, maybe

  I could slip inside the truck? Could the doors

  be unlocked? As quietly as I can, I pull up

  on the rear passenger handle. Holy mother!

  It opens. I climb up, shut the door,

  skooch down on the floor, close my eyes.

  He must be looking for me by now.

  When he finds me, what will he do?

  But It Isn’t Jerome

  Who finds me. It’s the owner of the fifth

  wheel. It is light
when he opens the door

  to let his border collie inside. What the—

  What the hell are you doing in my truck?

  I’m afraid to get up off the floor.

  “I’m sorry … I didn’t mean ….”

  Come on! Think! Something sort of

  close to the truth pops out of my mouth.

  “It’s just that my boyfriend and I got into

  an awful fight. I was afraid he’d hurt me,

  so I hid in here…” I must have fooled

  the dog, anyway. She licks my face.

  The man, who’s maybe sixty, looks

  dubious at first. But something about

  my expression makes him go on the alert.

  Think he’s still here? What’s he look like?

  Thank you, God. “Short. Thin. He drives

  a blue Malibu. I’m really scared.”

  You stay right here with Trinket. I’ll take

  a look around. He shuts the door.

  Relief firecrackers through me in tiny

  bursts. I’m stiff. Tired. But maybe okay.

  It isn’t long before the guy returns.

  No sign of a blue Malibu. Where you

  headed, young lady? He gives me a once-

  over, but if my industrial outfit makes

  him wonder, he doesn’t say a word.

  Think fast, Eden. “We were going to

  Salt Lake City. But I want to go home.

  And my boyfriend has all our money.”

  He takes every word in perfect stride.

  Okay. And just where is home?

  South on 93? Keep going, and end up

  in “Vegas.” I hold my breath, hoping.

  Can’t take you all the way there.

  But I can get you as far as Ely.

  I finally feel safe enough to scoot up

  onto the seat. “That would be great.

  I can call Andr—uh, my brother to come

  get me.” And pray he answers this time.

  At Fifty MPH

  The trip from Wells to Ely takes close

  to three hours. I stay scrunched down

  in my seat for a long while. Wes notices

  without comment. Finally he says,

  I think you’re okay now. Been checking

  the mirror. Haven’t seen anything blue.

  I straighten a bit. Trinket squirms and yips,

  as if happy to see me relax. “Good girl.”

  Wes smiles. You like dogs, I see.

  Have any at home, waiting for you?

  I almost say no, that my parents are

  much more into God than dogs, or any

  of his creatures that don’t tithe heavily.

  But then I think of Andrew. The ranch.

  And, “Sheila. She’s a bluetick hound,

  just a pup.” We talk dogs for some time,

  then ranching. Wes has a big ranch,

  with Angus and Quarter Horses.

  “Andrew … uh …. my brother works ….

  uh, worked on a ranch for a while.”

  Did he, now? Speaking of your brother,

  do you want to give him a call?

  We’ll be in Ely before you know it.

  We should have cell service now.

  “I’d like to, but I left my phone in

  my boyfriend’s car.” His phone, actually.

  Wes points to the center console.

  Use mine. It’s right in there.

  I dial the well-known numbers,

  with the same results as before.

  The number you have called … Where

  could he be? Still, I know Wes and I must

  part ways soon. And I suspect he’ll worry

  if I don’t get hold of someone. I pretend

  Andrew answers. “Hey. Um, something kind

  of bad happened. Can you come get me?”

  Where Is Andrew?

  What’s up with the phones? Is he okay?

  What about his parents? Where are they?

  It’s all I can think about. Wes keeps

  right on talking, and I try my best

  to find answers to his many questions.

  But most of them probably don’t make

  much sense. Suddenly Trinket stands up

  in the backseat, whines a little, wags

  her stumpy tail. We’re getting close

  to home and she can smell it, explains

  Wes. The turnoff’s south of town,

  so I can get you a little closer. There’s

  a nice truck stop out that way. You’d

  be safe enough there until your brother

  comes, I reckon. Most truckers I know

  won’t let your boyfriend mess with you.

  Sooner rather than later we turn

  off the straight two-lane blacktop.

  Wes decides to fill up before heading

  on home. I leave his company

  rather reluctantly, and before I walk

  away, I go around and give him a hug.

