TRIGGERWARNINGS
“TheIndigenousRainbowLollipopReviewinvitesoneandalltosubmittheirpoetry.Webelievethattribal fealtiesandrace/sex/gendertakeprecedenceoverthepoemsobesuretotellusallaboutthat.Wealsoinsist youprovidetriggerwarningsinyourcoverlettereventhoughyouhavenocluewhatwilltriggerus.Figureit out.”
withlove, theeditors
Warning!
thispoemisaboutlove
thispoemisaboutloss
thispoemisaboutdeath
andthefuneralsofcuddlydespots
thispoemevisceratedalittlegirl’scollectionofstuffedanimals
thispoemisaboutfatpeople whoarefatbecausetheyeatbadfoodandtoomuchofit andthatistheirownfault
thispoemwillcontainthewords
FUCK
CUNT
SLUT
REPUBLICAN
DONALDTRUMP
BITCH
HETEROSEXUAL
thispoemwillhaveseveralpicturesofanerectpenis enteringthebrainofahornymiddle-agedwoman
thispoemwillnotspeakforitself
willnotexplainordrawadiagram becausethispoemhopesyou’resmartenough tocometoyourownconclusion braveenoughtoreadwhatmakesyouuncomfortable adultenoughtocrawloutofthewomb ofsafespace andreadwordswithoutgettingintothefetalposition andcomplainingtoyourcollege’sdeanofinclusivity
thispoemissorryyourdaddydidn’texpresshislovetoyou thewayyouwishedhewould
thispoemissorryyourmommybeatyouwithawoodenspoon becauseyouwouldn’tfinishyoursupperwhenyouweresixyearsold butthesethings arenotthepoem’sfault
thispoemwilleschewpropercapitalization punctuation andalsofuckyourfeelings
thispoemislookingatyourightnow andhopingyouhaveareaction good orbad
thispoemiswinking
thispoemiscrying
thispoemisbalancingaballonitsnose andclappingforthereward ofasinglefish
thispoemistwosaggyballs lyinginthewetspot
thispoemisbasedonatruestory
thenameshavenotbeenchangedinordertotriggertheinnocent
Ihopeyoulikeit
YOU’REMAKINGMEDOTHIS
“You’remakingmedothis!”shewouldexclaim withlessandlessdramaeachtime toherthreevariouslynaughtychildren andthenshewouldthrowtheplateagainstthewall orputherfistthroughtheplaster or,worstofall,lightuponeofthemanycigarettes shehadjustanhourbeforesworntothrowaway.
“You’remakingmedothis!” shesaidtoherselfinthemirror, whenshethoughtnoonewaslooking, unawarethattheeyesandearsofchildrenmaynotalwayscomprehend buttheyarealwaysopen. Thenshewouldslapherownface,biteherhand, shriekatthepersonshewasbutunderstoodsolittle.
“Youmademedothis,” herbodyseemedtosaytohereventually–
becomingjustskinhangingoffaskeleton. Thecigarettesnotinsightanymore buttheirremainssettledintoherlungsandherbones, theiroldsmokecloggingupherblood, theashesaliveinhersmoggyphlegm. Thethreechildrennowmen gotreadytoburyherbody thatwasmomentsfrompackingitinforgood. Somegrayputtydryingintheholesinthewall; themirrorsheshriekedintocoveredinasheet; allthedishespackedawaythatshehadfailedtobreak.
ThomasZimmerman(he/him)teachesEnglish,directstheWritingCenter,andeditsTheBigWindows
Reviewhttps://thebigwindowsreview.com/atWashtenawCommunityCollege,inAnnArbor,Michigan. Hispoemshaveappearedrecentlyinhandpickedpoetry,InterstellarLiteraryReview ,andSageCigarettesHis latestbookisthechapbookTheHouseofCerberus(AlienBuddhaPress,2022).
Website: https:/thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com Twitter:@bwr_tom Instagram:tzman2012
you’retellingmewelivetoosafe.Iflip theatlaspages.Kiss?Yousmile,backstabs andpapercutsaresmilingback.Ourcode post-post-ironic,half-forgottensongs. Rememberthatwe’reblurry,visionsslip alongourshimmer.Hisses,dots,anddabs wecannotsensearepaintingus.Thisroad that’spavedwithuselessdollars,dreamt-upwrongs? I’lltakethewheel,it’sbetterintheditch. Here’swhatwe’lldo:decidewhatwe’reabout, relatethesefindingstoalargerworld, andfashionthemtolast.We’llhavetohitch ourpantsup,chillbeneathourshadoweddoubt, unpackourdreams:there,rebornWeliescurled.
SoTonight
You’relisteningtoBrahmsandreadingpoems onyourphone,justhopingsomethingwarm willlightinsideyourhead,becausetheweather everywhere’stoodarkandcold.It’sout ofseason,outofjoint,atragedy, ifonlylifeweremoreheroic.Wine halfgone,you’vedrawnapictureofafox: ajournalsketchwithballpointpen.Aspirit animal,yourhippiefriendwouldsay. Onmorningwalksinnearbywoods,you’veseen afox.Lasttime,shecaughtyoureye.Youswear shereadthedarknessinyou,humpedaway intothebrush.Somuchlikeyou:evasion bearscreation.Dareyoucallhersister?
Sister
BleedingBite-SizedPieces
You’vecrackedabeer,thankGod:it’sArrogant Bastard,afavorite.Yourwife’sasleep, TV’sonmute.Poeticmoment?So youhope.You’veworkedalldayatpaycheckwork. Andnow,yourheart’s-bloodwork,yourneedtoleave arecord.Musicstreamingfromyourplaylist: Shostakovichstringquartet.Thesonnet andtheblackoutpoem:twincrutchesyou’ve beengimpingon.Yousquirm,thethought-wormbores. Right:lyingfallowisalie.Thedog’s awakeandbitingonasqueakytoy.Soundsso muchlikeyourverse.Youdicearipetomato, worldthatliesinbleedingbite-sizedpieces. Oh,whattitleevercapturesthis?
AlexM.Frankel leftSpaininthe1990sandsettledinSouthernCalifornia. TheirstorycollectionFlameatDoorandRaisincameoutearlierthisyear.
Mommysaysneverhitback
Mommysaysreportthemtotheteacher butIreportthemtoMrs.Higginbottom andMrs.Higginbottomlaughs.
Mommysaysneverhitback
Mommysayssticksandstones
buttheypokethegiantpimplesofmyearlobe
theyjabmyneckwithpencilsandpens andcallmefaggot,sissyfag,queerbait.
I’mFifitheFrenchpoodle
theygoformybrownbriefcase theyswarmtheyworktopeel myfingersofftheoldbrownbriefcase withthewishboneinside.
Don’ttheyknowaboutCherished thetiniestpupever andmysplendidBarMitzvahattheFairmont thatthegrown-upsloved andWillieMaysalmostattended allthecaviar andmyroomwithpaintingsandatigerskinrug
Weaker
andfivehundredclassicalalbums?
TothemI’mFifi.
TomeI’mFifi.
Oneofthemaskstoseemyjack-o’-lantern andsmashesitonthefoursquarecourt.
“Mrs.Higginbottompleaseisn’tthereanythingyoucando?” She’sangry,“Learntogrowup.” Andwalksawayshakingherhead.
AtrecessDominicGarfonoisonme bothhandssqueezingmyneck deflatingredballooninahurrythisworldcloses, italmostdoesn’thurt.
SanFranzisko,1969
InholyGerman-English myMamiundDeddishout theyhitslapsmackkick. Ibegthemtostoptheywon’t stopmyMamiundDeddi spithotold-timeGerman-Jewish “Youhevnocless”
“Shallwecallitquit?”
Innearbyrowhouses Americansbehavemodern theirlanguagecold. Whycouldn’tGott havegivenmecoolparents insteadoflovingones thatkickslapandyell?
OurKristallnacht:destruction ripsmefromdreamlandinto bloodandbrokenglass. Mamithrewanashtray couldn’ttakethetorrentofgripes. Hiseyeglassesinruins bloodonthecomforter.
Thenbandagescoverhisnose, weeksofnosoundinthehouse buttheclatteringof old-timeplates.
IpraytoGottforpeace
Gott,IknowI’mbad andthat’swhytheyfight.
Meekistheway
MamiundDeddiwantme inlovingGerman-English.
OnenightMamigetstipsy swallowsmanypills.
Deddishakeshercan’twakeher
Deddirushespasttheredlights sirensafterus allthewaytoMt.Zion.
AtriptoLakeBerryessa towatchthemoonlanding.
MamiundDeddihug inourmobilehome.
Byafetidpond,peace.
AtdinnerMamiundDeddi
they’rehittingslappingkicking
cussingandsmashing
voicesbrimmingwithhigh-pitched angerEnglish.
SoallVitalis-slick
Iknockontheprincipal’sdoor.
MissTennesseeBentley
lovesthatI’manearlybird.
Itellallaboutthequarrelsathome.
“Buttheyadoreyou
andtheymeanwell,Alex. ThinkwhattheywentthroughinGermany.”
ShelookslikeTennesseeTuxedo
birdlike,efficient,erect.
ThatnightMamiyells
“ThechildhettogocryatMissBentley!
Seehowyoudestroy.”
WhiteChristmas
flickersintomyroom
BingCrosbycarefreeontheslopes
snowwarmagainstmycheeks.
ToDraintheEyeandShapeItLikeaParadise
NineteenhoursIstayedinMyles.
Inuttedeighteentimes, hewasablackjackdealer,Adonisofthetrailerpark withfourteencatsaidedbytheCatFoundation. PartHawaiianpartGermanpartPortuguese.
MylesMachado,methaddictedandpositive.
NineteenhoursboffingMylesraw.
HelingeredsolonginthefetidAIDSward ofPatriotBenitoMussoliniHospitalandClinic hisfriendsstoppedvisitingandhiscatsstarved. Someoneinsertedablackjacktableintohiscorpse andcalledhimtheperfectcoffinslave.
Mylesfearedovenssohewasburiedunburned excepthisnippleswenttorestataRitz hisnavelataHilton,hispinkiesatMadameTussauds. SincehewasaTVaddicttheyshowedgravesideFoxNews.
TVblabberednightanddayandloveditself thewayafetuslovesitselfforitsinsanity.
Istrokedathisgravehungryforareplicaofthedeceased.
WhereelsecouldInuteighteentimesinnineteenhours?
SuchbirthsmacksofevilsoIconsultedanAlgerian whobuiltredcrowsandmicethatplayedthetuba
aswellasotherprojectsthat’llsurelybreaktheworld.
HisMylesreplicantwasgarbage.
ThenewMyleshadagarbagevoiceandgarbagehair andespeciallyhisholesmelledlikegarbage.
Ihadthemrecreatethetrailer,thefourteencats.
HalfthenightItriedtoplugthereplicantraw.
HalfayearlaterI’minthefetidAIDSward ofPatriotBenitoMussoliniHospitalandClinic minusmypinkies,nipplesandnavel.
They’vemademyroomaSouthSeasisland
andforcompanygavemeaminkandagoldfish.
Someonesoldmylefthandandfoot.
I’mflowingwithotherbodiesoffHawaii.
Rabbisandattorneysflowwithme. Blindgiggles.
JamesMulhern’swritinghasappearedinliteraryjournalsovertwohundredtimes.In2013,hewasaFinalist fortheTuscanyPrizeinCatholicFiction.In2015,Mr.MulhernwasawardedawritingfellowshiptoOxford University.Thatsameyear,astorywaslonglistedfortheFishShortStoryPrize.In2017,hewasnominatedfor aPushcartPrize .Hisnovel,GiveThemUnquietDreams,isaReaders’FavoriteBookAwardwinner,aNotable BestIndieBookof2019,aKirkusReviewsBestBookof2019,andaREDRIBBONWINNER,highly recommendedbyTheWishingShelfBookAwardsintheUnitedKingdom.
TodayIsawafatherandson steppingontothecrosswalk. Ibrakedandwatchedthempass. Sononfather’sshoulders, headedtotheparkwithswings.
Idroveon,thinkingofyou andwonderedwhyyou neverliftedmeandheldmylegs orbroughtmetotheswings. Butyouwerenotthattypeoffather.
Once,webuiltashedtogether. Iheardyousayatafamilypartyyearslater, “RememberwhenDannyandIbuilttheshed.” Butitwasn’tmybrother whocutwoodandhammerednailswithyou.
Iwasbotheredjustabit.
Ihadothermemories,
likewhenyouheldmyhandsasweknottedmytie, howwebothlookedinthemirror, andIsawmyselfinyourface.
TheCrosswalk
Youpattedmyshoulders. Someonecrossedtheroomandpausedtotakeapicture. Itwasonthetablebyyourcoffin.Yourhandsonmine. Proofthatwehadclosenessforamoment, andthatisenough.
Onthatgrayday,youchoppedthegrandpianowithanax. Surroundedbyyellowandredleavesonthehardearth, youraisedyourarmtosmashitallapart.
Icouldonlywonder.Youwereamanraisedtothink cryingwasweak.Strengthandpowershoulddefineyou. Menlikeyoucouldnotvoicetheirsecretsordespair.
Youshatteredtheinstrument,exorcisingitsshinyveneer. Resin-impregnatedpaper,dovetailjoints,woodenribs, andpolishedmahoganyscatteredaroundyou.
Slowlythecurvedoutlineofthepianobecamearaggedmess. Thesoundboardheartcracked.Smallplanksofair-driedwood joinedthemiscellanyofstrings,keys,andpaddedhammers.
Ithoughtofmymother,thedayshemovedout, howyouchangedthelocksandemptiedeverycloset, destroyingeachvestigeofyoursharedlives.
IfIhadleftthewindowtojoinyououtside, Iwouldhaveseenyourtears, glisteningstringsonthesoundboardofabrokensoul.
Piano
Brother
Onourwaytothedance,wemadeafireunderthebridge.
Snowfelloutsidethedarknessofourshadowedspace.
Wesangaboutthebottlesofbeerweraisedwithglovedhands.
Youlayyourarmovermyshoulders.Yourfaceglowedintheflames.
Twigscrackledandbitsofpaperroseinthesmoke.
Snowglistenedunderthestreetlightsbeyondthebridge.
