Chess

When we were real little, a code green was normal. When Dad would come back from work, eat dinner, and go fall asleep on the couch while watching the news. Yellow was when he walked around with his head down and you could feel the hairs rise on your neck. For orange, we usually knew it was going to be bad when his anger filled up the whole house. When the yells and thuds of objects being tossed reverberated to the back of the closet my sister and I hid in. We’d never gotten to red before. I had made the code sheet myself one afternoon, printing it when no one was looking and then taping it to the wall at the back of the closet. But where could you hide when the walls were made of fabric?

Katelyn and I had been pressed up behind a cot. As we tucked in, I’d snatched a blanket to wrap around our shaking bodies in the ninety-degree heat. We settled and my breath caught seeing the tent flap open. We’d forgotten to close it. I was letting in bugs.

There was a yell, and we watched our father flip the folding table. Camping stove, cups, last night’s dish water splayed across the forest floor, kicking up the smell of decay with the wind. Dad punched the pop-up canopy leg, grunting and huffing, his face like a child’s. The canopy tipped, shoving the foldable chairs back into the empty fire pit. I could imagine the ash. A puff of soft, sticky shavings. We’d probably need to clean it later.

Katelyn gasped when Dad yelled “fuck you” and tossed the canopy back up only for it to tip the other way. Dad yelled out again. It was never usually words, just a deep, instinctual rage tapered by a guttural base and the occasional ragged breath. I felt something wet spread through my pants, the warmth mixing with my sweat. Dad kicked the canopy and paced before whipping his head to the tent. Katelyn gripped my hand a bit tighter as his face appeared over the screened window.

“Stay here,” he bit out, “and close this.” He slapped the tent flap. The sound of gravel crunching petered away towards the lake, the cicadas whirling once again. Katelyn scrambled to get up, crossing the space to crouch down just before the door, her soft, chubby legs and hands inching to the entrance as she poked her head out of the flap. She proceeded to exit, disappearing from my gaze. I heard her leave the gravel perimeter of the camp to the woods. And then the sound of retching.

I shivered, wrapping the blanket in tighter, tighter, and tighter till my knuckles were white. I felt fuzzy and had allowed myself to float away. I danced in the sky, letting the clouds get the rest of my clothes wet. There were birds, they swooped down and handed me a feather. I flapped till I was home and then at school and my teacher was telling me what a good story I had written about a man on a ship who is overtaken by a storm. I had used all the vocabulary words for that week.

Leaves were being shifted outside, I whistled, one note, the most I could do. Katelyn appeared as I finished, gently zipping the flap back all the way.

Oh, it was you.

She looked to my pants, face blank and got out her Magic Tree House book, tossing her bookmark into the void of clothes.

A moment later the gravel warned us again and there he was, opening the tent door.

His nose scrunched, “Why does it smell like pee?”

Katelyn stared into her book. I swallowed.

His gaze went straight to me. He sighed, “Come on,” Dad grabbed a new set of pants from the pile “Let’s go clean you up. You too Katelyn.”

I followed him, trying to ignore the chafing by practicing the first button on my shirt. I hadn’t quite gotten the skill down, my stubby hands struggling to get the button through the loop. Maybe it would make Dad feel better. I was still working on the top button when we reached the bathroom shower stall.

“Lindsey? Lindsey, stop dragging your feet. Come here.”

I obeyed, showing him the button on my shirt.

“Oh, were you practicing? Good job baby,” he smiled and turned the knob. Water hit the moldy concrete. Dad checked to see if the water was warm and helped me undress, plopping me in front of the stream.

“Come on honey, don’t just stand there. Here’s the soap.” Dad said, checking Katelyn for any stains on her clothes.

I hadn’t peed that much. I thought, feeling the twist in my tummy rise.

Dad bagged my dirty pants and helped me get dry, wrapping the towel around me several times over, “We’ll have to get your Momma to wash these first, huh?”

I nodded and pointed to the button on my shirt.

“I’ll help you with your button,” Dad had said.

But that was twelve years ago…

-------

“Momma?”

“Yes pumpkin?” Momma said, stirring the contents of dinner that night. Stir fry, I think.

