Scags at 7

by Deborah Emin

  If I wear them there all the time, I ask Davy, will you be my boyfriend? What do you want me for? he asks and takes out his knife and begins peeling one of the apples. You know, Davy says, boyfriends are tricky. Sometimes they say they love you just to get you into bed. How do you know that? I ask and wonder why they’d want to go to sleep.

  My mother has had a lot of boyfriends, Davy says, and then says, It seems like a lot of work to be a boyfriend. Why? I ask him, it’s okay if you don’t want to be my boyfriend but why is it so much work? Davy says, Well, you have to be on time, bring gifts, take the girl out to fancy restaurants. You’ve got to look good and be clean all the time. Jack said to me that wooing a girl is harder than being president.

  But we’re already friends. Yes, Davy says, put those apples under your shirt again. I do. They stay. He touches and smiles. Davy says, That was nice, let’s go to my house? What for? I ask.

  You know what those old ladies do in that house all day long, don’t you? Davy asks and then laughs. I ask him, Why are you laughing? Don’t you know that those two old ladies aren’t sisters and that they eat pussy?

  I haven’t the tiniest, littlest, teeniest idea what he is talking about or why that is so funny. I never knew you could eat cats and I wouldn’t want to. I don’t want to let on that I don’t know and I say, Of course, everyone knows that about them, it goes on all the time. I cover my mouth with my hand and pretend I am laughing too.

  You don’t know what you’re talking about, he says to me, but you could find out. How? I ask. His mouth is full of apples, his eyes all crinkled up. Then his mother calls his name and he spits the apples out of his mouth into the shrubs, runs around my house, jumps the hedge and is in his back yard where he puts his hands on his mother’s hip before I have time to say wait for me.

  I stand up and she waves to me and her gold earrings shine and then the two of them walk away together and I say to myself, when Julia comes home I’ll ask her what eating pussy means. I’m not letting Davy Armstrong know I’m a complete idjit as Goldie says whenever Boomer says something she already knows—what do you think I am, a complete idjit?

  26

  Ribbons and Bows

  M ama is all excited. Mrs. Arthur invited her on an outing, they are not going to use their coupons, no, they are going to a fashion show at a hat store in the city. It is Sunday and Pops says he has nothing to do, so he wants Mama to stay with him, maybe take a drive and get some ice cream and look at some new houses. We’re not moving anywhere, Nate, she says and fusses in her room with lipstick, rouge, powder and her hair, of course. Her hair is jet black which she wears short around her neck and sometimes Pops, to be mean, says she looks like a boy. But that’s not fair because she is so beautiful that way. When Mama turns from her mirror to look at us I see how she really does look like a queen which would make Pops a king and me a princess.

  Mama leaves in a swirl of perfume and scarves. I go to my room, turn on my lamp, put some salt on a slide, cover it with another slide and look through my microscope. I see an ice palace like we try to build in the winter, me and Pops.

  I hear the garage door going down and I yell out Pops, Pops. No Pops. He’s gone. Did he forget I am home? Well hell’s bells, as Davy would say, and I go downstairs looking around. All the doors are open. The light is on in the kitchen but when I look out the door to the garage, Pops’ car is gone. Mama’s Chevy is there. Why Pops? You left me alone. I’ve never been home by myself.

  I slam the door shut then run scared to the front door and slam it and run into the kitchen and slam the basement door and run up to my room making as much noise as I can. There may be spooks outside that are now inside. I can scream unless they choke me.

  I must entertain myself, as Mama would say. But I don’t want to. I can’t go outside because then no one would know where I am. I slam my bedroom door. The whole house is empty. I look at my bookshelf next to my dresser. Odessa has arranged my books again. I see a baby book that Pops used to read to me, the one where a crow learns to speak and tell the future to a king who doesn’t want to believe the crow because crows can’t talk.

  I open the book and see once again the black crow with his big wings and serious look in his eyes. I go to my desk and push the microscope aside and pull out some drawing paper. I say to myself, when the picture is done, Pops’ll be home. I can hardly wait to finish. I take a piece of brown paper and draw the head of the crow, with its big beak and its angry eyes and I think I could draw another picture of it flying and its wings extended so far that he looks like a little airplane.

  But no Pops. So I lie down on my bed. My pillows are so soft. If I put my face in one of them no one will hear me cry but there is no one anyway. I know if I lie perfectly still and don’t think anything, everything will be okay. I hold my breath a few times to listen to nothing. I wait for some sign that everything is going to be okay. Maybe—-the doorbell rings.

