The River's Edge

by Tina Sears

  “Is he your boyfriend?” Her voice held a spark of excitement.

  I did everything in my power not to squeal like a little girl. “Yeah. He asked me to be his girlfriend and he gave me a bracelet he made himself!” I touched the bracelet as I continued to talk about him. I think she was happy that I was finally having fun and not worrying so much about her.

  We talked for a long while. After I hung up, I went to the family room where Uncle Butch was. It was dark even though the lights were on. It smelled like cigarettes and dirty socks. The couch, which was against the middle of one wall faced the television set. Two chairs were on the other wall. An end table with a lamp on top of it was in between them. Lightning blazed, and my shadow jumped crazily on the wall.

  Uncle Butch had unbuttoned his shirt and he was standing in the middle of the room. His shoes and socks were by the couch. The radio was on and the music was radiating through the room. He was swaying to the music.

  The ceiling fan cut shadows through the light, making it hard for me to focus.

  “Come here and dance with me,” he said, holding his hand out to me.

  “No thanks.” I was uncomfortable. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him before I could get away.

  “Oh, come on. Come here and dance with me.” This time it was a command.

  “No, please, I don’t want to dance.”

  “I showed you how to dance, remember?” He pulled me to his chest. I struggled, but my fight just wasn’t as strong as his. “Dance with me.” His voice was stern.

  “No thanks.”

  “Awe, come on. I saw you dancing with that Johnson boy. You’re quite the little dancer.” He had both my hands in his. “Just relax and follow my lead.”

  He put my right hand on his chest and I felt the beating of his heart.

  Dancing with Reds was exciting, full of unspoken promises. I loved his attention. But now I was just scared.

  Without warning, he stopped dancing and held me in a tight embrace. I tried to push away, but he had a pretty good grip around my waist.

  I squirmed to get away from him, but he pushed me down onto the couch and was on top of me in one quick movement. His hands were vice grips around my wrists, and when I tried to pull away, the bracelet Reds made me tore apart and dropped to the floor.

  Fear, shock, and rage swept through me. The weight of his body kept me from moving. He was no longer my uncle but a stranger. A Monster. How could he be doing this to me? Why was this happening?

  He was kissing me, and I couldn’t breathe. I moved my head back and forth, causing his stubble to rake fire across my cheeks and mouth, but he didn’t stop kissing me. I balled up my fists and pumped them against his chest, trying to get him away from me. I felt like I was drowning, like on the first day of summer in the river.

  He finally stopped kissing me.

  Gasping, I sucked in a great amount of air. Lord, help me.

  “No! Stop!” I yelled.

  His large palm covered my mouth, and I bit as hard as I could. I tasted blood, but that didn’t stop him.

  I entered a dream state, a state where I was a little girl playing with my mother in the front yard. She was teaching me how to suck the nectar out of honeysuckle. The images spilled against the white burning walls and disappeared before I could picture my mother’s face completely.

  I threw up. The sound that issued forth came from deep within my throat, a primal scream of an animal. It cracked like thunder in my eardrums, shattering my thoughts.

  I saw spinning shadows across my eyelids, turning the light from dark to bright, dark to bright. It was the twirling propeller of a helicopter taking me to the hospital.

  But I woke up, and it wasn’t the propeller of a helicopter but the ceiling fan spinning the light into shadows. I was lying on my back on the couch, unable to move. The music was still on and every beat, every note pulsed inside my hurt and broken body. Vomit clung to my hair and spattered the front of my shirt. Uncle Butch was standing beside me. His appearance seemed to have changed. His hair was wet and combed back into a ducktail.

  He picked up a framed photograph from the table and examined it. He put it back down, and I looked at it too. It was a young Uncle Butch, holding a dance trophy. In the background there was a banner that read: Winter Dance Contest. He appeared happy in the photograph.

  I imagined that he was transported back to that dance contest. He reached out, remembering a judge handing him a trophy. There was an arrogance to him.

