I stand at the front door and hear them fighting. Mary Jane bursts from her pink trailer, holding her face, which is covered in blood. She falls in the drive, and her arm looks broken. She gets up, and Momma lets her in our trailer and helps her to the sofa, where she tends to her wounds. She dabs at the blood and with her scarf makes a sling for the arm. We need to get you to the hospital, she says.
There's bellowing outside. Swaying, Leroy stands with a bottle and a shotgun. He's totally naked except for his dirty socks. I try not to look at Mr. Peen, but I can't help it. I've never seen one. It looks angry like his face. Momma tells me to go to my room, and I run, locking the door. My walls are covered with posters of country singers, but the shelves are bare, because Momma threw out my dolls when I turned twelve. She said I was done being a girl. I was mad at her. Daddy had given me the dolls, but now he was dead. The funeral was last week, and Momma had said some unkind words, revealing his gambling addiction.
I have two secrets in my room. One is the pack of cigarettes I stole from Momma. I take one out now and blow the smoke out the window and fan it with my hands. The other secret is the dolls I managed to hide in my closet: Beans and Buddy. Beans is a girl with blonde curly hair and an attitude. She has blond hair and big blue eyes. I free them from their hiding place and sit them on my dresser. Their eyes shine and are watching my every move. Buddy is dark with bushy eyebrows and black eyes. Their clothes are singed. I make Buddy punch Beans in the face. I make her cry. He drags her by her hair. He bellows, his face twisted. I got them after the girl up the road died in a fire. All the rest were a black mass. I found them later at a yard sale, their clothes burned. When you picked up the girl she said, Where will we go today? The answer is my house, to start a new life. Buddy's voice is a scratchy whisper, destroyed by heat. I can see the flames licking around them, sparing them. I cry for the girl.
Even in my room I can hear the bellowing. Then there's a blast, and I hear the shot hit the side of our trailer. I decide to get out of there. I climb out the window. I take my art kit to paint my fear.
I'll go to Little Jo's. He's 12 like me, but he stopped growing. He has a disease making him fade away. I light a cigarette. My hands are shaking. I go into the field of long grass and wildflowers. I put a flower in my hair, which flows in the breeze. The sky is going on forever. I come upon something, a dead groundhog. Or maybe he's sleeping. I name him Edgar. Edgar, how was your life? Do you have memories? Do you have images in your mind of your wife and babies? Do you have a heaven? Momma says animals don't. You're better off. This world has drunks with guns. They would even shoot you. It's a human thing, killing. We are of both the highest order and the lowest. Edgar, go to your god. He waits. You will eat in Jesus' garden, all his golden fruit. I lay down in the grass next to him, thinking about death. I think of the girl burning. There are terrible ways to die. I want to go in my soft bed in my dreams. I will see Daddy. I picture him in his casket, his sharp nose, his bloodless face. The casket was soft, not so bad. I put a flower on Edgar and continue on.
Down the road is Little Jo's house. His father is rich from taking pictures of the hell in some war. The pictures were in Time Magazine. He had his leg blown off and now has a metal one. Their house is big and white with pillars, their lawn rolling. There are two guard dogs I'm afraid of. Little Jo is on the porch, looking smaller than usual. He's wasting away, and I'm scared. His father is there with a cigarette and a drink, his fake leg gleaming. He grabs me in a creepy way and wheeze laughs. His eyes are funny, crossed from focusing in on close up atrocities. I wonder how I will paint them. If I do, they will hang in some museum. People will stare at the mysterious look. What has he seen? According to Little Jo, he had seen plenty to fuck up his mind. Teenagers shot, women raped, houses burned. He didn't help, just took pictures. I heard he never slept, just walked around the house, probably seeing the babies without mothers, soldiers holding babies with faces scarred from some virus. He walked tapping his fake leg, the smell of death in the air. Sometimes he gets his gun and goes out into the night and shoots into the trees. He waits for the enemy, sometimes all night. If there's a rustle he fires at it.
When Little Jo stands up, I can almost hear his bones break. He gives his father a dirty look. His father says, Hey, did you hear the one about the priest and the horse... We head upstairs to Little Jo's room. What I find is clothes on the floor, rumpled bed, a strange smell, naked women on the wall, a lone fish in scummy water, a stack of Playboys. I sit on the bed, and Little Jo paces. He puts on a disco record and dances wildly, his short legs bowed, arms spasming, body crackling. He's soon out of breath and sits close to me. He's sweating, and his hand in mine is cold and clammy. On the floor there's a dog eared catalog. He opens it to the ladies' underwear and touches himself. What do you think? He says. They have boobs, I say. And he says, Let me see yours. I feel sorry for him, so I lift my white summer dress over my head. I have my bra on over practically nothing, and my panties say Hello Kitty because I am still a girl. He unhooks my bra and gently kisses my small pink nipples. When will you get yours? he says. He tries to smile, but the muscles and nerves of his face are affected. Momma didn't get hers until she was fourteen. I picture Daddy with his face between them, but it's too weird. He says, look at this, and pulls down his pants. I touch the tiny head, and it stands at attention. I think of Leroy's angry one. Little Jo has something to grow into. Wow, I say, and his legs give out, and he's on the floor, his little legs trembling. I put on my dress and help him up. He's limp in my arms. I feel like he is being punished for doing something bad. God is looking down, seeing we are still children.
