and if they drop dead tomorrow,
I’m sure I’ll regret not seeing them
more. But maybe not. And anyway,
I figure they’ve got a few years left.
That might change if they decide
their mission on earth has been satisfied.
Hey, I could be the key to their longevity.
Getting Ready for Bed
I think about Mom laughing again
and fall into flashback, where I store
snapshots of our past in obscure
folders. I find images of Luke
and me giggling like idiots over
absurd jokes Mom told. One
or two of those black-and-white
photographs even record Dad
laughing along with the rest of us.
Why does time erode relationships?
Is there a way to avoid its relentless
lapping? Is any love strong enough
to withstand the chipping away?
After witnessing the total corrosion
of my parents’ marriage, watching
my private foundation crumble,
it’s probably not so strange that
I clutched my love for Hayden far
longer than I should have, nor
that it’s such a struggle to chance
falling in love again.
By Thursday
News of the Cottage Grove,
Oregon, book challenge has
spread beyond the city limits,
and over the state lines. The AP
picked up the story from a local
newspaper and ran with it.
Variations have appeared in
the Huffington Post, UK Guardian,
and School Library Journal.
Mr. DeLucca has, in fact, positioned
himself very well, at least if name
recognition can get you elected
to the local school board. Here,
no doubt it can, and will, unless
that name spurs a negative association,
and that has become my own mission
on earth, at least for this week.
Looks like I’ll be attending my first
school board meeting tonight,
and not only that, but address
its members. Alexa has been
rounding up friends, and friends
of friends, to help stack the audience
a little more fairly. DeLucca’s faction
will arrive in full force, and if it
comes down to a handful of First
Amendment proponents versus them,
their voices are going to be louder.
Come to think of it, Alexa has been
amazing—a regular little firebrand,
stirring up the student body. I could
do worse (and have!) than this girl.
That’s what I’m thinking after school
as I put on decentish clothes (khaki
pants, a clean button-down shirt, scented
Rainforest Chic or some such garbage).
“Dress to impress,” the saying goes,
and I’m giving that my best shot.
Of course DeLucca et al. will
probably turn up in tuxes and gowns.
Somewhere in the House
A telephone rings.
So strange, hearing
that sound. Before
Lorelei, it hardly
ever rang. But now,
apparently, she needs
it for her business.
I can’t believe how
easily she assimilated,
requisitioned Luke’s
room and the phone
and the kitchen. I’d like
to quit being offended,
stop feeling like I don’t
belong in the home I
grew up in and lived
in my entire life. Yeah,
I know at eighteen I
should be thinking
about moving out,
moving on. Would I
be more willing to do
just that if it didn’t seem
like I’m being pushed out?
Someone Knocks
On my door rather urgently.
“Hold on. Let me zip up.”
When I open it, the Lorelei
on the far side looks one
notch beyond concerned.
That was your aunt on the phone.
“Aunt Sophie?” Why would
she call, unless, “Did something
happen to my mom?”
No, not Sophie. Uh . . . Quin?
She’s at the ER with your uncle
and would like you and your dad
at the hospital as soon as possible.
“Uncle Jessie? What’s wrong?”
Apparently he’s had a heart attack.
He’s undergoing angioplasty now.
“So, everything’s under control,
then?” This can’t be that bad, with
modern medicine and everything, right?
It sounds pretty serious. I’d go now.
Not Serious
As in “could die” serious, surely.
I just saw him a couple of days ago
and he looked . . . not great. He hasn’t
looked great, in fact, for weeks. Shit.
There goes my first school board
meeting. Oh, well. At least I’ll be dressed
handsomely in case I run into any cute
nurses. Oh man. I hate hospitals. I take
the time to call Alexa, let her know
where I’m going. “You speak for me,
okay?” If anyone can hold her own
against Frank DeLucca, it’s Alexa.
Do you want me to meet you
at the hospital? she asks.
“You don’t have to do that. Hospitals
suck. The meeting will be a whole lot more
interesting than sitting around a waiting
room, tracing cracks in the ceiling
with your eyes. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
Give Quin a hug for me, okay?
