Authors: Renee Lewin
I laugh and release some of the tension that had formed a lump in my throat. I sniffle. “He decided to stay at Palo Verde so he could…take himself off of my hands.” I glance at Uncle Frank. He looks straight ahead and nods furiously trying to convince himself that it was a good thing my dad, his best friend, would choose isolation from his friends and family in a mental hospital.
“Sure, sure.
Your dad might need a new environment where he can learn new skills to improve living with his illness, improve his
well being
and so forth. It would improve your well being too and Manny’s. You kids can be free! You two won’t have to worry about taking care of Eddie every day. College, careers, travel; all of that at your
finger tips
now! And I…I can still visit him at the hospital. I’m sure he and I will, um, keep in touch.”
I nod in response. The trip home became quiet except for the low rock music playing on the radio. I make my way off of the highway, down the sloping exit and onto the main street of the town. Referred to as the Main Road by all the townspeople, it is the widest and smoothest street in town. Going left would take me to the schools, the Lutheran church and the factories. I turn right, in the direction of home. The paved Main Street is lined with brick-faced buildings which include the post office, the bank, a doctor’s office, a food store, a thrift store, boutiques, a salon and barbershop, a Catholic church, a pawnshop, a pizza parlor and arcade, a Chinese restaurant, an old movie theater, and numerous bars. You’d never guess that hidden a ways just past the string of buildings is
Amo
Lake. If you want to shop at a mall you’ll have to get back onto the highway to an actual city such as Duncan.
Further down the road are the relatively new cookie-cutter homes with their three bedroom, two bathroom, two car garage layouts painted in safe neutral shades. The developers of the Cadence Village Homes did, however, spice things up by sometimes building the garage on the left side of the house and other times on the right. These mortgage-paying commuters, their children were once my condescending classmates. They were the students who believed they were more civilized than us trailer trash heathens. Really the debaucheries and problems of The Village Kids were just like those of The Park Kids, just wrapped up in more expensive packages. I admit there are a couple decent people from that better part of town who are sincerely nice and whom I held intelligent conversations with back in high school. However, I wouldn’t call them my friends. I never let them get that close.
After about two miles the homes abruptly stop and The Tumbleweeds become more prevalent. The Tumbleweeds are the unsound homes and trailers sprinkled around. It’s a struggle for these houses to withstand the weather. It’s a fight for the owners to keep their families fed. The Tumbleweeds are people both the Village Kids and Park Kids agree to look down on. After half a mile of desert view that seems to stretch out endlessly, only briefly interrupted by our local bar and Mr. Jeremy’s convenience store on the left, you stumble upon
Merjoy
Trailer Park on the right. It is literally the end of the road because the main road becomes a dead end. Entering
Merjoy
Trailer Park, the fairly large development of bright painted trailers that bear his name, Uncle Frank’s mood picks up. “Memories, memories,” he muses.
The two roads in the development are all dirt roads cut through reddish-brown, sandy Arizona soil. There’s also a path to the soccer field. One road dead ends at the park office right across from my house. I reverse the truck up under the awning of our trailer so the back of it is closer to the front door. Now that the truck is stationary I can feel how truly hot it is outside. It must be in the low 90s. With great heat come great rains. I hope it rains soon. Uncle Frank and I step out of the truck and I pick up his lightest bag. I walk up to the door and when I see what’s there the bag slips out of my hand, smacking against the front steps.
“Laney!” Uncle Frank scolds, “My precious poodles! They…” He is silenced by what he sees. “What the hell is that about?” He abandons his bag in the bed of the truck and walks up to the door. He rips off one of the dozens of flyers wallpapering the front door. Each pink flyer is designed with a flowered border and has a close-up picture taken of Denise and Joey, cheek to cheek, smiling at the camera. “Keep
El Fuego
Alive! Donate money for The Great Joey Kinsley’s hospital bills. Drop your envelopes at #25. Hugs and Kisses, Denise Rubio and Friends,” he reads aloud.
I’m clawing at the flyers. They are all over. I can’t even see the door handle. I peel some down and there’s another layer underneath. I’m ripping them away and Uncle Frank joins me. Both of us are removing the posters and I just want to scream until my throat is raw. I made damn sure my life was separate from theirs. I dropped her and Marisol and every other backstabbing slut who ever knew me. With a clean cut, I never looked back. I didn’t seek revenge, I didn’t call them out of their names to their faces, I just distanced myself so they wouldn’t have to bother with me ever again and vice versa and this is how they treat me?
Is nothing ever over with these stupid little girls? He’s not on life support! He doesn’t needs to be “kept alive”! I’m the one there in the hospital with Joey, not her or any of the other females. Denise knew
exactly
what she was doing by plastering these flyers on my door. Memories of the first week of freshman year flood my senses. I found my locker scribbled all over with profanities written in permanent marker by angry Park Kids. When there was no longer room on my locker for graffiti, banners firing abusive words lay across my locker like caution tape. I tried, so hard, to forget those things. I never forgave them. Why should I? They never apologized for it. Dating Raul effectively placed tape over the mouths of the neighborhood posse. Now that he and I are no longer together the backstabbers are becoming fearless.
“Laney? Are you okay, Laney?” Uncle Frank’s voice sounds so far away. I’m gripping the ripped up flyers so tight in my hands that my fingers throb. “Laney, just take a deep breath.” My tight jaw responds with a cracking sound as I loosen it. I breathe in and out from my mouth and feel the heat at my face and neck dissipating. “Let’s go inside and sit down,” Uncle Frank says and guides me into the house and to a chair around the dining table.
