Identical (4 page)

Sometimes that seems like a great

place to be. Closed off from it all,

in no need of love, no need of family.

To be honest, I’ve erected a huge,

huge wall between myself and Mom,

myself and Kaeleigh, who I avoid

whenever I can. Can’t stand that hurt,

ever-present in her eyes. Eyes—

and hurt—that mirror my own.

Anyway, she makes me mad, mad

that she hides in her own mind so

well. Hides there from Daddy.

The only person I want to be close

to is Daddy, and he doesn’t even see

me. It’s like I’m not even here.

Most of the time I muddle through,

pretending I don’t need to be held,

need to be touched, kissed.

But then need swells up, a thunderhead.

Storms down, sweeps over me

like a summer flash flood of need.

So I turn to Mick, valley hardass

in more ways than one.

Mom says,
That boy is trouble.

You steer clear, understand?

Like I give a rat’s shiny pink

butt about what Mom thinks.

Actually, I’m amazed she even

noticed. Maybe she has spies

who keep an eye on us when

she can’t be bothered. After

all, it wouldn’t do for a daughter

of a United States congresswoman

to get pregnant, now would it?

Oh, she would shit, if she had

any real idea of the things I do

with Mick. So if she has spies,

they must be voyeurs. I know

it’s ridiculous, but I glance around.

Nope, no discernable spies. Good

thing. Mick and I are taking off at lunch.

We probably won’t eat much.

(No sandwiches, anyway.)

So if I do head back to class

afterward, it will be in an altered state.

Self-medication firmly at the top

of my agenda, I blow through

Lawler’s history quiz, put my

pencil down, and sit staring out

the window, waiting for the bell.

A black shape materializes in the sky,

wings slowly through the mist. Buzzard?

No, as it nears, I see it’s a condor.

Some kind of omen there. As I

consider exactly what kind,

someone taps my shoulder. I wheel

around.
Finished?
asks Mr. Lawler.

I nod and hand him my paper, and

when I look into his gold-flecked

green eyes, I think for about

the hundredth time what a fine

guy he is. As if I had said it out

loud, he smiles.
You may go, then.

I smile right back. “Thanks. See you

tomorrow.” I pick up my books, stand

with deliberate grace, and as

I walk toward the door I feel

eyes on my back, know at least one

pair belongs to him. Men are so easy.

For a quick pee and to redo my makeup.

The bell finally rings. Within seconds,

the lunch rush madhouse erupts.

Hurry up!                                      What the fuck?

Hey, you, come here!

It’s the same every day. Same voices.

Same laughter. Same lame people

I’ve known most of my life.

Got a smoke?                                Got a Tic Tac?

Did you hear about…?

I hustle along the walkway, mostly

ignoring the waves and hellos of

people I rarely give the time of day to.

…got the lead…                            …made honor roll…

Ian’s looking for you.

Ah, see, they’re confusing me with

Kaeleigh. Sometimes I think that’s

funny. Other times, it just annoys

the living crap out of me. Guess that’s

what comes of sharing a wardrobe,

not to mention a face. Oh, well.

At least Mick won’t confuse me

with her. She wouldn’t go near him.

He’s much too much like Daddy.

Both of them are tough outside.

But dig down under the skin,

there’s a soft, gooey core.

Auger into that core, like tapping

a maple, you’ll get doused

with incredibly sweet sap.

It’s a lot of work, work that

Kaeleigh could never appreciate,

because she doesn’t like maple

syrup anyway. But I do. I love

it. And if Daddy would just stand

still for me, I’d happily tap his core.

Chevy Avalanche, with slate gray

paint and silver leather seats, idles

in a far corner of the parking lot.

Two years out of school, he isn’t

really supposed to be here.

But he generally comes running

when I call. He likes what I give him.

I like what he gives me, too,

and I’m mostly talking about

the bud. I pick up my pace because

right under his front seat I know

there’s a fat, stinky joint

with my name on it.

Okay, Mick’s name is there too.

It’s his dope, after all.

But he’s always happy to share.

Of course, he expects compensation,

and after smoking a big ol’ doobie,

I’m generally willing to cooperate.

Life has gotten better—or at least

more bearable—since I was introduced

to my good friend, marijuana.

You couldn’t have a more decent friend.

I love everything about it.

I love the way it smells—good green

bud, anyway, and that’s the only

kind Mick gets. I guess his brother

knows a Humboldt grower. Okay,

the pot smells a lot like skunk juice.

But somehow, there’s a difference.

A good one.

I love the way the thick smoke

tastes, curling across my tongue,

snaking down my throat. I love

holding it in. Coughing it out.

I love head rushes, the creeping

warmth that follows.

And I love the distant place

it takes me to. Everything feels

right there. Mellow. Easy.

Stress-free. I even love the munchies,

the perfect excuse for devouring a pint

of Häagen-Dazs. Of course, afterward

I have to go stick my finger down

my throat. Don’t dare get fat.

Daddy would not like that.

Await me. I’m ready to pay

Mick’s going rate for the pot.

(And I’m not talking money.)

Some people would balk

at the price tag.

Not me.

You might think, because

of the things I’ve seen

Daddy do, I’d be disgusted

by sex. No way.

I like it.

I like how it feels physically,

yes. Kisses, hot and prickly

as August. Hands, tan

and rough against my soft

white skin. And the last, extreme

punctuation.

I get off.

But getting off myself

isn’t the best part. I do

everything in my power

to make sure

he gets off.

And that puts me indisputably

in control. (He thinks otherwise,

and I let him.) It’s the only time

I am in control. And I like

how that feels

most of all.

He has loved me since

fourth grade. I would trust

him with my life, and all

my secrets but one.

Soooo…have you?

I wish I were worthy

of his love. (Any love.)

I should tell him to run.

But I can’t. I need him.

Ahem. Hello?

He deserves to be loved,

by someone really great.

He’s gorgeous, in an artsy

way. No ego. All heart.

Earth to Kaeleigh…

All heart and waiting for me

to respond. “I…um…Sorry,

I’m a million miles away.

What did you say?”

Ah, the old “million miles

away” excuse.

His smile holds the warmth

of the sun, and when he

opens his arms, I plunge

deep between them. “Sorry.”

For what? Oh, you have

been avoiding me, huh?

His body is toned, and he smells

yummy, like some kind of spice.

I look up into eyes, the turquoise

of the Caribbean. “Sort of.”

I always said I liked your

honesty. Still…

“Not avoiding you in particular.

More like everyone, kind of.

Sometimes I get antisocial.

You know that, though.”

Yeah, I do, but I’m not

exactly sure why.

“I must get it from my dad.

Can’t be from Mom, the world-

class go-getter, hand shaker,

and baby kisser.”