In My Dreams I Hold a Knife

by Ashley Winstead

Your body has a knowing. Like an antenna, attuned to tremors in the air, or a dowsing rod, tracing things so deeply buried you have no language for them yet.

I dug my nails into my arm, a spark of pain to keep my knees steady.

Gone was the eager, nerdy freshman, wide-eyed and nervous to meet his sister’s friends. His smile was a sharp-toothed promise. I could feel it. He turned, and we locked eyes. “I like being surrounded by memories. Don’t you?”

“Whatever happens, we’re going to be happy, okay? I promise. So you can stop worrying.”

“Ten years from now, we’re going to be on top of the world together. You and me, looking down on everyone else, laughing and laughing.”

I couldn’t help but think of the daydream I’d had just two days ago: becoming the center of attention, the shining Homecoming queen. The star of the show. Look at me now.

Everything was going to be okay.

I tilted my head back and laughed, so loud it stilled the medics. They eyed me warily, but I kept laughing, the sound filling the small space.

I woke to soft Virginia sunshine and the sensation—the finely honed human instinct—that someone was sneaking up on me.

His princess. The words were hollow. I wanted to be his princess too badly for it to be true. That was the way life worked, a lesson he’d taught me himself: Wanting is dangerous. The less you want, the safer you’ll be.

“You, princess, won’t need to wish. You’re going to earn.” My dad looked down at me, beaming.

And you’re going to work until you’re the best student in the whole damn school. After that, the good things will come to you. ’Cause you’ll deserve it.”

“What? I’m telling her to work hard to achieve things. That’s a good lesson. I’m not saying things will get dropped in her lap. I’m saying if she’s talented enough, and works hard enough, the world will deliver. It’d better, huh? I’m counting on it.” My dad squeezed me tighter, and I let him, let myself think about how nice it felt, even though there was no guarantee he’d do it tomorrow. “Come on, you’re going to make me proud.”

I wanted to. A fierceness came over me. I would. If hard work and being good were what it took, I could do those things. If that could keep us in the sunlight, keep the darkness at bay, I would work at it every day.

Then a thought struck me: my dad was the angry man in the dark place, true. But maybe he was also this man—this bright and funny father. I’d always thought it was one or the other, fixed and definite. But maybe it was more complicated. Maybe he was both.

Then, no matter how bad it got, I could remember how he was now. Maybe that way he could keep being this person, even when he wasn’t. Maybe then he could stay mine, stay warm and solid in my arms. Even one day, when he wasn’t.

Fallen asleep with the understanding that I’d made my choices, and now, as a consequence, I was going to be alone for a long time. Maybe forever.

“I’m done. From here on out, I want nothing to do with the East House Seven. I never want to see any of you insane, terrible people for the rest of my life.” She

“I thought I’d want the vindication, but now, I’m just tired. It feels like I haven’t slept for years.”