  Like a man in a dream, he caught the music on the downbeat, took a turn while spinning on the ball of his foot, and quickly brought the other over with a slide.

  As he continued to dance, the movements became that of a teenage boy. He looked right through me as if I weren’t there, cutting me out with razorblade eyes.

  I shifted my gaze down at the floor and spotted my bracelet. It was the only thing I had of Reds, so I reached down and picked it up. I didn’t know if it could be fixed, but I tucked it in my pocket anyway.

  I stood up slowly on unsteady legs.

  He noticed me then and stopped dancing. “Let’s go.”

  He didn’t even give me time to clean up.

  When we got in the car to leave, he leaned toward me and spit-whispered into my ear. “This never happened.” Then he moved his sausage finger across my neck, a cutting blade that would sever me if I said anything. His smile was like blood.

  On the way back, the sky was full of swollen clouds and it started raining after a few minutes. We drove through a great bath of tears in the stuffy car. There was an uncomfortable silence between us. Uncle Butch’s knuckles were white from squeezing the steering wheel so hard. He picked up his Lucky Strike from the ash tray and sucked on the end long and hard. The red glow illuminated his face momentarily. It looked like it was molded from clay with clumsy hands. Deep shadows crawled into his wrinkles making him look old.

  “You know, if your mother ever found out, it would just kill her.” He shook his head, almost talking to himself. “It would just kill her.” He looked at me intently, just stared at me, waiting for me to say something.

  I was silent. I stared out my window, refusing to look at him.

  “Without family, you’re nobody, with nobody to love and nobody to love you back . . . And now that your father is out of the picture . . . You’d be all alone.”

  I already felt alone. And he was right about my mother. It would kill her. He was pushing me further into a jail cell and dangling the keys in front of me.

  “And then what? Who would raise you then if that happened?”

  I remained silent.

  “Me, that’s who.”

  Oh my God. Everything he was saying was right. I squeezed the door handle. What would happen if I just threw myself out of the car?

  He put his bear claw on my shoulder. “Are you listening to me?”

  Out of fear I nodded, but I still didn’t look at him.

  “This never happened. Got it?”

  I was breathing but I didn’t feel alive. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. It’s as if my mouth filled with mud, absorbing the words. I couldn’t make sense of the world.

  “Got it?” he said, louder, more insistent.

  “Yeah, got it,” I said, hissing like the caged animal I was.

  “Good,” he said. But there was nothing good left in my life. Where was Lisa’s God now? The one who never dealt more than you could handle.

  BACK IN THE safety of Aunt Lori, I tucked the horror of what had happened to me into my heart of darkness.

  She saw me and her eyes widened as she quickly escorted me into the kitchen to get a better look. “What happened to you, sweetie?” The radio was playing but there was no more music in my heart, no harmony that would make me feel better.

  I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

  “She must have a stomach virus,” Uncle Butch said. “She got sick as soon as we pulled into the driveway. I guess the cake got the best
of her.”

  It felt like sharp splintered glass had lodged in my heart. My silence was my shame.

  Wendy handed me clean pajamas and underwear, and I changed in the bathroom. It hurt between my legs, and I could barely move. I remembered Reds caressing my thighs at the pool, but now they were turning purple. I tossed my underwear into the dirty clothes pile, blood stains and all. That’s exactly where I felt I belonged.

  I got back to the kitchen. Aunt Lori was waiting for me at the sink. The coldness trailed behind Uncle Butch like smoke as he left the room, a ghost in his wake. This never happened.

  In my daydream state, I could feel the gentle hands of my aunt as she washed away the puke from my hair, felt her breasts against my back. Although the water was cold in the kitchen sink, it was soapy and cleansing. I felt the love and safety of her as she stroked her fingers through my wet hair. I pictured my mother washing my hair, soothing me. Loving me. Saving me from The Monster.

  She turned the water off and handed me a dry towel to twist over my head. I looked into her “don’t rock the boat, baby” eyes and knew she couldn’t help me.

