Know

When I snap off the lamp, we lie in the dark for a few moments, not talking. She is in the bed just a few inches from mine, and I can hear her breathing. Later she will pull the blankets and a pillow over her head and sleep a protected sleep—away from memory, away from the din and disruption of her father’s house. But we are here tonight in this hotel room, the blinds shuttered tight, the room obliterated—just the quiet lighted numbers on the night stand clock. We are both tired from this day of meeting people who lay claim to us. We search each other’s faces for something familiar, something to latch on to. What connects us, really? This family scattered like ashes by the mighty hand of circumstance. We stand awkwardly along the shore of a troubled lake, feet unstable on the river rocks. What we discover enthralls us, disappoints us, as we move around each other, navigating this new terrain, trying not to slip on the rocky shore.

She laughs the nervous laugh I have come to know as the prelude to something she’s ready to reveal. The darkness of the room makes us feel safe, protected. I lie absolutely still and wait.

He left us alone for three days when we were six, she says. Her voice moves on the pitch black stage—with its own character and body, even though we can’t see it. And the police kicked in the door...

I let her words drift along the dark for a moment.

And where was I, I think, when this was happening? Many miles north, suckling a hungry son, making tea, weeding an abundant garden… I trusted the things he told me, even though I knew I should not. And now she is here beside me covered in bruises that the world cannot see—does not want to see. She is a throw-away in her motherlessness, her court dates, her cheap shoes. The judge’s calendar filled with too many of these children, as her stomach growls for lunch…

Another laugh in the darkness, and I cover my belly with both hands.

And there is blood from her nose and mouth—her father’s wrath on a Sunday afternoon—and her brother on the floor getting kicked. And waking up to a man lying on top of her… And moving and moving and moving. Each time someone suspected, each time the rent man came knocking: leaving. No roof, no bed, no food…no medicine for a toothache that lasted months. This young girl beside me understands the word no. With me in my fertilized blindness, creating a yes world for my son…

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