A Summer Nowhere

Heather seemed to get a slew of new clothes every other week or so and whenever I asked Mama how that could be, she said it was because they lived in a rundown trailer park and her mother was in credit card debt up to her eyeballs. Brenda, Dennis' ex wife, probably felt real guilty about what happened to Heather when she was twelve.

She was dating some guy named Donny, which Mama said wasn't the name of a grown man, but a little boy; and one night while Brenda was working, he tied Brad up in the closet and raped Heather in her own bed. Mama also said that that was probably why Heather was always showing off her goods, because it was a coping mechanism of some kind that helped her feel safe—like if she gave it away, nobody could take it from her.

I didn't know about any of that. All I knew was that I was jealous that nobody went into debt to get me nice things. But Mama just rolled her eyes at me and told me there were still starving kids in Africa and I'd never starved a day in my life, so I should be grateful for that and not mad that I wasn't a spoiled rotten brat because she knew and I knew that she'd raised me to be better than that.

So while I sat on my bed, carefully fraying the ends of some cut off shorts with an old hairbrush, Heather laid out all her new stuff, showing me each piece and asking me what I thought. What I thought was that she was already taking up half of my closet with her clothes and I didn't need her shoving any more stuff in there. But I just nodded and smiled like an idiot, wishing quietly for her get laryngitis and stop talking altogether.

She got about a half a dozen pairs of shorts, each pair shorter than the last, a couple of strappy tank tops, a pair of jeans that had more holes in it than anyone in their right mind would pay for, and a few pairs of shoes. Then she pulled out a bunch of cute underwear; it was mostly a lot of cotton bikinis that said things like “juicy” and “bite me” on the ass. They were all from stores in the mall and I couldn't even imagine how much they'd cost her mom.

“I got you something, too.” Heather told me, digging into a black plastic shopping bag and throwing a black tank top at me.

It was ribbed like a wife beater, but it had a racer back and one of those brightly colored sugar skulls embroidered on the front. I looked at the tag and saw that it was probably a size too small, but I liked it anyway and I couldn't bring myself to be an asshole about it.

“Thank you.” I told her, smiling a little bit. “I like this a lot.”

“I thought you would.” she grinned, going back to folding all her new clothes. “It looked like something you might like. So don't say I never gave you anything.”

“I won't.” I said, laying the top out on my bed above the shorts I was spiffing up.

It looked like something Sam would wear, and I hated myself for it, but that made me crazy giddy. I hung the outfit up in the closet and pulled out the pair of black combat boots that Mama had gotten me a couple of winters before, mostly because she wanted me to have something slip proof so I could walk in the snow. But they were my favorite shoes.

The door swung open all of a sudden and Brad came through, wearing what my Daddy would've called a shit eating grin and spinning a set of keys on his finger.

“Guess who just got dad's car?” He bragged.

Heather's face turned so red that it started going into purple by the time she'd launched herself out the door. She got mad at her brother a lot, but I'd never seen her that pissed. Brad held the keys in the air and looked at me. I didn't like anything about him, but I had to admit that I got a kick out of seeing Heather's feathers so ruffled. Even though she'd just given me a gift, it still didn't make up for all the other crappy things she'd done to me.

“You wanna' learn to drive?” Brad asked me.

“Do you even have a license?” I wondered.

“Hell yeah, I've got a license.” he rolled his eyes at me. “You think he'd've given me his car if I didn't?”

“I think he'd do just about anything to shut you up.” I told him.

Before Brad could say anything, the sound of Heather screaming from the living room distracted both of us and we practically fought each other to get out the door first.

“I'm older!” Heather was yelling at Dennis, who was sat in a recliner in the corner of the living room, still trying to look past her at the television where some old western movie was playing.

“What's going on, y'all?” Mama asked, coming in from the kitchen with a dish towel in her hand.

“How dare you give him that car instead of me!” Heather kept hollering.

“Wait a minute, now.” Mama said, going to stand in between the two of them.

