Socio 4ee41

SOCIO

Alyse Quisenberry

Copyright © 2012 by Alyse Quisenberry.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012918508 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4797-2725-4 Softcover 978-1-4797-2724-7 Ebook 978-1-4797-2726-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

To order additional copies of this book, : Xlibris Corporation 1-888-795-4274 www.Xlibris.com [email protected] 123840

Contents

Personify me

Reckless and Wild, Fighting and Falling

Silly Girl

Would You

Make Believe

Until the Sun Comes Up

“I Want to be Your”

Meaning Goodbye

Your Fairytale Games

High

Everything About Me

Just One Day

Right Mind with an Itch for Regret

Daddy Would Have

Just the Same

Personify me

Let’s stay right here tonight, creating symbolism in words we speak and personifying our love. We can keep our hearts racing, like the wind right before a storm. We can take things real slow, like turtles pacing their ways to the finish line. We can crash into one another, like the tidal waves right at sunset, Or we can rest on the current, Like sleeping otters, holding hands tight. Let’s stay longer than tonight, so symbolism keeps flowing through our voices, And we can see love personified.

Reckless and Wild, Fighting and Falling

what it is like to feel this young? To be reckless like ships abandoned by their captains, Impulsive as wind picking up speed on a scorching day, Fighting like brothers and sisters throughout a trip, what it is like to feel this? what it is like? ? . To be wild like waves during a storm, Spontaneous as breakfast in bed from a loved one, Falling for a best friend that becomes more. .

Silly Girl

Such a silly girl, with dreams you think too far. and an imagination you believe too strong. Here you are hiding your skin and scars. breathing shallow, as to not make a noise. hair in your face and eyes smudged dark. faking laughter and forcing smiles wide. But, silly girl, there’s gloss over your eyes, from keeping everything bottled up, as if no one has wronged you. Pretending like nothing hurts. Carrying on, one day strong and one day weak, Such a silly girl, for giving up on yourself.

Would You

What if I asked you to be my hero? Would you laugh in my face or snicker loud enough to make me shutter? What if, in return, I promised to stay in your heart? Listened to you and loved you no matter what. I know it sounds outrageous, completely mental, but what if this isn’t crazy at all? What if you stopped looking through window eyes and came up to me, and saw everyone that has stumbled into my life, and all the quirks and mannerisms that come with me? What if it was not too shabby? Would you stay? Would you be my hero? What if I asked, maybe then? Possibly? What if I never asked you at all? Would you walk into my life and want to stick around?

Make Believe

Believing in love never came easy, but maybe if we hold each other’s eyes with our own and keep our faces especially close and let our fingers skim over smooth skin, Maybe then we can pretend. Pretending these words mean something never came easy,

but if we make believe these actions as truth, that our tones are real, then believing is no longer so hard. Letting ourselves open up never came easy, but we can imagine we already have something grand, then pretending is no longer so hard. Unraveling to a vulnerable state never came easy. but, in fact, there is no but about it, then pretending gets hard again. Falling apart from each other never came easy. The pretending becomes too much,

then believing in love gets hard again.

Until the Sun Comes Up

Take my heart and bury it deep in your cupped fists. Fight for my name; it is not too many to bare. Take every kiss that I give; They are there only for you. Hold my hand in yours and bump heads with mine. This night only lasts until the sun comes up so why not slow things down? Wait till sunrise to fall asleep; Nights like these never happen enough.

“I Want to be Your”

I want to be your heavy booze. I want to be your tempting woos. I want to be your scuffed shoes that trip you in the race, to see you lose. I want to be your night mare. I want to be your mixture in your lair. I want to be your longing prayer, that you just can’t forbear. I want to be your haunting ghost. I want to be your coax. I want to be your cancer diagnosed too late for any sort of approach. I want to be your favorite song Just to do you so, so wrong. I want to be your drug of choice to be the one to choke up your voice.

Meaning Goodbye

These smirks are all around me. They are constantly brainwashing. And that is how I know. It is time to leave. Drive away like Road Runner speeds. Get out before I have time to change my mind. No one to cause restless nights tonight, I’ll be long gone. Leaving now on the first flight to far, far away. With a smile, I say goodbye to old consequences, And hello to new dreams. No more regrets to follow me now. All it took was a few simple farewells.

Your Fairytale Games

You brush hair out of my eyes with a slick razor blade. You choke me down against stained sheets with bittersweet lyrics, Forming from dahlia, chapped lips and cheap, peppermint teeth. Your voice of an angel, the sound of security bewitched me. Your practice has paid off: you snatched up my attention, Keeping me from eyeing anyone carrying a “Once Upon a Time.” You grab at my fresh meat like I’m an animal on the loose. You hold too strong to my flesh keeping me bound, strangled even, As if keeping me ensnared is how I’ll which way is “Home.” You’ve got a plan of action, this game you play, memorized to routine. You’ve pushed my sweet nothings with no digression, Creating a regretful, shameful ache in my own quivering arteries. You drag me along; a puppet strung; inflicting ideas like you’ll carry me home, Bittersweet home robbed of any “They lived happily ever after’s.”

