by Brian Rella
His wannabe-cowboy style made Jessie want to puke too. He wore big cowboy boots and a belt with a huge brass buckle engraved with longhorns. It was so cheesy. And he was totally playing Jessie’s mom for sure. I’d bet a million dollars he’s sleeping over at other women’s houses, too.
“Enjoy your date night,” Marie said cheerfully.
Jessie said nothing. She knew what was coming and her stomach made funny noises in anticipation of it.
Marie had babysat for Jessie many times since her mom and Steve started dating. Jessie hated Marie. She was always on her phone or watching the TV too loud while Jessie was trying to read. Marie definitely couldn’t read.
Jessie loved to read and would stay up all night reading sometimes. It was her only escape since the accident. Stephen King, Clive Barker, Douglass Clegg, Bram Stoker, Mary Shelley—she loved all horror stories, new and old. But when her mom and Steve went out, Marie made reading difficult.
Marie was short for a sixteen-year-old. Jessie didn’t think Marie was particularly good-looking either. She was chubby and her hair had fried, split ends from being dyed jet black too often. She did have big boobs and a round butt, which the boys seemed to like. When Steve and her mom were out, she’d sit her fat butt on the couch, munching loudly on family-size bags of chips, yelling into her phone, or cackling at the stupid Housewives shows on Bravo.
Recently, things had become much worse. Marie had a boyfriend or something, and now he was coming over too. When he came over, Marie made Jessie stay in her room so they could have privacy. At first, Jessie didn’t mind too much. She liked to read in bed anyway. But soon, Jessie started hearing smooching, moaning, and squeaking coming from the living room every time he came over. It was disgusting. She’d had to buy a noise machine for her room and put it next to her bed to drown out the nastiness with white noise. Jessie couldn’t wait until she was eighteen, because then she could go away to college and never see any of them again.
“You girls have fun,” Steve said and winked at her.
Ugh! Such a creep! Just go!
Steve and her mother walked to the front door and Steve gave her mother a tap on her backside. She laughed, and they closed the door behind them. Jessie was happy to see them go. Now she could get back to the book she was reading and drown out the world.
“You,” Marie said. “You need to stay in your room tonight. My boyfriend is coming over and we need some privacy. Go eat your dinner and then get in your room.”
Jessie would have gone to her room anyway to read, but she didn’t like Marie telling her she had to do anything in her own house. Jessie stared her down. “This is bullshit, Marie!” she said. “It’s my house!”
Marie stepped toward her. Jessie was tall and skinny for a fourteen-year-old. She’d just gone through a growth spurt and wasn’t quite used to her longer limbs yet. She backed up awkwardly as Marie came inches away from her nose. Marie wagged a finger at Jessie and her face contorted into something angry, ugly, and not quite human. Jessie could smell her bad breath as she spoke. “You’ll do what I say, bitch, or you’re dead,” she said. “I’ll kick the shit out of you if you don’t get in your room and stay there! Got it?”
Marie wasn’t kidding—she’d done it before. Marie was good at fighting and Jessie was not a fighter. Jessie had complained to her mom before, but Karen always seemed to brush it off whenever Marie and Jessie fought, even when Jessie showed her the bruises Marie gave her.
It wasn’t worth it, Jessie decided. She’d planned on going to her room to read anyway. She sighed, went to the kitchen, grabbed her food and a drink, went to her room, and slammed the door behind her. One day, this will all be behind me and I won’t ever have to see these people again.
“That’s right,” Marie yelled after her. “And don’t come out the rest of the night!”
“Bitch,” Jessie said under her breath. She put her food and drink down on her desk, deciding she wasn’t hungry. She felt miserable. Then she caught a glance of herself in the mirror across the room and began critiquing her looks.
Jessie loved her hair. It was long and naturally blond, like her mom’s. Her face was OK, too. She had high cheekbones and wide blue eyes, but she wished that her body wasn’t so awkward. She had long limbs and no curves. She was straight and flat, like a long board of wood. She turned to face the mirror, and ran her hands down her hips. I wish I had a little more of what Mom and Marie have.
Self-pity and depression crept into her thoughts. Then memories of her father bubbled to the surface of her mind and her eyes stung with tears as the remembrances of the accident rushed back into her thoughts.
Jessie’s dad, Michael, had passed away a couple of years ago. He’d had an accident at the construction site he was working at in New Orleans. His harness snapped and he had fallen fifteen stories to the ground, dying instantly. Jessie and her dad had been best friends and she was devastated when she found out. He was a real man, and a good dad. She had loved him so much. He had treated Jessie and her mom with love and respect. They had all been so happy together.
Her mom was shattered when her father had died. The grief had consumed Karen and she almost didn’t make it through. She didn’t talk or eat for a month and Jessie had had to get herself ready for school, make her own dinner, clean the house, do the laundry, and everything else her mom was supposed to do for her. Jessie understood the death of her dad crushed her mom, but Jessie was hurt by the loss too and she had only been twelve years old at the time. She wanted to mourn her dad, but someone had to take care of them and Jessie had taken on that responsibility.
