The Impossible Knife of Memory (24 page)

“You okay?” I asked quietly.
“Fine,” he said.
“I usually sit over there,” I said, pointing to the corner

where Finn sat, staring at us in wide-eyed surprise. He wasn’t listening.
“Dad?”
He’d made eye contact with one of the cafeteria aides,

the old guy whose belly bulged over his belt buckle. The older man checked out Dad’s rank and the Ranger tab then stood straighter and nodded, a brief dip of the head, to my father. One vet greeting another.

Daddy nodded back and said, “Let’s go bother what’shis-name.”

What’s-his-name said, “Hello, sir,” and gave Dad a carton of chocolate milk, without commenting on his black eye. A guy I’d never seen before, a baseball player, judging by the hairy legs sticking out of his shorts, came over, and asked to shake my father’s hand. “Thank for your service, sir,” he said.

I held my breath, hoping that if this triggered Dad, he’d just leave without doing or saying anything I’d regret later.
“It was my honor,” Dad said, extended his hand. “Care to join us?”
The guy grinned and asked, “Can my buddies come over, too?” He pointed his thumb at three hairy-legged dudes watching from a couple of tables away.
Dad opened the milk and took a long swig. “If they bring me more of this.”
He held court for the rest of the period, listening to their questions and not quite answering them. They asked about the guns and the helicopters and the enemy, and he made jokes about MREs and camel spiders and having to burn the poop bags.
The old cafeteria aide came over and introduced himself, “Bud.”
Dad asked him to join us and he settled in, wiping the sticky bun glaze off his fingers with a napkin.
One of the baseball players finally asked the questions that I knew had been the reason they came over in the first place. “Did you kill anybody, sir? Was it hard?”
Dad studied his hands and didn’t answer. Just as everyone started to squirm in the awkward silence, Bud jumped in with a story about being lost on a mountain in Vietnam. The guys listened but kept glancing at Dad, waiting for the answers.
When the old soldier’s story was finished, Dad asked, “You know how Veterans Day started?”
“The armistice, the end of World War One,” Finn answered. “At eleven o’clock in the morning of November 11, 1918, all the troops on both sides stopped fighting. That’s the day we honor vets.”
“Here’s what you don’t know,” Dad said. “By five o’clock that morning, the officers had all gotten the message that the war would end that day. But lots of them ordered their men to keep fighting.”
Bud snorted and shook his head.
Dad continued, “The end of the war meant that career officers would have fewer chances to move up in rank. The goddamn war was officially ending in hours and they sent their boys in to be sacrificed. Almost eleven thousand soldiers died on November 11, 1918. That’s more men than died on the beaches of Normandy on D-day in World War Two, twenty-six years later.” He cracked his knuckles. “Politics beats out freedom, honor, and service every time. Don’t ever forget that.”
The monitors around the room flickered to life, scrolling the day’s announcements and breaking the spell that Dad held over his audience.
Bud glanced at the clock. “Bell rings in a few. When it does, all hell breaks loose around here.”
“Good to know.” Dad stood up. “You guys are pissed, aren’t you? You’re thinking I didn’t have the balls to answer your question.”
The dudes didn’t say anything.
“Killing people is easier than it should be.” Dad put on his beret. “Staying alive is harder.”

We made it to the flagpole just as the bell rang.
“I can find the truck on my own.” Dad wiped away the sweat on his forehead. “You should go to class.”

“I have second period free, remember? She wrote me a pass.”
“Very funny.”
I walked him to the end of the sidewalk. “See you tonight?”
“Yep.” He stepped off the curb without looking back.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I called.
He raised his arm so that I’d know he’d heard me, then jogged to the far edge of the student parking lot, where his truck stood isolated from all other vehicles. He opened the passenger door, took off his blue wool jacket, and laid it on the seat. He removed his beret and his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. He closed the door, went around, and got into the driver’s seat where he sat like a marble statue, his hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes focused on things that weren’t there.

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The good soldier swears to kill. Fire the cannon, mount the barricade, lock and load. Smell your brother’s blood on your shirt. Wipe your sister’s brains off your face. Die, if you have to, so they’ll live. Kill to keep your people alive, live to kill some more
.

