The Voice in My Head

by Dana L. Davis

  Wandering types, hippies, couples old and young, a few families with tween kids; all seem to be waiting patiently for the lottery to begin. Most are in groupings of two or three. There are no parties as large as ours. Not that I can see, anyway.

  I step to the counter and present the online form I printed out. “Hi.”

  The employee barely looks up. She has short brown hair that rests on her shoulders. “Name?”

  “Indigo Phillips.” I slide the form across the counter. She quickly retrieves it.

  “How many in your party?”

  “Ten.”

  Both eyebrows rise as she looks up. “You do understand we only offer ten walk-in permits a day?”

  I nod.

  “So you’d have to be the first number called for everyone in your party to win.”

  I nod again.

  She shrugs. “So long as you understand. We’ve had some of the same people in here day after day. It’s a tough lottery to win.”

  “The rest of my party is on the bus. Should I go get them?”

  “No rush.” She hands the form I’ve filled out to another worker standing behind the counter. “Just so long as they’re here before the lottery starts at eight.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  “And hey, listen,” she says as I start to move off. “If numbers are called before yours, don’t give up hope. If you’re willing to break up your party, then you’ve still got a shot. People do it all the time. Yesterday a couple and their teenage kiddo agreed to take the two spots left when their number was called. Only the husband and the kid went.” She leans forward and snickers. “Though I can’t promise you if the couple is still married today.”

  I smile. “One of our guests has an all-terrain wheelchair. Are those okay on the trail?”

  “Most of the trail is cross-country. Open and flat. A few hills but no crazy inclines. We certainly don’t discriminate. But we also don’t assist. So if you get stuck or need medical assistance, it takes hours to get EMS out on the trail. So long as you understand.”

  “I understand. Thanks.”

  “Phillips family party of ten, you’re number forty-one. Good luck to you.”

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  Back in the parking lot, I’m chilled to the bone, so I zip my bomber jacket to the collar and pull my hoodie over my head. The sun is beaming bright but can’t manage to take the nip out of the air. It will most certainly be a cold winter hike. Fluffy white clouds float across an otherwise clear blue sky. At least we can take rain and snow off the list of things that could go wrong today. More vehicles are pulling into the small parking lot. If we’re number forty-one, that means there are forty people ahead of us. And judging by all the cars arriving, there will be quite a few after us as well. This will be a tough lottery to win.

  As I move toward the bus, I hear a sound and freeze. It’s a sound I know so well. One that’s typically paired with bad choices I’ve made throughout my teenage years—Mom’s classic screech-and-scream.

  Gravel crunches beneath my boots as I race across the parking lot. Eye of the Tiger stands out like the worst eyesore against the red rocks and mountains in the distance. I bang on the doors. They swing open so I can rush on board.

  Mom is standing over Alfred, screech-and-screaming at the top of her lungs. Dad is pacing up and down the aisle. Michelle is sitting with the boys looking like she’d seriously kill to get off this bus. Drew looks dazed, confused. Pastor is waving a lit Palo Santo stick back and forth. Then there’s poor Alfred. Poor, misunderstood Alfred. Cowering in his seat. His Seattle Seahawks cap pulled so low I can see only his chin.

  Dammit. They know.

  “What are we supposed to do now, Alfred?” Mom screeches. “It’s almost the end of the semester. You’ll have to repeat the tenth grade!”

  “Cheating?” Dad paces.

  “What is your last name, Alfred?” Mom cries.

  Alfred lifts his cap and stares bug-eyed at Mom.

  “And what is my last name?” she screams.

  Alfred’s looking confused. Dear God, it’s a nonrhetorical rhetorical. For the love of everything good and pure, answer it, Alfred!

  “My last name is Phillips. Yours is, too?” Alfred finally offers.

  I exhale. Whew.

  “Exactly,” Mom screeches. “Everywhere you go, you represent me! Everything you do reflects upon me.”

  “And me,” Dad cuts in. “Not to mention everybody else on this bus.”