High

One moment a heated heart lingering among clouds with lungs smothered in milky smog. Another followed by a wondering mind, dilating; re-dilating, burning memories into ideas. Never a lesson learned, but a teaching to be obtained, iring the days of emotional desertion. The kids taught themselves dusty air leads to wilder adventures, complete irrational behavior, But the kids got themselves confused, opening the gates, releasing new beings from captivity. Overstretching their brains to hash; burying their hearts into chipping, infected shells. One moment a raw cheek, chewed through to peer in at jittery muscles crusted with anxiety. Another followed with twitching fingers and buckling knees, quivering like tear stained hysteria. Uniformed like a phase, but symptoms are never ending, Dragging out each upper and lower. One moment or the other, no matter anymore, the kids brought life to a constrained sense of the world. Either moment turned into every moment, but the kids would never imagine another existence.

Breaking into brains; stealing souls from a cracking era; burning bridges, voices of songs. Transforming boys into cars, racing to a pick me up, Diminishing girls into dolls, too tame to speak up. One moment existing feels more like living; like a new gadget, the kids created a something sealed fresh. Another followed with pricked eyes, spoken regretful words, and shaken demeanors of now big kid faces.

Everything About Me

You were never one to watch the way I moved or care too much about what words I had spoken; So gloss I’d seen through cat eyes didn’t mean a thing to you, but when I made the choice to stay, you made room. This was just another mistake confirmed by your silence; Compensating, I pushed unstable breathing back down my cottony throat, Compressed exploited, tender lips to the bottoms of barbed, rigid teeth, Kept consciousness of overworked, irate muscles that bumped back, and clamped lids shut enough to create a pounding on my brain. With a hunched spine held shaking against frozen air, Clutching bent knees and broken toes, you distanced your stickily limbs. Whimpers of a shredded dignity and a fragile heart, I couldn’t mask. Tension dilating and exasperation fatiguing our patience, but deliberate shyness and unspoken words kept hatred harbored. Leaky, squinted eyes, unavoidable sniffling, and a headache the morning after was what it took for my head to realize what my heart was too blind to see. You hate me, just me, for me and everything that goes along with me.

Just One Day

Dedicated to Amanda C.

One day, I got extra close. To what you may ask? Well, it’s a little hard to hold on to, but keep up if you can. I got really close, really fast. Too fast some would say, but that’s just something someone came up with that sounds more believable than real feelings. Life wasn’t always so wishy-washy though. At one point it was really beautiful in fact, magical even. I’ll stop beating around the bush… It started with her.

It was late spring, and the sun was especially out. I could feel it blistering my skin to a “pinched cheek” pinky color. She had bought me a lovely pastel dress that made me want to spin in the wind. The hem tickled my thighs, but I stuck it out, for it truly was such a lovely dress. It became an even lovelier afternoon. With time ticking one Mississippi second a heartbeat, we grew closer.

We spent the next four weeks only in each other’s arms. She grabbed at my sides when she wanted a kiss. It made my heart flutter; she had a habit of pushing all her hair to one side before she would clutch my hand as if she was terrified it’d fly away in the breeze that picked up every now and again. Our mutual friends would tell us we were inseparable, that we’d get married even. It all seemed so right, so perfect, so at home, finally.

Fall came and went and I and the enchanting girl I once knew so well were happier than ever. I’ll never forget the promise she made me. “I’ll never let you leave my heart, maybe my head momentarily, but never my heart.” I believed in those words with all of my being. Nothing could tear us apart now. We would

always have each other. At least… that’s what I believed until that one bitterly cold winter night. That night changed everything, but mostly that night changed our hearts.

It broke us at first.” We” was no longer what flowed from our lips. It was only me. It was only her. I read somewhere that true love never dies, that true love waits forever, but forever seemed to be cut short this time around. Thinking of the next time we would speak and see one another too quickly turned into barely making it through a day completely alone. More than just miles separated us now; more than just air took us away from the once clutched hands. It was strange though because I felt her everywhere I stepped. Every breath I took she breathed into me. I was alone, but she was still here.

The pavement made imprints just below her left green eye, on the hill of her cheekbone. The bruises were sleeves to her arms and her chest bone… It caved in, right at the center. It was the same place where she would hold my own hand against it. “Can you feel it? It’s beating really fast and slow at the same time… I’m not sure how, but it does it every time I’m around you.” I ed her smile just then. The memory held on too tight though, clutched my head too snug. The tears leaked down my face dropping into shaking hands.

