Sync, page 23
Margaret drapes a blanket
around my shoulders.
Here’s that change of clothes.
Jeans. My size.
Soft flannel shirt.
Lavender, my favorite color.
No undies, not a thrift store thing.
She puts the rest in a plastic bag,
along with a pair of shoes.
“I don’t have any money.
He took it. But I’ll pay you back.”
No, you won’t. I want you to have
them. Come shopping when you can.
“Maybe you can give me a job?”
Margaret smiles. Maybe.
Marina reappears. All set?
I’m illegally parked. We should go.
I thank Margaret, trail Marina
through the store. The few people
here can’t help but stare. I think
I’ll avoid mirrors for a while.
Her car’s in the alley.
I freeze. What if he’s there?
Hiding. Waiting. Watching.
“I can’t.”
Take my hand. You’ll be okay.
“What if—”
He’s gone, hon.
“How do you know
what I’m thinking?”
Because I’ve been there.
I don’t ask for details.
Take Marina’s hand.
We walk to her car. I jump in.
Lock the doors. Safe and sound.
Still,
my head swivels
my eyes pivot
my stomach lurches
my brain insists he’s nearby.
“Does it ever get easier?”
It consumed me for a long while.
Years. But then I decided
fear would not control me.
“I’ve never not been afraid.”
That Drops Us into Silence
She cruises slowly up the alley.
I stare out the window, looking for…
The sun glints off something
shiny. Sparkly. Familiar.
“Wait! Stop, please.”
I open the door cautiously,
scan 360 degrees, see no sign
of anything human. And now
I home in on the glittery thing.
It’s one of my pencils. And it’s broken.
I put it in my pocket.
Look for others, almost desperate.
Like, maybe he left a pencil trail
leading to my backpack
and the tatters of my life.
My photos. My letters. My Storm journal.
One hint of Parker, clinging
to three pairs of panties,
a broken-strapped bra,
a pair of jeans, two T-shirts,
and my sweatshirt.
Five wilted dollar bills.
A handful of change.
But no.
Just this one broken pencil
shedding glitter
in my pocket.
It’s All That Remains
Of who I was before.
I wasn’t much then.
Now I am nothing.
But maybe that’s good.
Being nothing makes it easier
to fade into the shadows.
Nothing doesn’t worry
about the pitiless stares
of strangers in the ER foyer.
Marina takes charge at the desk,
explains what happened,
informs the receptionist
that my caseworker is on the way.
We have a SANE—sexual assault
nurse examiner—on staff, but it
might take her a while to get to you.
Have a seat. Fill this out while you wait.
She hands me a clipboard.
“Will you stay with me, Marina?”
Of course. I wouldn’t leave you alone.
Nothing doesn’t care that filling
out the ream of paperwork’s impossible.
No address.
No phone number.
No known insurance.
No preexisting conditions.
Only my name.
I show page three to Marina.
It asks about sexual history
and recent activity.
“Why do they want this?”
To eliminate other evidence
they might find. Something
not belonging to the perpetrator.
What does “recent” mean?
It’s been days since I’ve been
with Parker, and when we were with
that prick, Kit, or one of the others,
we made them use condoms.
Doubtful any of that would show up.
I go ahead and write “none.”
Turn to page four.
Nothing grits her teeth, outlines
the assault in as much detail as possible.
She describes what she can
remember about the guy.
Tells how he approached her.
Attacked like a rabid dog.
How she tried to defend
herself with a very sharp pencil.
At that, she has to swallow a laugh.
Only a nothing
would do something
so stupid.
We’re Still Waiting
For the SANE when Candace
breezes through the sliding door.
Like, all fluttery, and yay,
see how I’m here?
But then she takes one solid
look at me, and my nothingness
registers. She shakes her head,
tsks something like a hello.
I’m sorry, Lake, but I’m glad to see
you’re still with us. You had me worried.
We can discuss the particulars later.
The particulars. Ha.
I show her the clipboard.
“I don’t know some of this
stuff. Do I have insurance?”
