I\u2019m wondering why I even bought him the slippers\u2014extra wide, tan suede, memory foam, brand name Old Man Romeo, for the ridiculous price of $29.95 at Wal-Mart of all places. It\u2019s never below 40 degrees in Arizona, and right now, standing on his doorstep at four in the afternoon, it\u2019s a sauna-like 94. But it\u2019s my Uncle Tony, and the last time I saw him, he was standing in our carport barefoot smoking a Marlboro, the lights from the police cars throbbing and shimmering in our driveway like a disco. His heels were bloody, his toenails, long and thick and some black. And I thought, even though I was only 10, that a man should take better care of his feet.<\/p>\n
I survey the cul-de-sac of aluminum-siding double-wides as I knock. Where I stand, a silver Honda scooter rests in the driveway and an orange tomcat the size of a carry-on luggage lounges on the porch mat. Behind me, a voice booms like a PA system from a minor-league hockey game.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho the hell are you?\u201d<\/p>\n
I turn around and there he is, wearing a track suit, sunglasses, and slide sandals like he\u2019s in the witness-protection program, at the end of the sidewalk by my rental car.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s me, Raymond,\u201d I say, holding up the box as an offering but also protection. \u201cI brought you some slippers.”<\/p>\n
And just like that, we\u2019re sitting on the deck behind the house drinking Michelob, Uncle Tony thundering in and out of the sliding door with offerings.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou gotta be hungry\u2014they don\u2019t feed you nothing on the plane these days.\u201d He drops an party-size bag of Lays potato chips on the weather-beaten plastic deck table. \u201cYou want a sandwich? I got salami and cheese, some mustard. How bout just cheese, just like when you was little? I got one of those grills\u2014George Foreman\u2014I cook everything on that, my chicken, my steaks. My veggies.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pauses during this avalanche of words to slap me on my back. \u201cJesus, Ray, twenty years! You ain\u2019t come out here to tell me your mother died, have you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d I sip the Michelob. My therapist said I didn\u2019t have to bring up anything if I didn\u2019t want. But then, why else come?<\/p>\n
\u201cI, uh, had this work thing up in Phoenix\u00bestylist conference.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d Tony raises his eyebrows. \u201cLike hairdressers or something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly.\u201d I nod. \u201cAnyway, Aunt Debbie said you\u2019d settled out here, so I thought I\u2019d come see you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDebbie,\u201d Tony laughs like it\u2019s the funniest thing that\u2019s ever been said. \u201cThank God she\u2019s a goddamn busybody, huh? Bless her heart, she\u2019s the only one who still talks to me. I never thought you ever would.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stares at me, grinning. There was a time when I thought Uncle Tony was handsome, but it was a time when I didn\u2019t know much. When I was young, he reminded me of John Travolta when he was in Grease<\/em>; now, he looks and sounds more like an old Andrew Dice Clay\u2014wide cheeks, small forehead but with a big, silvery pompadour to even out the proportions.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you look very fancy\u2014very dapper.\u201d Tony inhales quickly, still smiling, and I watch him take in my skin-tight button-up Oxford, slim-cut lavender shorts, and Sperry top-siders.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s hot out here.\u201d I look away, pushing up my shirt sleeves.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t like this weather?\u201d He does a panoramic of the backyard with his hand, as if this somehow makes his point, but all I see is a bunch of double-wides bunched together, all with beaten-down lawn furniture, snaky hoses in brown grass, bug lights. \u201cWhen I\u2019m home, this is my little slice of heaven. I\u2019m glad you caught me\u2014I\u2019m taking a load out to Connecticut on Thursday.\u201d<\/p>\n Tony\u2019s sister, that goddamn busybody Debbie\u2014told me that he\u2019s been a long-haul trucker for years; maybe that\u2019s why it was easy for me to make this side trip. There was a good chance he wouldn\u2019t be home, and I could feel good about trying.<\/p>\n \u201cSo try on your slippers.\u201d I nudge the box, resting on the table, toward him. \u201cI got a receipt.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA receipt\u2014you don\u2019t know how special this is to me.\u201d He lowers himself gingerly in the plastic deck chair\u2014more for the chair\u2019s sake, I suspect, than his own. \u201cI ain\u2019t gotten a present from nobody for a long time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot even your lady friends?