Castles: A Fictional Memoir of a Girl with Scissors

by Benjamin X. Wretlind

  Mama rarely kept a boyfriend and those I had met in the past always left her shortly after. I used to think it was me, as if the burden of a child was more than these men were ready to commit to. Grandma seemed to take a disinterest in many of them, and would occasionally talk to them in bitter tones. The majority of arguments between Grandma and Mama were related to those boyfriends. Maybe Mama thought her inability to settle down with someone was attributed to Grandma's inability to stay out of her life.

  Alfie was different in that respect. He showed a genuine interest in me at first and even held a few conversations. Grandma wasn't around to show her distaste and Mama seemed at first much happier because of it. It was like she could relax and devote all her time and energy to pleasing Alfie and getting drunk. I even found myself cleaning less after he moved in. I had time to play with Michael or sit out on the porch and listen to the wind, waiting for the storms and imagining my castle in the sky.

  2

  The year after Grandma died was dry in terms of weather. We rarely saw rain and I can't say as I remember any dust storms, even on the horizon. If we were farmers and had crops to worry about, I'm sure that year would have been even more memorable, but the desert feeds itself and the cacti never change. In the air was the constant smell of dust, enhanced by the scorching heat.

  Michael and I had ventured more into territories that our bodies said we should. I'd grown breasts, started my period and began to feel more like a woman. Michael, in turn, had grown taller and although he was far from muscular, he was definitely bigger. My love for him grew as much as it could at that age, and I began to think Grandma's warning to watch the tongue was unfounded and biased. He never said anything rude to me and never once struck out in anger. If his tongue was split, I never saw the bad side of it.

  I hadn't heard Grandma's voice since the day Michael showed me the dust eel.

  Mama didn't approve. She voiced her concern on numerous occasions, calling me a slut the night she caught Michael and I in the bedroom feeling each other. My shirt was on the floor, my bra straps hanging from my shoulders. Why should she have cared? She wasn't around much, and when she was home, she spent her time with Alfie in front of the television set, drinking her damned beer. If I wanted to explore the parts of me that apparently gave Mama pleasure, why shouldn't I?

  I was hit pretty hard that night. That was the first time I remember Mama striking me without using a wooden spoon or ruler. As Michael ran from the bedroom and I heard the screen door open and shut, Mama pulled back her arm and punched me in the side of the head.

  "You know better than that!" she screamed. "I didn't raise you to be a slut!"

  I grabbed the side of my head and pushed against the wall. "You didn't raise me at all!"

  I was right, and Mama knew it. It didn't matter, though. What I said at that moment in between the shock of being discovered and the pain of being hit so hard was a blow to Mama. Her eyes opened wider than I'd seen them before, and if she were a demon, I swear I would have seen her tail stand straight up, a barbed hook ready to strike me dead. Instead of a tail, she hit me again, square in the chest.

  It's not fun to lose your breath when you're crying.

  Michael was banned from the trailer for a few weeks and he did his best to stay away. I couldn't have it, though, and always waited until Mama was asleep or too drunk to notice me slip out the bedroom window and head over to meet with him. It was rebellion, pure and simple. Mama didn't want me to have a boyfriend, and I didn't want her to step into my life like she suddenly cared.

  Getting out of the trailer was easy; getting back in, however, required a little more assurance that neither Mama nor Alfie were going to wake up. I couldn't reach my window from the outside, so I had to use the front or back door.

  The night Mama locked both doors, I knew I was in trouble.

  "Well, well, well." I heard Mama's voice from the kitchen after trying the backdoor. "If it isn't my little slut."

  I swallowed back both fear and rage. I wasn't a slut, and she knew it. I never once gave into my urges to let Michael inside of me, fearing the pain more than anything else. Yes, he'd seen my breasts and felt my body from head to toe. He'd even licked the wetness from between my legs once with that very tongue Grandma warned me about. That didn't make me a slut, however.

