The Prettiest Star by Carter Sickels

Author:Carter Sickels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hub City Press
Published: 2020-02-09T16:00:00+00:00

July 19, 1986

Hello.

Just me at home. On a beautiful, sunny, hot as hell afternoon.

My parents and Jess went swimming. Without me. Weren’t even going to tell me. But I saw my mother getting things together. Towels, a cooler. She told me it was a church thing. Then Jess went out the door, saying she was riding her bike and would see them there.

My father came downstairs wearing swim trunks, his legs pale and hairy. He looked at me, then at my mother. Asked if she was ready.

My mother told me I should go over to Mamaw’s to keep her company. Trying to appease me. She offered to drop me off at Mamaw’s house, but I asked her just to leave me her car.

I said, I could meet you there. I think I have a pair of swim trunks.

My mother was still. My father folded his arms over his chest.

He says, That’s not a good idea.

I asked why not.

You’re not feeling well, he says, a little too loudly.

My father, master of understatement. I wanted him to say it, but he never will. He grabbed the cooler and his car keys, and told my mother he’d be outside.

Dad, I called for him.

I didn’t think he’d turn around, but he did. His eyes were hard, his face clenched. My father has not been able to look at me since I came home. He has not touched me. He can barely be in the same room as me. I wanted him to fucking apologize. My heart was beating like crazy.

You can’t get it like that, I said.

Nothing. He just turned and went out the door. I stood at the window, like Sadie, like a dog, and watched him load the cooler in the back of his pickup—the one that runs—and my mother came up behind me and patted me on the shoulder.

She said she’d stay home with me. She started to make an excuse for him, but I cut her off. Just go, I told her. Go!

I thought I heard a sob, but I didn’t turn around.

A few months ago, I sat staring at the Hudson. I didn’t kill myself because I wanted to come back home. Now here I am. In my old room, me and my stupid baseball glove, all these trophies. Look—I’m shaking. With anger or fear, I don’t know. I’m not a goddamn ghost. Not yet, anyway.

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