Authors: Selene Castrovilla
Pop
is the
only
one who ever
brought
up
love.
He loves Mom he tells her
sometimes
when he's not
hitting
her
and I think he means it too.
But Mom I don't think she loves
Pop
not one bit.
She takes what he gives
the good the
bad
this is her
life so
be
it.
      Now Doll
comes into my head.
Me and Doll with all them paintings water
water
everywhere.
Sweet sweet Doll oh god I can taste her lips they're like oxygen
pure
oxygen a dose of fresh air
they're hope
she tastes like hope.
For the first time
I'm not hopeless.
We're kissing
I'm hoping
and the room turns slow
all them paintings swirl around us
they
take
us
in.
We're gliding through them lily pads
swimming we swim we're breathing
underwater
we blend we mix we melt right into them whirling bursts of colors where everything's
connected where everything belongs where everything's
right.
The world's so right
finally
it all makes sense
but then
I
quit.
I quit I quit I
quit kissing her I
push
her
away I let her float back to the surface.
It ain't right
swimming with her
using her to
breathe
like that.
I can't I can't I
can't take the chance of dragging her down to the murk with me.
She don't belong at the bottom
of the pond she don't belong
here
in my kitchen.
I can't let her be
here
even just in my mind she might get muddy.
      Warren's scared he blinks blinks
blinks his
big
brown
eyes
he forces slow spoonfuls he stares at
fruit.
      Me
I'm waiting to wake up.
I been waiting to
wake
up
from this nightmare years too long now. It's getting harder and
harder to fool myself it's real tough playing
“pretend
you
don't
see.”
      His bacon's
sizzling
on the stove his eggs are
whisked
in a bowl
waiting
to be poured on the
griddle his coffee is drip
drip
dripping
its last drops
into the pot his orange juice is
freshly
squeezed with
pulp
strained.
      His face is beet-colored he's all up in her face she's backed against the counter
nowhere to go and it
won't
be
long
now.
      I wanna wake up
in a normal family where my
pop
kisses my mom good morning and reads
Newsday
at the table, where my
pop
never raises his voice let alone his hands, where my
pop
loves his family, where my
pop
loves me.
      For seventeen goddamn years I been waiting for my pop to love me how stupid is
that? Â Â Â Â Â Â
      In a desperate attempt to either
escape
or
give
up
my mind floats back years and years to
another
morning.
      Me and Jimmy
playing on the living room floor with
Lincoln
Logs.
Mom's eye is purply-
blue it's half-closed. Her lip's
scabbed
blood around the
crusty
edges and
puffy it's all puffy from what
he did
last night.
      Pop tells her to make him breakfast.
      She says,
Make your own
breakfast.
      Pop
says
nothing. He's
red. His face is bright
red
like a Fireball candy. Hate's
dripping
from his skin like
sweat I can smell it.
      He lifts up the
love seat.
It's brown like the coffee she
brews for him everyday
but not
today
it looks like the coffee when she stirs in cream
it's creamy brown.
He holds the
love seat
high
he grips it tight so
tight
the veins in his hand bulge
thick
and
blue.
He slams it
bam
he
bashes the
creamy
brown
love seat
down
down
down
on Mom's back. She screams she
howls
like a dog like
an
animal
that don't know how to
mask its
pain.
She falls she
falls
she
falls
arms up like she's
surrendering
hair slapping at her
face
white apron strings flap
flap
flapping. The floor rumbles it rocks it
shakes
when she hits
bottom
bent and
broken.
      Her eyes are shut.
      Round logs
topple they
spill they
roll
they
scatter.
Some hit the wall.
      Mom quivers like she's
cold like she's freezing she
shakes. She looks whole but she's
broken.
      Her eyes are shut.
      Me and Jimmy's log house is broken like
Mom
but it's in pieces you can see.
      Her eyes are shut.
      Back then,
she still cried.
      Back then,
I still
believed
really I believed
that I would
wake
up.
I truly believed I would wake up and Pop would
love
us that he would
love
me.
      Pop's pounding Mom to a
pulp.
      I stare at the
clear
glass
bowl on the counter at the
beaten
eggs inside.
Eggs just waiting to
run
free across the smooth
non-
stick
surface. But they can
only get so far
before they reach a raised edge.
     Â
Snap
goes Mom's shoulder.
     Â
Crackle
goes Pop's bacon frying in the pan. The greasy smell is everywhere.
     Â
Pop
goes
Pop. He pops Mom
again
again
again.
      Pop.
      Pop.
      Pop.
