Iphigenia Murphy

by Sara Hosey

  “Corinne, please tell me you made it to at least one ‘Abusive Relationships’ assembly in school. I mean, I went to a crappy school, and even we had special programs on this stuff. You know better than this.”

  “Of course I know better,” she snapped wearily. “I know all sorts of things.” She tapped a finger to her head. “Here. But that doesn’t make any difference. I don’t know it here,” she tapped her heart. “Not yet.”

  I didn’t say anything. She continued. “It was just crazy.” Her voice became kind of a whine, as though she was a child and she was trying to convince me to let her stay up late. “Like I’m so angry right now, at the way he talked to me, about the way he treats me. But at the same time … I can’t forget how it is when it’s good. I mean, I love him so much. So, when he does bad shit, if he hits me or something,” here she began to cry again, “it’s like the worst thing in the world. So, when he’s sorry, when he loves me again …” She stopped and buried her face in her hands. I worried that the lit cigarette would set her hair on fire, but then she moved her hands, looked up, flicked the ashes. “When he loves me it’s the best thing in the world. And it becomes like this thing, just the two of us, in our own world. We’re the only two who understand. Does that make sense? Like, it’s so bad, but then when we get back together it’s that much better, we need each other that much more? Or something. It’s almost like. I don’t know. It’s like I need to get back with him.”

  “But you don’t. You’re away from him now. We’re doing okay.”

  She wiped her face, looked at me. She was frowning. I was willing to keep talking about this, all day and all night if we needed to. But it was boring. It was painful and obvious and boring.

  I’d known plenty of guys, men, who hit women. My dad hit my stepmom sometimes, although sometimes she’d hit him back. And Lizette’s mother’s ex-boyfriend used to hit her. And I knew, too, that what happened at home, in your real life, was different from the stories on Beverly Hills, 90210 or what they talked about in school. Just totally disconnected, like all that stuff they said about domestic violence and molestation and abuse, it was all well and good, but it had nothing to do with what was happening to me, to any of us. You can’t just walk out of your own life, like they do on TV.

  Except, I guess, that sometimes you can. I did.

  Corinne was looking at me.

  “I know that you think your … situation or whatever it is, is, like, different or special or something—” She began to protest. “—And maybe it is. It’s just …” I sighed. “Corinne, he’s bad. He hurts you. Just promise me you won’t go back.”

  “I won’t,” she said, wiping her eyes. I was unclear, though, as to what she meant.

  “You’re not gonna go back,” I insisted.

  “I know, I know. I’m not going to go back, Iffy.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  She snorted. “I’m just saying, Iffy. It wasn’t all him. You don’t know. I would’ve hit me. Like, I have done things I’m not proud of, Iffy. You just don’t get it.”

  “None of that matters,” I told her. “What matters now is that you’re here and you’re not going back.” I was surprised at myself, at my calm and how clear this was to me. What Corinne didn’t know was that I did get it.

  I got it and got it and got it.

  Chapter 22

  Later, I told Corinne about the lady. “She just came up to me and said that Angel was hers.”

  “What?” Corinne sat up, alarmed, putting the book she’d been flipping through open-faced on the ground.

  “No, but it’s okay,” I reassured her. I instinctively reached out for Angel and patted her head. She was chewing on a stick. I grabbed it, threw it for her. She ran after it, pounced on it like she was a cat. “I was like, ‘This isn’t your dog,’ and then she was all like, ‘What can I do to help you guys,’ and at first I said, ‘Leave us alone,’ but then she goes, ‘Can’t you use twenty bucks or something?’ So, I was like, ‘Sure.’ So, we have to go back to this spot I showed her, see if she left us anything.”

  “No way! For real? Do you think she’ll leave the money?”

  “We’ll see, I guess. Should we head over there?” I offered, grateful for a distraction, grateful for something potentially good in our lives.

  “Yes,” she replied, nodding vigorously.

  As I led the way back, I was actually pretty excited. It was like looking under your pillow after the tooth fairy visited or something. I wanted to see if she had come, if she had left me anything.

