Fallout
Page 16
harassed
me in such cruel fashion,
but it seemed my teachers
never saw the instigation,
only my sometimes
over-
the-top reaction. How
many recesses I stayed
inside, while the bullies
went out to play!
I don’t
remember exactly when
it stopped. Middle school,
I guess. Maybe eighth
grade. Doesn’t matter. All I
know
is that eventually some
of my mom’s fame
rubbed off on me.
MOM’S FAME
May not have been the most
valid way to gain friends
and win dates. But hey, whatever
works, right? I’ll never
forget this one girl. Tori. God,
she was a rabid Marie
Haskins fan. Stalker material.
When she found out
who I was, she threw herself
at my feet. Actually,
a more literal way to put that
is she threw herself on
her knees. Right in front of me.
It may have been my first
oral experience, but she for sure
had a fair bit of practice.
All she asked for in return was
a signed Marie Haskins
book. I told Mom it was for a sick
girl. Not far from the truth.
THE MEMORY
Elicits a lustful smile. Montana
can’t help but take notice.
Wow. Thinking about
Christmas presents just now?
“Not Christmas, but definitely
a gift worth remembering.”
The grin she returns is knowing,
even if she is only guessing.
Then she flips back into announcer
mode. Speaking of Christmas presents,
Hunter, look who’s coming down
the street right now! Anticipation
bloats the crowd. “You mean
that jolly old elf himself, Montana?”
That’s right. Here comes Santa,
and … has he been working out?
The kids all strain to see svelte
Santa. “I think you’re right. Who
would believe it? Santa and the missus
must have a membership at Gold’s Gym!”
Gold’s Gym, of course, is a sponsor.
Not to mention an X advertiser.
As buff Santa’s sleigh rolls off into
the distance, people begin to move
toward their cars or vendor booths.
I turn off my mic, begin to pack up.
A small pair of hands slides around
my waist from behind. Nikki must
have changed her mind, dragged
herself out of bed. “Nik?” But neither
voice nor hands are a match. Nope.
Not Nik. It’s just me. Hey, Hunter.
Equal parts disappointment
and exhilaration jab me. Not Nikki.
But not exactly bad, either.
“Leah. All on your own today?”
Well, yeah. Remember I told you
I had something for you?
SHE WINKS
Who knew
with such
a small
gesture
a girl
could look
like such
a letch?
Can a girl
even be
a letch?
Exactly
how is
“letch”
defined?
Suddenly
I’ve got
a good
idea of
what this
girl has on
her dirty
little
mind.
SHE WAITS IMPATIENTLY
While I help stow the gear.
Am I seriously considering
a stroll down Deviant Lane?
Montana notices Leah’s angsty
pace. You looking for trouble?
she asks in an underneath voice.
Hard to deny obvious truth.
“Probably. Although I didn’t
exactly go looking.”
She reassesses the redhead.
Shrugs. Okay, then you’re
pursuing serious trouble.
This is so not her business.
“What time is the talent show
again?” Montana and I are judges.
Go ahead. Change the subject.
See if I care. One o’clock, main
stage. And. Do. Not. Be. Late.
I check my watch. Just
about noon. “No worries.
This shouldn’t take long.”
I PURSUE SAID TROUBLE
Like a buzzard sniffing after
roadkill. “Okay, Leah. What do
you have for me?” It’s a loaded
question, and she’s quick to
react. She smiles, leans into me,
and I appreciate how beneath
her unzipped jacket, a low-cut
black sweater reveals truly
stunning cleavage. Let’s walk.
We go five blocks, silent.
Cut across a hectic parking lot.
Turn down a sleepy street.
Finally she tugs me to a stop.
I scored some amazing smoke.
Thought you might like a taste.
Smoke? Argh. Tempting.
I’ve been out for a while.
Oh, what the hell? “Okay.”
Just keep walking, she says,
lighting an already rolled J.
Pretend it’s a cigarette.
I do and she does and somehow
we get away with smoking weed
out in the open, on a city street.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t
lift my stomach, roller-coaster-
style. Definitely a thrill, getting
away with illicit behavior.
More of that is brewing, for sure.
Leah slips her hand into mine,
and my first thought is of Nikki.