About five weeks after her father had died, the mailman delivered the check and everything changed. Her mom came out of her waking coma. Apparently, her dad had taken care of them, and the insurance check was big. So big her mom didn’t need to work at the salon anymore. She didn’t need to do anything anymore.
Karen went on a shopping spree and Jessie figured it was her way of dealing with the grief. Her mom bought new clothes and started going out with her friends, leaving Jessie home alone a lot. Jessie let it go. Her mom was finally coming out of it and the time alone let Jessie grieve.
Then the drinking started. Karen came in late all nights of the week, drunk and loud. Jessie let that go too. She wanted her mom to feel better and if she needed to go out with her friends and get a little tipsy, that was okay. Her mom seemed like she was doing better and seeing her mom enjoying herself gave Jessie hope that things would eventually be okay again.
One day a man showed up at their house and picked up Karen. Karen had started dating again. Jessie couldn’t remember exactly how long it had been after her father had died, but she remembered thinking it was too soon for her mom to date. That’s when things got really bad and the biggest loser Karen could find, Steve, started coming around to take Karen out. Steve said he was a friend of Michael’s from work, but Jessie had never seen or heard of him before.
Steve and her mom went out a lot. And they got drunk a lot. The happiness Jessie had felt seeing her mom snap out of depression faded. Jessie recognized Steve for who he really was—a freeloading a-hole. She hoped her mom would get past her grief and realize it too, but Steve was practically moved in with them now. Jessie was sure the only reason he wasn’t living with them was so that he could cheat on her. It had been nine long months of Steve and Marie. Jessie’s hopes of returning to a normal happy life were long gone. This was her life now.
Feeling low and missing her dad, Jessie wept quietly and crawled into bed. She switched on the noise machine, slid under the covers, and did the only thing she could do to escape her crappy life: she read.
4
JESSIE
October 12, 2015
Beauchamp, Louisiana
* * *
After a couple of hours, Jessie’s spirit brightened and her appetite returned. She placed her book down on her nightstand and went to her desk to eat. Her dinner was ice cold. She dropped her fork to the plate and frowned.
/> From the living room, Jessie heard a cackle and the muffled voice of a boy. She glanced at her cold chicken and green beans, and then at the bedroom door.
This is your house isn’t it, Jessie? a dark voice echoed in her head. She can’t keep you in here. It’s your house.
Jessie pounded her fist on the desk. Screw it, she thought. It is my house. I can go wherever I want and Marie can’t tell me what to do. She picked up her plate of food, deciding she wouldn’t listen to the freeloading troll in her living room. She opened the door, and sullenly marched to the kitchen. The laughter from the couch stopped immediately.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Marie spat.
Jessie didn’t respond. She stood in front of the microwave, slid her dish in, and punched in the time to warm up her food. She turned and stared at Marie, defiantly.
Marie was on the couch across from a tall boy. Her shirt was off, her bra was on, and the top button of her jeans undone. Her stomach spilled over her painted-on pants in fleshy rolls. The boy stood and glanced from Jessie to Marie and back to Marie again. He must have sensed the anger in the air from the look on his pimply face.
“I told you to stay in your room,” Marie snarled.
Jessie just stared at her.
“Get back in your room now,” Marie said. “Or you know what’s going to happen.”
Jessie felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She can’t talk to you like this, the dark voice in her head said. You don’t have to take this from the likes of her.
“No,” she said flatly.
Marie’s face twisted into a knot. She stood, struggling to button her pants over her jellyroll and fell back to the couch. The boy chortled and Jessie snickered as Marie stood again. Her face turned red as she tugged at her jeans.
“Is something funny, you little bitch?” Marie said, finally getting her pants buttoned. She moved around the couch, her big boobs spilling out of her bra. She stormed into the kitchen and grabbed Jessie by the arm.
“Get back in your room!” she yelled.
“No! Let go of me!” Jessie hollered back, trying to pull away. But Marie was too strong. Fear crept up on Jessie as she wrestled with Marie. Marie was fifty pounds heavier than Jessie and more than a little crazy.
Marie yanked her arm, pulling her out of the kitchen. “Let go! Stop it!” Jessie protested, but it was no use. Jessie grabbed hold of the door frame, stopping her movement toward the bedroom momentarily.
Marie slapped Jessie across the face, hard. The five-fingered sting spread across Jessie’s cheek and her eyes teared. Her hand released reflexively and she fell to her knees.
Marie dragged her by the arm toward her bedroom as Jessie clawed at the carpet, but Marie was too strong and easily towed Jessie into her room. She dropped Jessie’s arm, and punched her in the side of her head.
“Come out again and you’re dead!” Marie said. Then she kicked Jessie in the ribs and left, slamming the door behind her.
Jessie doubled over on the floor, trying to catch her breath. Gasping, she crawled along the floor, pulled herself into her bed, and cried herself to sleep.
5
OLGA
October 12, 2015
Beauchamp, Louisiana
* * *
When Olga got back from dinner at the diner down the street, the book shop was a full-on disaster.