I hesitated, “Why did you make us go to Uncle Estill’s funeral?”

It was out, and if I didn’t want to look stupid the conversation had to happen. Momma placed the spoon in the rest and wiped down her hands. “There was no way around it, your grandmother insisted.”

I shoved the grimace down. Momma had an answer for everything. Twirling my algebra homework ‘round and ‘round across the table I continued, “But that was more important than missing school for Grandpa’s? Than missing a couple of days for James’?”

“Don’t get sassy with me, I knew them more than you,” she started, narrowing her eyes, “I was doing what I thought was best for you. School is important.”

“I was eight, learning how to multiply could have waited.”

“As you told me time and time again Lindsey, I know I must be such a terrible mother.” Momma bit out her words, rehearsed and stale, like a bored villain wanting more drama from the hero.

Clenching my paper, I loosened my grip realizing what I’d done. I hated crinkled paper. My teachers would think I’m lazy. Unkempt.

“You’re not a bad mother Momma.”

“Oh, but according to you I’ve made all the mistakes. You know, you never talk about your father this way.” She quipped, going back to stir the food, tossing in bright snow peas. They tumbled away from their home into the boiling mix. Into the fire.

Great job Lindsey, I thought, tears welling. I flipped the switch, and the feeling was gone. It’s not like I wasn’t used to seeing dead bodies. Their faces a waxy façade, the makeup caked so thickly you could smear your finger through it and barely scratch the surface.

“You’ve done a lot for us Momma, don’t worry about it,” I heard myself say, the echo reaching an eight-year-old child peering into a casket, not understanding why my aunt was crying for that thing. It wasn’t my grandpa. They’d changed him. Ruined him.

I had almost thrown up that day seeing my aunt touch the thing’s chest and kiss its forehead. Momma hadn’t taken us to the hospital before he had passed. She had lied that day I asked about him on the phone.

“Here, while you’re sitting there so busy why don’t you set the table.”

Momma placed a stack of plates in front of me, quickly throwing a bunch of silverware on top of them. I flinched.

I blinked and the silverware was set, dinner on the table. I forked some Minute Rice onto my plate and then the stir fry. The smell should have been inviting. I took small bites, letting Momma lead the conversation. My sister doing the same keeping quiet but shoving food in her mouth. What an ass. I made a face at her, and she smiled ruefully.

“What about you, Katelyn? How was your day?” Momma said.

Katelyn motioned to her cheeks full of food.

“Ah okay,” Momma turned to me, “What about you? Did you finish your math homework? I got an email last week that an assignment was late.”

I gripped my fork, “She pushed the due date back Momma without fixing Canvas, it’s fine. I promise I got my work done.”

I’d also read an amazing chapter in my book and got accepted for a new job. Katelyn had been so proud of me. We’d gone to the store to grab those orange flavored push pops and ate them on the way home, talking about the new pregnancy rumor circling around the high school clicks.

“Good, can’t be falling behind. What else would all my work be for? Katelyn, did you do everything for school today?”

She still had food in her mouth but nodded.

Momma eyed her for a moment, “Well I cleaned the floors, did some laundry…”

Katelyn and I had finished putting the dishes up when she moved her eyes to ceiling. We’d almost reached the top of the stairs when I burst out laughing, “You really went all in tonight.”

Katelyn smiled, “I know I could barely breathe. Freakin’ eating contest, it was like a marathon. But it worked.” She elbowed me. “Thanks for picking up the slack. I did not need that today.”

I poked her ribs and she bat my hand away, “You owe me,” I said, “Next she’s gonna tie us to the deck and waterboard us for answers and I ain’t gonna save you then.”

Katelyn laughed but paused, “I heard you bring up the funeral again. She’s just gonna keep gaslighting you.”

The word didn’t sit right, I shook my head, “I don’t think that’s what happened. Her feelings got hurt, I don’t know.”

Katelyn lifted a brow. “Oh honey, do you honestly think that? Learn from me and just keep it to yourself.”

But I wanted Momma’s answers. Surely she would explain herself at some point.

“I was going to talk to her about dissing Miami,” I said, picking at my fingers. “I stopped myself though.”

