Fallout (Crank 3)

you’re

Arctic

winter.

I’M GETTING DRESSED

For our like-a-real-family Thanksgiving

Day jaunt to Dad’s all-time favorite

Carrows when my cell warbles.

Kyle! I scramble to find the phone

hidden in the chaos that is my dresser.

But no, it’s not Kyle. (Why did I think

it would be?) When I see whose number

has in fact materialized on caller ID,

I consider pretending I never heard

the very loud ring tone. Still, it is a holiday.

Guess I should pick up. “Hey, Mom.

Happy Thanksgiving.” I expect some

sweet, if bogus, holiday greeting.

Instead she launches verbal mortars.

I called Darla and Phil’s to say hello

and they told me you’re not there

anymore. You’re living with your dad?

Why didn’t you bother to let me know?

My first instinct is to lob a grenade

right back at her, but something in her

voice says she doesn’t want to go to war.

She sounds ready to implode. “You okay?”

That’s all it takes to light the fuse.

She’s falling bricks. No. I’m not okay.

The boys are with your grandparents

in Reno because Ron set me up….