\u201d I joke. I know, as soon as it comes out of my mouth, it\u2019s the wrong thing to say, and just as quickly, I\u2019m bent over my Michelob, peeling at the label.<\/p>\n We sit in silence for a moment before I hear the rustle of tissue paper. When I look up, he\u2019s angling one of the suede slippers over a corn on his big toe.<\/p>\n \u201cIf they\u2019re too small\u2026\u201d I start.<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re perfect.\u201d He\u2019s standing up, admiring them as I press the cold bottle to my face. \u201cI\u2019ve never had a more perfect present.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n When I was ten, when Tony was in-between jobs, he babysat me and my nine-year-old sister, Joelle, on the nights our mom worked at the Sky-High Cocktail Bar. Two or three evenings a week, Tony would arrive at 6:00 and, if my mother hadn\u2019t placated us with bowls of cereal or leftover pizza, Tony would pull out the frying pan and whip up scrambled eggs or grilled cheese sandwiches.<\/p>\n \u201cDid you do your homework?\u201d He cooked with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a can of Coors in his left hand and whisper-sang Van Halen songs with sexual innuendos that completely eclipsed mine and Joelle\u2019s comprehension. Then we\u2019d pile onto the couch and watch \u201cMelrose Place,\u201d Tony\u2019s favorite show.<\/p>\n \u201cThat Kimberley, she\u2019s one calculating bitch.\u201d Tony shook his head as she plotted Michael\u2019s death with the flighty and impulsive Sydney. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t kick her out of bed, though.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI kicked Raymond out of bed once.\u201d Joelle nodded sympathetically. \u201cBut that\u2019s because he farts a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShut up, you lying bitch.\u201d I grabbed a handful of Joelle\u2019s hair, the color of a penny, and pulled.<\/p>\n \u201cHey.\u201d Tony reached around Joelle, who was nestled in his armpit, to whack me on the side of the head. \u201cLanguage. Jesus, where do you learn that shit? School?\u201d<\/p>\n Tony was a punctual and adequate minder, a perfect complement to our lower middle-class childhood of copious television, lack of vegetables, and secondhand cigarette smoke. I couldn\u2019t imagine evenings without his volcanic perspiration, Drakkar Noir cologne, his encyclopedic knowledge about grades of gold jewelry, and his interest in ensembles of young, single people on network television. And, like most young, self-absorbed children, I imagined we were Tony\u2019s world.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cSorry I\u2019m late.\u201d Tony stepped into the doorway one afternoon, I, still holding the phone trying to reach my mom at work to tell her Tony had gone missing. Behind him, like a magic trick, stood a woman. \u201cI had to pick Veronica up at work.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHi.\u201d She wore a fringed jean jacket and white boots, her hair so traumatized by styling the ends split like tulips. She looked at us from the porch the way my mom did the women with religious pamphlets who often showed up Saturday mornings on our doorstep. \u201cI\u2019m Tony\u2019s friend.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThese are the kids.\u201d Tony rubbed my head like a dog. \u201cWell, Darlene\u2019s kids. But we\u2019re like a family, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cUncle Tony, I\u2019m starving.\u201d Joelle picked her nose in an attempt to distract, I guessed, from her hunger.<\/p>\n \u201cYou said you were going to take me to Secrets.\u201d Veronica frowned at Tony.<\/p>\n \u201cYou gotta work tonight.\u201d Tony unhooked Joelle\u2019s little coat with the unicorn on the back off its hanger near the door. \u201cRay, put your boots on. We\u2019re going out to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n Twenty minutes later, Joelle and I sat across from Tony and Veronica at Denny\u2019s, studying laminated menus as Veronica dug out her beaded cigarette holder.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy didn\u2019t we go to a place that served drinks at least?\u201d Veronica had not stopped frowning since we piled into Tony\u2019s Trans Am and fish-tailed across the icy February streets here.<\/p>\n \u201cVeronica is my girlfriend.\u201d Tony draped his arm over her shoulder. Her eyes wandered toward the ceiling. \u201cOne day, you two are going to have some cousins to play with.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWon\u2019t we be too old then?\u201d I questioned. Even then, I was a stickler for critical thinking.<\/p>\n \u201cI want the spaghetti and meatballs.\u201d Veronica pushed her menu to the edge of the table and scooted out of the booth. \u201cAnd a ginger ale. I\u2019m gonna go smoke.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve been going together for a month or so.