by J. L. Mac
This situation with Noni is the most uncomfortable I think I’ve ever been. I’m trying to use kid gloves with her but I’m afraid to make a move. I’m nervous that I may say something wrong or insulting and she’ll quit, leaving me to explain to Damon why my prize employee has bailed on me. And I like Noni—I feel like I’ve known her forever—so this bonus information scares the shit out of me. Especially because I have to keep it to myself.
I peek over at her every so often to see if she looks like she may be ready to sit down and talk, but so far—nothing. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. What the hell am I to do with that? I shouldn’t push her. I can’t push her. Right? She’s a busy little worker bee on a steady roll cleaning, organizing and stocking inventory. Under any other circumstance, her work ethic would be nothing to complain about, but right now it’s just plain awkward. I know she’s avoiding me and she’s bound to know that I’m doing the same.
I roll my eyes at the mess I’ve put myself in and push back from my desk. Closing time has come already, leaving me wondering if we’re going to talk at all today. And if we don’t talk, will every day be like this? If this is what I have to look forward to, I don’t think I’ll be able to take it for very long. Something has got to give here. I can’t keep walking around knowing what I know and have Noni pretending that I don’t know. We need to talk. Soon. One of us has to speak up.
Come on, Jo. Get your shit together. I give myself a pushy pep talk while I head to the front of the store to lock up. Just as I flip the sign, I glance up at the familiar bell on the arm of the door and smile remembering the simple days when it was just me and Captain running the sinking ship that was Bookends. As bad as those days seemed, I do kind of miss them. Life was predictable then. Now, everything is beautifully terrible.
I have the love of my life who also happens to be the man whose father killed my parents.
I have Bookends but no Captain to eat cheap takeout with.
I have Noni working here, making some amazing things happen in the coffee bar, but an obstacle stands between us that could ruin everything.
If Captain were here, he would take the lead on this. I can imagine him looking at me with that incredulous smirk and telling me to “toughen up, Miss America. Get your big girl panties on and take care of business.” After which he would likely go on some rant about how this generation is comprised of primarily panty-waisted cream puffs who don’t know the definition of hard work.
I miss him so.
Lost in my thoughts, I’m caught off guard when I nearly run into Noni on my way back to the office. “Oh, hey,” I sputter, all tongue-tied.
Noni gives a tight smile then looks down to the towel in her hands. She’s nervously working the cloth between her fingers, visibly struggling to speak. It’s painful to watch.
Grow a pair, Miss America! I hear Captain’s taunting words in my head and I couldn’t agree with him more.
“Wanna come with?” I motion toward the office, inwardly bolstering my metaphorical pair.
Noni nods her head and follows me as I step around her and head back to my hidey hole. I tug Captain’s rickety office chair over so that I’m sitting closer to Noni. She’s placed herself in the only other seat in the small space. It’s just inside the narrow office, across from a bookcase that I use as a catch all—purse, dog leash, books, mail, it all ends up there at some point during my day.
I take a deep breath. Quick is always best. It’s my standard rule of thumb for everything. The quicker the better. Bandage? Rip it off. Dirty cut? Douse on the alcohol. Awful, uncomfortable chats with employees? Spit it out. Screw it.
With one brow arched, I get comfortable and go for it. “Ready to talk?” I try asking sweetly because she looks so uncomfortable. Scared even.
Noni nods her head and breathes deeply. Her frightened brown eyes slip shut for a moment then reopen with something new in them. Courage. “I’ve tried for so many years to forget it,” she says quietly, “but I can’t. I don’t think I’ll ever drown those memories. Not with time, not with booze, not with men, not with drugs. Believe me, I’ve tried it all. It’s as fresh in my mind as it was when Ed left me there bleeding.” Her eyes drift from mine and her gaze settles blankly in front of her on the shelf littered with mail, receipts, and books that have yet to be catalogued. Those brown eyes lock on and Noni is somewhere else entirely.
