by Debra Busman
“Here,” Taylor said. She handed Jackson a freshly rolled joint. “This should make things even more entertaining.” She held the light, took one nice hit for herself, and then turned to J. Edgar. “Okay, boy. You ready?”
J. Edgar wiggled in anticipation, ears perking up when Taylor reached for the treats.
“Sit,” Taylor said. J. Edgar promptly sat, alert, head high. “Good boy. Now, lie down.” The dog threw his body down into a lying-down position and Taylor tossed him a treat, laughing. “He gets kind of enthusiastic about his tricks when there’s food involved.”
“What’s that you’re giving him?” Jackson asked. “It looks nasty.”
“Just some Gaines Burgers, crumbled up. It ain’t nasty. It’s what I used to feed all my dogs when I was a kid.” She smiled at J. Edgar, still holding his down position. “Besides, it’s the easiest five-fingered discount they got.”
Jackson took another hit. “Can you make him play dead?”
“Nah.” Taylor frowned and shook her head. “But watch this. J. Edgar, belly up!” The dog rolled over onto his back, legs bent, throat and belly exposed. “Good boy,” Taylor said. “Okay, buddy, roll over!” She made a small circle in the air with her finger and J. Edgar rolled completely over, coming back up into a classic belly on-the-ground, full alert down position, looking like he could spring into action at a moment’s notice. She tossed him a treat. She asked for eye contact and then gave him his next command. “J. Edgar, chill out!”
Jackson laughed as the big dog threw himself over onto his side, stretched his legs full out, and closed his eyes. “Ha! That’s the best one,” she said.
“Nah, you ain’t even seen the best,” Taylor said. “Watch this.” She asked J. Edgar for a sit and then said, “Okay, boy, gimme five!”
J. Edgar raised a massive paw and slapped it down on her outstretched palm.
“Good boy!” Taylor pointed over to Jackson. “Now, give her a wave.” She gave the dog her hand signal and J. Edgar picked up his paw and held it straight out in the air. It was more like a salute than a wave, but she tossed him a treat anyway, smiling. “Yeah, we gotta work a little more on that trick. Okay, last one.” She sat down on the bed next to Jackson and kissed her quickly on the neck. “Baby, I think you’re really gonna like this next one,” she said.
J. Edgar was still in his sit position, staring at her, waiting.
“Paw up!” Taylor said, and the dog threw his front leg straight out into the air. Taylor tried not to laugh at the serious intensity of the muscle-bound Rottie, body coiled tight, face in full frown concentration as he watched for her next command. “Hold it…” Taylor said. She leaned over and whispered in Jackson’s ear, “Watch close now.
“J. Edgar,” she said, locking eyes with him. “Are you gay?”
Body tight, front leg still held stiff out in the air, J. Edgar relaxed his wrist joint so just his paw went suddenly limp, dropping down at a rakish angle. The two girls fell out laughing and J. Edgar took advantage of the moment to help himself to the last of the Gaines Burger patties.
“Girl, you are too damn foolish,” Jackson laughed, pushing Taylor away. “You two need to go off and join some damn circus. You all are too much. My mama always says that California white people and their dogs are just a special kind of crazy. Now go on and get that filthy dog out of my camper before Jimmy sees him gone and gets all mad.”
Taylor laughed and rubbed J. Edgar’s ears. “You’re a good dog. A real good dog.” She opened the camper door and gestured for him to jump down. “Now go on out there and protect us, buddy. Protect us from the world.”
Cross Pen
Taylor made her way down the rows of wrecked cars and spotted Jackson curled up in the back seat of the totaled gold Cadillac, lost in thought. The two girls had a running joke about how they each knew all the other’s favorite hangout places in the sprawling two-acre junkyard, Jackson preferring the Caddys, limos, and Benzes with their wood-grained dashboards and plushy interiors. Taylor tended toward old trucks and station wagons, or, her all-time favorite, the tops of the piles of flattened cars, stacked seven high and waiting for scrap metal pickup. Without speaking, without having to tell where they’d be, the girls could sense each other’s whereabouts, taking great pleasure in finding each other, and in being found.
