Ginger
School Totally Blew Today
First I got back my history final,
with a big, fat D on top, despite
all the studying I did. I completely
effed up in that class, and to cop
the credit, which is a requirement
for graduation, I’ll have to do
summer school. Then our Nazi
PE teacher started yelling at
the back of the pack running laps
to Move your lazy buns. Damn,
it’s like over ninety out there in
the sun. Still, I probably shouldn’t
have yelled back, “Why don’t you
get your fat ass out here and run
with us? See how fast you can go.”
The bitch wrote me up. Detention
at least. Maybe suspension. To
top it all off, this guy I thought
I kind of liked called me an emo
freak because I put blue streaks in
my hair. Yep. School definitely blew.
I Take My Time
Walking home, puffing on
a bummed Kool. Don’t
care much for menthols, but
I need nicotine to calm my
nerves. Iris won’t really
care if I get suspended. But
Gram will be so disappointed
in me. She’ll be spending
a lot more time at home once
they finally release Sandy,
today or tomorrow. Guess
they have to do a couple more
tests to find out just how bad
his brain damage is. Right now,
he’s learning to talk all over again.
The house is quiet when I open
the door, quiet except for the TV.
Where are the kids? Something’s off.
I can feel it in my bones. “Iris?”
No answer. But something—
someone?—moves, and suddenly
the TV goes silent. The hair on
the back of my neck rises.
Little waves of panic churn in
my gut. Ridiculous, right? No
murderer would be sitting
there watching TV. “Harry?”
But the face that appears in
the doorway doesn’t belong
to Harry. You must be Ginger.
Iris has told me so much about
you. Hey, I like your hair. Rad.
The last word sounds weird,
spoken by the guy, who is maybe
forty-five and built like a bull.
Did Iris dump Harry for this guy?
Not like it would be anything
new. “Uh, right. Where is Iris,
anyway?” I need another cigarette.
She and Harry took the kids
for ice cream. Say, would
you mind getting me a beer?
Déjà Vu Strikes
Lightning. Without a doubt
I know I need to play my
cards just right. I want to yell,
“Get the fuck away from me.”
But every instinct screeches
for me to answer carefully.
“Uh, sure.” I go to the fridge,
reach in for a Keystone.
The guy is right behind me,
beer breath hot on my neck.
Iris didn’t lie. You really
are a knockout. His arms wrap
around me, and his rough hands
go straight to my boobs. I try
to knock them away but am no
match for his strength. You like
it rough? ’Cause I’m just the guy
to give it that way. No extra charge.
The words burn into my ear. “What?
What the fuck did you say?” A sudden
burst of will pushes him back, away.
I turn to face him. He advances,
a thin line of spit leaking from
his mouth to his chin. I stare at
evil. I said, no extra charge.
Already paid two hundred
dollars for a good time with you.
Might as well make it very good.
He’s on me, yanking my hair,
pushing me to my knees. He flips
me over. You’re even prettier
from behind, know that? I hear
his zipper lower. It is the loudest
sound ever. “Don’t,” I try, but it
sticks, pasted to disgust, lodged in
my throat. Useless to plead. Useless
to fight. He yanks down my shorts
in a single swift motion. He is on
me. In me. Humiliating me in every
possible way, right here on
the kitchen floor. As promised,
Shredding. Ripping. “Please?”
The word bounces off him, ping-pongs
weakly in my ears. Trying
to fight him only fuels him.
For a fleeting second, I think
maybe someone will come
through the door to save me.
And then, despite everything
that’s happening to me, I laugh
out loud. Save me? What did
he say? I already paid for
a good time with you. I’ve been
sold. And just who would
sell me? The answer is all
too obvious: Iris. My mother.
And as he finishes, all sticky
and stinking and revolting,
something else suddenly
becomes crystal clear. This day
was exactly like that other day.
If this guy paid Iris, so did Walt.
When He’s Gone
I use wet paper towels to clean
the mess on the linoleum. Under
the sink, I find the Pine-Sol,
carry it to the shower. It stings,
which means it’s working.
I scrub my body over and over,
washing away all evidence of this
afternoon. On TV, they want you
to call the cops. Tell. But what do
I say? “Hey. My mom took money
to let some guy rape me.” Who’d
believe that? I go to my room,
stuff clothes into my backpack.