  “We raised you better than this, son. What would make you think it’s okay to pay for answers to a test? Your whole life has now been affected for fifty dollars’ worth of answers. Did you ever think studying would solve your problems?”

  “Actually, it was forty-seven dollars,” Alfred corrects Mom. “Not fifty.”

  “Boy, be quiet,” Dad yells. “If we wanna hear you talk, we’ll ask you a question.”

  I slump into the seat beside Violet.

  “Mom listened to a message from Alfred’s school,” Violet whispers as Mom and Dad rage on.

  “I know. He got expelled. He told me.”

  “You knew?” Violet shakes her head. “Poor Alfred.”

  “Indigo, you knew?” I turn. Michelle’s across the aisle and somehow overheard us.

  “Shh,” I say.

  “Oh, uh-uh.” She shakes her head. “You knew! Mom and Dad? Indigo over here knew.”

  Mom spins around. “Knew what?”

  “Indigo.” Michelle points at me. “She knew Alfred was expelled.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell anybody?” Mom shrieks.

  “No, no, no.” I stand. “We are not about to make this about me. This is Alfred’s mess! All Alfred. I’m not the one expelled. He told me yesterday. What was I supposed to do? Ask you to pull over and drop a bomb like that?”

  “Yes!” Mom screams. “That’s exactly what you should’ve done.”

  Dad shakes his head. “Keeping something like this from us, Indigo? Unbelievable.”

  “I’ll say it again. I am not taking the blame for this! Besides. The school can’t expel Alfred anyway.”

  Alfred lifts his cap to look me in the eye. “They can’t?”

  “No! Not without a hearing. You have rights. You were supposed to get a written notice. A chance to call a hearing!” How the hell do I even know this? I continue. “The school has a no-cheating rule. But Alfred got a D on the test he got the answers to. Which proves he didn’t use them. Hire an attorney. Fight it.”

  Mom and Dad exchange hopeful looks.

  “What about your friend Henry?” Mom asks. “He’s a good attorney.”

  Dad shakes his head. “We need a student’s rights attorney. I’ll ask Henry, though. I’m sure he can refer us to someone good.” He points at me. “If Indigo would’ve told us earlier, we could already be on top of things. Getting it all in motion.”

  “Yeah,” Mom agrees. “If you knew all this, why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I don’t run around telling people all the information that’s crammed into my brain. I didn’t tell you guys Michelle and Drew were getting a divorce—”

  Mom’s jaw drops.

  Oh. My. God. I did not just say that.

  Dad grabs the few strands of hair he has left and pulls on them like he’s going mad.

  “Come again?” Mom whispers as she moves down the aisle, her arms folded across her chest. “Michelle? Please tell me Indigo is talking nonsense.”

  Michelle bites her thumbnail.

  “Go on,” Mom urges. “Tell me it’s not true.”

  Michelle groans. “Indigo, how did you even know this? Who told you?”

  “So it’s true?” Dad bellows. “Y’all are getting a divorce?”

  “You’re divorcing?” Nam wails.

  “
Yes,” Michelle replies.

  The bus erupts into utter chaos.

  Brandon and Nam are hysterical.

  Dad’s still pacing, pulling on his tufts of hair, grunting and muttering under his breath.

  Violet’s coughing like she’s about to have another attack.

  Mom slumps down into a seat. “My children are cursed!” she wails. “Cursed!”

  “So whose bright idea was it to get pregnant and file for a divorce?” Dad roars.

  “Everyone.” Pastor tries to interrupt the madness. “Please try to calm. Deep breaths in and out. Watch me.”

  Michelle climbs up on her seat and screams. “Everybody shut up!”

  Michelle’s scream is so loud, I cover my ears. I bet these gentle-soul, love and light hikers are wondering who let the riffraff eyeball bus into the visitor center parking lot. But at least Michelle’s roaring voice gets everyone to quiet.

  “Since Indigo went nosy and snooping around in my business,” Michelle hisses.

  “I wasn’t snooping! You asked me to get your phone and it was on the screen. An email from your lawyer.”

  “You read it!” Michelle snaps. “That’s snooping. Snooper.”

