You May Already Be a Winner

by Ann Dee Ellis

  I was mad at her.

  But I was also sad for her.

  I wanted to do something.

  To steal her and put her in my backpack.

  Or hold her in my arms and sing “Rock-a-Bye Baby,” and she would laugh and cry and I would say leave her alone.

  Or tell her I was sorry. I was so sorry I let her down.

  Then the lady, the social worker said to me, “We called your father. He’s on his way.”

  We called your father. He’s on his way. Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

  The social worker lady named Jan said something cheerful, I didn’t even hear it and she took my arm and we were walking out.

  Mom was not walking out.

  She was back there.

  She was in the Dixon Middle School office.

  I wondered if they’d lock her up in the supply closet.

  Maybe she’d be trapped there for the rest of her life.

  Maybe Dixon was jail.

  Or maybe it was hell.

  Maybe Mom was going to hell and maybe I was, too.

  I wondered if there really was a hell.

  I wondered if there was a heaven.

  I wondered if you could end up in heaven and know you were in the wrong place.

  What if you didn’t belong in heaven or hell? What if you belonged nowhere?

  Would God let you just float in between?

  Just let you be no one?

  Nowhere?

  Nothing?

  Jan kept chattering and chattering and chattering. Springtime. Flowers. Fun times. Family. Won’t be long. Your daddy. Teddy bears! Happy times. Swimming. Summer.

  I looked at her.

  Her mouth was moving still but I heard nothing.

  And Dad was coming.

  Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha.

  He had answered his phone. Or answered an email. Or answered a letter.

  And he was coming.

  We walked out into the gray.

  She pointed to her car, which was red. Bright red, like a cherry.

  I stared at it.

  “Come on,” she said. “It goes really fast.”

  I remember her saying that.

  It goes really fast.

  We were walking toward it. She was talking again.

  And then I saw him.

  He was standing across the street.

  He wore a yellow tank top and puffy jeans. His hair a Mohawk.

  He watched us. I watched him. Was he going to beat up Jan? Take me to Morocco?

  He walked across the street and right before I got in the car he said, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let you do it.”

  My heart dropped and I was going to throw up.

  He did tell.

  Not Carlene.

  Him.

  He did.

  Bart told.

  I knew I’d never love anyone again.

  He said, “Olivia. You have to understand.”

  And I said, “No.”

  Jan and I sat in a room with three other people.

  One was Berkeley, who was playing dolls with a little boy named Ace.

  When I came in, I thought she’d run to me. I thought she’d cry and I’d cry and we’d hug and then I’d tell her I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.

  And then she’d hit me.

  And it would hurt but then we would hug and Jan the social worker and all her coworker social workers would say, “Now there’s some sisters who stick together.”

  But instead, when I walked in, Berkeley didn’t look up.

  I said, “Berkeley!”

  And she and the boy started laughing about something.

  “Berkeley?”

  She glanced at me and waved and then went back to playing.

  In that moment I felt exhausted. But mad. But exhausted.

  Jan put her hand on my shoulder and said, “Let her play. She’s been through something traumatic.”

  Barf. But true. But barf.

  I sat down on a soft chair.

  “Do you want a soda? Some crackers? An apple?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She brought me a Sprite and some Chicken in a Biskit and a Granny Smith, which I hate because they’re so sour.

  I sat there with all that on my lap.

  I knew I should be thinking about what was going to happen next.

  What Berk and I should do.

  Would Dad come?

  What should I say?

  What should Berk say?

  What would Mom say?

  I knew I should be making a plan.

  But instead, I put my head back on the chair, and fell asleep.

  ............

  Dear Mom,

  They told me that you are going to stay with Aunt Susan in Wisconsin for a while. Is that true? I didn’t think that would be true because you haven’t talked to her in so long. If it is true, can I come visit? Are you okay? According to the internet, you only have to stay away for forty-eight hours. Can you come back in forty-eight hours?

  Dad is here.

  There was a hearing and I told them it was all my fault. They said you weren’t in jail. They said it would be okay. I told them it was all my fault. I told Dad, too.

  I’m sorry I messed up.

  Love, Olivia

  ............

  When Dad brought us home, everyone was looking out their windows and watching. You could feel it.

  Chip came over and fist-bumped Dad and they talked on the porch.

  Carlene waved from her house and I waved back.

  Delilah came over and said, “Where’s LeAnn?” and Dad gave her a look like don’t talk about that right now in front of the girls but she should talk about it.

  I wanted her to talk about it.

  But instead she said, “Okay, okay. I understand.” Then she looked at me and Berk and said, “You all should come over and watch some Iron Chef later.”

  And I said, “Yes, please.”

