Bucked

“Dear Chastity, You know I loved you.” I could hear his voice in my mind as I read, and I think that made it all the worse. Why “loved?” Why not “love?” “But I’m not really as ready for all this as I thought I’d be. As I’d expected to be. I didn’t mean to feel this way, but I don’t think I can be a father just yet. Not the one I want to be, anyway. I hope you’ll understand one day. It’s better for everyone this way. Yours, Jeffrey.”

That one letter, even though he never gave it to me, and maybe never meant to, still galls me. That he would lead me down this path and then want to leave. That the plans he sold to me, that everyone sold me on so strongly, weren’t what he really wanted.

Ultimately, that one betrayal is something I’ve squashed down inside my soul, and tried not to face or feel. It just seemed easier to go on and pretend it never happened. That’s what I did at the funeral, anyway, knowing I was mourning not only Jeffrey but the relationship I thought we had together.

And the baby that would never know the dignity of a funeral. A baby that would be just discarded at the hospital, after a strange parody of a birth. A baby whose father didn’t even want him, it turns out. And as I stood at the graveside, seeing the faces of the other mourners staring at me, all thinking we had the perfect marriage, because that’s the impression that Jeffrey gave—not only to me, but to everyone—it just feels like I’m not only dealing with the pain of losing him but the pain of being completely alone in my grief.

Knowing that in the end it was all a lie separated me from the other mourners and their attempts to comfort me. They looked at me with pity and concern, but that was mostly because they thought what I lost was actually of value. And I can’t tell them, because it would ruin what they thought of him too. What made it worse was that everyone was telling me how much he “loved me,” but I knew the truth. He didn’t “love me” when he passed away. The letter that turned his love into past tense was the core of the betrayal I found in the nightstand, and I could never come back from that.

So I stood, masking my pain with more than the little black veil that covered my eyes, as everyone else cried for the loss of Jeffrey, while I cried for a different reason: the loss of everything I held true.

I know that’s why I said no to Kanen. Because even if it’s real, that’s where love leads, to that kind of pain. One person decides that they’re not in love anymore, and that’s it, they’re gone.

And after he never told me anything about how he felt, never warned me that maybe he didn’t want to be with me anymore, he was gone. Just got me pregnant, on some kind of whim, and instead of creating a family with me, he up and died, just like that, and I only found out after it was all over that he didn’t love me. I wonder if he ever did.

And if he hadn’t passed, he would have found another way to escape.

For many days afterward I felt like I was the one who should have died in that accident—that that would have made things right. The baby and I could go to heaven together and I could stay with him forever, and Jeffrey would be free to pursue whatever life he had always wanted and dreamed about, t

he life that didn’t have me in it. And I wouldn’t have to go on knowing that my marriage was a sham.

“Earth to Chastity,” says Lacey in a sing-song tone. “Where did you go, girl? You okay? Do you want another beer while we chat?”

“Aw, you know, Lace,” I say. “It is so sweet of you to ask, but I don’t think I’m really up for chatting right now. Turns out that I’m really tired after my shift, but if you want we can get together later.”

I don’t really want to hang out, but it’s the only way I can see to put her off for the time being. All I want to do is to buy some ice cream or something and make some cocktails and stream movies all day. Escape with my head under a blanket.

“Being coy, eh,” she says, but I can tell she senses something is really wrong. She’s just being polite. “Okay, girl, you’re off the hook. I’ll bring your tips over after my shift is done. Sound good?” She rubs my arm.

“Thanks. I can’t wait to put my normal shoes back on.” At least that part is true. These high heels are the worst!

“I hear that,” she says, with a smirk. “Occupational hazard! Okay, you go on, girl, and I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

I force myself to smile back at her, trying to hide the tears that always spring to my eyes when I think of that letter. I lock myself in the bathroom and change out of this ridiculous outfit, all the while wiping away the furious tears that somehow are still falling down my cheeks despite my best efforts to ignore them. I hang up the blouse and skirt and put my tee back on, and my long pants, and comfy shoes. Ugh, I’m not sure what the best thing to do is at this point, but part of it is to stay the hell away from Kanen the Wrecker.

I’ve been wrecked enough.

Twelve

Kanen

“Wake up, Mommy,” I say. I shake her shoulder but nothing happens. I wait a moment, hoping I won’t have to, but then reach up to her face, slapping it gently, and try to rouse her out of whatever sleep that she’s trapped in. I don’t know exactly why my mommy isn’t like all the other mommies, but it’s always hard to get her up after she stays up late, and after she does whatever she does with the men in the back room of our house.

But I have to go to school, and I want some breakfast for my growling tummy, so I try to rouse her. Like I always do. Just to wake her up even for a moment. I’d even be happy to go to school with an empty belly if I could get a kiss goodbye from her, but she doesn’t respond to me, like usual. She just breathes like an old motor, before settling back into whatever stupor she got herself into.

I give up and go into the kitchen. I pull a chair over to the counter, and climb up on it. I probably could jump right straight up on it if I tried. I’ve always been athletic, that’s for sure. I’m the best in my class at pretty much all the sports. Thank heaven, because otherwise everyone would think I was stupid. No matter what Mommy yells, I don’t think I’m that stupid. I’m just a little different than the other kids. It’s not my fault, though. I’m not sure how much I want to be like all of them anyhow.

I pull down a tattered box of sugary cereal from the cupboard and set it on the counter. Then a bowl, which has a rim of flowers around the edge and a little chip. I jump down from the counter and go to the fridge, but there’s no milk in there. Just a half bottle of cheap wine and a container of mustard, and some dried-out moldy hot dog buns.

Oh well. I don’t think wine would go too well with Lucky Charms. But maybe I’ll just eat them dry.

They jump out of my spoon as I try to bring it to my mouth, so I go to the faucet and pour some water on them. They’re sticky against my teeth, but the rush of sugar is pretty nice. Sure would be better with some milk though, I think as I crunch them.

When I’m done, I put on a different shirt, grab my school bag which has been untouched since last night, and run my fingers through my dark hair. It’s always been unruly, but nobody’s around to tell me to brush it, or my teeth for that matter, so I just yell, “Bye, Mommy,” and go out the door, closing it behind me. I can’t lock it, but I do make sure that it’s at least good and shut, so that she’ll be as safe as possible. Poor Mommy, getting sick all the time.

Today could have been worse, I guess. The other kids didn’t pick on me as much as they sometimes do, and my teacher had her hands full with other things, so when I pretended to have my homework done again she didn’t come and look over my shoulder and hold up the blank page to show everyone in class how dumb I am. I sat in the back of the bus anyway on the way home, because I didn’t want to deal with the other kids. But Dilly came up and sat with me despite that.

“You’re a dirty old Indian, you know,” he whispered.