  “So then it’s true?” Mom sniffs. “You’re going to be a single mom with three kids? Oh my gentle Jesus, take the wheel.”

  “No! I mean, yes, we’re divorcing, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Everyone listen.” Drew stands. “We didn’t want to tell anyone until after the New Year, when it was official.” He looks at Michelle. “Should I tell them or you?”

  “I’ll do it.” Michelle steps down off the seat. “I’m officially quitting my job and going to medical school after the baby is born.”

  Mom covers her mouth.

  Dad gasps.

  “We can’t afford medical school,” Michelle adds. “But I get a tax break and a few special grants if I’m a single mom. So we’re...divorcing.”

  “But only on paper,” Drew adds. “I would never desert my family.”

  “We’re also selling the house to make it work.” Michelle shrugs. “And...moving in with you guys.”

  Now it’s my jaw that’s dropping! Where exactly are they going to sleep? On the roof?

  “That’s why I’ve been on the phone so much this trip,” Drew adds. “We’re officially in escrow. All that’s really left to do is put everything in storage.”

  Mom and Dad still stand in the aisle, speechless.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Michelle continues. “But don’t look at it like we’re cheating the system. We’re trying to find a way to make this work. Over two hundred thousand dollars for medical school and with Drew’s income being our only income. The baby coming. Divorce seemed like the best, most viable financial strategy to get us through this. We wanted to tell you guys in private but Indigo, the snoop—”

  “Hey!” I point at Alfred. “Alfred getting expelled is not my fault.” I point at Michelle. “And you and Drew cheating the Internal Revenue Service and United States government is not my fault either!”

  “After all these years?” Mom whispers. “My baby’s gonna be a doctor.”

  Dad’s beaming. He’s beaming so bright his bald head looks shinier than normal. “We’ll make room in the house. We’ll make it work. The boys can stay in Alfred’s room.”

  “The hell they can,” Alfred says.

  Mom snaps her fingers at Alfred. “You be quiet, expelled person. You’re not paying any bills. You own nothing. You don’t get a say in anything.”

  Alfred sulks.

  “So we’re not gonna be bastards?” Brandon asks, glasses foggy, tears still streaming down his face.

  Drew laughs. “Brandon, what do you even know about a bastard?”

  Michelle wraps an arm around Brandon. “You’re not bastards. That word is pretty antiquated anyway.”

  I wave my hand in the air. “I hate to break up this strange and confusing reveal. But we need to get inside before the lottery starts.”

  “Dr. Michelle Delacroix?” Mom squeals. “My baby is gonna be a doctor. Watch out, Seattle.”

  Watch out, Seattle, indeed. I can’t help but smile watching Mom and Dad grin and bounce around like two little schoolkids. Michelle will at last be the ultimate, supreme boss. Leader extraordinaire. A doctor.

  She’ll make a good one.

  chapter seventeen

  The lottery is held in a room directly off the main office. It’s small, cluttered; old wooden chairs upholstered with green felt are lined up in rows. There is a long table situated at the front. Two visitor center employees are seated behind it in high-back office chairs. Written across a dry-erase board hammered to the wall behind them: Welcome to the Wave Daily Lottery.

  Since it’s standing room only, we all separate to find a spot to wait. Mom and Dad squeeze up against the wall. Alfred hovers near the door. Michelle’s offered a seat by a kind gentleman carrying an oversize hiking pack, and Nam and Brandon pop a squat on the floor. Drew hovers over Michelle and Pastor walks around shaking people’s hands.

  The room seems filled to capacity. Over a hundred people at least, all vying for ten walk-in permits. Some excitedly film with their cameras or cell phones; many appear super stressed and tense; others act nonchalant, chatting as if they don’t have a care in the world.

  The employee at the front stands and waves his hand. He’s probably in his fifties, wears tan pants with a uniform shirt tucked in. Salt-and-pepper hair. He’s got an air about him like he lives for this lottery drama. Zeus complex for sure. He is the Lord of the Wave lottery and he knows it. Everyone quiets.

