Family Read Online Free PDF

box with a lock on the front, like a tool kit, or a tackle box. the box was heavy, permanent; something solid, sturdy enough to house the ghost of my former self.
    something to capture and contain the hairline fractures of my past life. my half-life.
    she wasn’t finished. she continued to riffle through the wallet, examining the contents. her fingers paused, danced against a thick square. photo paper.
    like a magician coming to the end of a trick, she offered her palm to me again; from its center, half-life mel winked out, flanked by mother and uncle jack. the unholy trinity.
    “cute,” she said. she deftly deposited the picture in the lockbox, letting it float until it settled, covering my driver’s license.
    “i might have wanted that,” i said.
    leila didn’t seem to care what i might have ever wanted. she leveled me, eyes storm-gray. she snapped the box shut and jiggled its combination, sealing its contents. severing my ties. cutting me off from my former self.
    i didn’t want the picture. i didn’t need the license. wouldn’t need either, here at the ranch. not the money, either—Henry said that the family took care of each other. leila knew this, knew me, in an instant.
    leila was my family, now. leila and i were bound.
    leila was blood.
    “it’ll be here,” she said coolly.
    “everything stays here.”

dolls
    i wanted a barbie.
    when i was seven years old, i wanted a barbie doll for christmas.
    i didn’t care which one—and there were so, so many: a doll for every fantasy, for every possible escape, for every alternative to real life. your barbie could be a nurse. she could drive a car (pink, and convertible, obviously, the better to offset her painted complexion, ideal for allowing the breeze to tousle the stiff, synthetic strands of her candy-floss, gold-spun hair). she could carry a briefcase, or a hatbox. she could sing in a cabaret, dance in a chorus line, ride in a rodeo.
    barbie could do anything but wear flat-heeled shoes.
    anything but speak, or move on her own. those were not prerequisites for the complete, full-flourish, barbie experience.
    or so i imagined.
    thus far, barbie was only a fantasy to me. a pastime for other girls. girls with real fathers, mothers, families. girls with gold-spun hair.
    girls i’d never known. would never be.
    i wanted a barbie for christmas.
    but. christmas with mother and uncle jack was a time for disappointment.
    i knew instantly that year, upon seeing my present under the tree, that it wouldn’t be a barbie. the box was too big, lumpish, unevenly wrapped, even for one of her endless accessories. barbie accessories are packaged smooth and slick, ripe for pristine presentation. so. it couldn’t be.
    in a way, it was better to know like that: all at once, no time for false hope to marinate, to work its way under my fingernails and behind my ears before finally taking hold of the space inside my rib cage. the space i mostly kept tucked away, quiet, ironclad. it was better not to expect. better not to forget the true meaning of the constant hum, the tacit pressure of endless almost.
    better to know—swiftly, simply—what real life tended to hold in store.
    i feigned enthusiasm (jack was always a stickler for enthusiasm, however false) and pulled at the wrapping. paper; ribbon; glossy, sticky tape gave way to a monstrosity:
    a life-size baby doll, birthed into my bewildered arms.
    “you can feed her. and change her diapers.” mother seemed pleased at the prospect.
    i was baffled. not surprised, exactly, never quite surprised; i knew too much for surprise. had never let hope take hold. but feeding and changing a baby doll? my own mother had never shied away from sharing with me the idea that motherhood hadn’t been her first choice, but rather, a last resort.
    my own mother hadn’t wanted a baby. hadn’t wanted me.
    my own mother’s fantasy, from what i understood of it, even then, was about as far away from motherhood as a person could possibly get.