  After I dried my hair, I went to bed. I didn’t cry until I knew everyone was asleep. My teardrops told the story as they fell down my face and cotton candy clouds became sugarless in my new tissue paper world. The world where the boogey man lived in my own backyard.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dead Fish Eyes

  I KEPT MYSELF in the position I fell asleep in, which was with my knees pulled in tight to my chest. My mouth was dry and I couldn’t swallow, like I had licked cement all night. The rain clouds had cleared and gave way to the rising sun. I looked over at my cousins on the bunk beds who were still sleeping.

  I heard my uncle’s voice, and a pain ran through my body.

  “Good morning, sweetie. How’s my beautiful wife today?” He hadn’t shaken the frogs loose from his voice yet.

  “Why are you in such a good mood?” Aunt Lori asked.

  “No reason.”

  “You’re up and dressed early this morning.”

  “I’m going fishing with Bob. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  “Okay. But first, I’ll make you breakfast.”

  I heard the clicking of the gas stove as she lit a burner and then the scrape of an iron skillet being placed on it. Then I heard a tap, tap, and the crack of an eggshell. Bacon sizzled and filled the cottage with its smell.

  The window was open and a warm breeze wrapped around my body. The sun crept through the lace curtains, creating jagged shadows in the room. I remained frozen for fear he might hear me if I moved. My heart pounded in my chest against my ribs, and I was burning between my legs.

  I closed my eyes and I was stuck inside my darkness for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t shake the image of his sweating face above mine. I remembered the red spider veins across his nose, the oil on his forehead, and the urgency in his eyes and how they looked right through me. I heard his voice blowing hot in my ear. “Do you need me?”

  I don’t know how long I had been in my nightmare when I heard the crank of his car engine. Then I heard the station wagon pull away from the cottage. Only then did I take a deep breath and stretch my legs out. I moved slowly because of the bruises on my thighs and the pain I felt bone deep within my body.

  Wendy nudged me. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you getting out of bed?”

  I wanted to tell her that her daddy was a monster, but the words were stuck in my throat. I couldn’t utter one single syllable. I thought of my grandfather and his throat cancer. How Mom said he couldn’t express his feelings even though his mind was still clear. He was a prisoner in his own body. That’s the way I felt.

  The truth was muddy and dirty and sharp. It would cut my throat if I spoke.

  I needed the pen my dad had given me. I needed red ink!

  I studied Wendy’s face as if I had just seen her for the first time, looking for him in her features, but she looked just like her mother. Paige, on the other hand, had her dad’s dark brooding looks and I felt sorry for her then. “I’ll get up in a minute.”

  After they left, I waited a few more minutes before I forced myself out of bed and to the breakfast table. I sat down at my usual spot across from Uncle Butch’s seat. I could still feel his presence, could still smell his cigarette.

  I looked at his empty plate. It was smeared with egg yolk and had a cigarette butt sticking up from the mess. Next to his plate was his “World’s Best Dad” coffee mug. A drip of coffee was still on the rim.

  “Live and Let Die” came on and I went to the radio and turned it up. I heard the words with new meaning and with every sharp note, every crashing of the symbols, anger ran through me. I thought of Uncle Butch sweating over me. I did not want to ‘Live and let live” anymore. I no longer wanted to give in and cry. I was sing-yelling all the words, spinning and dancing to the song and when it was finished, my senses were scattered in a sharp chorus of pain.

  I pounded the table and then quickly swept my hand across it where Uncle Butch had been, swiping the mug off the table. It went crashing to the floor and broke into tiny pieces.

  “What did you do that for?” Wendy asked.

  “I don’t know.” But I did know and I blurted out, “I’m mad. Really mad,” before I could stop myself.

  Paige was looking at me with her brows furrowed, listening with her ear cocked toward me. She was trying to figure me out I guess, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Why are you so mad? Is it because we’re on restriction?” Wendy asked.

  “No, just drop it, okay?” I whispered so Aunt Lori wouldn’t hear, but she heard anyway.

