Last night Bruce talked in therapy words. He said, “I was abused.” He used the term domestic violence. These aren’t terms I can relate to. I’ve lived in an abuse-free domestic-violence-free lie for sixteen years. And yet I live in a house with both a victim and abuser. Until I was ten I lived in a house with two victims and an abuser.
If I think about it too hard, I end up in the meat grinder again. Earl said to me today that the truth will set me free. I don’t feel free yet.
MEXICO—Day Six III: Tooth Fairy
Mom and Dad went to look for Bruce. Day 6—last day. I was sunburned and stuck inside watching Mexican television. They told me not to open the door for anybody. They told me to lock the door with the inside door lock that nobody could open from the outside.
But when Bruce came about ten minutes after they left, I let him in.
“Did you tell Mom what I told you?” he asked.
He was angry and I didn’t know what to say. “Maybe?”
“About them getting a divorce?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
He sighed. “God, Sarah. Mom told Dad. He yelled at me so bad.”
“I’m really sorry. It just slipped out when Mom and I were taking care of my sunburn. I don’t know. It just slipped.”
Bruce plopped on the couch next to me.
“I don’t want them to get a divorce,” I said. “They’re my parents.”
Bruce didn’t say anything.
“I’m really sorry,” I said again.
“It’s okay. I just know I’m never coming back home now. I can’t live with him.”
“You’ll still come home for holidays like last year,” I said.
“No.”
“What do you mean no? Of course you will.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
“After this, I can’t come home.”
“It’ll be fine. Dad’s just mad because the housekeeper stole his ring.”
“I took the rings,” Bruce said.
I looked at him hard for a few seconds. He didn’t look guilty or ashamed. He looked satisfied somehow. “You?”
“I probably shouldn’t tell you. You’ll tell them.”
“I will not!”
“Just don’t tell Mom. Or Dad. It was about time someone stopped pretending around here. I’m just mad I was the one who had to do it.”
“Mom and Dad are out looking for you,” I said.
“I guess they’ll find me here, then.”
“I didn’t get to go bungee jumping.”
He looked at my shoulders. “Wow. Your sunburn is bad, man.”
“Mom says the blisters will drain. Gross, right?”
“Totally gross.”
“Why did Dad yell at you if he’s the one who told you that they were getting a divorce?”
“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about them,” he said. “There’s even things you don’t know about me.”
I turned off the TV. “So tell me.”
“He’ll kill me.”
“He won’t kill you.”
“He could.”
“Anyway, we’ll be home tomorrow and everything will go back to normal.”
“I’m moving. I told you.”
“To Oregon?”
“Probably.”
“Tomorrow?”
“As soon as I can.”
I started to cry a little. “It’s dinnertime. I hope they come back soon,” I said. “I’m hungry.”
“You just want tortilla chips.”
“I wish you weren’t moving away. It’ll just be me and Mom and Dad. I won’t have anyone to hang out with this summer.”
“Do you know what I think?” Bruce asked. But right when he said it, Mom’s knock came at the door and Bruce shut up and got real tense and I got up and undid the lock on the door so Mom could come in.
She took one look at Bruce and shook her head. She produced a huge handful of single-packaged Earl Grey teabags and told me I had to have another tea bath for my sunburn. She said we were meeting Dad at the restaurant. She said he had things to take care of before we left the next morning.
? ? ?
Last dinner in Mexico. You know what happened at the end. You know we all told Bruce to shut up because he was so mad. But before then, I got to eat a lot of empanadas (actually good) and taquitos (mostly flavorless) and piles of tortilla chips. Mom and Dad kept drinking fancy Mexican drinks. The drink of the day was a pi?a colada, Dad’s favorite.
During dinner, we didn’t talk much and it was awkward. My back was on fire and freezing cold at the same time. Mom put so much aloe on it that it never dried.
Finally, Mom said, “So, let’s talk about our great vacation. Who has memories?”
“I do!” I said. That’s when I talked about the fish and how they were my friends and how we said hello to each other every day and how I’d remember them forever. Complete lies. I have no idea why I told them.
Mom and Dad said some stuff about how nice that was.
Bruce said, “They aren’t your friends. All the people here see them.”
Mom and Dad told Bruce to shut up. I said, “Yeah. Shut up, Bruce.”
Bruce said, “Fish don’t like humans, Sarah. Not even you.”
“I think they like me,” I said.
“You’re delusional,” he said.
“She’s ten,” Mom said. “Can’t you just pretend to have a good time?”
“Why pretend?”
“Jesus Christ, son. We brought you here. We paid for the whole week. Why are you such a pain in the ass?”