Fallout

by Ellen Hopkins

  Is anger something

  you can outgrow?

  Can anyone do it

  with practice? Dad Maybe it’s a gender

  has never quite thing. I think I take

  mastered the talent. after Dad, carrying

  anger like he does,

  tight in my muscles,

  unable to quite let go.

  I don’t feel like I’m

  mad most of the time,

  but it isn’t hard to let

  all that stored anger But it’s hard to talk

  come rippling out. about resentment,

  I should get help. bottled up inside.

  I have it easier than

  most people. So why

  feel sorry for myself?

  Not like very many

  people have intact

  families. One parent

  or the other is likely Looking at it that way,

  absent. Shacked up I’m pretty normal. So

  Knocked up. Fucked up. why do I feel like some

  sort of a freak? Bigger

  question: Why take it

  out on people I love?

  ALL THIS FILTERS THROUGH

  My brain in the time it takes

  Mom to cream two cups of

  butter with two cups of brown

  sugar, add two eggs, and beat

  well. And despite every warning,

  once the mixer noise stops,

  I have to spout words I swore

  to keep to myself so as not to

  hurt her. “I met my father.”

  Well, of course you met your

  f—, she starts, back to me.

  Her shoulders tense, and very

  slowly, she turns toward me.

  Your father? Are you sure?

  She studies my face intently.

  I nod. “Pretty sure …”

  And I tell her the story, starting

  with noticing piebald eyes

  in the crowd at the Christmas

  parade and ending with the X

  holiday party. Deep breath.

  I DIDN’T THINK

  Talking about it would bother

  me so much, but my hands quiver

  and my breathing falls shallow.

  Mom notices, comes over to

  me. She takes my hands in hers,

  presses gently. You okay?

  I wish I were little again so

  she could wrap me in her arms

  like she used to. I remember

  how, growing up, I wanted to

  be taller than her, always kept

  measuring. Then one day, I was.

  It was better before. I look down

  into her eyes. “Yeah. I’m okay.

  I just never really expected

  to meet him. Or that I might

  actually like him. It was easier

  hating him for what he did.”

  Mom tugs gently, sits me

  at the table. Resentment is

  always easier than forgiveness.

  SHE SITS BESIDE ME

  Pulls her spine straight,

  making her still nowhere near

  as tall as me. Yet her presence

  seems larger than life.

  Do you have any idea why

  Leigh isn’t here yet?

  I shake my head. Smile.

  “Didn’t want to ask. I figured

  once she got here, I’d end

  up sleeping on the floor.”

  She laughs. Futon, remember?

  Then she gets serious again.

  You know Leigh has never really

  forgiven her father, right?

  Well, Wayne was recently arrested

  for a large quantity of marijuana.

  He cooperated with authorities,

  and they left him on house arrest,

  which turned out to be a good

  thing because he just had a major

  heart attack. It wasn’t his first, and

  they don’t think he’s going to make

  it. Leigh flew back to Albuquerque

  to basically say good-bye.

  Wow. I’m sort of stunned.

  He is my grandfather and now

  I’ll never get to know him. Not

  that I ever wanted to know him,

  because of the things that happened

  a long time ago. Things that will

  never be rectified. God, why does

  my life continue to be defined

  by other people’s decisions? “Why didn’t

  he ever try to be a part of our lives?”

  Mom shrugs. Maybe he didn’t know

  how to say he was sorry.

  Or maybe he was afraid

  we wouldn’t believe it.

  SUDDEN COMMOTION

  As a wet puppy bounds into

  the room, followed by an excited

  David. Come back here, Sasha!

  Fu. German for “heel.”

  Surprisingly, Sasha obeys,

  coming round to sit at David’s

  left side. Good girl. Good Sasha.

  When he moves, she moves too.

  “Wow. I’m impressed. You

  going to work Sasha, David?”

  Before Mom’s life got too busy,

  she used to work her dogs, Schutzhund

  fashion. Police-dog-style training

  is incredibly demanding on both animals

  and trainers. Might be really good

  for David. Donald, too, if he’d do it.

  There’s still a club out here,

  Mom says to me. Scott has taken

  David and Sasha to a couple

  of sessions. I think they like it.

  I do, agrees David. They say

  I’m kind of young, but I’m not

  the only kid. Sasha likes it too.

  And she’s kind of young too.

  SMART KID

  It’s good to see him so engaged.

  Donald, on the other hand, really

  worries me. Mostly he just sits

  around, playing computer games

  or watching TV. Except when Dad

  makes him get up and do something.