I read somewhere if it’s meant to be it’ll happen no matter the situation. With “us” vanished, “we” left to disappear, this was what I had to keep my thought company. That wasn’t enough for me. I needed more. I needed her. The beating in my chest became more of a chore than a thrill. My memories turned into monsters to scare me awake in the middle of the night, but after some time the sobbing turned into sniffling every now and again and again on occasions. My heart told me it would get better one day. One day. That’s all it would take. One moment in that day was all it would take to be spinning in that tickly dress clutching hands once again.

Right Mind with an Itch for Regret

Another day has gone by, untouched still. How long has it been? Two? Three days? The itching under my skin beats me to those magical moments. Neighbors, co-workers, strangers even see the issue lingering in my eyes. They all talk their meaningless chit-chat about it. They say things like, “Oh poor Mr. Ricky. He’s never been right in the head.” They don’t understand what I have to go through on a daily basis.

Every time I walk by that wooden cabinet I think, “Just a couple more. Just to get me through the family reunion coming up, I can hide that from them; just a dose for work tomorrow. No one there will notice a change in body language, moving boxes from truck to store, store to truck. I’ll just have one more, and I won’t tell a soul. No one will know.” I scream till my temples pulsate with rage. That damn itching! Everything I say just keeps reminding me. I could easily slip back to live that life once more.

So I curse that wooden cabinet to this day. The one with those nectarous treats that eye my every move. There’s that damn itch again, that clawing at my flesh type of feeling, begging to be numbed. Tapping agitation into my study’s floor on cherry wine wood that oh so perfectly matches the wood on that cabinet. The one with those mind dumbing sensations. Dammit, that itch is in love with me.

“It is dinner,” calls my darling. Stomping out my tap, I rise to kiss her. I look down at the cherry wine carved table seeing each one of my children, the youngest still in a booster seat. Each of them, so special in their own way and oh how they adore me.

“We missed you, daddy,” says my oldest with a sly grin. I give a warm smile, because I’ve missed them as well. She always knew just what to say to make me feel such warm serenity. Always so relaxed and calming towards others, she’s almost the spitting image of her mother, whom I glance back at to make sure she’s stayed close by.

“How was work, dad?” says my second child. He’s always the thinker of the bunch, so focused and alive. I worry when he hardly touches his plate at dinner though. I pat his head, what a bright boy. Lastly, my baby of the group. The way she talks, and the way she walks, the way she sings, prances, and laughs, it brings me such joy. Never will she ever take down that smile, teeth wide.

“I love you, daddy,” she speaks with such confidence, “I love you so much.” They are my world, my security, my protection, my soul. Without them I’d be just chit-chat on the streets, a lost cause. All hope gone kind of guy, but here they are each with lighted faces and such genuine smiles. The itch is back though and everyone knows. My oldest touches my arm softly, “Daddy, are you okay? Maybe we can talk. Our talks help, daddy.” I feel that itch welling up inside me more now. Fight it. I look away from my sweet child.

“Dad, just sit down with us. It’ll make you feel better,” says my boy. What an intelligent kid. I envy it so and there it is again, only stronger, more intense. That itch. I shake my head vigorously. No, no. NO. Fight it.

“Daddy, I love you. Pretty please sit with us daddy. We’ve got hugs and kisses just for you,” my baby grins, still teeth so wide. She touches my wrist and intertwines her fingers with mine. Snatching away my agonizingly itchy hand, she widens her laughing smile, still shinning pasty white teeth. I turn away from them in frenzy. , fight it. She’s standing in my way though, my darling. The one who’s never left my side from as far back I can . So tender and gentle, she holds my cheek bones high.

“Just look at us dear, we’re in this together. Forever,” she spoke so firmly. There was so much certainty in her soft voice. Heavenly kissing sensations suddenly were running over my inflamed flesh, through my flowing blood, taunting each itch. There’s no escaping it now, finally relief.

Before I know it, I’m sitting with them all at my cherry wine dinner table. Everyone has smiles racked higher than their foreheads, so I’m the only one scarfing down every nibble. I look up to see open eyes all in my direction. They idealize me.

“How was your dinner, daddy?” my oldest speaks up. She gives me a wink and I nod, not for long, suddenly ing what once was. Brows wrinkled, temples pulsating, heart racing. It’s happening again.

“Was that enough for you, dad? Would you like seconds?” my son chimes in. Mouth still full, I shake what I can, making a no gesture. It’s too late though. My darling already has prepared another just for me. It’d be rude to not finish it. Two. Then four. Six. Ten even. I can’t fight it anymore.

