Two Kids Under a Desert Sky

nail polish and a trip to the lipton's

I stared at the food before me silently, not wanting to make eye contact with the man across the table. "You should eat something, honey. You need to get more protein."

I glanced up to make brief eye contact with my mother. In her eyes I saw her concern, but at the same time I saw her fierce determination to make this work. Mr. Randall cleared his throat. "It's delicious, Han."

I couldn't help but sneer upon hearing him use a pet name for my mother. "Micah." She warned.

I picked up my fork and began to poke at the pot stickers in front of me.

"So," Mr. Randall began, "It looks like you and me will be spending much more time together now, Micah. Maybe we should get to know each other better? I was thinking the two of us could have a picnic sometime this week."

I shrugged noncommittally. "Ok, Mr. Randall."

He chuckled. It disgusted me. "You don't have to call me that, you know. You can call me dad."

"No thank you." I replied simply. What I wanted to say was "I would rather die, or better yet I would rather you die" but I didn't think my mother would like that very much.

Mr. Randall and my mother had been dating for five months. He ran a feed shop on Main Street. He was the only single man in town around my mother's age who wasn't a completely annoying tool, so they gravitated together naturally. I never liked him. He was too loud and obnoxious and offensive to be with a sweet woman like my mother.

A couple of times I heard him asking her why she allowed her son to run around dressed like a pansy. That also contributed to my deep hatred of him.

I had tried to talk to my mom about him, but he made her happy, and I tried desperately for that to be enough for me. I really, really wanted my mom to be happy. So I didn't ruin their relationship.

I had plenty of opportunities. Once when I came home from an errand and my mother was in town, I caught Mr. Randall smoking inside the store. Another time I heard him talking very sexually on the telephone with someone while my mother was downstairs.

But I never exposed him. For one thing, I knew it would crush my mother. For another thing, I didn't think she would believe me.

That morning, sitting in my room, hearing my mother tell me about how she and Mr. Randall were going to get married next month, every single time I could've busted him ran through my head. All the chances I had that I completely wasted.

Somehow I didn't see it coming. I tend to be fairly perceptive, but on this occasion I actually had no idea that this was going to happen. My mother has had many passing relationships with bad men that I didn't like, but it always ended with a breakup. This time it was never going to end.

Mr. Randall was not my father. He never would be my father. I would strongly convicted about this.

I did not know my real father. I never thought about it, and it never bothered me. My mother was strong enough and loving enough to make up for the absence of a parent. Sometimes Mr. Randall liked to say that the reason I was "such a sissy" was because I never had a father figure.

The meal finally ended, after what felt like an eternity. "Do you still want me to paint your nails, Micah?" I heard Mr. Randall stifle a laugh. "What's so funny, Randy?"

"Do you really think you should be encouraging him like that?"

My mother stood up, and I felt the anger radiating off of her. My eyes snapped towards her, and sure enough, her eyebrows were turned downwards in rage. "Them." She stated. "Micah is a them."