Dennis groaned, leaning over to the side so he could see past both of them now. Mama noticed and snatched the remote control from his hand, shutting the TV off so he wouldn't be distracted.

“Heather, when did you get your driver's license?” Mama asked, crossing her arms over her chest and staring Heather down. “Because the last I heard, your mom said you couldn't get it until you got your grades up.”

“Helen, his grades are horrible!” Heather argued. “He's practically retarded!”

“That's an ugly word. I don't wanna' hear it in my house again .” Mama scolded her. “And I know how bad his grades are. But the point is, he got his license and you didn't.”

“But that's not fair!” Heather whined, balling her fists up at her side.

“It sure isn't.” Mama shook her head, patting Heather on the shoulder. “But life isn't fair. Especially when you're a woman.”

“Oh, shut up.” Dennis grumbled from the recliner.

“Come and make me, big boy.” Mama glared at him. “I double dog dare you.”

Dennis was halfway into his nightly half gallon of vodka and had filled the ashtray on the end table with cigarette butts, so he wasn't in any shape to make anybody do anything. I still wanted to punch him in his ruddy, bulbous nose and knock his skinny ass into the middle of next week. He turned the TV back on and went right back to ignoring his kids.

“I'm going to bed.” Heather said, looking at her dad. “You're fucking worthless!”

“Watch your mouth!” I heard Mama yell from the kitchen.

Heather sniffled her way back to my room, mumbling about how she didn't want to be caught dead in that nasty looking hunk of junk anyway.

The truth was, Dennis had been talking about replacing his vehicle and letting Brad have it since he'd passed his driver's test. He'd been driving a 1985 Buick Regal for longer than we'd even known him. It was gold with rust around the hood and trunk and it always smelled like motor oil, no matter how many of those little air freshener trees you hung from the rear view mirror. He'd had his eye on an old Chevy S-10 down at the dealership on North Main, and I guessed he'd finally put a down payment on it.

The trouble was, sometimes he was working and sometimes he wasn't. Lately, he'd been working third shift at the nursing home in Auburn doing custodial work and I didn't know how they hadn't fired him yet. He'd faked so many panic attacks to get out of going in that he had to be walking on pretty thin ice. Whether he was employed or not, he never put any of his money in the right place. He said he didn't believe in bank accounts, so if he did save any money, he kept it underneath his and Mama's mattress. Every once in a while, if he went on too big a bender, Mama would grab some of his stash and put it in savings since he'd never miss it. I was pretty sure that's where the down payment money had come from.

Mama said it was okay if Brad gave me a driving lesson as long as we stuck to the back roads, so we drove all the way out to Homer and he let me take over.

“The brake's on the left.” he told me, “And the gas is on the right.”

“I know that.” I rolled my eyes.

He told me to make sure I kept my foot on the brake until I was ready to move, and then to ease onto the gas pedal. There weren't lines on the back roads, so any time I'd weave to the other side, he'd grab my thigh and pull it toward him. He said it was to guide me back to where I was supposed to be because the hands went where the eyes went and he didn't want me to drive us into the ditch if I looked too hard at where we were headed.

Driving was not something I was any good at. I didn't know if it was because trying to control something so huge was scary or if it was because I was being instructed by a maniac. I could tell Brad was trying real hard to pretend to be professional, but I knew better. I was starting to panic, and right when it started to get dark, he told me how to turn on the headlights.

“Why's there so much empty land out here?” he wondered out loud. “And why are you driving so slow?”

“It's not all empty.” I told him, ignoring the other question. “Most of it's pasture.”

“For what?” he asked.

“Cows.” I said. “I'm trying to concentrate!”

“Just relax.” Brad tried to sound soothing, but he really just sounded like that snake in The Jungle Book that was trying to hypnotize the little boy into getting eaten.

“I'm pulling over and you can drive us home.” I said, glancing over to the side of the road.

Like he said, my hands followed my eyes and the car jerked farther to the right than I wanted it to and I screamed.

