The last supper

She puts the weenies and beanies in front of him with the deliberate sort of gentle. It’s on the nice china, because there’s no one left to tell her not to use it anymore. A small, delicately patterned plate of toast soon follows, because she decided to make it fancy tonight. A deep voice, kitten soft, issues its thanks as she takes her seat across from Pa. The clink of silverware begins, little taps sounding out the chasm of silence between them. She glances up from time to time, expectant and a little giddy with the wait.

She’s going tomorrow. This particular scenario of bye! I’m leaving forever! - has played out in her head with regularity ever since she’d decided she was following Uncle Malby, hell n' highwater. It was the next best thing to watching her own funeral, seeking out and measuring the regrets of the people she loved. Both were supposed to have that triumphant moment, the big you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.

Another glance, and the bear-like figure of her father shrinks even smaller than usual, the way it always does in front of her. The table seems to stretch a little longer between them. <******** impatient with it a lot faster than the days and weeks of anticipation wouldn’ve indicated. A glass of orange juice is finished off with an aggressive gulp, and when she sets the glass down, it’s not gentle at all. Her father flinches, because he always does.

“Are you gonna be home for my birthday, next month?” She breaks the silence, because she’s good at breaking the things in front of her.

“I’m go-” he begins, slow and careful in the way he treats everything in front of him.

“Well, don’t worry about it,” she interrupts with a cheery, triumphant smile. What's the point of feeling hurt, if you can't spread it to everyone unfortunate enough to be in vicinity? “I’m gonna stay in Destiny City for it this year. Get used to things before school starts. No sense in a big back and forth right now.” She spoons a mouthful of food in her mouth and chews with pointed deliberation, making eye contact with the man until he can’t look anywhere but his own plate.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “I’ll send your present early. It'll get there in time.”

“Damn right,” she chirps, chest tight and seething.


The last dance

The gym smells like a cross between Bath and Body Works and the dumpster behind McDonald’s. The teenagers crowded in together don’t seem to mind so much, smashed in and alternating between tiktok dances and the good old lean ‘n sway. Every once in awhile an adult helps make room for Jesus, but it’s nothing too wild. Later there’ll be a bonfire in the woods, with 8th grade teens making 12th grade decisions in the mistaken belief that they’ve crossed the threshold into Grown and Ready.

It’s a small school, but even so, America’s goal to dance with every boy and at least half the girls is left unmet. It’s still a good night. She’s leaving in a week, and in the past year has grown a bit distant and strange and they all know why; it’s a situation neither she nor they worked at to fix. So the school dance fills in as the going away party, and she treats it as her own, in the way she treats most spaces and events as her own anyway.

She kisses another girl’s boyfriend. She tells a mean little secret to the friend of someone who thought nobody else knew. She makes a teacher feel horrifically, appallingly uncomfortable. She kisses a girl who she knew had a crush on her, but wasn’t her type. She gives a lot of hugs, she gets a lot in turn. They give her a card. She’s gonna leave in a week and none of this will matter after that.


The last mile

The truck is packed, and Malby is halfway through a pack of Camels as he waits for her to come back from her walk.

The morning had started at Prudie’s house. She’d cleaned it the day before yesterday, one last time. The ritual no different from that of cleaning a grave or tracing a scar. The wooden floors glowed with years of care. The Lord can’t see Himself in a dirty floor, after all. She wondered if anybody else would keep it up the way she had and hoped they wouldn’t. You're gonna miss me when I’m gone, you old b***h.

In the woods behind the garden, she seeks out the nooks and crannies that were for the hiding of things, sometimes herself. She leaves things as they are and hopes nobody finds them, so they’ll be hers forever. She hopes somebody finds them and wonders about her. Makes up little stories about the person who left this and that little treasure hidden in the forest. She thinks it’d be cute, if a bird or squirrel found them, made them part of their little homes.

She breathes in the air of Dunstan, the wet and green of spring turning to summer. There’s a whole little life in that smell and who knows when she’ll be back to set foot in it once more. Maybe never. Maybe Christmas if she’s feeling nice about it.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Well, ******** y’all kindly. I’m out.”

They’ll miss her, she was sure of it.