  And she had. You could see even from a few feet away, because not everything fit under the rock.

  And did she ever come through. There were cans of dog food and a real leash and collar, dog biscuits and a bottle of water, a handful of (melted) chocolate bars and a bunch of bananas. And under the rock there was an envelope with twenty bucks and a note.

  Dear Brenda,

  I will leave you some supplies every few days if you’ll accept them. If there is a better place, let me know. Your dog reminds me of a dog I used to love, and I’d like to think that you’re both taken care of.

  All the best,

  Annie

  I looked at Corinne and the two of us just busted out laughing.

  “Annie?” Corinne asked. “Is she a child?”

  “She didn’t look like a child,” I answered. “She had short gray hair. She was actually more Daddy Warbucks than Annie.”

  “Ha! Annie grew up to be a lesbian! And Daddy Warbucks was totally bald, by the way.”

  “I loved that movie when I was a kid,” I said.

  “Of course you did. Everyone does.” She crooned, “The sun’ll come out …”

  Angel howled along with her, stopping only when I gave her a dog biscuit.

  And then I was rolling on the ground with her, wrestling and laughing. It was good—it was good to let some of it out that way, in laughing and playing.

  Corinne watched us, her arms folded across her chest. When Angel lay on her side, panting, ready for more, but ready to stop, too, if that’s what I wanted, I patted her rump and collected myself. I hastily wrote my own note and left it under the rock. It said “Thanks.” I didn’t really have anything else to say. Every few days? That seemed like a lot. Why would she do this? Maybe she was just trying to trick me. Maybe she was gonna come back with the cops after all. But those bananas sure tasted good. Just right, just ripe enough. And that twenty bucks looked pretty good too.

  Chapter 23

  We didn’t bother to take down the tent the next morning—we sat outside of it, reading the romance novels Corinne had gotten at the library. Whenever one of us would come across a particularly dirty—or particularly silly—passage, we’d read it aloud.

  “… pushed her against the cliff and, with one hand, ripped the breeches from her body …”

  “Yikes,” I said.

  “It gets better,” Corinne raised her eyebrows.

  “I’m not sure I want to hear.”

  Angel leapt up all of a sudden and Corinne froze. I stood up too. Corinne and I looked at each other, eyes very wide, very awake.

  “What is it, Ang?” I took the pepper spray out of my back pocket.

  “Hey,” a male voice called. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  A guy stepped into sight, emerging from a thick knot of trees. He stopped and nodded at us. We all looked at him—me, Corinne, and Angel, standing in a row. Understated, but cool looking, in blue jeans and a white tee, a big backpack. Maybe a little older than me. Brown skin and black hair. A small hoop earring in each ear. Kind of cute. Definitely cute.

  Angel gave a quick, short bark.

  “Your dog friendly?” He sounded somewhat concerned, but like he was trying not to.

  I shook my head, no. “Not really.” To emphasize this point, I squatted beside her and held her back b
y her collar.

  “All right. Just passing through and I saw your camp. I’ll leave you alone.” He turned to go.

  I looked at Corinne. She shrugged, like, why not?

  “It’s okay,” she called, a little invitation in her voice. “You can chill with us if you want.”

  The guy looked back and hesitated. “I’m not trying to bother you or anything.”

  “It’s no big deal. We’re just hanging out.”

  He approached, slowly. When he got closer, he smiled. He had beautiful teeth. “That’s a great-looking dog.” Angel, as always, was a conversation starter.

  I stroked her back. She had a low growl going, but I think it was mostly for show. I let go of her collar and she stayed next to me, wagging that tail.

  “Yeah,” I allowed.

  “Cool tail.”

  “You think so?” Corinne piped up, doubtfully.

  “Yeah. It’s like … unique.”

  “It is,” I put in. I kind of laughed. When I laughed, Angel relaxed. “Go ahead,” I said, patting her. I stood up and she trotted over to sniff our visitor. He crouched down, held out a hand. She sniffed him, then nudged his elbow so that his arm bumped up and over her neck. She was getting real good at that move.

