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secrets to be learned in life, and other boys to share things with. This one, however, changed the way I viewed the world.
    Grandma knew that was going to happen.
     

THREE VERSIONS OF LOVE
     

1
     
    Alfie McCammon moved in when I was eleven. He'd come around a few months after Grandma passed. At first, I assumed he was there help Mama fix the plumbing on the trailer, and I guess, in retrospect, that's what he was hired to do. I didn't know how Mama could have afforded a plumber, but I didn't question her.
    Mama worked during the day at the grocery store down the street and managed to get me off to school in the morning. In the afternoons, she'd come home, throw something in the oven and leave again, usually for the night. I'd get instructions on what to do while she was away—wash the dishes, vacuum the carpet, do some laundry—and I did my part to make sure the place was kept up. It was, after all, my home and one I was pretty sure I'd be living in for years. When Mama would come home drunk, I'd quietly retreat to my room and fall asleep.
    I don't talk about Mama very often because I didn't really get to know her. She grew up in a large family, the fifth or sixth child of nine. Grandma lived in the trailer park for years before Mama moved in out of desperation. While Mama's brothers and sisters spread across the country to plant themselves, Mama wandered, blown more by chance and landing wherever fate put her. She wound up back with Grandma shortly before I was born and stayed there ever since.
    The trailer was Grandma's. She was kind enough to leave it to Mama, but I like to think she really left it for me. It was, after all, a home, one that Mama didn't care much about and one I routinely kept clean. Grandma's monthly check paid for the electricity and the water along with some of the food, but when she passed on, the responsibility was left to Mama. I don't think Mama liked that.
    Mama rarely kept a boyfriend and those I had met in the past always left her shortly after. I used to think it was me, as if the burden of a child was more than these men were ready to commit to. Grandma seemed to take a disinterest in many of them, and would occasionally talk to them in bitter tones. The majority of arguments between Grandma and Mama were related to those boyfriends. Maybe Mama thought her inability to settle down with someone was attributed to Grandma's inability to stay out of her life.
    Alfie was different in that respect. He showed a genuine interest in me at first and even held a few conversations. Grandma wasn't around to show her distaste and Mama seemed at first much happier because of it. It was like she could relax and devote all her time and energy to pleasing Alfie and getting drunk. I even found myself cleaning less after he moved in. I had time to play with Michael or sit out on the porch and listen to the wind, waiting for the storms and imagining my castle in the sky.

2
     
    The year after Grandma died was dry in terms of weather. We rarely saw rain and I can't say as I remember any dust storms, even on the horizon. If we were farmers and had crops to worry about, I'm sure that year would have been even more memorable, but the desert feeds itself and the cacti never change. In the air was the constant smell of dust, enhanced by the scorching heat.
    Michael and I had ventured more into territories that our bodies said we should. I'd grown breasts, started my period and began to feel more like a woman. Michael, in turn, had grown taller and although he was far from muscular, he was definitely bigger. My love for him grew as much as it could at that age, and I began to think Grandma's warning to watch the tongue was unfounded and biased. He never said anything rude to me and never once struck out in anger. If his tongue was split, I never saw the bad side of it.
    I hadn't heard Grandma's voice since the day Michael showed me the dust eel.
    Mama didn't approve. She voiced her concern on numerous occasions,