Dig

by A.S. King

Fuck men. No offense, but y’all are a bunch of assholes . . . fathers included.”

I don’t know if it was hanging out in Negril or with Eleanor or being raised by my dad, but I’ve never understood white people who can’t admit they’re white. I mean, white isn’t just a color. And maybe that’s the problem for them. White is a passport. It’s a ticket. The world is a white amusement park and your white skin buys you into it. A woman in economy argued with me about this once. She said, “I’ve heard this idea and it makes me uncomfortable.” “It probably should,” I said.

Not my fault you made promises you don’t feel like keeping.

Because, let’s face it—boys aren’t taught the same things. They aren’t taught to be prince charming or even nice, for the most part.

Katie doesn’t sound like the name of your dealer, but it is. I only care that you pay me in exact change now that I don’t have access to a cash register.

Greed trickles down in many forms. It made Harry a humanitarian who forgets the human he’s personally responsible for from time to time. It made Amber and Missy happy with what they have, especially if their kids don’t have any more. It made Jean a judgmental twat. But it just made The Freak disappear. No more pineapple stuffing for her.

She turns to David. She walks to him and hugs him, and his arms grip real flesh—not some Scooby-Doo apparition. She pushes the hair away from his eyes and says, “You’re not missing half of you. You’re whole. A whole person. You’re better off than a lot of people who know who their dads are.” “Will she ever tell me?” he says. “She can’t tell you. She doesn’t know. Do you understand?” He nods into her shoulder, and she releases him.

The Freak looks at me and David. “Some stuff runs in our family. In our genes. Like depression and anxiety. Marla has it. Gottfried, too. You all have it in your own ways. It’s a real thing, but people don’t really talk about it. It’s why you have your tunnels. Talk about it with one another. Look it up on the Internet. Don’t go through life like this just because your parents don’t believe there’s anything wrong with them. How do you think you got it?”

“How’d you find the body?” he asks. Loretta answers, “We looked hard enough.”

The Freak knows this sounds corny because you’re so used to looking at hateful shit, right? News shows and conspiracy theories. Rape jokes and dank memes. You’re so used to the humor of the put-down that you didn’t see that you slid down a hole and into a tunnel. DIG YOUR WAY OUT!