Quotes by Kaui Hart Hemmings

I look in the jewelry box where Joanie found the drugs. She showed me a miniature Ziploc bag filled with a clear, hard rock.“What is this?” I said. I never did drugs, so I had no idea. Heroin? Cocaine? Crack? Ice? “What is this?” I screamed at Alex, who screamed back, “It’s not like I shoot it!”A plastic ballerina pops up and slowly twirls to a tinkling song whose sound is discordant and deformed. The pink satin liner is dirty, and other than a black pearl necklace, the box holds only rusty paper clips and rubber bands noosed with Alex’s dark hair. I see a note stuck to the mirror and pick up the jewelry box and move the ballerina aside. She twirls against my finger. The note says, I wouldn’t hide them in the same place twice.I let out a short breath through my nose. Good one, Alex. I close the jewelry box and shake my head, missing her tremendously. I wish she never went back to boarding school, and I don’t understand her sudden change of plans. What did they fight about? What could have been so bad?

I hope she can’t tell that I’m appraising her and that I’m completely worried by what I see. She’s excitable and strange. She’s ten. What do people do during the day when they’re ten? She runs her fingers along the window and mumbles, “This could give me bird flu,” and then she forms a circle around her mouth with her hand and makes trumpet noises. She’s nuts. Who knows what’s going on in that head of hers, and speaking of her head, she most definitely could use a haircut or a brushing. There are small tumbleweeds of hair resting on the top of her head. Where does she get haircuts? I wonder. Has she ever had one before? She scratches her scalp, then looks at her nails. She wears a shirt that says I’M NOT THAT KIND OF GIRL. BUT I CAN BE! I’m grateful that she isn’t too pretty, but I realize this could change.

We need to get home and put some ointments and ice on the stings. Vinegar will make it worse, so if you thought Giraffe Boy could pee on you, you’re shit out of luck.”She agrees as if prepared for this—the punishment, the medication, the swelling, the pain that hurts her now and the pain that will hurt her later. She seems okay with my disapproval. She’s gotten her story, after all, and she’s beginning to see how much easier physical pain is to tolerate than emotional pain. I’m unhappy that she’s learning this at such a young age.“The hospital will have ointments and ice,” she says.

I’d like you to come to Kauai with me,” I say. “And Scottie. I think it would be good to get her away from the hospital for a day. We can leave in the morning, find him, and be home tomorrow night. If it takes us a day longer, that’s fine, but we won’t stay more than two nights. That’s our deadline. If we don’t find him, then at least we know we tried.”“And this will make you feel better somehow?”“It’s for her,” I say. “Not for him or me.”“What if he’s a wreck? What if he loses his shit?”“Then I’ll take care of him.” I imagine Brian Speer wailing on my shoulder. I imagine him and my daughters by Joanie’s bed, her lover and his loud sobs shaming us. “Just so you know, I am angry. I’m not this pure and noble guy. I want to do this for her, but I also want to see who he is. I want to ask him a few things.”“Just call him. Tell his office it’s an emergency. They’ll have him call you.”“I want to tell him in person. I haven’t told anyone over the phone, and I don’t want to start now.”“You told Troy.”“Troy doesn’t count. I just need to do this. On the phone he can escape. If I see him in person, he’ll have nowhere to go.”We both look away when our eyes meet. She hasn’t crossed the border into my room. She never does during her nighttime doorway chats.“Were you guys having trouble?” Alex asks. “Is that why she cheated?”“I didn’t think we were having trouble,” I say. “I mean, it was the same as always.”This was the problem, that our marriage was the same as always. Joanie needed bumps. She needed rough terrain. It’s funny that I can get lost in thoughts about her, but when she was right in front of me, I didn’t think much about her at all.“I wasn’t the best husband,” I say.Alex looks out the window to avoid my confession. “If we go on this trip, what will we tell Scottie?”“She’ll think we’re going on a trip of some sort. I want to get her away from here.

You’ve already said that,” Alex says. “Why should I go?”“You’re the only person I have,” I say. “And I want us all to be together. It will be good for us.”“Oh, so now I’m back in the picture again.”“Alex. Something bigger than you is occurring right now. I’m sorry about your unhappy childhood.”She glares at me in that special way of hers and Joanie’s that makes me feel worthless and foul-smelling.“So we’ll tell Scottie we’re going on a vacation while Mom is in the hospital?”“It’s for a day or two,” I say. “Scottie’s been in the hospital every day for almost a month now. She needs a break. It’s not good for her. I’d like you to be in charge of answering any questions she may have. She looks up to you. She’ll hang on whatever you say.”I’m hoping a leadership role, a specific chore, will make Alex act like an adult and treat Scottie well.“Can you do that?”She shrugs.“If you can’t handle things, let me know. I’ll help. I’m here for you.”Alex laughs. I wonder if there are parents who can say things to their kids like “I love you” or “I’m here for you” without being laughed at. I have to admit it’s a bit uncomfortable. Affection, in general, is unpleasant to me.“What if Mom doesn’t make it for two days?”“She will,” I say. “I’ll tell her what we’re doing.”Alex looks uncomfortable with this idea, that what I’ll say will make her mother want to live. “I’m bringing Sid,” she says. “If he doesn’t come, then I’m not going.”I’m about to protest, but I see the look in her eyes and know this is yet another battle that I’m bound to lose. Something about this guy is helping her. And Scottie seems to like him. He can keep her distracted. He can work for me.“Okay,” I say. “Deal.

