Identical (42 page)

I walk to work. Slowly.

I see now, more than ever,

that I belong to Daddy.

My father is my keeper.

I can never escape to Ian.

Ian was only a fantasy.

Beautiful make-believe.

A movie poster to focus

on when I have to hide

out inside my own head.

By the time I reach

the old folks’ home,

I realize I have to break

things off with Ian.

Not fair to let him keep

thinking we have a future.

Not fair to me to play

this game any longer.

I go inside, drowning.

Crying, inside and out.

Belongs to William. He can’t

help but notice the state I’m in.

Straightaway, he puts an arm

around my shoulder.
You okay?

I yank away from his touch,

like he’s fresh from the oven.

My muscles twitch, quiver,

begin to shake uncontrollably.

Greta, nearby, rushes to my

side, latches onto my elbow.

Come with me. No ifs, ands,

or buts about it, young lady.

Next thing I know, I’m in Greta’s

room, on her bed, tissue in hand.

I think it’s time you told me

this deep, dark secret of yours.

Oh, how wonderful it would be

to break down. Confess. “I can’t.”

This has to do with your family,

yes? Perhaps with your father?

Any hint of composure vanishes

in a tremendous hailstorm of tears.

Greta sits beside me.
I should

have told you my story before…

Remember once, I told you I met evil

when I was very small? My Satan

was a butcher, tall, heavyset, and

the face he wore looked exactly

like mine. He was my father, and

he believed he owned me.

A gasp escapes my best effort

to hold it inside me.

Greta continues.
He would come

home from his butcher shop,

rank with blood and fat. Often

he stripped without washing,

and he would call me into his

bedroom, a calf to slaughter.

I was expected to bring a wash

basin and soap. “Cleanse me,”

he would say. “Take the stench

away.” Hands. Arms. Feet. Legs.

And by the time I reached the place

between them, he would be stiff.

And then he would tell me how

to touch him, before he laid

me on the bed and did the thing

no father should do to his child….

I cannot believe she’s telling

me this. Cannot believe this

beautiful, strong woman

ever suffered this thing.

When I met my Lars, I loved

his gentle way, loved how

he never demanded. I told you

my father found us together,

beat me because of it, and I was

afraid he would beat Lars, too.

But Lars didn’t care. He asked

me to marry him, and I so wanted

to, but could not imagine sharing

a bed with any man. Pleasure

from sex? Never! When I said no,

Lars went off to soldier.

How I regretted that decision.

Later, my father arranged

a marriage to a man no better

than he. But that is another story.

And now, if you will, I think you

should share your story with me.

But Daddy would kill me,

and get away with it. I can’t

ever tell, not even to someone

else who has had

sex

forced on her by her father.

What if I ask for it somehow,

maybe subconsciously? Being

brutally honest with myself, it

feels good.

How can that be? Not that

there’s any joy in it. Unlike Greta,

I want to know joyous sex.

It does exist outside of books,

doesn’t

it? I want sex laced with love,

and not warped parental

love, but the honest kind.

I want sex that makes me

feel right,

not like some freak, some inbred

monstrosity. I’m not, am I?

Damn it, I really don’t know.

Will it

one day be revealed that Mom

is actually my grandmother? OMG,

could there be even deeper secrets

that can’t be unearthed, never

ever?

Because

I think if

you die

without

knowing

love in

this life,

that’s how

you’ll

spend

eternity.

Alone.

Frozen.

Do you

think hell

is fiery?

I don’t.

I think

hell is

frozen.

It was a while since Daddy went

to Kaeleigh, saturated with misguided

love and the overwhelming need to

own her completely. To prove

he owns her completely. Prove

it to her. Prove it to himself.

He can never own me. Maybe

that’s why he doesn’t bother me.

I can give myself to whomever

I please, in any way I damn

well choose. Key word: choose.

If I say okay, well then it is.

I wonder what will happen

to Daddy when we turn eighteen

and Kaeleigh can move away.

I wonder, codependent as she

seems to be on their sick

relationship, if she ever will.

No one will even notice when

I go. I’d leave now, but if I did,

Kaeleigh would have no one

but Ian. And sorry, but the odds

are long that he’ll hang around.

Too many easier scores.

Isn’t really such a bad thing.

It can get you what you want.

Yeah, yeah, I know what

they call someone who barters

her body in exchange for

something she wants. A wife!

Get it? Okay, never mind.

But it doesn’t bother me to use

the one thing I’ve got that’s

mine, all mine, to get what

I want. Drugs. Liquor. Fun.

Not like there’s a whole lot

of that where I live. More

drugs. Better drugs. Maybe

it’s time to graduate from

pot, hash, and pills to something

stronger. That opiated stuff

was great. Wonder what heroin

is like. I hear it drops you way

down, where pain can’t find you.

Would be good right this moment.

Heroin. Cocaine. Maybe ecstasy.

Not too sure about psychedelics.

They say acid and ’shrooms

make you look inside your own head,

help you learn about yourself.

Sorry, not interested. I’m afraid

if I looked inside my head, I’d

find something really scary.

Maybe if I walk into town I’ll run

into some way to score. Ty never

called back. He’s probably pissed

’cause I took so long to call him.

Or maybe he found someone else,

although I doubt he fell in love and