Inawhilewe’dstepintothecoldbrightnessbutfornow
Ilovedthedarkspace,thecircleoffire,andoursong.
Intheblacknessofmybedroom,sometimesafire
blazesandIseeourpinkfacesbeforetheflames.
Ihearourvoicesandthesighingofthewind.
Yourarmcrossesmycoldneckandhugsmyshoulder, andIdreamweneversteppedoutsideourhallowedspace.
Thesnowwassocoldandthestreetlightstoostrong.
BradRosewasbornandraisedinLosAngeles,andlivesinBoston.Heistheauthoroffivecollectionsofpoetry andflashfiction:PinkX-Ray,de/tonations,MomentaryTurbulence,No.Wait.ICanExplain ,andthe forthcoming,WordinEdgeWise .SeventimesnominatedforaPushcartPrize,andthreetimesnominatedfor theBestoftheNetAnthology,Brad’spoetryandfictionhaveappearedin,TheLosAngelesTimes,The AmericanJournalofPoetry,NewYorkQuarterly,PuertodelSol,Clockhouse,Folio,Cloudbank,Baltimore Review,45thParallel,BestMicrofiction2019,LunchTicket,Sequestrum,RightHandPointing,Cultural Daily ,andotherpublications.Bradisalsotheauthorofsevenpoetrychapbooks,amongthem,Democracyof Secrets ,Collateral,AnEvilTwinisAlwaysinGoodCompany ,andFunnyYouShouldAsk .Hiswebsiteis www.bradrosepoetry.comHisblogishttps://bradrosepoetry.com/blog/
Tuesday,atthepersonalityclinic,Inoticedtherobotsweredancingtothestereophonicscreamsoftheir artificialintelligence,soItriedtocozyuptooneofthecuteones,butbeforeIcouldgetmymindaroundit,it squeaked,Washingisoneofthemostsignificantthingsyou’lleverdotoyourclothes .Admittedly,I’mofout oftheloop,butphysicistsstillstruggletofullycomprehendtheproton.AsIunderstandit,they’vegotsome prettysillyquarks.Ofcourse,youneverknowforsure,butwhodoesn’twanttohavetheircakeandeatittoo?
Nousegettinginoveryourhead.Ifyoudo,youmightbepersuadedtoremembereventsthatneverreally happened,likethattimethehousecaughtfire,andyourealizedtherewasnooneleftalivetoblame.
NoOneLefttoBlame
Thursday,Ifoundmyselfdowntown,lawyershopping nothankstoyearsandyearsofpositivethinking. Thosecriminals,you’dthinkattheratestheycharge,theycouldatleastaffordtoplaymorethanminiature golf. I’mamanofmytimesandIlikeloudattention,soIlaminatedmyhairandbushwhackedacoupleof sacrilegiouschurchgoers.Iwastoldtheremightevenbealittlemoneyinit,ifyouknowwheretolook.While Ialwaystrytostriveandsucceed,Iprefertocultivatemypersonalspaceandcuratemyfireantfarm,although crowdsmakemenervous especiallytinyredones.Trixiewarnedmeabouttheanimaltrackingdevicesand theclosed-circuitTVs,soIevadeddetectionforaslongasIcouldbywearingmyambiguousamphibious disguise theonefeaturingmindlessmindfulnessandanairborneshoehorn.Thankgoodness,batsarethe onlyflyingmammals.Anyway,whenIfinallyappearedbeforethecommissionerofsub-justiceontrumpedupchargesofuncreativeloiteringandpettyshamanism,hewinkedatmeandsaid,EvenJesuscouldhaveused abetterattorney .Iadmiretheironfistofjustice.Toobadaboutallthosecrucifixions.
NoHardFeelings
I’mnotsurewho,butyouremindmeofsomeone onlytaller.Itrunsinmyfamily.Oneday,Iplantobecome myownworstfrenemy,butuntilthen,Ihopetogetevenwithmyselfbybreakingmyheartintwo.I’mnot halfthemanIusedtobe.Thereare44murdersadayintheUS,androughly$500millionto$1.5billion collectedeachyearinransommoney.Youcanimaginehowharditmustbeforthecompetitiontocatchup.
TheCompetition
PhotoDaisyReneePhotography
KarenBeatty
RearedinAppalachianeartheLickingRiver,KarenBeattyexploredtheMekongRiverasaPeaceCorps ThailandVolunteer.NowsettledbetweentheHudsonRiverandtheEastRiverontheIsleofManhattan,she believesthat,likeitstidalrivers,NewYorkCityperpetuallysurgesandflowswithadiversityofpeople,places andexperiencesthatserveupallmannerofgiftstothoseopentoreceive.Karen'sshortstoriesandessays appearinEurekaLiteraryMagazine,SnowyEgret,BooksIreland,and,mostrecently,intheMudSeason Review.
PassingKarma
Toosoonforhim
Thetimehascome
WhenImustneveragain Cater,scramble Andcomply
Inacquiescence
Tohisneediness
Pulsingturnstopounding
Trembling,cold
Dreadofacknowledgment
Onceagainanemptywomb
INCONCEIVABLE
Secretlyabusedchildwithclassrageandnobodytospeakof.
LostAndNotFound
PaulaFrew-AnOhionative,theauthorwroteherfirstpoem,Daffodils,inthefourthgrade.Atthat time,shefellinlovewiththeform.Shewrotethroughtheangstofadolescenceandintothe beautiesanddissonanceofadulthood.Shehasbeenpublishedinseveraljournalsand anthologies.
Metamorphosis
Thecaterpillar
Spinsacocoon.
Willhebemoth
Orbutterfly?
Regardless, Hewillfly!
friendship longandtrue. wrecked harshandstrong. repaired humble,andgentle.
Child-likeWonder
Abillion
the
fix
stars,painted withasharpbrush, lightthenight atGrandpa’s countryfarm.
Abillion fluffyclouds createdbythe jetsflying overGrandpa'sfarm.
Abillion grainsofsand, rocksfragmented byagiant’sfeet populatethebeach aroundGrandpa’spond.
Abillion raindropscried byangelsabove drivemeinside atGrandpa’shouse.
Abillion memoriescrafted inaninnocentchild byacreative man,wholoved hisgranddaughter.
WilliamDoreskilivesinPeterborough,NewHampshire.Hehastaughtatseveralcollegesanduniversities. HismostrecentbookofpoetryisDogsDon’tCare(2022). Hisessays,poetry,fiction,andreviewshave appearedinvariousjournals.
Ourfriendspilledathunderingpot ofcheesesoupthatscorchedtobone.
That’swhyherhandisbandaged.
Weworrythatinfectionwilldouse hermanualvigor,butsmiling offthedangersheproceeds.
Thedaylookssickwithiceandsleet. Predictable,predicted,themess smirksoneveryutilesurface.
Wesitoutdoorsundertheeaves andsavorvillagegeometry fromasafeifchillyoutlook.
Therapturethatblindswithsnow hasyettoarrive.Thewinterblue thatsootheswithgenderedstrokes withholdsuntilChristmashasdone itspaganpageantryinsuburbs discoloredbyrepeatedbeatings.
Vestigiallimbsareflailing
tonoavail.Ourbandagedfriend drivesawayinherChevytruck withhergazeaffixedtoasphalt whereevolutionpubliclystalls. Northorsouth,magneticfields whimperwithminiaturefrights. Wecouldabandonourshelter andwalkabroadinashower butwe’dloseourcredibility. Let’sstopreadingpolitics asweather.Nopointdistorting vanishing-pointperspective toexplainthethird-degreeburn wavinggoodbyeinthedistance.
Inthebruiseofnightafigure muttersaboutastronomy whileplacingherhandsonme withgravenpneumaticforce.
Yousleeprightthroughthisevent, yourfaceturnedtotheblankestwall. Thefiguredoesn’tintend tocompetewithyoubutbraces hersmileagainstthewrithingdark andpriesmeopen,exposing crystalssculptedbychemistry thatIalmostlearnedinhighschool.
Iwouldratherhavenotseen sofarintomyinterior, butyourefusetoawaken andintervene.Thefigure, formedofmolecularerratics, ravagesalloverme,slurring mydetailsandrenderingflesh
Fuseli’sGrimace
asobsoleteaspapyrus.
DoesthissuggestFuseli’s grimacereversedsoIbecome thewhitehorsewithflyawaymane andimpossiblypointedears andunseeinglightbulbeyes whiletheterroristhewoman leeringovermyclumsysprawl?
Thesquattingcat-faceddemon
isyouenjoyingthetableau whilethenightbleedsintoitself, deflatingandgraduallypooling intoconvictiontoughasbedrock.
HorizonsfromtheRenaissance creaseyourfaceatangles you’vedevisedoveralifetime. Thislookimpalestheworld onpinsandneedlesdepicted inflesh-runesnoonecanread. Thewindofftheriverlingers inthecreases.Lastyear’sphlox recallsdwindledclustersofbees.
TheUnitariansteepleclock readshalfanhourinto afuturecompressedtoflatter yourblueandgrayintuitions. Whatifthefamousmanappeared withhisblackleatherportfolio?
Wouldyouabandonmetoetch yourrunesalloverhisbody inahalf-abandonedmotel?
Flesh-Runes
Somanyhorizonscompeting forthemindtocrossintoshades ofcolornotquiteofthisEarth.
Whycan’tyoumufflethoserunes andpressmetoyourgeography withouttheantiquediscords?
Yourhorizonsbreaklikesurf inmouthfulsoffoam.Thiseffect stiflestalkwithgaspsoferosion.
Yourwell-honedlooksavages thesmallesthintofcritique withrunesharshenoughtorhyme.
PaulLewellanretiredfromEducationafterteachingforfivedecadesinthepublicschoolsandatsmallliberal artscolleges.NowhelivesandgardensinDavenport,Iowa,withhiswifePamela,hisShiTzu,Mannie,and theirgingertabby,Sunny.HehasrecentlypublishedfictioninMiniskirtMagazine,DASHLiteraryJournal, NewCrotonReview,TrueChili,JupiterReview,andHolyFleaLit.Althoughhedoesn'tbelievelifebeginsat 74,itdoesgetmoreinteresting.
AttractionandTaboo
ByPaulLewellan
“CallingtheUberwastheresponsiblethingtodo,Clark.”Mymother-in-law,AllisonMcQuery,sether purseontheblackmarblekitchencounter.“Thankyou.”Shestretchedupandkissedmeonthecheek.The scentsofChanelNo.5andBombaySapphirelingered.“We’llretrieveyourcarinthemorning.”Shekickedoff hershoes.“I’mnotreadyfortheeveningtoend.”
“Thenwewon’tletit,”Iassuredher.
Itwasastupidthingtosay.
Savannahjoinedusinthekitchen,shakingofftherain.“Ineedadrink.”
Mywifegetsrighttothepoint.
“That’sthelastthingyouneed,LittleMissThree-MartinisBeforeSupper,”hermothertoldher.Allison unbuttonedherBurberrytrenchcoat.Sheremovedthematchingbuckethat.“I’llmakecoffee.”
“Tonightwassupposedtobeacelebration,”Savannahhuffed.“Peopledrinkwhentheycelebrate.”
“Yousoundlikeyourfather.”Allisonshookoutherthickblackhairstreakedwithgrayhighlightsand drapedhercoatoverakitchenchair.
“Nothingwrongwiththat.”Savannahshedherraincoat,too,lettingitdroptothefloor.Shekickedher ChristianLouboutinfour-inchheelsunderthekitchentable,thenshimmiedoutofhercocktaildress,leaving itinadamppuddle.“Heknowshowtoparty.”Shestoodshiveringinherbraandhalf-slip.
“Iinvitedhim,”Itoldmywife.
Hermotherstatedtheobvious.“Hechosenottocome.”
Savannahunhookedherdampbraandletitdrop.“I’mgoingtothehottub,Clark.Bringmeadrink.”
Ipausedtoformulateanappropriateresponse.Nothing.Ihadnothing.
Mymother-in-lawsteppedin.“IknowwhereErrolkeepshistwenty-five-year-oldscotch.”
“Mother!Daddysavesthatforspecialoccasions.”
“Ithoughtthiswasaspecialoccasion.Besides,Iowaisacommunitypropertystate.”
“Icangetmyowndrink.”Shestaggeredslightly,thenwavedmeoffwhenIreachedouttosteadyher. Barefootinhertinyhalf-slip,shethreadedherwaytotherefrigeratorandpulledoutabottleofCirocshe’d stashedinthefreezer.Herlastwordsassheexitedthroughthepatiodoorwere,“Don’ttouchDaddy’s Dalmore.”
Itookabreathandslowlyexhaled.Mywifewasamasterofexitsandentrances.Ireacheddownto gatherupherclothes.
“Leavethem,Clark.Letherpickthemupinthemorninglikearesponsibleadult.”
“Ifonly….”Ifonlysheweremorelikehermother.
“Whydon’tyoumakeafireinthestudywhileIgettheDalmore.”
Ishookmyhead.“Itwouldbewastedonme.Ican’ttellthedifferencebetweenonescotchand another.”
“Ofcourse,youcan.Myex-husbandneverwantedyoutotry.”Shewinked.“He’snothereanymore.”
Allisonneverwinked.
Ithadbeenanunusualevening.I’dneverspentathousanddollarsonamealbefore,butthethreeofus werecelebratingnewpositions.Savannahwouldbeherfirm’schieflegalcounselbecauseofherboss’s resignationaftersexualharassmentcharges.AllisonhadbeenappointedChairoftheSociologydepartmentat theSouthernIowaUniversity,followingasabbaticalinGuatemalaandthecampus-wideinitiativeto diversifydepartmentchairpositions.I’dbeenhiredastheInternationalMarketingDirectoratmyformer firm’schiefcompetitor,apositionI’dpursuedforyears.Nolightweightsattonight’sparty.
AllisongotglasseswhileIstartedthefire.WesettledintotheWinsorchairsbythefieldstonefireplace. Shepouredourdrinks.“Ascotchlikethisisaprivilege.Errolspent$400onitandnevershareditwithanyone excepthisdaughter.”
Iliftedtheglasstomylips.“Ourturnnow.”Isavoredthegoldenliquid.“Unbelievablysmooth….”
