Make Me Bad: Private Lessons (29 page)

My dad gives me a patient look. “I know we seem different,”
he explains, “but they’re my oldest friends.”

I want to add that they also can drink like my father, but I
hold my tongue.

I nod, as if I understand and we continue eating our
burgers.

“I’m going to go into the office and do some work. You okay
for a bit?” He asks.

“Sure thing. I’ll clean up from dinner.” I offer.

“Thanks.”

My dad closes himself in his office and I start to tidy up
the kitchen. I don’t mind cleaning up after my dad. He has a cleaning lady come
in twice a month, but I think he got used to my mom picking up after him. Once
the kitchen is clean, I make my way back to my room.

Another of my dad’s I-feel-guilty presents is located in my
room – my very own computer. I sit down in front of it, and wait for the slow
dial up. I sign on to AOL and see if anyone is on Instant Messenger.

I don’t see anyone that I feel like talking to, so I check
my email. There’s a short email from my mom telling me that she misses me.

I type back a quick email, making a mental note to call her
tomorrow and then I turn the computer off. I’m bored and restless; Blake isn’t
coming over until after eight. I pick up a magazine and start flipping through
it. I lose track of time and my dad’s knock on the door pulls me out of the
glossy magazine pages.

“I’m heading out, honey. We’ll be late, so don’t wait up.”

Like I would.

“Sure thing, Dad.”

Suddenly I hear the front door open.

“Kenny! Where the fuck are you, man?” A gruff voice hollers
down the hallway.

I roll my eyes. Billy and Riff have obviously arrived.

My dad gives me a sheepish grin and disappears.

I close my door as I hear my dad and his buddies cursing and
joking. Once my dad is gone, I hurry into the shower and shave my legs and wash
my hair. I make sure that my legs are super smooth, and then I blow dry my hair
out.

I dress in a sundress that Blake loves, and go into the
kitchen to pour us two Cokes. It isn’t long before I hear Blake’s knock at the
door.

“Hi!” I cry, throwing myself into his arms.

It’s only been a few hours but I missed him like crazy.

Blake follows me into the kitchen and we sit on two stools
as we drink our Cokes. I’m feeling shy all of a sudden; Blake and I have only
made love a few times – it’s hard to find time alone. Plus, we waited until I
had visited Planned Parenthood and got birth control pills. Just to be safe.

As we quietly sip our Cokes, I think of the last few summers
that I had spent in Nashville. Every year when I returned, Daddy had done more
work to the house, making it nicer and more lavish. And there were always new
presents to make up for the divorce.

And then there was Blake. Getting taller and more handsome
each summer, but still looking boyish in his own special way. Sometimes I get
all freaked out and start worrying about what will happen when we go to
college, but then I have to tell myself to stop acting like a nut job.

Blake drains his Coke and looks at me, his eyes hooded in
that kind of way that lets me know he's in the mood.

“Let’s go back to your room,” he husks.

I nod silently, and take his hand as we walk back to my
room.

I quietly shut the door and turn off the lights.

It's dusk outside which gives off just enough light that we
can see, but not so much that I’m self-conscious. Very gently, Blake pulls me
towards him, and slowly, slowly he pulls down each of the straps on my
sundress.

