Page 6 of Going Down

“You don’t go home?” The idea makes me sad for him.

“In the fall for a few weeks.”

“So you stayed here all alone for the holidays?” Everyone knew Dash was in the spirit. I mean, the red nose he wore blinked.

“Chip’s wife invited me for dinner.”

“It’s not cold living in there when it’s sub-zero?”

“I don’t think so. You ask a lot of questions. Why don’t you come in and find out?”

We step up onto a small covered porch. He unlocks a sliding door in the center of the trailer. Pushing a thick curtain out of the way for me to pass through, he closes the slider quickly and flips on a light. The space is narrow. I could lie on my back on the dark floorboards and touch the light shiplap wall on either side without stretching. To my right, there’s a small sofa and beyond are steps up to a platform where Dash has a lush, but unmade mattress and squat end table. Underneath are storage cabinets.

Glancing in front of me, I see his television mounted to the wall and a gaming system. Next is a woodstove vented with a black pipe through the roof and a small seating area with a closed laptop, some pens, and random notepads. There is also a miniature Christmas tree that hasn’t been taken down a week after New Year’s. To the very left, sits a small cooktop range with a microwave overhead, a three-quarter size refrigerator, sink, and a surprising number of cabinets. Everything is compact, but nothing is cluttered.

“Bienvenue a chez moi.” He welcomes me in French.

I’d think it was a cheesy prank, but I spy a cork board with snapshots pinned to it hanging by the couch. One is of two girls on either side of Dash with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Each girl is kissing one of his cheeks. He’s also got colorful Tibetan prayer flags, a Gandhi quote and a clipping of Snoopy with his nose to the sky that reads “keep looking up…that’s the secret of life.”

My eyes roam the other pictures. Most are selfies of him in the Alps—I recognize the backdrop because my parents took me there when we were a family—and a few resorts I’ve come to know by the architecture of their hotels against the landscape. There’s also one of him hiking Pikes Peak. I go back to the two blondes, unaware that I’m curious.

“Lil and Ro, my sisters. They were trying to be cute.” He places his fingers on the image. “It was a family trip.” Dash points to another picture of him and a man with an identical smile and cropped blond hair. “My younger brother, Gatlin. He showed up after my parents took us to Tennessee. Got any siblings?”

“Nope. Just me.” I sink my teeth into my lip, not wanting to admit to someone I’ve known for a few hours how lonely it is being an only child when your parents split up. I have no one to rely on who understands how tough it is to have your world turned upside down.

A small crash distracts us as the Christmas tree tumbles over on the table.

“I wondered where you were,” Dash says, righting the tree and picking up a kitten by the scruff of the neck. He looks the cat in the eyes and I realize it’s not fur. Dash is holding it by a Nordic patterned sweater because the cat is naked. He tucks the kitten to his chest, cooing apologies about how cold his coat is from being outside. “Kat, this is Capote.”

“You have a hairless cat in a trailer during the winter?

“What? She’s got a sweater on. Besides, most of the time she’s curled under the covers up there.” He motions with his chin to the platform bed. “Want to hold her?”

“I’m not much of a cat person.” I shrug off my jacket and lay it on the loveseat. The trailer is surprisingly warm and cozy. Oh, and I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never had a cat or a dog…Bird, hamster, goldfish. Mom wasn’t big on the responsibility of pets. It’s obvious now why that was.

“How’d you wind up with a name like Kat then? Let me guess.” He places the kitten around the back of his neck like a Sherpa carries a baby goat and takes off his parka. “Kat is short for…” He taps a finger to his full lower lip. “Katherine.”

While I used to love this game, Dash will never guess correctly and I decide it’s not worth beating around the bush. “Katahdin. The mountain in…”

“Maine. I know my terrain. Keep going. There’s a story here if I ever heard one.” Dash turns from me to tend the woodstove. Capote jumps off his back and scurries up the steps to hide in the unmade bed. The lump under the blankets moves for quite a while as the kitten plays underneath. Since it’s the only spot in Dash’s tiny house that’s not tidy, I presume it’s the reason his bed is unmade.

“My parents were outdoor enthusiasts. Hikers in the offseason. Before their residencies, they took on the Appalachian trail heading north and, when they hit the Knife Edge, my dad proposed to my mother. Her ‘yes’ was the deciding factor in naming their firstborn.” I lift my chin a little defiant and proud. I’ve hiked parts of the trail. Apparently, my mom and dad’s marriage didn’t have that kind of endurance and it makes me wonder if they’d always had rocks slipping under their feet.

“How long have they been together?” Dash’s question is innocent.

“They aren’t anymore. My mom tripped and fell, impaling herself on another man’s penis.”

“There’s a mental image.”

I wish my father didn’t act remorseful. It wasn’t his fault their marriage fell apart. My mom was the one who ended it, confessing she’d fallen for someone else. That was two other men ago. Since then I’ve come to the conclusion the only person my mother loves is herself.

“Sorry. I may be a tad resentful.” I roll my eyes. “Their divorce has weighed on my dad.”

“You’re a good daughter for being there for him.”

“Thanks…Um, do you mind if I go get cleaned up?” It’s Morse code for I can’t delve any deeper into this topic.

“Me casa es su casa.” He points toward the back of the trailer.

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