Michael Leever
Out

<< continued from Part 2

You walk up to the checkout, hit the bell, and wait. Nothing happens. You hit it again, then again, then again. Still nothing. You reach over to the cash register, and hit it with your fist, but it's locked. Just then you see somebody pushing through the front door. They come in. You go out. The cold air hits your face, and you go, What the fuck was I thinking?

xxxxx

That line, it's a common refrain in your life. If it was a song, it would be your soundtrack. What the fuck was I thinking? Ooh what the fuck was I thinking? You keep asking yourself that as you walk home through the gray, two-dimensional, winter day. Why do things have to be this way? You ask, for a change of pace, as you cross main street and head up the hill. That would be the other song. Why do things have to be this way? At least you know the answer to that. What the fuck were you thinking? That you've never had an answer for. Not for your mom, not for your teachers, not for your friends, and not for Kyls.

"The problem with you is you don't think," you remember Kyls saying to you as you sat on the beach in Daytona, five years ago, in July. Five-year old Kayla is splashing in the surf in front of you, and she's happier than you've ever seen her. She has a little plastic shovel in one hand, a little plastic bucket in the other, and she's prancing around in the water in her frilly, little one-piece bathing suit. Kyls is happy, too, or she was, until you get on this subject. "That's the thing," she's saying. "When you think, when you use your head, you're smart. It's when you just do stuff without thinking you get in trouble."

"Isn't that true for everyone?" you say. "When they think, they're smart, and when they don't, they're dumb? Isn't that kind of what thinking is?"

"Don't get cute with me," she says, and punches you in the arm. "You know what I mean. You're just impulsive. You get some idea in your head, or you get mad, or I don't know, but something happens, and then before you know what's going on, you're in the back of a cop car, or you're on the ground knocked out, or your girlfriend's in tears."

She says the last part with a little smile, and you know she's still in a good mood, so you lean in, bite her bare shoulder, and say, "That last part is unforgiveable, it's true."

"I just want you to be around," she says, and leans into you. "It don't matter what I feel about you if you're not here, ya know?"

"I know," you say, and you do, and you put your arm around her, and then Kayla's standing up and saying something to you.

"What?" you say, and she says it again.

"Come swimming in the ocean, daddy. Come swimming in the ocean."

You and Kyls look at each other in surprise. She's never called you that before, you not being her actual daddy and all. But she just did. Kyls shows a little smile, and pats you on the back.

"Well, I guess you better go then, daddy."

You smile and say, Okay, Momma, and you get up, swooping Kayla into your arms and carrying her out into the ocean, and at that point you're not sure if it's the waves or the tears running down your face that's making the salty taste in your mouth, but you know it's the best moment of your life and you'll remember it forever, and that you'll never do anything that will keep you away from this beautiful little angel who you're holding in your arms, who's life you're holding in your arms, who just called you daddy.

* * *

A day after Daytona-one day-was when the shit went down that you just got out from. Didn't even get to say goodbye. Straight to jail for you. Kyls didn't visit you once, just sent you a letter saying she couldn't wait for you, that by the time you got out Kayla would be ten years old, and she didn't want her daughter's childhood to be spent waiting for fathers to get out of jail.

You understood, of course. You wouldn't have wanted them to wait. But it didn't make it easier. And now that you are out, you don't see why you can't see her, at least once. That's what you keep telling Kyls on the phone, but it doesn't take too many, "I just don't think it's a good idea," and you saying, "Why fucking not," before she just stops taking your calls.

Your mom has a new friend coming over a lot, and you know if you stay there much longer you'll end up killing the fucker, so you spend a lot of time at Benny's. You're still broke and unemployed, getting by on your mom's social security, and Benny tries to help.

"Mike's hiring painters," he'll say. Or, "Got an opening at the Meijer deli."

"I'd rather be in jail than do that shit," you always tell him

You want something decent. A trade. You want to be an electrician, or a plumber, or something, anything real. You think about going to truck-driving school, or community college, getting an online teaching degree. Everybody knows what you're actually going to do, even you, before you'll admit it, but finally you do.