Little Jo says, Let's go to the river. On the way out, his Daddy stops us. When will you let me take your picture? he says. We head across the meadow and into the trees. The blue sky is infinity, and I wonder if Daddy and Edgar are up there. The sun slices in on us, and we glow gold, as all God's children do. The earth on this worn path is warm under our bare feet. I know Daddy and Momma used to swim in this river, and I picture them diving, laughing, opening their eyes under water to see each other's beauty. On the bank they make love. This is how I was made. I am a child of the river, and I have its emotions, rushing and angry with deep and calm pools. Today we find a pool, take off our clothes and jump in. I float in circles, unable to touch the bottom. We chase the shadows of fish. Soon I discover Little Jo is not around. The pool swirls, pulling him in. Under water I open my eyes and see him flailing. His arms and legs are too weak to swim. I put my arm under his and pull him to shore. I breathe into his mouth until he wakes up. We lay there huffing. Little Jo slides his hand across my belly, which is as smooth as a seal's skin. He runs a shaky hand across my flat chest. My heart pounds against his hand. God would not like this, his innocent children. He pokes my belly button. He moves his hand down to my virgin area. I hold his small erection in my hand. This is a good discovery and also bad. We are only twelve. I think of my parents and about making a baby. I wonder if Little Jo and I will do this someday, but I know he's sick and will be gone.
We don't have towels, so we put our clothes on wet. They stick to us, making my thighs look very thin. Little Jo says he likes that look, and I hope he won't be a pervert like his father. What's his mother like? I know she's quiet. Does she go into his room and tear down the naked ladies? Or does he get away with it because he has a condition to cut his life short? Fuck it, let him enjoy while he can.
We swish through the wildflowers. The sun has slanted, and our long shadows walk before us. A shadow is the only time Little Jo is tall. Something happens to me. Something Momma has warned me about. The cramps stab my belly, and something warm trickles down my leg. I have nothing to stop it. It isn't fair that I'm taken away from girlhood and thrown into womanhood. I can't deal with grownup life, with drunk and horny and violent men, with losing a close friend. I cry, and Little Jo wipes my tears.
When we get back, his daddy is drunk, swaying with his camera. When he sees me with wet dress and hair, his eyes light up. Hey, hey, he says, I sure like the look, Cassie... Before I can do anything, he's circling me like I'm prey, his camera whirring. When he stops to grab my leg, I run, run, run home, the blood reaching my ankles.
Mary Jane's at our place with a suitcase. Momma is having a serious talk. You can stay here, she says. We'll protect you. I whisper something to Mary Jane, and she says, Sure. In the suitcase are Maxi Pads. I smile at her and go to get new panties. My Hello Kittys are soaked! The pad is way too big, so I walk funny. Mary Jane laughs while following me around. Let me blow dry your hair. She brushes it a hundred times, running her fingers through. She is soft, soft. I could be hers. I feel like a child again with the woman left behind. She scratches my head with her long nails. And it feels good, like I'm a dog in another life. I help her put away her stuff in my room. She'll get my bed, and I'll get a Hello Kitty sleeping bag, but I don't care. I'll be a child again. When she puts clothes in my dresser, I can see the bruises on her thin arms, and the cigarette burns. We are keeping her away from him. It feels good to rescue. She gets undressed, and she's thin and covered with bruises. I feel sad about the violence in the world. Her breasts are small with bite marks. He's an animal, I say, She says, I'm sorry you had to see that. But I'm a woman now who can understand. I have my period now. I have pain which makes me understand. I trace her breasts, and she holds me and kisses me on my mouth. Then she cries and says, This is what I really am. I don't mind, I say. I like it. Our bodies press together, and Momma comes in and almost catches us. Find everything? She says. I think, Boy have I found something.
