You hope that he will answer. Because you’ve always wanted to talk to Him. Thanks, asshole, for running a cult. Thanks for the orgies. Thanks for running off to Palm Springs with the money you stole from the Workers’ Co-op Fund.

But say, for example, a woman answers and you try to find your kind voice and not sound like the sullen little bitch everyone has told you you’ve become.

Sara, she said, Saarrrraaaa.

And her voice was still honeylike; the voice of a woman who’d always been loved.

Yeah, it’s me. Your daughter.

There was silence.

Oh my God, I—hold on, honey.

Then I heard a watery sound. It could have been the sound of a waterfall. Or liquor being poured into a glass. Or a body diving into the warm turquoise water of a swimming pool. It was a smooth, watery sound, not like the water I usually heard. On my island, the sounds of water are rough waves smashing against rocks. But my mother’s water was smooth, and while I waited for her to come back to the phone, I listened carefully for five minutes, trying to convince myself she was just mixing a drink or taking a swim, but finally the operator came on and said I’d been disconnected and would I like to make another call.

So much for my mother.

She probably heard it in my voice. I hadn’t accomplished anything.

Honey, hold on.

I bit the inside of my lip real hard and imagined a waterfall in my stupid, screwed-up, useless mind. The waterfall was pure and rushing down, and it was washing out the sound of her water, washing away her honeylike voice, calling me honey like she used to do when she really was my mother and she’d get lazy and high and touch my long hair which she loved to braid when I was a child and she was really my mother and I was kind.

STAR SKATER STAR

IT was better this time, better than in the garden, because he was real, real and rough, as he pressed his body down onto mine. His mouth took away the metallic taste of Dirk Wallace; his hands made me forget all about my mother’s silent good-bye.

It was better than with Dean, because he wasn’t lazy and slow; he was jagged and brisk, this man with scrapes all over his elbows and knees, this man who really seemed to want me to stay in his apartment, who held me, begged me not to meet my Gold Star family.

I’ve seen you around downtown, he said. You always look so—

So tough, I hoped he’d say. So intimidating, so dangerous, so mean.

So lost, he said, kissing my neck. You always looked like you were looking for something. He stopped touching me and asked me this: What were you looking for?