  It rings again and I jump off my bed, run down the stairs to see who’s there. I swing open the front door and there is Pops. Why is he standing there? Why doesn’t he come in, it’s his house after all and why did he leave me all alone?

  I hear a voice that is not Pops’. I yell, Who’s there? I see a man standing behind Pops wearing a uniform. It’s a policeman. Your mother home? he asks and I say no one is here but me. What do you want with my Pops? Is this man your father? he asks me very seriously and I open the screen door and throw my arms around Pops and they walk in the house, me hanging onto Pops, him walking with me standing on his shoes.

  What’s wrong Pops? I ask him. He smiles a little smile like not to worry. He says he left without his wallet and when he went to the store to buy me some new ribbons for my hair he had to put them in his pocket he was so embarrassed not to have any money. Pops says, Go to my room and get my wallet.

  I run upstairs thinking, is Pops a crook? Well no, and anyway he’s home now and everything’s going to be fine. I run back downstairs with Pops’ wallet to show the policeman that my Pops is no crook.

  Pops clears it all up. The policeman leaves and Pops and I are alone in the house. It is so quiet that I can hear the refrigerator purring in the kitchen. Pops says, Guess what I got you? He pulls red ribbons, brown barettes and pins out of his pants, saying, They didn’t find these. He is laughing. I ask, Did you really steal these? He says, Yes. I ask him why, but all he says is, Go get your hairbrush. I run to my bathroom, and he calls up the stairs, Get the brush and a pair of scissors to cut the ribbons.

  Pops is in his chair drinking a beer when I come back downstairs. Stand with your back to me, he says, and puts his beer down but first he offers me a sip and I say, No thanks, I don’t like the taste of beer, I stand between his legs, with my back to him. He pulls on the elastic Mama put in my hair this morning, but it is stuck because Mama can’t do it as well as Odessa. It hurts as he pulls it and I start to cry, but only a little bit. Don’t worry, Pops says, give me those scissors, I’ll cut the elastic off. I hand them to him and I hear the scissors snipping and snipping. It’s not that hard to cut an elastic. He tells me to turn around.

  I face Pops. In his hand is my hair, all my long red curly hair. I run my hand down the back of my head and I don’t know what to say. To do. Where to look. At the hair in his hands or the stare in his eyes. Pops looks away from me. What did he do to me?

  Go away, he says, and places my hair in his lap and reaches for the beer. Leave me alone, he says, now, right now.

  I run upstairs and go into his room and slam the door. I sit down at Mama’s makeup table and stare at myself in the mirror. I need to see the back. I need to see what he did to me. I cry softly, Why Pops, why Pops? Look at me. Look at me. I look like a boy.

  I pat my head and stop crying. I reach into Mama’s top drawer and pull out her white and green chiffon scarf and wrap it around my head and then my neck. I could wear my blue sunglasses and my mint green sun dress. I will still be
pretty. As pretty as a peach, Pops didn’t mean to do this. I shouldn’t have let him fix my hair. I’ll tell Mama I did it. I cut off my hair.

  27

  Hot Dogs

  O dessa has made a fire in the grill outside on the patio. Davy and I are going to cook hot dogs for lunch. Pops has whittled some sticks to a sharp point. We have to put them through the cold hot dog and then hold them over the fire. I pull one of the patio chairs, my favorite one because I can lie down on it if I want, over to the grill which is made of bricks and is where Pops cooks chicken and steaks. Oh, yes, I remember, there was one Christmas day he cooked steaks out here wearing his warmest coat and his biggest gloves and a stocking cap, a red stocking cap.

  The coals are dark red now and yellow, they send up a wall of heat. I can’t see it but I can feel it as I put my hand out to the fire. It feels like my skin could just shrink up like paper in fire.

  Look Davy, I say, the fire is winking at us. It’s like a blinking traffic light, first red, then yellow, then red. The red is so hot and the coals have white rings around their edges and I can smell the lighter fluid Odessa used to start the fire. Davy is racing his new blue matchbox car over the sides of the grill. Whew, he says, that sure is damned hot. It feels like it could burn my face off.

  Come sit with me, I say, and make room on the chair for him. Sit here, I say, and you won’t get burned. He sits next to me and runs his car up my bare arm to my shoulder onto the side of my face and then over the top of my head. He doesn’t say anything about my new hair cut. Don’t do that, I say. He stops, puts the car down and says, Well what do you want to do?

