i. friday
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.
ii. saturday
The morning started off less than ideal. She was confused when she woke up–she forgot where she was and immediately started panicking. When she reminded herself of the previous day’s events, she walked through the camper to find Him. He was nowhere to be found. She was hungry, but the cereal was on the highest shelf and she wasn’t tall enough to reach it on her own. Her heart thumped akin to the pace of a hummingbird’s as she used one of the breakfast nook chairs to get to it. She prayed with all her might that He wouldn’t return before she grabbed it. She wasn’t ever supposed to stand on His furniture, but especially not in His absence.
She felt the wooden edge of the chair press hard against her toes, and lifted her heels to grab the box. With what felt like lightning speed, she dumped some into the plastic green bowl and put it back in its place. She wiped the sweat that had pooled near her hairline; a vexing stickiness that threatened to fuzz her edges up. There, she thought. And all without a hitch.
The day only got worse when He returned. He was in a foul mood for whatever reason, and had done a one-hundred and eighty degree turn from the fun-loving and easygoing persona He embodied the previous evening. Suddenly, the Girl was messy. She couldn’t clean up after herself or get dressed fast enough. She was being inconsiderate of His time, because He had plans for today. She began to tell Him that He could do some of that without her, but one look from Him and the words died on her tongue. She didn’t speak again unless He asked her a direct question, which ended up not happening often.
For the past two hours, she had been forced to play with the children of His friends. Their ever sticky fingers, snot-filled noses, and big, inquisitive eyes always made her fidgety. She would’ve rather eaten hot cement than play with kids her age. For one, they were always dumber than she was. This wasn’t an attempt of hers to feel superior; it was a fact. Like the sky being blue, or two times two being four. Second, all of the girls wanted to play with Barbie dolls and all of the boys wanted to wrestle or throw a ball down the lawn. Neither activity attracted her in the slightest. Third? They asked too many questions.
“Where’s your mom?”
“How come you don’t live with your dad all the time?”
“What does ‘divorce’ mean?”
They asked her things she didn’t quite understand herself, and it made her feel subatomic. With each inquiry, she shrank an inch…two inches…three inches…until she became the size of an ant. She tried to not let her discomfort show on her face, but she didn't think they would stop asking things even if she did. She was half-heartedly walking her Barbie down the picnic table and pretending to listen to the other girl’s outlandish narrative when He waved her over. She took a deep breath before she started walking, but she couldn’t remember ever letting it out.
She looked up and around at all of the age-worn faces of the men He called friends. They were clad in various shades of polo tees, khaki shorts, and brand-name sneakers. Some were bald, some were in the process of balding, and only one still had a full head of hair. Attempts were made to hide this through the use of ball caps and visors, but to no avail. She knew what they were. Even though they were smiling down at her, she had the strangest urge to burst into tears. She felt His hand wrap around her shoulder and pat her proudly.
“Here she is.”
She gave a shy wave to the faces surrounding her. One of them put their hand out to shake, and even though she didn’t want to touch him she did it anyway. The man’s hand was clammy, and she fought the urge to rub her hand against her denim shorts. She gave him what she thought was a smile, but it must’ve looked more like a grimace. She was never good at acting like she was happy when she wasn’t. Not like He was. Before she could squeeze out another word, He began His stories. Her grandmama told her that she couldn’t call Him a liar, because she was a child and children don’t get to call adults liars. She complied, but that didn’t mean that this rule made any sense to her. He was a liar. Why should she act as if He wasn’t?
She kept her mouth shut as He began his tale. He created fantasies about how well she did in school, how good she was at sports (she wasn’t), how good she was at being creative (she was), how many fictional awards she had won, and how many competitions she’d placed first in. It was always such a sight for her to see Him in action. She constantly wondered how He came up with the things He did, what little details He threw in there to make it more believable. However, she was never entirely sure if His audience truly thought Him truthful. They seemed, at the very least, to entertain His wild fantasies and abet his pride, and were always polite enough to stroke His ego for an adequate amount of time.
When He was finished, she politely answered the shallow and useless questions from His friends, and was nonverbally excused to return to her rightful place with the other children. Air pushed through her nostrils as she released the breath she’d been holding; her shoulders fell, and the temperature subsequently lowered. She was okay. She got through it.