You’re covered by Medicaid,
but you won’t be charged for
a sexual assault forensic exam.
The Violence Against Women Act
requires the state to pay for them.
She looks over the paperwork.
Fills in a couple of the blanks.
We’ll use my address and phone
number for the time being.
Marina hands me a scrap
of paper with a number on it.
Don’t forget what I said. Been there.
Call me if you need to talk.
Conflicting emotions fountain.
“Why are you so nice to me?
I’m just a nothing.”
Oh, Lake, no! You are quite special.
Out of all the students I’ve taught,
a handful stand out in my mind.
You are one of them. I truly hope
you’ll finish school and accomplish
great things. I believe you can.
I fight useless tears.
Words stick in my throat
like a wad of gum.
“I wish…I wish…”
Stop it. Wishing’s for idiots.
“Can I give you a hug?”
Despite the way I look, the way
I smell, she grants my request.
I try to keep it short.
“Thank you, Marina.”
You’re welcome. And I mean it
about needing to talk. Anytime.
Are you okay if I go now?
I nod. Candace is here.
We Watch Marina Leave
I’m still thinking about her
when a nurse calls my name.
I’ll be right here, says Candace.
The nurse leads me to a disinfectant-
scented cubicle, spreads a large
sheet of paper on the floor.
Please stand on that while you undress
and put on the lovely gown that’s on the table.
Make sure to close it in front.
The paper’s to collect any loose hairs or fibers.
You can leave your clothes on it, too.
If it’s okay, we’ll take them for analysis.
“Take them. Burn them.”
She nods. I’ll leave you to undress.
The SANE will be here momentarily.
I’m tying the flimsy hospital gown
when someone knocks and the door opens.
Hello, Lake. I’m Marilee, the sexual
assault nurse examiner. You must
be nervous, but try to relax, despite
the nature of the examination.
I’ve read your account of the assault,
and want to start by assessing injuries
you might have suffered as a result.
I’ll need to take pictures, okay?
I fail at relaxing. Every poke,
every prod makes me wince.
The good news is nothing seems to be broken.
We’ll take X-rays so we know for sure,
and we’ll have to stitch up that forehead.
Ever had a gynecological exam before?
“No.”
Okay, well, this is what will happen…
Inspecting. Swabbing. Combing.
Scraping. Stitching. Blood drawing.
X-rays. MRI. Photos. Evidence collection.
Marilee and a tech or two work
on me for almost three hours.
It’s an excruciating process.
No wonder Jaidyn refused
to put herself through it.
We finish with precautionary
measures—an injection
to combat possible STDs
and a morning-after pill.
They send me away
with antibiotics to fight
infection, and tell me
to take ibuprofen for pain.
I’m glad I’m nothing.
All Stitched Up
I’m allowed to shower and dress
in the clothes Margaret gave me,
plus a pair of SANE-provided panties.
Except for the black eye and huge bandage
across my forehead, I look almost human.
But now what?
Even Candace seems unsure.
I’ve tried to find a group home placement,
at least a temporary one. But they’re all
at capacity. For now, you’ll come home with me.
On the way, she gives me the fifth
degree. I deserve it. I tell her where
I’ve been, how Parker and I lived
and fed ourselves. About the dealing.
But I can’t tell her what happened
to Parker, and that haunts me.
“Do you think she’s okay?”
I think she probably got arrested.
“I hope that’s it.”
Addicts, at least the few
I’ve interacted with, tend toward
the desperation that can lead to lockup.
I’ll keep working on a placement,
but it’s going to be hard to find one.
Foster has a grapevine. That necklace—
“That was Parker all the way!
I didn’t even know she did it.”
What else would you say, Lake?
Even if that’s the truth, who will other
foster parents believe? You or Colleen?
I sit with that for a moment.
“What do you believe?”
It doesn’t matter. My job is to advocate
for you, regardless. If I thought you were
dangerous, I wouldn’t be bringing you home.
But as to honesty, who knows?
“What if you can’t find a placement?”