He peels the papers from my hands and tosses them into the trash with the rest of the flyers. A plate of toast with prickly pear cactus jelly and a cup of chilled green tea are placed in front of me. I ignore the toast and bring the cool glass to my mouth. Uncle Frank sits across from me at the small table, watching me with his hand over his mouth. He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair as if frustrated.
“Elaine, I cannot tell you how sorry I am that this has happened to you,” he says looking down at the surface of the wood table.
“Which ‘this’ are you talking about?” I ask glumly.
He looks up at me. “I’m sorry you experienced all of the…events you’ve gone through as a young woman, but I am sincerely so sorry, Elaine, for the events that I caused by leaving you guys behind. The neighborhood, your classmates, all turning on you like that! I left a financial mess in your father’s hands and, believe me, if I had
any
idea it would end up affecting you to this day, I would have never”
“Uncle Frank, no. No. You are absolutely not going to take responsibility for the pettiness of these people. The only mistake you ever made was being too nice. This issue is between me and them. I think this might be one of those attempts to start drama by picking at old wounds, but I won’t give them the satisfaction. Especially since they’re helping out Joey; something I can’t argue with. Please, don’t feel responsible.” I take a big bite of the toast, toss it back onto the plate and stand up from my chair.
“Thank you for saying that. I need you to promise me you won’t try to hurt them back. It’s not worth it.” Uncle Frank looks up at me expectantly.
“I don’t plan on it, but I can’t promise I won’t give them a completely clear response to any more of their ploys.”
He frowns and takes the unbitten slice of my toast from my plate for himself. I leave him in the dining room and go into the bathroom.
The reflection in the mirror is of a girl older than my twenty years of age. Recent shadows underneath my eyes needed more than last night’s rest to be erased. The rest of my features are still soft, brown and girlish. But my eyes, the telescopes to my weary mind, look tired. They’ve seen too much. The cut on my bottom lip looks mostly healed. As I study my reflection I think of how I seriously don’t need Denise’s games right now. I’m an inch away from the edge. If I slip I’m dragging her and her conniving friends down with me.
My brother was always deeply concerned about my bitterness. He worried that I was keeping things bottled up and holding grudges for too long. The pity in Manny’s eyes only made me angrier. Anger doesn’t direct me to rash decisions or violence like it does for Joey. I’ve kept my anger inside and thus kept my dignity.
This situation with the fundraiser flyers on my door, however, is different. If they bother me again I won’t hesitate to act. In high school they saw me as a threat, as someone that needed to be broken down to size. Now they know I am weak and it tickles them to dig their claws into me while I’m down.
After pulling my hair loose of its bun, I comb it through with my fingers until it hangs down, its ends brushing against my neck. Instantly I am reminded of my mother. She always wore her hair down. My hair is not as thick and lovely as hers, though it parts best on the right as hers did. I find a comb in a drawer and run it through my hair. The feel of the comb’s teeth along my scalp is soothing. Déjà vu blankets me and I hear my mother’s consoling voice. “An eye for an eye leaves everybody blind, Sweetie.” I was sitting on a stool in front of this very mirror with tears streaming down my face as she did my hair. I had confided in her about the way my friends had turned on me. Mom was right. She’s still right. An eye for an eye is not the solution. She raised me to be a better person. Intensely, I wish she was still here.
I tie my hair up to take a shower. Afterwards, I get dressed and let my hair down once again, this time adding a side swept bang. Without the glasses and without my hair up I feel vulnerable. Glancing at the mirror I notice that the shadows beneath my eyes are gone. Perhaps they seemed so dark because I had been in a dark mood earlier. I walk towards my bedroom door anticipating some leisurely time spent with Uncle Frank watching movies or just talking and joking. There is a knock before I touch the doorknob. I pull the door open. “Yes?”
“Everything okay?”
Uncle Frank asks.
I nod. “I feel much better. Notice anything different?”
“Yeah…,” Uncle Frank squints, “That nasty zit on your chin.”
I automatically feel at my chin, realize there is nothing there and then roll my eyes. “Uncle Frank!” I smile.
“Niece Elaine!” he mocks playfully. “You sure you’re alright?”
“Yes.”
“Cool. Then you don’t mind if I go visit some old friends.”
He must not have seen the deep disappointment on my face because he continued talking.
“I haven’t talked to a lot of people since I was here for the funeral. Plus, I’m curious to see how that new guy what’s-his-name is doing as park manager, that Mr. Jimenez. I’ll ask some of the old residents and newer residents what’s up. I’ll probably do some grocery shopping too. We need some red meat in here.”
“Do you need the truck?”
“Nope.
Everything is in walking distance.”
“Okay. Have fun.”
“See you later.” He pats me on the head and I watch him leave through the front door. I see that while I was in the bathroom he brought his luggage from the truck and set it by the sofa. The suitcases need to go in Dad’s room where I decided Uncle Frank should sleep. One at a time, I pull them into his room and stand them up at the foot of the bed. I walk into the dining area. The table needs to be cleared so I pick up the glass and plate and place them into the sink with the rest. The dishes need to be done. I wash the two plates, a glass, and a knife, dry them, and tuck them away in their assigned drawers and cupboards. I glance around for anything out of place. Nothing is. I stare down at the clean kitchen floor and out of habit move my hand up to my face to adjust my glasses that would usually slip down my nose. They aren’t there. I wonder when I’ll get used to not wearing them.