I suspect where this is headed. So why
am I still going along with Leah’s
plan? Stunning cleavage or no,
Leah is not the right thing to do,
literally or figuratively, despite
how soft her hand is in mine,
or how the jasmine perfume of her
reminds me of a warm June evening.
Stop it, Hunter, stop it. You are
not just another guy, lusting after
an easy piece. You are not …
BUT APPARENTLY I AM
Leah turns her face up toward mine,
daring me to kiss her. God, she is
luscious, ripe fruit temptation,
serpent coiled in expectation.
I can hear Nik whisper, You’d never
cheat on me, would you, Hunter?
The snake strikes, and I pull back.
“Leah, I have a girlfriend, you know.”
Her hand falls out of mine, and
relief escapes in a long-drawn sigh.
But she will not so easily be dismissed.
Her fingers settle gentle on my inner
thigh, move slowly higher. Yeah. So?
I’m not asking for commitment, and
I don’t want to mess up your life. I just
want to give you a little piece of me.
She boosts up on tiptoes, looks
into my eyes as she kisses me.
I am pulled into the liquid emerald
of her eyes, the invitation—no, demand—
of her pillowed pout, her experienced
hands. And I’m helpless. Weak. Convinced.
She pulls me down a narrow alleyw
ay,
backs me against a splintered garage door.
I pretend protest, but we both know
claiming I don’t want this would be a lie.
Shush, she pleads. Don’t say a word.
Just let me take care of you. She kisses
me again, encourages my hands
along the hilly contours of her body.
And in one long, sinuous movement,
she is on her knees. In total control.
I CLOSE MY EYES
But what materializes
out of the darkness there
are shadowbox photos of Nikki.
Those, and the snap of December
against uncovered skin
might be enough to make
me stop, but when Leah senses
my wavering, her urgent please
closes around me, pulls me
in. I look up at the froth
of clouds. Cappuccino sky.
The summer scent of jasmine
lifts from a tide of titian
hair, and there is no hesitation
now, no U-turn, no braking,
only relentless forward motion.
Propulsion. A kaleidoscope
of titian. Jasmine. Cappuccino
clouds. And every trace of Nikki
dissolves in Leah’s warm rain.
ONLY AFTER
We are finished,
clothes zipped up,
hair smoothed,
does the thought
cross my mind
that someone
might have seen.
Enjoyed watching.
Got off themselves,
maybe. My cheeks
burn. Can’t say why.
Only after we have
exited the alley,
started back along
the sleepy street,
toward the hectic
parking lot, does
it occur to me that
the fame that brought
me here belongs to
me, not to my mom.
I like how that feels.
WE WEAVE
Through the thinning crowd.
Some have taken their children
home, out of the crisp morning,
away from the threat of snow.
A stab of intuition makes me
survey the knot of people nearby.
Did Nik decide to come after
all? That could be very bad,
all things considered. But when
I assess faces, the one my eyes
grab hold of does not belong
to Nikki. I do not recognize
the man standing just there,
scanning the human sea. So why
do I think I know him? Someone
ducks in front of him, and I lose
momentary sight, but when his
eyes at last connect with mine,
they are green-dappled gray. Piebald.
He turns away suddenly, as if
whoever he was looking for
found him instead. He melts
into the tide of bodies. Faces.
One of them very much like mine.
ZAPPED
As if by a stun gun,
by the most unexpected
encounter, the entire
top of my head tingles.
I stand
trembling, unable to
totally comprehend
what seeing those eyes
might mean to me.
Awed.
Frozen in place. Heart
quickstepping. Breath,
a shallow draw.
I am pulverized
by
the weight of one fragile
moment. Denial descends,
a threadbare shroud. Maybe
I have it all wrong. But
simple
reasoning convinces me
otherwise. I don’t know why
I’ve never seen my father
before, but I reel in the
recognition
that I’ve seen him now.
I just want to know,
who is he?
A SHARP WHINE
Slices through the buzz
in my ears. What? Who?
Oh, yeah. Leah. Right.
She’s looking at me like
I’ve missed something very
important. So is that okay?
Freight train slam. “Uh …
Sorry. What did you say?”
Repeat, then go away.
I said I want to give you
my number, she says, only
a lot annoyed at my inattention.
What I want is to track
down the bastard-maker.