“Theagemakesthewhiskeytastebetter,butit’sthewoodinthebarrelsthatbreaksdownthecoarser flavors.”Shedrankdeeply.“Thelongerthealcoholstaysinthebarrel,thesmootheritgets.”
“Amazing.”Itookanothersip.“Whydon’ttheyageallwhiskeylikethat?”
Allisonlaughedherdeepthroatylaugh.“Distillerscouldn’taffordit.Bythetimea25-year-oldscotch hasaged,40%ofwhatwasinthebarrelsisgone.It’scalled‘TheAngel'sShare.’Naturalevaporationovertime.”
“So,it’snotexpensivebecauseit'sold;it’sexpensivebecauseit'srare.”Iraisedmyglass.“Atoasttothe finelyagedandtherare.”
Shelaughedagainanddrank.
FinallyIsaid,“Wecan’tdothisanymore.”
Allisonswirledthescotchinitstumbler.“Technically,youandIhaven’tdoneanything.Somephone callsandemailswhileIwasinGuatemala.TextsafterIgotback.”Sheemptiedtheglass.“Neverevena stolen….”
Asifoncue,mywifeenteredthestudystillwearingthehalf-slip,nowplasteredtoherthighs.“I’m goingtobed.”Savannahblewmeanairkiss.She’dtuckedhercellphoneunderherarm.Herfacewasflushed. InherhandwasthebottleofCiroc.“Don’tkeeptheoldbroaduptoolate.”Shedisappearedupthestairs.
“Alwayslookingoutforyou,”Ijoked.Neitherofuslaughed.
IhandedhermyWaterfordcrystaltumblerandAllisonrefilledourglasseswiththelastofthe Dalmore.“WhatdoyousupposeSavanahwasdoingoutthere?”
“Masturbatinginyourhottub.”
“Clark!Youdon’tknowthat.”
“IwishIdidn’t.Shesentmeavideooncebyaccident.She’dmeanttosendittoDanby.”
“Herboss?”
“Ex-boss.Youknow,ifshehadn’tmadethaterror….”
“Ifshe’dactuallysentittoDanby….”Isawthewaveofrecognition.
“IowaEquityandCasualtywouldhavefiredheralongwithhim.Theysuspectedtherewassomething betweenthembutcouldn’tproveit.Withahalf-dozenpotentialharassmentsuitspending,theywanted Danbygone.ReplacinghimwithSavannah….”
“Madethecompanyappeartocareaboutwomen….”
“Exactly.”Iwaited.
“Canshedothejob?”
“Shecan.Hell,she’syourdaughter.”Iliftedthenewlyrefreshedglass.“Unfortunately,she’salsoher father’sdaughter,andsoshehasnomoralsense.”
“Sheknowstherulesandpretendstofollowthem,whenintruth,breakingthemexcitesher.”
Allison’sassessmentperfectlydescribedmywife.“Taboospackacharge.Theeroticrushisirresistible.” Iraisedmyglassagain.“Tothesociopathsoftheworld.”
“Tothesociopaths.”Shetappedherglassonmine.“Can’tlivewiththem.Can’tlivewithoutthem.”
“Actually….”Igotupandwalkedtothefireplace.Iaddedanotherlog,whichmadenosense,sincethe studyalreadyfeltlikeasauna.Iwasstalling.“I’vedecidedtoleaveher.”
“Why?She’scheatedonyoubefore,andyou’veforgivenher….What’sdifferentthistime?”
“Shetoldmeshewantstogetpregnant.”
Thatwasn’ttheanswershe’dexpected.“Savannahwouldbealousymother.”
“Youweren’t.”
“Sheisn’tme.”
“Sheisnot.”Iuntiedmyshoesandslidthemoff,placingthemcarefullybesidethechairwhereIcould findtheminthemorning.Iuntiedmytie,foldedit,andsetitontheendtable.Iremovedmysportcoat,as Allisonstaredintothefire.“SheandIhaven’thadsexinsixmonths.”
“But….”
“Afterwefoundoutaboutmylowspermcount,shestartedrecruitingspermdonors.” Ilookedatthe remainsofthescotch.“ShetoldmeI’dhadmychance.”
Allisonstoodupandremovedhersuitjacket.“Don’tyouthinkit’swarminhere?”Herquestionwas rhetorical.Sheunbuttonedthefirsttwobuttonsofhersilkblouse,pluckedthematerialfromherskin,and fannedherselfwithit.“Iwonderedwhyyoudidn’tleaveheryearsago.”
“Icouldn’tfigureouthowtostayconnectedtoyou,withoutbeingmarriedtoher.IfIwalkedaway, you’dbeforcedtochoosebetweenus.”
“AndyouthoughtIwouldhavechosenher?”TheWestminsterchimesannouncedthatitwas midnight.“Let’stalkaboutthat.I’llmakecoffee.”Shestartedtowardthekitchen.“Brandygoeswellwith coffee.SeewhatErrolhasinhisliquorcabinet.”
“Givenwhatweneedtotalkabout,shouldn’twebesober?”
“Heavens,no.SoberIwouldn’thavesuggestedyouspendthenight,orthatweshouldraidthescotch. Andwithoutthescotch,I’dneverdothis….”Shewalkedbacktome,tookmyheadinherhands,andkissedme, passionate,tender,withthehintofpromise.
Whenshereturnedafewminuteslaterwithacarafeofcoffeeandcups,shesawadistinctivebottleon thetable.“LouisXIIIdeRemyMartin.Whythecognac?”
“Ifoundalockedcompartmentandwondered,ifErrollefta$400scotchout,whatwouldhelockup?”
“Butitwaslocked–”
“It’saliquorcabinet,notaSentrySafe.Ithasakey,andthekeycouldn’tbefaraway.Itwasthethird placeIlooked.”
“Errolhasabrilliantlegalmindbutlacksimaginationandisoblivioustosecurity.Hispasswordisstill ‘password’.”SheclearedawaythetumblersasIgotupandstirredthefire.“Don’tyoufinditwarmhere?”She unbuttonedherblouseanddroppedittothefloor;herskirtfollowed.“That’smuchbetter.”
Ipickedupthebottleandbroketheseal.“Whatmakesthissospecial?”
“Thecognacisaged50to100years.”
“SohowmucharewepayingfortheAngel’sShare?”
“Bestguess,four-grand.”
“$4000abottle?”
“Yes.”
“Maybeweshouldskipthecoffee.”
“Goodidea.”Dressedinherpalegrayslip,shetookthecognacfrommeandpoureduseachagenerous portioninthecups.Shesatdownandcrossedherlegs.“Now,Clark,wherewerewe?”
“Youweretellingmeaboutyoursabbatical.”
“No,Iwasn’t.”Sheliftedhercup.“Ihaven’tmentionedthatatall.”
“It’srelated.”Shewavedherhandoverthecupandinhaledthecognac’saroma.Ididthesame.We sippedinunison.“IstayedinmymarriagebecauseIthoughtitwastheonlywaytostayconnectedtoyou.”
“ThenlastyearIlefttostudydomesticabuseinCentralAmerica.”
“ThefirstweekinGuatemalaCity,youemailedmeamazingdescriptionsofthecountryandinsights aboutthewomenyou’dmet.”
“Andyou,whowroteback.”
“Withinamonthwewereemailingeverynight.”
“ThedayEsmerelda’shusbanddousedherwithboilingwater,Iphonedyoudistraught.Ihadasix-pack ofGallobeer,abottleoftranquilizers,andabottleofZacaparum.Iwasn’tsureIcoulddotheworkanymore.”
“IwasdrinkingSamAdams….”
“Youtalkedmethroughit.Yougavemethecouragetostay.YouwerethereasonIgotthroughthe sabbaticalyear.Thankyou.”Allisontookanotherdrinkandsaidpointedly,“Clark,don’tyouthinkit’swarm inhere?”Anotherrhetoricalquestion.
“Ido.”Igotup,unbuttonedmyshirt,andpulledthetailsfromthewaistband.Idroppedmyslacksto thefloorandsteppedoutofthem.Iremovedmyt-shirtandloweredmyboxershorts.FinallyItookoffmy Bombas.
Shestood,liftedherslipupoverherhead,andsetitonthechair.“Alittlehelp,”shesaid,turningsothat Icouldundotheclaspofherbra.Itouchedherbareshoulderandstrokedhercheek.Shekissedme.Iplayed withherbreasts.“Yes…please…more….”
Iknelt,ministeringtoheruntilsheclimaxed.Shesanktothefloor,pullingmedownbesideher.“I’ve waitedsolong….”
Hourslater,spent,wefellasleepineachother’sarms.
WhenIwokeup,thefirewasout.Iwasnakedandshivering.Allisonwasgone,butstandingoverme, wearingherfather’spajamatopwithamugofcoffeeineachhand,wasmywife.“Youfinallydidit.Youfucked her.Goodforyou,Clark.Iknowyou’vewantedtoforalongtime.”Shehandedmeamug.“Mothermadea freshpot.Thecinnamonrollswillbeoutintenminutes.”
“You’repissed.”
“Notsomuch.”Savannahmotionedtowardthekitchen.“YoumusthavebroughtyourA-gamelast night.She’ssingingshowtunes.”Shestartedbacktothekitchen.“Youshouldgrabaquickshower.”
IntheguestbathroomIfoundaman’sbathrobehangingonthedoor,atoothbrushstillinitspackage, andafreshdisposablerazor.InthemirrorIsawteethmarks,scratches,andhickeyseverywhere.
WhenIjoinedthewomeninthekitchen,Allisonwaswearinganidenticalrobe.“Ihopeyou’re hungry.”Shesuppressedagrinandhandedmeamug.
ThecoffeewasdarkroastedfromGuatemalanbeans,purchasedfromanindigenousgrowers’co-op whereshe’ddoneworkshopsforabusedwomen,andthenattheirrequest,fortheirhusbands.“Themales didn’twanttolistenbutwereeagertoselltheircoffee.”
SavannahmadethecinnamonrollsfromaPillsburytube.SheandIsatinthehigh-topstoolsatthe breakfastnooklookingoutoverthepatio.
WhenAllisonjoinedus,shetoldmywife,“You’retakingthiswell.”
“Isawitcoming.”Savannahpulledapartthewarmsweetbread,slathereditinbutter,andpoppeda pieceinhermouth.Shechewed.“You’vebeenmooningovereachothersinceyoursabbatical.”Shepulledoff anotherpiece.“HowcanIblameyou?IcutClarkoffmonthsago.You’dbeendrinking….”
“Itwasn’tthealcohol,”Iinterjected.Allisontouchedmyarm.“Imean,yes,itloweredour inhibitions….”
“Itwouldn’thavehappenedlastnightifwehadn’talreadyentertainedthosethoughts.Unnaturalacts becomenaturalwhenplayedoutinyourmind.”
“Bullshit.”Savanahgotupandputasliceofwheatbreadinthetoaster.ShepulledouttheSuperChunk peanutbutterfromthepantryandgrabbedaknife.“Isupposenowyou’regoingtoassuremeit’llnever happenedagain?”
“No.That’ssomethingyourfatherwouldsay.Andit’sprobablynottrue.”
“Really?Well,thanks,Mother.That’sswell.”Savannahstuffedhermouthwithpeanutbuttertoast.
IcametoAllison’sdefense.“Lookyou’retheserialcheater,thewifewhocutmeoff….”
“Theonewhogoteveryonedrinkingatdinner,”Allisonadded,“theonewhosuggestedspendingthe night.”That’swhenIrealized….
“Yousetusup!”
Mywifeshovedthelastbiteoftoastintohermouth.“Maybe,”shemumbled.
Hermotherwalkedouttothepatiowithoutaword.Atthehottub,Allisondroppedherbathrobeand gotin.
Ifollowed,turnedonthejets,andjoinedher.Thewarmwaterroiledoverus.Iclosedmyeyes.“Why wouldSavannahpushustogether?”
“Itdoesn’tmatter.”Shestrokedmyleg.“Whatiftherewerenotaboos,nolegal,moral,orsocial restraints…?”WhenIdidn’tsayanything,shestoppedstroking.“It’snotahypotheticalquestion.”
“Technically,itis,”Iargued.“Becausetherearetaboosandsocialrestraints.”
“You’rebothmarriedtosomeoneelse,andDaddywantstocomehome.”Savannahhadcomeout.She waspissed.“Hesaidyouwon’tlethiminthehouse.”
“Itismyhouse.”Sheleanedbackagainstthesideofthetubavoidingeyecontact.
“It’shishouse,too.”
“No,itisn’t.Itwasaweddinggiftfrommyparents.TheylikedErrolbutdidn’ttrusthim.Theymade himsignaprenupacknowledgingmysoleownership.Hehasnoclaim.”
“Wherewillhelive?”
“Yourfatheraskedmethesamequestion.IsuggestedhemoveintoTiffany’scondo.It’sgottwo bedrooms.Hecosignedthelease,andhe’salreadypayingtherent.”
“Tiffany?Hisintern?”
“Yes,theonehe’sbeenravingaboutformonths.”
“Thewomanwho’stenyearsyoungerthanme?”
“Yes.That’stheone,”Ipointedout.“Theonewhoremindedhimofyouatthatage.”
“Thebastard!Howcouldhe….”
“Stopit,Savannah!Stopit.Listentoyourself,”hermothertoldher.“Youhadnotroubleacceptingthat hecheatedonme,butnowthathe’scheatingonyou….”
Savannahstood,incredulous,beforethehottub.“DaddyandIhavenever….NotlikeyouandClark….”
“Ithinkyouwantedto….”
“Maybe….”
“Goodthingitneverhappened.He’dhavebeenadisappointment.”
“Whatdoyoumean…?”
“Hismetabolismchanged.Onemorninghelookedinthemirrorsawamiddle-agedman,fortypounds overweight,withabeergut.NoonewantedtoseehiminaSpeedoanymore.Withtheweightcamehigh bloodpressureandmedicationtotreatit.Themanwiththeperpetuallyrock-harddicksuddenlyhadtrouble gettingitup.Hegotself-conscious.Thatmadeitworse.”
“SohowdoyouexplainTiffany?”Iasked.
“Agood-lookingmanwithmoneyandpositioncanalwaysgetlaidifhetrieshardenough.”Allison winkedatme.
