Burned

  been such a good girl.

  Good girl. Sit. Stay. Fetch.

  Bristles rose up along my

  spine. “Define good.”

  I don’t appreciate your attitude,

  Pattyn. Fast and pray. Search your

  soul for the inequities in your life.

  “Any inequity in my life

  began when I was born

  female. Can you fix that?”

  You’ll have to fix that yourself,

  by concentrating on the things

  God expects of you.

  His two-faced rhetoric

  was pissing me off. “You

  mean like kissing your ass?”

  He slammed his hand on the table.

  I will not listen to that sort

  of language. Apologize!

  Behind me, I heard Mom

  gasp. But I was on a roll.

  “I’m sorry, Bishop.

  I’m sorry I ever believed

  you might have something

  worthwhile to say.”

  Journal Entry, May 18

  I kind of blew it. Again.

  Told Bishop Crandall

  to put his advice where

  his toilet paper sticks.

  Bad move. I knew it

  when I said it, but oh well.

  I just don’t care anymore.

  About anything.

  Mom actually cried

  and sent me to my

  room. I left the door

  open so I could hear.

  Bishop Crandall said

  I should be punished.

  Severely. “My children

  get the belt,” he hinted.

  I don’t know what kind

  of bomb Mom and Dad

  will drop, or when they’ll

  drop it. But I do know

  if Dad comes at me

  with a belt,

  I’m gone.

  For good.

  That is, if there’s

  any of me left.

  Dad Dropped the Bomb

  Five days later.

  Three bombs, actually.

  Being so self-absorbed

  for so many weeks,

  I guess I never noticed

  the too familiar signs.

  Mom had been tired lately.

  Throwing up a lot.

  Your mother is pregnant.

  Ultrasound says it’s a boy.

  Boom! Boom! A baby.

  And a son. Finally, a son.

  Too much stress could

  hurt your mother or Samuel.

  They’d already picked a name?

  Too much stress, meaning me?

  We’ve decided to send you

  away for the summer.

  Ka-boom! Away? Where

  could they send me?

  You’ll be staying out on

  your Aunt Jeanette’s ranch.

  Aunt Jeanette? The sister he’d barely

  spoken to in over thirty years?

  No trouble out there but snakes

  and empty mine shafts.

  “I thought you couldn’t

  stand Aunt Jeanette.”

  She and I don’t see eye to

  eye on every little thing….

  Why then? Why exile me

  to the wilds of eastern Nevada?

  But your mother and I want you out

  of here, and Jeanette was the only

  one who would take you.

  I Didn’t Want to Go

  But they played the guilt card,

  which gave me no choice. I did feel

  guilty

  about lying to get my way,

  guilty

  about almost giving my virginity away

  to someone who didn’t deserve it,

  guilty

  about the things we’d done instead,

  guiltier

  about broken windows, broken noses.

  And should I somehow make Mom

  lose

  her baby, I would forever

  lose

  every inch of self-respect,

  lose

  every ounce of my newfound belief

  that I wasn’t born to be a

  loser.

  So I agreed to a road trip across Foreverland.

  With my dad at the wheel.

  East from Carson City

  The road stretched long and longer toward

  yesterday, sculpted in distant granite hills

  and splintered ghost town boardwalks.

  The Subaru’s tires whined along the asphalt,

  a stray gray thread in the khaki weave—sage

  and hardpan, cheatgrass and bitterbrush.

  Mirage puddles emptied, one into the next,

  and I wanted to dissolve, pour myself

  on the pavement and ride along. Somewhere.

  Anywhere but where I was going.

  Across salt flats, we picked up speed, past

  giant knolls of shifting sand and travel-trailer tenements,

  where rusting semis cohabited with Silver Stream

  wannabes and a couple of lone tepees.

  I wanted Dad to slow down, so I might

  catch a glimpse of what might live there,

  where civilization ended

  and my new life was about to begin.

  Beneath a sag of barbed wire was a stiff

  bluetick hound. A ratty black Lab mourned him,

  from far enough to weather flies, but close

  enough to chase away bone pickers,

  flying lazy eights in the blue desert sky,

  searching for the carcass du jour.

  Did anyone miss those dogs?

  Would anyone miss me?

  So I Ventured

  “Will you miss me, Dad?”

  Now, you have to remember

  that my dad and I hardly shared

  fifty words in any given day.