Taylor crouched down and leaned her arms on the open passenger side window of the ’69 Coup de Ville. “Hey, baby.” She grinned.
Jackson looked up and smiled. She put down her writing pad and reached toward Taylor. “Hey, girlfriend,” she said. “Door’s busted, but come on in.”
Taylor climbed through the window and slid in alongside Jackson. Half lying on the soft leather seats, she wrapped her arms around the girl and nuzzled into her neck, kissing that sweet side hollow just above the collarbone where the tiny dreadlocks barely touched.
Jackson let out a soft moan. “Yeah, girl, you know exactly where to find me. That’s no lie.” She pushed Taylor’s wild mass of hair out of their faces and let her hand linger at the nape of the girl’s neck, still slightly damp from the hot trek back from town. Gently, she pulled Taylor’s head back a little. “Let me see your eyes, baby. You got something for me?”
Taylor buried her face deeper into her lover’s shoulder. “Yeah, I got a little something for you,” she growled, trying to make her voice all low and sexy.
Jackson punched her in the shoulder and pushed her away, laughing. “You know that’s not what I meant,” she said. “I mean, did you bring me what I needed from town?”
Taylor sat up and reached into her jacket pocket. “I had to go clear ’cross town to the fancy stores, but I found just what you asked for.” She opened her hand. “A brand-new, shiny gold Cross pen, just like you wanted. Top of the line. Hell, for what they’re trying to sell this shit for…”
“Taylor,” Jackson interrupted. “What do you mean, a brand-new pen?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Taylor said. “I mean I stole you a brand-new pen, exactly like your other one. That’s what you wanted, right?” Starting to panic, Taylor ran a quick mental search for what could possibly be wrong this time. Jackson’s pen ran outta ink. Girl can’t stand to write with anything other than that damn fancy-ass Cross pen, so I take my sorry butt all the way ’cross town, find the fancy-ass store that sells the damn things, con the high-heeled bitch behind the counter that’s looking at me like I’m a piece of shit, still make the swipe clean, don’t draw no heat, get back here in less than two hours with the damn pen, so what the fuck? Damn. A minute ago I was all tight in her arms, feeling fine, and now she’s looking like somebody died, or like she don’t even want to know me anymore.
Jackson shook her head and sighed. “Damn, Taylor, I didn’t need a new goddamn pen. I just needed a new ink cartridge for the pen I had.” She reached out her hand. “Here, let me see that thing.”
Taylor handed her the pen and leaned back against the passenger door, arms crossed, hating that too-familiar sinking feeling like everything was about to turn real bad. “What do you mean, ‘cartridge’?” she asked. “You didn’t say nothing about no damn cartridges.”
Jackson examined the pen, turning it over in her hands. “I said my pen was running out of ink,” she said, her voice low and measured. “I thought you knew what that meant.” She unscrewed the top of the pen and pulled out the inside cartridge. “See,” she explained. “That’s all you needed to get. Just the replacement cartridge. Not the whole stupid pen. Damn, girl. Why you always gotta make everything so complicated?”
Taylor snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m the one making shit complicated! I cop you an expensive-ass pen, exactly like your other one, and suddenly, instead of saying thank you, you’re getting all in my face and calling me stupid. What the fuck!”
“Taylor. I didn’t say you were stupid. It’s just that everybody knows you don’t have to get a whole brand-new damn pen every time you run out of ink. Shit.”
Now Taylor was really p
issed. “Yeah, well obviously everybody don’t know everything about everything. How the fuck am I supposed to know about some goddamn replacement cartridge? I ain’t never even seen a pen like this before, until I seen you writing with yours. Nobody I ever knew even had this kind of shit. You just had a simple goddamn nineteen-cent pen and when it ran out of ink you tossed it and bought or five-fingered another.” Taylor leaned her head back out the window, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Damn,” she said. “Why we fighting, anyway?”
The two girls sat in uneasy silence on opposite sides of the car. Overhead, the power lines hummed, and across the tracks the freeway noise droned on, broken by an occasional siren. Flies buzzed against the rear windshield, bumping into the glass, looking for a way out. Finally, Jackson spoke. “I didn’t grow up with this shit either,” she said, her voice soft.