…
She’d done something wrong when they were in front of His friends. Said the wrong school name, maybe, or let the wrong piece of information slip. He wouldn’t say it to her face, but He let her know in other ways. She felt it in the hardness of His gaze, the frigidity with which His body moved around her. She’d done something wrong, she just knew it.
After she was finally released from playing with the children, He told her their plans for the rest of the day. They were going on a hike, then to dinner before heading to the game. She knew she had done something He didn’t like because He started speaking in imperative sentences. If He was in a good mood, He’d phrase things in questions to give her the illusion of choice. He was more democratic when He felt good. When He was in a bad mood, the reign of autocracy began. He made commands. He gave direct orders. If she didn’t follow them, then…
She got dressed in three minutes flat—her fastest time yet. She didn’t want to give Him a reason to make this last day and a half any harder than it had to be. Anyway, she thought, He’d definitely be in a better state of mind by the time they got to the game. She needed Him to be. The beginning of the trail was easy. It was mostly flat, and the sun was out but there was a cool breeze that didn’t make the heat too stifling. She was keeping up with Him, even though his legs were three times as long as hers. The inhaler her mama packed with her stayed unused in the front pocket of her black drawstring gym bag. She surprisingly felt good about the way the day was going. Maybe she’d be able to ease Him a little bit.
She was wrong. Towards the second half of the hike, the altitude increased, which meant that her lung capacity decreased. She slowed down almost immediately, which she cursed herself for doing. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She fished her inhaler out of her bag, wrapped her lips around the opening, and pumped out the reliable magic called Albuterol that always made it easier to exist. At the sound of the device releasing the medication, she heard the turn of His New Balance sneakers crunch on the dirt path.
“What are you doing? We’re almost done.”
“I needed my inhaler.”
He rolled his eyes at the statement, then shook His head in the customary combination of disappointment and mild annoyance.
“Your mama has convinced you that you need that thing.”
“But…I can’t breathe?”
She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but her words always lost their certainty when they were spoken to Him.
“Nobody can, sweetie. It’s the altitude. You can’t just…give up, or fall on a crutch when something is hard. You gotta learn how to move through it.”
He huffed again in frustration as He stared at her, shaking His head with mock pity.
“Your mama spoils you too much. What you really need is some exercise. Come on, catch up.”
Before she could respond, He turned back around and continued to walk. She took one last puff of her inhaler, then mustered up the energy to catch up to Him. Just one more day, she said to herself. It was the only comfort she could give herself in the moment, and the only comfort she’d get at all for the remainder of the weekend.
Dinner was worse. She didn’t even get to look at the menu.
“She’ll have a house salad with ranch, and the grilled chicken with brown rice and broccoli. Thanks.”
He snapped up the sheet of paper and thrust it towards the waitress without another word. He was immersed in whatever was happening on His cell phone, His brows furrowed in concentration towards the illuminated screen. The waitress, much younger than Him but also much older than Girl was, gave her a toothy grin as she pointed slightly to her t-shirt.
“You goin’ to the game tonight?”
She nodded. The woman smiled, the tattoo above her eyebrow lifting with the rest of her jovial features.
“I went there. Go Gators!” She gave her a fist bump, and headed over to take another table’s order. Girl grabbed her glass of water and sipped silently. He continued to ignore her for the rest of the meal.
She still doesn’t remember the ride to the game, or the game itself, really. Not who won, or by how many points. She remembered the sour taste in her mouth, which definitely meant that she had thrown up sometime before or during. Every time she tried to conjure up an image, her visions came up blank. Whether that was more for His memory’s protection or for her own peace of mind, she still didn’t know.
iii. sunday
The weight crushing her shoulders seemed to decrease significantly as they passed the deep emerald Florida State Line sign. The big, ivory letters and dull metal symbolized not only the distance she felt from the physical location, but also the place in her mind that it made her go to. He didn’t ask her to be His navigator for the trip back, and she didn’t volunteer her services.
“You’re just like your mama, you know that?”
It was meant to be an insult. It always was. The comparison wasn’t unfamiliar to her. He always said it to her when she got on His nerves, or if He thought her personality wasn’t agreeable to His current goals. She was too quiet, but also too assertive, and her stubbornness was impossible to deal with. This familiar sentence never bothered her the way that He wanted it to. If she could only be half the person her mama was, she’d be grateful for it. When no reply came out of her, He huffed and puffed, turning the volume up on the radio. She hid her smug smile behind her latest novel as they sped down Interstate 95.
