by Adam Rapp
She blows her nose and starts scratching her arms. She’s got this thing called eczema. She uses creams that smell like vegetable soup and metal. Once I walked into the kitchen and her neck was so red it could have been hamburger meat. She was leaning against the refrigerator and clawing away.
Sometimes I imagine her with no skin, just all her veins and various tissues.
Ma’s got a depression problem, too. She took medication for a while but she stopped cause she said the pills made her feel loopy.
I think she gets depressed cause she works around all these sad people. Maybe sadness is like chicken pox and other contagious diseases.
Ma, I wanna go home, I say.
My throat gets that ache in it again.
She squeezes my hand again and says, In a few minutes, Blacky. After you talk to Ms. Wolf, okay?
Okay, I say, but I feel stuck.
Ma says, Go talk to Ms. Wolf. She’s a nice lady.
One of the policemen says, Follow the nurse now, son.
His face looks less like concrete when he talks but I still have this feeling that he’ll arrest me if I don’t obey his orders.
I look over my shoulder to see if Dr. Darius is back but he’s not.
Then I turn and follow the nurse into the other room.
3
The woman standing behind the desk smells like ham.
I recognized this odor when I walked in the room. Ham smells guilty and I imagine her doing stuff. Stuff like shoplifting or spitting in a pan.
She’s the one with the frizzy hair who was talking to Shay and Betty in the hall. She wears a long-sleeved yellow shirt with a collar and brown pants. Her clothes seem too big for her body.
It’s like she’s trying to hide in them.
The badge on her shirt says:
WENDY WOLF
CHILDREN’S SERVICES
It sounds like a name you would make up. Like Bob Bear or Sam Snake.
There’s a desk and a window and a chair that is the color of lima beans. Other than this there are very few items in the room.
Hello, Gerald, she says, holding out her hand. I’m Ms. Wolf.
Hello, I say, and take another step into the room.
I shake her hand. Her fingers feel long and warm.
I’m glad to meet you, she says. Please take a seat.
I sit in the chair. My feet are starting to itch from all that orange stuff.
On the wall behind the Ham Lady there’s a United Way poster of a kid with bruises. He’s staring at me like he’s hungry.
Are you comfortable? the Ham Lady asks. Is there anything I can get you?
No, thank you, I say.
I realize that I’m holding the 7-Up. It’s cold and heavy in my hand. I don’t even remember when the nurse gave it to me.
It must have been in the hall, I think. She gave it to me in the hall …
Outside I can hear my ma pleading with the policeman. Her voice sounds like a clarinet.
There’s a clock on the wall. It’s bigger than most clocks and I keep thinking it’s staring at me like it has a brain. It says it’s 8:25.
I’m supposed to be in school, I tell the Ham Lady.
I know, Gerald, she says.
I say, In Math Skills we’re doing fractions and prime numbers. I’m gonna miss the bus.
The Ham Lady says, You don’t need to worry about that right now.
I say, In Social Studies we’re learning about capital punishment. The electric chair and stuff.
She says, You’ll be free to go back to school tomorrow, okay?
Okay, I say.
She has this blue ball that she keeps fiddling with. She mostly just rolls it around on her desk but sometimes she squeezes it too.
The Ham Lady looks at me for a second and says, Your mother and I used to work together at Children’s Services, did you know that?
No, I say.
It was before she came over here to St. Joe’s. I remember when you were born. You and your sister, both …
Once Ma told me she stopped working at Children’s Services cause too many kids died.
They just kept dyin, Blacky, she told me. The more they died the more I cried.
While she still worked there, one night she brought home a baby that nobody else wanted. He was African American and his name was Tayshawn Van and he had to crawl around with an air tank strapped to his leg cause of a severe breathing disorder. Sometimes he chirped like a squirrel. He lived with us for a week and then Ma took him somewhere else.
That’s when Ma was strong. That was before she got depressed and had to start taking prescription medication.
I need to ask you some questions, the Ham Lady says. And it might be difficult for you to answer some of them but I want you to do your best to tell the truth, okay, Gerald?
Okay, I say.
She flips a page on her yellow notepad and says, I’d like you to start out by telling me what happened last night when you were with Mr. Johnson.
I don’t say anything. Instead I watch the clock. The second hand goes from 3 to 6.
There’s no rush, the Ham Lady says. You can take as much time as you need.
I try and take some time but all I can think about is how after I got through the creek I hid behind a tree for several minutes cause I thought I heard Al Johnson whispering again. There was a knot in the bark that looked like a face.
Blacky, I thought I heard Al Johnson say. You forgot your gym shoes, Blacky …
I was sleeping and then I woke up, I tell the Ham Lady. I was in his room.
What were you doing before that?
I say, We were drawing Indians with charcoal pencils. I fell asleep at the kitchen table.
The Ham Lady writes this down and says, Did you and Mr. Johnson draw together a lot?
Yes, I say. We drew stuff and we did copper etchings. He was gonna teach me wood burning, too.
Did you ever draw anything besides Indians?