We could always look at reconciliation.
“You mean, with my mom?
No. Damn. Way.”
Look. The system is overloaded. I’ll give
it another try, but barring success,
it’s reconciliation or detention.
“Detention? For what?”
Burglary. Colleen wants to press charges.
She doesn’t care if it’s Parker or you. Or both.
“Candace! I swear I had nothing to do
with that. I don’t deserve detention.
And I can’t go back to Mom!
Please. Give me one last chance.”
She Keeps Her Promise
To try again, and while she does,
I hang out in her sweet little house
with her two daughters and exceptionally
good-looking husband, who’s a decent dad.
He cooks for the kids.
The place smells like brownies.
Plays games with the kids.
Their laughter sounds like little bells.
Watches TV with the kids.
They sit close, barely touching.
They include me, though
my presence clearly makes
Kent uncomfortable.
The girls are more direct.
What happened to your face?
asks Kayla, who’s five.
Yeah. Did you fall down?
guesses three-year-old Kara.
“Yes,” I fib. “How did you know?”
I fall down all the time.
Kayla says I’m clumsy.
Well, you are!
And now they’re happy
to share their space.
I try to camouflage myself,
stay quiet, pretend I belong.
It Takes Forever
Okay, a couple of hours,
but finally, Candace appears.
She’s smiling. Or grimacing.
I can’t really tell which.
Success! We’ll have to stop and pick up
some clothes and essentials for you.
I thank Kent and the girls
for Candy Land and a yummy brownie.
I’ll be gone awhile, Candace tells
them. The woman lives in Fairfield.
All the way over in Solano
County? asks Kent.
Yes, and we’re fortunate. A girl just
moved out and that opened up a bedroom.
Fairfield is out in the sticks
east of here. Drove by it once
on the way to Six Flags
with Molly and Pete.
I think there’s some
military base near there.
Whatever.
Anywhere’s better than lockup.
Or my mother’s.
Or Colleen and Jay’s.
I hope.
We Shop at Walmart
On the state of California’s dime.
I’m grateful for new clothes,
even if they’re basic.
Cheap jeans, two pairs.
Long-sleeved tees, four.
Panties, two three-packs.
Two bras, straps intact.
Socks, one six-pack.
Vans for my feet.
Plus, essentials.
Toothbrush. Hairbrush.
Shampoo. Deodorant. Tampons.
Pencils.
I left the broken one
in the pants Marilee took at the hospital.
There could be some of his DNA on it.
Candace wants me to file
a police report and I guess I will.
The guy deserves prison.
If they catch him.
I doubt they’ll look very hard
unless he’s done it before, or does it again.
Right now, I’m just hoping
for some small sense of normalcy.
A regular roof over my head.
A regular toilet to pee in.
A regular bed where I’ll feel
safe enough to close my eyes.
And school. I’m so far behind.
But I’ll do whatever it takes to catch up.
“How soon can I start school?”
A couple of days. I’ll have to round
up your transcripts and register you.
You missed a lot of work, so we’ll need
to discuss that with a counselor.
“I messed up. I’m sorry.”
I believe you are, Lake. And I’m sorry,
too. But actions have consequences.
Consider outcomes before you act.
Logic over emotion.
Easier said than done.
“I was really in love with Parker.”
She doesn’t respond right away.
Why did you use the past tense?
“What do you mean?”
If you were in love with Parker
then, why aren’t you now?
As a rule, love is tenacious.
Boom.
Candace Exits the Freeway
Drives a short distance
beside fields left bare for winter.
Pulls into a neighborhood
with smallish, but decent houses.
The vehicles parked on
the palm tree–lined street
tell me the people who live
here labor for a living.
Most probably work
at what Candace tells me
is Travis Air Force Base.
We stop in front of a house
that’s plain but not ugly.
The grass needs mowing,
but it’s nice and green.
A few flowers remain
in pots by the door, despite
the late-November weather.
I stand behind Candace,
my Walmart bags in hand.
It takes a whole minute
for the person inside
to respond to the bell.