Momma makes dinner, and I've never seen anyone eat like Mary Jane. She wolfs it down and barely chews. Leroy eats all our food, she explains. He wants me thin so he can throw me around. Your food is wonderful. I look at her beauty, and I need it. Am I a boy or a girl? Later Mary Jane slips on her nightie. It is short. There are bruises on her legs. She gets into my bed with my two rescued dolls. I get into my sleeping bag with the lights off. Later she cries in her sleep, her legs running. I turn on the light and slip in next to her. I hold her in my arms. I'm shaking. I slide a hand under her nightie, feel her breasts, soft with hard nipples. My own little ones tingle. There's a warm explosion in my belly. She moans in her sleep. I put my head on her smooth belly and trace the raised scars. She has been stabbed. I cry, and my tears pool in her belly button, and I put my finger in it. My confusion lingers.
I wake up before her and make eggs and bacon. Momma's on the couch, where she sleeps now because she found Daddy dead in their bed. The TV's on. It's always on. I touch her shoulder, and she startles and says, I just had the most scary dream. There was a man with an angry face tapping at the window. I know it wasn't a dream. He wants to kill us. After we eat, we go out to see the bullet holes under my window. We shiver. Hand in hand we go barefoot through the meadow. With our white flowing dresses, we are twins and lovers. Our blonde hair tickles our eyes. I put a flower in her hair. We come upon Edgar, and she cries. I tell her it's alright, that he's in animal heaven. I know what she's afraid of is death by Leroy, that he'll dump her naked body here, with a knife in her chest and a flower in her hand as his calling card. I yank her away, and we run, down the path and into the trees where we are safe. The trees are old and their shadows long. I think of all the time they've seen, all the people heading for the river. We walk over the soft moss until we come to the river. It's angry today over all the hurt in the world, wants to heal it with its ancient water. We strip and jump in, and we're like infants, baptized and washed from all the things we have done on this day. The current is strong, and we cling to each other, swept away. We go under, and with my open eyes I see her streaming hair, her pallor, and I don't want to die, I want to spend my life with her.
When we get out, we lie on a boulder heated by the sun. We spread our hair out, our bodies glistening like we have grown diamonds. We hold each other, listening to the song of the river, and we fall asleep. Mary Jane's feet run, and I wonder where she's going, if it's to a safe world. Her eyes are wide and green. I want to get lost in them, to know how to be a woman, how to live and love. There are secrets there. There is pain.
When we get back, the police are there. They have Leroy on the ground in cuffs. Seems he had shot up his trailer and then pointed the gun at the cops. We watch them take him away. Mary Jane has a small smile and a tear I wipe with a sleeve. It's only a human thing, to feel joy and sadness at the same time. My Daddy told me that one. Mary Jane says, My parents paid for that trailer. I wanted a pink one. He won't be back, will he? That's fucking right, I say. I've never used that word. I don't even know what it means. But I want to use it as much as possible.
Momma says we're going out to dinner, to celebrate. We get on flowery dresses. Mary Jane used to work at Boscovs, so she has a whole case of makeup. She does us up, even with red lipstick. I don't think Momma will like this version of me. But I will remind her I'm a woman now. The dolls are gone, and my period is here. I won't tell her I love a woman. Fuck yes, I say, posing in the mirror. Where did you hear that word? she says. From Daddy. I say. FUCK THIS should be written on his headstone.
We go to Luigi's, my favorite. I order spaghetti, Momma the fish, Mary Jane a burger. She chows down, wanting to hurt it, a desperate hunger. Someone passes by, and it's Little Jo and his daddy. His Daddy has a camera, and he gets in some pictures of me before I duck under the table. Mary Jane yells, Get out of here! Yeah, I say, FUCK YOU! Momma says, Mary Jane! But she smiles a little, because now I'm a woman and it can't be taken back.
Momma pays, and we sneak out, almost laughing. That man, she says. All he does is sit in that big house and take pictures. Back when I was a beauty, he wanted to take naked pictures of me. Your Daddy liked to have killed him. She shakes her head.. The thing is, she's still a beauty. She has no gray and her neck is long and slender. What is it with men? says Mary Jane, and I say, Yeah, who needs them? Mary Jane looks at me secretly, and I say, They're all FUCKERS! Momma laughs.
Momma says, I have a surprise. We're going to the mall to get you all some new things. Dresses and such. You'll look like models. We go into Boscovs, and people look at us. Yes, we're like beautiful triplets. As we're trying on dresses, I again look at Mary Jane's bruises. She will not have any more. When we get home, I will kiss them tenderly. With Daddy's life insurance, we get shoes, purses. Walking out with our heavy bags, I feel proud.
