Identical (15 page)

That’s right. That’s right.

His voice rocked in rhythm

with his body.
Oh yes, my Kaeleigh

loves me. My little flower…

Like he suddenly realized just what

he’d done. He scrambled for cover.

Yes, you loved me good enough.

So very good! But it’s our secret, okay?

Because if anyone knew how much

you love me, they’d be jealous.

Now Kaeleigh was really confused.

“Can I tell Mama our secret?”

No! Especially not Mama. She’d get

mad because she doesn’t love me

like you. She might even go away.

You don’t want that, do you?

She thought it over. Again and again.

But she finally agreed, “I won’t tell.”

Daddy pulled her against him. Good.

That’s very good. It’s okay to have

secrets between Daddy and his girl.

Just remember. No one likes a tattletale.

Especially not Daddy.

Didn’t want Daddy to get mad.

Didn’t want her mama to go

away, though she’d already

gone in spirit, if not yet

physically.

Hard to understand.

Harder yet to believe.

Especially when your own

need is so great. The simple

need

to absorb your mother’s love.

Kaeleigh always needed

that more than I. No, I

crave

more our father’s affection.

But can anyone really love him

good enough to fill a well of

want

so deep it must extend all

the way to his core, the very

“who” of who he is? And one

bigger question remains, begging

an answer: Just

who (or what?)

drilled that well in the first place?

My skin is hot. Fevered. Demanding

to be soothed. Touched. Satisfied.

Have I gone crazy? I have never, ever

done such a thing. Never unlocked

this private room inside of me. Never

ever wanted to take a look inside.

Am I possessed? Entered by a demon,

chained and padlocked, inside of myself?

I feel possessed, taken by some evil,

sick desire. Desire I can’t control.

What is wrong with me? I don’t want

this. Oh God. It can’t feel good.

But it does.

But it does.

It does.

It does.

Does.

Does.

I go into the bathroom.

I’d like to take a hot bath,

but no time now. I’ll have

to settle for a shower.

The steamy cascade

streams over my body.

Sandalwood soap

lifts in a fragranced

fog, cleanses and

perfumes skin and air.

Nasty stickers of hair

defile me, the goddess

within. I reach for my

razor, triple bladed

and critically sharp.

I’ve shaved my legs for

years, know to be careful,

yet suddenly I don’t

give a fuck and push

hard. The consequences

are immediate. Blood

streams from the long,

wide slice I’ve opened.

It vanishes down the drain,

and I can’t help but smile.

But at least I feel something.

Something besides hungry.

Something besides afraid.

Weird. I always thought

cutters were sick. Sicker

than me, even. But with

a single swipe I understand

why they do it. Why they like

it, even though they hate it.

I let the water run over the cut,

ratchet it hotter, watch the blood

slow, stutter, almost halt.

I like the way the exposed flesh

looks, all pinkish white. It looks

new, although I know that isn’t right.

It’s the same age as my skin,

my bones. Me. It’s been there

with me since the beginning.

Been there with me through

thick. Thin. Daddy. Suddenly

I don’t like how it looks at all.

Still exposed, I dress in loose

drawstring pants, a soft, baggy

blouse. Definitely not haute couture.

In fact, I look like a pregnant hippie.

To complete the look, I make two long

braids with my grown-out bangs,

pull them together in back. All I need

now is some daisies to weave in.

Several minutes behind my usual

schedule, guess I’d better skip

breakfast. Somehow I’ve lost

my appetite anyway.

Not gonna go double digits like this,

but I’ve got plenty of time to work on it.

And the baggy pants make me

look larger than the size seven

I keep trying to outgrow.

With homework and books, I maneuver

the hallway as quietly as possible.

Right hand on the latch, I’m almost out

into the cold, cold morning when

the sledgehammer falls:

Where do you think you’re going,

dressed like some lunatic street person?

Just the tone of Daddy’s voice makes

my entire body quake. I don’t dare turn

around, don’t dare look into his eyes.

In them, I know I’ll see the
real
lunatic.

I find an excuse. “Uh, we…we have

a play rehearsal this morning. This will

help me get into my role, that’s all.”

He doesn’t buy a word of it.

Today is Wednesday. You have drama

Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.

Has he actually memorized my class schedule?

Does he really keep an eye on such things?

I mean, yes, he’s a control freak and all….

I finally face him, crazy man in the eyes and all.

He’s there, okay, daring me not to admit

the lie. I know better. “Yes, that’s right,

but I’m already running late. I don’t

have time to change now.”

The lunatic levels me.

No daughter of mine goes out in public

like that. Go change. I’ll drive you.

Eyes firmly planted on Daddy,

who follows. Why does it have

to be just the two of us here?

I want my sister. I want my mom.

Surely he won’t trail me into

my room. Won’t watch me undress.

Won’t stop me from transforming

from hippie to soc. Right? Right?

Please tell me I’m right!

I back into my room, start to close

the door, hoping he won’t push

inside. “I’ll hurry, okay, Daddy?”

I stare at him, try to measure

him, and the weirdest thought

flashes inside my head: He must

have been incredibly good-looking

once, before life crashed around

him. Took him down. He pauses.

Should I help you choose

what to wear?
His voice

is soft as baby skin.

This can go a couple of ways.

Say no and face his anger?

Say yes and face…what, exactly?

Instinct tells me to accept his offer.

“Uh. Sure.” But I start to shake

as he steps through the doorway,

moves swiftly across the floor to my

closet, pokes inside, swaying back

and forth like an Indian cobra charmer.

This,
he says,
has always

been one of my favorites. You

look like your mother in it.

A pink angora sweater, pets

it softly, as if it were the bunny

the fur was stripped from.

He hands it to me, along

with a slim pair of burgundy

jeans. Daddy has good taste.

I take his offerings, start toward

the bathroom, but he stops

me with the force of his eyes.

I know what he wants. Sudden

nausea rocks me, but just as I think

for sure I’ll vomit right here,

the telephone rings, yanking

Daddy from his trance.

His head turns toward the door.