I see Dr. Johnston at the end of the hall, walking toward us. He stops talking to the other doctors and gestures for me to wait. He holds up his hand: Stop. His face is eager yet unsmiling. I look in the other direction then back at him. His steps quicken, and I squint, for some reason pretending I don’t recognize him. And I think: What if I’m wrong? What if Joanie doesn’t make it out of this?
“Scottie,” I say. “This way.”
I walk in the other direction, away from Dr. Johnston, and she turns and follows me.
“Walk quickly,” I tell her.
“Why?”
“It’s a game. Let’s race. Walk fast. Run.”She takes off, her backpack jiggling on her back, and I follow her, walking quickly then breaking into a slow jog, and because Dr. Johnston is my friend’s dad and was a friend of my father’s, I feel like I’m fourteen again, running from the patriarchs.
Tag: matt-king scottie-king dr-johnston
I had to ask Scottie what TYVM meant, because now that I’ve narrowed into her activities, I notice she is constantly text-messaging her friends, or at least I hope it’s her friends and not some perv in a bathrobe.
“Thank you very much,” Scottie said, and for some reason, the fact that I didn’t get this made me feel completely besieged. It’s crazy how much fathers are supposed to know these days. I come from the school of thought where a dad’s absence is something to be counted on. Now I see all the men with camouflage diaper bags and babies hanging from their chests like little ship figureheads. When I was a young dad, I remember the girls sort of bothered me as babies, the way everyone raced around to accommodate them. The sight of Alex in her stroller would irritate me at times—she’d hang one of her toddler legs over the rim of the safety bar and slouch down in the seat. Joanie would bring her something and she’d shake her head, then Joanie would try again and again until an offering happened to work and Alex would snatch it from her hands. I’d look at Alex, finally complacent with her snack, convinced there was a grown person in there, fooling us all. Scottie would just point to things and grunt or scream. It felt like I was living with royalty. I told Joanie I’d wait until they were older to really get into them, and they grew and grew behind my back.
Tag: parents parenting kids father daughter matt-king scottie-king alexa-king joanie
We get in and I start the car. “Are you going to be good to Lani?” I ask. I think of Tommy Cook, a pale boy with psoriasis; we used to tie him to a chair with bungee cords and put him in the middle of the road, then hide. Few cars would actually come down Rainbow Drive, but when they did, it always surprised me that the drivers would slow their vehicles and swerve around the chair. None of them ever got out of their cars to help Tommy; it was as though they were in on the prank. I don’t know how Tommy managed to let us catch him more than once. Maybe he liked the attention.
“I’ll try,” Scottie says. “But it’s hard. She has this face that you just want to hit.”
“I know what you mean,” I say, thinking of Tommy, but realize I’m not supposed to empathize. “What does that mean?” I ask. “The kind of face that you want to hit. Where did you get that?” Sometimes I wonder if Scottie knows what she’s saying or if it’s something she recites, like those kids who memorize the Declaration of Independence.
“It’s something Mom said about Danielle.”
“I see.” Joanie has carried her juvenile meanness into her adult life. She sends unflattering pictures of her ex-friends to the Advertiser to put in their society pages. She always has some sort of drama in her life, some friend I’m not supposed to speak to or invite to our barbecues, and then I hear her on the phone gossiping about the latest scandal in an outraged and thrilled voice. “You are going to die,” I’ll hear her say. “Oh my God, you will just die.”
Is this where Scottie gets it? By watching her mother use cruelty as a source of entertainment? I feel almost proud that I have made these deductions without the blogs and without Esther, and I’m eager to tell Joanie about all of this, to prove that I was capable without her.
Tag: lani matt-king scottie-king
I look in the jewelry box where Joanie found the drugs. She showed me a miniature Ziploc bag filled with a clear, hard rock.
“What is this?” I said. I never did drugs, so I had no idea. Heroin? Cocaine? Crack? Ice? “What is this?” I screamed at Alex, who screamed back, “It’s not like I shoot it!”
A plastic ballerina pops up and slowly twirls to a tinkling song whose sound is discordant and deformed. The pink satin liner is dirty, and other than a black pearl necklace, the box holds only rusty paper clips and rubber bands noosed with Alex’s dark hair. I see a note stuck to the mirror and pick up the jewelry box and move the ballerina aside. She twirls against my finger. The note says, I wouldn’t hide them in the same place twice.
I let out a short breath through my nose. Good one, Alex. I close the jewelry box and shake my head, missing her tremendously. I wish she never went back to boarding school, and I don’t understand her sudden change of plans. What did they fight about? What could have been so bad?
Tag: drugs father daughter teenage matt-king alex-king
We don’t treat each other very well, I suppose. Even from the start. It was as though we had the seven-year itch the day we met. The day she went into a coma, I heard her telling her friend Shelley that I was useless, that I leave my socks hanging on every doorknob in the house. At weddings we roll our eyes at the burgeoning love around us, the vows that we know will morph into new kinds of promises: I vow not to kiss you when you’re trying to read. I will tolerate you in sickness and ignore you in health. I promise to let you watch that stupid news show about celebrities, since you’re so disenchanted with your own life.
Joanie and I were urged by her brother, Barry, to subject ourselves to counseling as a decent couple would. Barry is a man of the couch, a believer in weekly therapy, affirmations, and pulse points. Once he tried to show us exercises he’d been doing in session with his girlfriend. We were instructed to trade reasons, abstract or specific, why we stayed with each other. I started off by saying that Joanie would get drunk and pretend I was someone else and do this neat thing with her tongue. Joanie said tax breaks. Barry cried. Openly. His second wife had recently left him for someone who understood that a man didn’t do volunteer work.