“Um … I’m not sure …”
I know you probably won’t
ever use it. But just in case.
Or you can give me yours.
“No, no.” The last thing
I need is her calling me.
“Give me yours.” I fumble
around in my pocket, finally
fish out my cell phone. Try
to punch in the numbers
she recites. But my mind
is in a whole other place
and I miss one or three.
Here. Let me do it, okay?
She extricates the phone from
my hand, programs the correct
sequence. As she returns my
cell, she slinks up against me.
Kisses me. Hope you had fun.
“Fun” isn’t exactly the word
I would use. “Yeah, sure.
Thanks a lot. I have to go, okay?”
She pouts at my abruptness,
but doesn’t argue. Okay. You
can call me any time, Hunter.
“Good to know. Bye now.”
I turn on my heel, hurry off,
fingers crossed she doesn’t follow.
ALMOST TALENT SHOW TIME
I make my way toward the main
stage, checking out every male
face I see. Some of those guys
probably think I’m gay. Sorry,
dudes. Not looking to get laid.
Already did that. Sort of, anyway.
I chug down guilt. Gallons
and gallons of guilt. Why did
I just do that? Not like I needed
it, couldn’t get that, and better,
from my Nikki. I’m a total
two-timing jerk. And why?
Okay, Leah would tempt most
any guy with a working pecker.
But you don’t have to give in
to temptation, not even bodacious-
breasted, fiery-haired, “won’t take
no for an answer” temptation.
I swear I will never do such
an idiotic thing again. Nikki
means too much to me. I stop,
dig out my cell phone, excise
Leah’s number from its memory
bank. All’s well that ends well.
SPARKS HAS TALENT
So much talent that the city now
hosts two of these imitation bad
reality TV shows every year, on
July Fourth and at Hometowne
Christmas. A group of hopeful
singers, dancers, and baton twirlers
paces on one side of the stage.
The audience is likely all friends
and family members, plus a few
curious onlookers and people
just trying to get inside, out of the cold.
Montana is across the room, in deep
conversation with some guy.
His back is to me, but his posture
tells me much. The guy thinks a lot
of himself. Montana sees me
and smiles. The guy turns his
head to see who she’s smiling at,
and before I can even discern
The question becomes, what next?
COVERING THE SHORT DISTANCE
Across the room makes me
break out in a disagreeable
sweat, despite the chill in
the air. And in my heart.
Coward.
That’s what I am. Afraid
to face down my ghosts,
despite hating the way
they haunt my every day.
Idiot.
It strikes me suddenly
that I could be all wrong
about this guy. So what if
his eyes are sort of like mine?
Dimwad.
Totally. What are the odds
that this is my father, anyway?
Much too coincidental, right?
Yet when I close the gap, I’m sure.
Son of a bitch.
MONTANA, IT SEEMS
Knows him pretty well. They stand,
barely touching. Intimate. Casual.
I hate to interrupt. Hate to know.
Oh hey, Hunter, Montana says.
This is Brendan. Bam. The name.
Is it one I’ve heard somewhere?
Brendan looks at me, clueless.
Hey, kid, good to … He sees …
something. Enough to make him pause.
Montana doesn’t notice. Brendan
just moved back to Sparks. He recently
got out of the army. Four terms in Iraq.
Her voice is filled with pride and
what I think may be affection.
I notice his outstretched hand.
I know I should shake it, but my own
hand is trembling. Instinct tells me
to run. Far away. Don’t look back.
But I have to play this out for sanity’s
sake. So I clench my teeth, will
the quaking to stop. “Good to meet you.”
Autumn
PLANNING A WEDDING
Is supposed to be such a happy time.
Okay, Aunt Cora is not only happy.
She’s downright demented with
happiness. Crazy in love.
I wish I could share her
joy. But I am crushed
by fear. I’ve always lived
with seeds of dread, waiting
to burst forth fruit. Apricots, if
I’m lucky. Peaches, sometimes, or
maybe mangoes. But this time,
the fear seeds have grown into
watermelons. Thick-skinned.
Pithy-fleshed. Weighted
with blood-tinted juice.
I can barely breathe with
them swelled up inside me.
Afraid to go out. Afraid to stay
in. Who knows what uncertainty will