“You’redisgusting!”Mywifeappraisedthetwoofusinthehottub.“Clark,ifwedivorce,Igetthe condo.Withthepromotion,Icanaffordit.Savemelookingforanotherplace.”
“Whataboutme?”
“Ibet,withDaddygone,Motherwouldwelcomeyou.”Sheturnedtoleave.“Andhonestly,ifyoutwo arehappy,Idon’tknowwhatthebigdealis.”Savannahstartedwalkingintothehouse.“I’llswingbylaterwith someofyourclothes.”
“Hewon’tneedthemforthenextcoupledays,”Allisoncalledoutasshewalkedaway.
“Don’tpushit,Mother!”Savannahretreatedintothekitchen.
“Areyouallrightwiththis,Clark?”
“Iam.”Itookadeepbreathandthenexhaled.“Maybelater,whenwelettheworldbackin,we’llneedto talk.”
“Plentyoftimeforthat….Later.”
PhotoDaisyReneePhotography
BenUmayammovedtoNYCtowritetheGreatAmericanFilipinoGayShortStory.Heworkedforpolitical pollsters,thenbecameafancyhotelchefandthenretired.Heisworkingthatshortstoryagain.Hewas recentlypublishedbyQuerenciaAnthologyAutumn2022,ThePhare,BULL,DownintheDirt,Metaworker, Ligeia,EthelZine,Lotus-eaters,34thParallel,DiggingThroughTheFat,AnakSastra,CorvusReview,and others.
GeorginaisthefirstSt.Stephen’sstafferImeet.FatherTomtakesmethroughthekitchen.“Weare goingtorenovatestartingnextweek.Youarrivedjustintime,Ben."Potsandpansarestackedhighundera homemadewoodentable,manygrimyfromnon-use.Oldindustrialstovefrom1955.Thekitchenwouldbe reworked.Neweverything.
GeorgyGirl
Georginastormsintothekitchenwithherlunchdishes.Shewashesatthesink.FatherTomintroduces us."Georgina,thisisBen,ournewchef.Hewillbecookingdinnersforusfromnowon,everynight,Monday throughFriday."
“Sogladtomeetyou.”Shepausesheraggressivewashing."Didyoutellhim,Father?Iworkedinadeli.I cookverygood!"
Fatherwinksatmeandwhispers,“Shehelpsoutwithsandwiches.Shedoesn'tcook.” Atnormalvoice, hesays,“No,Georgina,Ididnottellhim.Heisinchargeofmealsatnight.Thismakeshimthenewkitchen boss.”
"Wellllll…hownicetomeetyou." Shelooksatmelikeitisnotsonice."YournameisBen?"
“Si,mellamoBen. AsinBenhamin . Yohabloespañol,peropoquitopoquito.Yotrabajoconmuchos cocineroslatinos . So,IspeakalittlekitchenSpanish.”
“Ahaaaa,okay,Benhamin . Father,doyouwantthatwhitetuxedoshirtfortomorrownight?"
Georginaisanall-aroundhousekeeperfortheresidentpriests.Shecleansthelivingquartersandcommon areas;shedoeslaundryandirons,ahousekeepingGalFriday.Fatheranswersyes,andsheleavestoiron.
Itsoundslikealotofwork.Itisn’t,notforher.Fourpriestsliveatthepriory.Mostdotheirown laundryandcleantheirownrooms.
Georginaspendsmostofhertimejusthangingout.Sheparksinthelaundryroomwithhercellphone. Whensomeonecomesin,shepretendstobeironingordoinganotherloadoflaundry.
Webondalittleinthebeginning.Weentertainedalot,dinnerparties,andcocktailgatherings.She becomesmyexpertinsettingupthebar.Alltheliquorisinaclosetinthemaindiningroom.Ithasmany shelves,andasidefromthetworeservedforscotches,vodkas,andsodas,theothersarepackedwithchafing dishes.Insteadofclothesonhangers,theclosetisfulloftablecloths.Anothershelfholdstheclothnapkins. Varioustabledécorisalsofoundinthere,candlesticksandthelike.
Theyalsokeepthebigcollectionbasketsinthere,SundaynightsintoMondaymorning.Theyno longerusetherectorysafe.TheformerChoirMasterhadmasteredtheartoftakingmoneyfromit.Instead, theymovethebasketsupstairsintotheliquorcloset.SevenolderladiesvolunteertocounteveryMonday. Theycountatthebigdiningtable,servicefor12.Itiseasierfortheseladiesthisway.Thereisanelevatorthat takesthemfromthestreettothemoney.
TheycountalotofmoneyatSt.Stephen’s.Massesarepacked.Atthechildren'sMass,kidsfiledownto thebasementforreligiousinstruction;thistakesafull5minutes.Somanykids,somanyparents.Alltheother massesareprettyfullofstudentsfromcollegesanduniversitiessurroundingthechurch.MostmassesinNew
Yorkhavetwentypeople,fortyifyouarelucky.FatherTomhasbroughtthischurchbackfromthebrink;the congregationisnowinthehundreds,Sundayattendance,maybeathousand.EveninRome,itisn'teasytoget morethanfortypeopletoMassonaSunday.Unlessofcourse,youaretheVatican.
Theytearuptheoldkitchen.Icookinthebasement.Itisabigcommunitycenterwithahugekitchen. Saturdays,thebasementhousesthesoupkitchen.Otherdays,groupslikeAArentthespace.Twotypes:gay andnon-gay.ThechurchisablockawayfromChristopherStreet,NYC’soldgaymecca.
Icookdownthereforafewhours,bringthefoodupthreefloors,bythedumbwaiter,andservedinner tothepriestsintheirdiningroom.Then,afterdinner,Ileavethedishesinthesink.
Afterafewdays,Georginaconfrontsme."Benjamin,youareinchargeofthekitchen,siii? Whyyou don’twashthedishes?”
"Georgina,Iamthechef.Iamheretocookdinner.Theyhiredmeforfourhours.Icook,servethefood, andclearthetable.Therestisforyoutodo.Youarethehousekeeper,siii?
Sheraiseshervoice."No,Benjamin,Icleanforthepriest!Nolimpioparati!"
FatherTomisreadingatthekitchentable.Heisthebosswithoutbeingtheboss.
“Letmeexplain.Iamaprofessionaltrainedataspecialtyschool.Igetpaidalotofmoneybecauseofmy trainingandexperience.Thepriestswillnotpaymemorethan$70anhourtowashdishes."
Giventhisout,FatherTomisnotconfrontational.Onthecontrary,hesaystoGeorgina,"Listento Ben;heiscorrect."
"Youareright,Georgina.Iaminchargeofthekitchen.Youarethehousekeeper.Youcomeinthe morninganddotheirdishesfromthenightbefore.Youdidthatbefore.Youstilldothat.Nothinghas changed,exceptyoudon'tmakesandwichesfordinneranymore." Sheleavesinahuff.
Fathercontinuestoreadhispaper.Heholdsthepapertheold-schoolway,notfoldeduplikefolksdo onthesubway.Hiswholefaceiscovered.HespeaksintoTheArtssection."YoutalktoherlikesheisaLatina stereotype.Givehersomeslack,Ben.” Iamembarrassed,aFilipinoAmerican,pridingthatIamwithouta boneofracisminmybody.IfeellikeIamatConfession,Father’scomfortingvoicetellingmypenanceformy sin.
Maybe25yearsago,GeorginaescapedMexico.Shehirescoyotes,peopletosmuggleherandacousin out.Thesmugglersleavetheminadesert.Theyhavenowater,nofood.Theytellthemtowalktowardsthe light,butitisentirelydark,withnolight.Theywalkandwalkincircles.Nolight,nowater,nofood.Theyrest, fallasleep,andwakeup.Theyseethelight.Tiredandthirsty,theywalk,andfinallyarrive.Someonemeets themandputsthemonatruck.Theyfallasleep.Whentheyawaken,theyareunitedwithcousinsintheStates.
ShemovestoNewYorkandraisesafamily.Thehusbandbeatsher.Sheleaves.Sheworksatadeliand cleanshousestogetherkidsaneducation.Shebecomesacitizen.Shemarriesanillegalgayimmigrant.Hepays herforcitizenship.Herchildrengrowup,andtheygetgoodjobsinthefoodserviceindustryinVegasand Florida.NowshebideshertimeatSt.Stephen's.Shetakesfour-dayweekendsoftentovisitherkids.
AsFatherexplains,"Sheisasurvivor.Shetransformedherselffromanimmigrantinnocenttoasavvy assimilatedimmigrant.Yes,Ben,shemayseemlikealazyLatinahousekeeper.But,sheisploddingalong, makingthesystemworkforher.So,pleasehavealittleunderstanding." IfeellikeIshouldmakethesignofthe crossandsayanActofContrition.That'swhatyoudoafterConfession.
After,FatherTomarrangesfortheprieststoloadthefancynewdishwasherandruniteverynight.I clearthetable,andneitherGeorginanorIdothedishes.Georginadoesnottalktomefortwoweeks.Thenshe warms.Andthisishowitgoes.Wehaveourblowouts.LikewhenshesaidIhadtouseafullpotofwaterto boilpotatoes."Youknowtheyaremadeof 90%water,soyoumustfillthepot."Itoldherthatwasstupid. Afterafewweeks,shealwaysthaws.
Aroundtheholidays,weallgotoapartyatJoyce’shouse.Shehasinvitedparishionersandthechurch stafftohertownhouseintheVillageforaChristmascelebration.Herhusbandsupervisedtheremodelingof MOMA;theirtownhouseisimpeccablydecorated.Thespreadisterrific.Georginashowsupalldolledup;she isnottheall-aroundhousekeeper.ShelooksveryTomPetty,anAmericangirl.Andsheandeveryoneelse drinklikeonetoo.Me,Iamanalcoholic,andIdon'tdrinksincemy50th birthday.Ihadabigshebang,andI blackedoutafterthefirsthour.Iamanalcoholicwhocannotstopat1or2drinks.IdrinktillIblackout.At Joyce'sparty,thechurchstaffissoused.Georginatakesthisopportunitytobondwithmefurther,fueledby hops.
“Benhamin ,letmetellyouaboutLaMalinche.ShewasanIndiannative,tradedtotheSpanishasa slave.Shebecametheirtranslator.ShehelpedCortezbeattheAztecs. Shewasavictim,collaborator,survivor andisnowaherotousChicanas.Usfeministasrefertoherasa"mother." ShemarriedCortez,hadchildren, andwasinstrumentalintheSpanishconqueringnativeMexico."
Iamatfirsttakenabackbytheworshipofacollaborator.BeingFilipino,Itakeonthecolonialslant,a collaboratorisatraitor.ButGeorginatalkslikesomeLatinaGloriaSteinham,BettyFriedan,aboutLa Malinche,andIunderstandandappreciatethiskindofheroine.
SheisspeakingnowlikeabodegaownerontheUpperWestSide.Sheusuallytalkslikemylatinowaiter friendsdo.TheyspeakthisSpanglishstereotypetocustomers,asenseofhumorreinforcingtheirspeech. Theysay"Sisenor"likeSpeedyGonzalez.Tocustomers,theysay,“Sisenor…butofcourse,morecerveza.” It works.Theymakethebesttips.
Georginaspeakslikethattopriestsandparishionersbutnolongerwithme.Shedropsherguard,and evenspeaksSpanish.BecauseofmylimitedkitchenSpanish,sherevertstoEnglishwithaslangishgalslant. "Claroquesi ,Benhamin." Andthenshedropsto,"Don'tbeplayingme,Ben,youthinkyousomekinda playah?
ShecallsmeBenhaminallthetimenow;IcallherGeorgyGirl.Herkidsaregrownandflown.Shesleeps withMexicancooks.TheysendherfreefrozenmargaritasandfreefoodduringFridayHappyHour.These mentakecareofher.Shetakescareofthem.
WhenshefindsoutIamgay,weattemptgurltalk.Shetellsmeabouthergaymarriage.Shemarriedfor themoney,sheacitizen,heagayHispano.Shelikestotalkaboutherboyfriends.Wedevelopacommon thread.
Wehavealotoffunassigningnicknamestothepriests.FatherBarnabashasabeard,soheisknownas Barbasforawhile.BarbasbecomesBarabas.FatherAlisfromthedeepsouth,evenplaysbanjo,andperforms bluegrass.HiscomplexionissowhitewecallhimFatherCloro,asinClorox.AndFatherCharlesisfromthe outskirtsofLondon.Healwayssaidhetrustednoone,atraitleftoverfromColonialBritain.Thatisthe stereotypeofLondoners.WecallhimFatherBlanco,thatishisEnglishlastname,FatherCharlesWhite.
Onelunch,IseeherandCarlos,themaintenanceman,insidethenearbypornshops.Iwavetothem, wondering,GeorgyGirlhascojones,worksatachurch,andtakesalunchbreakatapeepshowplace? TogetherwithMachoCarlos?
LaterIaskthemwhytheywereinthere.Theirresponse,theyaskmetogetthecondoms.Carlosand GeorgyGirlsaytheyneedlots.Iaskthem,"Whatdoyouneedsomanyfor?Nevermind."
CarlosisPeruvian,alsomarriedwithchildren,allgrownupnow.
Carlossays,“WhatweweredoinginthepornoplacelastThursdaywhenyousawusatlunch,wewere lookingforcondoms.”
“Andtheydidnothaveany?”
“Siii,theyhave,theyhave!Muycaro!Tooexpensive,myfriend.AndIneedthedobleXsize.”
GeorgyGirlinterrupts,“Benhamin ,metoo,IneedthedobleXsize!”
“’Sus,Marya,Yosep,"Ireply.That'sFilipinoslangforJesus,Mary,andJoseph.Latinosgetitbecauseit isbasedonSpanish.
IstopbytheGayCenteron13th Street.Itusedtobearegularschool,thenamiddleschoolfortroubled gayteens.NowitisTheLesbian,Gay,Bisexual,Transsexual,Questioning,andeverythingelseunderthesun Center.Condomstherearehandedoutfree.Onmywaytowork,Igrababunch,rainbowcolors,formy knapsack.Georginaishavingcoffeeinthelaundryroom."LookwhatIhave,goodies." Theremusthavebeen dozensintheknapsack,maybefivedozen.Laterthatday,Carloscornersmeandsays,"Benhamin ,canyougive mesomemorecondoms?Georgina,shegivesmeonly3.”
