The Kid is Alright

Ana lived in the cracks of her parents’ divorce. It was quiet there. Ignored, probably. Forgotten, maybe. And happy, though she wasn’t supposed to be.

She was supposed to cry herself to sleep at night. Or write weird poetry. Or date creepy, older guys. She was especially supposed to blame her mother and hate her father. A broken family equaled broken kids. But Ana saw opportunity in the breaks.

Had her dad forgotten that Ana’s mom would work the graveyard shift tonight? He hadn’t asked. Ana hadn’t volunteered.

He left Ana outside her house on the make-shift driveway for stone and grass. The two red lights of his truck stared back at her, and the Ford alternated black and gray under the neighborhood streetlights. The lights held their cheery cherry brightness to the end of the street, then the left one winked a goodbye at Ana and her dad disappeared around the bend.

"I just got a job for Sunday morning, Ana. I need to take you back to your mom's tonight, ok? Let’s get this to-go and we’ll save movie night for next time."

Chinese food and movies -- perks of the weekend-with-Dad routine. He’d promised a double-header at the theater, pay for one movie and sneak into a second afterwards. Ana had studied the movie times in the newspaper and drawn a blue rectangle around the first movie, then blue circles around the second options. Ultimately, it depended on the layout of the theater. Ana did the best she could with what she had.

He might change his mind. Ana listened to the engine.

It faded away.

But she did have her lo mein special #1, and the saucy fragrance leaked out of the white carton, through the tightly wrapped plastic bag up to tempt Ana. And she’d grabbed her Jansport backpack with her poetry-free journal and her dad’s music cassette tapes. She weighed her options.

Each house was quiet. The night still had plenty of time on the clock for trouble. Everyone's parents were either married and fighting or divorced and fighting. But her dad’s decision not to come to the door meant Ana’s house would stay drama-free tonight.

Her home was unremarkable like all the other one-story pastel houses. Most had open car ports. A few had garages but most had been converted into bedrooms, like Oscar’s. His sisters were relegated to the small, indoor bedrooms next to the single bathroom while he had the cool space. Ana’s envy blinded her to the hardness of the floor and the stuffiness of the air. With no closet, Oscar piled his clothes on top of beanbag chairs -- a beanbag for pants, another for shirts, and the last for underwear, which Ana pretended not to see. Oscar should be home tonight but no windows in the garage meant no light to signal one’s presence.

How to stretch this lovely, lonely moment out, Ana wondered. To pull it into a long blanket and wrap herself up in it.

Decided, Ana dropped all her gear at the backdoor and worked the combination lock on the storage closet at the back of the carport. Under a lattice of brooms, rakes, and unindentifiable home maintenance objects, her wonderful and old bike was ready. Seconds later, Ana was Speed with the literal wind in her hair.

"I’m free!! Free-falling yeah!"

She whispered-sang as she bee-booped and rambled on her bike up and down the street. On the very few empty driveways, she dared figure-eights and dashed away, with the conditioned belief chasing her that those homeowners might come chasing after her too.

The bike rattled but not in the cool way like Oscar’s -- he had playing cards in his wheels. This was the squeak and complaint of broken parts despite her dad's many repairs. Ana raised her voice to drown the bike's complaints and pedaled faster until the metallic gripes merged and became one background track to her singing.

"Yeah, I'm free! Free-falling!!

“She's a good girl, loves her mama"

She let go of the handles and slouched back. Raising her arms, she flew under the cracked street light by Oscar's house. His sister's boyfriend's friend was the culprit. Ana had been riding her bike that night, singing the Rolling Stones, and had witnessed the vandalism. Oscar’s sister must still be grounded because the boys hadn’t been back. One less kid daring to escape house-arrest and stand around a parked car or fool around inside that parked car.

Ana kept biking. “Yeah, I’m free!”

Sometimes it was boys from school, other times older men. They drove slowly, hiding behind the engine’s white noise. In the passenger seat, Oscar's sister dug through her bag and never saw, or chose to never see, how the men stared at Ana. An assessment and a warning in their eyes.

"All the good girls are home with broken hearts.

“Something, something,

“Free falling."

The lo mein would be cold but elsewhere a fight could be heating up. The police hadn't been to the neighborhood in a while. Like the “Days Since Incident” sign at her dad's warehouse. Ana felt pressured by those large numbers. Better were low numbers, because then she was in the calm eye of the hurricane. A respite while everyone was on their best behavior. More lights winked on in the stoic houses in the neighborhood.

Days since incident unknown.

Keep biking.

A light flicked on in her own house, shining through the crocked mess of vertical blinds, one broken in half so the house looked to have lost a tooth. Her mother was up and getting ready for work. She slept in half-shifts, 4 hours in the morning after the graveyard shift and another 4 hours before starting again.

Ana circled her bike while the thoughts circled her mind – now or later? Go home or keep riding? Wait for her mom to choose or choose for her mom? She weighed her options.

“Ana, I’m sorry I can’t chaperone the field trip. I have work.

“Ana, I’m sorry I can’t be room mom. I picked up extra night shifts.”

Her mom did the best she could with what she had.

Ana enlarged the loops of her route, venturing further from her home. Not outright hiding, not outright lying – just opening the crack in the parental system. I was riding my bike in front of the house, Mom.

An engine rumbled behind her, followed by the crunch of loose stones as her mom’s scuffed Cadillac backed out. Ana stopped pedaling and let the bike coast. She waited on the noise of the engine.

It faded away.

“Yeah, I’m free!! Free falling!!” Ana stood up off the bike seat and pumped the pedals. Sleepover party of one!

She’d leave everything just as she found it. In her bed by dawn with covers up to her chin. She would be ready when her mom finds her and exclaims, “Ana! When did you get home?”

“Dad dropped me off early.” Technically true. Not a lie. A gap.

She slept well. Later, she wrote a long journal entry about the wind in her hair, microwaved lo mein, and dancing all night.