When Miller is the first guy I run into at work, I take out my anger on him.
“You put that order in?” I ask in a tone that saysI know you didn’t put that order in, fuckface.
Miller takes a sip from his cup of coffee. “Which one?”
“The drive pulley for that Cadillac I’m working on this week. She’s bringing it in today.”
Miller sets his coffee down and makes his way to the shop computer, which is covered in Saran wrap so we don’t get oil and shit all over it. A moment later, he turns to me with a wince. “I did.” He gives a terrified smile. “Just now.”
My teeth clench, and my hands are in white-knuckled fists at my sides. “I’m putting the new timing belt in first. Without the drive pulley, I’m kind of fucked here, Miller.” I’m being as nice as I can, but I’m ten shades of fuckin’ grouchy today, andI want that part.
I step toward him, and even though he doesn’t move, I know how badly he wants to step away from me. His grip on his coffee cup tightens. “I’m sorry, Atti. I helped Delane up front the last two days. It slipped my mind. But it’s coming now.”
“No,” I grit, unable to stop the irrational rage coursing through me. “The Cadillac is comingnow. The drive pulley is ordered…now. Who knows when it’ll come.” My voice is louder than it needs to be. I can’t really hear anything but my own anger, but I know it's thunderously loud because my temples pulse.
Miller doesn’t say anything because he’s a smart man. There isn’t anything he can say. We both know I want to be unhappy at this moment, drive pulley or not. I walk away, and he goes back inside, and I ignore him and the rest of them for the entire day. When I leave, I consider apologizing but am too sore to do it, so I leave without a word.
Angry. I’m always so fuckin’ angry.Shehad me smiling, even just a little. And that smile came from shit I haven’t felt in years. And instead of embracing that rush, I’m mad at myself for feelin’ it.
Being angry and frustrated at yourself and internalizing all that shit is exhausting. I’m too tired to lift weights after I leave WK, so I head out to the Overlook after work. Off the highway, overlooking the lake, surrounded by wild trees and brush, is a small spot of land. It’s a fuckin’ sight out there at night; access to an entire sky full of stars, the smooth surface of the lake acting as a mirror, and all around you, the effervescent glow and energy of nature. It’s fuckin’ beautiful.
Clears my head to go out there for an hour. I need my head free of this nagging feeling that maybe my Mom is right. After all these years, the idea of being alone forever no longer holds the same appeal. But being happy don’t seem right either. So here I am, driving my truck onto the shoulder of a questionable old highway to get to my thinking spot so I can get right with myself.
Stupid, really, because I know this place ain’t safe. My buddy Marshall got hit out here a handful of years back. A truck clipped him in the rain when he was off his bike and sent him over the edge, down the ravine. Thank god his man climbed down and found him, or else he wouldn’t be here.
I’m careful as I make my way down the ravine because I don’t wanna cause my mama any more pain than she’s already been through. No matter what’s going on in my head and heart, I could never do anything to cause her any more strife. She’s been through enough. My pop, too.
The earth crunches under my boots, kicking up pebbles as I slide down, letting my fingers sift through the hard soil and roots as I do. Finally, I’m at the landing, hands sore and boots filthy. But when I gaze out over the still lake and find the reflection of a growing moon faint on the surface, I wait for the calmness to fill me. I wait for the realization that my pain is small compared to the world out there. That my woes ain’t shit.
But tonight, none of that relief washes over me.
I keep thinkin’ about my sister. It may be cliché, and I don’t know why it took so long for it to sink in but… she wouldn’t want me to punish myself. And I’ve been doin’ that for years. The thing about doin’ something for years is that it’s part of you. And changing who you are to the core isn’t an easy thing to do.
Good shit ain’t easy though, hardly ever.
After an hour of sulking in the setting sun, the moon glows against my face, but I don’t feel any better. When I get to my feet, I'm as confused as I was before. I leave with that little brat on my mind.
She’s difficult. I can tell by the few times I’ve been around her.
She’s broken. I can tell that, too.
As I drive home, I get lost in the way the yellow of my headlights illuminates even the darkest pockets of the empty road. The drive has me wondering.
Am I punishing myself, keeping myself from having all she can’t have because she’s not here? I thought I was. I thought that was what seemed right. Seemed fair, even. But now I’m thinkin’ maybe it’s because I’m fuckin’ terrified of feeling even one fuckin’ iota of that kind of pain again. I’m not healed and I never will be. But I can’t take this punishment anymore, either.
Of that, I’m sure.
seven
goldie
It could’ve been the cry
“God,it would be so much fucking easier to be a man. You just tuck your stupid, comfortable, baggy shirt into your front zip and sloppy pants, and boom. Everyone commends you for being dressed for work,” I rant from the bedroom door in my apartment, where I’m currently reverse grinding against the door handle in an effort to zip my extremely fitted pencil skirt. “And it’s one of those stupid fucking zippers. You know the kind! The little tiny, cheap metal ones that have no business being on a leather skirt!” I scream louder, banking on the hope that Beck won't realize that I'm losing my mind a bit because the phone is across my (tiny) room on my bed.
“Just drive here first, and I’ll zip you up!”
Another failed ass-shimmy down the door because my makeshift contraption of a wire coat hanger on the door handle has beensurprisinglyineffective .