Shannon called them when they stopped to get something to eat. He let her order what she wanted this time–as if He couldn’t care less about what she did anymore. He put on His act for Shannon though, and she remembered wondering if her father’s girlfriend knew when He was doing it like Girl did. She didn’t think so, but only because Shannon seemed like the type of person to believe everything you told her. Not that she was dumb or anything, but some people are just lucky enough to have that mindset. The one that assumed that people were fundamentally good, always doing things from sincere motives and for the betterment of everyone around them. She remembers being jealous of people like that.
“Hey! How was the game?”
He put on His best voice, twisted with sickeningly sweet faux enthusiasm. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes as she listened to the woman prattle on on speakerphone. She greeted her on the phone, exchanging niceties and playing the part of the good little girl that she always did so well. Shannon yapped on and on about how great Hawaii was, how fantastic her son and his new wife were doing, and how she couldn’t wait to take them with her next time.
“Maybe we can go for Christmas or New Year’s!”
Girl and He looked at each other for just a split second. Any shorter and either of them would’ve missed it. A million words contained within a single look.
“Yeah, maybe.”
One of them said it, but she couldn’t remember who. She thought about how that was the last time she felt so connected to Him. As if they had finally gotten on one accord; that they agreed this was the end of something. She thought it was something they both realized in that same moment, but as she looked back on it years later she came to a different conclusion. Like maybe it was the moment that He had finally let her in on the bit.
…
She noticed something was different after they spoke to Shannon. Her mention of the future rattled Him for some reason, and she couldn’t understand why. When He passed His exit towards the usual meeting place, He gave her a quick look before returning His eyes back to the road.
“I’m taking you back to your mama’s. That okay with you?”
She couldn’t make herself do anything but nod. Her grandmama mentioned this to her on Friday, but she still held out a foolish hope that her personal pit of inferno would end sooner than she expected. It never did. He dropped the camper off at the storage unit He and Shannon shared, and strode over to His white, two-seater convertible with her bags in His hands. She almost had to skip to keep up with His pace, but climbed into the passenger seat with ease. He turned towards her with a smile that she can only remember as vaguely despondent.
“Pretty cool, huh? Thought I’d dust her off today.”
He pressed a glossy, black button to put the top down and got back on the highway. As He bobbed and weaved through the lanes, the sound of His revved engine intertwined with the shrieking glee of her laughter, she felt like maybe they could be like every other father and daughter. He had His moments, sure, but so did everyone. She’d give Him another chance, and He’d take it gratefully. This would be it. The thing that would finally change things for the better. This was her favorite delusion; that she had finally gained the power to make Him love her.
The perennial street signs cascaded through her vision as he whipped into the neighborhood. Everything was as exactly as she had left it–cozy, well-worn, and belonging to her and her alone. It was an instant signal sent to her brain that she seemed to be waiting eons for: You’re okay. You did it. He slowly pulled His car up next to the mailbox, He was never closer than three inches to the driveway. He looped her backpack through her shoulders and rolled her suitcase to the edge of the pavement.
“Okay. You got everything?”
She nodded. He took a deep breath before He began; she watched the tension tighten around His growing beer belly, then loosen when He let it go. She felt the shadow of the shoe darken over her head before it dropped completely.
“Look. If you wanna see me, you call me, okay?”
She almost, almost laughed. But she didn’t. She understood the implication within His words. They both knew that she wouldn’t call Him, and that He wouldn’t either. How funny it was that the person who showed her what it meant to be a prisoner in her own body should give her her first memory of choice. By putting the decision in her hands, He got away scot free. No one to take responsibility for the lack of their relationship except for her. She’s the one who wouldn’t call, not the other way around.
It was something that she’d express anger over years later. To leave that decision in the hands of a person who hadn’t passed elementary school yet was a gross manipulation of His power over her. However, in that moment, she felt as if He’d just given her the key to the kingdom. She nodded, and turned towards the open garage door, almost bursting at the seams over her good news. The pale silver of her mama’s truck glistened in the sunlight, and her body eased at the knowledge of knowing that her favorite person was near. A breath that she’d never have to hold.
She got to the back door, her fingers hovered over the button to close the garage. When she turned to get one more glance of Him, her father, she’d found nothing. He was already gone, and in more ways than one. Her mama greeted her at the door, the familiar smile mirrored hers as they wrapped their arms around each other. She pulled back, still beaming at her.
“Guess what?”