Lowering my voice, I continue, “This woman’s father told people that the Collective tricked Kay into staying with us. She was a victim. Everyone in the Collective was. We were somehow both evil and in need of saving. Destroying our home was for the greater good. Papa wasn’t a person to those men with their demon guns. I doubt any of them ever lose sleep over ending his story. Just like your family didn’t lose any sleep over torturing your body and telling you lies. Your grandparents saw themselves as the good guys. They told themselves lies, too.”
“Then, why do I let them bother me after all these years?”
“I don’t know. I’m not like you or Kay. I’m not sure why you can’t let go of your pain. Maybe you’ve gotten in the habit of thinking negative about yourself. Or maybe your heart hurts less to believe Little Anders deserved to be treated bad.”
“I didn’t accomplish much as a child,” he mutters.
“I don’t know the rules of your world. Are children supposed to accomplish a lot?”
Shrugging, Anders sighs. “I don’t know. Bronco talks about his daughters’ grades. They ride horses. That kind of stuff.”
“What are grades?”
Anders sighs again. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. I feel as if my entire life is a blur. I’m not sure what is real and what isn’t. I have scars,” he says, running his fingers over his forearm. “I know something happened, but my grandparents fucked with my head too much for me to trust the details. Was I ever in any fights? Did I just fall a lot? Why did no one help me if I was always in the hospital with broken bones? Is that normal? My memories don’t feel trustworthy.”
Crawling closer, I take Anders’s hand. “What about your memories of me?”
“They’re more certain,” he says, allowing a soft smile. “But they feel too good as if I’m dreaming.”
“But I’m real,” I say, resting his hand against my chest. “And you’re real. You should focus on what’s happening right now. You have no power to change the past.”
“I don’t know if that’s what I’m doing.”
“Earlier, you were angry that you didn’t do something different tonight. Why would you even worry about that? Did voices from your past say you failed? I certainly wasn’t the one disappointed in you. Bronco didn’t seem upset with you. The only one doubting you was you.”
“Why do I do that?” he asks, sounding young again.
“I think that confused, battered boy you were long ago is telling you lies. But don’t blame him. He was lied to all his life. Treated so poorly by the people he loved. Or maybe you hear your dead grandparents still trying to drag you down. Or that biker man from the Killing Joes who wanted you to be a monster. Or it might be the version of you addicted to heroin talking. But those voices are the past. Their stories are over. Now is your time, and I love this you.”
Looking tired, he asks, “What should I do?”
“Smoke marijuana. Then, when you’re calm, we can have sexual intercourse or talk or watch a movie. There are no rules. Just you and me and right now.”
Anders blinks a few times, and I watch him regain control of himself. He no longer looks like a lost little boy or a raging beast.
As we cuddle on the couch, watching a movie on the regular television while we get stoned, I’m certain the only voice Anders is paying attention to is mine.
PART 6: CUTTING OUT THE CANCER
ANDERS
Back when I was getting clean, the woman at rehab suggested I find a comfort object to focus on when bad memories tried to drag me down. I had nothing of value that didn’t remind me of what I wanted to forget. Even after I built this house and bought a new motorcycle, everything about my present felt connected to my past.
But Pixie is above it all. Her smile has always felt unearthly. As if I was in the presence of someone from a world so far from mine that I would never wrap my head around the specifics. The more I know her, the more certain I am that she isn’t human. She’s an angel or an alien.
When she watches me with her unflinching dark eyes, I feel as if my past drops back into the shadows. I regain clarity and push aside my untrustworthy memories.