\u201d Tony rubbed a patch of stubble on his chin after she\u2019d left. \u201cI think she\u2019s the one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe one what?\u201d Joelle worked furiously on the paper placemat with a green crayon. \u201cAnd where do you go?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe loves her, stupid.\u201d I picked up my own crayon, blue, and drew a box, reinforcing the sides, making them thicker and thicker until just a blue box remained.<\/p>\n \u201cGive me back my scarf.\u201d Joelle tugged at the purple chiffon scarf around my neck.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy are you wearing a scarf, anyway, sport?\u201d Tony sipped at his water. I glanced outside the restaurant, where Veronica leaned on the hood of a car that wasn\u2019t Tony\u2019s, talking to a guy in a leather jacket.<\/p>\n \u201cThe guys in RATT wear scarves,\u201d I say after a beat. MTV\u2019s Headbanger\u2019s Ball was something that Joelle and I watched on the weekends, mostly because our other babysitter, Aunt Debbie, fell asleep on the couch with it on. We weren\u2019t fans of the music, but the amalgamation of leather and spandex and chiffon into a single outfit opened doors in my mind that I didn\u2019t know existed.<\/p>\n \u201cOn their heads, maybe.\u201d Tony scrunched his eyebrows, glancing out the window. His face set like cement. \u201cWho the hell is that guy with Veronica?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cBest steak in the desert, was I right?\u201d Tony has pushed the passenger seat in my rental Hyundai all the way back. He holds a cigarette in his hand, ready to light it up the second I pull in his driveway. \u201cAll the big-wigs\u2014the politicians and football players\u2014go there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou really shouldn\u2019t have.\u201d The waist of my already-snug shorts digs into my guts as I cut the ignition. \u201cAt least let me buy breakfast tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAs long as you\u2019re here, you\u2019re not paying for a thing.\u201d Tony waves me off. \u201cI ain\u2019t got nobody I\u2019m spending money on.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing wrong with spending it on yourself.\u201d Outside the car in the darkness, the heat feels ominous, like a heavy breath on my neck. Down the street, a screen door creaks open.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m just waiting to die, Ray.\u201d His cigarette glows alive in his mouth. \u201cMight as well spend it all before I go.\u201d<\/p>\n Tony exhales, looking into the night, the bruised sky and small, faint moon. Suddenly he calls and whistles \u201cGizmo!\u201d and the orange tabby runs up the porch steps with a speed that belies its size.<\/p>\n \u201cI never took you for a cat person,\u201d I say as Tony unlocks the door.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d He grins, cigarette dangling out of his mouth. \u201cCheck this out.\u201d<\/p>\n In the living room he lumbers over to an ancient cabinet stereo and picks up a framed photo, holding it out to me. In it, Tony is sitting next to Santa Claus, Gizmo on Santa\u2019s lap.<\/p>\n \u201cI got this done at the PetSmart. Gizmo is my family. Except you.\u201d He looks at me. He picks up another frame, in it my school picture from third grade, the last picture he has of me. But I reach for another\u2014one of Joelle in second grade. Her teeth are too big for her soft, freckled face, her eyes wide and brown. In her hair is a white plastic barrette with a duck on it.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re my only family, too, really.\u201d I put Joelle\u2019s photo back.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t talk to your mother anymore?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe had some differences in worldview.\u201d I shrug. \u201cSo she stopped talking to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy, because you\u2019re a faggot?\u201d Tony holds up my photo as if proof. \u201cI\u2019m sorry\u2014I\u2019m mean homosexual?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe was never the same after everything that happened.\u201d I look for Gizmo. I want something to hug. \u201cI guess I couldn\u2019t be the person she needed me to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNone of that was your fault, though\u2014it was mine.\u201d Tony puts the photo back on the stereo and picks up his new slippers, which sit by the door next to his black Caterpillar boots. \u201cWhat are you drinking? You like vodka?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s like ninety degrees out.\u201d I watch Tony slip on the Old Man Romeos. \u201cYou\u2019ll sweat right through those.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a breeze outside. You like vodka cranberry?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVodka tonic\u2019s fine.\u201d I rub the back of my moist neck and watch Tony rummage through the fridge from the doorway of the kitchen.<\/p>\n \u201cHow about a vodka lemonade?