“Carlos,shehasatleast30condoms.”
"Iknowshehasalot.Shesayssheneedsthemallforherboyfriend'sbirthday."
"Yeah,right.Isshegoingtoblowthemupanddecorateherapartment?Sus,Marya,Yosep!”
OnedayIcomein,andCarloswaylaysme."Benhamin ,somethinghappened.TheysentGeorgina home.Theyhadameetingintheoffice,twopriestswithher,FatherBlancoandFatherTom.Sheleft,crying, howyousay,thosecrocodiletears.Iaskher,‘Georgina,what'swrong?’andshejustyelled.‘Icannottalk, Carlos!'Sherunstothelaundryroomwiththecrocodilecrying.IaskedFatherTomwhathappen?Hejustsaid shenotworkhere.Iaskedwhy,andhesayswewillnottalkaboutit.But,Benhamin,hewilltalktoyou.Find outwhathappened."
IaskFatherinthelaundryroom.HeisshowingGary,hishealthcareguy,around.GaryisthenewGal Friday.Carlosiswrong.Fathersays,"Wewillnottalkaboutdetails.Shenolongerworksforus".
Overthenextfewdays,apicturedevelops.FatherBlanco,hedidnottrustGeorgyGirl.Helaidatrap. Intheearlymorning,healwaysheardmousenoisesfromtheliquorcloset,rustlingpaper.Hesetsupasecurity caminthere.
Thepriestsconfirmnothing.Theysaytheygotheronvideocam.Moneyfromthecollectionbaskets. Thosebigbaskets,especiallyduringtheholidays.GeorgyGirlhashadherhandinthemallthistime!"Gurl," thegayparishionerssaywhenretellingthestory."Stayoutofthatcloset,honey.Thatwillgetyounowhere."
CarlosandIjoke,"GeorgyGirlsmart.Thepriestsdon'tgiveusabonus.GototheclosetonMonday. Needtogoonvacation,Monday,gotothecloset.”
Shecomesinonedaytosignpapersforseverancepay.Sayshellotonoone.Shehasworkedmanyyears forSt.Stephen’s,alltenwithFatherTom.AnotherdecadewithFatherTonio,thepreviouspastor.The archdiocesepaysheragoodseverancepackage.
Itellthegayparishioners,“Gurl,nuhuh,itpaystohangoutintheclosetwiththeArchdioceseofNew YorkCity.”
GregoryJ.Glanz
Greghasspentalifetimepursuingcreativewritingandstorytelling.Hehasapassionforthehiddentale,the ignoredsubject,theabsurd.HispublishingcreditsincludeshortfictioninTheDarkSire ,Blood&Bourbon , andanthologiesfromMicroMacroCosm,WriteHive ,andKnightWritingPress ,aswellashisbook,InHuman Shadow ,recentlyreleasedbyNordicPress.Heisahomebrewerandbikingenthusiast.Surprisingly,theygo exceedinglywelltogetherasmoreandmoremicrobrewschasethirstybicyclistsacrosscitytrails.Inhisspare time,helovestotravelthroughthevillagesofIrelandanddocumentrural,generationalIrishpubsinthe series,“AProperPint”(https://www.aproperpintfilm.com/).
ByGregoryJ.Glanz
IrememberMomgoingofftoa“familymeeting.”Iexpectedbigthingstocomefromthoseclan meetings.Indeed.Lookingback,allIseeispain;peopleinpain,peoplecausingpain,peoplemakingpainaway oflife,awaytosurvive.WheneverIfacedthosetruths,mystomachchurnedandmybowelsturnedtowater. Unlikeawolverinethatdefecatesonthecarrionitdiscards,notwantinganythingoranyonetousewhat they’veleftbehind,thereisnopridenorselfishnessinme,justshameandcowardice.
Sincethereasonforthemeetingwasgoingtoaffecttheentirefamily,profoundly,Iimagined,onlythe elderstookaspotonthedecision-makingbody.Inever,beforethis,knewwhyadecisionwasmadeoreven whatmadeitnecessary.ButItrusted!
The‘elders’consistedoftwodrunks,twodivorcees(both,attheveryleast,lushes)andadrudge.Orso itwasbeforethemeeting.
Mygrandfatherwasoneofthedrunks,thoughthatdidn’tmattertomylittlebrother,Arty,nortome. GrampawouldtakeustoKrueger’sBarafterhegotoffworkfromthepackingplantandbuyusrootbeers untilsupperwasready.Oh,whatalife.
Theotherdrunk,andthepurposeforthemeeting,Iwastofindoutlater,wasUncleBert.Grandfather neverdrankwithBert,somethingwhichhadn’tcaughtmyattentionyet.Thetwodivorceesweremymother, Lois,byname,andAuntMary.Mygrandmotherwastheresigneddrudge,unwittinglyhouse-wivingherway downthepathtooblivion.Painful.
SoArtyandIwaited,andwewrestled.Inthehouse!Thiswasnotcommonpractice,butbeingordered towaitforMomtofinishatthemeeting,andbeingtherestlessboyswewere…
Iwasshortandalittleobese.MyskinwaspaleandIcarriedaratherfattishbloboffleshforanose.Arty, twoyearsmyjunior,wasonlyanormallittlekidwithsandybrownhairandabackfulloffreckles.
KeepingoneearopenforMom’sarrival,wechasedeachotheraroundthehouse,pickingupwhatever implementwefoundandusingittobeatontheotherbrother.Wecouldn’trunfar,though,livingononlythe secondandthirdfloorsoftherightsideofaquadruplex.The65-yearoldbrownbrick(onceacrispred)house wassplitupintofoursections.Thissoundslikelessthansplendidlivingconditions,I’msure,butkeepinmind thatthelandladymademoremoneythatwayandwepaidlessrent.Itwasn’tgreat,butArtyandI,atleast, didn’tnoticethehardship.Andwesurvived.
Eventually,andasalways,weendedupwrestlingonMom’sdoublebed,whichwasnotonlyperfectas awrestlingmat,butwasthoughtofastheonlyluxurywepossessed.
IwasabouttopinArtywhenthefrontdoorbangedopenandmymother’squickfootfallsfrozeme whereIwas,smotheringArty,whilebothofusdrippedsweatonthesheets.
OfWolverinesandCowards
“Whatinthehellisgoingonhere?”mymomscreamedfromunderneathapileofgray-streaked,black hair.Hercat’seyeglassesmadeherlook,atthattimeandnowandforever,likeaberserk,overgrownrabbit.
“N-nothin’,Mom.Wewasjustplaying,”Istammered.
Shegrabbedeachofusbyanarmandalternatelypulledandpaddledustothestairway.
“NowgetinyourroomandstaythereuntilIcallyouforsupper!”
Bawling,wewentupthestairsandimmediatelyburiedourfacesinourrespectivepillows,tryingto hideourcowardicefromoneanother.
Werecoveredquicklyinthosedays,thoughthetwohoursuntilsupperseemedaneternitytothetwo boysstaringoutthewindowatoursummerplaygroundonlyhalf-a-blockaway.
Inwhisperedtones,wediscussedourrecentabuse.Then,gradually,weonceagainbecamethe12-and 10-year-oldswewere,inventinggameswewouldneverplayagainjusttooccupythetimespentinabedroom surroundedbyfadedpurplepressed-board.
Wegiggledthroughourgameswithafiercecompetitivespirit,andthenforgotwhowonandwhogot punchedinthearmandleftbruised.
“Supper!”
Withthiscallallgameswereforgotten.Wescrambleddownthestairs,tryingtotripeachotherandbe thefirsttothekitchen.Onthisoccasion,Igottherefirstand,turningquickly,grabbedArtyandwhispered, “AskMomaboutthefamilymeeting.”Iwheeledandtrottedtothekitchen,slowingdowntoawalkhalf-a-step fromthedoorway.
Artydidn’tquiteunderstandthatsomethingsshouldn’tbementioneduntilfirstspokenofbyMom. Knowingthat,Ioftenurgedhimtofindthingsoutforme.Mom,realizingArty’sageandexperience-related shortcomings,wasmorelenientwithhim.
“We’lltalkaboutthatinduetime,youngman,”shesaid,peeringfirstatArtyandthenatme,justincase Ifeltanydefiancetowardheredict.
Twohoursinaroomonasmotheringsummerdaybreedsimpatience,andsowewerealwaysonestep aheadofouractionswithourthoughts.Momsetthefoodonthetable,stillsteaming.Onthisday,itwasliver, peas,andmashedpotatoes.Withourmindsracingoutthedoortoenjoythesummereveningaroundthe Mississippivalley,wegrabbedthefoodandbeganshovelingitontoourplates.
Smack!
Ipulledmystinginghandback.
“WaituntilwesayGrace!”
SowesatwithourhandsbetweenourlegsuntilMomsatdown,thenfoldedourhandsandbowedour heads.
“Thankyou,Lord,forthesethygiftsweareabouttoreceive,Amen.”
Idon’tlikeliverandpeasmuch,neverhave,mostlikelyneverwill.Sowheneachdishcamearoundto
me,ItookasparseservingandtriedtopassthemonbeforeMotherintoned,“Takemorethanthat,dear.”
Ismiledandpiledafewmorepeason,andIknewnottostopuntilMomhadgivenmehercontented smileandlookedaway.
SothereIwas,withamoundofpeasandaheapofliver,salivatingandnauseatedatthesametime.And IknewthatIwasn’tgoingtoenjoythesummereveninguntilmyplatewasclean.Imushedtheliverintothe potatoestodisguisethetaste.Itworkedjustlongenoughtogettheliverdown.Bythen,anyprotestfrommy stomachwaseitheracademicor,ifvehementenough,endedsupper,atleastforme.Butitwouldalsoendthe day,becauseI’dhavetogobedstraightawayandstaythereuntilthenextmorning.
Oncetheliverwasdone,Ihadtochokedownthepeas.Thisshouldhavebeeneasierbecausemilk washeddownpeasjustaseasyaswaterdoesapill.Theonlyproblemwasthatmystomach,bythistime,knew thatthosepeaswerecominganditrebelledassoonasthemilkenteredmymouth.Youcanimaginehowlong ittakestoswallowsomethirtyorfortypeasoneatatime.
So,invariably,Iwasthelastonetoleavethetableon‘peas’night,somefiveortenminutesafterthe othersweredone.And,invariably,MomwouldstartthedisheswhileIsatthere,degenerating,seemingly oblivioustomyplight.Afterfinishing,IwentoutsidegrouchyandbeatonArtyforawhiletomakemyselffeel better.IsometimeswonderwhatArtydidtomakehimselffeelbetter.
Thateveningwecameinjustafterdark.Ourmotherscowledatusandsaid,“Gocleanup.Thencome here;Iwanttotalktoyou.”
Rememberingwhatwasofsuchimportancetousearlier,buthadbeenusurpedbythepromiseofthe outdoors,wehurriedlycomplied.Soonwewerefidgetingonthecouch,awaitingtheclanedict.
“Itwasn’treallyafamilymeetingIwenttotoday,”Momtoldus.“Itwasatrial.”
ArtyandIsatinstunnedsilence.
“Yourunclewon’tbearoundforaboutsixmonths,”shestatedflatlyasshehandedusaphotograph thathadbeencutfromthelocalnewspaper.ItshowedUncleBertwithablood-smearedface,thoughI couldn’ttellwherethewoundwas,beingheldincustodybythreepoliceofficerswhilehethrashedabout.He lookedlikeafatted,sacrificialcalfwithhisbloated,bullet-scarredbelly,complimentsofatourinVietnam, showingprominentlythroughatornbutton-downshirt.
Thissightawedandsickenedme.Bothinfamousandnoteworthy,itmadewewanttoruntothe bathroom.IprobablywouldhaveifIhadknownatthetimethatthepicturewasmorethanamonthold.
“Youruncle,”shecontinuedafterapausewhich,Inowbelieve,wasdesignedtogiveusachancetorun intothebathroomifwewantedorneededto,“Isinjailforassaultandresistingarrest. Theotherfellawasn’t hurtbadly,andhisescapeconsistedofstaggeringdownthestreetforhalf-a-blockbeforefallingonhisface andbreakinghisnose.Thepictureisofhimsquirmingabitwhentheofficerstookhimtothesquadcarand eventuallytothedrunktank.”WhenIthinkofitnow,Idon’tevenhesitate:Iheadstraighttothebathroom.
SoourmothertoldushowviolentUncleBerthadbecome.Shetoldusthatthefamilyhadnot
supportedhiseffortsatavoidingashort,dry,countyjailterm.Shetoldusthatinsixmonths,afterhehad servedhistimeandhadtimetobrood,hemightcomebackmoredrunk,moreangry,andmoreviolentthan ever.Butmostimportantly,shesaid,afterduepauseandinveryclearterms,abaseballbatwouldbe consideredareasonableandlikelyweaponinthecaseofhisunhappy,overly-aggressivereturn.
Mygod!Hitmyownuncle,whomInodoubtrespected,iffornothingelsetangibleinmypre-teen naivete,thanforbeingmyelder.Iwasspeechless.Iwasmindless.Allthatkeptreverberatingthroughmyhead was,“No,no,no,no,no.”Anendlessprocessionofdenials.
Mymother,whocollectedAidforDependentChildren,workedfournightsaweekatabakeryto surviveand,Iamnowconvinced,drankvodkawheneverfeasible,wastellingmetohitmyunclewithabat!
“No!”Icried.
Mygrandfather,whomIsupposed,wrongly,tobepennilessjustlikeeveryoneelseinthefamily,and,I knew,drankwhateverhecouldgetthroughhisliver,wastellingmetohitmyunclewithabat!
“No!”Icried.
Mygrandmother,whocookedandcleanedhermindintooblivion,wastellingmetohitmyunclewith abat!
“No!”Icried.
Myaunt,abarmaid,bartenderandbarfly,wholivedaboveabarroomwastellingmetohitmyuncle withabat!
“No!”Icried.