TIA OR TARA has stopped applying makeup to my wife’s face and is looking at Scottie with disapproval. The light is hitting this woman’s face, giving me an opportunity to see that she should perhaps be working on her own makeup. Her coloring is similar to a manila envelope. There are specks of white in her eyebrows, and her concealer is not concealing. I can tell my daughter doesn’t know what to do with this woman’s critical look.“What?” Scottie asks. “I don’t want any makeup.” She looks at me for protection, and it’s heartbreaking. All the women who model with Joanie have this inane urge to make over my daughter with the notion that they’re helping her somehow. She’s not as pretty as her older sister or her mother, and these other models think that slapping on some rouge will somehow make her feel better about her facial fate. They’re like missionaries. Mascara thumpers.“I was just going to say that I think your mother was enjoying the view,” Tia or Tara says. “It’s so pretty outside. You should let the light in.”My daughter looks at the curtain. Her little mouth is open. Her hand reaches for a tumbleweed of hair.“Listen here, T. Her mother was not enjoying the view. Her mother is in a coma. And she’s not supposed to be in bright light.”“My name is not T,” she says. “My name is Allison.”“Okay, then, Ali. Don’t confuse my daughter, please.”“I’m turning into a remarkable young lady,” Scottie says.“Damn straight.” My heart feels like one of Scottie’s clogs clomping down the hall. I don’t know why I became so angry.

There’s something different about her. I realize it’s her breasts—they’re huge. I see that she’s stuffed her bikini top with wet balls of sand.“What is that?” I say. “Scottie. Your suit.”She shields her eyes with her hand and looks down at her chest. “Beach boobs,” she says.“Take that out of there,” I say. “Alex. Why’d you let her do that?”Alex is on her stomach, with the straps of her top untied. She lifts her head toward Scottie. “I didn’t know. Take them out, stupid.”Sid lifts his head. “Honestly,” he says, “big boobs look kind of fatty.”“As Bebe says, boobs suck,” Alex says, “and Sid’s full of shit. He loves big boobs.”“Who’s Bebe?” Scottie lets the sand fall out of her top.“Character from South Park,” Sid says. “And I love small boobs, too, Alex. I’m an equal-opportunity employer.

Reina sounds awesome,” Sid says. “I’m digging her more and more.”“Were you there?” I ask. “Have you seen one of these movies?”“No,” Scottie says.“Scottie,” Alex says, kicking Sid in the ribs. “Reina is a fuckedup ho bag, and you need to stay away from her. I’ve already told you that. Do you want to end up like me?”“Yes,” Scottie says.“I mean the earlier me, when I was yelling at Mom.”“No,” Scottie says.“Well, Reina is going to be a crackhead, and she’s going to get used. She’s a twat. Say it.”“Twat,” Scottie says. She gets up and runs across the room, saying, “Twat twat twat twat twat.”“Holy shit,” Sid says. “This is some messed-up parenting. Isn’t it?”Alex shrugs. “Maybe. I guess we’ll see.”“I don’t get it,” I say. “I don’t know what to do. These things she does, they keep happening.”“It will go away,” Alex says.“Will it? I mean, look at how you kids talk. In front of me, especially. It’s like you don’t respect authority.”The kids stare at the television. I tell them to get out. I’m going to bed.

We don’t treat each other very well, I suppose. Even from the start. It was as though we had the seven-year itch the day we met. The day she went into a coma, I heard her telling her friend Shelley that I was useless, that I leave my socks hanging on every doorknob in the house. At weddings we roll our eyes at the burgeoning love around us, the vows that we know will morph into new kinds of promises: I vow not to kiss you when you’re trying to read. I will tolerate you in sickness and ignore you in health. I promise to let you watch that stupid news show about celebrities, since you’re so disenchanted with your own life.Joanie and I were urged by her brother, Barry, to subject ourselves to counseling as a decent couple would. Barry is a man of the couch, a believer in weekly therapy, affirmations, and pulse points. Once he tried to show us exercises he’d been doing in session with his girlfriend. We were instructed to trade reasons, abstract or specific, why we stayed with each other. I started off by saying that Joanie would get drunk and pretend I was someone else and do this neat thing with her tongue. Joanie said tax breaks. Barry cried. Openly. His second wife had recently left him for someone who understood that a man didn’t do volunteer work.

I tilt my face up and inhale, willing my surroundings to enter me somehow and to remind me how small I am.

I just try to write what I think would really happen, and with grief and tragedy, there are these naturally occurring moments of levity and humor and absurdity. I think thats what life is really like. Sadness gets interrupted, and happiness gets interrupted.

Whats great about teen fiction is that its all mixed up - theres highbrow and lowbrow!

I like to add props to render the specificities of place - paintings, food, clothing, signs, infrastructure, music, sayings and slang particular to the region and particular to the character. And props shouldnt just sit there; they should get used.

For my 11th birthday, I asked to be adopted.

“Ill never be ready. Yet at the same time, you always want to reach the end. You cant fly to a destination and linger in the air. I want to reach the end of this thing, and I feel terrible about it.”

“Thats how you know you love someone, I guess, when you cant experience anything without wishing the other person were there to see it, too.”