It makes me feel like how you feel when you fall in a dream. Only you don't **

wake up. You just keep falling deeper and deeper into the darkest recesses **

of sleep. Especially when you help it out with a nip or two of Wild Turkey.

of course, I have to be very careful not to do it when Daddy's not trapped **

in the snare of sleep too.

Wouldn't do to be lying there unaware if he came

59.

crawling to me. No, I'd want to be totally ready.

But it won't be tonight.

Fifth of whiskey beneath my arm, I slip noiselessly into the kitchen, pour two **

fingers, replace the bottle.

Then I slither into Daddy's bathroom, help myself to a **

small green pill. Just one.

Just enough for a free fall totally without a parachute.

60.

My Bedroom Is Dark Quiet as death, and I keep it exactly that way. Even the bed cooperates, **

as I slide like a whisper under the cumbersome quilts, sit up in bed, **

motionless. I feel like I'm in a hollow black space. A cave.

Empty. I chance a sip of Turkey.

Have to wet my tongue before letting the Oxy dissolve. Slowly.

Nasty. Another sip. Jet fuel, hot and acrid against my taste buds.

Another time, another place, I'd let myself cough. Not now. Not here.

Nothing to disturb the deep breaths resonating throughout the house.

My tongue burns. My mouth tastes like crap. The spinning **

inside my head begins. Grins.

61.

I lie flat, give myself up to the **

Oxy/Turkey merry-go-round.

Eyes closed, I start the tumble.

Round. Round. Down. Down.

Outside, the wind rouses suddenly.

Branches scratch against the window **

and the sound, like something wants me, carries me where sleep will not follow.

62.

It's Bone-Chilling Here In this memory. Nothing can thaw me. Not quilt. Not whiskey. Not even opiate.

I'm frozen solidly in place, just like I was that night, the first time Daddy came.

A night Kaeleigh can't (or won't) remember. But I do.

It was a year or so after the accident. Kaeleigh and I were nine, give or take. Mom had gone in for another round of surgery. She was already lost to us. Lost. Long gone.

I could barely remember how her kisses felt. They rode away on the bumper of that fucking semi.

How we hungered for them!

Daddy smelled of Wild Turkey. Each night, we knew, he drank more and more.

That night, he had drunk just enough.

Kaeleigh, girl.

63.

His voice was a soft hiss.

Are you awake? Talk to me.

Daddy ish-is sh-so lonely.

I'd never heard him sound like that. Like a stranger.

A drunk, slurring stranger.

Where was my daddy?

Kaeleigh, all sweetness, wanted to comfort Daddy, who drew her onto his lap.

Stroked her hair. Kissed her gently on the forehead.

Cheeks. Eyes. Finally, on her lips, but not nasty or mean or with tongue or anything but misplaced love.

Love meant for Mom.

He just held her, kissed her. Breathed Wild Turkey all over her until they both fell asleep, woven together.

64.

Knitted together, threaded by pain- sharpened needles.

That one innocent joining was only the beginning, but neither realized it that night. And all I could do was linger in a dark corner, sharp jabs of envy tearing my eyes.

65.

The Innocence With which Kaeleigh accepted that gesture was to be corrupted, but not immediately.

Maybe this is the place she settles into, when forced to escape the reality of what came later, what continues still. See, she doesn't really remember the details. It's a defense mechanism, a gift from nature around post-traumatic stress.

Remembering the ins and outs, so to speak, is left up to me. I am almost always there, or at least close by, though I have never interfered. Oh, I did try to tell Mom once, but she closed up like an oyster around that pearl of truth. I guess I could have offered descriptions of Daddy's "privates"

(his word), the way he wears his scars. But hey, if she didn't care, why the hell should I? Instead, I stood by and watched father love turn to...U S T