I say, We drew cows, too. Cows and planes and pictures of presidents. I did one of Calvin Coolidge.
Had you spent the night at Mr. Johnson’s before?
Yes, I say.
How many times?
A bunch, I say.
Do you know exactly how many?
No, I say. Maybe like six.
The Ham Lady flips a page and says, Was this the first time he took you into his room like that?
Yes, I say.
In the past when you spent the night where did you sleep?
I say, On the sofa in the living room. It pulls out into a bed.
Did he ever come and visit you while you were sleeping on the sofa?
I say, He gave me some wine once, but that wasn’t on the sofa.
Oh, she says. Where was that?
I say, That was in his camper when we were at Seiko State Park.
The Ham Lady writes this information down on her yellow pad. Her voice has hardly changed. It’s like they brought her in from the phone company.
Gerald, she says after she’s finished writing, did anything ever happen in the camper home?
My name’s Blacky, I say.
Oh dear, she says. I’m sorry, Blacky.
Even though her voice is dead she’s got a sensitive face. For a second her mouth twitches so much I think it’s going to fall off.
Then she says my name again and smiles.
Blacky.
She announces it like she won something.
I listen for Ma in the hall again. I imagine the policemen sitting on both sides of her. They’re bored and fiddling with their walkie-talkies.
The Ham Lady says, Isn’t Gerald your birth name?
Yes, I say.
Why don’t you use it?
I say, Gerald’s my dad’s name.
I see, she says.
We stopped using it when I was little, I explain.
After he left? she asks.
I don’t know, I say. I guess.
She rocks back in her chair and clasps her hands behind her head.
Her underarms are sweating and I wonder if they smell more like ham or less like ham.
She says, Who’s we?
I say, Who’s we what?
You just said we stopped using it when I was little.
Oh, I say. We. Ma and Shay and Cheedle and me.
Shay’s your sister and Cheedle’s your brother, right?
Yes.
Is Cheedle his real name?
It’s Linden but nobody calls him that.
The Ham Lady adjusts her glasses and says, Does Mr. Johnson call you Blacky, too?
Yes, I say.
Does he call you Gerald?
No.
Does he ever call you anything else besides Blacky?
I say, Sometimes.
What else does he call you?
I take a minute.
My hands are still connected to my arms. I make sure to check this, for some reason.
After I came out from behind that tree with the face in it I didn’t hear Al Johnson’s voice anymore. But I was cold from falling in the creek.
… Blacky? the Ham Lady says.
He calls me Girl, I say.
Girl? she says.
Yes, Girl, I say.
Like the name of a particular girl? she asks.
No, I say. Just Girl.
And how often does Mr. Johnson call you this?
I don’t answer.
Does he use this name a lot? she asks.
I say, Sometimes.
Did you call him anything? I mean besides Al or Mr. Johnson.
I never call him Mr. Johnson, I say.
She writes this down. I wait for her to catch up.
Then I add, He has a different name, too.
Oh, she says. What is it?
I think it’s possible for your head to pop off at the neck. I can almost feel mine hitting the ceiling.
Blacky, what’s Mr. Johnson’s different name? she asks.
The lights are buzzing over us. Insects have been trapped and are getting roasted alive. There are certain ways light controls people too, I’m convinced of this.
… Blacky? she says again.
I call him Boy, I say.
For a second she looks like she won’t say anything else. Like her voice is a toy that you have to wind up.
I say, When I’m Girl he’s Boy.
She makes some more notes on the yellow pad. Every time she writes something new it makes my feet itch.
For some reason I start to think about how when that African American baby lived with us I used to feed him liquid carrots and let him clutch my thumb. His fingers were strong and wrinkled. Once I removed his air mask to feed him and he opened his mouth like he wanted to scream. This was one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen. I loved him and Ma loved him and Cheedle loved him too, but Shay would call him It and treated him like a science project. Shay sometimes calls African Americans niggers and I’m sure this has something to do with her negative feelings about Tayshawn Van.
After a while the Ham Lady says, So, Blacky, did anything happen when you were with Mr. Johnson in his camper home? When you were down at Seiko State Park?
I say, He just gave me some purple wine to help me sleep.
And you drank it?
Only a little, I say. Ma’s had enough problems with Shay’s drinking.
The Ham Lady writes some of this down and says, Blacky, can you describe Mr. Johnson’s room for me? The room at his house?
I close my eyes to look.
Al Johnson’s face is huge in my brain. It’s so big it almost stinks.
I drew Calvin Coolidge and he drew General George Washington.
Very good, Blacky, Al Johnson said. Excellent eyes. Excellent, excellent eyes …
… Blacky? the Ham Lady says.
There were two beds, I say. Two beds on opposite sides.
Were they big beds or little beds?
Little beds, I say. Like bunk beds without the bunks.
She writes again.
I picture her drawing me in one of the beds. My face looks dead and blue.
Anything else? she asks. About the room? Anything at all.
His musket, I say.
She looks up.
She says, His musket?
