Giving Shit

Edward Julian Watson kissed like a frog, gapping wide-open mouth and all tongue; long enough to lick the back of her molars. It made Becki wonder why she even bothered to kiss him at all. It always came back to the fact that Becki felt she had to kiss him; no matter how she reasoned it.
Edward Julian Watson was always asking Becki out on dates.
“Becki, I would like to take you to the turtle race down at the Farmers Market this Saturday.”
“Becki, there is a King Arthur festival at the edge of town. How does Tuesday night sound?”
Something about the places he offered to take her always sounded charming to her ears, although she always had to ask him twice what he said. Edward Julian Watson was a meek sort of man, despite the fact he was over six feet tall. Edward Julian Watson spoke like a mouse, although he did not look like one.
Edward Julian Watson liked wearing brown ties. Most often Edward Julian Watson wore these brown ties with yellow shirts.
Edward Julian Watson also sold television sets. On the corner of East and Main, in a little shop he owned and named, Star TV. And the reason why Edward Julian Watson was always asking Becki to all sorts of weird places was because she worked next door to his television shop at the Almost At The Corner Bookstore. Becki did not own this establishment.
It was because Edward Julian Watson never once asked her to go bowling with him, that Becki would always say yes when he asked her out on these dates.
Edward Julian Watson believed that Becki loved him.

After every date, he would park his car in the back driveway of the boarding house Becki rented a room in and after every date, sitting in his blue Datsun, Becki would ask if he wished to come upstairs and after every date, sitting in his blue Datson, with a shit-eating grin on his face, Edward Julian Watson would open up his car door without answering her query.
And after every date, sitting in his blue Datsun, Becki would open up her own door herself.
They would be quiet while they walked up the dark wooden stairwell and into the pale green room with pictures of yellow flowers on the wall. A bed and a blue chair and room for little else.
And Edward Julian Watson would always grab her, swinging her up and onto his lap, as he sat himself into the blue chair. Thinking his manhood probing at her through his pants made her wild with the passions animals owned.
It never did.
Until this night.
On this night, Edward Julian Watson had taken her to a grocery store for oranges and then to a movie. Police Academy.
On this night, sitting on the lap of Edward Julian Watson, Becki felt she had no breath in her, after only a moment of kissing him; like the wind had been knocked from her.
On this night, she pulled herself away from him and looked towards a wall.
“What?” Edward Julian Watson said.
And she turned her head back towards him and smiled.
“Nothing,” she replied, for she had caught her breath, quite effortlessly.
Becki then leaned forward to kiss him another time and quickly found over again, that she could not gulp back a taste of air if she tried. She felt warm between her thighs, a tingle that caused a gentle stirring up in her belly. She needed to pull her lips away from him again, but she did not, for it seemed suddenly Edward Julian Watson kissed very well, indeed. Becki knew her senses must be clouded.
Because she was wondering if perhaps she did love Edward Julian Watson.
And Edward Julian Watson was wondering why he had never went to law school.

Punks-On Friday

3:33 p.m.

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
The stairwell was warm with brown carpet and cream walls.
The stairwell was warm with the smell of piss. Three year old boys on their playground and grown men with even less sense of themselves.
Minnie and Krystal sat on the second step of the first floor, so they had time to move if anyone needed up or down the stairs of the five-story apartment building.
Minnie and Krystal were on LSD.
"This sucks. I am high and this sucks," said Krystal, rubbing at her hair, head bent and sighing. "Amber is taking forever. Let's get outta here."
"No," Minnie said. "Amber paid for the acid. I'm waiting for her."
"Well, I am not,” Krystal wore her scowl, stood up , patting her legs, her purple jeans. "Maybe I'll go find Micky and Tommy."
"Have fun," Minnie smiled up at her. bitch...
Krystal smiled back at Minnie, too; and then she left.

4:36 p.m

Minnie and Amber had been friends since fifth grade.
They were walking downtown. They were loud and laughing, sometimes stopping on the sidewalk, to laugh so hard; knees bent inward. They laughed at the boy making pizza in the window of the take-out only place. He had a big nose. They laughed at the cracks in the sidewalk. They laughed at purple polka dots. They sang White Zombie lyrics, louder than their laughter.
“Look!” Amber pointed and into the alleyway behind the pizza place, hard packed brown earth and stone, they chased a black cat. Reasoned that it must be proof that they were witches. Because the cat’s eyes had flashed green. And they had long a go sworn to be known as the The Emerald Eye Witches.
They did not catch the cat. It slipped between gray dumpster and brick wall. The cat could not be coaxed to come out.
Minnie and Amber decided to look for some boys to chase instead.
This idea made them laugh more.