  “Thank you so much. I don’t know

  what I would have done.…”

  He blushes a furious rhubarb color.

  Ah. It was nothing but common

  decency. But tell you what you can

  do for me in return.…

  Yeah, right. Figures. I can guess what

  he wants in return. But whatever.

  I owe him big-time. And it’s nothing

  I haven’t already done. “What?”

  Choose your next man more

  carefully. You deserve better.

  Oh my God. How could I think …?

  My own face flushes, red hot, and

  my throat knots as my eyes fill.

  “I will,” I manage. “I promise.”

  Eyes Burning

  I start away, completely awed by

  the kindness of this perfect stranger.

  Wes stops me. Wait one second.

  I turn back. In his hand is a twenty.

  You must be hungry. Have some lunch

  while you wait for your brother.

  I could protest, but I am hungry.

  Starving, actually. I kiss him on

  the cheek. “You’re the absolute best!”

  He drives away and I go inside.

  The smell of greasy food almost

  overwhelms me. It’s been so long!

  “Double cheeseburger, fries, and

  a chocolate shake,” I tell the waitress,

  feeling a lot like Pavlov’s slobbering

  dog. After I eat, I have to get out of here.

  Jerome must be looking for me, and even

  a half-wit could guess I came this way.

  Vegas. Why not? All I need is a ride.

  And there are plenty of truckers to ask.

  It Takes Three Tries

  The first says he’s not going to Vegas.

  The second one just says, Fuck off.

  The third, a beefy guy with bad teeth,

  looks me up and down. You running away?

  I had an hour at lunch to figure out

  a good story. I use it now. “Not exactly.

  He flashes his rotten smile. Not exactly?

  What, exactly, does that mean?

  “See, my parents split up, and my mom

  moved me to Elko so she could live

  with her boyfriend. I hate that bastard. He …

  he … you know.” I look down, acting

  all embarrassed. “Anyway, I just want to

  go home to my dad’s. He lives in Vegas.”

  Old story, kid. But what the hell?

  I’m going that way. Hop in the cab.

  We climb into opposite sides of the semi.

  The trucker swallows some sort of pill,

  starts the engine, and as he turns onto

  the highway, I say a little prayer of thanks

  for my rescue. But we don’t get all that far

  before rescue becomes somet
hing else.

  Don’t suppose you have any money?

  asks rotten mouth. Considering

  I’m wearing nothing but a light blue,

  pocket-free shift, and carrying not

  a thing, the answer should be obvious.

  Diesel’s getting awfully expensive.

  “Sorry. No. Stupid me, I forgot

  my backpack. Wish I could help.”

  Well, there are other ways a girl

  can help out a guy. You know?

  Mr. So-not-nice trucker issues an ultimatum:

  Oral sex or a very long walk to Vegas.

  Stupid me. But it’s not really anything

  new. At least I don’t have to kiss him.

  He Drops Me Off

  At a diesel stop on the outskirts of the city.

  I don’t say thank you. I paid my way.

  It’s dirty here and surrounded by desert.

  Not pretty pinion-studded playa like up north,

  or back in Boise. But plain yellowed sand

  defiled by houses. Lots and lots of houses.

  From here, I can see giant casinos, all different

  shapes and sizes. Motels. Chapels. Strip malls.

  Traffic clogs a maze of streets and freeways.

  Honking. Puffing exhaust. Military jets scream

  across the cloudless sky, and commercial

  aircraft come and go in regular procession.

  It’s all ugly. Stinking. A sinkhole of unrealized

  dreams, forfeited faith. A girl could get lost here.

  A Poem by Seth Parnell

  Dreams Forfeited

  Diffused by distance,

  him a thousand miles

  away. Still you feel his

  pain.

  It’s as if you can tune

  into him with a psychic

  antenna, catch some unique

  sonar that carries his

  cries

  across great distances.

  It stops you cold

  in your plodding tracks

  and you

  wonder where he is.

  Could he be just

  outside? You put your

  ear to the door and

  listen,

  crazy with want,

  knowing the front

  step is vacant.

  Seth

  Any Farm Boy

  Half worth his beans and

  butter would tell you weight

  lifting and cardio training

  are all about ego. A hard day’s

  work on the back forty gives

  you both, and a crop to boot.

  But Carl insists I stay in

  shape. Guess chubby guys

  stand on the low rung of