We had lived there for nine years. Grown up in a world where color and life came in spades.

“Good. Keep your mouth shut,” Katelyn said. “Don’t want her complaining to Dad.”

That was a good point. Momma’s tapestry was woven by her hand, and Dad only saw what she’d let him see in those stories. And Dad was good at yelling. And Momma was good at gloating.

“I miss palm trees,” I whispered. On many sleepovers Katelyn, I and a bunch of our friends would play Gasoline Man at the pool our friend owned. If you got wet, you were in the Gasoline Man’s clutches, freshly tasked with spraying ‘gasoline’ on the rest of the poor souls who were dry. The nights were cool enough that we didn’t need water splashed on us, but we did it anyway, hunting each other down with water guns. Once we’d all been turned to the dark side we’d jump in the pool with our clothes on and play Mermaids, only leaving because the adults wanted to go to bed. It was our home. Not that Momma ever let us reminisce without snide remarks. She thought Lexington suited us much better.

“Me too,” Katelyn said, looking off into space, “Well I gotta go look busy, I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

But that was one year ago…

-----

I had picked a fight with Momma the night before. She had been sitting on the couch watching Netflix all day, playing Candy Crush on her phone, and calling us to come downstairs from our schoolwork to do chores. After Katelyn and I had cooked dinner, Momma smiled saying, “You’d love to wash the dishes for me, wouldn’t you? Have fun with that,” before going back to the couch to watch the news. The tension began when I had told her she could wash the dishes since our rule was whoever cooked, it was the other person’s job to clean. That didn’t sit right with Momma. But Dad was already in bed.

I entered my room when Kate came up behind me and shoved me against the wall, “What the hell were you thinking?”

“You knew she didn’t do shit all day,” I said, shoving her off me.

“You couldn’t just shut up and do what you were told, now she’s gonna tell Dad on us. And you know who’s going to get punished for it.”

It always seemed to go back to Katelyn. It was her failure. Her loss. We both knew who the favorite was. I loved her even more for not holding it against me.

“I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry. I won’t let you get grilled.”

Katelyn huffed out a hollow laugh. “I love you, but you’re shit at arguing,” It was true, “You’re touching my chessboard, Lindsey. You promised not to touch it.”

Our household was a delicate game. Katelyn was better at moving the pieces in our favor than I was. She said it was her board. But what about mine? I shook my head. “Aren’t you tired of dealing with this? You might be able to shove it down, but I can’t. I won’t. I know what the bare minimum looks like. I’ll deal with it.”

We had awoken to Dad knocking on each of our doors.

“Come downstairs now, before I leave for work.”

I almost couldn’t I felt so sick. I made it out the door and saw Katelyn leaving her room, her gaze glaring into mine. I looked away, praying I wouldn’t cry.

Momma was already sitting on the couch, looking as though she’d already won.

“So,” Dad said, reclining on the sofa, “You think you know better?”

Katelyn and I both knew to stay silent. I didn’t even scratch at my fingers.

Dad continued, his voice rising, “You both have no responsibility. You’re mother and I pay for college, you live here, so when your mother asks you to do a few things around the house, show some damn respect and fucking do it.”

Silence.

“Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Momma didn’t seem satisfied, “So you act normal around him? Day after day you fight me. Are you just saying yes because he’s here?”

Yes. We nodded no. I spoke up, “We understand that we were in the wrong. We’ll do the dishes and whatever else you need.”

Her feathers still seemed ruffled, I fought back a smile.

“I’m going to work,” Dad said, picking up his backpack. “And Katelyn, your room is a pigsty. It better be clean by the time I get home.”

Katelyn closed her eyes. I wanted to grab her hand, but I knew I couldn’t comfort her here.

“Well girls,” Momma said, “Would you mind grabbing some groceries before your classes start? I need to make more flash cards for the kids at school.”

We entered the car when Katelyn accidentally closed the car door on her phone. The screen was bent enough that the pixels overtook the entire picture unless you pushed back on the top of the case. Katelyn picked up the phone from the ground, dusting it off and hit the power button.

“Shit!” She screamed, punching the car wheel. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she choked, tears welling.

