From Far Away

In her haze of drugs and not-so-sedated pain, she can feel his head resting on her stomach. His unshaven cheek scratches against the material of her hospital gown. She can feel his curls pushing against the edge of her hand. “Baby,” he whispers. His vowels are eaten up by his alcohol-thickened tongue, as usual. “I am so, so sorry. I can’t even begin to tell you… you don’t deserve me. I’m a horrible father. I never meant to hurt you…”

Blah, blah, blah, she’d say, if she could speak. The sarcasm is lost, however, in the dizzying cyclone of pain and exhaustion that sweeps everything clean from her mind. Even his apologies. She no longer has any use for him, none beyond the anger that brings everything to a boil whenever she remembers the look in his eyes when he raised the tire iron, just before she threw herself into his path.

Even at twelve years old, she could tell a liar from a mile away.

“Okay, so where are you rushing off to?”

Ashley sighs. “I already told you, Mom, I kind of have a date tonight.”

Emily Muniz eyes her daughter. “Kind of? There’s no ‘kind of’ when it comes to dating. It’s either you are or you aren’t.”

“Well, we’ve just met, so I don’t know what this is.”

She studies Ashley for a moment, wondering where her little girl went. The sweet-faced skinny twig seems to have disappeared inside the curvy, sophisticated body of the young woman standing in front of her. Do all parents miss this transformation, she wonders, or is it only the ones dealing with a husband like Marco?

“Is he cute?” she finally asks.

“Mom, come on.” Ashley gives Emily an are-you-kidding-me look.

“What? I’m curious. Is he?”

“He’s a white boy, if that’s okay.”

“Do you forget where your mother comes from?” Emily sniffs. “What’s his name?”

“Bobby. And yes, he’s very cute.”

“Bobby. Typical white boy name.”

“I thought you didn’t mind it.”

“I don’t. Do you know what he does?”

Ashley is quiet for too long. “I’ll take that as a no,” Emily answers for her. “Bad move, baby.”

“What’s so bad about it? I was… in the middle of something, when we met. Didn’t have much time to socialize.” Ashley picks up her bag.

“Because when you don’t find out who he is and what he does, you end up with your father.”

Her daughter stops in mid-step, her posture slumping in exasperation. “You know, you talk so much shit about him, but every time he throws himself back over that doorway, whether he’s trying to kill you or weeping and begging your forgiveness for-whatever- you don’t do a damn thing. So really, who’s the fool here now?”

“I didn’t raise you to talk to me like that, missy.” The words are firm, but the voice behind them quavers a bit. It’s because Emily Bayer-Muniz knows that for all of her daughter’s youth and impulsive nature, she’s spot-on about nearly everything concerning the family- or what’s left of it. She knows she’d do well to kick Marco out of her life forever, change the locks, and find something else to do with her time, but… every time she sees his smile or hears his voice, she’s thrown back into her fresh-out-of-high school days when he’d first found her. When she wasn’t trying to hide bruises and explain away disappearances, or enrolling children just beginning to find their way into school after school. When she was just Emily, just a girl with way more promise than should have been granted upon her, giggling her way into the backseat of Marco’s car.

She knows she needs to break away from him. But she won’t let Ashley know that.

“Your father… he’s a troubled man,” she begins.

“God, if that isn’t the understatement of a lifetime,” Ashley snaps.

“Relax, Ashley. You’re the child, I am the adult. And I have my own decisions to make. Nothing you say will change that. Now, your dad has his issues, and so do I, but we can work through them.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you start now, except- oh, where is he, Mom?” Ash looks around in mock disbelief. “Where could he have gone at one in the afternoon? Not out frequenting bars again, which is what he always does. And then he won’t come home and start his shit with you again, will he?”

“He’s been good-“

“For three days. Anyone can take three days off to rest, Mother.”

“Will you cut out your fucking sarcasm? Jesus Christ, you’re just like him!”

“Except I’m not an abusive fuck and a drunk,” Ashley replies smoothly.

The slap takes them both by surprise. Ashley turns back to Emily, her face flushed with embarrassment and anger. Her eyes are shining with tears. “You would,” she whispers.

