Sol Santana - Just Ash

As soon as I walked through the front door, I knew there was no escape. Mom hovering in the dining room just beyond the foyer. The wall phone was ringing in the kitchen on my left, but Mom didnt rush to answer it like she usually did. No sign of Dadyetbut his museum closed early on Wednesdays, so he had to be in the house somewhere. My stomach felt thick and full of ice.

I slammed the door, shutting out the September chill, and dropped my schoolbag. I kicked off my cleats, padding across the hardwood in my socks to stand in the center of the dark-wood dining room, with its oval table and its hanging chandelier. In the 1600s, that monster wouldve held real candles, and some poor enslaved person probably had to stand on a ladder and light them one by one. Now each socket contained a tiny crystalline light bulb that did nothing to diffuse the natural shadows of the house. It was like being back in colonial times. I took a deep breath to steady myself, inhaling the scents of pine and ash rolling off the thick walls.

Ash, Mom said, looking hesitantly at me.

Great. Coach must have already called her and told her what had happened today.

Her tightly clasped hands had gone white at the knuckles. The pale roots of her hair were showing where the sandy brown waves were turning gray, catching up to the wrinkles around her mouth.

My name was Ashley. I suspected it was the only name Mom and Dad could agree on when I was born. My sister, Evie, once told me that the doctor had advised them to give me a unisex name, just in case. When I was born, Dad had been certain I was a boy; Mom and the doctor had been less convinced. Our family physician had explained the basics to me when I was little, but my parents had always avoided talking to me about my body.

Until now.

Dads voice behind me: Turn around.

I revolved on the spot, feeling that I had no choice, my stomach tightening instinctively. Dad didnt look like my friends dads, which had made the fear of him worse when I was growing up. His grizzled gray hair hung down to his shoulders, accentuated by a mean widows peak. In any other city, he mightve been an amateur MMA fighter, maybe a truck driver. Here in Salem, where automobiles were banned on our main street, he co-owned a witch trial museum. It sounded more impressive than it really was. Museums like his were a dime a dozen in this town.

He didnt say anything else, just looked at me. His eyes darkened with disgust. He was close enough for me to smell the alcohol on his breath.

Oh, Mom cried.

I glanced at her over my shoulder. Her face was buried in her hands. Her T-shirt strained against her heavy frame with every sob.

Nicole, shut up, Dad grumbled.

I almost agreed with him. It wasnt fair that she was carrying on like this. She wasnt the one whod been humiliated in front of the entire soccer team, called off the field and made to walk the block and a half home in his blood-stained white uniform.

Go upstairs, Dad said. Go change out of... that.

I sprinted out of the room, bolting up the staircase. My footfalls on the ancient wood matched the frantic thumping of my heart.

Up in my room, I slammed the door behind me. There was some comfort in its familiarity: the muted gray walls that matched the color of the bedsheets; my gaming computer taking up the whole of my desk space. I used to have a poster of Lionel Messi above my bed until my thirteenth birthday. Now that I was sixteen, a T-shirt from a Skeletronics concert had replaced it. Thetas signature was scrawled across the bottom in big white ink. Meeting the band for a few seconds when I was fourteen was one of my favorite memories.

I pulled off my shirt, then yanked my shorts down, balled them up, and tossed them onto the bed. The seat of my pants was covered in blood.

Why was this happening? I was so angry, I felt tears stinging my eyes. If you knew me, you knew I never criednot even when I was eleven and accidentally slammed the car door on my hand.

Pulling open my drawers, I tugged on some sweatpants and a T-shirt. Okay , I thought. Calm down. Just calm down.

The mantra did nothing except make me angrier, and scared. I punched a picture frame off my nightstand, heard it hit the floor and shatter. I knelt on the hardwood, my whole body shaking. This couldnt be happening. This wasnt supposed to happen to me.

A knock sounded on my door. Mom opened it without invitation. She stepped inside, wiping the corners of her eyes with the inside of her wrist.

I have something thatll help you, Mom said.

She crossed the floor to me and leaned down. In her hand was a small, square, plastic package. I took it from her, not understanding.

Its a sanitary napkin, Mom said. For the bleeding.

I looked up at her, feeling dumbfounded and lost.

Is your stomach hurting? Mom asked. Do you have any cramps?

Mom, I said, Im kind of tired. Can I just lie down?

Did you change your underwear? Mom asked.

Mom, please?

Mom hesitated, then backed out of the room. She didnt close the door behind her.

I stared at the crinkling little square in my hand. More than anything, I felt lost.