At home we put on different dresses and look in the mirror. We both have our hair up. I think it makes me look chic. Then we forget the dresses. We strip and stand with our bare bellies pressed together. It's wrong and dangerous. We hear Momma blaring the TV. Mary Jane takes my hand and guides it to her secret place. She moves it slowly and then faster until her legs quiver and she cries out. Momma turns up the TV. I take her hand then and move it over my area, which has just grown its dark hair, until I feel the warm explosion deep inside. Momma is at the door asking to borrow Mary Jane's red dress. We cover our mouths and laugh quietly. We are wild and unleashed. Our hearts are as one, strong and young and dangerous. Mary Jane takes off my makeup, and sadly I'm back to being plain. She takes my hair down and says she likes me better that way. She kisses me gently.
Because I'm a woman now, full of understanding and bravery and grace, I decide to forgive Little Jo's daddy. He wanted me to paint his portrait. Make it proud, he once said. So I grab my art kit and easel and head over there. I'm not sure how he'll receive me, but he acts like nothing happened between us. He sits erect in his chair on the lawn, eyes wide, chin up, steely hair blowing gently in the breeze. I set up my stuff as he happily hums a war song. I can see where it's going already, and I'm sad to find I'm still part child. I paint him as a clown, hair sticking up straight, eyes weeping, nose big and red, chin monstrous. He's hitting his head with the fake leg. When he sees what I have done, he stomps and rips it with his metal leg, destroying it. His neck veins stand out, so I gather my stuff and hightail it down the lawn. He screams and gives chase, his leg pulling up grass. But he can't catch me, and soon I'm on the road home.
When I get back to the trailer, I'm out of breath, but laughing. Mary Jane asks me what I was up to, and I tell her what I'd done, how I thought I could be mature and do a serious piece. She laughs. A clown? That's what he gets. Ha, ha. I say, He may come up here. I'm here, she says, holding up a thin bruised fist.
We have our version of sex every night, Momma blaring the TV, and wake up tangled like vines.
Momma takes Mary Jane out to breakfast. I don't feel so well, like something's going to happen.
Little Jo calls me on the phone. He has something to show me. Wear a nice dress. My parents are not here. I head over and find Little Jo in a wheelchair. He rolls down the hall to greet me. He has a Polaroid camera in his lap. There's a blanket on his legs like an old man.He takes my picture, and we watch it develop. He takes pictures of me all over the house, in various stages of dress, ending up on the kitchen table, naked. He goes for my leg, and I push him. He tears up and rolls away. I chase him. I'm sorry, I say. I love someone else. He revs up and purposely smashes into the wall and hits his head. He tips over backwards and just lays there. I try to wake him up, but he won't. I call 911 and get dressed.. When the medics arrive, they shine a light in his eyes, take his blood pressure, lift his breaking bones onto a stretcher. It's the sound that makes me sick. His face is red and bunched as in pain.
The next day I get a call from Little Jo's mother. He's taken a turn for the worse, now on a breathing machine. Mary Jane drives me, a little too fast. Our cigarette ashes get in our eyes because the top is stuck halfway down and keeps grinding. She parks, and we run. Her cheeks are flushed and beautiful. We find his room, and he looks so little in the bed. We watch his birdlike chest go up and down. The doctor says they don't exactly know what it is. A breakdown of the bones and nerves. I hold his cold hand, rub it to make it warm. I cry, and Mary Jane rubs my shoulders. Little Jo, I whisper, but he doesn't respond. I say, Remember our time at the river? It could heal you.Think of the day we swam, think of that brisk pool and promises we made, dreams that you will grow and grow old. He looks like an old man with a pale waxy face, the loose tendons of his neck. I make a bargain with God, that I will stop doing what I'm doing with Mary Jane, squash the love. I will only love him. I'm sorry for pushing him away, sorry for his crashing.
When it's time to leave Mary Jane reaches for my hand, but I pull away. She says I understand that you're upset. I pushed him away, I say. But he has this condition, she says. It's not your fault.
His Daddy arrives then, taking pictures. It's so wrong. With a pervy smile he whirls and takes one of me. We run out of there.
At the river Mary Jane starts to strip, but I say, It's wrong. We shouldn't have done this. But I love you, she says. The sun bursts through and lights us like nymphs. We walk in the water, getting healed. Birds chirp at us, twigs in their beaks. Life goes on.
Days later Little Jo is gone. I stand in the back at the wake, not wanting to see him. Mary Jane holds my hand, and I let her. As a woman I accept his fate and ours. I feel an overwhelming love for her, more than I did before. I need her to show me the way. I'm confused.
At home we return to the river. We take off our clothes and lay on the boulder. Her bruises are fading now, and I touch them, reading the scars like braille, the story of her life. We caress each other in the sun, two confused women who have entered another plane. I don't know what will become of us. Will desire stay with us, or will it fall to time and change? I just don't know. We hold our clasped hands to the sky, ready for what will come.
