Just Two

The trees sped by in a blur of green.  Kelly looked out the window until she was dizzy and the thoughts in her head began blurring like those trees.  She looked into the glass, trying to see past the trees to her own reflection.  The day was bright and blinding, the sun reflecting off of every surface.  Her mother sat in the front, driving furiously as if she were angry at the steering wheel.  She was always angry at something.  Kelly knew her mother was more than high strung, and she wondered what she’d done wrong to end up sitting in this car instead of back at her house.  In her room.  With her things.  With her father.  What she really wondered was why her mother even wanted her. 1

As if she could sense that Kelly was thinking about her, she turned around to look at her daughter.  Kelly could swear that her mother had about seven more senses than other people—and one of them was definitely a sense that found out every thought Kelly had and everything she did.  The look was more like a glare from Kelly’s perspective, but really, it was how her mother always looked these days.  The glance lasted only a second before she turned her eyes back to the road.  Then she spoke to Kelly for the first time that day.  “Well, I’d always thought that there were three of us, Kelly, but from now on I guess there’ll just be two.”2

The very words made Kelly’s eyes water.  Just two.  Maybe times with the three of them had gotten worse, but they could learn to take it.  She didn’t want there to be just two.  And if there had to be just two, she wished she could switch partners.  The blur of trees continued. 3

Just a few minutes earlier, Kelly had walked around her empty room, taking it all in before she left. Her Keds scuffed across the hardwood floor that, as long as Kelly could remember, had been covered by one of her pink, furry rugs. No posters of Justin hung on the wall, and even her vintage telephone was gone. Everything was packed into one of the boxes lining her lavender painted wall—the same wall she’d leaned against countless nights, listening to her parents argue.4

They argued about anything they could. The almost seemed to enjoy starting fights with each other. Sometimes they fought about little things, like her dad eating the last piece of cake when he shouldn’t have. But mostly, they fought about her. Something about Kelly always created a disagreement. Eventually, she tried to hide everything she could from them, just to keep them from fighting about it.5

Kelly remembered the week her parents had begun talking about a divorce as if she were reliving a nightmare. She’d thought that somehow, her parents must have x-ray vision. No matter how hard she tried to hide things, they could see right through her bookbag—and what they found was almost certain to create some heat.  Monday, it had been a D on her Algebra exam. She’d crumpled it up and stuffed the paper far down in the front pocket of the bag, but somehow they’d found it. Her mother had acted like Kelly was about to flunk out of school. “Everyone gets a bad grade every once in a while, Kathy,” her father had said.6

Tuesday, Robert had written her a love letter, and she’d tucked it inside one of her notebooks. Her parents didn’t know about Robert, and the scene was not a pretty one when they read that letter. Her mother said the letter had fallen out of her notebook, but Kelly wouldn’t have been surprised if she had gone snooping around in there. She laid into Kelly as if she’d come home and announced that Robert had gotten her pregnant. The very idea was insane. Robert was just a boy who liked her. So, what was the problem? The problem was that Kelly’s mom overreacted to absolutely everything. Her dad hadn’t made a big deal out of it. He almost always fought for her.7

Wednesday had been the worst. One cigarette. One lousy cigarette that had fallen out of the side pocket of her bookbag. And what was it her mother had said? “Kelly Ann, you are this close to being out that door, missy!” she’d been hysterical, as she usually was. Her dad had calmly walked over to stand next to his daughter. “Kathy, she said it wasn’t hers, so . . .” he’d let his voice trail off. Her mother had stormed out of the room, mumbling under her breath about cigarettes and lying and how stupid Kelly’s father was.8

That night, Kelly had stayed up late, but not by choice. After her parents had sent her to bed, she’d listened to them fight—about cigarettes, the letter, the bad grade, and anything else they could think up. She pressed her hands against the wall she leaned against and could feel the tension seeping from their room, through her lavender paint, into her fingertips. They screamed words at each other that Kelly would have gotten smacked for saying or even thinking for that matter. It took four hours and seven minutes before things got quiet in their room. She knew exactly how long it took them because she kept watching her clock, willing them to stop. It was the longest she could remember them fighting at one time. Kelly made her decision the moment before she fell asleep.9

Thursday. She’d packed everything she could into her bookbag that morning, and when the school bus came by that afternoon, she wasn’t on it. She’d walked for a long time after school, not quite sure where she would go. She hadn’t thought that far ahead.10

That night, she’d spent about seven hours tucked away in a dusty corner of the public library. She hadn’t read or done homework or done much of anything for that matter. She’d simply sat on one of those stools people use to help them reach books on the top shelf. She sat there and let the moldy air tickle the hairs in her nose while she stared at the skyline, watching it get darker and darker.11

Eventually, a strong arm had gently lifted her from the stool. She recognized it instantly. Her father. Her mother stood by his side, her eyes frantic with worry. Kelly was secretly glad. Worry meant she cared.12

By 11:45 that night, she was sitting in front of her parents, listening to them argue. She hadn’t even been sure what they were arguing about, but it wasn’t her running away. They’d moved on from that topic.13

“This is why I left,” she’d mumbled, wanting them to hear but hoping they wouldn’t.14