I’m gone. Where? No clue, but
this will never happen again. I feel
bad, leaving Gram to deal with Iris.
But she’s strong. And with Sandy
home, she’ll be here, too. The others
will be safe. I’ll write her a letter,
tell her what she has to know so
she’ll never let her guard down.
The Door Slams Behind Me
I stand on the step for a few
seconds, confused about what
to do next. Can’t pause long.
They’ll be home soon. Not like
ice cream takes forever. Only
longer than rape. Fuck! My eyes
burn, and not from the sun, sitting
smack on the western hills. I stare
into it, and for one mega-brilliant
instant, all I can see is a stab
of light. My feet start walking
toward it. Where else is there to go?
Throbbing with pain, inside
and out, I find myself on Alex’s
street. Should say good-bye.
She opens the door. Damn,
man. You smell like toilet
cleaner. What happened?
Alex lets me in and I sink
into cool dark solace, repeat
the tale of Ginger, paid for.
I Love Alex
Love the way she lets me spew,
contributing zero commentary,
until I’m obviously finished.
When I am, what she says is,
And I thought my mother was
queen of the fucking wack jobs.
So what are you going to do?
She listens as I outline my
non-plan for running away:
Take off and see where I end up.
Finally she shakes her head.
Stupid idea. You can’t just run
off without some idea of where
you’re going and how you’ll
get there. The thing is, after we
talked about it last time, I started
thinking about the best way to
leave this stinking shit hole.
Does that mean she wants to go
too? “Really?” I hope she came
up with something good. “And … ?”
Remember I told you about my
dad’s old girlfriend, Lydia?
Well, she lives in Henderson.
She told me to come visit any time.
We’ll stay with her until we can
find a way to get a place of our own.
She has thought this through!
A place of our own? Still … “Are
you sure you want to go too?”
Hell yeah, girl. You can’t go
alone. Besides, there’s nothing
for me here. Adventure calls!
I checked it out and the bus
to Vegas costs thirty-five bucks.
No big deal, right? Any way
you could come up with maybe
fifty? I’ve got a little stashed.
Enough for smokes and Cokes.
Where could I get fifty bucks?
The answer smacks me in the face.
She owes me a lot more than that.
I Leave My Stuff
Go on home. No cops, no alarms.
No one missed me at all. Not
even Gram, who’s fixing dinner.
In fact, everything seems so normal
it almost makes me wonder if I
imagined what happened earlier.
I go over to Gram, give her
a hug. “Something smells
good. We’ve sure missed your
cooking around here! Where
is everybody? Is Sandy home?”
If he is, how can I possibly go?
Gram keeps stirring her chili.
No. The tests they ran tired
the little guy out. They’re keeping
him one more day, to be sure
he’ll be okay. Worry weights her
sigh. He’ll be just fine, though.
Guilt chews at me until a sudden
whiff of Pine-Sol reminds me
why I’m here. “Where’s Iris?”
Gram shakes her head. She and
her … her friend went out.
I doubt we’ll see her tonight.
Perfect. She won’t miss it until
morning, earliest. By then I’ll be
all the way to Vegas. Now I need
a way back out of here. “Hey,
Gram. I was invited to spend
the night with my friend, Al—”
Probably should make up
a name. “Alicia. We’re going to
study for finals. Is that okay?”
Sure thing, hon. I’m glad
you’re finally making
some friends. Her smile
initiates a new round of guilt.
Especially considering that not
long after I’m gone, she’ll find
out I already messed up on my
finals. Oh, well. By then she’ll
have given up on me anyway.
The Kids
Are in the living room, watching
the boob tube. They don’t see
me slip down the hall, and that’s best.
I go into Iris’s room. Top dresser
drawer, beneath her underwear—
yech!—there’s a navy blue sock,
where she stashes her cash.
I watched her do it once when
she was too drunk to realize
I was standing right there. Sure
enough, it’s here, stuffed with sex
money. I count out two hundred,
which doesn’t include whatever
Walt paid her. Screw it. I take
the whole wad—four hundred
sixty-nine dollars. In its place,
I leave a note: Not even close
to what you owe me. I hate you.
