the direct approach. So not
me. But what do I have to lose?
Meanwhile, I’m going school
shopping. With Cassie. I think
Mom was a little hurt that I didn’t
want to go with her—the low
fashion queen. I love her. But style
is not her thing. Cassie knows
the kind of look I’m after, and
she knows where to find crazy
cool clothes that aren’t too pricey.
I squish into a pair of stretchy
jeans. Tight, with back-pocket
detailing that draws attention
to my size-five butt. Size five!
It was worth walking every mile.
Next I try on a really short skirt.
Hmm. “Cassie,” I call to the far
side of the dressing room door.
“I need your opinion on something.”
Mom would freak immediately,
but Cassie takes the time to really
check it out. Turn around. She kind
of whistles. It looks great, but
you definitely better not bend over
in it. At least, not without panties.
Cassie Rocks
She’s funny. Pretty. Smart, at least
about some things. And she always
makes time for me. Acts like she cares
about me. She even talked Dad into
contributing to this shopping excursion.
One thing Mom gripes about is how he has
never paid child support. She has a pretty
good job, but back-to-school always pinches.
This year, at least, he’s kicking in a little.
Stepping up to the plate, or at least as far
as the backstop, all because of Cassie.
All stocked up on jeans, skirts and blouses,
we look for shoes. It’s my lucky day.
Payless is having a two-for-one sale.
Which means I get four pairs—two athletic,
two heels. And once those are paid for,
Cassie says, What about that hair?
Want to do something bold? My treat.
We Are Cruising the Mall
Discussing bolder hair and sipping
iced coffees (despite the caffeine,
which will stunt my growth, according
to my mom). We duck into Sephora,
check out the testers. There’s one flowery
one I really love—rose, violet and a hint
of vanilla. Pricey stuff, so for now,
the lingering reminder will have to do.
You have a birthday coming up soon, right?
“Three weeks,” I agree, and I love
that she remembers, not to mention
the fact that I now have hope of smelling
this way when I start school. As we
leave the store, Cassie tenses suddenly.
Shit. Shit. Shit. She half pushes me out
the door, steers me into a sharp right turn,
picks up her pace till I practically have
to run to keep up, shopping bags swinging.
Quick veer down a perpendicular
aisle, then she allows herself to
glance over her shoulder. Apparently
whatever she saw to get her all worked
up isn’t there anymore, because she slows
and I can finally breathe. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. But she keeps walking
purposefully toward the exit. I mean,
not nothing, exactly. I just need to get
out of here right now, okay? It takes
until we’re in the car, out of the parking
lot and around the block twice, I’m
guessing so she knows “not nothing”
isn’t following us, until she thinks
about explaining. Even then, I can see
her deciding how much to tell me.
“Jeez, Cassie, what is it? Did you see
a zombie or something?” Three beats.
And She Says
Sort of. Except, more like a vampire—
a bloodsucker that just won’t die.
Look, this isn’t a story I share often.
And I’d appreciate it if you don’t pass
it on, especially not to your mom.
She worries about you being around
your dad enough as it is. She takes
a deep breath, then plunges in. I was
going to be a nurse. You didn’t know
that, did you? I was studying at Western
Nevada, making good grades and
everything. And then I met this guy.
Chad’s father, Damian. Typical bad
boy. Drugs. Booze. Rotten temper.
And I saw none of that. Not at first.
I never finished nursing school. I got
pregnant. Damian insisted I keep
the baby. Swore he’d take care of us,
and I had to believe him. I loved him.
That was enough. For a while.
She Turns onto McCarran Boulevard
It’s the long way home, so
I’m pretty sure there’s more.
There is. We lived poor. And we lived
rough. And Damian lived
me. But what do I have to lose?
Meanwhile, I’m going school
shopping. With Cassie. I think
Mom was a little hurt that I didn’t
want to go with her—the low
fashion queen. I love her. But style
is not her thing. Cassie knows
the kind of look I’m after, and
she knows where to find crazy
cool clothes that aren’t too pricey.
I squish into a pair of stretchy
jeans. Tight, with back-pocket
detailing that draws attention
to my size-five butt. Size five!
It was worth walking every mile.
Next I try on a really short skirt.
Hmm. “Cassie,” I call to the far
side of the dressing room door.
“I need your opinion on something.”
Mom would freak immediately,
but Cassie takes the time to really
check it out. Turn around. She kind
of whistles. It looks great, but
you definitely better not bend over
in it. At least, not without panties.
Cassie Rocks
She’s funny. Pretty. Smart, at least
about some things. And she always
makes time for me. Acts like she cares
about me. She even talked Dad into
contributing to this shopping excursion.
One thing Mom gripes about is how he has
never paid child support. She has a pretty
good job, but back-to-school always pinches.
This year, at least, he’s kicking in a little.
Stepping up to the plate, or at least as far
as the backstop, all because of Cassie.
All stocked up on jeans, skirts and blouses,
we look for shoes. It’s my lucky day.
Payless is having a two-for-one sale.
Which means I get four pairs—two athletic,
two heels. And once those are paid for,
Cassie says, What about that hair?
Want to do something bold? My treat.
We Are Cruising the Mall
Discussing bolder hair and sipping
iced coffees (despite the caffeine,
which will stunt my growth, according
to my mom). We duck into Sephora,
check out the testers. There’s one flowery
one I really love—rose, violet and a hint
of vanilla. Pricey stuff, so for now,
the lingering reminder will have to do.
You have a birthday coming up soon, right?
“Three weeks,” I agree, and I love
that she remembers, not to mention
the fact that I now have hope of smelling
this way when I start school. As we
leave the store, Cassie tenses suddenly.
Shit. Shit. Shit. She half pushes me out
the door, steers me into a sharp right turn,
picks up her pace till I practically have
to run to keep up, shopping bags swinging.
Quick veer down a perpendicular
aisle, then she allows herself to
glance over her shoulder. Apparently
whatever she saw to get her all worked
up isn’t there anymore, because she slows
and I can finally breathe. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing. But she keeps walking
purposefully toward the exit. I mean,
not nothing, exactly. I just need to get
out of here right now, okay? It takes
until we’re in the car, out of the parking
lot and around the block twice, I’m
guessing so she knows “not nothing”
isn’t following us, until she thinks
about explaining. Even then, I can see
her deciding how much to tell me.
“Jeez, Cassie, what is it? Did you see
a zombie or something?” Three beats.
And She Says
Sort of. Except, more like a vampire—
a bloodsucker that just won’t die.
Look, this isn’t a story I share often.
And I’d appreciate it if you don’t pass
it on, especially not to your mom.
She worries about you being around
your dad enough as it is. She takes
a deep breath, then plunges in. I was
going to be a nurse. You didn’t know
that, did you? I was studying at Western
Nevada, making good grades and
everything. And then I met this guy.
Chad’s father, Damian. Typical bad
boy. Drugs. Booze. Rotten temper.
And I saw none of that. Not at first.
I never finished nursing school. I got
pregnant. Damian insisted I keep
the baby. Swore he’d take care of us,
and I had to believe him. I loved him.
That was enough. For a while.
She Turns onto McCarran Boulevard
It’s the long way home, so
I’m pretty sure there’s more.
There is. We lived poor. And we lived
rough. And Damian lived
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