Ibroodedfortherestofthenight.Artydidn’tseemsostungbythedigressionofevents.OrsoIfigured outthenextdaywhen,finallyleavingthehouselatemorning,Iranintoafriendofoursfromdownthestreet. ScottytoldmehowArtywasspreadingliesabouttheviolentactshewassanctionedbytheelderstocommit onourdastardlyuncle,shoulditbecomenecessary.Ifeltlikegoingtothebathroom.
ScottyandIhuntedArtydown.Wefoundhiminthesmallwoodsbehindtheplayground,toyingwith theinhabitantsofananthill.
“What’sthebigidea?”Ishouted,tossingarockwithinafewinchesofhim.
“Whattyamean?”
“Tellin’everyoneaboutUncleBert!”Iscreamed.
“What’sthebigdeal?”
“Whattayaafraidorsomething?”interruptedScotty.
“No,Iaint’tafraid.Butit’snobody’sbusiness.”
“Aww,youaretooafraid.”
“Iamnot.Leavemealone.”
“You’reafraidtohityourdrunkenunclewithabaseballbat,‘causeyoudon’twanttogethitback. Chicken,”Scottyconcluded.
“C’mon,Arty.Let’sgo.”Iwasfrustratedandfeltlikebeatingonhim.ButinsteadIgrabbedhimand propelledhimthefirstfewfeet,towhichheshruggedandfollowed,somewhatperplexed.
Whenwegothome,Momwaswaitingforus.“Justwhatinthehelldoyouboysthinkyou’redoing?”
Welookedateachotherandthenatherwithblankfaces,fearwellingupinourthroats,creepinginto ourminds.Mybowelsrumbled.
“Idon’teverwanttocatchyoutwotellingtheneighborhoodaboutourfamilyproblemsagain,”she screamed,pausinglongenoughoneachwordtoslaponeofus,emphasizingherpoint.
“Isthatunderstood?NowgetuptoyourroomsuntilIcallyouforlunch.”
Arty,whowascryingwithgreatwrackingsobs,needednofurtherprompting.I,beingonthevergeof tearsandnotconvincedastothelegitimacyofheroutrage,ran,likeacoward,theoppositedirection,outthe door.
Islowedjustlongenoughtogrababatfromtheouterporch,anddownthestairsIwent.Mymother yelledafterme,“GetbackhereyoulittlesombitchorI’ll…”Therestwasobscuredbythepoundinginmyears, thebatteringofmysoul,therumblingofmybowels.
Mymotherlikedtoventherrageonme,butsheneverputherselfoutofherownwaytodoit.Having meputmyselfinherwaywasanothermatter.
Runningtowardtheplayground,Ihadonlyonethingonmymind,denyingmyowncowardice.
AsIran,IsawScottysittingbytheballfieldwithabunchofotherguysgettingreadytoplayIndian ball,aformofbaseballweplayedwhenthereweren’tenoughplayerstofieldacompleteteam.Inthisgame, youneedn’trunthebases,youneedn’tthrowanyoneout,andyoudon’tevenneedtomantherightfieldside ofsecondbase.Justhitandcatch,hitandcatch.Simple.
“WhosaysI’mafraid,”Iyelled,focusingonScottyfromhalfwayacrosstheplayground,drawingthe attentionofnearlyeveryonearound.“Ifthatdrunkenson-of-a-bitchcomesaroundlookingfortrouble,I’ll wrapthisbataroundhisgoddamnskull!”
“Aww,stopbraggin’,Rudy.Youain’tgonnahithimandyouknowit.”
“Ifyoudon’tthinkso,thengetup,”IsaidclosingonScotty.“CauseI’lluseitonyoutoo,big-mouth.”An irresistiblechallenge,Iknew.
ScottystoodupandI,pantingfromtherunandwithtearsstreamingdownmyfacenow,whopped himoneinthebelly.
“Anybodyelse,”Ichallenged,soundingmorelikeacrazedanimalbarkingitsdistressthananything human.Itwasmetbyalotofblankstares,soIturnedandranintothewoods,onceagainhidingmycowardice. Yes,I’llhithim,Ithought.
Ifoundoutlaterthatonlyafewoftheless-than-dozenkidsontheballfieldatthetimeknewofmy uncle’santi-socialbehavior.I’mnotsureanyofthemevencared,evenScotty.Itmakesmewanttogotothe bathroom.
SoIcarriedmybataroundthewoods,beatingonvarioustreesandrocks.Itwasnotatimefor revelations,merelyhatred.Iwasreelingthroughtheeddyingcurrentsofmyfamily’serraticemotionaltides. Confusionhadgivenwaytorage,Iseethatnow,andragetohatred.Inthiscase,thesewerethenecessary elementsofpain.
Iresolvednottoreturnhomeuntilafterdark.IknewthatworryingwasapainfulpastimeforMother dear.Ialsoknewthatifshedidn’tknowwhereIwas,shewouldworry.Isneeredprivately–andwenttothe bathroom.
Afterhidingmybatinthewoods,notwantingtoshowoffmycowardice,Itrekkedhomelatethat evening.WhenIgotthere,grandfatherwaswaitingontheporch,drinkingabottleofwhiskeyandstaringinto thesky.Momtoldmeoncethathehaddevelopedahabitofstaringawayfromanyonehewasaboutto address.AsfarasIknew,hehadalwaysdonethat.
Islouchedupthestairswithmyeyesonhim.Hedidn’tevenseemtorecognizethefactthatIwasthere, butIknewhewasabouttospeak.
“Youshouldn’tdothattoyourMother,Rudy.”
Istartedcrying.Lookingback,Idon’tknowifitwastheunreasonablenessofthestatementorjustthe pressureofreturninghomeafterbeingAWOL.Ithinkthatnow,Iwouldjustturnandleave,nevertolook back.
Ididn’tdothat,however.Ididgoinsideandfacemymother.ShesaidthatArtyhadtoldherthatthe incidentwashisfault,andsheclaimedthepatienceandunderstandingitwouldhavetakentostraighten thingsoutatthetime.Andwhydidn’tItellherthen?
Ihad,ofcourse,noanswerforher,myleftcheekstillstingingfromthememory.
Thenextsixmonthswentbynormallyenough,asourfamilygoes.Therewerenochanges,norwere thereanyfamilymeetings.
WhenUncleBertwasreleasedfromjail,itwasdonewithoutincident.
Theonlythingonemightthinkoddwasthefactthatmymotherboughtmeabaseballbatfor Christmasandhadmekeepitontheinnerporch,eventhoughitwaswinter.Itwasabeautifulbat,aLouisville SluggerwithWillieMays’autographonthebarrel.IcouldseemyselfhittinghomerunswithitassoonasI openedthepackage.Itnevertouchedonebaseball.
OnequietJanuarynight,whileArtyandIweresupposedtobeasleep,andIthinkArtywas,Iheard somemuffledvoicesbelowmywindowonthestreet.Ilookedouttoseemymother,gettinghomefrom whereveritwasshewentonhernightsoff…andaman.Mymotherpushedthemanawayandstarteddown thewalktothesteps.Themanfollowed.
“No,goddammit,”mymotherexclaimedthroatily.
Withthis,sheturnedandhurriedlymadeherwaytothestairsandupthemintothehouse.
Themanjuststoodthere.Afteraminuteorsohegrunted,ratherloudly,andbegantomakehisway
towardthesteps.ItwasthenthatIrecognizedUncleBert.
Atthispoint,Iwouldnormallyhavealertedmymother,butsomewrong-headedchivalrousinstinctin mehadbeenawakened.Maybeitwastheanger,maybeitwasthepain,morelikelyfearandcowardiceblinded me.Idecidedtofacethisdangerforher.
Sneakingdownthestairwayfromourbedrooms,Icreptintothehallwayandthroughthekitchento theinnerporch.ItwasfromtherethatIwatchedthehoodedfigureofUncleBertfinishclimbingtheoutside steps.Hestoodforafewsecondsontheouterporchbeforepullingapocketknifetojimmythedoorand slowlyopenit.Icoweredfartherintothecorner,mychivalrynowfrozeninmywateryloins.Slinkingback,I nudgedafamiliarobject,myLouisvilleSlugger.
IfeverIhavefelttherallyingofthecavalry,thatwasit.Withoutsomuchasathought,Istruck!
Idon’tremembertheblows,butIstruckhimatleasttwice,Iamtold.Idon’tremembermymother callingtheambulanceorthepolice,butshedid.Irememberonlyonething,andthatwashowIsodesperately clungtomybat,refusingtodoanything…butholdblindlytomybat.
Theman,itturnedout,wasnotmyUncleBert,butsomeonewhohadpickedupmymotherinabar andhadwantedtogohomewithher.Hesufferedabrokenshinboneandacrackedskull.Thelegwould eventuallyheal,themindinsidetheskullwouldnot.
Afterashorttime,enoughtomornhisdeath,Iimagine,theman’srelativestriedtosueus,butIwas supportedbylawandthecourtsinmyaction.Yousee,hewasarmed,thoughinfactonly,andhehadbroken andenteredunlawfully.Heneverknew,indeedwasrenderedincapableofknowinganythingfromthenon,of thecourt’sdecision,andheneverknewwhathithimorwhyanythingoranyoneinfactshouldhavedonesuch athing.ImustconfessthatneitherdidIknow.
Iamunawareofhowthebatwasremovedfrommygrasp.Certainlynotbymymotherandcertainly notwithmyconsentorevenwhileIwasconscious,oratleastaware.Thebatwasmoreakintomethan anyoneelsehadeverbeen.Isawitonlyonemoretime,asevidenceincourt–adesecration. Whetheritwasreturnedtomymotherornot,Idon’tknow.
Ithinkofitnowandthen,asyoumightthinkofalostlover.Justasyouhope,Ihope,andjustasyou know,Iknow,too.
IthinkhowdetachedIamnow,howitfeelsasifImightbenarratingsomeoneelse’sstory,somepartof another’schildhood;maybesomethingtoldtonaughtyadults.Butfreshmemoryreturns,andIrushtothe bathroom,myaloofnessshatteredlikeamirrorrunintobyanenragedwolverine,tryingtoattackitsown image,cutandbleeding,ignorantofthedangeruntilit’stoolate.
KevinA.HarrisB.A.
KevinwasborninNorthernIrelandin1968,butwasbroughtupinAustraliasince1974.Afterleavingschool, Kevinlivedonahippiecommune(self-imposedexile)beforefindingemploymentasaclerk,labourer,fruit picker,landscaper,treelopper,radioDJ,filmmaker,actor,roadie/rigger(forinternationalrockbands),music journalist,musicianandevengaveteachingago(andwhatawasteoftimethatwashavingtoteachteenagers whohavenointerestinwhatyou’retryingtoteach.Hegotgoodatdodgingtablesandchairs).Hestudiedin Uni(literature/Media)beforereceivingaB.A.HereceivedaDiplomainfilmmakingin2015.Forafewyears Kevinwasinarock-blues-folkbandasaguitarist,harmonicaplayer,singer/lyricistandwasnominatedforan award(whichhemissedouton,tohisdisappointment.Hestillreckonsitwasrigged).Fromthere,Kevin struggledwithhiswritingbeforefinallyin2013hegotabreakandsuddenlyfourstorieswerepublished.He writeshorrorandcrime,andKevinissingle,ownshisownproperty,andisdamnedproudofbeinganIrishAustralian.Hishobbiesincludewriting,photography,bushwalking,driving,readinggoodbooks,gardening, traveling,havingcoffeewithhisbestfriend,andlookingafterhiswildlife.HehastravelledthroughNZ, IrelandandforthreemonthsthroughoutCanadaandAlaskaandwantstogobackagain.Hehasrecently finishedwritingaYAnovelthatisnowreadytobepublishedandiscurrentlywritingacrimenovelsetinthe 1860s.
Storiespublished:2013-StrangeLuckyMysteries-SimonSays(Acrime/supernatural)2013-StrangeLucky Halloween-DarcyO’Malley’sBride.
THEMOTELATTHEBACKOFBEYOND
AnAustralianGhostStory
By, KevinA.Harris
Sweeneydidn’tlikethelookofthemotelthatstoodamongthetrees,butheneededsomewhereto stayforafewdaysuntiltheheatdieddown.Afadedsignappearedwiththepeelingwords:THEMOTEL ATTHEBACKOFBEYOND7KMTOTHELEFT.Thesignwashiddenbehindlantana;ivyclimbedalong therustingsteelrailwhileweedshuggedthesteelpostthatwasholdingthesignup.Somethingabout thewaythesignwasdesigned.Somethingunnaturalaboutit,somethingnotquiterightasifitwasput thereforhim.
Heshookhishead,thoughtnothingofitandcontinuedondriving.Hefoundtheroadwithanotherbig signpointinginthedirectionofthismotel.Theroadwaspartiallyover-grown,pittedwithspine-jarring potholes,buthedroveonahead.
Heheardtherumbleofthunderbeforehesawtheboltoflightningsplinteringthesky,thenbeforehe knewit,bigdropsoftear-likewaterstartedhittingthewindscreen.Theygotheavier;waterwasalready lappingagainstthesideoftheroad,likeawaterytongue.Thewipersslappedattherain,swishingback andforthinahypnoticmotion,causingSweenytohunchforward,peeringoutatthetorrentofrain, watchingtheskylightupoccasionally.Windwhippeduptherain,bendingtreesoverasifplaying touch-our-toes,rockingthecarsidetosidebutSweeneykeptdrivingintotheeyeofthestorm.One thinghedidnotice,theabsenceofvehicles,includingtrucks.Itwasodd,buthedidn’tgiveadamn.Less carsthebetter.
Earlierthatday,heandhismate,Ray,heldupabank.Raydidn’tsurviveastherobberysuddenly botchedandendedupinthemiddleofagunfight,leavingbehindatrailofdeadpeople.Andyes,hewill blamethedead.ItwasRay’sfuckup.Heshouldn’thaveshotthatguard,butenoughofthat.What’sdone wasdone.Heneededshelter,somewheretohide,somewheretuckedawayinthebush.Likethismotel comingup.
Hissideachedandadullpainthuddedbehindhiseyes.Lackofsleep ,hethoughtashestruggledtokeep thecarontheroad.Helookedatthesportsbagthatsatbesidehim,patteditandgrinned.Heswitched theradioonandreceivednothingbutstatics.Hethoughtheheardmusiccomingfromthestatics,and frownedashethoughtherecognisedthetune.EarthAngel .