  Dad, in fact, seems to be the only

  one who can convince him to

  behave even halfway civilized.

  Mom has him in therapy. “Severe

  emotional detachment,” was

  the diagnosis, “probably caused

  by early childhood trauma.”

  Yeah, like his parents’ (one or

  the other or both) meth-fueled rages,

  resulting in fists to his face.

  I remember him visiting us once,

  decorated with knuckle-shaped bruises.

  Such treatment can only erect walls

  inside a kid. One between him and pain.

  Another between him and love.

  WHEN DID I BECOME A PHILOSOPHER?

  I’ve got my own walls, and they

  were not built by abuse or neglect.

  I should probably go into therapy

  myself, try and figure out why

  I would so willingly sabotage

  a relationship that means everything

  to me. What am I, fucking stupid?

  Okay, I am totally fricking stupid.

  Here I thought I was using Leah, and

  she totally used me. Set me up

  completely. When she programmed

  her number into my phone, she also

  called herself, so she’d have my

  number too. Like I said. Stupid.

  And now I’m mad all over again.

  At her. At myself. I get up, kiss

  Mom on the forehead. “Let’s finish

  those cookies.” Mindless activity,

  that’s what I need. Maybe by not

  thinking at all, my brain will come up

  with a way to get Nikki to forgive me.

  COOKIES IN THE OVEN
>
  Mindless

  activity finished for now,

  my brain has failed me completely.

  Dad and Donald are in the front

  hall, shaking snow off their boots,

  hats. Almost unbelievably, Donald

  is laughing. A new wall goes up.

  Jealousy.

  Weird. Really, really weird. Why

  do I feel that way? Maybe because

  Dad and I haven’t talked in years,

  at least not about stuff that matters.

  And the last time we laughed

  together? I really can’t remember.

  I want

  us to be close again. We were

  when I was young. Then, I guess,

  I made him into “the enemy,”

  the one who said no to giving me

  money (for weed) or borrowing

  the car (to party). What I forgot was

  his love.

  GOD, I’M MAUDLIN TODAY

  Must be all the obvious Christmas cheer,

  and how it doesn’t cheer me. Mom has

  always been big on making the house

  look Good Housekeeping gorgeous.

  Electric trains. Ceramic villages.

  Multicolored garland and lights,

  strung on banisters and door jambs.

  The tree, a twelve-foot blue spruce,

  is hung with ornaments collected for

  almost forty years. Wreaths. Poinsettias,

  in four shades and varied heights.

  Candles in holiday colors, scented

  cranberry and bayberry and vanilla.

  And outside? Colored lights and white

  icicle lights and a giant lit Santa’s sleigh.

  You can see this place clear across

  the valley. When I was a kid, I loved

  it. Now it seems a little ostentatious.

  Wonder if Mom and Dad would have

  gone so all out without the boys here.

  SAID BOYS

  Disappear into their (my) room.

  Mom vanishes into her office

  to write. New book. Fantasy.

  Dad decides to work on dinner,

  something he often does even

  when Mom is home. Chef Dad.

  I sit at the table, munching cookies,

  watching him season the roast.

  Here is a chance to talk about

  something that matters. Like?

  “So, Dad …” Do I dare ask?

  Oh, why the hell not? “Have

  you ever cheated on Mom?”

  He looks up, humor in his eyes.

  Is this some sort of a test?

  Do you have a hidden recorder?

  That makes me smile. “No,

  no. This isn’t about blackmail.

  And you don’t have to answer.

  I just wondered because …”

  Because of what happened with Nikki?

  And here I always thought Mom was

  the psychic. “Uh … kinda … yes.”

  He lines a baking pan with foil.

  Nestles the roast inside. I thought

  that might be it. One of your listeners?

  Oh my God. He is psychic.

  “Yeah, that’s right. And I swear

  I don’t even know why I did it.

  But how did you know?”

  Hunter, I used to be in radio,

  remember? I know how it is when

  a pretty girl throws herself at you.

  Good. He gets it. God, I’m glad

  he’s been there, except …

  “But you never got caught.”

  No, Hunter. See, I never said

  okay, not once I’d made a solid

  commitment to your mom. I just

  couldn’t take a chance on losing her.

  THIS COULD TURN INTO A LECTURE

  And it sort of does.

  Believe me, there were

  plenty of willing women.

  Some really didn’t want

  to take no for an answer.

  I nod. Because I know.

  But your mom came to me

  already wounded. I had

  to win her trust. Destroying

  that trust was unthinkable.

  Dad and the moral high road.

  Even beyond my time in

  radio, there have been plenty

  of temptations over the years.