Five
Dorothy
      I ask him, “Was it awful, being in jail?”
      Joey's silent, he's holding me against him, stroking my hair. A few seconds go by, then he says, “Well, I wouldn't file it under âfun.'”
      We're in his friend Jason's garage, converted into a workout room. Jason's mom works a second job nights, and his dad left town long ago for parts unknown, so the guys come here to weight train and to hang out without being hassled. But on days when no one is working out, Jason lets us come here for some “alone” time. I told Joey we could go to my room after school since my parents are at work until at least 5:30, but he said no way. He said he has a strict moral code when it comes to parents and their homes. He even admitted that it doesn't make sense, but he won't touch me under my parents' roof. I think it's strange, that he draws a line there, but it's kind of nice, too. And it's just as well. I could never really relax in my room. There's no lock on my door. Every little sound would freak me out.
      Not that we've done anything, really. Just make out. We've been making out a lot. And holding each other. We're doing that now, lying together on blue exercise mats piled on the concrete floor, with a thick black punching bag turned sideways behind us. You couldn't really call it a cushion, because that implies soft, and this bag is hard. This bag is no pillow. This bag was made for endurance, not comfort. Still, you take what you can get, and you do the best with it you can. It bolsters us, supports us.
      My head's tucked in the crook of his shoulder. I nuzzle against his shirt, breathe the scent of him. Spicy sugar. He's mulled cider by the fire on a snowy winter day.
      His heart's beating,
tha-thump, tha-thump
. I say, “I'm sorry you went through that.”
      He says, “No reason for you to be sorryâyou didn't send me there.”
Tha-thump. Tha-thump
. “Besides, I deserved it.” He sounds so hollow again, he sounds haunted. I keep thinking, if I can only figure out what's at the base of all his misery, then I can help him release it. That's why I'm bringing up jail. Because maybe that's what's tearing away at his spiritâthose lonely, scary hours he spent in jail. All I want is to exorcize those ghosts, fill in that gap inside.
      “That was mean of your dad ⦠to send you there.”
     Â
Tha-thump. Tha-thump.
Then a sigh. “Pop's not the nicest of guys.”
      “I'd say not.”
      “Listen, Doll. Could we drop this? I just ⦠I just wanna be alone with you. I don't wanna bring Pop in here, let him lie down with us, okay?”
      It's the same thing, every time. No matter where we are. “Okay,” I say.
      He strokes me some more, so gentle. His leg's wrapped around mine, so warm. “Thanks.”
      We're surrounded by workout equipment here in Jason's makeshift gym. Some is Jason's, but more belongs to guys who have no place of their own to set it up. Three bench presses, leg machines, arm machines, and lots of barbells in different sizes. The radio propped on a bench in the corner is playing an eighties tune, “I Melt With You.” The singer declares he'll stop the world. It feels like that hereânow and whenever we're hereâit feels like the world's stopped. He touches me so slow, so tranquilly. Hard to believe hands roughed up like that could feel so soothing. Harder even to reconcile those tame hands with the devastation they've caused.
      They're so respectful to me.
      They're practically reverent.
      He kisses like that too. With this sweet serenity, like there's only us. Like there's no such thing as time.
      He does that now, he kisses me. He pulls me closer against him, presses tight against me, and that tingling rises again, from somewhere way inside me. It's always there, always going, always generating when I'm with him, but when he kisses me like that, that's when it escalates. That's when it demands attention.
      He feels it, I know. It's what hit us when we first met, times a thousand.
      He feels it, but he never acts on it. I keep waiting for him to move further, to act. But he doesn't.
      And I â¦.
      I don't know how to.
      Only this time, I can't take it.
      I slide my hand under his T-shirt, glide across ribs and ripped muscle. His body jerks from the sensation. Heat surfaces, melts into my touch. Slow, slow, I smooth my fingertips up the middle line of his chest, tracing the indentation. He pulls back. “Stop, you're making me crazy.”
      “Is that a bad thing?” I ask.
      He regards me, looks at me like I'm some new creature he's discovered. I stare back into those wide eyes, waiting for an answer, acutely aware of the blood push, push, pushing through my veins, and wanting only to brush his skin again.
      Still, he doesn't answer.
      I say, “It's been three months. Do you not want to make love with me?”
      He jolts at the question. After a few seconds he finds his voice. It's rocky. “You kidding?”
      “Then why â¦.”
      I leave the words dangling, reach for him. I pull his shirt up, up, over his head, then slip it from his arms.
      He doesn't resist.
      I lean against him, press my fingers into snug chest fuzz.