  And Berk said, “Okay.”

  But Dad didn’t let us.

  And Melody got up off the steps and yelled over to me. She yelled, “Olivia!” and I waved.

  And Dad waved, too.

  Later there were cookies on our steps with a note that said FOR OLIVIA AND BERKELEY.

  And Randy gave Dad a key because Dad lost his and Bob and Grant talked to Dad about his new car because he had a new car.

  Even Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson came over and asked if we were going to help her with her sale on Saturday, looking at Dad the whole time.

  Everyone was so so happy to see him.

  When we got inside Dad said, “Sit.”

  So we sat.

  Then he said, “I have a lot of important things to tell you.”

  And I said, “I almost came to Bryce to find you.”

  He looked at me. “What?”

  “I almost came to get you. At Bryce. We needed you.”

  He looked all concerned and said, “Oh, honey. I wasn’t at Bryce Canyon.”

  Wasn’t.

  At.

  Bryce.

  Canyon.

  Wasn’t.

  At.

  Bryce.

  Canyon.

  Wasn’t.

  At.

  Bryce.

  Canyon.

  I stood up.

  I clenched my fists.

  I was about to scream but then a police officer named Biff knocked on the door and said, “I’m sorry. I’m going to arrest this man.” And Dad said, “What are you talking about? What’s happening?” And he looked at me. “What’s happening, Olivia?”

  And I shrugged and Berk shrugged and the police said, “I now arre
st you for being the biggest fattest liar dad on the biggest fattest liar planet.”

  And then Dad, he started sobbing and sobbing and I said, “Don’t eat the spaghetti,” because I’d heard they do gross things to Italian foods in prison and then they took him away in a police car.

  But really, he sat next to me and said, “Oh, honey. I wasn’t at Bryce Canyon.”

  And I tried to breathe.

  Breathe.

  Breathe.

  He wasn’t in Bryce Canyon. He was in Salt Lake City, which is forty minutes from here.

  Forty minutes.

  I sat there.

  “Do you want to move in with me?” he said. “Maybe just until we get things figured out?”

  I sat there.

  Berk sat there.

  Salt Lake City.

  Forty minutes away.

  And . . .

  He looked different.

  He wore a suit.

  He had no goatee.

  He was thinner.

  He was serious.

  He lived in Salt Lake City.

  Forty minutes from here.

  “No,” I said.

  Berkeley held my hand.

  He squatted in front of us. “Look. I was going to come back. I always meant to come back. It’s just, things got complicated.”

  I watched his face. It had wrinkles.

  He stood up. Paced around a bit.

  “Your mom said you needed time to adjust. I was traveling.”

  Adjust to what? Mom said we needed to adjust? Didn’t sound like Mom.

  He kept talking. He liked to talk. He told us things about things and then more things. And he’s sorry and then there’s things and my mom said things and he said things and there are things. And he meant to do this and he meant to do that and things. And he didn’t always live so close. He just moved back. He’d been in recovery. We don’t know what that means but it’s important and he’ll explain it someday. It’s not what we think. Not at all what we think. It’s just. It’s just. Someday when we’re older. When we can understand. In fact in fact in fact. He has a great condo and things. There are things. He was planning on coming to get us for a weekend. We should talk more. About things. Lots of things. Things things.

  Then he said, “I think we should all move to Salt Lake. There are kids around. There’s a park pretty close.”

  His face was so big. Was it always so big?

  I said, “No.”

  He looked at me. “Olivia. It’s not really up for discussion.”

  I stared at him.

  Then he started pacing again. “The only problem is the condo is small. I could make room for you girls but you need to finish out school and I have to work and it’s a new job but I might be able to make it permanent if I do well.”

  Do well.

  Do well.

  Do well.

  Then he says “Mom. Mom, LeAnn is fine. She’s always fine.”

  He looked at me. “Your mother is fine, right? This was all a mistake.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  He lived in Salt Lake City.

  Forty minutes away.

  He sat across from us on the ripped-up recliner. Took a breath for the first time home. Took a breath and looked around. “You girls didn’t change a thing.”

  And he was right. We still had his football trophies on a shelf. We still had his poster of the sunset in Hawaii up on the wall. The same blankets. The same rugs. The same sayings on the fridge.

  Mom even still had the few clothes he left hanging in the closet.

  Like our whole existence had been on hold, waiting for him to come home.

  Suddenly I didn’t want to be in there anymore.

  He was talking about something but I didn’t want to hear it.

  I stood up.

  Berkeley stood up.

  “We’re going to the tramp,” I said.

  “What tramp?”

  “The trampoline outside.”

  “We have a trampoline?”