Odysseus had twenty years to shed his battle skin. My grandfather left the battlefield in France and rode home in a ship that crawled across the ocean slowly so he could catch his breath. I get on a plane in hell and get off, hours later, at home. I try to ignore Death, but she’s got her arm around my waist, waiting to poison everything I touch.

I wash and wash trying to get rid of the sand. Every grain is a memory. I scrub my skin until it bleeds, but it’s not enough. The named winds of the desert blow under my skin. I close my eyes and I hear them.

Those winds blow sand across the ocean, turning into hurricanes, tornados, blizzards. The storms crash into me when I’m asleep. I wake, screaming, again. And again. And again.

The worst of it is seeing the sand sweep across the deep seablue of my daughter’s eyes.

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72
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Showing remarkable maturity, I went to Mr. Cleveland after school to find out what I had missed by chilling in the library with my free pass after Dad left. He helped me figure out how to solve a problem about a kid on a spinning Ferris wheel with a bizarre formula that required the calculation of revolutions per minute to degrees per second, and cosines. I suggested that the carnie in charge of the ride could just hit the kill switch and take all the measurements with a tape measure. Cleveland was not amused.

I sat in the lobby and opened my math book, waiting for Finn to finish guarding the lives of the swim team. I couldn’t make sense of anything on the page. My dad in uniform, that’s what I kept seeing, his eyes wavering between confidence and panic. He’d tried something hard and he did it. It was start.

“Your dad got in a bar fight?” Finn checked his mirror, then turned around before backing up.

“It was a restaurant,” I said, “at six o’clock at night. I wouldn’t call it a bar fight.”
“You don’t just get a black eye in a restaurant at six in the evening.” He shifted gears. “What really happened?”
“Trish gave me her version of the story.”
“What was your dad’s version?” Finn asked.
“We haven’t had a chance to talk about it yet.”
Finn grunted.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
He shrugged.
“No, really,” I said. “You have the judging face on. Why?”
“I’m not judging. I’m observing uncritically. There’s a big difference.”
I took my hand off his knee. “So what are you observing?”
“It’s just that you’re blaming Trish again.”
“Only because she deserves it. He was fine till she showed up.”
He didn’t say anything until the next stop sign. “Not judging, Miss Blue,” he took my hand, “but you’re wrong.”
I didn’t touch him after that.
I forgot to kiss him good-bye when he dropped me off.

I opened the front door and walked onto a battlefield.

Trish stormed across the living room, stood in front of the television, and pointed at Dad. “Are you kidding me?” she yelled.

“Nope.” Dad, dressed in old jeans and a flannel shirt, angled the remote so its signal would get past Trish and changed the channel.

“Talk to him, Hayley,” she said.
“Don’t listen to her,” Dad said, his face blank. “Why am I here if you don’t want her to listen to me?”

Trish asked. “You haven’t done a single thing you promised. Hell, you won’t even talk!”