The movers weren’t the sharpest group of men Olga had ever worked with. The books had come in the first truck, rather than the shelves and furniture. The result: boxes of books were now stacked in the store while the movers maneuvered the towering shelves around the boxes, trying to create six rows of shelves to the back of the store. To make matters worse, they had forgotten to move the couch into the back room like she had told them before she went to dinner, so the couch now sat in the front of the store.
“Excuse me,” she said. “That couch belongs in the back. Can you move it there please?” Two movers dropped the boxes they were holding and grabbed the couch.
“Watch it,” Olga snapped as the movers nearly knocked over a book shelf with the couch. They grunted, steadied the couch, and continued to the back room. Olga sighed.
The boxes of books were all out of order too. Olga had meticulously marked the boxes when they were being packed. She had mapped out books to boxes and boxes to shelves and had put it all in a move plan. This was critical, because the black magic books needed to be secured right away. She had marked those boxes “Fragile” and “Storage” to be sure they were handled with care.
The move plan had been explained to the head mover, Randy. She had emailed the plan and layout of the store to him, and talked him through it over the phone. How things had gotten so disorganized in the half hour she had taken to eat Olga did not know, but it was after midnight, the furniture was still being moved around, and she still hadn’t begun to unpack the books that needed to be secured, never mind the books that were going on the shelves. She noticed the boxes containing the books of black magic were all over the store, mixed with the boxes meant for the shelves. Olga had been doing her best to keep her frustration in check, but the late hour and the jet lag were catching up to her and she was losing patience quickly.
“No,” she said to one of the movers. “That one goes there and that one goes in the back. See, the box says ‘number four’ on it. Put it in row four. That one says ‘storage’ and it goes in the back. How hard is this?”
The mover shrugged. He dropped the box that said ‘four’ in the middle of aisle four, then picked up the box marked ‘storage’ and started moving toward the back. The man’s hip started ringing. He dropped the box roughly and reached into his pocket to answer his phone.
“Careful, damn it!” Olga yelled. “Where is Randy?” The mover ignored her and walked out the front of the store, speaking in Spanish to someone on the phone. Olga made fists with her hands and stomped out after him.
“Randy,” she called looking for him around the truck. “Randy!”
“What?” he called from the cab of the truck. He had a Jamaican accent, short dreadlocks, and was chewing on an unlit cigar stub looking at something on his phone.
Olga scowled and marched to the cab. “Why are you sitting in the truck? Your men are not following the move plan we discussed. My books are all in the wrong rows, they forgot to move the couch in the back first, and I am growing increasingly frustrated with you. Can you please get down here and supervise your men?”
Randy smirked at her. “E’ ry ‘ting be fine, missus. You not worry. The men be tired. It’s late. We get you sorted.”
“Everything is not fine,” she growled. “Get down off that damn truck and supervise your men or you’ll wish you had.” She felt her anger rise and the mystic energy swelled inside her. She would make him sorry if he didn’t move his ass. Her anger flared. She felt a rush and tried to stifle it too late. Her eyes glowed with her magic.
Randy’s eyebrows pointed to the sky. The cigar fell from his lip to the ground and his mouth dropped open.
“Well? Get down and get to it,” Olga said her voice rising.
Randy’s lips moved, but nothing came out of his mouth. He shook he head, “Y-yes missus. I-I get the men moving now,” he stammered, hopping out of the cab, and hurrying past her. He shouted orders at his men, grabbing the man who was on his cell phone by the arm and pushing him into the store.
Finally. The men moved quickly after that and the store started to come together. Olga sat with her back against the front wall, eyeballing Randy every time he walked by her. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes. When the last box had been moved into the store and the last book shelf was placed precisely in a row, the men filed out of the store without a word and started getting into the moving truck.
Olga turned back to the store and looked around. Boxes were everywhere, stacked almost to the ceiling. She breathed deeply and tensed, peering over the first box in row one. It was marked row five. She exhaled forcefully, and ran to the front door. Randy had one foot on th
e step into the truck.
“Randy!” she called. “You’re not done yet! Get your ass back here!”
6
JESSIE
October 13, 2015
Beauchamp, Louisiana
* * *
The next morning, Jessie woke early. Her room was dark and she was still dressed in her clothes from the day before. She touched her head and felt the tenderness from Marie’s punch. Sighing, she rolled out of bed, and winced at the stab of pain in her side. She flicked on her lamp and lifted her shirt. A black-and-blue bruise crossed her ribs. Bracing herself on her nightstand, she stood slowly and shuffled into the shower. The water ran hot and soothed her beat-up body as she leaned against the tile and stared down at the drain. The water swirled between her feet, flowing out the drain. Jessie imagined herself caught in the current of the circling water, twisting and turning, and flowing out of the house and into the sewer.
She dried and dressed for school. After some cereal—with milk she had bought—and juice, her spirit lifted a little. She grabbed her bag and left for school before anyone else was up.
The air was crisp, and cool. Someone had a wood fire going. She took the shortcut through the neighbor’s yard across the street and strolled quietly through the woods, the trickle of the creek keeping her company. Her favorite spot was waiting for her at school—the tree in the back corner of the playground. She’d read until school started, which was way better than sitting with her mom, Marie, and Steve at breakfast. Her mom and Steve were probably hung over from last night. God, I hate them!