“Hey!” he laughed, grabbing my hand on the wheel and easing it to the left so we were safely idling the shoulder. “You're gonna' drive us into that fence.”

“I'm done!” I whined, feeling my limbs tense from anxiety.

“Calm down.” Brad said, his voice soft.

He put his left hand on my thigh and reached over with his right to throw the car in park.

“Please stop touching me.” I groaned, when really I wanted to punch him in the throat.

“Shh.” he said, moving his hand to the spot between my neck and shoulder and rubbing the muscle. “I'm good with my hands. I can make you relax.”

I lifted my arm and shoved my elbow towards him. It landed on his armpit and he jerked away from me, laughing.

“Ow.” he chuckled. “Alright, fine. You big baby.”

“I'm gonna' murder you.” I threatened.

I got out of the driver's seat and he got in. When we got home, Dennis was passed out in the recliner and Mama was in the kitchen with Heather. They were sitting at the table, talking quietly.

“I know.” Mama was saying. “It's not easy on him, either.”

Whenever one of his kids got into a fight with Dennis, Mama would try her best to make peace. And even when she defended him, it seemed like she didn't want to.

“What's not easy on who?” Brad asked, grabbing an apple from a bowl on the counter.

“None of your business!” Heather hissed.

Her eyes were all red and puffy from crying and I felt kinda bad for her. I made a glass of tea and sat down with them instead of doing what I really wanted to do, which was shower Brad off of me.

“How was your lesson?” Mama asked.

“Awful.” I grumbled.

“That's because she's an awful driver.” Brad laughed.

“No.” I glared at him, furious. “You're an awful teacher.”

He gave me a look that told me to keep my mouth shut and it only made me want to kill him more.

“You'll get better.” Mama assured me. “Practice makes perfect.”

Heather still looked like she was ready to burst back into tears at any second, so I said “Did you see the shirt Heather got me?”

Mama looked surprised. “No. Heather, that was nice of you.”

“It's not a big deal.” Heather sniffed, shrugging her shoulders.

“But it was nice of you.” I told her.

“See? I'm not always a shitty person.” she scoffed.

“Language. Please.” Mama rolled her eyes, looking exhausted.

“No, you're not.” I smiled.

Neither of us could sleep when we laid down, so I ended up telling Heather about my driving lesson with her brother.

“He's such a little shit.” she said, laughing like she was mad at him but kinda fond of him all the same. “You know he likes you.”

“No he doesn't.” I shuddered, rolling over to look at her.

“Yeah, he does.” she argued. “He wouldn't shut up about you all weekend. Mom got sick of hearing about you.”

My stomach churned, like I'd eaten bad shrimp or something.

“Be careful, though.” Heather warned me. “I've seen him when he wants something.”

Her voice was weird, like she thought somebody was listening. She whispered it and I could see her sort of crouch into her covers, like she didn't want anybody to see her mouth move. I knew she and Brad fought a lot, but surely she wasn't scared of him. He was mean to her, sure, but I thought she could take him down if she wanted.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“He's a psycho.” she said, her eyes wide and glowing under the light from outside. “And he doesn't like the word no.”

That made me shiver, but I didn't show her I was scared.

“Well that's too bad.” I said. “Because I like that word a lot.”

Heather laughed softly for a little while, then she got quiet again.

“It's weird.” she finally said. “We're brother and sister, but he wants to get in your pants and I want to wring your neck most of the time.”

“The feeling is mutual.” I shot back, adding “With you, not with him.”

She laughed.

“You've got your stuff all over my room, taking up half my closet, always running around half dressed.” I grumbled, falling back into a comfortable little box of not liking her.

“Where else am I supposed to put my stuff?” she asked. “You're stuck with me, but I'm stuck here. And your mom gave Brad his own fucking room. I could've taken the upstairs.”

“Why should you get the whole upstairs?” I thought about all the space up there and how I'd always kind of wanted to turn it into my own little apartment.