  “No. You don’t have a trampoline,” I said. “We have a trampoline.”

  I took Berkeley’s hand and we went outside in the sun, which is warm and bright.

  I go to school the next day.

  Berkeley stays home with Dad, which feels weird to say. Or think.

  I told Berkeley she didn’t have to.

  She could stay with Delilah or Melody or even Mrs. Sydney Gunnerson but she said it was okay.

  “I want to be with Daddy.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked her. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get it.

  “Yes,” she said, her face fresh from a good night of sleep. “He said we could go on a bike ride.”

  So she’s staying with him and I feel mad at her but also not mad at her because I want to go on a bike ride too but not really.

  He is taking two weeks off from work until I finish school. He has to go to social services and he and Mom are going to blah blah blah blah figure it out blah blah blah blah blah.

  Before I go, he and Berk eat breakfast and I say, “Did you get my emails?”

  He says, “What emails?”

  I say, “I emailed you.”

  He says, “Which email?”

  And I say, “Your email account.”

  He says, “Oh, baby girl, I’ve had a new email address for ages.”

  I say, “Have a fun day!”

  And now I’m at school.

  People are laughing.

  Carlene says, “Hey, Olivia.”

  I say, “Hey.”

  Then she walks away with Bonnie.

  I walk to my class.

  I sit in English. People are doing a project. I am supposed to be doing a project.

  I sit there.

  It’s so fun for everyone because school is almost out. I turn in my packet at the end of the class. The teacher says, “Good job.” She says I probably won’t have to go to summer school.

  I say, “I want to go to summer school.”

  She says, “You do?”

  I say, “Yes.”

  She says, “Why?”

  I say, “Never mind.”

  I go to math.

  Jared, the boy who called me a retard, says, “Your shirt is dumb.”

  I say, “Thank you.”

  He says, “You’re welcome.”

  I listen to the teacher. He says that we have a test. He asks if there are any questions.

  I say, “I have a question.”

  And he says, “What is that, Olivia?”

  And I say, “Why is everyone in the world so crappy to each other.”

  People laugh.

  Mr. Brown tells people to be quiet. Then he says to me, “What do you mean, Olivia?”

  I say, “Why do people treat each other like crap?”

  He says, “They don’t always.”

  I say, “Don’t they?”

  He says, “Sometimes but not always.”

  Someone says, “No one treats me like crap.”

  Someone says to him, “You suck.”

  People start laughing.

  I say, “I hate everyone.”

  People get quiet. Someone says, “Check and see if she has a shotgun.”

  Mr. Brown says, “Can I talk to you in the hall.”

  I say, “Sure.”

  In the hall he says, “Are you okay?”

  I say, “No.”

  He says, “Do you want to talk to Miss Hill?”

  I say, “No.”

  He says, “What do you want to do?”

  I say, “I want to do nothing.”

  He says, “You want to do nothing?”

  I say, “I want to be nothing.”


  He says, “This worries me.”

  I say, “Don’t be worried.”

  He says, “Why?”

  And I say, “Because it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do matters.”

  He says, “I understand you are having some home issues.”

  I say, “I understand you have bad hair.”

  He laughs.

  I don’t laugh.

  He says, “Let me take you down to Miss Hill’s office for now and then I want to talk to you. I have prep period after this.”

  I say, “I know you do.”

  He says, “You know I do?”

  And I say, “Yes, because last time you kept me after and you said I was smart.”

  He says, “That’s right.”

  Then I say, “You are a liar.”

  I never talk like this to people like this. Or people like anything. But I can’t stop myself.

  He stares at me. Then he says, “Let’s go down to Miss Hill’s office for a bit.”

  I say, “Fine.”

  We walk down the hall.

  I look in the classrooms as we go.

  In one classroom I see Bart.

  Bart sees me.

  I want to throw a car in his face.

  Mr. Brown says, “Do you know someone in there?”

  I say, “No.”

  He says, “Do you have friends?”

  I say, “No.”

  He says, “I’m worried about you.”

  I say, “I’m worried about you.”

  He says, “Here’s Miss Hill’s office.”

  I say, “Thank you.”

  He says, “I’m taking you in.”

  I say, “I can take myself in.”

  He says, “Okay.”

  I say, “Okay.”

  He walks back down the hall. I stand outside Miss Hill’s office. He turns and looks at me.

  I smile and wave at him. He says, “I’m going to come talk to you after my class.”

  I say, “Please do that.”

  He says, “Go in.”

  I say, “I need some time.”

  He says, “I can respect that.”

  I say, “The people in our class have probably destroyed the room.”

  He says, “You’re right.”

  He turns and jogs down the hall.