Authors: Ellen Hopkins
Identical (7 page)
Mick Picked Me Up
And I made sure he kept
me out extremely late. It’s always
desirable not to get home
too soon.
I can’t always manage it, though.
Daddy doesn’t always cooperate,
drink himself to a state resembling
death.
Tonight Kaeleigh and I are in luck.
The bitter perfume of bourbon
smacks me as I stumble in. It makes
me thirsty. It’s late, but never
too late
for one last shot. I tiptoe past
Daddy’s snoring, ease the Wild
Turkey from the table. Can’t
really blame him for choosing
redemption
in a bottle. Two bottles, actually.
One holds 750 ml of amber liquid.
The other is small enough to fit
in a pocket. Daddy has been
sentenced to
pain abatement à la OxyContin.
The accident was eight years ago
and his doctor keeps refilling,
like he doesn’t know about Daddy’s
dance with the devil.
Like I Care
Truth is, I borrow a little Oxy
every now and then too. Not
often, though. It’s expensive.
Daddy would miss it, even if
his dimwit doctor didn’t. I
have to admit it’s tempting.
It makes me feel like how
you feel when you fall in
a dream. Only you don’t
wake up. You just keep
falling deeper and deeper
into the darkest recesses
of sleep. Especially when
you help it out with a nip
or two of Wild Turkey.
Of course, I have to be
very careful not to do it
when Daddy’s not trapped
in the snare of sleep too.
Wouldn’t do to be lying
there unaware if he came
crawling to me. No, I’d
want to be totally ready.
But it won’t be tonight.
Fifth of whiskey beneath
my arm, I slip noiselessly
into the kitchen, pour two
fingers, replace the bottle.
Then I slither into Daddy’s
bathroom, help myself to a
small green pill. Just one.
Just enough for a free fall
totally without a parachute.
My Bedroom Is Dark
Quiet as death, and I keep it exactly
that way. Even the bed cooperates,
as I slide like a whisper under
the cumbersome quilts, sit up in bed,
motionless. I feel like I’m in
a hollow black space. A cave.
Empty. I chance a sip of Turkey.
Have to wet my tongue before
letting the Oxy dissolve. Slowly.
Nasty. Another sip. Jet fuel, hot
and acrid against my taste buds.
Another time, another place, I’d let
myself cough. Not now. Not here.
Nothing to disturb the deep breaths
resonating throughout the house.
My tongue burns. My mouth
tastes like crap. The spinning
inside my head begins. Grins.
I lie flat, give myself up to the
Oxy/Turkey merry-go-round.
Eyes closed, I start the tumble.
Round. Round. Down. Down.
Outside, the wind rouses suddenly.
Branches scratch against the window
and the sound, like something wants me,
carries me where sleep will not follow.
It’s Bone-Chilling Here
In this memory. Nothing
can thaw me. Not quilt. Not
whiskey. Not even opiate.
I’m frozen solidly in place,
just like I was that night,
the first time Daddy came.
A night Kaeleigh can’t (or
won’t) remember. But I do.
It was a year or so after
the accident. Kaeleigh
and I were nine, give
or take. Mom had gone
in for another round of
surgery. She was already
lost to us. Lost. Long gone.
I could barely remember
how her kisses felt. They
rode away on the bumper
of that fucking semi. How
we hungered for them!
Daddy smelled of Wild
Turkey. Each night, we knew,
he drank more and more.
That night, he had drunk
just enough.
Kaeleigh, girl.
His voice was a soft hiss.
Are you awake? Talk to me.
Daddy ish-is sh-so lonely.
I’d never heard him sound
like that. Like a stranger.
A drunk, slurring stranger.
Where was my daddy?
Kaeleigh, all sweetness,
wanted to comfort Daddy,
who drew her onto his lap.
Stroked her hair. Kissed
her gently on the forehead.
Cheeks. Eyes. Finally, on
her lips, but not nasty
or mean or with tongue
or anything but misplaced
love. Love meant for Mom.
He just held her, kissed
her. Breathed Wild Turkey
all over her until they both
fell asleep, woven together.