I mentally prepare myself for what I know is coming. We just plowed right through monotony and landed square in the middle of intensity and foreboding. I know the look. She is about to recall something painful. I don’t know if I should hear anything further about Damon’s past, but I won’t stop her. If she’s mustered up the courage to talk for what is likely the first time, then I’ll listen. I’ll share whatever burden the memories carry with them because that’s what you do. The painful parts of life are meant to be shared. They are meant to be battled by the people closest to you. Together. Sometimes we all need someone to come to the rescue. That’s what Dr. Versan says, anyway. I’m still testing the theory. I guess now is as good a time as any to practice.
Noni takes a deep breath and starts to speak. “When I think about it,” she starts, “I’m seventeen again and right back there.” Her voice is soft but strong and her eyes are unfocused, blankly staring at that spot on the shelf.
I know that she’s not here. I know that when she continues her story, she’ll be reliving it. And so will I…
“The clock on the motel nightstand reads 9:17 PM. This place is a dump. I hate it here. I can’t wait until I have enough money to get a nice apartment. A real apartment of my own. It’s going to be expensive but I know I could get Jackie to be my roommate. She’s the first friend I made since moving here. If I share the expenses then hopefully I’ll have my own place sooner than later. I told Shell that I would send her pictures when I got settled. Two months have passed since I got to Vegas and I have no photos to send. Shelly is my best friend back home in Kansas and she thought I was nuts to chase this dream. She told me that she knew I could make it here but she didn’t think my very Southern Baptist family would have any part of it. She was right. My dad has all but disowned me and mom talks to me every Sunday at 9:30 after Daddy heads to bed. It’s not ideal, but once I get on my feet here, I know they’ll come around. I’ll make them proud. I’ll make it as a dancer and they’ll see that it’s not some sin above sins to have a Vegas showgirl as a daughter. It takes talent to make it in this industry! I have high hopes for my audition. It’s tomorrow at noon. That’s why Ed better hurry up if he wants to spend time together tonight. I have to call my mom soon and I wouldn’t dare let her know that I have a boyfriend. Well, sort of. Okay, he isn’t really my boyfriend. Not yet, anyway. And what I’m doing with him is definitely something that my mom and dad would croak over. We’ve fooled around quite a bit but I’ve managed to hold him off. I know he’s growing impatient though. I’m still a virgin and sex is still a little scary. Not the actual act, but the finality of it. Once my virginity is gone it’s gone. That’s that. I’m still preparing myself for it. Ed is older than I am and he’s married, only legally though. He told me all about how he and his wife are separated and looking to get a divorce. They have a daughter together so I understand why he wants to keep our involvement private. It’s tidy this way.
“Bev!” Ed finally knocks at my motel door.
I glance at the clock once more to gauge how much time I have until I have to shove him out the door for a few minutes so I can talk to Mom. Ed wouldn’t intentionally rat me out, of course, but he likes a drink every now and then and he almost always gets a little rowdy after a couple.
“Yeah, I’m coming!” I call out. I stand and right my dress in the cracked full length mirror hanging on the closet door. My brown hair tumbles freely down my back, tucked back on one side with a tortoiseshell hair comb.
“Well, hurry up, girl!” Ed shouts back. It’s not a good sign.
I slide the deadbolt and tentatively crack the door until the chain ca
tches. Ed moves to push through but quickly realizes that I’ve not actually opened the door for him.
“What the fuck, Bev?” he growls.
My suspicions are confirmed. He’s drunk.
“Open the damn door,” he slurs while he teeters slightly on his feet.
“You’re drunk, Ed! You know I have to call my mom in a few minutes. You can’t be all loud and drunk in the background. She’ll hear you!”
Ed shoves his free hand through his mussed hair and groans. “Don’t be a dumb little girl. Open the damn door. You think I want anyone to know about you and me?”