  I’d just used up one tenth of my allotment.

  Miss you? I don’t even

  know you, Pattyn.

  His admission stung. Enough

  to stick a big ol’ lump in my throat.

  Enough to give me the courage

  to ask, around the lump,

  “Whose fault is that?”

  His hands tensed on the wheel

  and I could see the little veins

  at his temples swell and pump faster.

  Too much to think about?

  Enough blame to go

  around, I guess.

  He wanted to let it drop.

  I wasn’t about to give him his way.

  He could blame me for many things.

  But not for the closeness we’d lost.

  So I Argued

  “No way, Dad. I’m not taking

  the blame here. Yes, I’ve done

  some things lately I’m not exactly

  proud of. But the distance between us?

  Don’t you dare point your finger at me.

  “You work, eat dinner, watch TV.

  Sometimes you’ll play with the little

  ones, but you never talk to me.

  All I’ve ever wanted is your respect.

  But you don’t even know I exist.”

  There! A quality dialogue.

  Only it was mostly a monologue.

  Dad mulled it over. Nodded once

  or twice at the conversation going on

  inside his head. Then he said,

  Respect is a two-way street.

  Do you respect me?

  My house?

  My rules?

  I loved Dad, despite everything,

  wanted more than anything

  for him to love me back.

  I respected him once.

  But what about now?

  “How can I respect a house

  where women are no more than

  servants? How can I respect rules

  laid down by a phantom father?

  How can I respect a ma
n who…”

  I didn’t dare say it, did I?

  Who what?

  “Who spends all day…”

  Go ahead.

  “Who h…”

  Spit it out.

  “Oh, never mind.”

  End of conversation.

  Halfway

  Across the wide state of Nevada,

  the country changed from sage flats

  to piñon-and juniper-covered mountains.

  Some two hundred north-south ranges

  dissect this arid land, making Nevada

  the most mountainous state in the Union.

  One after one, they rose and fell,

  and as I watched, the horizon

  seemed to breathe. It was eerie.

  And beautiful. A perfect backdrop

  for silence.

  We stopped for lunch in Ely (Ee-lee,

  not Ee-lie—better pronounce

  things right in eastern Nevada).

  Ely isn’t a whole lot different

  than in the cowboy days except

  for fast food, faster cars, and espresso bars.

  Dad had grown up on a ranch,

  some fifteen miles south of town.

  “Do you ever miss it?” I asked.

  Around bites of Burger King,

  he admitted, I miss the quiet.

  I miss seeing from here to forever.

  I miss how people mind their own

  business, but still can be counted on.

  That Was the Closest to Human

  I’d seen Dad in a real long time.

  A bolt of pain seared my heart.

  Why couldn’t I know my dad

  as this almost vulnerable man?

  Was this the person Mom fell for?

  We turned south out of Ely,

  drove parallel to the most gorgeous

  mountain range east of the Sierra.

  I pictured Dad, as a boy, bouncing

  along in a pickup on his way to school.

  Grandma Jane had to drive him

  into town. Grandpa Paul couldn’t

  work a clutch with only one leg.

  I remembered these stories from

  that distant time when Dad still spoke.

  He didn’t speak much on the two-hour

  drive to Caliente. I wondered

  if he was lost in some childhood

  reverie, or had simply closed up

  again, like an oyster around its pearl.

  We Hit Caliente Around Four

  As towns went, it wasn’t much—

  a trailer park, a couple of motels,

  a restaurant or two, a tavern,

  and a hardware store, which carried

  shoes and a few stitches of clothing.

  Smallish houses sat in neat little rows,

  defending a little park, two churches,

  and the Mormon stake house—

  the fanciest building in town.

  On the outskirts was a roping arena.

  Dad made me sit in the car

  while he ran into a little market.

  He bought flowers for Aunt Jeanette,

  a soda for me and, I’m pretty

  sure, a bottle of Johnnie WB.

  As I waited, a Union Pacific roared

  by. The tracks in Caliente are a major

  thoroughfare for freight trains,

  moving goods north to south

  and, of course, back again.

  The windows rattled till I thought

  they just might shatter. I considered

  catching a lapful of glass,

  as a shiny blue pickup parked

  in the adjoining space.

  A guy climbed out, and he was to die

  for. Who knew they made them

  so killer cute, out there in the sticks?

