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
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