Impulse
Page 18
at the movie theater?
Someone you know?”
Everyone else stops
babbling, waits for the
answer we all want to
hear. It’s slow coming.
Finally, he says simply,
Kendra is an old girlfriend.
We broke up a few months ago.
Which should be good
enough, but not for Dahlia.
Why? What happened?
I know Dr. B wants to
know. But she says, That’s
Conner’s business, Dahlia.
I’m guessing, thinking
back to his poem, it had
something to do with
Emily. But Dr. Boston
is right. It’s Conner’s
business, and he doesn’t
seem inclined to share.
Not that I won’t ask
him again later. In
private. When I try
to pry information
about Dr. Boston and
Emily.
Vanessa
Bryan and I Rush
Into Daddy’s arms—
tan and more muscled than I remember. We kiss
him, all over his face,
from the apex of his buzz cut
to the scrub on his chin.
Finally, he pushes us away.
Okay, okay. I’m happy
to see you, too. And I’ve
missed my crew. Stand
back and let me get
a good look at you.
His eyes measure us,
head to toe, as Grandma
goes to him, gently
touches his shoulder.
Good to have you home,
Ron. Good to have you,
all in one piece.
Daddy stands, pulls
Grandma to him.
No need to worry about
that, Mama. No need
at all. I still got all my
limbs, and all my wits.
But, my God, how
these children have
grown, and grown up.
Grown up? Me? I
suppose I have. Killing
things, and almost
killing myself, must
have changed me
some, after all.
I’m Glad
I put away my blade,
untested. Daddy would have
noticed, of that I’m sure.
He and blood are buddies.
Grandma’s right. It’s good
to see him, all in one piece.
When your father’s always
knee-deep in a conflict
somewhere, you can never
be certain if—or how—
you’ll see him again.
C’mon, Daddy, we’re
coloring Easter eggs.
There’s no Easter Bunny,
you know, so we’ve got
to hide them ourselves.
Bryan gave up on the Easter
Bunny last year. This year
he’ll probably give up
on Santa, too. Lost faith.
Makes me sad.
Be right there, son,
soon as I put my things
in my room. Dad pauses,
looks me square in the eye.
You and I need to talk. Later.
Apprehension grips my
throat. “S-sure.”
I watch my daddy stride
down the hall, one burly
arm swinging his heavy
knapsack, and, despite
a healthy dose of fear
about what he has to say
to me, I inflate with pride.
Later
After a scrumptious
Grandma-style three-course
dinner, Daddy sends Bryan
and me to our rooms.
So I can think about
stashing Easter eggs,
he tells Bryan.
But I know he wants to
talk to Grandma in private.
I leave my door cracked,
hoping to hear snatches
of their conversation. I do.
Why didn’t you tell me
about this … cutting thing?
asks Daddy.
What could you have
done, Ron? I didn’t know
myself, until it was almost.
Grandma’s voice cracks.
And I left you to deal with
Margaret, too. I’m sorry, Mama,
I didn’t think … didn’t realize …
I mean, I knew she was sick.
But I had no idea she would
do such a terrible thing
None of us guessed she
was so far over the edge.
I’m just glad I was the one
who found her.
Have the kids gone to visit her?
I can almost hear
Grandma shake her head.
We all will, then.
Tomorrow.
Conner
Dinner Tonight
Was McDonald’s, on the way
back from the movie. Quarter
Pounders and fries—way to
pack on empty calories.
Now Tony, Dahlia, Carmella,
and I are sitting around,
cutting major farts. Dahlia
doesn’t even try to stifle hers.
Ugh! says Tony. Girl, you’ll
never catch a man like that.
And by the way, didn’t your ma
ever tell you to say, “’Scuse me”?
You oughta know ’bout catching
men, freak. And I did say excuse
me, with my butt. Apparently
you don’t speak “rectum.”
Everyone cracks up, except
me. Nothing is funny
tonight. My mood wants to
swing between reflective
and halfway terrified.
I’m afraid—a strange thing
to say, but true—that despite
whatever progress I’ve made,
when I get out of this place,
everything will be exactly
the same as before—even me.
I’ll still live in my parents’
shadow; I’ll still drive myself to
achieve impossible perfection.
And I’ll never let myself
believe someone really loves me.
Two Ativans Toward Sleep
I lie in bed, listen to
the grind of wind against
cinder-block walls. I’m not
sure how to unwind this coil
of images flashing inside
my brain. Some are “borrowed”
from the flick we saw today:
good people, slain by evil
automatons; the slightly
effeminate hero (and why
does he come to mind?);
the geeky alien zero—
apparently, advanced
civilizations send them
off in their latest spacecraft
to defend home and planet.
The meds kick in and here
comes the princess—all curves,
in a tight blue dress. Blue … tight, …
Heather. Pretty name. Sums
her up completely. Oops …
transformation, titian hair
bleaching blond, gray eyes tinting
blue—Kendra, sweet temptation.
Some of us love you, she whispers,
tossing her long, golden hair.
Why can’t you love back, Conner?
What the hell’s wrong with you?
I want to blame Mom, Dad,
Emily, and I do. But
there’s someone else, too,
in a sliver of memory.
Easter Sunday Morning
I wake, not exactly refreshed.
Despite
the meds, I tossed
and tumbled, caught in the claws
of a dream-disturbed night.
Beyond the window glass,
a silver glint stabs my eyes.
I turn on my side, refuse
to budge, no hint of sound
outside my room. All this
silence, wrapped around Sunday
morning, reminds me of home.
Now I feel trapped beneath
my blankets. I throw them off,
stomp to the door, stick my head
out in the hall. “I have to pee.”
