she says and jerks her thumb at him. “No respect.” I laugh at their easy relationship and shake my head. These people have a real bond. It doesn’t feel forced or manipulative like it sometimes does in the Mancuso household. And , for the first time since all of this began, I feel like maybe I’ll be okay—as long as I get to the bathroom, stat.
I rush into the bathroom, avoiding touching as much as possible. I’m not a germaophobe, but the filth level in here is off the charts. After I’ve emptied my bladder, I wash my hands. There is no soap, but I make do with what I have available to me. I can’t help but look at my face as I slosh the water over my hands. The image looking back at me is one step short of awful.
Normally, I consider myself a pretty enough young woman. I take pride in my appearance and put work into maintaining it. Gloria may be all about pushing the rules as far as she can , but still, both she and my mother always pushed me to look my best. “Men respond to pretty things,” my mother would say. “You want a good husband; you have to show you can be a good wife. And that includes putting your face on every day,” was another of my mother’s sayings. I can’t remember ever seeing her without makeup. Even when she was sick, she had Gloria apply her makeup for her every morning. Even on her deathbed she didn’t want to disappoint my father.
But right now I can’t bring myself to really care what I look like. My face is void of makeup, which isn’t so awful. But I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer , and that makes the not looking good twice as bad. No wonder I look like a kid to Ian. I’m half his size, covered in a baggy hoodie, and without makeup.
I leave the bathroom and walk toward Ruby , who is curled into the older blond-haired man’s side. Jim, I think his name is. If I have it straight, Jim is Ruby’s husband and Ryan’s father. Ian is Ruby’s son, and that makes him my cousin. So then Ryan is my step-cousin. I stop where I am and watch as a big guy with a few extra pounds and a jovial smile on his face elbows Ryan in the middle of his back. Ryan moves forward a foot before turning around quickly, his fist flying through the air at the man who’s elbowed him. Ryan’s fist connects with his jaw and an all-out fight begins. I take a few more steps back. In my father’s world these kinds of fights are rare. Men don’t engage in physical contact unless they’re going to make a point. Violence is never fun, my father says. It is sometimes necessary, but never fun.
Ruby eyes me and carefully sidesteps the brawl. Nobody has moved to break it up yet , and now both men are in the dirt, the man laughing while he has Ryan in a headlock. “It’s okay, Alex. They do this shit all the time,” Ruby says. I nod in understanding, but I don’t really understand, so it’s a lie.
“But why?” I say. In the background I can hear Jim telling them to knock it off. We have to get back on the road.
“They’re men,” she says with a shrug. She walks past me, giving my shoulder a pat, and then steps into the restroom. The firm thud of the closing door and the click of the lock sets me on edge. I slowly turn around and eye the scene before me.
The men, at least twenty in number, stand around in a loose circle. Jim is speaking. His shoulder-length hair is tucked behind his ears. In the early morning light it looks grayer than I previously thought. His face shows his age, lined with years of sun exposure from long rides, I’m willing to guess. He has his arms crossed over his chest.
“Straight through to Nevada, boys,” he says. I glance around the crowd. They’re all watching Jim intently. Some of the men look pissed off, like they’ve heard this before. Others, though smoking or chewing, have their eyes on him. Everyone is looking at Jim—with one exception.
Ryan’s eyes are on me.
I flinch under the intensity of his gaze. His hands are on his hips, head tilted
I rush into the bathroom, avoiding touching as much as possible. I’m not a germaophobe, but the filth level in here is off the charts. After I’ve emptied my bladder, I wash my hands. There is no soap, but I make do with what I have available to me. I can’t help but look at my face as I slosh the water over my hands. The image looking back at me is one step short of awful.
Normally, I consider myself a pretty enough young woman. I take pride in my appearance and put work into maintaining it. Gloria may be all about pushing the rules as far as she can , but still, both she and my mother always pushed me to look my best. “Men respond to pretty things,” my mother would say. “You want a good husband; you have to show you can be a good wife. And that includes putting your face on every day,” was another of my mother’s sayings. I can’t remember ever seeing her without makeup. Even when she was sick, she had Gloria apply her makeup for her every morning. Even on her deathbed she didn’t want to disappoint my father.
But right now I can’t bring myself to really care what I look like. My face is void of makeup, which isn’t so awful. But I feel like I’ve been put through the ringer , and that makes the not looking good twice as bad. No wonder I look like a kid to Ian. I’m half his size, covered in a baggy hoodie, and without makeup.
I leave the bathroom and walk toward Ruby , who is curled into the older blond-haired man’s side. Jim, I think his name is. If I have it straight, Jim is Ruby’s husband and Ryan’s father. Ian is Ruby’s son, and that makes him my cousin. So then Ryan is my step-cousin. I stop where I am and watch as a big guy with a few extra pounds and a jovial smile on his face elbows Ryan in the middle of his back. Ryan moves forward a foot before turning around quickly, his fist flying through the air at the man who’s elbowed him. Ryan’s fist connects with his jaw and an all-out fight begins. I take a few more steps back. In my father’s world these kinds of fights are rare. Men don’t engage in physical contact unless they’re going to make a point. Violence is never fun, my father says. It is sometimes necessary, but never fun.
Ruby eyes me and carefully sidesteps the brawl. Nobody has moved to break it up yet , and now both men are in the dirt, the man laughing while he has Ryan in a headlock. “It’s okay, Alex. They do this shit all the time,” Ruby says. I nod in understanding, but I don’t really understand, so it’s a lie.
“But why?” I say. In the background I can hear Jim telling them to knock it off. We have to get back on the road.
“They’re men,” she says with a shrug. She walks past me, giving my shoulder a pat, and then steps into the restroom. The firm thud of the closing door and the click of the lock sets me on edge. I slowly turn around and eye the scene before me.
The men, at least twenty in number, stand around in a loose circle. Jim is speaking. His shoulder-length hair is tucked behind his ears. In the early morning light it looks grayer than I previously thought. His face shows his age, lined with years of sun exposure from long rides, I’m willing to guess. He has his arms crossed over his chest.
“Straight through to Nevada, boys,” he says. I glance around the crowd. They’re all watching Jim intently. Some of the men look pissed off, like they’ve heard this before. Others, though smoking or chewing, have their eyes on him. Everyone is looking at Jim—with one exception.
Ryan’s eyes are on me.
I flinch under the intensity of his gaze. His hands are on his hips, head tilted
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