And, just so you know, I love you.
“I know.”
Lorelei
Catches me at the front door.
Would you mind giving me
a ride? I caught your dad
in a meeting. He’s on his way
to the hospital, and I’d like
to be there to support him.
The last thing I want to do
is give this woman a ride,
but in the seconds I have
to decide, I can’t find a good
excuse to say no. “I guess.”
The drive is what you might
call awkward. Especially when
she feels the need to say,
I know we’ve dropped a lot
in your lap very quickly, so
I understand how you might
resent me—
“You?” I interrupt. “You give
yourself an awful lot of credit.
I don’t resent you. It’s him.”
Him
My father, and there’s a litany
of things to resent him for.
I go ahead and list them:
One:
fucking off on her in
the first place, resulting in
Two:
the pretense of a marriage
and a couple of unnecessary,
unplanned, unwanted children, who
Three:
he disrespected, neglected,
ultimately rejected, and, once in
a while, terrified, which led to
Four:
his wife’s alcoholism,
and my own anxiety, especially
after his younger child’s suicide.
“All any of us wanted was his love.
But he always reserved that
for you.”
She Chews on That
For a couple of minutes,
but if I believe I’ve carved
channels of doubt into
her marble heart, I’m wrong.
You make him sound evil.
He’s not. Conflicted, certainly,
and not very good at showing
emotion, but I can tell you
he loves you, and he loved
Luke, despite how it might
have seemed. After . . . After
it happened, he changed.
“How can you defend him?”
A mad jolt of rage buzzes
in my ears. “He was half to
blame for what Luke did!
He called him a fag, a waste.
His own son! And he called him
a pussy! How can you say
he loved him? He never
once stood up for him!”
Did you?
The Buzz Intensifies
“Of course!” (Lie, lie, lie.)
I’m sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean
to be so blunt. But there’s one
thing I want you to know.
After Luke’s suicide, your father
would have left me, gone back
to his family, I think for good.
He was broken, and looking
for you to glue him back together.
Instead, you pushed him away.
Blame is a venomous thing.
Your mother was in pain,
and withdrew. You were in
pain, and lashed out, when
he desperately needed comfort.
You gave him back to me.
I can’t make you forgive him,
but I can help him forgive himself.
Can someone do that for you?
Dislike Swells
Like a sun-baked corpse,
into something close to hate.
I really have no proper response,
so I settle for silent introspection
until we turn into the parking lot.
Here’s another thing I resent:
that this stranger knows—
or intuits—so much about me.
Or maybe she’s just an exceptional
guesser, like one of those pretend
clairvoyants you see on talk shows who
can pull a person cold from the audience,
read the shadow of a missing
wedding ring, and wow the crowd
by postulating that person is recently
divorced. Then again, some of those
pseudopsychics are privy to inside
information gleaned from pretaping
interviews. Lorelei has access to plenty
of inside dope about me, too.
Dad Meets Us
In the lobby.
Hope Lorelei’s glue
is in good supply
because the chinks
in Dad’s shellac are obvious.
“He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”
It’s touch-and-go, I hear.
Way too much forced bravado,
Dad. “But what happened?”
He had a massive arterial
blockage. He came through
the angioplasty okay, but
he’s not rallying as quickly
as they’d like. They just moved
him to ICU. We can wait there.
Lorelei gets directions
to the intensive care unit
from a volunteer manning
the information desk and when
she returns, Dad slides his arm
around her shoulders, tilts against
them, slight support to lean on.
I Follow Them
Two steps behind, watching
the way he’s relying on her.
Screw it. Maybe that’s not
totally bad. Suddenly, I wish
I would’ve encouraged Alexa
to meet me here after all. I want
a strong woman to lean on. Instead,
I throw my shoulders back, tilt
my chin toward the ugly ceiling,
with cracks I’ll be counting soon.
No use getting a backache from
poor posture. Ache. That word
punctures my own forced bravado.
Why didn’t I make Uncle Jessie
go see a doctor? I knew those aches
of his signaled something more
important. Damn. I seriously let
every single person in my life down,
and once again, my failure might
cost someone I care about—no, wait,
someone I love—his life. Hell
has a place reserved for me.