  I’m sure for your mom, too.

  Mom? Women are tempted?

  But with as much as she has

  to travel with her books,

  if either of us had to worry

  about that, where would we be?

  Has Nikki been tempted too?

  We’re married, of course.

  That is a stronger commitment

  than living together. Although

  Nikki would probably argue that.

  NO DOUBT ABOUT IT

  For Nikki, living together meant

  every bit as much as having a piece

  of paper giving us the legal right.

  I still have no idea what my next

  move should be. How can I make

  this up to her? Dad puts the roast

  into the oven. Washes some big

  potatoes. Wraps them in foil.

  “Do you ever wonder where

  you would be if you hadn’t met

  Mom? She told me once that when

  you first met, your dream was

  to be the next Johnny Carson….”

  I didn’t know who that was, so I looked

  him up. He was pretty famous back then.

  “Does it bother you that you’re not

  a late-night TV host? Or that Mom got

  to be the famous one instead of you?”

  He keeps working but laughs softly.

  Hey, I’ve still got time. Seriously,

  though, sure, it’s bothered me.

  But we don’t always get what

  we want. I didn’t get to be a star,

  but I did get to be something

  special—your mom’s husband.

  And your father. Those things mean

  more to me than hosting late-night TV.

  “Seriously? Because sometimes

  you seem resentful. Not that I blame

  you. You didn’t ask for me.”

  The potatoes join the roast in the oven.

  You’re right. We didn’t ask for you.

  But I have never resented becoming

  your father. Your mom and I made

  that choice willingly, with our eyes

  wide open. Yes, sometimes I get mad

  about things beyond my control.

  Not that it’s useful or changes

  anything. It’s just human nature.

  Anger is a valid emotion. It’s only

  bad when it takes control and makes

  you do things you don’t want to do.

  I GUESS I CAN’T BLAME ANGER

  For the Leah incident.

  Lack of self-control isn’t

  always about being pissed.

  Sometimes it’s sheer greed.

  Something Dad said filters

  back to me now.

  Not once I’d made a solid

  commitment to your mom …

  “You said you never

  cheated on Mom once

  you committed to her.

  How about before that?”

  He decides how to answer.

  I was dating a couple

  of other people at the time.

  So, yes, I guess I did.

  Okay. This could quite

  possibly be useful. “So did

  Mom find out?” She had to,

  right? She’s not exactly dense.

  Actually, she did. And

  when I saw how hurt

  she was, it really made

  me think. She was the one

  I loved. I didn’t want to

  l
ose her. That’s when I

  decided playing around

  just wasn’t worth it.

  Dad got Mom back, so

  there’s hope. But, “What

  did you say to make Mom

  give you another chance?”

  He smiles. I told her if

  I ever messed around again,

  she could cut off my balls.

  At my horrified expression,

  Dad amends, Not really. Look.

  There’s no secret formula here.

  Give it a few days. My guess is,

  once Nikki cools off, she’ll be

  missing you. Then go to her and

  tell her you know you screwed

  up big-time, but you love her too

  much to let things end like this.

  It may not work. But Nikki loves

  you, and if you love her, too,

  what have you got to lose?

  Just be sure to follow through.

  FEELING MARGINALLY BETTER

  And semi-jacked-up on chocolate

  chip cookies, I think maybe I’ll

  ask the boys if they want to break

  out the sleds. The driveway is perfect,

  as long as we build up a berm across

  the bottom. Not that there will be much

  traffic out in a storm like this. I am

  considering digging around in the garage

  when the phone rings. Once. Dad

  and I look at each other, some strange

  kind of understanding building between

  us. Suddenly David dashes into the room,

  Sasha nipping at his heels. Mommy’s

  coming for Christmas! he shouts.

  Mom follows. Her public defender

  argued illegal search and seizure,

  she explains. The judge agreed. All

  charges against her were dropped.

  Kristina talks her way out of another

  predicament. Christmas drama to come.

  Autumn

  LONELINESS AND LIQUOR

  Are best friends. Too bad I haven’t

  had any liquor since the wedding.

  Loneliness is eating me alive.

  No more Aunt Cora. No word from Bryce.

  Grandfather in bed with some ailment.

  Much too much time on my hands.

  If there were any alcohol in the place,

  I’d be dropped-on-my-knees drunk.

  Instead I keep cleaning. Organizing.

  There isn’t a speck of dirt anywhere.

  Except, no doubt, in Grandfather’s room.

  I avoid going in there. It stinks.

  Stinks like old man. Stinks like a feeble

  old man, flat on his back for three days.