Yes, I say. He’s got a Civil War musket. It’s a collector’s item. He keeps it in a glass case in front of his bed. It’s got this thing called a crosshairs that you look through. He told me he was gonna give it to me someday.
I have to stop talking cause I feel like I’m choking.
I almost have to give myself the Heimlich maneuver to make myself breathe again. We learned about this procedure in Health. There’s a colorful poster with the international choking symbol and various first-aid instructions.
The Ham Lady’s face goes real still. She says, You okay, Blacky?
I nod.
You sure?
I nod again.
Would you like another 7-Up?
No, thank you, I say.
Talking makes me breathe. It’s weird how your body can just stop working at the drop of a dime. Your lungs and stuff.
The Ham Lady is writing again.
I imagine that she’s drawing the musket now, too. Maybe she’s putting it in the bed with me.
So, Blacky, she says, I know that this is very difficult for you, but I really need you to tell me what happened last night. The exact details of what Mr. Johnson actually did to you.
I find the clock on the wall again. It’s ticking so loud I can practically feel it in my teeth.
It’s suddenly hailing in the window. You can hear it attacking the hospital.
I think there must be a reason for this.
The Ham Lady doesn’t register the hail.
Even though she’s sitting across the desk it feels like she’s so close that she can look into my mouth and see my tonsils.
Blacky, she says, I know you might feel strange talking about this with your mother in the hall, but I want you to know that you can tell me. I want to help you, okay?
Okay, I say.
We want to make sure that whatever happened to you doesn’t happen to anybody else.
What are you gonna do to him? I ask.
I picture Al Johnson sitting where I’m sitting. His face is bald and calm. Then some guy wearing a black mask comes in and chops his head off. A Ninja with a sword.
The Ham Lady says, We’re not going to do anything to Mr. Johnson, Blacky. That’s not for us to decide. The police and the courts will take care of that, okay?
Okay, I say.
The hail is still coming down. Some of it is hitting the window now. It’s so white it looks fake.
So let’s get back to what happened, okay, Blacky?
I nod.
So you woke up, the Ham Lady says, and then what?
I woke up and his finger was in me.
Oh, she says. In you where, exactly?
In my butt, I say.
It sounds strange coming out.
Butt.
Like swallowing a bee and barfing.
What finger? the Ham Lady asks. Can you show me what finger?
I show her my thumb.
It’s like I’m holding a weapon.
She stares at it like it’s going to get her and then she writes on her pad. Maybe she’s drawing that, too? Maybe she’s drawing Al Johnson’s thumb up my butt?
My brain feels warm and small.
The Ham Lady takes her glasses off and cleans them with a tissue. When they’re off her eyes look huge and brown.
Did it hurt, Blacky? she asks.
Sort of, I say.
It felt like pooping but I don’t tell her this.
Did Mr. Johnson try and put anything else inside of you?
No, I say.
Are you sure? she asks.
Yes, I say. That’s when I was running.
I see, she says. And did he run after you?
No, I say.
Did anyone else see you leaving?
His mo
ther.
Where was she?
She was downstairs.
What was she doing?
She was at the table drinking orange water. When I ran by her she called me a heathen. Her name is Merle.
I want to add that she hardly ever spoke to me and that she smelled like a dog and that she’s so old she looks painted, but I can’t cause my mouth feels funny.
The Ham Lady says, Does Merle live with Mr. Johnson?
Yes, I say. She stays in the bedroom on the first floor. Next to the room with all the bird paintings.
She writes this down, too.
And when you got outside what did you do? the Ham Lady asks.
I ran.
Where did you run to, Blacky?
To the woods.
How far were the woods from his house?
Not far, I say. Just through his backyard.
And you ran all the way home through the woods?
Yes, I say. I walked a little too. And I hid behind a tree when I got tired.
It suddenly occurs to me that when I was hiding behind that tree with the face in it I saw a deer, but I don’t tell the Ham Lady this either. The deer froze in some plants. It looked like it was made out of metal. It also looked like it might start singing.
There were lots of mosquitoes, I tell the Ham Lady.
Did you have any clothes on?
No, I say. I found a newspaper but it was wet and it kept falling apart.
How are those cuts on your feet doing? she asks. Do they still hurt?
A little, I say.
Then the Ham Lady takes a drink from her coffee cup and looks inside of it for a moment like there’s something in there.
Did Mr. Johnson do anything else, Blacky? she asks. Anything besides touch you with his thumb?
I say, He kissed me.
She writes this down.
I add, He was teaching me how to kiss.
She writes this, too.
After she finishes she stares out the window and says, Oh my God, it’s hailing.
The Ham Lady watches it for a moment. I can feel her wanting to go to the window.
If she does this I will leave. I will get Ma and go.
But she doesn’t get up.
For some reason I keep thinking about that deer. How its eyes were big and brown. They were the only parts that didn’t look metal.
Why are you standing, Blacky? the Ham Lady suddenly asks.
I didn’t even realize that this happened. My legs just stood on their own.
Are you okay, honey?
Yes, I say, I’m okay.
Do you need to use the restroom?