      I don't know much, but I know I want him.
      “Why â¦,” I say again, and again that's all I say.
      I push my chest into his, reach my hand behind, drift down, down, down the small of his back, until I'm tucked inside his jeans.
      His heart rate quickens, drums its beat into me.
     Â
Thump thump thump thump thump thump
 â¦.
      I rest my lips against his ear, share the shiver they provoke.
      “Why don't you?” I ask.
Joey
      The question zaps through me like ten thousand volts.
      Why don't
I
make love with
her?
      Because I never held
anything
so precious before.
      Because I'm afraid so afraid â¦.
      I tell her,
I'm afraid I'm gonna break you.
      She laughs. Says, I'm not a doll silly.
      Silly. No one's ever called me that before.
Dickwad.
Scumbag.
Piece of shit loser.
      Not silly.
      I like it.
      It's light.
      I wish I was light.
      With her
with
Doll
I feel like I got a shot at being light.
      What are you thinking, she asks. She's touching
touching
touching me.
      I'm thinking
I don't wanna ruin it ruin this.
Ruin
her.
      I'm thinking I'm gonna hurt her
somehow
I'm thinking I'm scared for her
and maybe even of her.
But I don't tell her that stuff âcause it'd make her bolt for sure. You can't show fear
you can't show
yourself
even if you feel safe enough. Safety is bullshit. There is no safety. More things I can't tell I could fill a book with them.
      She's waiting for an answer
I know
but I'm not saying nothing I'm like a deaf-mute or something. Why she's bothering with me I don't know. I don't deserve her I don't deserve her touching
touching
touching me like this and god I'm so afraid I'm gonna hurt her.
      I never done it before, I tell her.
      I tell her I never made love.
      She looks at me now she's got this skeptical look she don't believe me.
      It's true,
I tell her.
It's true I never made love never did it with no one I cared âbout before.
I had sex I screwed but I
never
made
love.
      She's touching
touching
I lie here skin prickling temperature smoldering arms frozen so scared to touch back so scared I'll become
the monster Pop is;
the monster
I am
when I lose it lose
control.
      My first time,
I tell her,
my first time I was fifteen it was August it was hot so hot
me and Jimmy we were at my cousin Billy's pool chilling.
Billy he was twenty and he had a bunch of friends over too. This chick Libby she was nineteen she had these great round tits they were practically popping out of her hot pink bikini she started rapping to me then she sat on my lap next thing you know she was tonguing me.
      That night
me and Jimmy we banged her in room twenty-four at the Beachview Motor Inn.
      She blew me at the pay phone on the street while I called my mom to tell her me and Jimmy we was
eating
out.
      It was like that every time since. Not the situation but the emotion.
      There wasn't no emotion.
      Just going through motions.
      I feel something trembling.
It's
me.
      How can I touch her like that touch her pure
pure skin? My hands they're so mangled they're ruined like me beyond repair I'm bad so bad she's pure she's good and
I'm
so
bad.
      She kisses me she's undeterred by my tale of debauchery she kisses me her soft
soft lips against mine their moisture sinks inside me she quenches my thirst.
      She kisses me and I get it. Suddenly
I get it
she don't care what I done she don't care what I
am
she takes me
shit and all.
Like someone opened a window
I get it
a blast of fresh air
I get it I kiss her back and then just like that
I
melt.
It happens so fast I can't scream or despair
can't panic
can't blink
I just melt.
No regrets no goodbyes I melt through her arms I melt to the mat
then
I
rise.
I rise without burdens
no voices
in my head
there's light
silent
light
lifting through.
No worries no doubts
only light
calm still light
I feel something light
it's me.
      It's me
and Doll
in the quiet
alone and I'm light I'm
light I'm
light.
      Touch me Joey, she says.
      She says, Please.
      So I do.
Dorothy
      His eyes fill with light, so beautiful. I watch the pain melt from them. Drip, drip, drip, it shrinks down, it just shrivels away âtil it's gone. They're happy now.
      He's happy.
      I made him happy.
Joey
      She's letting it all out it's like there was all this shit stuffed way inside her that she finally gets to let out.
      I'm letting it out.
      For once I'm doing something good.
      I'm following her now I'm scrambling up a mountain sprinting up up up scuffling over rocks darting around trees splashing through streams there's a place for us after all there's a place for us it's here at the top of this mountain it's where we can lift off we can leap we can sweep through the sky â¦
oh god
I'm flying
the breeze on my face it feels so incredible
I head for the clouds
I'm right behind her now
I catch up I take her hand.     Â