  “I’m Anthony,” he said, to Angel. “What’s your name?”

  “That’s Angel. I’m Corinne.”

  “And I’m Brenda,” I said, before Corinne could introduce me. I suddenly remembered that I was wearing my reading glasses and my hand flew to my face, touching the lens. I tried to be casual as I took them off, folded them up. But then I was left holding them in my sweaty hand. I made my way over to my backpack, to get out the case.

  Corinne made a face at me, laughed, and then nodded at Anthony. “That’s us,” she said. “Me and Angel and Brenda,” and she rolled her eyes as she said my fake name.

  Anthony looked confused. Corinne added, “Or you can call her Saint Sneak. Saint Sneak of the Burning Heart.”

  “That would be a great name for a band,” he said, laughing a little. “So, you guys got a regular camp going, huh?” He was nodding at our tent.

  “Yep,” Corinne said. “We’re, like, vacationing here.”

  I put the glasses away and eased back down to sit cross-legged. Corinne lit a cigarette and Anthony stood to take off his backpack and then got back into a squat to give Angel a good rub down. Next thing, she was lying on her back, waiting to have her tummy scratched.

  “Gutter punk?” I said to Corinne.

  “Nah. Looks too much like a construction worker.”

  “What’s that?” Anthony looked at me and then Corinne and back again.

  “Just wondering what you are,” Corinne said. “What brings you to our park and all.”

  “Oh,” Anthony said in a way that made me wonder what he wasn’t saying. “Just somewhere to stay, I guess. So, for real, you live here?” He looked straight at me.

  I looked at the ground. I wanted to answer him, but my voice caught. It was the way I used to feel in class, when I knew the answer, but I just couldn’t say.

  Corinne waited for me to respond, but I didn’t. “Forgive my friend Brenda,” she ended the awkward silence. “She’s a woman of few words. We’re just crashing here too, I guess. Well, she’s a runaway.” She nodded at me. “I’m a … what am I, Iff? I mean, Brenda.” I scowled at her. “I guess I’m a runaway of sorts too. I don’t know. I’m maybe too old to be a runaway? Ugh. That just makes me a plain old boring homeless,” she finished, looking back at Anthony, flipping her matted hair charmingly.

  “You’re from around here?” Anthony asked, again looking at me and then Corinne and then back at me.

  I shrugged.

  “No. Jersey. What about you?” Corinne asked.

  “Monticello.” Corinne was asking the questions, but he kept looking at me when he answered. I just watched. Listened.

  “That upstate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Isn’t it nice up there?”

  “Not really,” he said. “I can’t stand it, really. It’s … upstate. You know? So, I came down here to crash with my brother. We were going to start a band. But then he got a girlfriend and he kicked me out. So, here I am.”

  “What was the name of your band?”

  Anthony smiled broadly. “The Beat Drums.”

  “The Beat Drums?” Corinne seemed doubtful.

  “Yeah. Know where it’s from?”

  “No idea.”

  “It’s dumb,” Anthony said, but he was still smiling, like he didn’t think it was dumb at all. “It’s just what Animal from the Muppets always says. You know?” and he made his voice deep and gravelly and he belted, “Beat drums! Beat drums!”

  Angel leapt up and barked at him.

  “You don’t know it? Animal from The Muppet Show?” Anthony asked, unbelieving, holding his hand out to Angel, to comfort her. I was cracking up, but I shook my head, no.

  Corinne nodded and said, unenthusiastically, “Yeah, I think so. Cute name, I guess.”

  Anthony looked disappointed. He patted Angel, who now stood next to him, looking expectant, like he was gonna do that funny voice again or something, and then she sat down. She licked him, nudged at him for more attention. He put his arm around her and she settled down.

  “What kind of music?” Corinne asked.

  “I don’t know. Like, alternative or lo-fi or whatever.”

  “That’s cool.” My voice was a little more than a whisper.

  He smiled at me. “Yeah, like sort of, I don’t know. You know, like, Pavement, Guided by Voices, stuff like that?”