5:20p.m.

They were walking passed the pizza place again, almost to the shoe store, when Minnie noticed someone walking by them.
"Hey, Samantha,” Minnie sneered, and continued walking, then she stopped and looked back towards Samantha and her pretty blue dress walking away.
"Slut," Minnie said, loudly. "Samantha is a slut."
Samantha stopped walking and turned around; surprise.
"Samantha is a slut. Samantha is a slut. Samantha is a slut,” Minnie chanted, and then dissolved into giggles.
So did Amber.
Samantha's face crept red. She did not know what to say; her head filled with sharp confusion.
And then Amber said, "I hear you like it up the ass, little girl."
And the two girls laughed at again. Only louder. And began to chant

samantha is a slut
samantha is a slut

Samantha could feel something rising in herself, she could feel it rising in her bones and tickling the inside of her skin; causing fear. It rose to her throat, as Minnie started stepping towards her. She did not know what to do.

samantha is a slut
samantha is a slut

Samantha could suddenly feel Minnie’s breath on her face. And then Minnie pushed her. Samantha stumbled back, but kept her footing. White Keds scuffed from the sidewalk.
Minnie pushed her again and this time, Samantha felt herself go backwards and the scrapping of sidewalk on the backs of her thighs. She pushed herself along the ground, backwards, moving away from Minnie
As Minnie took a single step towards her, a single tear came down Samantha’s face.
Samantha had never called anyone a bitch before. "You're a witch!" she squawked and barely said. Tears came streaming down her face.
But Minnie just smiled and laughed at her.
"Tell everyone," she said, and then to Amber, "Let's go."
"I hear you suck that dick after it has been up your ass, too, you little slut, Samantha," Amber said, turning to follow Minnie, but she kept her eyes on Samantha.
Amber and Minnie laughed at that, too, but then they were walking away.
And Samantha still did not know what to do.

11:09 p.m.

"Sometimes, I love you so much, I would kill for you," Minnie said, then she hung-up the white phone back on the kitchen wall.
“You better not be on that phone, Miranda,” her father’s voice, loud and always angry from the living room.
“Fuck you,” she whispered to herself.
“No, Daddy,” she answered him, and then went downstairs to her room.

Wish You Were Here

"Bisakah anda bicara... english?"
The words slow and broken as they were read. She saw kind eyes pleading towards her and somewhat desperate.
"I speak inglis little," she replied.
She saw relief flow into this bright haired and blue eyed mystery. She let her eyes drop down then traced them up slowly over the sandled feet, on past the curve of hips in the soiled kakis and up to the roundness of her breasts.
At last, it was the cool white V of flesh peaking from the unbuttoned collar of her shirt that held them.
A hand was placed on her shoulder.
"Today, you will be my saviour."
Her eyes looked up into the blue. "My name Onahjay," and she placed her fingers on top of the hand.
The blue eyes looked over her new friends dirty rags and swollen belly, wondering why in the streets so late.
"Can I call you Jay?"
The two stood looking at each other for a while.
There was nothing else really to say.

Punks-A Tuesday

Minnie was 14. She liked wearing bright red lipstick and getting high.
“Walk me home after school,” she offered Tommy, as she passed him in the corridor, bumping him with her elbow. She was on the way to her history class.
He watched, as she walk away, in her skirt; black, red and white plaid. Her hips straight.
Blue sneakers squeaking down the hallway.

Tommy waited for her after last class, looking tall, leaning against her locker. She liked how he looked in his blue jean jacket. When it was warm weather, Tommy would roll the cuffs up, but it was the first week in October.
“Have you missed me today, Tommy?” she asked him.
Tommy wished he knew what to say to her, but he hardly ever did.
Tommy shrugged his shoulders and looked away from her.
He noticed Mick walking out of the front doors of the school with Melanie Atkins.

It was quiet. Minnie and Tommy glanced at each other sometimes, as they passed the joint between themselves. They sat on the bleachers overlooking the never used ball diamond. The blank park space. Slides and swings and wood faded from sun. Trees on all sides, blocking them in.
Minnie could see the weeds and wet dirt of the earth, when she looked down. She tapped the wood from the bleachers beneath her feet; they were pointed inwards. She was letting out Aerosmith lyrics sometimes.

...Sloe gin fizzy
Do it till you’re dizzy
Give it all you got until you’re put out of your misery...