“Daddy, do you love us too?” my baby asks me so daringly. I can’t look her way, but I feel those open eyes staring straight through to my mind, where they know the answer. Still holding to her girlish, giggling smirk, my baby speaks up again. “Daddy, why can’t you just it we’re all you have to love?” Was it true though? Is this all I really have? They feel my regret. My disapproving setback and that’s how they feed.

“Where have you been, daddy?”

“We’ve all really missed you, dad.” “Daddy, look at us! Look how much fun this is!” “Dearest, the children need you. I need you. We need each other.” “Daddy, we love you.”

My head wouldn’t stop twirling around the circled carvings in the cherry wine wood. I couldn’t look away at those smiles any longer. They held me captive until sleep set in. There was no more inflamed flesh. No more taunting. No more pain. No more meaningless chit-chat here and there. I blinked and everything was gone. The itch won’t bother me tonight.

Daddy Would Have

Colder than recent days, the wind blew trickles of goose bumps up and down my arms and neck. I tugged at my giant cotton ball hoodie. Daddy calls the snow dandruff from the angels ’cause when it falls from the sky, it sticks to every darn thing, sorta like my gum does on the back of the church pews. There was a big ole maple tree out in the front yard and it’s my favorite place to climb up during hide and seek with the kids around here. It was real comfy too, so I stayed curled up between the roots like my cat does in the summer, waiting. I had to wait out there. He had pinkie sworn to me yesterday, in the letter Mama read out loud that he’d be home to see me. My foot patted the angel dandruff down to a clump and my fingers were a pickin’ at already worn bark. I kept my head buried in my warmest hoodie, ’cause mama would’a yelled at me to get back inside. Pappy would’ a laughed at me though.

He told me this mornin’, “Child, you look as awkward as that cowlick you done gave yourself.”

Mama nodded her head. “Now why don’t yah just sit in here with Pappy and me, instead of standin’ outside? You’re gonna catch yourself a cold.”

I didn’t say not one word back, ’cause I didn’t want to miss him comin’ up the drive. Grabbin’ a hot muffin wrapped in napkin I stuffed it in my pocket and went outside. Before slammin’ the screen door shut though I heard Mama say, “What’ a fool that child.”

Mama didn’t get it. As a matter of a fact, Mama didn’t get a lot about me. Daddy says it’s ’cause she didn’t get an education when she was a youngin’. Daddy says

a lot of things, like how he told me he’d be back to see me today. My tummy was mad at me and made a growling noise, so I forgot what I was thinking. I told it to shut it’s trap like Mama does to me in church. Then I picked off all the raisins, ’cause I didn’t like them. They looked like boogers, so I buried them in the angel dandruff that made my butt cold and wet. I’d been leaning on that ole maple tree for almost an hour now! I had to keep movin’ too cause every time I got comfy I couldn’t feel my behind. Mama wasn’t too happy ’bout me sitting in the snow with my best church dress, and church tights, and my clippie church shoes, but I had to wear them today. Mama had to get that. I had to look my best for the best man in the world. He’d like them a lot. I just know it.

He’d pick me up and spin me around, smiling at me with the same ocean blue eyes he said mine were like. He’d say to me, “Darlin’ you’ve gotten so tall and just look at that pretty flowered dress. Has the same colors as the cheeks on your face.” I know he’d say that. I just know it. My Daddy would hold my hand as I showed him all my new drawings I’d done. He’d tell me, “Baby girl, these pi’tures are beauty-ful,” and I’d smile, giggling, like mama does when she tells her knee-slapper jokes. Then Daddy would kiss Mama really sweetly and shake Pappy’s rough, chapped hand and we’d all sit down for dinner. Daddy would thank God for a safe trip and he’d thank him extra for lettin’ him come home to see the family. Mama would blush too and I’d know ’cause I’d be peepin’ the whole time. After my bath Daddy would come into my room and I know what he’d say.

He’d whisper, “Now you get some shut eye, ’cause I’m gonna take you ice fishin’ tomorrow.” He always said that to me even though both of us knew there wasn’t no place to fish ’round here. He’d tickle my sides and then kiss me on my chopped bangs I had cut just this morning. Then just before he’d shut the light and close the door he’d speak softer than before, “I love you, angel,” and with a smile he’d walked down the hall to mama.

It felt like waiting for church to let out, only longer. My behind was frozen again too and I was about to move when I heard the crunch of angel dandruff. I shook

my bangs into place and scrambled to stand up.