  She came into the room to see what had happened. She looked at me, then at the pieces of the mug on the floor.

  “It was an accident,” Wendy said. She nudged my knee under the table with hers. I wanted to hug her, but didn’t.

  But then Paige spoke up. “She’s mad, Mama. Really mad.”

  Aunt Lori looked at me with questioning eyes. Could she see my pain? My guilt? “Oh, honey. I know.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “I know you must be frustrated that you’re stuck here so far away from your mother and your friends . . . stuck here in a new place. But it will get better, I promise.”

  How could she be so nice yet so clueless?

  “It’s not that.” Say it. Scream it. Just tell her! Tell everyone!

  “Are you upset that it’s Father’s Day? Do you miss your dad, sweetie?”

  I was silent. I didn’t even know it was Father’s Day.

  “I’m sorry about your parents getting a divorce. I know how awful you must feel . . . not knowing what’s going to happen to your family,” Aunt Lori said. She gave me The Sympathy Smile.

  Oh great. She just made everything worse, if that were possible. I hated The Sympathy Smile.

  That was the thing that pushed me to the edge. I was going to Rock The Boat. I was going to Tip The Boat Over!

  The words formed deep in my throat. I opened my mouth to speak, but my words were stuck in my throat. I squeaked instead. An unrecognizable “Gaw” escaped.

  “Are you okay?” Aunt Lori asked.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. Please give me my voice back.

  Aunt Lori kept looking at me, waiting for an answer. She walked over to me and brushed my hair away from my face.

  I nodded. Tears slipped down my cheeks.

  “I know it’s hard, honey, but everything will be okay. I promise.”

  She shouldn’t make promises that she couldn’t keep.

  “Now, is anyone hurt?” Aunt Lori asked while bending down and picking up the bigger pieces.

  We shook our heads. It was quiet and everything was still. She looked at each of us and when she was convinced no one was cut and bleeding, got the broom from the kitchen. I watched as she swept the little white lie into the dust pan and into the trash where it belonged.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Paige asked. The question got my stomach all twi
sted in a knot again.

  “He went fishing, sweetie. He’ll be back later,” Aunt Lori said, returning to the kitchen with the broom in her hand.

  Paige pushed her tongue out through the space of her two missing front teeth. “Momma, I feel a tooth coming in.”

  “Really?” Aunt Lori came back onto the porch. “Let me see.” She bent over and examined Paige’s front teeth. “Yep, you’re getting your first adult tooth.” She rubbed the top of Paige’s head.

  After breakfast, I took my plate to the kitchen sink where Aunt Lori was washing the dried eggs from the iron skillet.

  “Chris?” she said.

  “Hmm?” Still no voice. Had she seen me swipe the coffee mug off the table?

  “How are you feeling this morning? You seemed pretty sick last night.”

  “Um . . .” Squeak, squeak. Nothing in my life was the way I thought it would be. Not my mother, or the aching loneliness that kept me from falling asleep at night, not even my so called vacation.

  “Come with me. I want to talk to you alone for a minute.”

  “Okay.” I followed her to our bedroom and she sat on my bed.

  I heard Uncle Butch’s voice in my head. This never happened. I wanted to scream but was too afraid.

  She patted the space next to her and I sat down. She pushed my hair behind my ears, something my mom used to do too.

  “Honey, I saw the blood on your underwear.” Her eyes were burning through me, reaching for my heart. She sees my pain, hears my screams. “You should have told me.”

  “I wanted to.” My voice escaped through gasping cries of relief. “I thought everyone would be mad at me, like I did something wrong. I was so afraid.”

  “You shouldn’t be afraid that you started.”

  “Started what?” I asked through sobs, confused.

  “Started your period. There’s no shame in it. Every woman goes through it.” Aunt Lori looked at me with a knowing smile and winked.

  I hadn’t had a period yet so I didn’t know what to think. I panicked, and my voice left me as she kept talking.

  “Has your mother talked to you about your menstrual cycle?”