Nothing. I don’t know what’s in store
for me if I go without
permission. But I really have
no choice. I pad to the bathroom,
hope my morning “condition”
will allow me to pee after all.
I’m still waiting for “deflation”
when Tony walks through the door.
He gives me a prime once-over.
Hey man. Nice firewood. He grins,
then look away and changes
the subject. Kind of creepy
today, with nobody here.
Totally shriveled, I finish
my business. “Must be somebody
here, somewhere.” I wash
my hands, splash the crust from
my eyes.
Tony
Holy Crap
It’s the first time I’ve
seen Conner exposed,
and boy, what exposure!
The guy is built like
a mule. No wonder
women lust after him.
I’m lusting a little,
myself, but manage to
keep it in check, except
one comment about
his wood. A guy likes
to know he’s appreciated.
I watch him splash
his face. Cold water, I bet,
proving himself macho.
Damn, that’s cold! He
catches my smile in the
mirror. What’s so funny?
“Nothing. Just thinking
about yesterday. Carmella
was funnier than shit.”
Conner drops his defensive
stance. Yeah, she was. Too bad
I wasn’t in the mood to laugh.
He opens the door.
“We noticed. What was
up with you, anyway?”
Up comes the wall again.
I don’t know. Maybe they
need to up my meds again.
I Doubt That
But know better than
to say so. “Well, I’m
catching a shower.
Carmella said we can
go to church in Reno
this morning. Going?”
I don’t know. Maybe.
Guess it’s better than
sticking around here,
playing with … uh …
Something close to
panic fills his eyes.
“Your firewood?” I laugh
and Conner has to, too,
or look like a total fool.
I’d better get dressed.
See you at breakfast. It
smells pretty good today.
I turn the faucet to
steamy, step under,
and let its hot fingers
touch me all over,
trying not to think
about the last time
hot fingers (real ones)
touched me all over.
It’s Easter, the holiest
of holy days, and at
the moment I’m feeling
like a world-class sinner.
My brain tells me it’s
all wrong, the way
my body’s responding
to thinking about sex,
the last time I had it, and
when I might have it again.
Not Quite Free
But out from behind
locked doors, for
the second day in a
row, it doesn’t
even matter that it’s
snowing—on Easter.
Dahlia’s pissed. We get
enough of this Jesus junk
every other Sunday.
But Paul had to drive
’cause Carmella freaks
when it snows. So it
was all of us, or none
of us. And Conner and I
voted, two to one, to go.
Carmella chose the church.
I don’t do Catholic anymore,
not since I got divorced.
Twenty-three and divorced
already! At least she doesn’t
have kids. (I don’t think.)
We turn into a crowded
parking lot, and I notice
Conner begin to squirm.
Here? he says. Do we
have to go to this one?
His eyes scan the cars,
settle on a black Lexus.
They’re here, he says.
I can’t go in. No way.
“Who’s here?” I ask,
but I suspect the answer,
and it’s quick to come.
My family.
Vanessa
All Dressed Up
In the best of our best
Sunday clothes, Bryan,
Grandma, and I pile
into the rented SUV, wait
for Daddy. Finally, he comes
out the door, in full-dress
uniform, boots spit-polished
until they shine like satin.
He doesn’t wear a smile.
I’d forgotten it snows
here in April. I thought
I’d left that behind,
in that godforsaken
place. Hell, I bet even
Allah doesn’t go there.
Oh, well, we’ll make the best
of it, I guess. Ready?
No! I’m not ready. I want
to go back to Aspen Springs,
where it’s safe, predictable.
Where my secrets and I
can hang out, undisturbed.
I don’t want to go see her,
not there. No one belongs
there, just like no one
belongs in Afghanistan,
if Daddy’s word can be
trusted. And I have to
trust it. Don’t I?
All right, then. Here we
go. The O’Reilly family,
all together again.
Almost all together,
he means.
Giant Flakes
Of heavy, wet snow splat
against the windows.
Daddy cruises slowly,
and I understand he doesn’t
want to go where
we’re going either.
It’s a duty thing.
Thank God for the lithium.
It really seems to have
kicked into gear the last
couple of days. My hands
still shake sometimes,
and my mouth is dry
most of the time,
but it is easier to hover
up out of the blue.
Dad took me aside earlier,
while Grandma helped
Bryan get dressed.
Nessa, girl, I know it’s
been tough, trying to take
your mother’s place,
’specially seeing her at
her worst and all. I want
you to know that she was
a real good woman, when
she wasn’t in a bad space.
“I know, Daddy.”
You’ll be a fine woman
too. We’ll get you the help
you need, hear me? I don’t
want to lose you, too.
I’d never seen him so soft
before. It wasn’t what
I’d expected, and it grabbed
my breath away.
He pulled me into him,
where I couldn’t see him cry.
But I could feel him tremble.
He’s Hard Again Now
And I wonder how soft
he’d be if I confessed
how I left Mama, blank
eyed, in a pool of overdose-induced peace.
My arm twitches and, lithium
or no, I want to open a vein,
bleed out the guilt.
Your grandmother tells me
you’ll go into a wilderness
survival program soon,
says Daddy.
Really? says Bryan. Cool!
“I guess so,” I answer, not
sure what “soon” means.
“That’s Level Four, the last
step before I come home.”
You’ve never done anything
like that, have you?
The closest I’ve come is
a hike in the woods with
Grandma and Bryan. “No.”
When the time comes, you
cowboy up. You’re tough,
just like your father.
“No one’s as tough as you,
Daddy. But I’ll try.”
Oh. Here we are.
He slows to a crawl and we
turn into a snow-covered parking
lot. Everything around us is gray
stone, frosted white. Spooky. My
heart falls into my tummy. Tough?
Not me.
Conner
Almost May