I sigh and lean in towards him.

~~~

I nestle closer to Blake, inhaling his woodsy scent mingled
with sweat. I smile against his neck and then I realize that I’m lying next to
him in my bed and it’s dark.

“Crap!” I whisper, sitting up. I check the clock by my bed
and see that it’s almost ten-thirty.

“Blake!” I say loudly, shaking him. “You have to go. I’m not
sure when my dad will be back.”

“Huh?” he asks groggily.

“Wake up! You have to go!”

He bolts upright, his eyes wide and confused. I jump out of
bed, pulling the blanket with me and flip the light switch on. This seems to
wake him up, and he quickly jumps out of bed and starts pulling his jeans back
on. While his back is turned, I quickly yank my sundress over my head.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he apologizes.

“Me either. Sorry to have to kick you out. My dad would
freak if he found you here.”

“S’okay.”

We hurry down the hallway and I’m relieved to see my dad’s
car is still gone and Billy and Riff’s pieces of junk still parked out front.

I walk Blake outside to where he stowed his bike. I give him
a long kiss, pulling him towards me, because I can’t get enough of him.

“I love you Paige.” He says.

“I love you, too.”

I watch Blake get on his bike and pedal away, his hair
ruffling in the wind.

For some reason, I feel a pang of sadness and longing that I
don’t quite understand.

I go back inside the house, flicking on lights as I go, and
start to clean up the kitchen. I rinse out our two Coke cans and toss them in
the trash and then rinse out and dry the two glasses. I don’t think my dad
would ask any questions, but I don’t take the risk. Once I dry the glasses, I
stow them away in the cupboard.

I’m too keyed up to go back to bed and I’m feeling awake
from my late nap. I go into the den and flip on the gigantic TV my dad bought
at some point during the year. Another purchase he proudly showed off to me,
trying to convince me that summers in Nashville were great.

Summers in Nashville were great. But not because of my dad's
toys.

I watch a couple reruns of the Real World and just as an
episode is ending, I hear my dad’s car squeal into the driveway. I sigh, I know
he’s drunk. Sometimes I take care of him by helping take his shoes off and making
sure he finds his bed. I don’t really want to see Billy or Riff though, so I
turn off the TV and start turning off lights.

Then the door slams open.

“Paige!” my dad slurs, and I hear Billy and Riff laughing
behind him.

Crap.

“Hi Daddy. I’m just going to bed,” I say pointedly.

“Hey Paige,” Billy leers. “You got bigger.”

“Look at my little girl,” my dad crows drunkenly, “she’s all
grown up.”

I don’t like the way Billy and Riff are staring at me.

“I’m going to bed,” I repeat, walking towards the hallway.

“We’re going to have a pool party,” my dad chuckles, “Come
swim!”

“Daddy, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think you should
go to bed.”

My dad gives me a lazy grin, his eyes half shut. I wonder
how the heck he drove home. He pulls open the sliding door to the back yard and
just before I’m about to go after him, he collapses into a lawn chair. I wait a
few seconds, and then it becomes clear that he’s passed out.

Great.

Billy and Riff look around the kitchen and then look at me.

“You are all grow’d up and so dang pretty,” Billy says, his
voice gruff.

“Good night,” I say curtly and turn away.

“Paige, wait,” Riff slurs. “Come have a drink with us.”

“I’m fifteen. No thank you.”

“Hey, hey, hey. That’s no way to act. We’re you’re guests
and you should entertain us.” Billy is getting belligerent now.

My heart is pounding, and I turn quickly and start down the
hall towards my bedroom. I want to get into my room and lock the door.

“Not so fast!”

I shriek as I feel Billy’s rough hand on my wrist.

“Let go!” I scream.

“Feisty,” he murmurs. He’s close enough that I can smell the
stench of beer seeping from his pores. I gag.

Billy starts dragging me towards the living room and I kick
him in the shins, but he’s too strong. He nods to Riff who quietly pulls the
sliding glass door shut.

“Now be a good little girl and stay quiet,” Billy says.

“Fuck you!” I spit, which only angers Billy as he tosses me
onto the couch.

“Daddy!” I scream, “Daddy!”

But the slider is closed and he’s passed out cold.

“Stop!” I shriek, kicking and fighting as Billy climbs on
top of me and holds my arms down over my head.

“Christ, Riff. Hold her down for fuck’s sake.”

“No!” I scream again, my heart pounding as I try to fight
the two men but they’re too big for me.

Terror seizes me; real, cold terror that I’ve never known
before. This will not end well. I am completely and utterly helpless.

I don’t give up; I still fight and kick the best I can, I
continue screaming but my voice goes hoarse quickly.

The next half hour is a blur of words, sounds and pain.