  I didn’t know, but I nodded and smiled. Not for the last time, I wished desperately I knew more about music.

  “You ever play a show?” Corinne continued her drilling.

  “Not one,” Anthony conceded.

  “And your own brother kicked you out on the street,” Corinne added with false sympathy.

  “It wasn’t as bad as all that. I mean, it’s a tiny place. And I guess his girlfriend didn’t want me around anymore. And then he was just like, ‘Okay, bro, it’s getting kind of crowded here.’ So, I said I’d take off. You know how it goes. The weather’s nice. It’s not so bad.” He had a nice, deep voice and a quiet way of talking. I wanted to stare at him, to really study what he looked like, but I mostly kept my eyes on the ground.

  There was a lull in the conversation and we all just sat, waiting, then Anthony opened his backpack and took out a couple of granola bars. “You guys?” he asked, gesturing toward me with one.

  “Sure,” Corinne said.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Anthony threw it over, which of course bounced off my palm and landed in front of me. He held a second up in the air, ready to throw to Corinne, but she walked over to him and took it herself.

  “Thanks,” she said. She moved over to the rock and half sat on it, putting her cigarette out. “How long you been in the park?”

  “Just since Saturday,” Anthony said, unwrapping a bar. “I’m not, like, planning on staying. Just wanna see some more of the city before I head back upstate.”

  Corinne teased, “If you want to see more of the city, what are you doing hanging around in a park in Queens?”

  Anthony chewed. “My brother’s place is just a few blocks away. I figured this might be a good place to stop, take a nap on a bench, that kind of thing. I can always pop into his place for a shower and stuff. And it’s a great park. Really great. Don’t you think?”

  “I do,” I said. “My mother—” It just popped out of my mouth. I looked down.

  Corinne looked at me, surprised.

  “My mother,” I started again, “loved this park.” Angel came over and sat down next to me. I pulled a silky ear through my fingers. “She used to take me here all the time when I was
a kid.”

  “No way,” said Corinne, gently. She caught my eye and gave me a little smile. “That’s nice.”

  Nobody said anything for a minute. Then Corinne asked, “Why here?” I knew she was prodding me, but it was okay.

  “She grew up over here. But when she met my dad, most of her family, like, disowned her. But she had this one cousin, I called her my aunt, who still, like, hung out with her in secret. And Mom would bring me over here with her.”

  Corinne looked surprised, probably because it took me ages to tell her this about my mother, and here I was dishing it to a total stranger, but she was smiling in this way that I knew was meant to be encouraging. She didn’t have to worry; it just kept coming out.

  “And it was a secret from my dad too. It was, like, our thing. But I forgot about it for a long time after she … left.”

  I stopped.

  “So, here you are,” Corinne said.

  “Here I am.”

  Again, there was a pause and we all just sat there, but it didn’t feel weird or anything, it almost felt like the most natural thing in the world. Then, I heard myself continue: “I used to think this park was so huge, like, immense. It doesn’t really feel like that anymore. Not really. Now it seems … small.”

  I looked at my granola bar before opening it, tearing through the white man with the big hat. I took a bite. Chocolate and oats. Amazing.

  “It must seem tiny to you,” I said to Anthony when I’d swallowed. The words just kept coming; I was being someone else, someone capable of making conversation. “Is it all country where you live?”

  “I guess.”

  “But isn’t it, like, scenic and all?”

  “Well,” he said, “there are some nice spots. But there’s just not a whole lot going on.”

  “I think I’d like to live in the country.” I seriously had no idea where that idea came from.

  “You might,” Anthony agreed. “But Monticello, I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. Like, we had a Kmart once. It closed.”

  “Oh.”

  “No, I mean, it’s home.” He seemed to feel guilty talking trash about his hometown. “And we have the racetrack. Still. It’s not easy. I mean, including my uncle, we’re literally the only black people. Which maybe isn’t actually as bad as it sounds. Just weird. And, it’s one hundred percent boring. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’m looking for something, you know? And I don’t think I can find it in Monticello.”