Tag: marriage husband wife wedding matt-king joanie-king
Stop it, Barry,” Joanie said. “Get ahold of yourself. This is just how we work.”
I agreed. When she told Shelley I was useless, I heard the smile in her voice and knew she was pretending to be irritated. Really, she wouldn’t know what to do without my uselessness, just as I wouldn’t know what to do without her complaints. I take it back. It’s not that we don’t treat each other well; it’s just that we’re comfortable enough to know that sarcasm and aloofness keep us afloat, and we never have to watch where we step.
“You are both so cold,” Barry said that night.
Tag: matt-king joanie-king barry
What are we talking about?” Alex says. “This is fucking nonsense.”
The couple ahead of us turns slightly.
“What are you looking at?” Alex says to them.
I don’t bother to reprimand her, because really, what are they looking at? I slow my pace and Alex punches Scottie in the arm.
“Ow!” Scottie screams.
“Alex! Why are we still on this pattern?”
“Hit her back, Dad,” Scottie yells.
Alex grabs Scottie’s neck.
“You’re hurting me,” Scottie says.
“That’s kind of the point,” Alex says.
I grab both children by the arm and pull them down to the sand. Sid covers his mouth with his hand and bends over, laughing silently.
“‘What do you love about Mom?’” Alex says, mimicking her sister. “Shut up, already. And stop babying her.”
I sit down between them and don’t say a word. Sid sits next to Alex. “Easy, tiger,” he says. I look at the waves crashing down on the sand. A few women walk by and give me this knowing look, as though a father with his kids is such a precious sight. It takes so little to be revered as a father. I can tell the girls are waiting for me to say something, but what can I say that hasn’t been said? I’ve shouted, I’ve reasoned, I’ve even spanked. Nothing works.
“What do you love about Mom, Scottie?” I ask, glaring at Alex.
She takes a moment to think. “Lots of stuff. She’s not old and ugly, like most moms.”
“What about you, Alex?”
“Why are we doing this?” she asks. “How did we get here in the first place?”
“Swimming with the sharks,” I say. “Scottie wanted to swim with sharks.”
“You can do that,” Sid says. “I read about it in the hotel.”
“She’s not afraid of anything,” Alex says.
She’s wrong, and besides, I think this is a statement and not something that Alex truly loves.
“Let’s get back,” I say.
I stand up and wipe the sand off of me. I look at our hotel on the cliff, pink from the sunset. The girls’ expressions when I told them about their mom made me feel so alone. They won’t ever understand me the way Joanie does. They won’t know her the way I do. I miss her despite the fact that she envisioned the rest of her life without me. I look at my daughters, utter mysteries, and for a brief moment I have a sick feeling that I don’t want to be alone in the world with these two girls. I’m relieved they haven’t asked me what it is I love about them.
Tag: love matt-king scottie-king sid alex-king
There’s something different about her. I realize it’s her breasts—they’re huge. I see that she’s stuffed her bikini top with wet balls of sand.
“What is that?” I say. “Scottie. Your suit.”
She shields her eyes with her hand and looks down at her chest. “Beach boobs,” she says.
“Take that out of there,” I say. “Alex. Why’d you let her do that?”
Alex is on her stomach, with the straps of her top untied. She lifts her head toward Scottie. “I didn’t know. Take them out, stupid.”
Sid lifts his head. “Honestly,” he says, “big boobs look kind of fatty.”
“As Bebe says, boobs suck,” Alex says, “and Sid’s full of shit. He loves big boobs.”
“Who’s Bebe?” Scottie lets the sand fall out of her top.
“Character from South Park,” Sid says. “And I love small boobs, too, Alex. I’m an equal-opportunity employer.
Tag: kids matt-king scottie-king sid alex-king
Reina sounds awesome,” Sid says. “I’m digging her more and more.”
“Were you there?” I ask. “Have you seen one of these movies?”
“No,” Scottie says.
“Scottie,” Alex says, kicking Sid in the ribs. “Reina is a fuckedup ho bag, and you need to stay away from her. I’ve already told you that. Do you want to end up like me?”
“Yes,” Scottie says.
“I mean the earlier me, when I was yelling at Mom.”
“No,” Scottie says.
“Well, Reina is going to be a crackhead, and she’s going to get used. She’s a twat. Say it.”
“Twat,” Scottie says. She gets up and runs across the room, saying, “Twat twat twat twat twat.”
“Holy shit,” Sid says. “This is some messed-up parenting. Isn’t it?”
Alex shrugs. “Maybe. I guess we’ll see.”
“I don’t get it,” I say. “I don’t know what to do. These things she does, they keep happening.”
“It will go away,” Alex says.
“Will it? I mean, look at how you kids talk. In front of me, especially. It’s like you don’t respect authority.”
The kids stare at the television. I tell them to get out. I’m going to bed.
Tag: lessons matt-king scottie-king sid alex-king reina twat
Hey,” he says.
I feel foolish for being out of breath and standing over him. The moonlight cuts a line down my chest. “Hey,” I say.
“Checking on me?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Scottie. She’s in the bathroom.” I stop talking.
“Yeah?” he says and sits up.
“She’s playacting.” I don’t know how to say it. I don’t need to say it. “She’s kissing the mirror.”
“Oh,” he says. “I used to do some messed-up things as a kid. Still do.”
I feel wide awake, which always makes me angry in the middle of the night. I’m useless without sleep. I can’t get myself to go back to my own room. I sit on the end of the bed by his feet. “I’m worried about my daughters,” I say. “I’m worried there’s something wrong with them.”
Sid rubs his eyes.
“Forget it,” I say. “Sorry for waking you up.”
“It’s going to get worse,” he says. “After your wife dies.” He holds the blanket up to his chin.
Tag: matt-king sid bonding-time
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