Fade In:
One Last Time
SLIP INTO DANIEL’S SKIN
Tucson swelters in August, so life on the streets stinks, in more ways than one. Not even the monsoonal rains cool things off much. They arrive on the wind, pound superheated pavement, lifting steam into the air. But the mercury still climbs into the one-hundred-degree range during the day. At night, you sweat beneath a blanket of sultry air.
The heat only serves to heighten
your foul mood, Daniel.
No one had better mess with you.
It could lead to an ugly end.
God, how you miss Grace! Your eighteen years on this planet have netted little joy. She was the one hint of bliss you’ve known since your father died, and now she’s gone, too. You’ve been cursed, gored by the horns of the devil, as your mami—wherever she is—might say.
It’s true that you might have had bad intentions when you went over to Cami and Rand’s, where Grace was babysitting. Her aloofness that day frustrated you, setting off a chattering inside your head, and you knew nothing but direct confrontation could quiet it.
You were a block away when you heard the gunshot, though you weren’t clear that’s what it was. Still, it rooted you to the sidewalk until you felt confident a bullet wasn’t headed your way. When a second shot wasn’t forthcoming, you continued your quest, all the way to the Binghams’ front door. Behind it, a child was crying.
The bell, and your subsequent knock, went unanswered, so you chanced the knob, which turned easily. You found Waylon in the kitchen, trying to rouse Grace, who looked like she was floating in a pool of blood. She was beyond help at that point. At peace. That’s what you thought as you dialed 911 and waited. And that’s how you remember her now.
Yes, but she left you here
to struggle on, alone.
And in times of uncertain clarity,
you hate her.
Mostly, you’re still in love with your angel, who took wing and flew home. But in dark moments, shadowed by isolation, you despise the memory of her. This peculiarity made its debut performance at Grace’s funeral. You wanted to sit up front, but by the time you arrived, the church was mostly full. So you sat toward the back, stewing.
Pastor Lozano invited those who cared to share memories to come forward. You wanted to recite that poem, the one you’d written inside your head the last time the two of you were together. You had it memorized perfectly, but were toward the end of the line, and each person in front of you kept confusing the order of your words with sentiments of their own.
When you reached the microphone, you stared at those tearstained faces, and your poetry vanished. What came out of your mouth was, “She promised she loved me. She was a liar.”
After several stunned seconds, you were “escorted” from the building. Rand bulled his way up to the dais, grabbed you by the collar and belt, and pushed you out the door. He never even let you say goodbye to the girl in the casket. Your girl.
Grace should have been here with you today. Instead, you’re celebrating your eighteenth birthday in a homeless camp in the park. Surrounded by the familiar faces of strangers. Each has sob stories to tell. Each is happy to share them.
Better keep yours to yourself.
Fade Out