She pushed herself out of the car and slammed the door, making her way to punch in the garage door code.

I inhaled sharply. Katelyn pressed enter but the garage door didn’t open. Dad still hadn’t fixed it yet. Katelyn stomped her foot, gripping her hair before running it down her face. She lifted her arm up, almost to slam her phone on the ground but grimaced and stopped, punching the garage door instead.

I flinched, feeling that familiar wave of fear.

Hello Dad, I thought.

I picked my nails as she tried again and succeeded, not waiting for the door to fully open before ducking inside to enter the house. I closed my eyes.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

I laughed, looking up at the ceiling and glanced to where Dad’s car used to be, “Fuck you,” I whispered.

Katelyn bounded back outside, her face a bit puffier. Funny how she never cried at anything else. The talk must have gone okay, seeing the credit card in her hand as she entered the car once more, closing the door a little quieter now. She buckled in her seatbelt and sobbed. I placed a hand on her back, waiting for her to start the car.

“I guess we’ll have to fucking go to Verizon then,” she muttered, pulling out of the driveway.

I don’t remember much else of that day. I thought of a hammer and a bowl. A camping stove and a door. A phone. They twirled and twisted, lodging into the grass, my lungs, the neighbors back porch. So silly it all was. So dangerous. And mother let it happen. Dad let it happen. And it all went on repeat in some decayed dance, the prima donna rotting from the inside out.

But that was a month ago…

-----

My boyfriend had picked me up that morning to leave for his parent’s house. We were celebrating my birthday. The giddiness rose in my throat as we left, knowing time away from the house was what I needed. Wanted.

I turn to him. “Would you want to know how many calories you were worth? Like if someone ate you right now, how many calories would you be?”

Aiden laughs, “Shit Lindsey what kind of a question is that?”

“Come on, answer,” I say, poking his legs.

“Hey-hey! Stop that I’m driving. I can’t answer if you kill us,” he laughs again. “But I guess I would want to know. I mean, why not right? Do you think cannibals know that kinda stuff?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, pursing my lips. “Maybe they have a food groups chart.”

We both laugh. I look to him, sobering. “Thank you. For all this.”

Aiden gives me a small smile, “Of course, love. It’s not just any day someone turns twenty-two.”

“Yes but,” I pause, “I still know it’s something that doesn’t have to happen, so thank you.”

Aiden put his hand on my knee, “Of course.”

As we drove on, I attempted to play some music through his phone but it wouldn’t connect.

“Why is your car being so difficult,” I joke, trying to make things lighter in the silence.

“Oh, yeah my charging port is weird, you have to hold it at a certain angle.”

“Okay then,” I mutter.

Aiden slows the car, approaching a line of traffic he couldn’t immediately pass. I roll my eyes. “People need to stay in their lane.”

Aiden shook his head, grinning, “Not everything has to be a race. We’re making good time regardless.”

I ignore him, trying to get the cable to connect to the phone, “Dammit, this thing won’t work.”

Aiden eyes me, “It’s just music, we’ll be okay.”

“I know but I just want music.” I look up to see that the cars are still in front of us, “We should pass them, so we get to your parents’ house sooner.”

“Babe, I like our safety. You know I hate it when you rush me.”

Yeah, because you’re always slow.

“It’ll be fine. Your phone isn’t working.” I say, jerking the cord back and forth to get it to work, “What the hell?” I murmur. “Work you piece of shit.”

“Hey,” Aiden said, pushing the phone down, “It’s just music.”

“I’m going to make it work.” I push the cord in further. Still nothing.

“Just let me help you-“

“Stop it I’ve got it- I said stop!”

I shove Nico’s hand away. The car jerked a little to the left and the next to us car honked.

“Ow Lindsey, that hurt! What is wrong with you?”

“You! Just fucking drive! It’s like I can’t catch a break.” I shout, pushing my hand against my head.

I take off my bracelet and throw it against the floorboard of the car. Something finally releasing the pressure. Aiden flinched.

“Just-, lets just get to your parents house so we can relax,” I shake my head and lean against the car door.

The rest of the drive was travelled in silence. I sat there, waiting for the twist in my stomach to leave me. It didn’t.

---

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