“You’re not talking, you’re hollering.” Dad motioned with the remote. “Out of the way.”
Bam!
A punch in the gut, that’s what it felt like. It was my own damn fault for letting my guard down and believing that anything was different just because he decided to play dress-up for a couple of hours. Make no mistake, the signs were all there: a half-empty bottle of Jack on the coffee table, a second one at his feet, sweat soaking through the collar of his T-shirt though the house was cool, the fact that the dog was hiding. The hard, flat look in his eyes.
Trish took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer, quieter voice. “Your father and I have been discussing his need for help.”
“What kind of help?” I asked cautiously.
“Anything,” she answered. “Therapy, medication, time with guys who understand, whatever it takes so that he can stop running away.”
“I’m not running from anything,” Dad muttered.
Time slowed to a cold honey pour, bitter spit flooded my mouth. I could smell his whiskey, the meat cooking in the kitchen, the tea she’d spilled on her uniform. The way she glared at him crashed into the anger that came off him in waves. Lightning could strike at any second. I still had my jacket on, backpack over my shoulder. I reached for the doorknob.
Dad said, “It would only be for a couple of days at a time. Maybe a week now and then.”
Time caught up to itself with a brilliant blue flash of light.
I turned around. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Trish asked.
“Tell me what?” I asked.
Dad poured more whiskey in his glass, sipped, then crunched on a handful of pretzels. He tilted his head to look beyond Trish and see what was on the screen.
“You promised you’d talk to her about this at least,” Trish said. “You swore!”
“Tell me what?” I repeated, louder.
Trish suddenly crouched and yanked the television’s power cord. The plug flew out, trailing a spark.
Dad swirled the whiskey in his glass. “I’m following your advice, princess. I’m going back on the road. Shorthaul mostly.” He sipped, watching me over the rim of the glass. “You’re not coming,” he said. “You have to stay in school.”
“No way.” I put down my backpack. “You can barely get through a day here, where things are quiet. Besides, what are you going to do? Let me live alone?”
He glanced at Trish and took another sip.
“You lying son of a bitch,” Trish murmured.
Shaking her head, she stormed down the hall to Gramma’s bedroom. Dad pressed the button on the remote twice before he remembered that the TV was unplugged. And I figured something out.
“Did you bring her up here to babysit me?” I asked. “So you could leave?”
He didn’t answer.
Trish stomped back carrying her purse and unzipped duffel bag, clothes hanging out of it. She set the bag by the door and rooted through her purse.
“Don’t go,” Dad said. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I swear it, on my honor. Just not tonight.”
She pulled out her keys. “Take your phone out, Hayley.”
I hesitated, then pulled it out of my pocket.
“Here’s my number,” she said, rattling off the digits.
I typed them in and saved the contact as “Bitch.”
“What are you going to do,” Dad asked, “drive all the way back to Texas? After all the crap you fed me about facing demons instead of running away?”
“I’m going to find a AA meeting, Andy.” She opened the front door. “After that meeting, I’m going to find another one, and another one after that until I’m sure I can make it through the night without drinking.” She picked up the duffel bag and looked at me. “Call me if you need anything.”
She left without saying good-bye. The victory was so sudden and unexpected I didn’t know what to make of it. Cold air poured into the living room as she backed down the driveway and drove off, tires squealing. She hadn’t closed the door.
“Shut that, will you?” Dad asked. “And plug the set back in.”

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I hummed “Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead” and lined up plans in my head like shooting-range targets. Dad needed time to recover from Tsunami Trish. I wouldn’t bug him for two, maybe three days. After that I had to get him out of the house, maybe convince him to walk the dog with me, or tell him I was thinking of going out for track in the spring and wanted him to help me get in shape. The next step would be to call his friend Tom and ask him to help find Dad more painting jobs that he can work alone. The work plan was a little vague, but I’d figure it out soon. For right now, he needed to relax and recover.

Two days after she left, I came home to find an envelope taped to the front door. Inside was a short note from Trish giving the address of the motel where she was staying and six twenty-dollar bills. I used the money to buy potatoes, onions, creamed corn (on sale, ten cans for eight dollars), bacon, bread, peanut butter, cheese, chicken noodle soup, and milk. I cooked a vat of mashed potatoes with bacon, but Dad said he was feeling crappy. Thought he might be coming down with stomach flu, he said.

That night I burned Trish’s note, then lit a candle that I’d set on a mirror on the kitchen table. Didn’t think I’d see any spirits, but figured it was worth a try. The mirror showed an eruption of stress zits that made me seriously contemplate walking around with a knit cap pulled down to my chin.

Dad wouldn’t cooperate. He didn’t want to walk the dog with or without me, even after I had given him a few days to chill. He thought getting in shape for track was a good idea, but he made excuses instead of taking me for a run. That Tom guy didn’t return any of my messages and I began to wonder how much of that story Dad told about the kitchen he painted was an exaggeration.

We argued about everything: my attitude, the weather, how to boil eggs, the size of the phone bill, the smell of the garbage. He shot down my plans and then came up with some of his own, all of them stupid. One night he said that we were going to move to Costa Rica. When I brought it up the next morning, he called me a liar and said I was trying to make him paranoid. He said I should get my GED as soon as possible so he could send me to college in January. Twenty-fours hours later, he forbade me from taking the GED, but told me to start thinking about being a nanny overseas. There were the days when he’d disappear in his head without saying a word. He couldn’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time without waking up shouting or screaming. He always apologized for that, once he calmed down.