“EarthAngel?Shit,haven’theardthatsongforfuckin’years.”ItfadedinandoutbeforeSweeney snappeditoff.Then,emergingfromthedarknight,attheendoftheruttedroad,wasablockbuilding madeasiffromLego.Hearrivedatthemotelandpulledintothecarpark.Hisribshurt.Hewasluckyno bloodshowed,butChristithurt.
“Fuck,”hemumbled.Againstthebackdropoftheoncomingstorm,themoteldidn’tlooktooinviting.It wasseedyandrundown,with peelingyellowpaintlookinglikethebuildingwasshreddingitsskin.It wasmadefromcinderblocksthatwerepopularinthefortiesandfiftiesandthe‘spaceage’designmade Sweeneyfeelsick.Herememberedmotelslikethesefromwhenhewasakidandthesmellofdriedurine andfleasstillhauntedhim,buthismummovedaroundalot,stayingintrailerparksandseedymotels, pickingupdifferentmeneachnight,andalwayshavingsomebundleofmoneysittingonthetable.His oldmanwasaprick,heremembered.Alwaysslappinghismotherandalwaysslappinghimuntilhis
Whatafuckingdumbthingtothink .
motherpackedtheirbagsandtheydisappearedontoaGreyhoundBusthattookthembothtowherever shecouldfind,alwaysonthemove,alwaysworkingeitherasadinerwaitressand/orprostitute.That waswhenhisfatherfoundthem.Thatwasonepartofhislifeheerased.Deliberatelyerasedfromhis memory.TheJuvenilecorrectioncentre,thefosterfamilies,theyalldon’texist,especiallyafterthedeath ofhismotheratthehandsofhisdementedfather,whodiedafewyearslateringaolbysomeinmatewho haditinforhim.Knifedintheneck.Goodriddancetoshit.
Heshookhisheadandconcentratedonhissurroundings.Itwasugly;verydamnedugly.Onthepainted brickworkswerethewordsTHEMOTELATTHEBACKOFBEYOND.
“Whataweirdnametocallyourmotel,”hemutteredashekilledtheengine.Henoticedacarthatwas parkednexttohimandsawsomethingaboutthecarthatdidn’tlookright.Itlookedancient,likecars fromthefortiesandfiftieswiththewingedfendersandthesleeknessofthepaintworkasifitjustcame offtheassemblyline.Heshookhisheadandleanedforwardtolookoutofthewindscreen.Heavydrops keptexplodingonthescreen.Buggerit,hethought,howlongisthisraingonnacontinue?
Heobservedtheroomsthatlookedoutathim.Theyweredark,exceptfortworoomswherethelights burntbrightly,andhefeltasiftheroomswerewatchinghim.Hegotout,grabbedthesportsbag,and hurriedtothemainofficethroughtherain.Hepushedopenthedoorandasmallbellrangannouncing hisarrival.Hecouldhearmusiccomingfromtheroomattheback.Thesamesongheheardontheradio comingin.Asonghehated.Asongwithtoomanysourmemoriesattached.
Thefoyerhadanancientcokemachine,thefiftiesstyle,thatrattled,anoldwoodenlongdeskwitha smallbell,arackofpostcardssittingonthedeskandacorkboardatthebackthathadkeysonhooks.In thefoyer,itself,therewasasetteethathadseenbetterdays.Herangthesmallbellonthedeskand continuedtolookaround.Helookedatrackthathadafewbrochurestuckedinthewires.Havea Holiday,youdeserveit .Weird.Oroneofawomanintheswimsuitfromthefiftiesstanding,looking overhershoulder,withthewords:WishYouWereHere.Somethingwasn’trightwiththis.Likeasifhe juststeppedintoanepisodeofHappyDays.HewashalfexpectingRichieCunninghamandRalphMalph andthathalfwitPotsiecomingin,followedbycannedlaughterandFonziesayingheyyywithboth thumbsupandthecollarofhisjacketturnedup.
ChildhoodmemoriesofsittinginfrontofablackandwhiteTVwatchingGetSmartandHappyDays whilehismother‘entertained’someofthe‘gentlemen’shepickedupatthelocalbardriftedintohis mind,andherememberedhearingthegruntsandgroanscomingfromthebedroom,thenthe ‘gentleman’wouldcomeout,zippinghispantsupanddisappearoutthedoor.Hismumusedtocome outandlightacigaretteupandsit,waitingforthenextonetoarrive,lookingwornout.Sometimesshe wouldhumEarthAngel.Mosttimesshewassportingabruiseand…
Someoneclearedtheirthroatbehindhim.Heturnedaroundandsawasmallmanwithapockmarked face.Hishairwasdonelikethehairstylefromthefifties-aducktailandgreasedback.Whenhesmiled,he flashedrottingteeth.Heworealoudcolouredshirtliketheonestheyusedtowearbackinthefifties, somethingaderowouldn’tbecaughtdeadin.Sweeneyhadtostifleagiggle.Mate,youlooklikearight fuckinwombatinthatshirt.Deadset,mate,arightfuckinwombat,hewantedtosay.Theblokelooked upathim,leaningonthedesk.
“Helpyah?”Heasked,someofhiswordswhistledthroughthegapinhisfrontteeth.“Lookin’fora room,huh?”
“Goodguess,”Sweeneysaidwithagrin.“Butonlyforafewnights,eh?”
“Huhuh,that’swhattheyallsay,mate,”thepockfacedmanpushedoveraledger,reachedbehind,and grabbedasetofkeysandsatthemonthedesk.“Name…”HelookedatSweeney.“Mostpeoplejustwrite analias.Idon’ttell.”
Sweeneylookedattheguywithknittedbrows.Hesaidnothingandwroteonlyhissurnamethen lookedupandpusheditacrosstothebloke.“Nowyouknowmyname,what’syours?Anddon’tsay ElvisorBuddyorIsweartoGod,I’lldeckya.”
“I’vemanynames,”hesaidwithoutsoundingputoutashetossedthekeysatSweeney.“Yerroomeight. Straightdownthecorridor.Won’tmissit.”
“Whatpeoplenormallycallyou?”Sweeneyinsistedasking.Justtogoadtheguy.
“Whatever,”themananswered,thenturnedandwentbackintothebackroom.Sweeneycouldhearthe songhadbeenturneduplouder.“Ohhhh…ohh….ohh….ohh….EarthAngel,EarthAngel,willyoube mineeeee?”
Sweeneylefttheofficeandstoodoutside,listeningtotherainbashingtheroof.Hesighedandwalked upthecoldcorridor,rainlashingathisfeet.Hewalkedpastoneoftheroomswhenheheardwhat soundedlikesomeoneweeping,awomanweeping,frominside.Hestopped,wonderingwhetherhe shoulddosomething,thendecidedthatitwasn’thisaffair,sohecontinuedwanderinguntilhefound theroom. Theroomwasn’tmuch.Floralwallpaperdecoratedthewalls,aradiosittingonashelfbuttherewasno TV,henoticed,andthebedwasasinglebedthatwastuckedupagainstthewindow.Adoorledintothe bathroomthathadabath,atoilet,andasink.Notowels.Hewentbackandthrewthebagonthebed.He switchedtheradioon,andthatannoyingsongwason,EarthAngel .
“Whatthefuckisitwiththissong?” Heswitcheditoff.“Yougottabekiddingme.Bleedinhell,isthisall theentertainmentI’mgonnaget?Thefuckin’songoverandover?Man,thisismyversionof Hell…shouldbeglad,though,couldbeworse.CouldbePopcorn.”
Helaydownonthebedandthoughtaboutwhatthelastfewdaysjustheld.Herobbedabankandtook over$170,000incash,whichwasn’tmuch.Onethingthatplayedonhismind,thegunfighthehadwith oneoftheguards,thestupidprick.Heknewheshothimdead,butbeforethebastarddied,heshotback athim,grazinghim.Helifteduphisshirtandsawaredmarkacrosshisribs.Itachedbutnotbadly.He pulledtheshirtdownandsawnobloodontheshirt,butdidn’tthatbulletpenetratehisshirt?He frownedbutshookhishead.Nah,missedmebyacountrymile.PityaboutRaythough.Poorbastard,I’ll spendyourhalfwisely,RaymeoldChinaplate.TheotherguardshotRayinthethroatbutRaygotoff onehellofaluckyshot,andkilledtheguardwithabulletbetweenthepoorman’seyesbeforebothmen felltofloordead.Sweeneyfledwiththesportsbagasthealarmwastriggeredandherehewas.Alive.
Hesmiledandpickedthesportsbagup.Heunzippeditandpeeredin.Themoneysmiledbackathim beforehezippeditclosedagain.Heplacedthebagatthebottomofthebedandplacedhishandsbehind hishead.Heclosedhiseyeswhenheheardweepingcomingfromtheroomnexttohis.Itwasthat womanagain.Heslidoffthebedandwalkedtothedoor,openedit,andsteppedoutintothewetnight. Theweepingstoppedonlytobereplacedbythatsongagain.
“EarthAngel,EarthAngel,willyoubemine?”Hefrownedandwasabouttostepinsidewhenthedoor totheroomnexttohimopenedandaprettyyoungwomanwholookedintobeinherlateteens,early twenties,steppedout.Sheworeadressandacardiganthatlookedlikeitcamefromthefifties.Itlooked likeasifshejuststeppedoutofGrease .Herhairwasblondandtiedbackinaponytail.Whensheswayed, hecaughtaglimpseofthelacyhemofherpetticoat.
Sincewhendidchicksstartedwearingpetticoats?Hethought,thenshookhishead.
Shedidn’tseeSweeneystandingthereatfirstasshetookoutacigarettepack,shookoutoneandlitit. SheblewoutsmokewhenshesawSweeneystandingthere.Shesmiled.
“Hello,”shesaidwithasmile.Shewasattractiveandwaswearingverylittlemakeup.Buttherewas somethingnotrightabouther.Butwhatwasit?
“G’day,”herepliedashesteppedoutofthedoorway.Therainwasstilltumblingdown.“Prettyheavy rain.”
“Alwaysraininghere,”shesaid,blowingsmokeout.Sweeneywasn’tsureifheheardthatcorrectly. Beforehecouldsayanything,thegirlstartedhummingEarthAngelandswayedasshehummed.She stoppedandlookedatSweeney.“Youhereforlong?”
“Onlyafewdays,”heanswered.“You?”
“Same.Oh,”sheheldoutherhand.“I’mCandy.’
Sweeneytookit.“Sweeney.”
“That’syourfirstnameorlastname?”
“Couldbeeither,”hegrinned.“Candice,amIright?”
Sheshookherhead.“Notreally.JustanameIadopted.”
“Oh?What’syourrealname?”
ShelookedatSweeneywithastrangelookinhereyes.“Youknow,I’veforgotten.Youbelievethat?I’ve beenusingCandyforsolongthatI’veactuallyforgottenwhat’smyrealnameis.”Weird ,hethought. Fancyforgettingyourrealname.Shesmiledandlookedatthecigarettepack.“Youwantone?”
“Idon’tnormallysmokebut,whatthehell,”hetookoneandsawthenameofthecigarette.Fatima.
“Wow,Fatima,thoughtthatcompanycloseddowninthe‘60s?” Shelookedathimasifhewasmadand giggled.“You’refunny.”
Beforehecouldreply,thatsongstartedagain.Shestartedtoswaytoit.“Whatisitwiththatsong?Keep hearingitsinceI’vearrived.”
Shelookedathim,bemused.“Don’tyoulikeit?”
“Notifit’sbeenplayedsomanytimes.”
“Thendon’tlistentoitthen,”shesnapped,givingSweenyajolt.Fairenough,hethought,shouldn’thave saidwhatIsaid.Buthedidfinditodd.Thecigarettesfromacompanythatwentbrokenearlyfiftyyears ago,thesongfromthefifties,eventhewaysheandthehotelownerweredressed,itwasasifhehadjust walkedintoafancydresspartyor…TheTwilightZone
“Sorry,it’sbeenalongdayformeandI’m…well…tired,Isuppose,”hesmiled, butshesaidnothing, steppedonthecigarette,andwithoutsayingbye,shewentbackintoherroomleavingSweeneyouton hisown,shocked.Hestaredatthedoor,thenwhenheturned,hesawtheownerwatchinghim.The pockmarkedfacedmanturnedhisbackanddisappearedinside.Sweeneygroundedthecigaretteandalso disappearedinside,feelingbemused.
DuringthenightSweeneywokeup.
Therainwashammeringagainsttheroof...whatwasitthatCandysaid?“Alwaysraininghere.”That buggedhim,butitwasn’ttherainthatwokehimbutboththeweepingandthatdamnedbloodysong. HewonderedifheshouldcheckuponCandy,seeifshewasokayandmaybeaskthatpockfacebloketo turnthefuckingmusicoff.Whatisitwiththatbloodysonganyway?Beginningtogetonhisnerves.Like beinginamentalward.Heslippedoutofbedandwenttothedoor,openedit,andpeeredout.
“Whatareyoulookingat?”Askedavoicefromthedarkness,scaringthehelloutofSweeney.Afatman steppedoutofthedarknesswearingawhiteshirt,darktie,anddarkpantsthatwereheldupbybraces. Hewassmokingacigaretteanddrinkingfromaflask.Hisfacelookedlikethefaceofabulldogwith heavyjowls.“You’rethatblokewhoarrivedearlieron.IsawyoutalkingtoCandiceearlier.”
“Justbeenfriendly,”protestedSweeney,notknowingwhyhewasprotesting.
“Yea,fairenough,”thefatblokesaidashedrankfromtheflaskthenofferedSweeneysome.Sweeney acceptedanddrank.Itwaswhiskey.Hehandedtheflaskbacktothefatblokewhotookanotherhitfrom itbeforeputtingthecapbackon.Hewatchedtherain,thenlookedbackatSweeney.“Herelong?”
Secondtimetonighthewasaskedthatquestion.“No,hereforanightortwo.”
“Theyallsaythat,”echoingwhatthepockmarkedfacemansaidearlieron.Hedrewanotherlongsipon theflask,“I’vebeenhereforawhile.Sohasshe.’
“Issheokay?Iheardherweeping.”