\u201d He\u2019s holding a lime, a container of lemonade-flavor Crystal Light, and, inexplicitly, a jar of salsa.<\/p>\n \u201cDoes it bother you, the gay part?\u201d I ask as he picks things up around the dark kitchen like he\u2019s preparing to evacuate for a hurricane. \u201cWe don\u2019t all drink fruity cocktails.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t?\u201d He stops and looks at me. \u201cI love \u2018em. The drinks I mean\u2014not the gays. I mean, the gays are all right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust all right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLet me tell you something.\u201d He cuts a lime on the cutting board and pulls a knife out of the drawer. \u201cAll them showers at the rest stops for truckers\u2014they\u2019re full of guys looking to stick their dick in something or the other way around. Someone was telling me that, in the Middle East, men have sex with each other all the time when they\u2019re ain\u2019t no women around, and nobody considers themselves gay.\u201d<\/p>\n Before I can respond, he waves the knife in the air to make a point: \u201cYou know what I do when I\u2019m at the rest stops, Ray? Not looking for no guys. I\u2019m not even looking for women. I\u2019m looking for Joelle.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s cheating on me, I know it.\u201d Tony lit a cigarette by the frying pan as Joelle\u2019s cheese sandwich sizzled. \u201cI called her apartment twice but her roommate says she\u2019s taking a nap.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy couldn\u2019t she be taking a nap?\u201d I sat at the table in my mother\u2019s bathrobe. Although I claimed to feel under the weather, mostly I just like the color\u2014rose\u2014and the feel of the chenille on my arms and back. \u201cWe take naps all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAdults don\u2019t take naps.\u201d Tony took several drags of the cigarette in succession. \u201cShe\u2019s lying to me\u2014I bet she\u2019s at the CatCall right now dancing for Mr. Monte Carlo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s his name?\u201d Joelle asks from the doorway. \u201cIs my grilled cheese burning?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo.\u201d Tony\u2019s tone was mocking. \u201cThat\u2019s not his name, that\u2019s the name of his car. Shit\u2014yes, your grilled cheese is burning.\u201d<\/p>\n He slid the spatula into the smoky pan and retrieved Joelle\u2019s sandwich, black on one side.<\/p>\n \u201cIf I could just go over there and prove it.\u201d Pinching the sandwich between his fingers, he dropped it into our trash can. \u201cBut she knows I\u2019m here babysitting, so she\u2019s gold, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe could go with you, Uncle Tony.\u201d I offered. \u201cWe could just sit in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t let you do that.\u201d Tony shook his head. \u201cI don\u2019t know what\u2019s going to happen if I find her in there with Mr. Monte Carlo.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou could take us to McDonald\u2019s and we can eat in the car,\u201d Joelle argued. \u201cI can bring my Nancy Drew book in case I get bored. You ruined my grilled cheese\u2014you owe me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour argument is sound.\u201d Now he nodded. \u201cBut your mother would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you two. Plus, you\u2019ll get grease and crap all over my seats.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re not kids anymore.\u201d I stood up and disrobed, showing the scrawny chest of a 10-year-old. \u201cWe can sit in the car and eat McDonald\u2019s like adults.\u201d<\/p>\n Tony rubbed his temples so hard I thought they might catch on fire, like Joelle\u2019s cheese sandwich. Then he clenched his fists like a superhero doing epic battle with the villain in his brain. He took off my mom\u2019s apron and hung neatly it by the cupboard door.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cDo not leave this car.\u201d Tony mashed his cigarette into the ashtray. \u201cPut all your wrappers in the McDonald\u2019s bag and hold it in your lap\u2014do not let it touch the car, okay?\u201d<\/p>\n From the backseat Joelle spread a napkin on her lap and set about opening her Happy Meal.<\/p>\n \u201cIf something happens, just keep honking the horn until I come out.\u201d Tony stood beside the passenger door now. He took a few deep breaths, shook out his arms, and walked into the concrete bar with a pink awning. In the window, a neon cat simulated a meowing sound. The windows themselves were tinted dark.<\/p>\n \u201cThat doesn\u2019t look like the bar mom works at,\u201d Joelle said from the back seat.<\/p>\n She was right. Although, in retrospect, I wouldn\u2019t call the Sky-High Cocktail Bar classy, it wasn\u2019t this place. Mostly men seemed to go inside, albeit a few women in fake furs and high heels.