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him after eight years in prison,
eight more years of him being nothing
to me but sporadic collect calls?
“I don’t know,” I tell Grandfather
as he turns into the passenger drop-
off zone, pulls over against the curb.
“I’ll have to think about it.” I get out
of the car. What I said was a lie. I know
exactly how I think about it. I hate Trey
for leaving me. Wish I could love him,
but don’t have a clear idea how.
Do I want to see him? Part of me does.
The other part thinks he ought to take
a flying leap off a very short pier. Maybe
“I don’t know” wasn’t a lie after all.
I’LL NEVER FORGET
The last time Trey blew back
into my life. I was almost five,
and he was on parole after
serving two years for fraud.
It was not his first time in lockup.
When he came to the door, I had no
idea who he was. Grandfather and
Aunt Cora don’t keep many photos
of him, and the ones they do have
are from long before he ever
started messing around
with meth. He is handsome
in those pictures—tall and strong,
with dark hair and curious gray
