Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Identical (35 page)
Mom stops him with the weight
of her voice.
Don’t you dare
walk away from her, Raymond.
Tell her about your mother.
She has the right to know.
Daddy Takes a Gulp
Of his whiskey, adds a big splash
to the glass, rotates toward us
on one heel. His expression
is a curious mix of fury,
resignation, and anguish.
Finally he returns to the table.
So you want to know about
your grandmother? Fine.
Let me tell you all about her.
What I remember, anyway.
I remember coming home
from school and finding
her passed out in front
of the TV set, sweating
cheap scotch and cigarettes….
Holy crap! Déjà vu of the
most unpleasant kind and
he doesn’t seem to get it
at all. Only difference
is the choice of booze.
I remember scrounging for
my own dinner because I
couldn’t shake her out
of her stupor and my dear
old dad worked swing shift.
I remember other kids,
laughing at my disgusting
clothes. Mom was too
fucked up to wash them
and I was too little to try….
All the while he talks,
he sucks down Turkey,
and it’s easy to imagine
the scene, except for the dirty
clothes. Daddy demands clean.
I remember how excited
my classmates got about
bringing their parents
to school plays. I prayed
mine wouldn’t show up drunk.
I remember working my ass
off to bring home straight As
and the day I finally did,
my mother wasn’t home. In
fact, she’d gone for good.
That Was the Most
My daddy has said to me in almost ten
years. I can barely catch my breath,
and
he
did all the talking. Still, I have
questions. “Why did she leave?”
He shrugs.
She came limping back several
years later, told me it was my father’s fault.
Said he slept around. Like that was a good
enough excuse for what her leaving did to me.
Lots of people’s parents split up,
especially over stuff like that. But…
“Why didn’t she take you with her when
she left?” What made him so cold?
She said she thought my father would
take better care of me. That she had no
resources. That part, I’m sure, was true.
But she never once checked on my welfare.
There’s more to the story. A lot more.
But it involves his father. He won’t share
that part—the part I most need to know.
The part about what makes Daddy tick.
The Topic of Conversation
Plunges him deeper into the depths
of his bottle, and he disappears into
his bathroom for a while. I know
what he’s after in there. Oxy dessert,
to chase his Wild Turkey main course.
By the time Mom has dinner ready,
Daddy has reached a state of oblivion.
He will not share the table tonight.
Which just leaves us girls. Kaeleigh
watches Mom whip up a Hollandaise
to go with the fresh fish entrée.
She wants a daughter-mother talk
about Ian, but I can’t figure out why.
It would be a blistering day in Antarctica
before I confessed any of my extracurricular
activities. Think I’ll reroute the conversation.
“So, Mom…” I drop my voice to just
above a whisper. “Do you know what
happened between Daddy and his father?”
Does she know? If so, will she break
down and tell us the necessary backstory?
Mom pauses her whisking, but not for long.
Sorry. He never told me the whole thing.
Anyway, that will have to come from him.
She Knows More, of Course
But she won’t spill
it tonight. Will we
ever get the keys
to this locked door?
I want to scream.
Curiosity strangles
me until I choke out,
“Was Daddy abused?”
Mom opens the broiler,
flips the fish. Finally
she says,
There are
all kinds of abuse.
This is the perfect
opening, Kaeleigh,
the way into asking
for help. But no way.
Kaeleigh doesn’t
want to go there,
doesn’t want to
go anywhere near.
Mom saves her
the trouble.
Okay.
Dinner’s ready. Let’s
open some wine.
A Lot of Wine Later
We are no closer to learning each
other’s dark secrets, and much
closer to our own states of stupor.
Kaeleigh has already retreated,
not a single word about Ian.
No doubt a very wise decision.
Tomorrow it’s back to the books
(and, damn, a.m. history with
Lawler) for me, back to party
planning for Mom. The clock
says ten forty-five. “Guess I’d
better go to bed. It’s getting late.”
She looks at me through chardonnay-
lidded eyes.
You look like her,
you know. Very much so, in fact.
What is she babbling about?
My head feels wobbly, my
tongue thick as pudding. “Who?”
Your grandmother. I thought
so when you were little, but
it’s even more obvious now.
I Stumble Off to Bed
But find no comfort
in its feathers and patchwork.
Despite the wine and rich
food, breaking down into calories,
I feel cold, way deep inside,
and it’s the kind of cold
that can’t be fought
with Hollandaise or alcohol
or a pile of quilts. I wish I had
a joint. A big, fat, stinky j to slide
me into sleep. But no, all I
can do is lie here, brain
turning somersaults.
It’s nights like
these when memories
stir, whipping themselves
into stiff peaks of pain. Here
comes one now, materializing
like Daddy did that night.
The night he came to
Kaeleigh, crossed
the final line.
Mom Had Been Spending
More and more time away
from home. We were getting
used to it. But that night,
something was different.
Kaeleigh and I lay in bed,
listening to Daddy scream
into the phone.
What the fuck
do you think you’re doing, Kay?
It’s not just me you’re hurting.
Come home. I’ll forgive you.
We had no idea where she was,
or what she was doing to make
Daddy so mad. But whatever
she said on the other end did not
pacify him. The receiver slammed.
The ensuing silence was scary,
scarier than his yelling. In
retrospect, I understand he had
gone to visit his bottles. But he
didn’t find enough healing there.
His footsteps that night were
soft. Hesitant. I think they even
turned around. But eventually
they came toward us again.
The door opened slowly.
Kaeleigh was used to Daddy’s
visits, but that night she, too,
felt something different in the air.
Rage. Lust. Sorrow. Perversion.
All mingled in Daddy’s sweat.
There was nothing gentle
about how he threw back
the covers. Already naked,
he pushed Kaeleigh roughly
to one side, flopped beside her.
I could tell she was afraid.
This wasn’t her Daddy. This
was a demon, his evil hard
and sharp as a steel blade,
ready to slice into her. It did.
His attack was brutal, bloody,
wordless except for a vicious
Shut the fuck up
at her pitiful
scream, a plea to please, please
no, Daddy, no. It hurts. Oh!
I cowered, sick at the sight,
but unable to divorce myself
from the horror. I felt Kaeleigh’s
pain. And when Daddy was done
and she cried, I cried too.
No Doubt About It
There’s a demon inside him.
Demons, they say, are fallen
angels. The real question is,
who pushed Daddy over
the edge,
into the abyss? I’d say there
are several likely candidates.
And, oh awesome. I’m related
to all of them, heiress
of darkness.
Dark or not, though, I want
to know them. Want to know
exactly what created not only
Daddy, but through him, me.
Is
that so much to ask? We’re
probably too damaged to ever
be fixable, but if there’s even
a tiny chance, I need to know
where
to find it. In Daddy? Ha. In
Mom? Unlikely. In some guy?
Every single one I know is worse
off than me. My only hope
is to ferret out exactly who
I am.