  "Can I come in, Mama?" It sounded pathetic, but I didn't know what else to say. Should I run away and hide out in the maintenance shed? Would it matter? Mama or Alfie were bound to find me.

  I heard the chain on the door slide across and the lock on the door jiggle. I saw the door creak open just a bit, but not all the way. I guessed at that point she wanted me to come inside.

  A beer bottle flew from the crack in the door and struck me on my cheek. It didn't break, but I stumbled back off the steps and landed on the gravel with a thud. I looked up just in time to see the door slam shut again and hear the lock engage.

  "You can stay out there, tonight, bitch!" Mama screamed. It's a wonder—even to this day—she didn't wake the neighbors. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

  I pushed myself up and brushed my cheek with dirty hands. In the dim moonlight, I could see blood in streaks on my palm. I'd been cut, and now there was probably dirt mixed in.

  I didn't know where to go, but I ran. I couldn't go back to Michael's trailer; his parents were awake and probably didn't know Michael had been out as well. I didn't dare get him in trouble. What other friends I may have had—if, indeed, I had any other friends—were undoubtedly asleep or wouldn't let me in anyway. Some people just don't want to be bothered with other people's problems. This was my problem. I brought it on myself for exploring my body, indulging in urges I'd just recently started having. This was my problem and no one was going to be there to help me out.

  Grandma would've let me back in. I knew that, but I also knew she would have told me stories of the evil tongue that grows in the mouth of a man.

  I ended up spending the night against the maintenance shed, looking out at the desert beyond the fence. I curled up as best I could and was thankful the night wasn't as cold as it had been before. In the distance, a sliver of the moon hung over the Bus, taking me back to a more innocent discovery: death and the dust eels. It was comforting to think about that, and as my cries lulled me to sleep, it was something to dream about.

  3

  As the sun rose, Alfie pulled me up by my arms from my resting place by the shed. I went willingly, consigned to a beating, more screaming, and the need to clean up the mess on my face before it got worse. On the way back to the trailer, Alfie didn't say a word. His grip was strong, and I knew he was just as mad as Mama.

  Mama was asleep on the couch. She didn't have to go into work that day and I wasn't about to go to school with a cut on my face I'd have to explain. I sat down at the kitchen table. I wanted to cry, more out of fear than anything else.

  Alfie reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. He opened one and set it down on the table in front of me.

  "Drink up." He smiled and sat down in the chair next to me. "You look like you need it."

  I'd tasted beer before, but never really liked it much. I still don't, but I'm not averse to drinking every once in a while. As I nervously put the beer to my lips, my hand shaking, I suddenly felt Alfie was right. I needed it.

  "You're a pretty girl," Alfie said. "You're growing in all the right spots."

  I tried to smile, but found myself taking another drink.

  "Michael knows it, and I have to say he's a lucky boy."

  I wondered where this line of conversation was going. Sure, it was Mama who didn't want me to see Michael again, and Mama who was convinced I was a slut. Alfie had never said any words to make me think he shared in Mama's convictions or even noticed Michael at all.

  I looked up at Alfie and watched him lick his lips before taking a drink.

  "Watch the tongue of a man." Grandma's voice was back. I could hear it as loudly as I heard anything else—Alfie's wo
rds of admiration, Mama's heavy breathing, the air conditioner in the back of the trailer. I closed my eyes and tried to shut out her voice.

  "I'm sorry," I said. I figured if I talked, I might be able to drown out Grandma. "I didn't mean to go out last night."

  "Sure you did." Alfie smiled at me. I looked in his eyes but couldn't find any anger. "You wanted to be with another man, and feel him inside of you."

  I was uncomfortable sitting at the kitchen table talking to Mama's boyfriend about anything. Talking to Mama's boyfriend about sex made me squirm in my seat and take another long drink. I set the bottle down on the table. It was empty.

