Tonya B.

Maisie's Dad, as you know, was married to somebody else when Maisie was born. When we made her, too. And before that.

They'd been married for 25 years, and by all accounts the first 20 were reasonably solid. Which, from this vantage point, looks to me like a recoverable relationship. Now, today, he's with someone else and he and Tonya haven't spoken in nearly ten years. It's my greatest shame.

Last night I had a dream about Tonya. My car had broken down, and Maisie's Dad invited me to spend the night in their house--his and Tonya's--because she and a passle of family members were away. And so I did; it was my sister's house, actually, and I feel comfortable there. In the middle of the night I heard shouting, and wandered outside to see that there was a steep drop-off behind the house to a field, and in the field a crowd of adults dressed in white were tossing a huge helium ball back and forth and then kicking it up at the house. And they'd lit it on fire.

"Stop it!" I hollered down. No reaction. "I'm calling the cops!" I hollered, and they laughed.

As I turned to go back in I saw that aforementioned passle was in the driveway: they'd returned. I ran back into the house--my clothes, my computer--and grabbed clothes--old clothes I haven't worn in years; clothes that don't fit anymore--and found Maisie's Dad, who was in full panic, and walked behind him with my head down through all the people toward the exit. I knew Tonya was there, but I didn't look up and couldn't tell who she was. And nobody was saying anything to me: they were just chattering, paying no attention.

I made it outside but had forgotten something--my wallet or keys, or something else. And I went back in and found Tonya, who didn't seem to notice that I was the only white person in the room: that I wasn't part of her group. "Can I talk to you in private?" I asked, and she took me down to the basement, and we sat on a couch, and she smiled at me because she thought I was a friend. I knew what would happen to the smile when I told her my name. "Don't get up and leave when I start," I said to her. "I want to finish, OK?" And she smiled and nodded. I really liked her. I sat and stared at her and couldn't think what I could possibly say to her that she didn't already know, or would care to know--what I could say that would make it OK. I couldn't bear to watch the change in her eyes.

The end.