by Melanie Mah
Will I call Conrad? If I don’t, what will he do? When will he start to wonder where I am? What will he be like in ten years?
Something in that field. A broken down vehicle. Gene broke all my dad’s cars, his audacity the thing I loved best about him. Stef, her forthrightness, attentiveness, and wilderness knowledge. She could’ve taught me how to do this. I’m sorry I didn’t know Reggie that well. Five K Corner — this is where he died.
I imagine my mom driving home, parking the car on the gravel patch because it’s too hard to get in the garage. Alone, she can eat whatever she wants. Shrimp or fish twice a day plus oatmeal in the mornings. Stir fried veggies. Tofu. Soy milk. Fresh fruit. It’s not that she dislikes eating, more that she’s picky and hates being forced. Mom. Take care of yourself.
Trina. Where is she now? In Anchorage, maybe somewhere else, maybe no longer with us. My dad. Is he gone forever? How will I find him? What if he doesn’t make it to Alaska?
I’ve already half-decided I’m going to Sifton. I’ve never spent any time there. It’s a buttfuck town even worse than Spring Hills, but the bus stops there. Still, it’s, like, 20k away. Lots can happen in 20k. I don’t have a light. Maybe a car will hit me when it gets dark. But if I hurry and get there in one piece, I can make the seven o’clock bus. Trees approach, slow. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Yellow fields on either side, huge blue sky above. Clouds. A picture postcard scene and I’m running through it, trying to get it over with. A new scene, after all, means distance travelled.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The good folks at Cormorant Books, past and present, including Marc, Barry, Alessandra, and especially Bryan for patience, understanding, and acuity during a difficult birthing. Thank you all for having faith in this book and me. And thanks to Gale Zoe Garnett for the introduction.
Instructors and writers involved in the early days of the Guelph MFA. Thanks for admission, commiseration, early feedback, and telling me I was a writer. It seriously changed the course of this girl’s life. Specific thanks to my instructors Michael Winter, Catherine Bush, David Young, and the late Connie Rooke, and colleagues Kathrin Hüsler and Todd WheeltonLukaniuk.
Other folks who have been supportive during the writing of this book: Pam Pua, Dana Mills, Cosmina Ionescu Vaccarino, and other confidant(e)s. You know who you are.
Nathan Moore, my own Mac in my wee hometown. (A shout-out to inspirational teachers everywhere!)
Everyone who informed characters in this book. Writing inspired by real life is sometimes an attempt to fix the ephemeral. I hope you don’t mind.
My sweetest one, Terry Vaios Gitersos, for late, vital, manifold contributions.
My family — for the past, present, and future. For love. In loving memory of Philip Mah, black sheep of the Mah clan, without whom this book would not be possible.