Melt (14 page)

he steps

steps

steps his black cop shoes

squeak on the green.

He steps steps

steps he

squeaks it's

piercing.

He says,

Would your girl care to

stay for dinner?

      He

laughs he

reaches out

right

past

my

head this son of a bitch bastard he

reaches right

past me

like he just

knows he can he

reaches

for her he

strokes her hair.

Dorothy

      It happens so fast.

      His dad touches my hair, I want to puke. He's got this look on his face like we're at his mercy and I think, my god, we are.

      Joey lets out this scream like a wounded, cornered animal. He smashes his fist in his dad's face, his whole body rocks from the force, and I get knocked right off of him.

      His dad goes down, blue and shining gold spread flat over green.

      Joey's on him, he's got him by the throat with one hand.

      With the other hand he un-holsters the gun.

      “What did I tell you?” Joey's voice is high-pitched, wired, wild. “What did I say? I told you not to touch her again!”

      His arm's clamped around his dad's neck. His chin's wedged over his dad's head, pressing into slick silver hair. He's got metal rammed against his dad's temple.

      He's going to kill him.

      “No, Joey,” I beg him. “Please don't throw your life away ….”

      “Goddamn slime,” Joey spits. The flecks spray down on his dad, a few land in his eye. “Piece of crap ….”

      “Joey, Joey … calm down, okay?” But he won't calm down. He won't look at me. I don't know if he hears me at all.

      His dad squirms. Joey tightens his grip. He pushes, pushes the gun into his dad's forehead, straight into the wrinkle lines.

      “Fuck you, prick ….”

      His voice cracks.

      He sounds so pathetic. I want to grab him, hold him.

      Maybe he'll drop the gun ….

      But what if he doesn't?

      His dad gurgles, he's turning red.

      “Joseph!” It's his mom, back from her laundry. “Joseph, put the gun down!”

      “Why, Ma? So Pop can shove it down your throat? You miss your kiss hello tonight from your husband?”

      Joey's red, too, with rage. The two of them, Joey and his dad, they're pressed together. I'll bet this is the closest they've ever been.

      “Joseph, listen to me. I'm calling 911.”

      “Great, all Pop's friends can come over and mop up his splattered brain. Less work for you, for once.”

      His mom's already gone, back in the living room. I can only hope she really calls.

      “Don't, Joey …,” I say.

      “Enough,” Joey says, real quiet. “It's enough now. It's time for this all to be done.”

      “The police will arrest him, Joey. After all he did to your mom, to you, to me …. They'll have to listen.”

      “Screw the cops,” he says. “He's gonna listen to me. For once, Pop's gonna listen to me.” His arm strains even more around his dad's neck. “ Are you listening, Pop?”

      His dad doesn't move.

      Joey clicks off the safety.

      His dad nods.

      I say, “Joey, sweetheart, look at me, please.”

      He hesitates, then he does it, he looks at me.

      I stare into him with all the caring I have, I give him every bit.

      He flinches, but he keeps looking.

      I say, “It doesn't have to be this way.”

      He's crying softly, tears course down his cheeks slow, slow.

      I say, “Joey, I love you.”

Joey

      I see it then.

      I see the puddle

out of nowhere

it shows up right in my

head.

      I throw myself

down I

plunge

in

on my knees I

splash splash

splash god it's wet so

wet it's chilling it

penetrates me I

shiver

shiver I

shudder

it wakes me up it brings me

back to life.

      I feel my wall

crumple

then.

The wall I built for

control for

protection to

shield myself the

only way

I knew how. It sinks

it

melts

like a sand fortress swept into the tide.

      All

those years

building and

all

it took was a

puddle

to bring it down.

      I say,

      I

love

you

too

Doll.

      There's sirens outside lots of sirens.

      Pop's steel Glock it's so cold

in my hand

even through my wrap

it's

numbing.

My palm it's

dripping

in

sweat.

      It's

heavy

Pop's gun's

so heavy

my fingers they're damp they're sliding

my

grip

it's slipping away.

      I look in her eyes they're

wet like my puddle they're

shimmering they're

reflecting

colors like a

rainbow they're

shining her light into

me.

      This Glock

I don't wanna hold it no more

it's too heavy.

      I click the safety back on.

      I

let

go.

      It

clatters

onto the

green linoleum

floor.

 

The End

Thanks for reading!

 

 

Dear Reader:

 

I hope you enjoyed
Melt
. If you'd like to know more about how this book was inspired, please read the question and answer section following this letter. Further insights into my writing process may be found on my website, and on my Facebook author page.

This book came out of me fast. You might say the words poured through me – like I was their conduit into the world. Frustration came when my publisher went out of business, just as
Melt
was going to press. As a result, it has taken me ten years to share
Melt
with you.

Reading advance responses on Goodreads, in blogs and on social media has felt surreal. After all this time, the world is meeting Dorothy and Joey! And, it embraces them! Finally, they're home.

If you're a fan of my previous books, I thank you for your loyal support. If you're a new reader, welcome! I invite you to read the excerpts of my previous novels. Either way, I ask a favor of you. If you would review
Melt
on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and/or Goodreads, it would be extremely helpful to me. Reader support is everything to a book.
You
breathe life into it.

I would also love your thoughts on
Melt
. Please write to me through my website, or Facebook. I've been through so much in recent years, but it's all been part of the path. My journey down the Yellow Brick Road has been challenging to say the least, but I'm so grateful that in the end it brought me home to you.

 

Yours,

Selene

Q & A with Selene Castrovilla

 

Q:
I love this book! What can I do to help?