  He noticed me noticing him

  and flashed a smile that could melt lead.

  Furnace Lips strutted toward the store,

  turned at the door, and gave me another

  solid once-over. It was my first hint

  that life out there in Nowhereville

  might not be so bad after all.

  Aunt Jeanette Lived

  Several miles

  out of town,

  way back

  up a wide ravine.

  We paralleled the train

  tracks past lush

  pastureland,

  verdant meadows,

  shady ranches,

  and the most

  awesome rock

  formations

  I’d ever seen.

  The farther

  we drove,

  the more

  I fell in love

  with rural Nevada’s

  raw beauty.

  No neon.

  No walls.

  No traffic.

  No row after row

  of identical cracker-box

  houses.

  This wasn’t punishment.

  It was freedom.

  I’m Not Sure Why

  I knew that then.

  Call it

  intuition.

  Whatever it was,

  my mind

  swayed

  from fear and

  uncertainty;

  my heart

  veered from hurt

  and bitterness

  toward

  the unlikely idea

  that, away from

  home, my

  future

  might

  blossom with

  hope.

  Aunt Jeanette’s Ranch

  Was 160 water-fed acres—lush, untamed.

  We pulled into her cottonwood-shaded

  driveway. A mule brayed and two tricolored

  dogs came to greet us, tail stumps wagging.

  Next came a parade of cats, all colors,

  all sizes. Strangers demanded investigation.

  Even the geese had to check us out.

  A nasty gander approached, hissing.

  Aunt Jeanette appeared suddenly.

  You scat on outta here, Grady Goose!

  The gander scrambled out of sight,

  protesting loudly the entire way.

  Aunt Jeanette gave me a once-over.

  Damn, girl, you have grown.

  We’d last seen each other six

  Christmases ago, at Grandpa Paul’s.

  It’s about time you came for a visit.

  This ol’ place can get pretty lonely.

  No doubt, with no company but animals.

  “How have you been, Aunt Jeanette?”

  Call me Aunt J. Keep saying “Aunt

  Jeanette,” we’ll be here all day.

  I smiled. “Okay, then, Aunt J.”

  Dad grunted something like hello.

  Welcome, Stephen. Let’s all go inside.

  Supper will be ready ’fore you know it.

  I really can’t stay, Dad tried

  to say. Janice is expecting me.

  Too late to start back now. Call your wife,

  tell her you’ll be home tomorrow.

  A woman who took no crap from Dad?

  She and I would get along just fine.

  We Followed Her Inside

  Dad carried my single suitcase,

  stuffed to the brim with homemade clothes.

  I carried my backpack, stuffed to the brim

  with begged and borrowed books.

  Aunt J kept a clipped, measured

  pace. I watched the hitch of her narrow

  hips, the swish of her single, long braid,

  bronze shot through with silver.

  In her day, she must have been very

  beautiful. She had married once,

  but I’d never heard details, only

  that her husband, Stan, had died.

  The outside of the long, low house

  wore a fresh coat of white, with a pale

  blue colonnade and shutters to add

  a bit of c
olor to the tidy porch.

  Inside, simple antique furniture graced

  polished hardwood floors. Wreaths and quilts

  and afghans brightened every room.

  I saw no photographs at all.

  One wall of the living room housed

  a gun cabinet, filled with deadly treasures.

  Aunt Jeanette was a cross between

  Annie Oakley and Martha Stewart!

  At Dinner

  Dad was outnumbered

  gender-wise, and

  hurting

  for a snort. It was easy

  to see Aunt J made him

  uncomfortable

  but I had no clear idea why.

  I only knew some past

  upset

  had kept them from speaking

  for a good long while.

  Insane,

  I thought, not talking to your

  sibling for decades. So,

  crazy

  me, I asked, “Are you two

  still mad at each other?”

  Incensed,

  Dad answered, Who said we

  were mad at each other?

  Incredulous,

  Aunt J contradicted,

  Best let water passed

  under the bridge keep

  on trickling downstream.

  Journal Entry, May 27

  I’m supposed to be asleep, but

  Dad and Aunt J are talking,

  and I’m eavesdropping bigtime.

  Dad’s slurring, so he

  must have stepped outside

  for a good ol’ dose of Johnnie.

  Wonder what Aunt J thinks