Something cool like a sundae?
asks Monica. ’Cause you can count me in! Let me know what time if you’re going, okay? I’ll even bring the candles. She comes over.
Gives me a hug.
A long hug.
Long enough
to make me squirm,
hoping Dad doesn’t
notice and take it
the wrong way.
Which would be the correct way.
But he’s too busy
sloppy kissing Zelda
to notice anyway.
Let’s blow this joint! orders Syrah, and Monica reluctantly lets go. Zelda, on the other hand, seems happy enough to disconnect.
Trouble in paradise?
I hope not. Even though
she’s only been tethered
to Dad for a few short
months, she’s an anchor,
holding us in place here.
Just to be safe, I offer again, “Dad, if you want to take Zelda home and watch
the game, I’m good with
it. We can do a movie
and dinner in town later.”
He thinks it over, but finally says, Nah. I’d have to come back out and pick you up.
I’ve got a better idea. You girls go ahead. We’ll talk about dinner and give you a time.
Once the Others Leave
Dad tells me to get dressed, we’re going for a drive, and as I don a pair of loose-fitting jeans and my favorite camouflage tee, I can’t help but think about Zelda’s comment. Could Dad be taking us shopping for a used car?
Because that would make this birthday just about perfect.
A car that belongs to me.
How awesome would that be?
Not because of some grand
desire to hit the road and explore the country. I’ve already done that, and so if I inherited Dad’s wanderlust, it’s already been satisfied. But just the ability to drive myself to school, or home after practice, without asking for help or permission.
That, to me, defines freedom.
Not just the independence part, but also the ability to decide it’s time to go and find my own way home.
I’ve Been Old Enough
To get my license for a year now.
Everybody I know already has one.
That includes Monica, though she rarely gets to use it because she doesn’t own a car.
That’s been Dad’s excuse, too.
No vehicle to drive, why bother with all that paperwork?
But I’m pretty sure Dad wants to control how I come and go so he can inform my every decision.
To be honest,
I used to think that was okay.
I believed I needed a decent keeper, that independence was too much
responsibility.
It was easy, being told what to do.
But now that I’ve had a taste of free will, my appetite
for self-discovery is growing.
I’ll never figure out who I am and what I want from life if I keep relying on Dad’s input.
Time to leap
from the nest,
experience flight, even if it means a crash landing or two.
I don’t say anything like that to Dad, of course.
He enjoys his role as overseer.
But maybe,
if I’ve played my cards perfectly, he’ll loosen the reins and let me try to find my flight path.
But as It Turns Out
That’s not exactly what Dad’s got
in mind. In fact, it’s not even close.
He grabs a six-pack of Budweiser
from the fridge, tells me to get
behind the wheel of his LeSabre.
You drive. You can use the practice.
That has me going for a few, but
now he tells me to turn up country
rather than toward town. “Where’re we going?” I ask, still hoping he’ll tell me to look at a car. Instead, he says,
We haven’t taken a nice long ride in a while, and I’ve been wanting to check out this place called Indigeny Reserve. It’s apple season, you know.
Plus I’ve got a hankering for cider.
Well, at least he’s letting me drive.
Once in a while when I was little,
he used to sit me on his lap and have me steer while he worked the pedals.
Then later, when my legs grew long enough to reach the gas and brake,
on way-out-of-the-way roads, usually
dirt, he’d let me handle it all. So I mostly know what I’m doing. “When can I get
my license?” I nudge. “I can pass the test.”
Yes, I know. You just need my signature on the application. You’ve been saying the same thing for months. But since you don’t happen to own a car— “But Zelda said . . .” I realize suddenly maybe I should’ve kept quiet about it.
Zelda said what? Open-container laws be damned, he pops a beer.
Too late to turn back. “Oh, kind of in passing she mentioned you’ve been
looking at used cars. Guess I assumed— or hoped, really—it was for me.”
He splashes into a big pond of anger,
comes up stuttering. Bigmouthed bitch.
Damn, Damn, Damn
I’ve done it now. Last thing
I wanted to do was get him
angry at Zelda. “Don’t be mad, Dad. She’s just excited for me.
If she was wrong about your
intentions, it’s no big deal.”
He slurps his beer, reels
himself in. Look, Air, I’d like to get you a car, but I haven’t been able to find an affordable vehicle worthy of the investment. I can do the labor if something goes wrong, but parts are expensive, plus there’s insurance and gas.
Way to explode my zeppelin,