The way he points his index finger at me like I’m some kind of insect makes me feel about as big as one. He does this sometimes, though, and I know he doesn’t mean to hurt me. Not really. He just gets a little crazy when he’s been drinking whiskey like water. I don’t want to make him mad. I want him to like me and I’m looking forward to being able to tell Shelly all about my 25-year-old boyfriend when the time comes. She’ll have a fit. I’m looking forward to it.
I sigh heavily and close the door to unlatch the chain. Once it’s dangling against the wood door, Ed slams it open, narrowly missing me.
“Hey!” I cry out. “Stop it!”
“Oh, stop your bitchin’!”
I can’t believe he almost smashed the door into my face. He’s being a drunk jerk already and now I’m going to have to convince him to go home. If he thinks I’m going to do anything with him tonight he is way wrong.
“Why don’t you just go home, Ed?” I have one hand on my hip, hoping that I can be assertive enough to kick him out in time to call Mom. If I don’t get in touch with her on time, she’ll probably call the police and insist that they track me down.
Ed’s face scrunches up like I’ve just shoved a pile of dog crap under his nose. “You want me to leave? You get me over here tonight thinking that a good time is in store and then you start in with me?” He points his finger from me to himself then back to me again and prowls three steps closer.
I back up until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the mattress. He’s got me nervous and that is not the way to get him out of here.
“Look, let’s just meet up tomorrow or something. I’ve got to call my mom in a bit and we’re bickering at each other already. The night is ruined.” I peer up to Ed to see if he’s going to back down and I’m relieved to see that he looks both very drunk and very tired. Far too tired to argue with me. Or to do other things with me.
“Fine. I’ll just take a leak, then I’m out of here,” he mumbles barely coherently as he turns towards the bathroom.
As soon as the door latches shut, I take a deep breath of relief and flop back onto the bed. I know I shouldn’t even be seeing him. Married is married and he’s too old for me anyway. Not to mention he’s a blithering drunk. If it weren’t for the fact that his favorite bar is directly next to this motel, I don’t think we ever would’ve met.
I hear the toilet flush then the bathroom door swings open. Ed stands in the doorway glassy-eyed. The look on his face immediately spooks me and I’m on high alert. He’s acting weird now and I’m scared. I’ve got to get him out of here.
“So, I’ll see you later, then. I’ve got to call my mom.” I motion towards the phone and the clock on the nightstand, which now reads 9:28.
Ed stands in place, unmoving except for a slight drunken teeter. He’s just staring at me. His arms are hanging at his sides. My eyes drift downward to see my only washrag balled up in his hand. Great. I get one towel and one rag at a time and he’s just used it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s somehow dirtied up my only clean bath towel too.
I sigh and decide silence is best. I’m not picking anymore fights with him tonight. He just needs to leave and sleep off the whiskey. We can talk later.
“So…” I raise my brows and motion towards the door, hoping he’ll just leave without further confrontation.
“You wanted me here tonight,” Ed mumbles. “You told me to be here tonight.” He finally takes a step towards me out of the doorframe of the bathroom. “You asked for it.” He draws closer to me, close enough for me to see something frightening in his eyes. Cold indifference.
A voice from within screams for me to run. Adrenaline bursts through my veins instantaneously and before I know it, animal instinct has consumed me and I’m off the bed and rushing for the door.
Ed’s outstretched arm catches me easily around my waist. I’m lifted and slammed onto the mattress with such force that my lungs empty. Before I can even react, his fist is drawn back, then collides with my side so hard that I think that he may have punched a hole right through my skin and bone. I’ve never been hit so hard in my life. I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I don’t do anything but hurt. It’s all I’m capable of. With me limp, Ed easily straddles me, his knees pinning each of my arms beneath the full weight of his body. My bones ache and feel like they could snap with even one more ounce of pressure. I begin to struggle in spite of the pain radiating through my ribs and arms. The first full breath I take is in preparation to scream. It’s then that I see the balled up washrag being thrust into my open mouth.