“Daddy?” I called out. “Daddy, is that you? Daddy!” I waited for a voice, but I didn’t hear one. “Daddy?” I repeated a little softer. Two men in suits with shiny metal attached to each came out of the fog and ed me without even a quick look. I chased after them to the porch where Mama had already started talking to them. I saw her face, hot and puffy, hands shakin’ in the air like a wild monkey, so I stopped in my tracks. The men in suits walked down the steps, not like I would have—hopping over the last step, but they walked down carefully. I pushed past them. Mama was on her knees, her hands cuppin’ her face. Pappy stood in the kitchen shakin’ his head over and over. He wouldn’t even look at me when I called for him. My ocean eyes were looking back and forth at both of them and I shouted right at them, “Mama! Pappy! Where’s Daddy? Where’s my Daddy?” More wetness, but this time it was freezing my butt, it filled up ocean eyes. I hit my knees, angry.

“Where’s my Daddy? He promised, Mama! He pinkie promised me!” Mama pulled me close, holdin’ me too tight. I screamed and yanked free. “He promised me!” I took off, down the stairs, past that rotten ole maple tree. My feet were too heavy though and they tripped me makin’ me crash into that stupid, wet angel dandruff. I screamed so loud my throat started hurtin’ real bad. My fists beat hard on my knees again and I pulled at my childish bangs, hopin’ I’d rip them all out. I screamed again and kept on until Pappy scared me by tapping my shoulder with his cane.

“Come on kido, you’ll getta chill out her’.” I wiped my face hard and grabbed at his pants leg, following him inside. I said sorry to Mama, ’cause it wasn’t her fault and she held me close. Still a little too tight, but I clung on. Daddy wouldn’t have held so strong. He’d be gentler.

Mama spoke too squeakily, “We still have each other.” Daddy would have whispered in my ear, “We’re still a family and we’ll never forget that.” When

Mama tucked me into bed that night she kissed the tip of my cold and runny nose. She brought me my rag doll that I stopped playin’ with when I turned into a big girl. Daddy wouldn’t have done that. He would have lain with me till I fell asleep. Mama told me goodnight and that she loves me, but Daddy would have pet my hair and whispered sweet things into my ear while I dreamed. Mama loves me, I know this, but Mama’s not my Daddy.

Just the Same

I was late coming home from Choir practice today. Now where was I really? Tony drove me over to his house to watch some action movie he was dying to show me; I don’t even the title. Sometimes I think he forgets I’m a girl honestly. Sometimes I feel like he just thinks of me as one of the guys, “Yeah come over dude (Tony referred to everyone as dude; didn’t matter if they were a boy, girl, kid, adult, or even small animals). We can watch a flick and play some Call of Duty.” I’m used to it though. Not to mention, if Tony acted any different towards me, it’d probably weird me out. Anyways, I came home late, from “choir practice” and Drake had his entire head in the refrigerator. I couldn’t even see the bald spot on top of his head because his neck stuck in the fridge like a giraffe’s nosing through everything he came across. Go figure. It was never anything unexpected with him, and of course, he had to be the one to hear me come in.

“Where were you?” He said it more like a statement though. He wasn’t really asking me where I’d been; he was demanding it. He always said it like that too, so I held a straight face, tired, but none the less a poker face and I lied, of course. He’d kill me if I told him I was at a boy’s house, especially if he knew it was Tony’s. Tony was worse than overly dry, leftover meatloaf Sunday for Drake. He hadn’t even met Tony, nor had he ever spoken to him, not even once, and he still hates him. I saw it in his narrowing eyes, scrunched, suspicious eyebrows, and especially when he grinds his teeth just from hearing his name. Then there’s the way he glared out the window at me when Tony picked me up in the morning for school. Today was different though; it felt off somehow walking through the dented front door Drake had decided to crack in the center one day when he was especially irate. He just wasn’t his usual self, and these feelings always led to the nights I cried myself to sleep. The anger was in his voice, I knew it by heart now, and I hadn’t even said but a couple of things to him… I didn’t want to be around for what was coming up next. My only guess was that my mother hadn’t given him what he wanted again and now seeing me only made things worse for his already miserable day. I didn’t entirely blame her though… he hurts her too.

“Mom, I’m leaving for school.” I stood with my head in the doorway.

“You’re letting out all the warm air. She heard you.” Drake never looked at me when he talked, only when he wanted to see the pain in my face from those nights he came home slippery and sloppy drunk. Instead, he would just sit in his Lazy Boy recliner and “read” a Sports Illustrated magazine, probably the same one that’s always on the coffee table too. That’s another thing Drake is besides irritable; he’s also cheap and uneducated. In fact, I couldn’t be sure he even knew how to read. I only saw him skim the pictures and then flip to the next. Even in the newspaper; he’d everything just to get to the comics and then he’d trash the rest, telling my mother and me that news was for people that weren’t interesting enough to do something with their own lives, so they had to read about others. I stared at him for no more than a half of a second, if that, and shut the door behind me without another word.

“Good morning!” Tony blurted before I had a leg halfway in the car.