“What did you just say?” Her mother had a way of making everything sound cold when she was upset, which seemed to be all the time.15

Kelly still didn’t know what had come over her. She’d never raised her voice to her mother. “I said, this is why I left, Mother! I’m sick of this. I’m tired of it. You two keep me up most nights because all I can hear is your screaming. Do you even realize how much you fight? Do you, Mom?” She paused, then turned to her father. “Dad?” They looked at her, stared as if they were stunned and not sure what to do about this role reversal. Suddenly, Kelly was the parent reprimanding her two unruly children. She kept going, gaining momentum. “I hate being here. Did you know that? I hate it here. I hate feeling like everything I do is wrong, and I hate being the subject of most of your arguments. And that’s why I left. I figured with me gone--” She realized that she was practically shouting and lowered her voice. “I figured with me gone, even for one night, you guys would have one less thing to fight about. Guess I was wrong.” Then, she left them standing there and went to her own room. She’d finally said what she wanted to say. Her parents’ room was silent that night. Kelly didn’t know if that was good or bad.16

On Friday, they told her. Her father made sure she knew that it wasn’t because she had run away or because of anything that she had said Thursday night. It was something they’d been thinking about for a long time. And although they fought about her a lot, it wasn’t her fault. Kelly’s mother was, for once, surprisingly silent.17

Kelly opened her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been closed. She didn’t realize they had been. Her thoughts had just started rambling along, and she couldn’t stop thinking about her father, in that house, alone. The hardest thing had been saying goodbye to him. It wasn’t forever, but it felt that way. Kelly didn’t understand why her mother had custody. After that whole long, drawn-out process, the court still got the answer wrong. Couldn’t they tell that her mother didn’t love her the way her father did? If she’d had her choice, she and her father would have waved goodbye to her mother as she drove away this morning. Instead, Kelly had watched him through the glass, her reflection superimposed on his, making them like one person. He’d looked unkempt, disheveled, unshaved. He was going to miss her. He’d told her that enough those past few weeks. She loved her father.18

Looking around that house had been torture for her. She’d never lived in any other house. She hadn’t realized how attached she was to it until she saw most of their things packed away ready to be picked up by the movers. At first, her father had offered to move. “It’ll be easier and quicker, Kathy. And I don’t mind,” he’d said. But her mother needed “to get away.” Kelly still didn’t understand that one. She wanted to ask, “Get away from what, Mother? You’re the one causing all the problems.”19

Kelly looked at her mother from the backseat. She could only see the side of her face. Her profile was rigid and hard. The angles of her nose and cheeks were pointed. In sharp contrast was the way her hair fell in soft curls around her chin, gently brushing the nape of her neck. Kelly never understood how her mother’s hair could be so pretty when her face looked so mean. But it hadn’t always looked that way.20

She remembered when she was a few years younger, not even a teenager yet. She couldn’t count how many times she’d walked in on her parents kissing. Her father would always sweep those curls off her mother’s face with his rough, calloused hands. His thick fingers would get tangled and lost in that sea of brown. Kelly remembered a time when all those moments seemed disgusting to her. Now, she would give anything to see her father kiss all over her mother’s face like that—to hear her mother’s laughter sound girlish like a giggle. She’d always thought they were in love, but now that word didn’t seem to mean anything anymore—at least not to her parents. And what good was love it this was how it turned out?21

She spoke even before she realized she had anything to say. “Why am I here, Mom? Why didn’t you leave me with Dad?”22

There was a long pause. Kelly had expected surprise or anger. She hadn’t expected silence. She didn’t know if she should repeat herself or just assume that maybe her mother hadn’t heard her. It would probably be just as well if she hadn’t. Kelly looked down and began playing with the chipped paint on her fingernails. She’d painted them the night she went out with Robert because she didn’t know when he’d see her again. She picked the remnant off and brushed the flakes from her tank top. When she looked up, her other was staring at her in the rearview mirror.23

“You think I hate you, don’t you, Kelly?” apparently, sometime during Kelly’s fascination with her fingernails, her mother’s face had softened. Right now, she didn’t look angry with anyone. “You don’t have to answer that because I know you do.” Kelly couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother’s face look like that.24

“Don’t you?” Kelly looked down at the book in her lap, the one she hadn’t been reading.25

“No.”26

The word had come out quietly, and for a moment, Kelly thought she’d misheard it. Kelly glanced up periodically, and each time, she met her mother’s eyes. The engine rumbled quietly as they stopped at a red light. Several blocks later, they stopped at another one. Finally, her mother broke the silence. “I don’t know why I always fought against you, Kelly. But I think it was more about your father than it was about you.” Her eyes were back on the road now, and Kelly was grateful for that. “I guess, to answer your question,” she continued, “you’re here with me because I think I need a chance to change. And I can’t change without you.”27

Kelly sat in the backseat watching houses and people whiz by, all blurring into one. She hadn’t seen this side of her mother in years. She didn’t even know how to talk to this mother anymore. 28

The rest of the trip was quiet. Kelly thought about her dad. Her body started to feel tired. She thought about moving boxes against the lavender wall. Her eyelids began to droop. She thought about Robert and soft curls.29

As she drifted off to sleep, she thought about threes and twos. 30