The sound of Billy’s fly unzipping, the metal teeth
dragging.

Riff’s deep chuckle.

Billy’s gasp of pleasure as he invades me.

My choked cries of pain and utter despair.

Billy’s thick voice moaning, “Oh fuck, she’s already wet.”

My wrists aching from Riff’s vice-like grip.

Then shuffling and more holding down as Riff repeats the
process and Billy restrains me.

They leave me there on the couch, my sundress torn and
bruises blooming across my skin.

My dignity, self-respect, and naive innocence gone.

I’m not sure how long I lay on the couch, but when I finally
sit up I notice that my dad is still passed out on the chair outside.

Overwhelming hate and rage well up inside me.

He was there the whole time. He was supposed to protect me.
I never want to lay eyes on him again.

I begin sobbing uncontrollably and run blindly into my room,
the area between my legs throbbing with pain. I find a sweater to throw over my
torn dress, grab my purse and stuff my cell phone and two fifty-dollar bills
from my cash box inside.

Staggering, I rush out to the garage and get on my bike.
It’s only a ten-minute bike ride to the train station and somehow I make it
even though I’m crying the whole way, barely able to see past my tears.

I have to sit in the station until nearly five am to get a
bus to Bristol. It's the longest five hours of my entire life.

As I leave the Nashville city limits, I vow that I’m never
coming back to this fucked up place.

TWO

Paige

Present Day

I’ve lost track of time again, and my momma’s pounding on my
door reminds me that I need to wear a watch.

“Coming!” I yell.

I place my guitar gently back in its case and snap it shut.
I hurry to my door, and unlock the three locks, chain and deadbolt. The
landlord just loved me when I had him put all these locks on my door, but he
didn’t complain after I explained the cause of my paranoia - and handed him a
Benjamin for his trouble.

My momma stands in the hallway, beautiful as ever, smiling
at me as she patiently waits for me to undo the chain.

“Hi sweetie,” she says, kissing me on the cheek and sweeping
in to my apartment. I close the door behind her and fasten all the locks again.
When I turn back around my momma is already in the kitchen, placing containers
in my fridge.

“Mom,” I groan, “You don’t have to keep bringing me food.
I’m twenty-eight you know. I can cook well enough.”

My mom raises an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe not a soufflé ," I admit, "but I can
cook. I can survive.”

My momma leans into the fridge and pulls out a white Chinese
food carton, and a foil takeout container.

“You can’t just live on take out, honey. You need real food.
And I didn’t make all of this. Grandma made some too.” She says, with a
concerned look.

Grandma, my momma’s momma, is seventy-seven and just as
sharp and witty as ever. I can just picture her bustling around her kitchen,
cooking for her poor single granddaughter who still hasn’t learned to navigate
a stove properly.

“I bet Grandma loved that,” I mutter.

“Oh, she did,” my mom says cheerfully. “She even threw in
some recipe cards.”

I roll my eyes. Of course she did.

“Paige, did you forget I was coming over?” My momma’s
observant eyes rove over my messy hair, t-shirt and sweats.

“No. I just lost track of time." I admit. "I was
playing music.”

My mom sighs; the kind of sigh like she doesn’t know what to
do with me.

My entire family is baffled by my current lifestyle. I went
to college for business, but once I got a job in my field, I realized it wasn’t
for me. So I went back to my true love - music, and I’ve been trying to find a
way to make a career out of it for the past five years.

I pieced together a few odd jobs – waiting tables two nights
a week, singing two nights a week in a bar, teaching guitar lessons to children
and working three mornings in a coffee shop. It wasn’t the best-case scenario
but I was able to pay my bills.

Barely.

“Honey, I just wish you could get a break. I know you’re
talented, but you’re wasting away here in Bristol.”

I give my mom a pointed look and I can’t hide the hardness
in my voice. “I’m not going anywhere else to pursue music.”

“I love having you nearby, but what’s left for you in
Bristol? You play the local places. Why not go to New York then?”

“No one wants country music in New York!” I say, throwing my
hands up in the air.

“That’s right. People want country music in Nashville. A mere
three hours from here.”

“Don’t go there, Mom,” I warn.

If anyone knows that I’ll never return to Nashville again,
it's my momma. I don't know why she insists on stirring the pot.

“Honey,” my mom says in that kind of voice that makes me
want to cry. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but it was thirteen years
ago. You need to put the past behind you. If this is your true dream, then you
need to follow it and face your fears in Nashville.”