Blank Confession by Pete Hautman Page A

anything, just accusations.
    Pépé watched me, as if following my thoughts.
    He said, “Your move.”
    I looked down at the board. He was offering me another jump. I concentrated for a long time, thinking ahead, until I understood every possible way the game could go for the next three moves. Pépé waited patiently. The problem was that while I had figured out how to make that triple jump two moves earlier, Pépé had been thinking even further ahead, and all of a sudden things didn’t look so good for me.
    I finally looked up and said, “I have no good moves.” Pépé nodded.
    â€œThat happens sometimes.”
    Marie didn’t make it home for dinner that night. We had chicken with rice and peas, which normally I like, but it was hard to enjoy with all the vibes coming off my folks. Mom was all small-mouthed and jittery and silent, eating her food with small bites and chewing them to death. Dad tried to compensate by complimenting her on the food, then going on and on about his plans to build a new fountain in the backyard. Neither of them mentioned Marie’s name the whole time. I tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Isn’t this nice, just the three of us!” The mood did not get lighter. In fact, Dad quit talking and his jaw started pulsing.
    Later, I was in the living room trying to finish
The Catcher in the Rye
when I heard a motorcycle pull up. It was nine thirty—not an unreasonable time, even for a school night—except that Marie had promised to come straight home from school every day and not go out for a month. I put down the book and waited for the drama to reboot.
    I could see the front entryway from where I was sitting.Dad was the first to appear—he’d heard the motorcycle too. A few seconds later the door opened and Marie stepped inside. Dad didn’t say anything. Marie looked up at him with the same stubborn expression she had perfected at age four. She didn’t say anything either, at first. Then, after a few seconds that felt like minutes, she spoke.
    â€œWell? Are you going to hit me, or what?”
    Dad’s face almost broke. He said, “Marie …”
    â€œYou’re all pathetic!” She walked around him and started up the stairs, but ran into Mom halfway up and the screaming commenced.
    It was pretty intense. Dad fled to the den and turned on the TV. Marie and Mom went at it right there on the stairs, yelling back and forth. I was starting to think I’d have to climb up the gutter to get to my bedroom, but after a few intense minutes of back-and-forth, Marie got past Mom and stomped off to her room and slammed the door.
    Mom went into what I call her dry-cry mode, tight-faced and breathing loudly through her nose and slamming things around, as she cleaned the kitchen. I tried to finish my book but Holden Caulfield was really starting to piss me off with all his whining. I tossed the book aside with the last thirty pages unread, went up to Marie’s room, and knocked on the door.
    â€œGo away!” she yelled.
    I kept knocking, one knock every five seconds, which is really irritating and impossible to ignore. About ten knocks later the door opened and Marie looked out.
    â€œWhat?” she said. Her eyes were red. I couldn’t tell if it was from crying or dope.
    â€œAre you okay?” I asked.
    She dragged her sleeve across her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
    â€œI don’t know. I just …are you going out with Kyle now?”
    â€œKyle?” She unleashed a high-pitched, hysterical laugh. “You must be joking.”
    â€œI just wondered because you rode off with him.”
    â€œHe took me over to Jon’s.” She backed away and sat down on her bed, leaving the door open. I was surprised—the number of times Marie had invited me into her room was, I think, zero. I stepped through the door cautiously. Nothing happened. She didn’t start