<\/p>\n \u201cEat your cheeseburger,\u201d I said, dipping a chicken nugget into my barbecue sauce.<\/p>\n \u201cRaymond, what does \u2018titian\u2019 mean?\u201d Joelle asked ten minutes later.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know\u2014use it in a sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNancy, an attractive titian blond, grinned up at her friend<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, Nancy Drew.\u201d I sipped my drink. \u201cI don\u2019t know, steely?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy would she have hair like steel?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan\u2019t you just look it up in the dictionary when you get home?\u201d<\/p>\n Joelle was silent for another ten minutes, during which time I pondered asking her to read her book to me, I was so bored, but Joelle was a laborious reader with a lot of non-sequiturs pondered aloud, so I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n \u201cRay, I have to pee.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou can hold it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I can\u2019t. And Uncle Tony said not to get anything on the seats.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJesus, you\u2019re so annoying.\u201d I looked out the window, spotting a bush at the end of the building. I didn\u2019t want to leave the Trans-Am, since Tony took the keys. But I could see her safely from the car. \u201cYou\u2019re going to have to go in that bush.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t.\u201d Joelle sounded like she was going to cry as I opened the door and slid out, pulling up the seat. \u201cI can\u2019t go out in public like you can. I don\u2019t have a wee-wee.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re going to go in that bush, or you\u2019re going to hold it until you get home.\u201d I stared at her. \u201cAnd throw away our trash in that can while you\u2019re over there.\u201d<\/p>\n Joelle climbed out carefully, squeezing her legs together as she stood. Then she wiggled across the asphalt toward the bush. I picked up her Nancy Drew book from where it lay opened, face down, on the back seat and flipped through the pages, looking for the black and white illustrations.<\/p>\n The door of the bar swung open, and Tony appeared, locked in a man sandwich. One man with a leather vest and handkerchief knotted over his head pulled at Tony\u2019s left arm, and another man behind me gripped him by the shoulders, pushing him forward.<\/p>\n \u201cI wasn\u2019t doing nothing\u2014she\u2019s the one cheating on me!\u201d Tony dug his new black boots into the concrete, hunching over as the men tried to dislodge him from the doorway.<\/p>\n \u201cI told you a thousand times, you can\u2019t touch the dancers,\u201d handkerchief man sad.<\/p>\n \u201cShe wasn\u2019t working!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDoesn\u2019t matter.\u201d Handkerchief man pulled at Tony\u2019s arm so hard I was afraid he was going to pop it out of its socket, but Tony wouldn\u2019t budge. I wasn\u2019t quite sure of his plan, but it looked like it involved flipping the man behind him over his shoulder like Chuck Norris. Just then, handkerchief man bent low and punched Tony in the stomach. I tossed Joelle\u2019s book in the car and joined the scrum, hitting handkerchief man in the ass with my fist.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t hurt my uncle!\u201d I screamed, and both men let go at once as if they\u2019d been tasered.<\/p>\n \u201cGet in the car, Ray.\u201d Tony dusted off the shoulders of his jacket as the men pondered their legal liability in light of the young witness before them. \u201cThis place hires a bunch of two-timing whores.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t ever come back here,\u201d handkerchief man warned. \u201cOr you\u2019ll have more than a tummy ache next time.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGet in the car, Ray\u2014what did I tell you?\u201d Tony\u2019s face was red and sweaty, and he walked a little hunched over.<\/p>\n \u201cJoelle had to pee,\u201d I explained, glancing toward the bush. \u201cJoelle, come on.\u201d<\/p>\n But there was no one crouched behind the bush. I ran over to the side of the building, ready to give her shit for wandering around, picking up interesting rocks whatever crap she always found on the ground, but she wasn\u2019t there, either.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know where she went,\u201d I choked up the words, my body feeling like it was turning inside out, as Tony staggered up.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the fuck did I tell you, Ray?\u201d Tony pushed me into the side of the building. \u201cAbout staying in the car?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s gone.\u201d In the kitchen I put my hand on Tony\u2019s shoulder, giving his knife hand a wide berth. \u201cShe\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know that.