“Yeah,yeah,she’sfine,”hetookthecapoffhisflaskagain,tookalonghitonitbeforepassingitto Sweeney.Sweeneyaccepted.“What’syourname,mate?I’mMorgan.”
Sweeneyhandedtheflaskback.“Sweeney.”
Morgannodded.Theysaidnothingbutwatchedtheraintumble.Thenthesongfloatedthroughtheair. Morganhadhiseyesclosed,listening,silentlymouthingthewords.
“Whatisitwiththatsong?’Sweeneyhadtoask...again.MorganopenedhiseyesandlookedatSweeney withhiseyeshalf-mast.“Imean,that’sthe,Idon’tknow,third,fourthtimeIheardittonight.”
“Well,wehappenedtolikeit,”hesaid,voicesoundinglikeagrowl.Theysurearetouchyaboutthis song,Sweeneythought.Mindyou,I’mthesamewithAC/DCandtheStonesbutnotthistouchy.Thefat mancontinuedstaringathim.“Youobviouslydon’tlikethesong,doyah?”
“Aren’tyousickofitplayingoverandover?”Sweeneyasked,ignoringMorgan’squestion.
“No,”hegrowled,snatchingtheflaskoutofSweeney’shands,anddisappearingintohisroom,slamming thedoor.Sweeneystoodthere,shookhishead.
“Fuck,speakingaboutbeingfussyoverafuckingsongbutthisisridiculous,”hemutteredbeforegoing backintohisroom.Helayonthebed,staringattheceiling,rememberingtheeventsofthedaybefore shiftingofftosleep.Backtohischildhoodofunwantedmemories.Oneshelockedupinacagebutnow hadbrokenfree…EarthAngel,EarthAngel…
Thenextmorning,therainwasstilllashingagainstthewindow,butSweeneywasgettinganxious, wantingtoleavejustincasethepolicearrived,forsomereason.Hecheckedthesportsbagagain,made surethemoneywastherebeforere-zipping.Hismindkeptreplayingthesceneinsidethebank:Ray gettingshotwithaholeinhisthroat,theguardfallingbackwithaholebetweenhiseyesastheotherone shotbackatSweeneybeforehefledtothecaranddroveofflikeabatoutofhell,butitseemedlikea dream,aweirddreamtobeprecise.Herememberedfeelingthatbulletgrazing(ordiditgrazehim?),the burningsensation.Hemusthaveblackedoutsomewherealongthewaybecauseallherememberedwas seeingthatsignpointingtothismotel.
Hegotoffthebedandstoodlookingattherain.“Bugger,”hemutteredsoftly.Hesighedandwalked backoutandsawCandystanding,lookingoutattherain.EarthAngelwasplaying,andCandywas swayingtothemusic.Hewalkedoverandstoodnexttoher.Shehadhereyesclosedandwasmouthing thewords.Sweeneynoticedthatsheworethesameclothesthatshehadonyesterday.Sheopenedher eyesandsawSweeney,smiledathim.
“IrememberthefirstdayIarrivedhere,”shesoftlysaid.“Justhadafightwithmyboyfriendandranaway fromthecreep.ItwasaSunday,anditwaswet.Imust’veranforhoursbecauseIsomehowendedup hereandbeenhereeversince.”
“Howlonghasthatbeen?”Sweeneyasked.
Shesmiled,tookoutacigarette,offeredSweeneyone.Hetookitandofferedheralight.Sheblewthe smokeoutattherain.Shestaredoutblankly.Sweeneyfrownedashesawherhairwasmattedwith bloodasifshehadaheadwound.Hewasgoingtosaysomethingbutshesuddenlychangedthesubject.
“Iusedtobeamovieactress.”
“Oh?Whatmovieswereyouin?”Curiosityovertookhim,stillfascinatedbythebloodinherhair.How thefuckdidshecomewiththatheadwound?
“Nothingfancy.IonceactedwithJamesDean,though.Wasn’tthatlongago.BeforeIcamehere.He’sa lovelyman,Jimmyis,thoughwouldn’tkeephishandstohimself.Hegotamoviecomingoutsoon.”
Sweeneyfrowned.“Ithoughthewasdead?”
Shestaredathimandgiggled,“He’sstillaliveandkicking,yousillygoose.”
“Oh,”heshookhishead.Wasthischickanescapedpsychoorhadthatheadwoundreallyfuckedherup? HewasconvincedthatJamesDeanwasdead.Justplayalongwithit.Mustbeahalfwayhousefor recentlydischargedmentalpatients,Sweeneythoughtandgrinned.“Oh,okayand,um,whatmoviewas that?”
“Itwasastageplaytobehonest.Ikissedhim,”sheblewmoresmokeoutthenherfacedarkenedwith anger.“Myboyfriend,he’saveryjealousman.Doesn’tlikemedoingthings.Wantsmetobetiedtothe kitchensinkanddropalitterofbrats.Bastard,”shehissed.“Rottenbastard.Hewon’tfindmehere.I’m sureofit.”
“Oh,”hesaidagain,notknowingwhatelsetosay.Helookedaroundbeforelookingatheragain.There wassomethingnotquiterightwiththisgirl.Tobehonest,therewassomethingnotquiterightwiththis place .Thenthatbloodysongcamebackon.
“EarthAngel,EarthAngel,willyoubemineeeee?”Cooedthegirl,gentlyrockingasifshewasinatrance. Sweeneywasconvincedthatshewasmadderthanacutsnake.Herclotheswereoutdated;thecigarettes shesmokedwerereallyoutdated.SheeventhoughtthatJamesDeanwasstillaliveandkickingwhenhe kickedthebucketin‘55.Andthatsong,it’solderthanMoseshimself.Somethingwaswrongwiththis picture.HefelthewasintheTwilightZoneorsomething.StuckouthereinthisredneckDeliverance cow-cockymotelwithabunchoffuckinglunatics.HeneededtopissoffandpissoffASAP,takehis chanceswiththepigs.Butthetroublewastherain.Ithadn’tstoppedpissingdownanditwasn’tcausing anyflooding,justreallyteemingdown.Nothunder.Nolightning.Notlikelastnight,justteemingrain. ItwasgettingtoomuchforSweeney.
“Thisrain,”hefinallysaid,breakingthesilence.‘Isitevergoingtoeaseoff?”
Shelaughed.“No.”
“No?”Heasked,incredulously.
“No,italwaysrainshere.Butdon’tyoulovethesmellofit?Howfreshitis?”
Shewasmad,hadtobe.Hesaidnothingandgroundedtheremainsofthecigarette,thenlefthertoher humming.Hewalkeddowntothemainofficeandentered.ThemanwiththeElvisquiff,waschewing onatoothpick,readingScreenAnnualwithAvaGardeneronthefrontcover.Helookedupandsaw Sweeneystandingthere,thensmiled.
“IseeAvaGardenerismarryingFrankSinatra.Man,Nancy’sgoingtobepissedoff.Hopeit’sbetterthan themarriagebetweenherandthatmidget,Rooney.”
“Theygotdivorced,”saidSweeney.“Butnevermind,mate,NancewillenduprootinoldRonnie ‘Raygun’Reaganandhe’llbecomePrezofAmerica.”
Themanstaredathimthensmiledasheputthemagazinedown.“Now,whatcanIdoforyou?”
“Iwannauseyourphone,”Sweeneysaid.
Themanshookhisheadandlaughed.“Ain’tgotone.”
“What?Youhaven’taphone?”
“Don’tseetheneedforthem.”
“You’rekiddingme?”
“Nah.”
Sweeneyshookhishead.“Iwouldliketogetawayfromhere.”
“Oh,wealldo.MorganandCandywantstogetawayfromhere.Evenme.But,mydearfriend,wejust can’t.Includingyou,we’reallhere.Stuck.”
“What?Thisispuremadness.Where’syourfuckingtelephone?”Hedemanded,spittlerunningdown hischin.Sweeneyviciouslyswipedatit.
“Justtoldya,ain’tgotone.Noneed,either.”Sweeneystaredattheman.
“What’sgoingonhere?’ShoutedSweeney,spittleflyingeverywherethengrabbedtheownerbythe shirt,dragginghimhalfwayoverthecounter,knockingthingsover.Themanjustsmiled,butSweeney roared,“Fuckin’tellme,cunt!”
Themanshookhishead,“Surprisedthatyouhaven’tcaughton.Everyonearedead.”Didhejusthear himright?Everyoneherearedead?“PoorCandy,yeah,shewaskilledwhilewalkingalongthesideofthe road.Shewastryingtogetawayfromherboyfriendwhenshewashitbyacarthatdidn’tstop.Shewas dead.Morgan,well,hewasdrunkwhenhe’dplowedoveracliffafterclippingagirlonthesideofthe road-”
“Whoa,holdonthere,”Sweeneysaiddisbelievingly,“I’mnotquitecatchingwhatyou’resaying.Candy, thegirlwhoIsharedacigarettewith,was…what?Killedbythatfatbloke,uh…Morgan…whoplowed overacliff?Andtheyallendeduphere?”
“Yeah,”hesaid,inamatter-of-facttone.“Everyonewhoarrivesherearesimplydead,”hesmiled.“Thisis amotelforthedead,arestplacekindathingbeforemovingon,apersonalhellperhaps?Candy’ssinwas
shewasanactressandherboyfriendhatedthatandthoughtshewasseeingmenontheside,whichshe wasn’t.
Morganhadaproblemwithbothcocaineandbooze.Theafternoonofhisdeath, hehadseveralrailsof cokeandseveralshotsoftequilaandrum.Hecouldbarelyseewhenhedrovedowntheroad.Hehit somegirlwhowaswanderingalongtheroadand…wentover,”hedemonstratedacargoingoverthe cliff.“Kaboom.”
“Nofuckingway,”Sweeneyshouted.“You’reoffyourbloodyrocker.Howcanthatbepossible?What aboutme?”
“Ah,”hesmiled.“Yes.You’reaninterestingcase.Youwereshotbythebankguard.”
“No,Ibloodywasn’t.Nooneshotme.”
“Thinkagain,Todd.”
“Howdoyouknowmyname?”Hesaid,steppingback.
“Mate,Iknowfuckingeverything.It’smydutyto.Look,yousawthatredmarkonyourribs,yeah?” Sweeneynodded.“That’swherethebulletgotyou.Youdiedonthewayhere.Yourcarcrashed,butyou werealreadydead.”
“But…”
“Faceit,Todd,you’redeadandyou’reaghost,”smiledtheman,thenhepickedhismagazineupagain. “Youmind?IwanttokeepreadingaboutAvaandFrank,”andwentbacktoreading.Sweeneywalkedout andstoodthere,thensighed.Hewalkedtohiscar,openedthedoor,andgotin.Hetriedstartingthe engine,butnothinghappened.Hesattherebeforebangingthesteeringwheelwithhisfistthengotout andwenttohisroom,satdownandwept.
“I’mdead,”hemoaned.“Fuckingdead.God,why,whyme?”Hestaredatthesportsbagandkickeditoff thebed.“Fuckit.Fuckitalltohell!”
HesighedandgotupandlookedoutatthetumblingrainandstartedhummingEarthAngel .
There’saruinofamoteloutinthebushbutnooneknewaboutit,norcared.Thebushtookitoverbut theghostsofthepeoplewholivetherestilldotheireverydaything:listeningtothePenguinssingEarth Angel ,relivingpastdreams.It’sthemotelwheretimestandsstill.Becareful,youneverknow,youmight bethenewoccupantinoneoftheroomsintheMotelAtTheBackofBeyond.
Sleeping
By JodieBaeyens
“Hey,girls.I’mhome.”Jamietossedherpurseonthetablenexttothefrontdooranddroppedherkeys inthegreenbowlonthesametable.ShecouldhearthesoundofTheLittleMermaidplayingintheliving room.
“Youdon’tevencomegreetyourdearoldmomanymore,”sheaskedtothesilence.Anuneasyfeeling cameoverherthatsheshookoff.
“IbroughthomeHappyMealsfordinner,”shesaidasshestartedunloadingthefoodfromthebagand placingeverythingintherightspots.CarolinehadtohaveappleslicesandMadelinewouldbefuriousifher extrafrieswereinhersister’sseat.Thetoysgotsetasideuntilafterdinnerornoonewouldeat.
“Comeon,thefoodisgettingcold,”shecalledwalkingintothelivingroom.Thecreditsofthemovie wereplaying.NormallyMadelinewouldhaverestartedthemoviebynow.AsJamiegotclosertothecouch, shesawthatthetwogirls’headsweretouchingandtheylookedliketheyweresleeping.Jamiepickedupa blanketandwalkedaroundthecouchtoplaceitoverthem.
Theyweren’tsleeping.
Jamiescreamedanddroppedtheblanket.Intheyearstocome,shewouldneverrememberanother momentfromthatnightorhowsheendedupinthejailcell.
Hands
By AmyFenster
Herhandshadbeenbeautiful.Long,slenderfingers,coveredbysmoothsuppleskin.Nailsalways manicured,butneverpolished.Shefeltthatthecolorofnailpolishdetractedfromthenaturalbeautyher handspossessed.Peoplehadalwaysadmiredthem,andshehadalwaysbeenratherproudofthem.Shewore cottonglovestobedtoprotectthemandmoisturizedthreetimesdailywithmilkandhoney.Nowasshe examinedthehandsthathadbeenasourceofsomuchpride,evenvanity,sheadmitted,anoverwhelming senseofmelancholysettledoverher.Herswerenolongerthehandsofayoungwoman.Timehadstolen everythingfromher.Thehandswerestillbeautiful,despiteage,buttheyservedasaconstantreminderofall she’dworkedforandallshehadlost.Thesewerethehandsthathadtenderlycaressedthefaceofayoung lover,losttowar.Thesehandshadcreatedwatercolorsandoilpaintingsequalinskillandcontenttoanyof themasters.Theyhadtendedtoinjuredsoldiersandgivencomforttothesick,manyofwhompassedfrom life,whilestillwithinhergrasp.Thesehandshadgentlystrokedthehairofpeacefullysleepingbabies.These handshadthenbeensufferedtoburythesamebabies.Onehandhadworntheringofamansheknewwasher soulmate.Thesehandshadclungtohim,butfailedtoholdhimthere.
