Pop
being a cop. It’s always on account of
Pop
being a cop.
But this time this
time
this time
Pop
says,
No.
We stare at him. He’s standing all
righteous
arms crossed next to the
red
white
and blue. He says,
No.
He says,
Send him to
jail. Maybe it’ll teach him a
lesson.
He
says,
Doubtful but
maybe.
That’s it then. My lawyer he don’t do shit in my defense he works for
Pop
not me I guess.
Whatever.
My mom she’ll never say one
word
against what
Pop
wants god forbid.
They bring me in front of the
judge
all rise
he seals my
fate and badabing we’re
done.
After that they
cuff
me.
Again.
They’re taking me back to
lockup.
Who gives a rat’s ass
anyway.
They ain’t doing
nothing new to me.
I already got myself
all
locked
up
in my head.
My hands
they’re pressed together
I can
feel
my
pulse
beat.
Mom’s
crying.
Now she’s
crying.
I made her
cry.
They’re taking me
away for four
months.
Good for them.
Pop
calls my name but I don’t
answer. Then he
stops me he grabs at my arm he
pinches
hard
into me but I don’t flinch.
Pop
looks
looks
looks at me
he looks me in the eyes.
What do you know he
actually
looks
at me
no shit.
I make myself
look
back it’s the first time in I don’t know
how
long
I look straight into the
ice
floating in them
sockets.
The sun gleams on his badge. The beam reflects
it bounces
off the badge
it hits me in my pupil. I’m half-blinded but still I look I
look
I
look into him
into
that
frost some call eyes I won’t look away
fuck
him.
Pop
pinches into me.
He pinches into
his
son
that they’re taking
away for four
months.
In his best cop voice
Pop
tells me
he tells his son
that’s going away for four months getting caged up like an animal
thanks to him
he says to
me
spattering specks of his
spit
on my cheeks my nose my lips they
seep in they
melt
in my mouth
he says,
People like you,
you
make
me
sick.
They’re taking me away now
really.
Mom steps up
she puts her arms
‘round my neck
she pulls me
down
against
her
she gives me a
hug.
Feels nice even though I had to bash some asswipe’s
skull
in to get it.
Then
she lets go.
Her tears are on my neck
drip
dripping
down.
Don’t cry for me
Ma
save those tears they’re
awful
hard
to come by.
I’m looking at her
‘stead of where I’m
headed.
I stumble
I’d
fall
‘cept for those two court officers
holding
me up
on either side
lucky
me.
Yeah.
Incarcerated at seventeen.
Sweet.
What’s next? My life’s
jam
packed
with possibility.
What loving father what
devoted
dad
wouldn’t be delighted to see me
dating his
dear
darling
daughter?
Doll. If she thought her parents were gonna be standing inside them gates arms open wide like some kind of
sunshiny
welcoming committee
then she really was
caught
in a
fairy
tale.
Of course that was
assuming
she wouldn’t give me the boot
herself once she heard the things
I
done.
I got home
stared at my house
my white house with the light blue trim and the
colorful flower beds and the
nice
mowed
lawn.
No palace for sure but
not
so
bad.
It looked okay
it looked like everyone
else’s. You would never guess what went on
inside.
Maybe I could
pass
like my house. Maybe I could
pass myself off as something
okay
something normal.
But that
prick
part of me just wouldn’t shut up. It said, Who do you think you can
fool
when you
can’t
even
fool
yourself?
Then that
new
part that poor dumb schlub who only wanted to be alone with Doll
at the water and
breathe
that’s all he asked for it wasn’t much just to
breathe and be
all right…
That part piped up. It said,
Fight
for your place.
Fight for your
place
with
her.
But old part that
bastard
it wasn’t finished with me
yet. It had the
last
word it always did and the worst part was it was
right. How the hell do you fight the
truth?
It said, There ain’t no
place
for you and her
you stupid shit. Where you gonna
go? You’ll never
pass
behind them gates and you
can’t
bring
her
here.
No.
That was for sure. I could not bring her
home.
She looks like one of Mom’s dolls and
Pop
don’t like them dolls at all
not
one
bit.
I went inside
closed the screen door behind me so it didn’t
bang.
I called out
hi
to Mom in the kitchen. She called back
hi
without coming
out.
Too busy cooking them
potatoes.
Every day
she makes goddamn
potatoes
to go with dinner.
Mashed
scalloped
crinkle-cut ….
Same kind of crap
every
day.
No one was in the living room. I headed upstairs creaking every step. You can
never get up those stairs quiet no matter how hard you try and
sometimes
you
try
real
hard.
At the top of the stairs is the
closet.
The closet with the ivory door and the iron gray handle and the lock that only
Pop
has the key to.
I hate that motherfucking closet.
But it’s just another thing ‘round here you gotta face
every
single
day.
I headed past it
down the hall
into my room to wait for
dinner.
*
Late late late
it’s late.
I wake in the black
to the racket
in the air reaching up up
up from
under
me.
Pop’s cursing like a madman
downstairs
high on whiskey no doubt
pacing
like a caged panther I’m
sure
he’s screeching he’s howling I’ll bet he’s
barking through the window at the
moon.
He crashes
glass
he smashes
ceramic
he bashes
Mom too I know.