  Alfie laughed and grabbed another bottle for me. I didn't hesitate. "I can teach you some things," he said. I felt his hand brush against my jeans. "There are things you should know before you get into bed with Michael."

  Mama stirred. I prayed she'd wake up and yell at me. She didn't even have to yell at me, just roll over and open her eyes. It would have been enough, I think, to get Alfie's hand off my leg.

  He rubbed my thigh, and I took another drink.

  "I don't need to know anything," I said. I could hear my voice crack. "I won't do it again."

  "Yes, you will."

  I looked at the bottle in front of me, and pictured it flying through the air and striking my cheek. In an instant, all the pain I hadn't felt since waking up now rushed to my face. I took that as a good enough signal to get up and go to the bathroom.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To wash my face. I'm hurting."

  I could feel Alfie stare at me as I walked through the living room, and I'm sure his eyes were aimed at my butt. I quickened my pace, reached the bathroom and slammed the door.

  4

  Mama finally woke up while I was in the bathroom. I heard her mention something to Alfie about me, but couldn't make out the exact words. Her footsteps made me tremble.

  She banged on the door. "Get out of there, Maggie."

  I'd had enough crying for one morning and obliged. The door swung open and Mama pushed her way past me. She looked up as she knelt over the toilet. "Get out."

  I did as I was told, but rather than face Alfie again, I went straight to my room. I could still feel the sting on my face from the alcohol I'd poured in the cut, and the salt from my tears hadn't made it feel any better. I shut the door and lay down on my bed, thinking of Michael and his touch and then of Alfie. What was he trying to do with me? Get me in bed?

  I was almost twelve years old at the time, and I had enough common sense to know that any sort of affection from a man Alfie's age was dangerous. Like I said before, I wasn't a stupid girl. Grandma had given me enough knowledge to make it as a woman, and some of that was certainly hard to swallow at such a young age.

  I'd never thought of Alfie as anything more than Mama's boyfriend: another man who would come into the house and eventually leave. I never really got to know any of them, and I never thought Alfie would be any different. True, he'd moved in with us and I could hear Mama's sex noises in the middle of the night. They fought off and on, and occasionally, Alfie would strike Mama. It was usually in the arm or leg, however, not in the face like so many other men. Mama probably deserved it, anyway. She had a temper, one that couldn't be controlled. Most of her boyfriends must have realized this and dropped her as soon as that temper crept out of its hiding place.

  Mama was certainly pretty enough. She had Grandma's eyes, and that may have been one reason I couldn't hate her despite all the mean things she'd said to me. It took me a while to realize why she couldn't keep a man in the house: Grandma didn't approve.

  I could hear Mama in the bathroom, vomiting. The trailer walls were never meant to keep sounds out, just separate one space from another. The toilet flushed, the water in the sink ran, and the door opened. She was coming to get me.

  I was wrong. I heard Alfie tell Mama something then the screen door open and shut. Maybe she was too angry to deal with me. Maybe she just didn't care enough to impart her great motherly knowledge on me and warn me of the dangers of sexual relations at such a young age. Whatever the reason, Mama was gone.

  I was alone with Alfie.

  My bedroom door opened, and he stood at the entrance, smiling. His unshaved face and messed up hair made him look more than crazy. He took a drink from the beer in his hand and stepped inside.

  I pushed up against the wall, like I had so many times when Mama threatened to beat me. This was different. I could tell something more sinister was about to take place and no one was going to save me. Grandma wasn't going to appear out of nowhere and calm Alfie down. Mama had left the trailer for God knows what reason, and the neighbors had probably heard enough screams from our house that they no longer paid any attention.

  Alfie sat down on the side of the bed and put his hand on my knee. He had to know I was frightened.

  "I'm not going to hurt you, Maggie." He smiled and set the bottle on my nightstand. "Your mama went to the store to get you some medicine for your cut. I think she feels bad for leaving a mark on such a pretty face."