Mama wouldn't let me. She said she was planning on turning it into a big family room with a big screen television and lots of comfy couches. I didn't know where she planned on getting the money for all that, but we already had a den off of the stairs, so I didn't know why that was important to her. I think she really just wanted to make sure we slept on the same floor, so I couldn't get into any trouble.

“I'm the oldest.” Heather reasoned. “If I can't get a car, I should at least get something.”

I thought about that for a second and guessed she was right. It didn't mean she deserved to live in the biggest room in the house, but I still felt bad for her.

“I think your mom should let you get your license.” I offered. “Your grades are better.”

“And I'm older and more responsible.” she added. “Brad gets put in detention every time I turn around. They don't even offer to send him to the principal's office anymore.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I couldn't imagine going to the same school with Brad. He'd make my life a living hell.

“Mom just wants to make sure I never get to have any fun.” Heather whined. “She treats Brad like he's a saint. I'm so sick of that shit.”

Mama told me once that Dennis' ex wife got mad at Heather way back when for stealing her boyfriend. She'd eventually gotten over it, but she still had her head up her ass. It was like while she was trying to make it up to Heather, she was still resenting her for it. I didn't know how you could resent somebody for getting raped by your boyfriend, but different strokes for different folks, I guess. I think there were a ton of reasons Heather still lived with her mom instead of Dennis. First off, Dennis was a raging alcoholic. It got so bad that he talked to himself. Many a time, I'd caught him having imaginary conversations with his ex wife. Second, he didn't really have a home of his own. He lived with us, wasn't on the lease, and didn't have any of the bills in his name. But mostly, I think it was because Brenda told Heather and Brad to lie to the social workers, which was a sore point between her and Mama. Any time they had to meet with each other, Mama said it was all she could do not to tackle her to the ground and whoop her ass. Heather and Brad's mom had coached them on what to say: that their dad was always drunk—that part was true—and that as soon as Brenda found out about Donny, she kicked him out. The truth was, he kept denying what happened for about a month, but then finally he admitted it and left on his own.

It was one big, huge, disgusting situation and even thinking about it made me feel gross. I couldn't stand the idea of not feeling safe in my own house and in my own bed. Heather got on my very last nerve, but I still didn't wish any of that on anybody. I made a mental note to myself to try and be more patient with her.

She fell asleep before I did so I just laid awake in my bed and tried to think happy thoughts. I decided I was gonna' lay out in the front yard with Heather the next day, even if I ended up getting a horrible sunburn or getting covered from head to toe in freckles. Maybe by the time we went to Nashville, it would all either peel off or blend in and I'd be tan.

I liked to imagine having a tan. It seemed like everybody had a tan in the summer and I was stuck looking like a ghost. Sometimes I felt like if somebody poked me, their hand would go right through. Being an actual ghost would be cool, too, I thought. You could just float from place to place and see what everybody was up to without getting caught. You could drop off little gifts for people you liked and torture the ones you didn't. I'd like to go next door to Mike's house and leave a pile of dog shit in his bed or something.

I shook my head, trying to make myself have realistic thoughts. I was always way up in the clouds when I should've been down on the ground, because I was afraid of heights. And even in my daydreams, I was weird. How come, I wondered, I couldn't be one of those people who could just lay down and fall asleep? I had to imagine at least a hundred scenarios that would never happen, fifty that already had, and at least one that was so far fetched it made me embarrassed to just be me before I could sleep.

By the time I felt myself dozing off, the sun had already come up and when I woke up to the sound of Mama calling us all into the kitchen for breakfast, it was only nine o'clock. I whined and dragged myself down the hall. Everybody was sitting at the table smiling like it was a normal day, like nothing ridiculous or dramatic had happened the day before.

Except Dennis, of course. He always looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Heather and Brad sat across from each other, play fighting over a bottle of syrup, and I didn't understand how she could be so mad at him one minute and so over it the next. I grabbed down one of those giant mugs that you're supposed to eat soup in and filled it with coffee, sugar, and creamer. Staying awake was first on my to-do list. There was no way I was gonna' be able to stay home all day.