I.
“You lost a tooth!” Dad points to the gap between my front teeth, “Better go find it so you can put it back.” I drop to the trailer’s coarse brown carpet, searching for what I know is a lie.
II.
Why did the office lady call me a boy? Can’t she see my shoes are pink?
Dad tussles my pixie cut, a poof of thick brown hair that hasn’t been styled since it was cut. “Boys can wear pink now too, crazy right?”
III.
Our wet sneakers echoed through the Publix at 5 a.m., having dropped Mom at GAP Inc. across the street. The red Ford Windstar van waited in the parking lot for us, the seats cold since Dad hadn’t turned the heat on.
I asked for breakfast so when we pulled into the parking lot, I thought my wish for McDonald’s had come true.
Daddy are we poor?
He looked down at his daughters’ hands. Let them go and grabbed three spoons from the break area condiment station. “How can someone be poor when they have a cherry yogurt?” He smiled and looked to us with dark circles and puffy red eyes. The eyes and smile that glanced at me in the public library while we sat at the computers. I read and he surfed the web. He taught me to always carry a book for company: he liked how it kept me content for hours. The eyes and smile that reminded me it was okay the park bench made my jeans wet as he pulled sandwiches from a cooler. He called each day with him an adventure. The eyes and smile that looked through racks of secondhand clothing and pulled out a hello kitty t-shirt he knew I liked. He flipped the tag and put it back on the rack before I saw it: the tag wasn’t a sale color. The smile and eyes that looked back at his daughters who dozed in the afternoon sun while we waited in the van to pick Mom from work.
IV.
I would divorce that boy. I would marry him just for his horse and then divorce him. I stare at an Amish boy and white pony whose hair is braided with red bows.
“Forget about the boy. I’ll buy you any horse you want.” Dad laughs and his hands grip the steering wheel. My eyes don’t leave the horse. His eyes keep glancing at the rearview mirror. It was never about the boy.
V.
“Since you did it to your sister, it’s only fair she gets to do it to you.” Dad hands me the hammer, “Go ahead, hit her over the head.”
VI.
Roosters don’t care if your dad told you to be brave. My eyes were bruised, and my inner cheeks cut from where his claws landed. Dad didn’t take me to the hospital after looking at my eyes. He cupped my face with his rough palms and prayed for me. He knew kids at school would bother me and prayed for my face to heal quickly. He left me with Mom who bandaged my face while he went to the barn. Unlike the rooster, I saw the next morning.
VII.
“If you don’t stop acting like that, God’s going to make you feel very sorry.”
I’m done trick or treating. I’m cold and tired and hungry and want to go home.
“Come on, just a couple more houses.” Dad turns around at the sound of pebbles falling into a sewer drain. “See, God took away your Halloween candy. Now get up.”
VIII.
“Why are you resisting!” Dad turns to the little girl he expected to be his oldest daughter. A terrified little blonde girl pulls against his grip. “Oh my god, go find your parents.”
She runs like a fawn into the crowd of daddies and daughters on the dance floor.
He lets go of my hand and grabs my shoulders instead. His hands are ready to direct me to the exit.
“Parents should pay better attention to their kids, now let’s go find your sister.”
IX.
I spin around in the office chair while Dad’s manager asks how my sister and me are doing in school. The fan runs in the corner of the office, trying to work against the summer heat.
“Well, my oldest is trying her best and working hard. She’s just got one more year until graduation, and she’s doing stellar in cosmetology program. I can see her getting her licenses out of high school. And my youngest is doing what she always does.”
They think I can’t hear them. I stop swiveling and face them. Yeah, my sister got a B in standard Geometry while I got an A in honors Geometry. Unlike me, she doesn’t have her 4.0 anymore, and it looks like she’s about to have a B in French.
Dad shoots me a hard look. “If I gave you praise for every good thing you accomplish, your sister would be very sad. Let’s be considerate of others.”
X.
—I’m sick of these cows. So I get down to the end of the road after standing in the cold for thirty minutes and point my flashlight as if to say here Charles here are your cows. Didn’t want them around our cars anymore, a cow could easily rip off your side mirror.
—What did you say to him?
He wiggled one of his chicken tenders in my face before making it swim like a dolphin into his mouth.
—Get this, he rolls up his window and takes off back up the road. So I’m running to keep up with his truck and it’s as if he realizes I’m keeping up so he speeds up but I speed up too.
He scoots some fries together and jabs them into his ketchup. Some sauce falls on the table as he stuffs them into his mouth.
—And then I realize what am I going to do when I catch up to him, jump on his back bumper and tear his wiper off? So I stopped running at our driveway even though I could have caught the guy. He never calls or responds so I have to call the funeral home he’s part owner and I say hey I just had to chase after him what’s his problem.
—Did you ever end up talking to him?
—I don’t know what his problem is, I don’t think he should have cows. And I had my Charlie Brown outfit on how do you run away from Charlie Brown?
He gulps down his Coke before wiping his face with a napkin. ◆
Allison Finn is an undergraduate at the University of the Cumberlands majoring in English Literature and Secondary Education. She is set to graduate Spring 2028 and plans to pursue a graduate program in creative writing. She is also a member of the women’s bowling team, Alpha Lambda Delta, Sigma Tau Delta, and Kappa Delta.
Pensworth 