“Please, God, help me!” I cry out from behind the cloth.
With me immobile and mostly quiet, Ed chuckles and leans back to snag my tennis shoe from my foot. I watch in horror as he pulls the laces from the eyelets where they belong. He lifts one knee from my elbow and forces my arm downward. The force of this maneuver flips me to my stomach. I have a microsecond to fight and I do. I pull and kick and flail and push, but it’s all in vain because Ed has the upper hand in more ways than one. Both of my arms are behind my back and I can feel the shoelace being wrapped around my wrists then pulled tight. I cry out. I cry out so hard that it steals what little breath I have. Ed is now straddling my backside and it’s clear what is about to happen. My chance to escape has come and gone. All that’s left to do is survive. With his body weight holding my waist in place beneath him and the shoelace tied tight around my wrists, Ed has freedom to use his hands and he does. His clammy palm comes crashing down against the side of my head and sends a lightning bolt of pain ricocheting through my skull. My brown hair is pulled tight and my head is yanked backward so hard that I think my neck may snap. I don’t feel it, though. Not with the life-saving adrenaline pumping fast through my captive body. I don’t feel anything but panic and fear.
“You wanted me here,” he growls into my ear. “You made me believe that you wanted it, so now you’re getting it, you little prick-teasing bitch.”
I can smell the pungent scent of cigarettes and whiskey on his rancid breath. I’m not sure if it’s fear or the smell of him or a combination of both, but my stomach shudders in response. I gag hard again and again. I fight back against my body’s reflex to puke. If I do throw up, I’ll choke. I’ll die. “Survive, Noni! Survive!” I chant to myself as tears pour freely down my face. I’m so scared. I want my mom and dad. I want to be home in Kansas. “Get back home, Noni,” a voice from somewhere deep inside of me pleas.
So I do. I go home. If only in my head, that’s what I’ll do.
I squeeze my brown eyes tight and think hard about Daddy’s farm as the hem of my dress is harshly shoved upward. The fields go as far as the eye can see. I miss being there. I’m dragged backward to the edge of the bed. I try harder to remember the way the fields smell when the crops of wheat and corn have just emerged from the tilled ground. Shoots of bright green wheat break through the soil and spring skyward. The scent is unlike anything else. It’s the smell of hard work, perseverance, and earth all wrapped into one. It’s the scent of home.
Fear grows within me still. I know what’s coming but it does nothing to prepare me. My heart races in my chest and I try hard to even my breathing. With one hard jerk, my panties are ripped from my body. A whimper escapes from behind the washrag in my mouth. I’m reminded of how scared I was the first time I drove the tractor alone. I was so nervous that I would mess something up but Dad just tol
d me to relax and get through it. Once it’s done it’s done. He told me that I would never have to go through driving a tractor for the first time ever again. You only get one chance at the first time for everything. Some things you savor and some things you just have to get through. “That’s life, darlin’,” Dad said as he lifted me into the cab of the intimidating piece of machinery, a monster I’d seen him drive with ease a thousand times.
I scream loudly from behind the makeshift gag the moment I feel something hard prod against my backside. I try with all the willpower left in me to hold on to my mental retreat. I’m in Kansas. I’m not here. I’m not in this awful motel room being raped by this monster. I’m home. I’m safe. With one exacting blow to my backside, he’s taken something that isn’t his to take. My eyes pop open and bulge. The breath in my lungs freezes in place. I’m shocked and caught off guard by the pain. He wastes no time taking all that he wants. Another grueling stab. And another. And another until thankfully I accept the pain that has been handed to me. I stop fighting and accept it. My eyes remain unblinking. My head is turned to the side and I allow my limp, beaten, violated body to relax under his assault. With my cheek pressed to the scratchy bedspread, I cling tightly to the only lifeline I have left, my mind. My mind still fights even though my body has yielded. My mind is all I have. My mind remains untouched by him.