“Hopefully…” I whispered, buckling up, but he gestured he heard me by patting my shoulder like a person would pat the top of a cat’s head. I looked out the side window at an angry face observing me, “Can we hurry and get out of here, please?”

Tony eased away from the curb, careful not to drive off too fast. Drake didn’t like fast cars unless he was the one driving. It was always okay for Drake to do what I wasn’t allowed to. He got away with everything and didn’t even have to talk his way out anything either. He would smile with those greasy teeth, dry lips cracking at the turning up of the corners of his mouth, and the world would melt at his feet. I, on the other hand, got away with nothing; simple as that.

The car ride was too short and perfectly quiet. It was peaceful because there was no yelling, no staring, and most importantly, no tough feelings to deal with. I didn’t feel the pressure to apologize a thousand and one times or to kneel and beg for mercy like the sinner Drake’s just about convinced me I was. All there was were my thoughts and the cool breeze coming in from cracked windows and Tony, of course. One day, when he was taking me home late again, just out of the blue, he told me he respected me and that’s why he stayed quiet during our car rides for the most part. I guess he’d known me so long he knew I preferred the quiet to useless talking. It was true too, honestly, that was the best parts of my days—early in the morning when everything seemed so sleepy and all was quiet. The sleepier the better, I thought, because who has ever heard of someone hurting someone else when they’re asleep? Exactly. When the world was sleepy, I could relax. I could breathe, and Tony respected that and stayed quiet. Just for me.

We pulled into school early, just like usual. I was never late if I could help it. I knew I couldn’t get away with that. Drake wouldn’t let me get away with it. Tony tells me he has too much control over me, and I usually respond with profanity to get him off my back, but I knew he was right. Once, in the third grade I had the flu and Drake watched me walk all the way to the bus stop and wouldn’t go inside until he saw me board the bus. Drake did have control over me, I knew this all too well, but he’d never have control over how I escaped his control, or at least forgot about it.

I pulled out my blue seashell mirror, snapped the mirror away from its casing and popped six or so different colored treats in my mouth swallowing every one with the spit already there. The mirror hid them nicely. My mom had given it to me for my last birthday, and I had Tony break the mirror out, so it was more of an oval shape instead of the flat surface that showed too much to begin with. I suppose that little mirror was what made me realize how alike Drake and I were. His need to control me was like my need to control my behavior and my looks. At least once, if not twice every day, since I received the shell mirror I’d spend hours observing myself, my face to be specific. I’d examine the creases my eye shadow left behind and the way my lashes stuck out straight, unlike the girls at my school with long, curled ones. I’d be able to see the small cut on my bottom

lip when Drake ripped a piercing from its hole. That mirror made me see how broken I seemed, broken like Drake was, only he had a knack for hiding it better than myself.

“Be careful with those…” Tony interrupted my thoughts like he always does when I’m popping pills. It was the same routine every single time. In the corner of my eye I saw him watching me as I popped them. Then I’d see him look away from me out the window as if he was looking out deep into the distance trying to find something. It was the same every time, every single time and every time I responded in the same way, by ignoring him.

I closed my eyes and breathed out for a long while, and then when peace took over I’d turn and look his way and give him a “thumbs up” motion. Sometimes he’d try and help gather my stuff and there was one time he opened the door for me, but I quickly let him know he didn’t and shouldn’t do that kind of stuff for me. I guess it sort of hurt him in a way because ever since, he just gathers his own belongings and waits for me a few feet away without speaking another word and is quiet until we part ways for our classes. So today was nothing different. We gathered our school books and shoved them into our backpacks and headed out.

Too bad today was Friday, I think I’d be okay with this day if I could just skip right to Monday once that last bell rang. I know, right, who in their right mind would WANT to go to school twenty-four seven? Well, me. I’d live here if they let me. I get food that’s not leftovers or stale and I get to learn new things every day. I read somewhere that knowledge is power and if I’m learning I have power. I wouldn’t that up for the world. Too bad its Friday. Mr. Krankshrill had told the class he’s retiring after this semester. His exact words, “I’m sixty-eight years young, and I have to go live my life; babysitting was just a gig to get the bills paid, so hope y’all have fun without me.” I knew I wouldn’t though. Mr. Krankshrill was a grouchy, cranky man, but he believed that life wasn’t worth living unless there was just as much bad things in the world as there was good. He believed it so much that during one of his lectures he managed to get off

topic and started on the subject of domestic violence. At first it made me angry, really angry actually. I was so angry I wanted to punch him and show him just how much violence sucks, but I didn’t, of course. I sat back, leaning against the wall behind my head, completely furious. After class he called me to the front and waited for the rest of the class to exit before he spoke to me. He saw the fury, I’m not sure how, but he saw right through to it. He apologized. To me. Mr. Krankshrill said he was sorry to me. He didn’t bother with explanations, he didn’t ask me how my home life was, he just said those two, well, technically three words, “I’m sorry.”