  “Before we get started,” he drones, “please acknowledge that you hear your name and number so that I can make sure everyone is accounted for. Once the lottery begins, if you do so happen to be one of the lucky winners, remain here in the room and I will have your permits issued to you promptly. If you don’t win—” he shrugs “—have a good day, I guess. Or don’t.”

  There’s polite laughter.

  “All right, here we go. When you do hear your name, please raise your hand high and say ‘here,’ just like you did in elementary school. I will, in turn, hold up your number so you can watch me drop it into the cage. Everything is fair. Numbers fall at random. Anybody can win but most of you will lose.”

  I lean over Violet’s wheelchair and whisper, “Feeling lucky?”

  She squeezes my hand. “Lucky number forty-one, sis.”

  I glance over at Mom and Dad huddled together against the wall, looking like two fish out of water among all these hikers and nature types. Mom with her silver bun and Dad standing so tall and bald and...brown.

  As the worker starts calling out the names of those entered into the lottery and confirming their number and present status, I think of The Voice. His sarcasm was becoming like comfort food, like a hot plate at Ezell’s. Without The Voice, I’ve lost my security blanket. Can we make this hike without him? Should I admit I kinda miss the guy?

  “Indigo Phillips.”

  “Present!” I almost scream. A few people laugh.

  “That you are.” The visitor center employee nods. “You are number forty-one.” He holds up the ball marked forty-one and drops it into a small wire contraption that looks like the thing they use at bingo nights at the neighborhood rec center in Seattle.

  He continues up to number fifty-three.

  “Fifty-three names have been called.” He leans back in his chair. “A total of 111 hopeful hikers. Good luck to everybody.”

  I kneel beside Violet and take her hand in mine, watching intently as the man behind the table spins the black wire wheel that holds all the number balls. If Phillips isn’t called first, we will have to break up our party. That’s okay. We can start by eliminating Michelle. She’s pregnant and shouldn’t be hiking anyway. Nam and Brandon—they
’re next off the island. If push comes to shove, Mom and Dad can go after them. Then Pastor. The most important people are Drew, Alfred, Violet and me. Drew and Alfred will be able to carry Violet if the trail elevates. Dad could too, but with his bad rotator cuff, he’s not to be trusted with twists and turns. Pastor could assist, but he’d selflessly give his spot to one of the family members. That’s the Jedidiah way. I can pretty much count him out altogether if we’re not the first name called.

  At the table, a ball has at last fallen. The visitor center employee stops spinning the wheel to snatch it from its resting spot underneath the cage. “First lucky winner of the day.”

  I swallow.

  “Number twenty-eight.”

  A group of participants by the door clap and cheer.

  The employee reads from a sheet of paper. “This is a party of three.”

  I deflate. It’s official. The entire Phillips family will not be making this hike together. That’s bye-bye to Pastor, Michelle and...maybe Brandon. Only seven permits are left. My heart aches at the thought of more family members being pushed off the island.

  “Seven permits left to give away.” The man spins the wire contraption. Plastic balls tumble around like socks in a hot dryer until one falls through a small opening. The employee swoops it up. “Next lucky winner of the day is number forty-nine.”

  A couple directly in front of us raise their hands. “That’s us!”

  The man nods. “Congratulations. There are two in the party, leaving us with five permits.”

  I rub my temples the way Mom does to ward off a screech-and-scream as he spins the wheel. Five permits. Adios to Nam. Arrivederci to Mom. So now it could be Violet, me, Drew, Alfred...maybe Pastor? Mom and Dad won’t want to be separated. So Dad would give up his spot for sure.

  Another ball falls. “Lucky number thirteen.”

  A man raises his hand. “That’s me and my wife.”

  “Party of two,” the employee says as the couple hugs and kisses. “That leaves us with three permits left.”

  Now we’re down to three? Violet and I exchange panicked looks. Even if our number is called, three...isn’t enough. Drew wouldn’t be able to carry Violet by himself. I could stay back. Drew and Alfred could take Violet. Yeah. That’s it. I’ll give up my spot for the cause. Sayonara to Indigo. I’m the next off the island.