\u201d He turns back to the counter, slicing up a lime with a dexterity I didn\u2019t think he had in him. \u201cI watch these shows all the time when I\u2019m home\u2014Crime Stoppers and stuff\u2014you don\u2019t know all the girls who get taken for sex trafficking.\u201d<\/p>\n I remember the police arriving at the CatCall, Tony erupting when they told us we couldn\u2019t file a missing person\u2019s report until someone had been missing for more than 24 hours. I also remember him getting into a fight with Veronica, who\u2019d come outside the bar at some point to see what all the excitement was, which ended in him spitting on her and us peeling out, only for the police to show up again at our house hours later to arrest Tony for assault. It\u2019s one of the last images I have of Tony, standing in our carport barefoot, his feet rubbed raw from walking for miles in his new boots around town, looking for Joelle. Actually, it is<\/em> the last image I have of him, since Mom banned him from the house, from seeing us ever again.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think she\u2019s alive anymore.\u201d I sit at the deck table. \u201cAs much as I want it to be true, in my gut, I just don\u2019t think she is.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe bodies they found, they didn\u2019t match her dental records.\u201d Tony lights a cigarette as he paces on the deck. \u201cI\u2019m on the road forty weeks out of the year. I go places, I see people, talk to people\u2014I ain\u2019t never stopped looking.\u201d<\/p>\n I close my eyes. Sometimes, often, I imagine what Joelle would look like now\u2014what her voice would sound like, what she would\u2019ve majored in, assuming she went to college (her grades weren\u2019t great, but I also thought she needed glasses, something I\u2019d been bugging our mom about in the months before she went missing). I wonder about the man who took her, what he was thinking. If he\u2019s alive. The police interviewed everyone at the bar again and again, poured over scant spotty video camera footage from the gas station across the street, even the cold case detectives years later. How does a girl walk to a bush to pee and then disappear?<\/p>\n \u201cSometimes I just stand outside the restroom at the welcome centers, and I shout \u2018Joelle!\u2019 just to see if anybody looks up.\u201d Tony\u2019s glass is close to his lips, his eyes watery.<\/p>\n \u201cDoes anyone ever look up?\u201d I feel my eyes water too, tell myself it\u2019s the generous pour of the vodka.<\/p>\n \u201cOne lady did.\u201d Tony looks thoughtful. \u201cBut she was Chinese or something, so I know it wasn\u2019t her.\u201d<\/p>\n I spit out my drink, I\u2019m laughing so hard.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d I say, my stomach in stitches as I bend over. \u201cIt\u2019s not funny\u2026it\u2019s just\u2026the way you said it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI guess it did sound a little kooky,\u201d he agrees, trying to hold back a smile. \u201cAnd what if somehow it did turn out to be her?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think we\u2019re officially going to hell now.\u201d I empty the rest of my glass, deserving the burn that flares in my throat.<\/p>\n \u201cSo why did you come?\u201d Tony asks, frowning. Not in suspicion, but sadness.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know\u2014to see how you were.\u201d I shrug. Since I was thirteen, right after I took a bunch of my mom\u2019s Nembutals and had to have my stomach pumped at the hospital, I never thought about Tony, ever. Or Joelle, if I could help it. I never thought about anything. The same way Joelle disappeared, Raymond did, too, and Ray appeared in his place, a flamboyant, happy-go-lucky BA-in-commercial arts-turned-stylist. A stylist attending the Salon & Spa Expo conference in Phoenix, who happened to tell his Aunt Debbie, who happened to mention the conference\u2019s proximity to Tony. A stylist who watched Raymond, Joelle, and Tony spill out of his body, like an overturned drawer full of marbles. Who was having trouble putting them all back in.<\/p>\n \u201cI just hope you ain\u2019t never blamed yourself. I should\u2019ve never taken you two to the CatCall.\u201d Tony coughs for like five seconds and pats his thigh for Gizmo, who\u2019s looking at him in alarm from the corner of the deck. \u201cDon\u2019t worry\u2014daddy ain\u2019t going to kick yet.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t.\u201d I pick up the Stoli bottle and aim for my glass, splash the table a little.<\/p>\n This wasn\u2019t always true. And maybe it wasn\u2019t entirely true when I drove up to the house this afternoon. But now, I don\u2019t know. I\u2019ve blamed myself, Tony, my mother, the monster who took Joelle. But blame is a completely useless verb, noun, whatever. It doesn\u2019t change the past or the future. And yet the deck is stacked with them, sometimes the only cards.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s nice of you to say.