Page 9 of Paint the Town, Dove
“It’s a dove, darling. Doves make me think of you.”
“Why?”
“Well, doves signify peace and love.” She smiled at this. “Hope, baby. You’re my dove. You will always be my dove. And I pray that for the rest of your life, a dove will watch over you.”
My face soured. “But… you can be my dove, too. You will always watch over me, right?”
“I need a beer.” Corban spat, snagging two bottles from the cooler, leaving the cover unturned.
Like clockwork, Mom went and closed it, nudging me out of my seat. “Go on, Ry. Go up to your room and check out the guitar.”
“Are you not coming with me?”
“Not now, baby. I have to talkto your da – Corban. I have to talk to Corban.”
She’s slipped up and called that beast my father before. Maybe she thought I was too young to understand that cancer took him away. Maybe she thought she could replace the memory of him. But my dad used to play trucks with me.
Corban didn’t like trucks.
Every step I climbed, I glanced back to see Mom at the base of the staircase. She was smiling.
[Always smiling.]
Her hair was pinned to the side, green eyes sad. Smiling and sad. Smiling and sad.
Always smiling… but sad.
As soon as my door closed, I heard them yelling. Corban, mostly. He liked to yell.
Mom usually kept him under control when I was around, but I saw her bruises the next day. Puffy eyes. Swollen fingers.
“How much money d’you spend on that guitar?” I heard him huff.
She mumbled something, something quiet and small. But I knew she was still smiling.
My mom was good at that.
The guitar. The guitar. That’s why I was up here. That’s why I wasn’t downstairs to see them fighting.
Always fighting.
My room was small and blue, posters of The Beatles and Van Halen folding off the walls, but something else joined the crew of relics.
A red guitar was placed in the center of my carpet, leaning against its very own stand.
It was the coolest thing I had ever seen.
Attached to it was a white strap with a sticky note:
To my Dove.
Happy eleventh birthday, darling.
I booked us a few private lessons with Rickey down the street.
Treat Harley as well as you treat me.
Mom xx