“I know you didn’t,” Taylor said. “So I guess I just don’t see what the big fuckin’ deal is. Seems like the more expensive something is, the more hassle comes with it, if you ask me.”
She slapped at one of the smaller flies buzzing by her ear. Girl, just let it go, she told herself. Just let it lie and you’ll figure it all out later. But she couldn’t, and before she knew it, her mouth was back in action.
“Besides,” she started up again, turning toward Jackson, “why you trippin’, anyway? I’m the one that took my sorry ass clear across town to do something nice for you, sucking smog in this stinkin’ heat, making three damn bus changes, going into a store where people looked at me like I was a piece of shit they wished they could wipe off their shoes, and I still figured out a way to steal you a brand-new goddamn fancy-ass pen, exactly like the one that ran outta ink. So what if I didn’t know about the goddamn ink cartridges. You still got a brand new fucking pen. With a new fucking ink cartridge. So, why you gotta ride my ass for what I didn’t do just perfect?” Taylor paused. “Damn. It’s too hot to deal with this shit. I’ll catch you later.” She started to climb back out the side window.
“Wait,” Jackson said. “Don’t go.” She reached out and touched Taylor’s shoulder, pulling her back into the car. “Listen, you’re right. I am tripping. I’m sorry. I just got scared, that’s all. You’re right. It ain’t no big deal.” She held out the new pen, unscrewing the top for the second time. “Look, just give me back my old pen. I’ll put this new pen’s cartridge in it and it will be good as new. We’ll even have us an extra backup pen and next time we’re downtown we can get some extra cartridges. Listen, girl. I’m sorry I went off on you like that. I just tripped, that’s all. Gimme my pen. It’s cool.”
Taylor felt the sick feeling rise up again. She wished she could just go back to having her face buried in Jackson’s neck, both of them laughing, her heart busting clear out of her chest it was so full, back when everything was okay. That moment felt like a lifetime ago. Now, the only way out was to go on through. She forced herself to look up at Jackson. “I don’t have your pen anymore.”
“What the hell you mean you don’t have my pen anymore?” Jackson said, grabbing Taylor’s shirt. “Girl, where’s my goddamn pen! Please do not tell me you threw away my Cross pen.”
“Nah, baby, I didn’t throw it away. I had to leave it at the store. Baby, I’m sorry. I had to swap for the new one when they wasn’t looking. That’s the only way I could make the cop.”
“You left my pen at the store?” Jackson’s jaw clenched. “Damn, fool. Why the fuck would you leave my pen at the goddamn store? What the hell were you thinking?”
“Baby, I’m telling you, it’s the only way I could make the cop. You don’t know what those stores are like. They got that goddamn shit locked up like Fort Knox. Everything’s in these locked glass display cases. You can’t touch nothing. You gotta get the manager to open the shit up and then they be watching your ass so tight you can’t even think about making a move. And that part of town’s screaming with rich people and rent-a-cops so I knew I couldn’t pull a snatch-and-dash. Hell no. I wouldn’t even know which way to run. So it was all I could do to just stand there and bullshit my way through until the bitch glanced away for a second to sign for a delivery and I could make the switch. It was real clean. I just slid the pen up my sleeve and put your old one back into the fancy box in a flash and told them I’d have to think about whether or not I wanted the gold or silver one and I’d be back…”
“Ah, shut up, Taylor. I don’t want to listen to another one of your stupid stealing stories. Hell, girl, you steal even when you don’t got to. How stupid is that?”
“I said don’t call me stupid,” Taylor growled. “Besides, what am I not getting? Look, I’m sorry about your pen, but the one I got you is exactly the same, except it’s brand new. That’s better, right? What’s so fucking special about that particular pen, anyway?”
Taylor watched the vein in Jackson’s forehead pulse, her jaw clenching and releasing. “My mama gave me that pen.”
“Ah, shit.” Taylor punched the padded doorframe with her fist. “Damn, why didn’t you tell me that pen came from your mama?”
Jackson just looked out the window. “She gave it to me the day I graduated from high school. She said she knew I was going to make my mark on the world and that she wanted to be a part of it in some small way. I know it musta taken her a week’s worth of wages to save up for that damn pen.”