“Bye, Gram,” I call, eyes stinging.
I ease out the door, into velvet
night, chasing a glimpse of freedom.
When I Come Through the Door
Alex is packed and waiting,
rocking softly side to side
in a nerve-fueled rhythm.
Wow. I’ve never seen her
look so worried. “Are you
sure you want to do this?”
Her odd movement stills
and she looks at me with
shimmering eyes. I’ve wanted
to run forever, but I was
scared to run alone. I never
told you the truth about Paul.
he’s not my stepdad. Mom
and him never got married.
When they sent her away,
he let me stay with him,
but only if I … you know.
I have nothing here, or
anywhere, except for what
I have with you. Let’s go
before he gets home, okay?
The Half-Empty Bus
Idles, preparing for departure.
The diesel fumes are strong,
but the seats are comfy. No one
cares about Alex and me
in back, sipping rum from
a water bottle. Before long,
I feel zero fear. Zero pain.
I flip up the armrest between
us, slip my hand into hers.
Heedless of any prying eyes,
she kisses me, and I kiss back,
inhaling her intoxicating scent.
My heart dances. My body,
abused so viciously just
hours ago, at last knows joy.
As the bus begins to roll,
my lips spill words unspoken
until now. “I love you, Alex.”
I love you too. Now let’s get
the flying fuck out of here.
Together we break free.
A Poem by Cody Bennett
Flying
Is that what it’s like
when you die? Do you
slip out of your skin, go
soaring
up into a butterscotch
sky? Do you surf waves
of light? How far?
How high?
I hope that’s what it’s
like, but I’m afraid
it’s a lot more like
falling
with no net to catch
you, and no way
of knowing
how hard
you will hit or where
you’ll stop. Will you touch
down back on Earth, or
will you land
in the nightmare
you always feared
you’d never wake up from?
Cody
Funerals Suck
This isn’t the first one I’ve had
to go to. There were a couple in
Wichita. But this is the first one
that mattered. Old people are
supposed to die. Jack wasn’t old,
and he sure wasn’t ready to die.
It’s a blistering day, and we’re
standing here graveside, dressed
all in black. Fuck you, Jack. How
could you leave us? You swore
you’d take care of us. And now
you’re nothing but pickled flesh,
broken promises. Mom is a mess,
although she pretends she’s okay
and looks steadier than Cory, who
is completely tattered. The two brace
each other, trying to stop shaking
as the minister drones on about
Going home to his heavenly father.
Funny, but none of us really thought
much about heaven until the last
few weeks. Is there such a place,
and is Jack already there? Is there
a chance in hell someday I’ll join him?
If Funerals Suck
Wakes are worse. I don’t even
know who half these people
are, laughing and drinking and
scarfing the food they brought
so Mom wouldn’t have to worry
about cooking for a day or two.
They should just go and leave
the food. Better yet, run to
the grocery store and fill up
the fridge. It’s almost empty.
The only thing emptier is my
chest—where my heart used to be.
The doorbell rings. I open it
to find Ronnie, a total knockout
despite how ashen her face looks.
Is all that pale meant for me?
Hey, you. Her voice is soft. So
is the hand that touches my cheek.
How are you doing? Sorry
I missed the service. I meant
to come, but I overslept and …
She shakes her head. The truth
is, cemeteries scare me to death.
The last word makes her flinch.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not big on
them either.” I take her hand,
pull her through the door. No
one else has even noticed her
presence. Good. “Let’s go
to my room, okay?” I want
to hold her, want to make love
to her. Need to feel something
warm and alive. Need to fill
that empty space inside. I lead
her to my disheveled bedroom.
“Sorry it’s so messy,” I whisper,
pulling her into me. “God, you
smell good.” Like baked apples.
Not like flowers. Don’t want to
smell those. They remind me
of death. Ronnie rises on her tiptoes,
lifts her slick, honey-sweet lips
to meet mine. It’s the sweetest
kiss ever, but it soon becomes
more. I lock the door, guide her
to my bed, and for maybe the very
first time, sex is more than getting
off. This time, sex feels like love.
For the First Time
I stop myself before Big Bang,
look down into Ronnie’s violet blue
eyes. “I love you.” And at this