MARCH 2009

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Thoughts from a Bed’s Edge
By Foster Trecost, Jan 26, 2009

Bonnie knew the answer, but asked herself again. The question took her to a familiar place, the same one she went each time she wondered what went wrong. She recalled the childhood night many years before, the night she learned her father could lie, and that she would do anything to please him.

He drove an old car, rusted and dented. It was not good for getting him somewhere fast, but rather for getting him there eventually. When he steered to the roadside, it was no surprise to him to say, “We’ve broke down.”

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

“I can try to fix it, but if I can’t we’ll have to use someone’s phone.”

“Why?” she asked.

“To call a tow truck.” He spoke with an easy tone—unworried, unrushed. His words and the way he said them relaxed her, even though it was well into the evening. He raised the hood and poked a light beam into the dark crevices. In his other hand he held a wrench, which he tinked against metal. The tinking sound delighted her, reminded her of the music from ballet class. “This is beyond me,” he said. “We’ll have to call a tow truck.”

They walked past several houses and he seemed to choose one at random. “Let’s try here.”

Several loud knocks brought an elderly woman to the door. Her creased face peered out from the opening allowed by a safety chain. “Yes?” she asked.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but my car broke down, right up the street.” He pointed in the direction. “It’s just me and my little girl, could we use your phone to call a tow truck?”

Her eyes dropped down to confirm his claim, and when she saw the young girl, her misgivings melted away. The door was shut just long enough to unlatch the chain, and then opened again. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Of course.” She led him to the kitchen and pointed to a phone that hung against the wall.

He picked up the phone and spun several numbers. “Where are we?” he asked the lady.

“The street out front is Bainbridge. 826, between Fizt and Fulton,” she said.

“826 Bainbridge, between Fitz and Fulton,” he repeated into the phone. He said thank you and hung up. “They’ll be here soon,” he said. “I hate to ask, ma’am, but could I use your restroom?”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s just down the hall.”

“Wait here,” he said to his daughter. “I’ll be right back.” Within a few minutes, he was. “Ma’am, we’ll wait for the tow truck outside. Thank you.”

“Yes, of course,” she said and saw them to the door. “Good luck,” she called out as they headed down the sidewalk.

They walked back toward the car, neither saying anything. When they reached the car, her father said, “Get in.” When they were both inside, he started the engine and drove away.

“But,” she stuttered. “I thought it was broken.”

“No. It’s not broken.”

She expected this to be his reply, as the car was clearly moving, but such an answer meant something she had never considered: “You lied to me. Why did you lie to me?”

Her father pulled from his jacket a handful of things. “Hold out your hands,” he said. She did and he placed in them an assortment of jewelry, gold chains and rings. “She doesn’t need these things, not anymore.”

Her eyes widened. “She gave them to you?”

“Sort of. Go ahead, choose something. Anything you want.”

She reached for a gold chain with a charm in the shape of two hearts.

“It’s yours,” he said. “If you want, you can help me next time. I’d like that.”

“How?” There was no higher calling than to help her father.

“Remember when I went to the bathroom? All you need to do is keep them occupied, ask lots of questions and say you’re thirsty. Say anything. Can you do that?”

She looked at her father and tried to see the same man, but she could not. Though frightened, she would do anything to please him. “Yes,” she said. “I can do it.” His lie had been forgiven, cased within the taste of something new, an excitement she liked, and soon would crave. They visited three houses that night and many more in the nights to come.

Now, she sat alone on a bed’s edge. She massaged between her fingers a double heart-shaped charm that hung from a gold chain. Her father had disappeared many years ago; she had no idea where he lived, or even if he lived, but there was no doubt he formed her answer. She peered out the frosty window of her motel. The sky was overcast. A wind blew and more snow was on the way. Every town looked the same, every season felt the same. She looked at her watch; it was almost time. She lit a cigarette and left.