  I didn't know what to say. Without Alfie in the house, Mama wouldn't have done that. She would have finished vomiting, come in the room and beat the crap out of me. I'm sure of it. Maybe Alfie had some calming effect on women I wasn't aware of.

  He moved his hand up my leg and rubbed my thigh. His hands were large, and as I looked at them, I wondered if they were clean like Michael's. I don't know what possessed me to think of such things, but I figured if Alfie was going to touch me, I wanted him to do so with clean hands.

  "Are you afraid of me?" His tone was playful and caught me off guard. "I mean, do I scare you being in the house with your mama?"

  "No."

  "You're tense."

  "You're touching me."

  Alfie smiled again. "I thought you liked to be touched."

  I nodded for some reason. I think the answer was obvious: I liked to be touched by people I liked, not necessarily by people who were having sex with my mother. "I do, but—"

  "Then why are you so tense? You're a beautiful girl and you're going to be an even more beautiful woman. You know men aren't going to like you very much if you're so wound up all the time."

  I felt my legs and arms relax. He was right. If I wanted to be liked, wanted to feel the touch of another man—especially a man I was in love with—then I had to let go, relax. "I'm just nervous."

  "Nervous of what?"

  "What Mama would say."

  Alfie stood up. His eyes changed from caring and understanding to wicked and hateful. He licked his lips and I swear I could see his tongue split in two. "You don't tell her anything."

  He grabbed the bottle from my nightstand and held it up, ready to hit me. "Do you hear me? You don't tell her anything!"

  I pushed against the wall again, my body as tense as I could make it. He breathed heavily and stared at me for a moment before finally walking away. I heard his footsteps across the living room then out the door. He was gone.

  I was alone.

  Grandma wasn't going to save me from anything, and I doubted I'd ever see those castles in the sky she told me about. But I had seen the tongue, and it changed.

  5

  I never said a word to Mama. Alfie made it clear that bad things would happen if I did. I was too scared to even mention anything to Michael. I didn't tell him I spent the night behind the maintenance shed or that the cut on my face was a side effect of Mama's wrath.

  I fell on the steps, that was it.

  I avoided Alfie as much as I could. When I returned from school, I'd go straight to my room, lock the door and do my homework. If Mama would leave without Alfie—go to work or whatever—I would find some way to get out of the trailer and see Michael. I'm sure Michael was aware of my increased need to be around him, but I also guessed he was proud to be my protector. He just never knew what he was protecting me from.

  When I turned twelve, Michael surprised me with a gift: a dog of dubious origin, bro
wn and tan and a little bit ragged.

  Michael handed me the leash. "Picked him up at the pound. Thought you might like a dog."

  I certainly did. As I held the leash and bent down to pet it, I couldn't help but feel a little ashamed: ashamed that I once considered the possibility of Michael's tongue turning against me, ashamed that I wasn't as truthful as I should have been. Michael was nothing but kind, and this gift was out of the blue. I stood up, smiled as best as I could and kissed Michael on the cheek.

  "Thank you," I said. "But—"

  Michael's smile dropped slightly. "But what?"

  "I don't know if Mama will let me have a dog."

  "That's okay. I'm allowed to keep him at my house if you can't. You can come over whenever you want to see him."

  I beamed with pride. A man—and that's what I considered Michael despite his age—had given me a gift without the thought of what he could get in return. Grandma had always told me that all a man really wants is what's between my legs. A man will do anything to get there, wrapping their tongue around you in ways that will make you squirm in delight.

  Once again, I thought Grandma was wrong.

  Michael and I walked to his trailer and we tied the dog against a fence post. The dog looked up at me, his big tongue flapping with every breath he took.

  I blinked. The tongue looked more like a dust eel than anything I'd ever seen. It was long and slender, slightly black and the tip was a little wider than the rest of it. I stared at it, flashing pictures through my mind of the dust eel in the Bus and the way it cried when it looked at me.