My clock glares red from my night stand it’s 1:56
a.
m.
My mouth tastes sour.
I lean over the edge of my bed grope for the
neck
of my Bacardi 151. I keep it tucked under the bed for nights like this and they’re pretty much
all
nights like this.
I had some after dinner but obviously I
should’ve
had
more.
I nab it
unscrew
press its cool mouth to mine.
I swallow quick but not quick
enough it’s too
late.
I can’t stop
them I can’t stop the
memories it’s too
late it’s too
late I can’t stop myself
I’m
going
back.
I’m in the closet.
Seven
years old.
It’s dark oh
god it’s so
dark in here it’s so hard to
breathe mashed against all these coats
sweaters
Pop’s uniforms wrapped in
plastic
the smell of moth balls makes me
dizzy
it makes me
sick.
I’m crying coughing choking on
snot I’m trying to
breathe I’m
begging
Please please
please
Pop
let
me
out.
His fists pound the
door loud
hard they’re gonna
bash through the wood they’re gonna
nail
me for sure.
His whiskey breath
snakes
through the cracks.
I lean
back back
back into clothes Pop’s
cold gold buttons
pressing into my
cheek
thank god there’s plastic or my
tears might get on his
uniform and
what
if
they stained?
I pee myself. I can’t
help it it’s warm first so
wet and warm but then it’s
cold.
It wets my underwear and pants but I don’t get it on the floor.
Pop
says, Shut the fuck up or I’ll give it to you good. Pop
says, Better get comfortable.
Pop
says, Next time mind your own goddamn business instead of running up all mommy
mommy
don’t hurt my mommy.
Pop
says, Forget about saving no one but your own sorry ass.
Pop
says, I’m doing you a favor teaching you this
now. The key
clicks
in the lock.
I
drop
from the work of all that
fear and crying and breathing in that moth ball air I
curl on the hard
floor with a gift box left
from Christmas for a pillow and a
cold
wet
leg.
Later
I don’t know how
much
later
the key
clicks
again it wakes me
up. That’s it just that
sound. No talking no
twisting
the handle
no one opens the
door there’s just a
click
and then more
nothing.
I’m so cold I’m
shaking my stomach’s
twisting my head
hurts so
so
but I can’t leave not with all that
nothing
out there
not with all that
quiet
to
face.
I lay here on the closet floor huddling tight against
myself
head bent into a
box
eyes squeezed shut
dizzy I’m so
dizzy and
sick maybe this is how a moth feels when it
breathes those
pukey
balls. I’m so
cold so
sticky I’m
shaking shaking
shaking
but I’m afraid to use a sweater without
asking.
So I lie here with my eyes shut
tight I make a game in my head to block the
hurt
hammering
away inside
hopscotch I play
hopscotch I just keep throwing down the
stick and hopping hopping
hopping
yellow number to
number box to
yellow
box I keep landing throwing hopping landing throwing
hopping hopping
hopping
in this game of hopscotch that don’t
end
and I lie here I
shake I
wait.
Wait for noise ….
I suck down more rum try to lose the
shiver
cree
ping up my
back.
Ten years later it’s like I’m
still
waiting
there in the dark in all that
dead
air still cowering like a wuss still playing
hopscotch
in my head.
I still smell the moth balls I taste my tears and snot I feel the plastic-covered
sleeve
of
Pop’s
shirt
brushing against my skin.
I still hear all that quiet and I’m still so
cold.
I’m still waiting for permission to come out and
breathe
normal again to
come
back
into the
light.
Or maybe
not.
Maybe I been staying in that
closet ‘cause the dark gets
comfortable
when you get
used
to it. In the dark you know things
can’t get
worse
so you can
finally
rest some.
Maybe
it’s the light I been afraid of that it might
beam
straight
down on me just melt me
down
to
nothing.
Not that I was much to begin with.
But tonight
ten years after I peed myself in that closet and
started waiting
tonight something’s happening.
I hear a noise.
Reeking of the Bacardi 151 I’m soaking my
soul
in
I finally hear a voice at the
closet
door.
It’s
Doll.
She’s calling my name.
I remember how
pretty she was by the
water the way the light
sparkled
in her hair and
lit
up
her
eyes.
I remember how
right
I felt with her like one of them
ducks
bobbing across a sunbeam all
along in a row.
God I never thought I could swim in the
sun.
Maybe there
is
a place for me and Doll
out there in the
open.
In the clean open
air with the sun beaming on the water
reflecting
onto
us.
Maybe it’s time to
face
the
light
again.
And maybe just
maybe
I won’t
melt.
Part Two
The Yellow Brick Road
“The next morning the sun was behind a cloud, but they started on, as if they were quite sure which way they were going.
‘If we walk far enough,’ said Dorothy, ‘I am sure we shall sometime come to someplace.’”
—From The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
Four
Dorothy
“So how’s everything going with Joey?” Mom asks as she stands with her spatula, waiting for bubbling pancakes on the griddle to thicken. She’s using her light “shrink” voice but still there’s this edge in the question, this strain in her tone. She flips too soon, and batter splatters.
Dad faces me from across the blue-checkered tablecloth. Head resting in his hands, smile pasted on his face, he’s shrinking me out too as he waits for my answer. His hazel eyes stare wide from behind his wire-framed glasses.