“I’ll scream, Burl, and it’s like you said. These walls are thin. Mary Jane will hear me.”
“Yeah, and what’s Mary Jane going to do?” he asked me. “I’ll tell you what happens if you scream. If you scream your little girl comes running in here to see Mommy getting fucked on the kitchen table. She’ll remember it every day of her life. Go ahead, scream your head off, bitch.”
I didn’t. I thought of Laney. I bit down on my lip. I held my scream. I held my breath. I had only had sex with Tom. It had been sweet and tender, thrilling and satisfying. This was not that. This was mean and ugly and frightening. I laid my cheek against the yellow Formica and I stared across the table. Willing my mind to another place, I focused my attention on the salt and pepper shakers, two little ceramic kids, the smiling icons of a canned soup company. Two happy silent children who watched as he forced himself inside my body again and again and again, greedy, abusive, debasing, until he spilled his seed inside, making me filthy for all time.
L ANEY
I KNEW THE minute that Babs woke me up that something was wrong. Maybe it was the sight of her bruised cheek and swollen lip. Or maybe it was the urgency in her voice.
“Get dressed,” she said. “Get dressed as quick as you can.”
“Okay.”
Normally I got at least a couple of “time to wake up” announcements before I went in and sat at the table, leisurely coming to life over cornflakes and juice. Never was I rousted out of bed to put clothes on immediately. Probably out of sheer novelty I obeyed without question.
“What happened to your face?” I asked.
She reached up and touched it, almost surprised, as if she hadn’t noticed.
“I fell,” she said and then added slowly, “I was carrying some boxes and I fell.” It was weird the way she said it, as if she’d just thought of it. But I didn’t comment. She’d walked out of the room and I had more immediate concerns to distract me.
Babs had laid out my clothes at the foot of my bed, a madras plaid button-down shirt and dungarees. Why was I wearing dungarees? I always wore dresses to my kindergarten class. All the girls did. What kind of day was it going to be in dungarees? I went out to ask my mother.
The question disappeared from my lips. The whole house was in chaos. Everything we owned was stacked up, packed up or stashed in brown paper sacks.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re moving.”
“Huh?”
“We’re moving out,” Babs said. “I don’t like this place anymore.”
“Are we going back to Uncle Warren and Aunt Maxine’s?”
“No.”
“Am I going to school today?”
“No.”
“What about breakfast?”
“I’ll get you something later,” she said. “Now you have to help me carry all of this stuff out and get it into the car.”
“Why don’t we get someone to help us.”
“We don’t need anyone to help us.” Her words were stern, almost angry.
“Okay, Mama,” I responded meekly.
Her voice softened, too. “Get your shoes and socks on while I pack up the things in your room.”
There was no place to sit, every chair was covered with stuff. I sank down to the floor and did as I was told. I could hear her packing in my room. It was not the careful, thoughtful sorting of our things that she’d done at Uncle Warren and Aunt Maxine’s. She was just throwing things into grocery sacks as fast as she could. She had my entire room emptied by the time I’d tied my Keds.
“There’s not going to be room to take everything,” she said to me. “We’ll load up as much as we can in the car and the rest we’ll just leave.”
That didn’t concern me very much. I assumed that the stuff we’d be leaving would be her stuff. Towels or dishes or things like that, things that weren’t that important. When I saw some of my toys were in the throwaway pile, I didn’t go along uncomplaining.
“This is mine, Mom,” I pointed out, as I dragged my big plastic shape sorter out of
“Yeah, and what’s Mary Jane going to do?” he asked me. “I’ll tell you what happens if you scream. If you scream your little girl comes running in here to see Mommy getting fucked on the kitchen table. She’ll remember it every day of her life. Go ahead, scream your head off, bitch.”
I didn’t. I thought of Laney. I bit down on my lip. I held my scream. I held my breath. I had only had sex with Tom. It had been sweet and tender, thrilling and satisfying. This was not that. This was mean and ugly and frightening. I laid my cheek against the yellow Formica and I stared across the table. Willing my mind to another place, I focused my attention on the salt and pepper shakers, two little ceramic kids, the smiling icons of a canned soup company. Two happy silent children who watched as he forced himself inside my body again and again and again, greedy, abusive, debasing, until he spilled his seed inside, making me filthy for all time.
L ANEY
I KNEW THE minute that Babs woke me up that something was wrong. Maybe it was the sight of her bruised cheek and swollen lip. Or maybe it was the urgency in her voice.
“Get dressed,” she said. “Get dressed as quick as you can.”
“Okay.”
Normally I got at least a couple of “time to wake up” announcements before I went in and sat at the table, leisurely coming to life over cornflakes and juice. Never was I rousted out of bed to put clothes on immediately. Probably out of sheer novelty I obeyed without question.
“What happened to your face?” I asked.
She reached up and touched it, almost surprised, as if she hadn’t noticed.
“I fell,” she said and then added slowly, “I was carrying some boxes and I fell.” It was weird the way she said it, as if she’d just thought of it. But I didn’t comment. She’d walked out of the room and I had more immediate concerns to distract me.
Babs had laid out my clothes at the foot of my bed, a madras plaid button-down shirt and dungarees. Why was I wearing dungarees? I always wore dresses to my kindergarten class. All the girls did. What kind of day was it going to be in dungarees? I went out to ask my mother.
The question disappeared from my lips. The whole house was in chaos. Everything we owned was stacked up, packed up or stashed in brown paper sacks.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re moving.”
“Huh?”
“We’re moving out,” Babs said. “I don’t like this place anymore.”
“Are we going back to Uncle Warren and Aunt Maxine’s?”
“No.”
“Am I going to school today?”
“No.”
“What about breakfast?”
“I’ll get you something later,” she said. “Now you have to help me carry all of this stuff out and get it into the car.”
“Why don’t we get someone to help us.”
“We don’t need anyone to help us.” Her words were stern, almost angry.
“Okay, Mama,” I responded meekly.
Her voice softened, too. “Get your shoes and socks on while I pack up the things in your room.”
There was no place to sit, every chair was covered with stuff. I sank down to the floor and did as I was told. I could hear her packing in my room. It was not the careful, thoughtful sorting of our things that she’d done at Uncle Warren and Aunt Maxine’s. She was just throwing things into grocery sacks as fast as she could. She had my entire room emptied by the time I’d tied my Keds.
“There’s not going to be room to take everything,” she said to me. “We’ll load up as much as we can in the car and the rest we’ll just leave.”
That didn’t concern me very much. I assumed that the stuff we’d be leaving would be her stuff. Towels or dishes or things like that, things that weren’t that important. When I saw some of my toys were in the throwaway pile, I didn’t go along uncomplaining.
“This is mine, Mom,” I pointed out, as I dragged my big plastic shape sorter out of
Similar Books
