And Denny ran after me.
“Wayne… Wayne on a plane,” Denny sang.
I waited for Denny to catch up. We stood in the middle of Cedar Drive. The stars were on fire like they were burning with anger. Like me.
“Wayne? Do you know what you just did? You spoke! You talked!” Denny sang.
“I know.”
We walked all over the neighborhood. Past the water tower that went right on shining its red light as if nothing ever changed. Past the house that still had the stupid old flattened inflatable snowman in the front yard like they didn’t know it was late February and whole seasons had changed and things were starting to turn green.
Past the houses in the Estates that had smooth streets no one skated on but me.
The cold air made my throat hurt, but we walked and walked until we got to the park and climbed up into the hard plastic rocket ship.
I hadn’t spoken whole sentences for weeks, and now that I could, I pushed through the sandpapery soreness.
Dr. P would scold me later.
But sometimes you just have to get it out. I wanted to get everything out that night.
This is what I told Denny.
I was eight.
Mom and the Flee were married. We didn’t have Mr. Darcy. The photos for the future Wall of Honor were all in a dusty album. But there was a shelf.
His shelf.
His stupid shelf.
It had ribbons and trophies for track and field.
I admired the shiny gold trophies and the blue ribbons that sent him to college. I wanted to be like him. I wanted to run fast. I wanted him to think I was like him. Maybe he’d like me. Notice me.
One day he said, How ’bout we teach you some man skills? And I was all up for it.
He drove us out into the country. Old gray roads near old yellow fields. That was what it looked like to me. Just roads and fields and sun and dust. No houses or streetlights, just a long hot road. So endless, it blended right into the horizon.
He stopped the car and told me to get out. And I did. I did whatever he said. He told me to stand at the back of the car and I did. Then he shouted, Now run, boy!
His car sped off and I ran after it. He slammed on the brakes as I caught up. Then he took off again. Same thing. Sprint. Stop. Sprint. Stop.
He hung out the window and shouted for me to run again, then he took off. He didn’t stop. I ran and ran into clouds of dust and sun. I ran until I saw his car turn and disappear around a corner. I ran until my mouth was hot and dry.
Red taillights.
That was all I saw until I didn’t see them any longer. They’d shrunk in the distance. Disappeared, leaving me lost in the dusty nowhere.
There are lots of words for scared. I experienced all of them at once. I thought, Well, I’m going to die and I have to go to the bathroom and will I ever see Mom again? Tears rose up as I ran down the road in the direction of the car. I ran and ran, and the tears didn’t have time to fall. They dried on my face. And I remember thinking, if I could outrun the speed of tears, I’d be as fast as my dad. And then I didn’t care if I did cry, because, you know, I was going to be dead soon, or worse. So I just sat beside the road and waited to die. I was sure I was going to die. Worse, I’d let my dad down.
Later, he zipped back down the road and shouted from the car window, What a crybaby! I was just messing with you.
And he did the whole thing again. Said he was going to do it until I stopped crying. Said he was thinking of just leaving me out there. I was ashamed. I’d let him down. Again.
Mom found out because I’d peed my pants while I was scared and alone. The rest of that night they argued.
Mom came into my room that night. She thought I was sleeping. She touched my head the way moms can’t help but do and whispered, I won’t let that happen again. Ever.
I hated running after that. I hated the shelf. I tried not to hate the Flee. He was my father, after all. So I distracted myself with books. When he tried to get me to do something with him, I hid in my room and read. The more facts I learned, the more he called me stupid. Which was stupid.
That was what I told Denny. My throat felt like a cheese grater had gone over it, but I’d said everything. My throat hurt, but my insides felt light.
“Grade A jerk,” Denny said.
“You know what I hate? I hate that he just won’t act like a grown-up. He didn’t when I was a little kid and he still doesn’t. Do you know he set off fireworks inside his house?”
“You feel better now?” Denny asked.
“I never told anyone that.”
“You know what my Bubbie says about secrets?”
“What?”
“They are like farts. They have to bubble up eventually.”
“Your grandmother didn’t say that!”
“But it’s still true, right? You feel relief after you get rid of both of them.”
“True.”
Walking back to my house that night, I looked at the sky. And even though I hadn’t thought about God or praying very much, I said a silent prayer. It was simple. I asked God for courage to say things out loud.
Although, I admit, it scared me that God might give me what I asked for. What then?