Waiting Sucks
Especially when relying
On a fifteen-inch TV to disturb
the monotony of sitting
on varicose-veined
faux leather
(mind wandering to random
places, like who sat here
before and who was that
person waiting for news about)
listening to the scripted
rants of pundits,
right and left, the only real
difference between them
a yay or no-way
about whatever
they’re “reporting.”
We’re not the only ones
here simultaneously hoping
for and dreading news.
Every movement
in the corridor
elicits reaction—
heads turn, postures stiffen.
There are those
who deal with stress
by supporting Big Tobacco.
They leave, for varying lengths
of time determined, I’m sure,
by the depth of their habit.
Then they return, steeped
in nicotene.
I’ve never tasted tobacco.
Some of my friends smoke,
but Mom’s stench always
turned me away, cold.
So why do I semi-crave
a cigarette now?
Must be something to do
with the satisfied smiles
on the faces of those who
embrace the habit.
If I’m willing to immerse
myself in stink,
would I be able to grin
like that, despite knowing
whoever it is I’m waiting on
news about might disappear
from my life forever?
Three Hours In
I’m fighting the nod
that signals the need for sleep
(or boredom) has won.
I jerk into awareness,
notice Dad and Lorelei have
given in. They’re dozing,
attached, cheek to chest.
A nurse happens by and notices
the three of us, now the only
ones in the waiting room.
Where did everyone else go?
Who are you here for? she asks,
then goes to consult her charts.
When she returns, I notice the name
on her badge. Meri Valencia. Nice.
Mr. Turner’s resting comfortably.
Why don’t you all go on home
and come back in the morning?
“Okay. But can I talk to Quin
first?” Nurse Meri looks totally
confused. “You know, his . . . wife?”
Her eyes flash understanding.
Oh. He’s not married, you know,
but if you’re referring to his fiancée
she’s in the chapel. She’s been there
for hours. She lowers her voice.
I made sure she got some food.
She was pretty upset when they
came in, especially when she wasn’t
allowed to stay with
him.
I don’t blame her, of course, but
they haven’t even registered as
domestic partners, and he was in
no shape to sign papers allowing her
in ICU. They can fix that tomorrow,
assuming he’s well enough to write.
“Thanks, Meri. Has anyone ever
mentioned how ironic your name
is, considering your profession?”
She rolls her eyes. Pretty much
everyone. The irony of that is,
I’m really a cheerful person. See you.
I Nudge
Dad and Lorelei awake, repeat
what the nice, progressive
nurse told me—“Go home,
come back in the morning.
He’s resting comfortably.”
Which could be code
for “be ready to say goodbye
in the morning” or might
just possibly be good news.
I doubt she’s a bullshitter.
As Dad reluctantly leaves,
I check messages to find,
of course, a short one from
Alexa. SOME PEOPLE ARE
ASSHATS. YOU’RE LUCKY YOU
MISSED GETTING THIS ASSHAT
FOR A FATHER-IN-LAW. FILL
YOU IN LATER. KEEP ME POSTED,
OKAY? LOVE YOU LOTS. CALL IF
YOU WANT TO TALK. One thing,
at least, I definitely love about
this girl is her ability to know
exactly how much, or little,
to say. That is a noteworthy talent.
Before I Go on Home
I find my way to the chapel,
which is dark and claustrophobic
and scented with some exotic
incense. Quin is easy to spot.
She’s the only one here.
She sits leaning forward, and
very still, forehead against
the chair in front of her. I’m not
sure if she’s awake and I don’t
want to startle her. Softly, “Quin?”
Her head lifts immediately.
Was she praying? Without turning,
she says, Matt. I’m so glad you came.
Is everything okay? Any news?
I wander down the short aisle,
scoot into a chair beside her.
“Last I heard from the cheerful
Nurse Meri, he’s resting comfortably.
What about you? You holding up okay?”
I’m stellar. I mean, I’m not the one
who had the heart attack. It’s just
such a shock, you know?
“It definitely threw me, but looking