i. friday
part one of three of "the last weekend"
She heard the splat of her vomit hit the hot asphalt before she could smell it. It was the summer of 2009, and Barack Obama was president of the United States. The country was at the tail-end of the recession, swine flu was the pandemic of the decade, and Michael Jackson was dead. Girl didn’t really give a shit about any of that then, though. Tears involuntarily sprang from her eyes as she felt the heavy hand of her grandmama rub her back. Girl let out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding; the worn, wrinkled hands of the old woman brought comfort to her instantly. Her grandmama knew she didn’t wanna go. Her mama knew she didn’t wanna go. Why wasn’t that enough?
She pondered the question the rest of the way there, the cool glass of the car window rattling against her forehead. Every other Friday, like clockwork, she vomited in a parking lot. Before that, though, she hyperventilated. Her chest heaved up and down, up and down, up and down until she thought her lungs would eventually fly out of the weak cage of her ribs. Afterwards, she always bawled her eyes out. Her face became puffy, her eyes swollen, skin miraculously clear. Whenever Girl thought she’d finally calmed herself down, it always came back up. Literally. Before long, she heard the clack of the clear, plastic beads at the ends of her braids against the window. The engine of the powder blue Nissan rumbled to a close. Her grandmama reached into the backseat and caressed her cheek. The touch was so careful, so soft that Girl almost couldn’t feel it.
“Wake up, sweetheart. We’re here.”
She didn’t instantly open her eyes–she wanted to live in the darkness behind her eyelids as long as she possibly could. Her mind was already exhausted from the days ahead of her. She remembered thinking that ten-year-olds shouldn’t be this tired. She hated being a child. People were constantly telling her what to do, when to do it, how to do it, and who to do it with. She always seemed to be counting the days until she was grown. Adults seemed to be able to do whatever the hell they wanted, everyone else be damned. She wanted that power; the seemingly singular control that being an adult came with. She sucked in a deep breath through her nostrils, and slowly let the air pass through her lips.
“He’s bringin’ you back to the house on Sunday. You’re almost done.”
She and her mother had been saying the same thing for the past two months. Just a couple more weekends, they’d say. Then, her mother could finally take Him to court and plead Girl’s case, and she’d never have to see Him again. She’d told her mother several times that she had no problem telling any judge who’d listen why she didn’t want to visit him, could tell them in excruciating detail how much these three days every other weekend cost her. Her mother wouldn’t hear it; her child wouldn’t sit in a courtroom testifying against her father. That was final.
So, there she was, in the parking lot of a Walmart on a Friday afternoon. Her school uniform tie, burgundy and grey, still laid on the backseat. It was the first thing she took off when her grandmama picked her up. The constricting, itchy fabric rubbed against her neck in the wrong way every time she put it over her head. Much like she felt at that moment. Her hands flew up to her neck, itching at the clammy skin.
She threw her bag over her shoulder as she walked to the door of the camper. They were going somewhere in Florida; another college football game, she’d assumed. The Florida Gators were playing Roll Tide, and He didn’t want to miss it. The violent, testerone-oozing, weekly event served as a kind of odd reprieve for her. When there was a big game, His attention was focused on something else. For two and a half hours, she could exist in the world without the weight of His gaze on her. It would be the happiest she’d feel that weekend. He, of course, mistook Girl’s uncharacteristic ease and rare grins for the love of the sport. His ego never did allow Him the gift of discernment.
As she got closer to the vehicle, she could feel herself slipping away. Her true self folded up like an old t-shirt and was devoured by His looming mass. As she advanced towards His menacing features, the more she could tell that something was off. He was wearing that killer-watt smile–the one He only wore when He was tricking somebody. As she peered around the camper, realization flooded her senses. She suddenly couldn’t feel the tips of her fingers, and sweat was no doubt starting to pool around her hairline.
“Where’s Shannon?”
Nobody else would’ve noticed the slight dip in His smile, the small chink in His armor. But she did. She always did.
“She’s visiting her son in Hawaii this weekend.”
She couldn’t help the sag of her shoulders. Girl knew it meant something larger, something much bigger than her, that she felt more at ease around His mistress than she did Him. He had a hand in making her, after all. This was the woman who supposedly ruined her family, allegedly stole her father away from her mother. Was it a betrayal to her mother that she didn’t hate the woman? She just knew that when Shannon was around, less of His attention was on her. It was the greatest gift anyone could’ve given her.
“Just us this time. That alright with you?”
She tilted her head up to His hovering figure, and nodded good-naturedly. Even though she wanted to punch that slimy, plastic grin off of His face. When she stepped inside her home for the next three days, a sense of familiarity washed over her as she laid her bag on the pull-out couch. When they finally stopped and parked at whatever trailer park they were staying in, they’d remove the cushions on the sofa and put sheets on them for her. He framed it as this adventurous sort of thing, but it only reminded her of yet another thing that had to pretend to be something else. She had just clicked her seatbelt over her chest before He handed her a stack of papers. There were five pages filled with vibrant symbols, numbered steps with road names and highway references on them. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“Wanna be my navigator? I thought it’d be fun.”
As if she’d had a choice. As if anything ever was. She mirrored His falsehood-filled features, forcing her cheeks to rise as she smiled. He patted her on the shoulder before He pushed the RV into gear, and pulled out onto the nearest highway. The warm, sour, wrenching taste of bile rose in her throat. She forced it back down, her esophagus burning with the action. Give it a chance, she forced herself to think. Maybe He’s gotten better. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Another uncertainty, another thing that wasn’t up to her. Her words of false hope and possibilities fueled her back then. Kept her afloat, allowed her to tread water. Without them, she was sure she’d sink.
“Merge left onto I-85.”
She felt the gears shift underneath her feet as He turned the wheel, joining the mass exodus of vehicles from Georgia into Florida. She inhaled, felt the heavy air fill her lungs, and let it out through her nose. She was truly on her own now. Three days, it’s only three days, she told herself. It would be over before she knew it.
“Hey, you remember this song?”
She blinked rapidly, trying to wake herself up from her boredom-laced slumber. She shook her head innocently, and He gave her what seemed like a genuine smile. Rare. He used His calloused fingers to turn the knob in front of Him, raising the volume. A familiar tune blasted through the speaker, and Girl couldn’t help it as her cheeks rose in a smile. The sweet melody of the trumpets and saxophones in her ears connected in such an esoteric, mystical kind of way.
A simple song, yet it could melt away any heavy feelings she had about her father; it could oil the rough hinges of their relationship. For three minutes and thirty-seven seconds, she was just a regular girl. One with a regular dad, whose love she never had to question or earn or feel unworthy of. They nodded their heads to the beat, delight splayed out across their features as they sang along.
“Well, you know what that means now,” He said, a sly grin slapped across His face as she stared at Him. She shook her head.
“We gotta stop for ice cream.”
She got a cup of chocolate and He got a cone of moose tracks, which He let her try. It wasn’t too bad, but she felt like it was one of those things that maybe her taste buds had to grow up for. They sat in the shop for a few minutes before getting back on the road, but it felt like hours. For the first time, Girl didn’t feel that tightness in her chest when she had to talk to Him. She could tell Him everything about fifth grade; what she liked, what she didn’t like, what she used to like but doesn’t anymore, and a lump wouldn’t grow in her throat. That’s one of her favorite memories; a moment frozen in time, impenetrable and pristine. Sometimes, she thinks she might’ve made it up. It was so long ago, after all.