“Wait. You graduated from high school? What the fuck. Why didn’t you ever tell me you graduated from high school?”
“Because I didn’t want to make you feel bad. I know how you trip on anything to do with education. Look, it ain’t about that anyway. It ain’t about me telling or not telling you shit. It’s about you fucking up and losing my mama’s pen. Why didn’t I tell you about the cartridges? Why didn’t I tell you about my mama giving me the pen? Hell, I couldn’t possibly even think fast enough to imagine everything I’d have to tell you so you didn’t go off and do something stupid.” Jackson sighed. “Look. Just forget it. Just go, okay.”
“No problem. I’m outta here.” Taylor crawled back out through the window. “Goddamn motherfucking piece of shit,” she cursed, slamming her fist on the trunk of the Caddy. She kicked out the side windows of three Chevys as she made her way down the row of cars and back out into the street. J. Edgar wisely kept his distance, watching from the shade of a totaled Plymouth.
When Taylor returned, it was dusk and she found Jackson sitting on the hood of a ’65 Mustang, knees curled up to her chest.
“Hey girl,” Jackson called softly. “Glad you came back.”
“Look,” Taylor started. “I’m sorry…”
“Nah, girl, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I called you stupid. I’m sorry I went off on you like that.”
“No, it’s my fault. I blew it. I shoulda known about those damn cartridges.”
Jackson shook her head. “My mama says you can only know what you know and there ain’t no shame in that.”
“Yeah, well that could save me a hell of a lot of shame, because what I don’t know could fill up a dumpster ten times over. Anyway, I’m sorry. I brought you something.” She handed Jackson a white shopping bag, wrapped in red ribbon. “Open it.”
“Sunset Stationers?” Jackson looked puzzled. She unwrapped the bag and pulled out a green velvet case.
“It’s your pen,” Taylor said. “Your real one. I got it back.”
“You kidding me? How’d you do that?” Jackson opened the case and pulled out the pen, holding it gently in her hands. “I know that lady wasn’t gonna let you swipe something twice in the same day.”
Taylor reached in her pocket and handed her a folded piece of paper.
Jackson opened it, confused. “A receipt? What are you saying? Taylor, are you telling me you bought me my mom’s pen?”
“Yep. That’s exactly what I did. Went back into the store like a regular person, told the lady I’d made up my mind and that I wanted to buy the pen I’d been looking at earlier. Same one. Gave her the money in cash and transacted the deal. Strai
ght up.”
“Damn, Taylor. I don’t think you’ve ever bought me anything,” Jackson laughed, wrapping her arms around the girl. “Thank you, baby.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited,” Taylor said. “Here.” She pulled another package out of her pocket and handed it to Jackson. “I stole you a couple packets of cartridges while she was ringing up the sale. I wouldn’t want you to be thinking I’m gonna be making a habit of this buying shit.”
the wound closed
unsure whether to bleed or heal (since, for the body, both the letting of blood and the pink gathering of tissue are healing—although there is such a thing as just too much loss), the wound closed in sticky yellow struggle. god sighed.
Blue Sky
Taylor took the roach and sucked in hard, held it long, and let it out slow before handing it back to Jackson. The two girls had been lying around most of the afternoon, half sleeping, half getting high, mostly just staying out of the heat. “So how come you never let me hear your story?” she asked.
“What story, baby?” Jackson asked, taking the joint and nuzzling back into her girlfriend’s shoulder. “What story you want to hear?”
“You know, the one about how we met. I read you mine but you never let me hear the one that you wrote.”
“I’ll read it to you, baby,” Jackson said. “You know you can read anything I write.” Jackson reached over and pulled out her leather journal. “You sure you ready for this?” she asked, smiling.
Taylor grinned and nodded. “Oh yeah.”
Jackson sat up a little and began to read out loud:
The white girl seems unaware of how the men are looking at her. That’s the first thing I notice about her. She does not engage the eyes of the men. Unless, of course, they are looking for drugs. A friend of Trina’s, the white girl comes down to the boulevard to deal. She feeds only the hunger for the drugs; ignores the other hungers, ignores the eyes that want her. The fact that she is not soliciting the men makes them want her even more.