“is why you want Auburn. You haven’t spent ten minutes in a row with him since the day he was born.”
Mangum and Dothan walked toward their vehicles. With his back to me, Mangum said, “What’d you ever see in that woman in the first place?”
Dothan opened his truck door and looked over at me. The expression on his face was like when you have to shoot a dog that’s been chasing the neighbors’ calves. He said, “I don’t remember.”
***
Dothan saw plenty in me back in high school. He acted half-crazy whenever I came around, although maybe he was at an age where he’d have acted half-crazy about anyone who let him nail her at will. The boy was insatiable—before school, during lunch, he came so quick back then we could hop in a mop closet after geometry, get him off, and not be late for social awareness.
He was two years older than me, so after he graduated they wouldn’t let him hang around school anymore. He took a job at his dad’s taxidermy. Dothan used to say he spent the days mounting elk and the nights mounting me. No matter how often he showered the alum brine smell clung to him like Saran Wrap. The stink nauseated me to the point where I refused to kiss him anymore, then he started splashing himself with Old Spice, which was like sucking Sterno.
My senior year I decided he was more trouble than fun, and I tried to break up. Dothan crumbled. First he said he’d kill me, and when that didn’t draw the right response he said he’d kill himself. He said if I went out with another boy he’d join the army and get sent to Vietnam and die at the hands of gooks and it would be my fault. He also said no one would want me because I had the reputation of a slut. Which was crap; at seventeen every boy wants a slut.
I finally decided splitting up was just too hard and I’d deal with one more summer before escaping to college. It was a pretty lousy summer. I can’t think of much worse than having sex in a car with someone you don’t like.
Then, nightmare-come-true, he followed me to Laramie. I’ve never seen such a pain in the butt to get away from. I treated him mean so he would go away—didn’t answer phone calls, stared through him in public, made fun of his pointy chin and old-man hairline.
To spite Dothan, I went out with an offensive lineman named Rocky Joe and slept with him. Isn’t it amazing the number of motivations there are to fuck? Dothan and Rocky Joe got in a fight, and for the first time in his life, Dothan had his ass kicked. He limped back to GroVont and I never saw Rocky Joe off the football field again.
After that came the Park thing with all its deepness followed by two years of boys I needed but didn’t much like who didn’t much care for me either. College turned out such a bust that I figured Dothan was what I deserved. He’d gone from stuffing animals to selling real estate—not a step up, but at least he smelled better. So I dropped out, moved back home, got married, got pregnant, got drunk.
***
A kid from the Jackson Hole News dropped by to take my picture as a human-interest item. I crawled in the tent and refused to come out even though he whined that his editor would chew him out if he came back with nothing but a tent in a front yard. I didn’t budge. Nobody says laughingstocks have to cooperate with the media.
On my stomach, I watched through the insect net as people walked up and down the street, pretending they had errands downtown. Or the dog suddenly needed relieving or something, any excuse to check out the Talbot spectacle. Cars drove by slow, as if my camp were a prizewinner in the Christmas outdoor display contest.
I ate two candy bars and drank half the pint of Yukon. Inside the tent was hot and airless, so I rolled Sam’s sleeping bag into a pillow and took a nap until Dothan coming home for supper woke me up. When he slammed the truck door, I jumped like I’d been shock-therapied. Sleeping in the afternoon always makes me skittish.
The sunset
Mangum and Dothan walked toward their vehicles. With his back to me, Mangum said, “What’d you ever see in that woman in the first place?”
Dothan opened his truck door and looked over at me. The expression on his face was like when you have to shoot a dog that’s been chasing the neighbors’ calves. He said, “I don’t remember.”
***
Dothan saw plenty in me back in high school. He acted half-crazy whenever I came around, although maybe he was at an age where he’d have acted half-crazy about anyone who let him nail her at will. The boy was insatiable—before school, during lunch, he came so quick back then we could hop in a mop closet after geometry, get him off, and not be late for social awareness.
He was two years older than me, so after he graduated they wouldn’t let him hang around school anymore. He took a job at his dad’s taxidermy. Dothan used to say he spent the days mounting elk and the nights mounting me. No matter how often he showered the alum brine smell clung to him like Saran Wrap. The stink nauseated me to the point where I refused to kiss him anymore, then he started splashing himself with Old Spice, which was like sucking Sterno.
My senior year I decided he was more trouble than fun, and I tried to break up. Dothan crumbled. First he said he’d kill me, and when that didn’t draw the right response he said he’d kill himself. He said if I went out with another boy he’d join the army and get sent to Vietnam and die at the hands of gooks and it would be my fault. He also said no one would want me because I had the reputation of a slut. Which was crap; at seventeen every boy wants a slut.
I finally decided splitting up was just too hard and I’d deal with one more summer before escaping to college. It was a pretty lousy summer. I can’t think of much worse than having sex in a car with someone you don’t like.
Then, nightmare-come-true, he followed me to Laramie. I’ve never seen such a pain in the butt to get away from. I treated him mean so he would go away—didn’t answer phone calls, stared through him in public, made fun of his pointy chin and old-man hairline.
To spite Dothan, I went out with an offensive lineman named Rocky Joe and slept with him. Isn’t it amazing the number of motivations there are to fuck? Dothan and Rocky Joe got in a fight, and for the first time in his life, Dothan had his ass kicked. He limped back to GroVont and I never saw Rocky Joe off the football field again.
After that came the Park thing with all its deepness followed by two years of boys I needed but didn’t much like who didn’t much care for me either. College turned out such a bust that I figured Dothan was what I deserved. He’d gone from stuffing animals to selling real estate—not a step up, but at least he smelled better. So I dropped out, moved back home, got married, got pregnant, got drunk.
***
A kid from the Jackson Hole News dropped by to take my picture as a human-interest item. I crawled in the tent and refused to come out even though he whined that his editor would chew him out if he came back with nothing but a tent in a front yard. I didn’t budge. Nobody says laughingstocks have to cooperate with the media.
On my stomach, I watched through the insect net as people walked up and down the street, pretending they had errands downtown. Or the dog suddenly needed relieving or something, any excuse to check out the Talbot spectacle. Cars drove by slow, as if my camp were a prizewinner in the Christmas outdoor display contest.
I ate two candy bars and drank half the pint of Yukon. Inside the tent was hot and airless, so I rolled Sam’s sleeping bag into a pillow and took a nap until Dothan coming home for supper woke me up. When he slammed the truck door, I jumped like I’d been shock-therapied. Sleeping in the afternoon always makes me skittish.
The sunset
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