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you’re
Arctic
winter.
I’M GETTING DRESSED
For our like-a-real-family Thanksgiving
Day jaunt to Dad’s all-time favorite
Carrows when my cell warbles.
Kyle! I scramble to find the phone
hidden in the chaos that is my dresser.
But no, it’s not Kyle. (Why did I think
it would be?) When I see whose number
has in fact materialized on caller ID,
I consider pretending I never heard
the very loud ring tone. Still, it is a holiday.
Guess I should pick up. “Hey, Mom.
Happy Thanksgiving.” I expect some
sweet, if bogus, holiday greeting.
Instead she launches verbal mortars.
I called Darla and Phil’s to say hello
and they told me you’re not there
anymore. You’re living with your dad?
Why didn’t you bother to let me know?
My first instinct is to lob a grenade
right back at her, but something in her
voice says she doesn’t want to go to war.
She sounds ready to implode. “You okay?”
That’s all it takes to light the fuse.
She’s falling bricks. No. I’m not okay.
The boys are with your grandparents
in Reno because Ron set me up….