Woven
Knitted together,
threaded by pain-
sharpened needles.
That one innocent
joining was only
the beginning, but
neither realized it
that night. And all
I could do was linger
in a dark corner,
sharp jabs of envy
tearing my eyes.
The Innocence
With which Kaeleigh
accepted that gesture
was to be corrupted,
but not immediately.
Maybe this is the place
she settles into, when
forced to escape the
reality of what came
later, what continues
still. See, she doesn’t
really remember the
details. It’s a defense
mechanism, a gift
from nature around
post-traumatic stress.
Remembering the ins
and outs, so to speak,
is left up to me. I am
almost always there,
or at least close by,
though I have never
interfered. Oh, I did
try to tell Mom once, but she closed up like an
oyster around that pearl of truth. I guess I could
have offered descriptions of Daddy’s “privates”
(his word), the way he wears his scars. But hey,
if she didn’t care, why the hell should I? Instead,
I stood by and watched father love turn to U S T.
What Came Later
Belies the purity of that first night.
Time crept by in slow motion,
and I felt a million miles away.
I watched
the two of them dozing, father
and mother/daughter, until
weariness weighted my eyes.
I slipped
into the river of their breathing,
floated in the current of Daddy’s
all-encompassing need.
I fell
asleep, thinking about Daddy
kissing Kaeleigh, craving his kiss,
understanding its significance.
We unraveled
that night, and I don’t think
things can ever be put right
again. Sad, that lives can be
shattered,
into so many pieces that they
can never be put back together,
by the relentless force of love.
Irreparable.
Can’t Believe
I got the lead in
Grease,
the winter musical.
I’m a pretty good actress, but my
dance is rusty and my singing, well…
I watched
as Ms. Cavendish posted the cast
list. Everyone gathered around
the bulletin board, exhaling loudly.
I slipped
in between Ian and Shelby to get
a better look.
Sorry you didn’t make
it
, poked Shelby. Stupid me,
I fell
for it, until she and Ian cracked up.
“You may be sorry I
did
make it.”
I broke into an off-key rendition of “Fame.”
We unraveled
into a giant fit of laughter. People
stared, including Madison, who got
a big part too. The look she gave me
shattered
any idea that this play might be fun
after all. The slim chance rehearsals
might go smoothly shredded.
Irreparable.
Drama Is Last Block
On Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today, however, being Friday,
last block is PE. I wish I would’ve opted for modern dance.
Instead I’m dressed out for volleyball. And lucky me, my
dear friend Madison is across the net, getting ready to serve.
Even better, I’m in front, where I can’t miss the vile promise
in her eyes:
I’m gonna ram this ball right down your throat.
Fortunately, her anger sends the ball clear out of bounds. We
rotate, and it’s my turn to serve. Madison moves left one slot.
I swear, even from here, I can see the steam rising off her.
Whoo-ee, is she hot! I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does.
I serve into the net.
Side-out!
yells Madison, and my teammates
groan. “Sorry,” I try. “It slipped.” Okay, lame excuse.
Here comes the ball again. Long volley. On the far side
of the net, Serena sets up. Madison spikes. Damn! The sucker
slams right into my chest, bounces undeniably out of bounds.
Madison smiles.
Too bad you don’t have much padding there.
Everyone laughs. My face flashes, hot. But for once the perfect
retort comes to mind immediately. Love when that happens.
“Yeah, well, I guess you’re right. I don’t have much padding,
but at least what I’ve got is all mine, not Victoria’s.”
Victoria?
Madison stops. Thinks. Gets a “duh” look on her
face. Shakes her head and I’ve got her.
Who’s Victoria?
“I don’t know. But she’s got a secret. And you’re wearing it.
Oh, wait. Let me look again. Never mind. Can’t be Victoria’s
Secret. Anything that lumpy must have come from Wal-Mart.
Wait, wait. Not even Wal-Mart. More like Salvation Army.”
Wha…? Hmph! You shut the fuck up, bitch!
Madison storms
off, intensely pissed. A chorus of howls follows her.
Not Sure Why
I felt the need to provoke her.
She and her inner circle carry
a lot of weight around here.