The final bell rang. My pills had worn off entirely by this point and because I was running low I knew I needed to ask Tony if he could get me more before the weekend started, or at least by Monday at the latest. He was never too thrilled to get them for me, but with some convincing, I always got him to give in. I knew how to get what I wanted with him because he’s Tony and I’ve known him practically my whole life. He was the one that stuck around after my sixth birthday party while everyone else called me a freak and left.

It was a boy-girl party and I had invited my entire class. Drake insisted no parents were allowed. He hated other parents. He said they were all too nosey. We held it in the back yard and there was chocolate cake, a humungous, chocolate cake with chocolate icing and chocolate ice cream. Drake had bought a white, lacey dress my mother picked out for me, especially for this occasion too. The entire day I did my very best not to get dirt on it, but then Henry, this chunky faced boy with thick skin, tripped and splattered chocolate on the hem of my dress. My mother yanked me inside away from Drake’s sight and scrubbed the spot down with a wet rag. I crying. I was so weak back then, such fresh meat. The chocolate was mostly gone, but there was still a smudge that was noticeable enough to Drake. He ripped the dress right off of me, in the yard, in front of everyone and shredded it with his bare hands. Some kids went home and told on Drake, but of course no one believed them. We were just kids who had no say. That same night Tony’s mom called mine so he could talk to me, and he told me I looked prettier in my usual clothes than in that dress. That’s how I knew he’d get me more pills.

“How was your day?” I stared at him when I met him at his seaweed green Honda waiting for an answer so I could get to my point quicker.

“Eh, school sucked. You?” He shrugged his eyebrows up at me to ask the same question he just asked out loud, but with his face. He looked cool sometimes. I don’t know why he stays friends with me.

“It beats being home.” I didn’t look at him, but hurried and sat in his car before he could give me that sad “puppy-dog look” he does so well. He chucked his pack over his head rest and hopped inside his car too.

“I’m sorry… you’re welcome to come over today if you want. Just say you’re staying at a girlfriend’s house?”

“I can’t. He’ll find out.”

“How? It’s not like he has a tracking device in you…”

I shot him a look, and he sighed and started the car. The engine purred and I wish I could have stayed right there forever, but I know what would happen if I did that. It’d end up bad, just like the other times. Like every time, every single time.

“You know I would come over if I could… I just can’t.” I finally spoke up, just above a whisper.

“I know. I can’t wait till you move out of that house.” He sounded short with me, but I don’t believe he meant it that way.

“That’ll be the day.” I looked back out the window, and we spent the rest of the car ride in complete silence.

We slowed down at an almost pinkie red stoplight, and he looked over at me. I couldn’t feel his eyes skimming all over me like I felt Drake’s; I only felt Tony’s puppy dog eye’s watching my own which I kept from wandering in his direction. It was an awkward feeling, a really sad and awkward feeling, because I could see the sadness in his eyes, even from my peripheral.

What’s sad when you don’t know its counterpart? I ed when I was seven I cried and wanted my daddy to walk me to the bus stop, holding onto him proudly to show all the other kids I had one, but my mom said Drake didn’t like holding hands, so he wouldn’t take me. She didn’t realize I wasn’t referring to him.

I waved Tony goodbye before grabbing hold of the doorknob just in case someone were to pop out and catch me mid wave, and entirely off guard. I couldn’t see if Drake’s BMW that my mom mostly paid for him, was in the garage so I tiptoed inside. It was quiet, but that didn’t mean much. It was always quiet. All I heard once evening set in was the rustling of an old man, tiptoeing, just as I was now, to a pink room that once was filled with stuffed animals and porcelain dolls.

Those fond toy memories didn’t stay around long though. I was eight when my mom came home one day, groaning about sore feet and a bent back, telling me Drake wanted to see me make real friends, instead of stuffed ones. Certainly she didn’t word it like that, but she got Drake’s point across. He actually wanted me to grow up faster so he didn’t feel guilty about our age difference. I saw the illness in my mom’s eyes, just like I felt it in my heart, but we both knew better than to argue it. She knew his reasoning then, as I knew it now.

She never said a word though, not about anything he did. She stayed completely quiet and even avoided eye with me when she knew well what he was doing. She wasn’t always like that though, after the first time he hurt her is when she became quiet. She was cooking dinner later than usual and had just turned on the oven to reheat leftovers. I saw lights flicker off in the driveway, and moments later Drake stumbled into the living room where I continued playing with my Barbie doll. He smelled drunk, and I told him so. I ed a hard yank at my ponytail and the same instance I yelped my mom came in full force slapping him in the face.