"Maybe I will buy a guitar," Minnie smiled at him, moving her head to her own music.
“Why does Billy-Boy give you pot all the time?” Tommy asked her all of a sudden. Abrupt. He needed to know.
She stopped moving and looked at him.
“I let him touch my boobs,” she whispered, then she dropped her eyes.
“What? Really?” Tommy demanded. Hand up through his own hair.
“No,” she said and then she laughed at him.
Tommy wanted to hurt something suddenly and his hand was still on his head, so he let it drop to his lap, before he punched his own skull. He looked away from her, again. Speechless, again. He was scared he would never have anything to say to her.
He looked up at the sun.
Her hand brushed his arm a moment later.
“We can make-out, if you want,” Minnie offered.
What the fuck? Tommy thought as he turned towards her, looking for her lips between black dots given from the sun. What the fuck is the matter with me?
Minnie kissed Tommy for five minutes, before she stopped and moved away from him, wrapping her arms around herself.
“I gotta go,” she said. “Daddy will be home early tonight.”
And she hopped up to her feet. She turned and walked down along the foot rail. Straight as a cigarette, and she never looked back.
Tommy decided he would not go home yet.
He wondered if Mick was done with Melanie.

Minnie walked down the side of the road by herself; almost home. The school bag on her back was empty and red and wrinkling in.
She did not notice the white car coming towards her, until it slowed down.
"Hey, Minnieeee. Wanna ride?" Darren Johnson leaned out of the back passengers side window. Minnie looked over at the car and noticed the others inside. She kept on walking.
The driver was Paul Ritcher, all gunk and braces when he smiled. She turned her eyes away from the car.
"Wanna suck our dicks, too?" laughed Paul.
Minnie lifted her arm, as she walked on. She gave them the finger.
They made kissing sounds and laughed.
"You could have at least said please, fuckface..." Darren's voice, almost out of earshot; and the smell of dirty exhaust in Minnie’s nose and on her skin.
Maybe I'll get my nose pierced, too, she thought to herself.

Light My Fire

Shifting

I love Sunday Nights. I try to leave them free whenever I can.
Sunday Nights are the nights I stay up until I do not want to. 3 A.M. at the very least.
Because I hate Mondays. I do everything and anything I want to do for myself on Sunday Nights.
I may or may not answer my phone.
Because I may be in the bathtub for two hours.
Or doing crosswords.
Or might be in the land of fairies.
Or Waterfalls.
I have as much fun as I can on Sunday Nights because I hate Mondays.

The place where I go Everyday has recently requested a required change to my daily hours.
Quite lovely of the people in charge, I thought, when I saw my new hours for the first time.
But I am not going to complain because I am fairly new there.
And because of Mondays.
I do not have to arrive at my Everyday until two in the afternoon on Mondays.
And I hate Mondays.
This is pretty cool, I thought, out loud. I can do things on Mondays. Like sleep!
You don't even like to sleep-in, The Voice had answered me.
It is still rather like telling Mondays to fuck off, don’t ya think? I had asked.

But it is Sunday Night now. My new hours start tomorrow.
And I have the some sort of disease that made me vomit more than 14 times last night.
Man, I feel like shit.
But sleep is fun, right?
Especially when you can do it until noon, says The Voice. He laughs.
And I just ignore The Voice because sometimes The Voice is so stupid.
I will be ready for coffee again way before that.

The Gift

An Hour in Time
1957

In the front window of the abandoned dime store, a faded to pink advertisement, barely read and selling soda pop. The wooden sign above the front window, proclaimed the store's name. Nutbeems.
Not so much known for its cheap bottles of Coca-Cola, as for other its other deals. Once upon a time, there had been a lovely wares department in the upstairs of the store.
Brother and sister had found the tree house when they were five and six years old, respectively. It was located behind the back of the dime store; left alone long before their discovery of it.
Leading up to a boarded window on the second floor of the building, was nothing more than thin, little wooden steps and a platform with thin, little railings. Steps missing, bending in wind and winter, the escape route had endured years among the stink of the other businesses, but empty.
Six year olds do not often care for history, but for imagination. It was a tree house to them.
Of course, sixteen year olds do not often care for history, either.

Marcie had decided since she was walking home alone, that she would take the long way. The decision had made her happy. It had rained enough that early September afternoon, that the world felt green and alive, as she walked. The city was feeling fresh. Fat raindrops on everything, hanging and falling with a plop everywhere. Marcie usually walked home from school with Linda. But Linda had needed help with her Algebra and had stayed after class to be tutored by Mr. Harper. Funny, balding little man and a math teacher, too.