\u201d Tears run like boulders down Tony\u2019s cheeks as he encases Gizmo\u2019s head with his hand. \u201cIt makes me feel like there\u2019s something to live for\u2014you and Joelle.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou should try to go on with your life.\u201d I hold the vodka glass with both hands, the perspiration from the glass dripping in my palms.<\/p>\n \u201cHow?\u201d Tony rolls Gizmo up his leg and onto his lap. \u201cI can\u2019t date\u2014once you start to get serious, how do you tell someone you lost your niece outside a titty bar?\u201d<\/p>\n I think of the men at bars with whom I\u2019ve gone home, always going to their place to have sex, giving them a fake number the morning after. The thought of bringing up Joelle with anyone is like resuscitating the dead, to have that zombie following you around again. Not that the zombie ever leaves you. But for years I\u2019ve been a zombie, too, because they don\u2019t feed on their own.<\/p>\n When I decided to see Tony, though, I packed Joelle\u2019s Nancy Drew book and, on the flight here, I opened it and read the word titian over and over and willed myself to be steely.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy don\u2019t you come on the next haul with me?\u201d Tony says after a minute. \u201cIt\u2019d be nice to catch up for real. We don\u2019t have to talk about all that stuff, you know. Just something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTo Connecticut?\u201d I laugh. \u201cYou snore like a power washer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI got one of those CPAP thingies now,\u201d he says. \u201cAnyway, I could just drop you home, on the way. Save you a flight back.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI already paid for the ticket,\u201d I answer, as if I\u2019m considering it. There is so much I could tell him that I haven\u2019t told anyone else, and him me. But feelings\u2014they\u2019re so much like blame\u2014another useless verb, noun whatever.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, I just thinking aloud\u2014spit-ballin\u2019.\u201d He crushes his empty box of Newports. \u201cI gotta get more cigarettes. Can you drive me to the 7-11?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can\u2019t.\u201d I feel unsteady just sitting in the chair. \u201cHow about the scooter?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou serious?\u201d Tony laughs, heavy and wet. \u201cYou wanna drive that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI want to ride on the back, I think.\u201d I put my palms on the table and slowly unfold myself to a standing position. \u201cIt goes like thirty, tops, right?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Thirty miles per hour in the open air without a helmet feels like ninety in the closed cabin of a car. I press my bare head against the top of Tony\u2019s back, to keep out of the stinging wind, and think about the stack of flyers I noticed in his living room before we left: MISSING: JOELLE ESPOSITO printed atop, her photo underneath. It\u2019d been xeroxed so many times she was an inkblot of a girl. A girl who could be anyone, nowhere and everywhere at once.<\/p>\n At the 7-11 I stand outside and wait, the heat so thick it\u2019s pressing me into place. Inside Tony jerks his head back, laughing at something the cashier says. I study his profile, think of what I could do with his hair, shaving the temples close but keeping his sideburns, losing the pompadour. I imagine us in Tony\u2019s rig, driving through Las Cruces, El Paso, Dallas, and we are moving away and toward things.<\/p>\n I hear the jingle of the door as I bend over the trashcan, throwing up all the marbles.<\/p>\n \u201cChrist, Raymond, you okay?\u201d I feel Tony\u2019s hands on my shoulders.<\/p>\n I shake my head. Tears burn my cheeks as I mouth the word titian over and over, into stench of my own vomit, willing myself to be steely.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" He cooked with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and a can of Coors in his left hand and whisper-sang Van Halen songs with sexual innuendos that completely eclipsed mine and Joelle\u2019s comprehension. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":15757,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[2133],"class_list":["post-15698","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-jen-michalski","writer-jen-michalski"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15698","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15698"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15698\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15756,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15698\/revisions\/15756"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15757"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15698"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15698"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15698"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}