"So. Benny" you say one day. "You and your guy still need help?"

Benny puts the bong down on the coffee table, and looks at you. You're in his living room as usual, empty beer cans all around, weed smoke filling the room like fog. It's a Sunday and the Bengals are on TV. Nobody else is around for once, just you and Benny and the dogs. He sits back on the couch, and scratches Benny Jr's head.

"You sure, man? Declan tells me they need people at Sherwin-Williams. That's not a bad gig."

"C'mon, man. Can you really see me slinging paint?"

"I don't know, man. You just got out. Shit goes down, and I say this with the utmost respect for the difficulty of the position, but shit goes down, as it tends to with you, ya know? You really ready to go back in?"

You nod instinctually, but then it hits you. You are. With the money Benny pays you, you can actually be something, you can actually have a future, not be some burger-flipping pussy walking around with his shoulders hunched and bag of Micky D's under his arm, going to work every day to suck up to some nineteen-year-old kid who paid attention in school. You'd rather die than do that. Worried about going back in? Hell, you're in the prison of poverty and no prospects as it is.

You tell Benny that and he nods and thinks for a minute. He's about to say something when Declan storms in and starts raging about the Bengals.

"They always choke. In the big games they always fuckin' choke." He goes on, getting into it, really laying into them, and you and Benny exchange a smile.

You know Benny doesn't like to talk business in front of his younger siblings, so after awhile you get up and slap hands, and he says you'll talk, and you nod and say that sounds good.

On your way home, you go by Kyls's. You know you shouldn't, but after talking to Benny, you feel like things are in motion, you feel like you've had somewhat of an epiphany about who you really are, what you really want out of life, Kyls and Kayla being a major part of that, and you just can't help but go by.

The Sunfire is the only car in the driveway this time, and you walk by it and ring the bell. As soon as you hear the ding, you lose your nerve. Everything you were going to say a moment ago-that you love her, that you love Kayla, that you want to be there for them-it all sounds ridiculous now. You think about running away again, but it's daylight, and you can hear someone coming.

Kyls opens the door in tight jeans and a hoody. She hesitates when she sees you, and waits a full beat before she opens the storm door.

"Hey?" she says.

"Hey."

"What's up. ?"

"Sorry for coming by like this. I just, I don't know. I was walking by and. "

She doesn't say anything, just shifts her weight from her left to her right leg and stares at you.

"I got a job," you say. "I'm going to be working and I just wanted to, like, say, I don't know, I just. "

You're fumbling and your face gets hot and you look at your feet. What were you thinking? You're a fucking idiot. You can't even speak. Kyls is going to think you've lost it. But when you look up, she's smiling.

"That's great," she says. "That's really great. Where? Feldner's?"

This time it's not your fault you can't think of words. There are none you can say to get the reaction you want. Kyls knows this instantly, and her whole demeanor changes. She takes a step back, and crosses her arms. You start to speak, but she cuts you off with a look. Kyls is the master of these looks. She says worlds without opening her mouth. This one is a masterpiece. In one look she says loves you, she hates you, she's seeing someone else but wishes it was you but knows it can't be because you're just going to end up back in jail and she has to protect herself, has to protect Kayla.

"Maybe we could talk and figure-"

"I don't think that's a good idea," she says.

"But-"

"I have to go," she says, and steps back to close the door.

You feel like if you can't keep her talking, you'll never get another chance, so you start stammering. "But what if, when, if I was, I mean, there has to be. " You trail off, and let your hands fall to your sides. There's nothing you can say, and you know it. You look up at her face, and let all the air out of your body.

"Why do things have to be this way?" you say, finally. "Why do things always have to be this way?"

Kyls doesn't answer, just stares into you one last time, and with her eyes tells you what you already know. There's no other way they could be.

>> click to read: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

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Michael Leever flips houses in Cincinnati, Ohio for a living, but for nearly a decade he has tried to make time nearly every morning to write at least a little.

>> Back to Issue 22, 2019