Along her walk, Marcie stopping to talk to Caroline, working behind the counter of her father's flower shop. A bouncy blonde baby with curls, sitting on the red and white blanket spread across the floor, with no flowers within arms reach.
"She is so adorable," Marcie saying, as always and with a smile; placing two books on the counter, as Caroline came out from behind it.
Marcie and Caroline hug. And as they do, Marcie whispers, "Johnny asked me out."
Caroline pulling back. Caroline looking at Marcie. Caroline always without lip gloss and looking old these days.
"What of Debbie?" Caroline had asked.
"They broke up last week," Marcie, with smiles.
"This week," Caroline had said, after a moments pause.

But even all of that had not brought down the life found in the still grey skies after rain; the sun just starting to poke through, as Marcie had stepped herself outside Mr. Jenning's flower store. Marcie had decided to stop at the tree house on her way home. She had not been there in awhile. The slight breeze felt nice running across her ankles as she walked down the street.
She wanted to spend time thinking of Johnny and his wet kisses.

The rock, of the ally way she slipped behind, was wet. Loose pebbles slid into her sandals, pieces smooth enough not to make her stop.
The rain masked the usual smell of garbage.
Marcie was happy she had brought her jacket to school with her that morning. The afternoon was not cool enough that she needed to wear the jacket, but she could sit on it and not get her dress dirty.
She looked up, as she approached the tree house. Patches of blue seeping through the grey clouds.
Chetney was sitting up in the tree house and Marcie stood still.
Chetney was pouring the tomato soup from the Thermos Mom had packed for his lunch, over the edge; arm stuck out from railing.
She wanted to say his name, but Chetney was undoing his pants.
She moved quietly, but too fast, behind garbage. Marcie's foot slid and she followed to the ground.
Her sandal caught something.
Glass dragging through her foot and blood right away.
"Child, does your Momma even know you are here?"
The voice from behind her back and she turned, hand over the blood.
William was coming out of the back door of the bakery. Two loaves of warm bread; whiter behind his hands.
Marcie looked down at her own hand. Blood running on the back of her palm. A thermometer stuck into her foot.
"Oh, no," she heard William say.
Then he was handing her the bread.
"Now you be careful with those, too," he said. "I am going to pull this outta yo' foot."
Marcie looked away from her foot and William.
Up into the tree house.
To Chetney coming down the stairs slowly, finger to lips.
Marcie felt William grasp the thermometer and she closed her eyes.

The Sun Sets At 9

Nine Years Old

The backyard was such a waste. Looking at it often made Tommy empty with thought. Nothing could be found for pretending with the uneven ground and the sad patches of grass and stone. The tree; short with pale bark. The fence line weeds.
Tommy wished just once that they could move to somewhere with a nice backyard, so he could have some fun.
...but somethings never change, Tommy thought and felt grown-up, as he sat on the old wooden porch. It was painted red; flaking and all of the little pieces seemed to be pricking and sticking into his skin. He would brush at the blonde hair on the back of his leg often.
The air tasted bitter, dirty.
A fat rain drop landed on his colouring book. And then another. Enough to see through to the traces on the next page.
He looked towards the kitchen window. The square patch of light. He could see the clock. It made Tommy noticed the lightbulb stuck, jutting out of the wall beside the backdoor for the first time; the soft yellow glow. Rain landing on his skin.
He could not go inside.
Because Momma had told him to wait outside.
And Tommy was too tired to know why, so he had waited outside.
But now the rain was making him itchy and he was digging, digging at his leg.
Tommy left his colouring book with blue marker running fat and slow across the pages and he went and opened the backdoor. The gold handle was loose. He was careful and then he was in the yellow kitchen, hand on the other side of the doorknob.
"Tommorow," a deep voice filtering from the living room. "You are fucking sitting here telling me tommorow?" Louder.
"Oh, come on, boys," Momma's voice. "We can work something out."
"Oh, yeah?" another man's voice asked. "Are we going to work something out like last time?"
Tommy walked back out the door when Momma giggled. He did not try to be quiet.
Tommy walked around the block.
Five times.

Tommy walked into the house. Front door into the living room.
He saw the brown glass on the floor and close to the wall, across the room.
He saw Momma, when he closed the door.
Yellow dress.
Blue bruising already.
Her underwear around her ankles and blood drying on her lips.
Tommy was tired of Momma making him feel sick.
He turned away from her and looked out the living room window. The stars against the dark sky were the same white as Momma's legs. He turned back around. He stepped over her.
And Tommy went to bed for the night.