Ready to Play - Part 2

“Did you bring something to wear? For the shoot? Because we need to look right.”

In the guestroom, Kinsey looks herself up and down in the mirror. Her long, strawberry-blond hair tied back in a ponytail. White t-shirt, denim shorts. What’s the problem? It’s not as though she’s got #BLM on her chest. She doesn’t even have tattoos, which couldn’t be said for most of her high school class.

“We need to look like a family that voters can trust.”

There it is. She needs to look like her mother, in other words. Naomi in her blue, chambray ruffle shift dress. Ready for summer. Ready to make it all look effortless.

I love your dress! Where’d you get it?

Just that little place down in Nashville. Draper James.

I love Draper James! And I love all those cute l’il boutiques in 12 South.

Naomi wants a little version of herself to show off on the campaign trail. The perfect family.

But they’re not perfect. Nobody’s perfect. And dressing up like Momma was a blast when Kinsey was six years old. Fifteen years later, not so much.

She looks around the guestroom. This room is better. This room is neutral. Kinsey can’t play the part of dutiful daughter anymore, but she can be the guest. She walks to the window, looks down just as a riding mower starts up. A local boy getting paid a few bucks to fix the yard before tomorrow.

Kinsey puts her backpack on the bed. The bedspread, as well the rest of the décor, is in shades of blue with a nautical design.

Kinsey sniffs. So guests can comment, and they can ask if Marshall has a yacht, and Marshall can laugh and shake his head, but then Naomi can interject, and tell their guests about when Marshall saved the boat yard down there in Paducah.

“Two hundred men and their families, all with Marshall to thank for saving their jobs,” Naomi will say. And Marshall’s face will show the hint of a blush, and he will smile, shake his head.

“They’re the ones working their tails off,” he’ll say with a shrug. “I just made some phone calls.”

And Kinsey will manage not to roll her eyes. #humblebrag

The photographer will be here tomorrow, to take pictures of the perfect family. With the daughter that looks just like her mother – Y’all could be sisters!– and where has Kinsey been for the last year and a half? What has she been up to? Nothing bad, but they’ll make something up all the same. To make Marshall look good. To remind everyone that he’s got their backs, just like he knows how to raise and protect his family.

The man, the myth, the legend. Always humble. Always with his wife spinning the narrative.

Because the story Marshall and Naomi are telling as he runs for state senate is a made-up tale. A story of God-fearing hard work. Of honesty. Nothing about what happened in South Dakota.

“If you didn’t bring something,” Naomi had said downstairs, “I picked a dress out. In your closet. In your room.”

Is that why Kinsey insisted on the guestroom? Is that why her mother is so riled up?

She sighs. Just wear the damn dress. Just stay in your old damn room. Why pick a fight?

Kinsey leaves the guestroom and walks down the hall to her childhood bedroom. The flowered, porcelain sign is still there with her name on it. She turns the handle and walks inside.

And at first, the room looks fine. It looks like it’s always done.

And then Kinsey feels a sinking sensation in her belly. Because the room is only the same if she’s traveled fifteen years back in time.

The bed is looks queen-sized, but the bedspread has the pink bunny holding the polka-dotted balloon that Kinsey slept under when she was a little girl.

The sinking feeling continues, threatening to bring Kinsey to her knees. She takes a deep breath, and then she looks at the wallpaper. Pink and blue birds, the ones that Daddy used to say were singing when he whistled to her.

But you’re my birdie, Kinsey. You’re the sweetest birdie of all.

It’s the same room, from the immaculately arranged dolls on the windowsill, to the Mother Goose treasury and Frances Hodgson Burnett collection on the bookshelves.

I worked hard on getting the room ready.

Kinsey manages a dry swallow. What was her mother thinking? What kind of bizarre joke is this?

The only thing out of place is a teddy-bear resting against the plumped pillows on the bed. Kinsey walks over, peers down at the toy. It has dark, glassy eyes. It looks strangely heavy. Kinsey doesn’t pick it up. She doesn’t ever remember having a bear like that.

I picked a dress out. In your closet.

Kinsey’s nose wrinkles as she walks over to the closet. She shouldn’t look. She should return to the guestroom, grab her backpack, and get the hell out of here.

Bu the contents of the closet now feel to Kinsey as potentially repellent, and fascinating, as freshly squashed bug.

She’ll have to lift the rock and see what’s underneath.

Kinsey opens the closet door.

She exhales sharply. “Oh, sweet cheese and crackers.”

The outfits are adult-sized, they look tailor made for her. But the designs? They belong in this bedroom, in this time-travel fantasy, and nowhere else.

She has to go. She has to run and not look back. Because her mother has clearly lost her ever loving mind.

“Ready to play?”

Kinsey turns on her heels, ready to scream, ready to adopt a fighting pose.

There’s no one behind her.

“Ready to play?” The voice is high-pitched, and there’s something artificial about the tone. Like it’s a recording. Like someone’s pulling a string.

“Hello?” Kinsey says, a hoarse whisper.

“Hi! Let’s play!”

Kinsey looks to the bed and manages another of those hard, dry swallows.

It’s the teddy bear.