This was a mistake on her part and we all recognized it when he grabbed my mom by the neck and dragged her to stove threatening to roast her face for dinner instead. His force was that of a freight train and if I hadn’t yelled I was calling the cops I believe he would have shoved my mom right in there, leftovers and all. Instead, he pushed her away like you would throw away a candy wrapper. As my mom sat cupping her throat pale as snow, Drake walked ed

me, out the door, and with a rev of an engine, he was gone, for the night at least.

“You’re late.” Drake was home.

“There was traffic on the way home. It won’t happen again, sir…” I kept my composure, which was the easy part. Next was the difficult part. It was this next part that beat self-hatred into me, but I was the only one to blame, I was late… again.

“Oh, okay. So you’re just going to magically make the traffic poof away next time,” he said sarcastically. He never asked me anything, and I wanted to punch him. My opinion didn’t matter in his book, and I’d be stupid to not know that by now. He didn’t give me time to respond, “You do whatever it takes to make sure you get here on time. I don’t like waiting around and don’t you ever forget that, kid.” He left it at that and sat down in front of the television, turning the volume so loud I could hear it clear from the other side of the house.

“Make me dinner and then I’ll help you with your homework,” he shouted from the living room. That’s what he called it sometimes, homework. I always had homework, and I was swamped in homework, but only when mother wasn’t around.

I the first time it happened. I was five and I’d woken up from a nightmare and ran into their room. I wanted my mom, but Drake insisted he’d tuck me back in bed. He wouldn’t hold my hand, but walked me back to my room. Afterwards he told me if I wasn’t quiet then he’d tell my mom I was a liar and that I just wanted to have her all to myself and she’d believe him, because she loves him… because she loves him not more than me, but differently than me, I now realize that. Even back then though, I knew he could make her believe anything and I didn’t want to be a liar. I don’t much else. Maybe my mind wouldn’t let me it, but it was real.

I cooked leftovers, which he ended up tossing out and ordered a pizza instead with my mom’s credit card number. I sat and waited, watching him gorge his mouth fuller than its normal capacity. Needless to say I had no appetite. The butterflies in my stomach were mutating into a disgusting feeling of pity and hatred. I wished he’d eat slower. I wished he’d get distracted by the television and “have to” finish another episode of “HBO Boxing” or whatever he liked. More than anything, though, I wished he’d just get bored with me and leave me alone.

“Start cleaning this up,” he mumbled with a full mouth. I obeyed. He’d had a good day today, I could tell because he was smiling when he thought I couldn’t see. He was playing games again and I was going to lose just like I do every time we play. Maybe mom will get off work early today though. Maybe she’ll walk in on him and hate him. She’ll hate him like I’ve always hated him. Maybe today will be different. I looked at the clock, 6:04.

“Come on girl! I don’t have all day to wait on you!” Drake was impatient now and it was only a few minutes after six. Mom wasn’t getting off early today. She wouldn’t walk in on him and hate him. She won’t ever hate him like I’d always hated him. Today wasn’t different at all. It was just the same, like every day before today. Then it was five after six and Drake was aggravated. I ed my seashell mirror and I ed my birthdays. Sixteen and I was here playing games and obeying orders. I couldn’t even leave because a man with drippy, shiny hair and ironed clothes and warm breath would kill me and I’d let him. I knew I would let him, but maybe today could be different. Maybe I could be different.

“You’re wasting my time! Get in here now!” He was in that pink room and I knew it. What he doesn’t realize though is there’s nothing left for him to corrupt because I’d been gone for years. With the pills he didn’t know it wasn’t me he was hurting, but a shell of me. I could feel a part of myself begging me to leave. I wiped down the counter top and I saw the knives tucked away in that wooden

case, just behind the coffee maker only Drake used. If I just took one and held it fast I wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. I could be free. I eased one out, a long skinny one with rippled edging. I found a good spot to conceal it so it wouldn’t fall and ruin everything, and I threw the pizza box away, hurrying the rest of my cleaning. That’s when I saw my mother’s ring on the counter, her marriage ring. It hit me. Everything, all at once hit me like a bullet knocking reality into my head. She wasn’t coming home early today. Drake didn’t have a good day. It had to be merely coincidence Tony asked me over, because he couldn’t have over heard something from his mom about my own. My mom didn’t even talk to Tony’s mom ever since the stove incident, other than a polite hello, on her way to work. It added up, she was working so much to save money. Her cowardliness left me here, with this beast, her “through sickness and health” husband, but as for “richer or poorer”—she had her money, her freedom, her whole life ahead of her. The same mom that washed chocolate stains off my prized dresses left me to clean up this mess by myself, and I had to walk alone to that pink room, I knew it. Before I moved the ring to the center table and shuffled down the hall, I finished tidying, putting the knife back in its original place.