 

A:
I invite you to spread the word in any way you feel comfortable. Amazon and Goodreads reviews are invaluable, and any social media mentions are also wonderful. Blogging, Twitter (I'm @Scastrovilla and my hashtag is #yalit), Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram … wherever you socialize, a mention would be golden. Thanks!

 

Q:
How can I contact you?

 

A:
My website is www.SeleneCastrovilla.com. On the site there is a way to write to me. I would love it if you do!

 

Q:
What inspired this story?

 

A:
I take boxing lessons, and got close with my trainer, Joe. He told me more than once, “My dad used to beat my mom.” That was sad, but a little too vague to be inspiring. Then one day he looked me in the eyes and said, “My dad used to come home every day and shove a gun down my mom's throat.”
That
was a specific image that stuck in my head. He also told me about becoming a teen alcoholic, and how violent he was while drunk. He was tagged a “bad” kid – but no one ever bothered to find out what was going on inside. Finally, he told me about the one girl who believed in him, and loved him.

 

One night he said to me, “You're gonna write my story. I just know it.”

 

I went home, and opened
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
– which I'd instinctively purchased a few weeks prior. I didn't know why – but I always listened to the guiding voice in my head. The page I turned to was the scene in which Dorothy and her friends return to the Emerald City. The Guardian of the Gate is shocked to see them, saying:

 

“But I thought you had gone to visit the Wicked Witch of the West.”

 

“We did visit her,” said the Scarecrow.

 

“And she let you go again?” asked the man, in wonder.

 

“She could not help it, for she is melted,” explained the Scarecrow.

 

She is melted.
That line resounded with me. I wrote it three times on a piece of junk mail. Then I wrote, “Melt.” And I knew that was the title of my book. I started writing Joe's story – it just came pouring out – with quotes from
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
interspersed. The first section is called “No place like home,” and we witness the father abusing the mother in front of Joey and his brothers. In “Munchkinland,” the second part, Joey meets good-girl Dorothy in Dunkin' Donuts. This unlikely couple heads down the metaphorical Yellow Brick Road looking for a way to beat the odds and be together. But what's waiting for them ahead?

 

Q:
Is there a message you hope to communicate through your writing?

 

A:
I write about humanity. It's not so much a message that I mean to convey, but more a look in the mirror. This goes for my books about American history as well. No matter when a story takes place, what's in the heart never changes. I always ask the question, “What motivates people to act as they do?” Do I find the answer? I'll leave that to you, the reader, to decide.

 

Q:
Who are your biggest literary influences?

 

A:
I love so many writers, but my big three are William Shakespeare, William Faulkner and J.D. Salinger. Brilliant thoughts expressed in brilliant words.

 

Q:
Do you write from an outline or are you a “pantser”?

 

A:
Neither, but closer to “pantser” – except I know the whole thing. My stories leap out from somewhere in my brain, like they've been lying in ambush. They're complete, and demanding to be transcribed. The only explanation I can come up with is that they've been fermenting in my subconscious. This is quite a gift and I'm grateful, but it does make it hard to function in my “real” life when a story is so relentless about being told. My kids definitely don't enjoy it when my muse hits!

 

I would like to try a more civilized “outline” approach some day. I hear it works well. But whenever I'm considering it – and hesitating, because I'm not sure how to begin such a calm endeavor – a new story bursts forth, and away I go rushing again. Hey, there are worse things in life ;)

 

Q:
Why YA as opposed to some other genre?

 

A:
I write in other genres, but there's something about YA which particularly draws me. Adolescence is the most crucial time: it shapes us, and we carry the things that happen during those years for the rest of our lives. I have so many unresolved issues from when I was a teen, and as a result it's my “default” setting. People ask how I can write in a teen voice so authentically, and I say, “Because I'm still a teen.” No matter what my actual age is, a part of me hovers at seventeen.

 

“Miss Castrovilla –Oh my gosh! I cry every single time I read your book
The Girl Next Door.
 I really wanted to thank you for such a masterpiece! I've checked it out from my library so many times, once in a while just to skim it and feel the raw emotion of Jesse and Sam's love. It's … gorgeous. When I finish high school, I'm going to pursue a degree and career in journalism, and write at home –like you. Thank you also for helping to shape my writing.” –Samantha H.

 

Who could ask for anything more?

 

I'm so grateful for this writing life – and the connection I forge with my readers. I know I'm being the change I wish to see in the world – as Gandhi counseled. For me, that change is love. We need to make love our top priority. Love of others, love of our earth, love of ourselves. Imagine a world fueled by love.

 

Q:
What is your favorite color?

 

A:
Purple! I ensconce myself in it as much as possible.

 

Q:
What are your favorite movies?

 

A:
Good Will Hunting, The Hangover, The Long Kiss Goodnight,

Serendipity, My Big Fat Greek Wedding
and
Dead Again.

 

Q:
What are your favorite TV shows?

 

A:
My favorite TV shows have all completed their runs (I don't watch enough TV to commit to new shows these days.) They are:
In Plain Sight, Burn Notice, Arrested Development, Seinfeld
and
Friends. W
hen I was a kid I loved old reruns o
f The Mod Squad, It Takes a Thief
and
Starsky and Hutch.
. My favorite prime time shows were the Tuesday night lineup of
Happy Days, Laverne & Shirley
and
Three's Company
. I also enjoyed
The Love Boat
and
Fantasy Island
on Saturday nights.

 

Q:
What do you want on your tombstone?

 

A:
She cared. (Although I want to be cremated, so maybe it can be engraved on a statue. Wouldn't that be the coolest?)

 

Q:
What's the greatest compliment a reader can give you?

 

A:
To tell me that they cared about my characters.