moment before. She ran towards the door, opened it, shouted after Uncle Paul who was climbing into his truck. “Dad, please! Daddy, I love you! Please don’t leave! I love you! Just, just don’t leave like this! PLEASE!” Her voice echoed out the door as Uncle Paul fired his ignition, tearing out of the driveway and down the street. She continued to shout long after his car turned and was out of sight. My secret sibling fell to her knees. Weeping. I’m sure I’ll never forget the way his face looked as he drove off, bright red and twisted with anger. A navy blue vein throbbed at his temple. Years ago I drove Clair round and round our neighborhood. We were in high school, still testing our boundaries and finding them far too close to home. She called me. Said she needed to blow off steam, but to me it seemed more like despair than anger. My uncle had chased her boyfriend away. Caught them making out, scared him off with a shotgun. The details weren’t all that clear. Clair’d stopped talking after a few sobbing, gasped sentences. She sat Indian style in my front seat, bawling her eyes out. There was no anger, just sadness. Then, as the needle drifted towards E and the moon appeared round and dim beside the setting sun, a calm acceptance. I stared out the window as Clair tumbled clumsily to sleep. Flitting through my vision for less than a second, two moths danced a single lazy circle around each other before colliding with the windshield. A pair of matching brown/black smears on the dirty glass. Seven minutes ago Clair rose to her feet, shutting the front door. She dried her cheeks on her sleeve, inhaling deeply and swallowing her sadness in a sigh. Her boyfriend crouched to the floor, started folding her clothes. “No,” she said. “I’ll get that. Just take the stuff home and come back for me. Car’s full anyway.” Her voice was steady as if nothing had happened. He kissed her, long and deep, then left. I stepped out of the hall, following him to the car with my box of rocks. Clair stopped me, looked in the milk crate, and smiled. “Oh God, I remember that! Ha! We were so dumb. Just, just throw those out. I don’t want them.”
Issuu converts static files into: digital portfolios, online yearbooks, online catalogs, digital photo albums and more. Sign up and create your flipbook.