Sixteen

Alice in Phoenix

Dear Alice:

I’m writing you from Phoenix, Arizona. It’s after midnight and I’m staying at the Carefree Inn, this funky little motel on Van Buren Avenue, the main drag that runs straight through the center of town. Next door is this rowdy bar called the Silver Peso, where there are always pick-ups idling in the parking lot and the favorite song on the jukebox is “Goin’ Up to the Country” by Canned Heat. Across the street is the Navajo Lanes, a bowling alley that’s open twenty-four hours.

In the room next to me a young mother lives with her five-year-old daughter. I met them out by the ice machine this afternoon. The mother dances topless at another bar across town called the Pepper Tree Lounge. She says she’s trying to save enough money to get to Las Vegas. She wants to be a showgirl at Caesars Palace. That’s her dream. She’s pretty, but not that pretty.

I only mention her because the red bikini with the blue trim she was wearing around the pool reminded me of you. You had a swimsuit just like that in high school. And Penny’s body—that’s her name, Penny, short for Penelope—is kind of like yours too, only your boobs were real and Penny carries a little more weight in her butt.

Anyway, Penny’s husband left her and Dap h—that’s her daughter’s name, short for Daphne—a couple of years ago while they were living in Flagstaff. He ran off with another woman. They rode out to L.A. on his motorcycle and he joined the Gravediggers, this biker gang that started up in the Antelope Valley back in the 1950s. And how’s this for weird? Charlie spent time in prison with a bunch of Gravediggers, and they used to hang out at the ranch with us all the time, getting high.

Of course I didn’t tell Penny any of this, because I didn’t want her to think I fucked her ex, which was certainly possible. Plus I didn’t want to slip up and mention anything about Charlie. I have to be careful what I say about him. Even though I’ve broken loose, I can sometimes feel his presence brushing up against me like a ghost.

By the way, I may be going home for a few days. I spoke to my mom and she said it would be okay, even though my dad doesn’t really want to see me. She says he’s still mad because I took off and never said goodbye. But that’s not the real reason he’s angry. He was pissed because he couldn’t sneak in my bed anymore and molest me.

He was as bad as Mister Keegan. Worse, because he was my dad. You know, if it wasn’t for Charlie, I would’ve never learned how to enjoy sex again. Do you enjoy sex? I wonder.

Also, I wonder if you kept my letters a secret or turned them over to the police. They could be looking for me right now for all I know, although I’m not that easy to find. And what if they did arrest me? What could they prove? That I left my family for another family? So what? We were all just gullible girls with separate selves, part of a creepy chain of hope that carried the wrong message.

Hey Alice, my dad was a pervert and your mom was crazy. How come you ended up so good, and I ended up like . . . me.

Your friend,

Alice