1963, four years old
Dodge met me, Eddie, and Billy at the burger place. His hair was wet, but he smelled better and had on new clothes. No one mentioned how Billy yelled at Dodge at the house or kicked out the woman he’d been with. He didn’t look at me as I ate my french fries, but only down at his meal. Billy and Eddie spoke about things like “routes” and making schedules for them, but I didn’t understand so I ate my food silently.
That evening, Dodge and I returned home alone in his truck. When we got inside, I walked to the couch and got under the covers, tired from being out so late. Even though I hadn’t wanted to touch the couch on my first day here, I’d grown used to the sticky stains that covered it. They kissed me lightly on the shoulders and legs when I slept, and sometimes I pretended they were guardian angel kisses protecting me from bad things.
Dodge went to the kitchen and grabbed a soda from the fridge. He was about to walk past me but stopped.
“You brush your teeth?”
It was the first time he’d asked me such a thing since I’d moved in. I shook my head no and rubbed my tongue over the slimy film on my teeth.
“Well, go on. Brush them.”
I sat up on the couch. “I don’t have a toothbrush.”
“They didn’t bring your toothbrush?” His voice rose like it did when he was angry. I shook my head again. He swore under his breath and muttered to himself as he popped the top of the Coke. He stood there drinking from the soda for a second before looking at me again. I shrunk into the couch, hoping the stains might save me from his anger.
After groaning in disgust, he walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of me. He set his forearms on his knees and looked down at the Coke between his hands.
“I heard Eddie call you ‘Raqi,’ ” he said.
I nodded. Maybe he wasn’t angry. The couch pushed me to sit up straighter.
He took another drink. “That lady said your name was Raquel.”
I shrugged. “Mama and Dad called me Raqi.”
He nodded and mumbled, “Raqi.” Dodge took another drink of his Coke and then cleared his throat.
“You’re going to live here,” he said. “So, I guess I need to make some changes. Tomorrow, I’ll clean out that bedroom across the hall and you can move in there.”
I sat back on the couch and nodded. He looked up for a second then back down.
“And we’ll get you a goddamn toothbrush. Can’t believe that bitch didn’t bring you one.”
He took a drink. “I—” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about your mama. She was my sister, you know. You should be with her, not me.” He sighed. “But here we are.”
Dodge looked up at me and we locked eyes for a few seconds.
“What the hell did you do to your lip? They thought I hit you.”
My hand went to my lip. “I bit it on accident.”
“Hmph,” Dodge said. “Don’t do it again. I don’t need someone calling Social Services on me. You hear?”
I nodded.
He took another drink and studied me for a second. “How old are you again?”
I held up four tiny fingers and wiggled them. I still had two flecks of purple nail polish on my left forefinger and right pinky finger. Mama had painted my nails weeks ago.
“Four years old,” he said quietly, before standing up and walking to his room. I waited for him to turn around and say “goodnight,” but he never did.