“Ash, look,” Emily sighs. “I’m sorry-“

“Bullshit. You always do this. Even when the bastard drove a tire iron into my neck.”

“He wouldn’t have done that if you hadn’t leaped in front of him!”

“I DID IT FOR YOU!”

“Mommy…? Ashley?”

Immediately they turn around to find six-year-old Alex in the doorway, the school bus matron holding his hand. Alex’s eyes are wide, his free hand crushing the drawing he holds. The matron grins shyly and explains, “Just dropping him off. Here’s your key, Alex, honey. You guys have a nice day.”

She disappears as quickly as she can, leaving the three to deal with the awkward silence stretching among them. “Hi, Al,” Ashley finally says, bending to kiss him. “What’s that you’ve got?”

He proudly shows her a drawing he made of a stick-figure prince. “Oh, how handsome. Is it you?”

“It’s Daddy.” He says the words with a happiness that drives a fresh tire iron into Ashley’s heart. The tears threaten to spill. Quickly, she smiles, hugs her little brother one last time, and leaves without saying a word to Emily, sure now that it was a good idea not to mention her visit to the precinct to her mother.

**********************************
“So all that happened, huh?”

Ash rolls her eyes. “Yep.”

“Shit. Sorry,” Bobby murmurs, making a turn. “I don’t know, man… it’s tough to call. “

“As far as?”

“Whether or not you were right?” Seeing the look on her face he adds quickly, “I mean, you were pretty much right about what you said, from what I know about your whole story and all… but some people don’t like hearing about their mistakes from other people.”

“Even their kids?”

“Especially their kids.”

Ashley is quiet for a moment, her eyes watching the road ahead of them. Bobby glances at her, absorbing her beauty in a split second- her long, wavy hair, her amber eyes set off brilliantly in the sunlight, her tanned skin glowing against it. “I guess you’re right,” she says finally. “I’m sorry. I just get so annoyed by this shit.”

“Understandable. Now… is this a bad time for me to tell you again how pretty you look?”

She smiles slightly. “Thanks for the change of subject.”

“Anytime.” He merges onto the highway. “It’s what I’m good at.”

“Clearly. So… who’s this guy? Your friend?”

“Ryan? He’s… well. He’s a friend. A co-worker, if you want to get technical.”

“Where do you guys work?”

Damn it. He knows he has to answer this question sooner or later. He was just hoping it would be later. “Well… we play hockey.”

“Hockey. You mean, professionally?”

“No, we moonlight. Yes, professionally,” he chuckles. “Anaheim Ducks. We’re both forwards. I play left wing, he plays center.”

“Oh. That’s… not what I would have expected.” She sits back against her seat.
“Why? Am I not missing enough teeth?”

“Oh, God, no.” She wrinkles her nose. “Just never thought I’d meet a pro athlete… So THAT’S why you laughed so hard when I asked if you ripped off my wallet. Silly me.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” He laughs again, conjuring the image of her indignant expression. “I didn’t want to scare you off, though. So I kept it quiet.”

“Bobby, I don’t care what you do. Honestly. I mean… I didn’t have THAT high a hope for you, anyway.”

“Ouch. Now that hurt.”

She laughs. “Deal with it. You’re a hockey player.”

In a matter of minutes they reach Ryan Getzlaf’s house. It’s huge, beautiful, taupe-colored with a wrap-around porch and a swing in front. There’s music playing, and the smell of barbecue is laced in the warm breeze. “Wow,” Ashley says.

“Yeah. It’s nice. Stay there.” Bobby gets out and walks around the car to open her door.
“Well, you truly are a gentleman,” she remarks.

He slips her a wink, taking her hand in his. “I try. Now, let’s meet the gang, shall we?”

The screen door is unlocked, prompting Bobby to open it and walk inside. “Um-?”

“Oh, come on, door’s open. This isn’t New York or anything,” he tells her. “What are you, scared?”

I’m scared of more than you know. But that’s not what he means. Not right now. She follows him inside.