  Odessa comes out to the picnic table, the redwood table with its two benches, and puts out a couple of plates and a big pitcher of lemonade and a bottle of ketchup. As she goes back inside she says, Tell me when that fire is ready for your hot dogs.

  Davy watches her go and then says, Want to see something neat? He digs deep into his back pocket. He pulls out a square package, holds it in the palm of his hand and presents it to me. What’s that? I ask. I look him straight in the eyes. He has on his I-know-better-than-you smile. He giggles and closes his fist around it. What is it? I ask. If you’re going to show me something but not tell me what it is, you’re no fun. I’ll tell, he says, if you promise not to tell anyone. I say, I won’t tell a soul.

  Odessa brings the hot dogs and buns outside along with Pops’ sticks. Davy giggles through his nose when he sees the plate of franks. They are big and red. Odessa asks, Do you want me to put them on the sticks for you and cook them? I say, No thanks, just help me a little. Odessa picks up one of the hot dogs and pushes the stick through it until it comes out the other end. Davy is laughing and giggling as he does the same thing. Odessa asks him what’s so funny and why is he laughing so hard? Davy ignores Odessa and tells me nothing too. Odessa says, after she hands me the stick, Be careful by the fire. She goes back inside looking over her shoulder at Davy and shaking her head. Finally, he gets his stick in the hot dog right and is waiting to cook it.

  Davy, I say, what’s so funny? He says, Do you want me to show you my secret? I say, Yes. He puts his stick on the table, pulls out the package and opens it. It’s little and round. He puts it on the tip of his hot dog and rolls it down until it is all covered by this tight balloon.

  He has a very serious look on his face like he’s thinking hard about what he’s doing. You have to be careful, he says, not to rip it. Once the balloon is over the hot dog, he picks it up and points it at me. He says, I’ve got you covered. I don’t know what he means. He looks at me and says, You don’t get it, do you? This is a thing. The hot dog? I ask. Yes. And the balloon? That’s a rubber. What’s that? That’s that, he says pointing. Men’s things can make babies inside a woman. I know that, I say. Well smartie, he says, this rubber keeps the man’s sperm from getting in the woman. Why? I ask. What do you mean why? Why don’t they want to have babies? I’m all confused. What does Davy do with these rubbers when he’s alone? I think if things are something Davy has and I don’t, why didn’t I get a thing? Look at all the neat things you can do with one.

  You ready to cook yours? Davy asks as he rolls the rubber off and shoves it in his back pocket. He walks over to the grill, places his hot dog above the flame and turns it ever so slowly to cook it all the way around.

  Odessa comes out and sees me staring at Davy’s hot dog which is getting plumper and redder. Don’t you want to cook yours? She asks me. Stick your hot dog in the fire. I want to wait a little longer, I want to see Davy’s hot dog get burnt and then I can put mine in the fire, I say to Odessa. Davy giggles and pulls his hot dog out of the fire and Odessa takes it from him and wraps a bun around it and pulls it off the stick. Okay Scags, she says, I’ve got some other work to do so you hurry up, you hear?

  I slowly get out of my chair and shove my lunch into the fire and put it where it’s the hottest slowly turning it like Davy did. I smell all the different smells in the meat, the garlic and the juices. I look at Davy who is stuffing his face, taking big bites of the red, red meat, now dripping with ketchup. I think that Davy’s laughing at me because he has a thing and I’ve only got a hot dog.

  28

  Cocker Spiegel

  I t is Saturday morning and Julia should be coming home soon, maybe today, I don’t know when really. I go out to the garage through the kitchen door and jump up and hit the button and the garage door rises and I take my bicycle out, then go back, jump up, hit the button, and run like a bunny to get out of there before the door closes all the way.

  It is hot, my gosh, so hot that the sidewalk hurts my feet and the street is so dusty that when the wind blows, the dirt gets between my teeth and crunches in my mouth. I hate this. I take my bike to the end of the driveway and hop on and ride around the block to see if anyone else is outside yet.

  On the next street a house with a tiny little yard has a sprinkler going. I ride back and forth through it as the water swishes and I get wet. It feels good and the water streams into my eyes and I can’t see and I ride away from there shaking my head, my new short hair making the water fly around me and taste cold and sweet.

  Mama says that no one has to brush my hair in the mornings now. Mama calls me her little carrot top. She runs her fingers through what’s left of my hair and sighs and says, Oh Scags, I’m so sorry. I say, Pops can’t look at me yet but he will. He’ll make things all right again. I know he will.

  I decide to ride to the drugstore and I check my pocket to see if the dollar bill Boomer gave me is still there. It is but it is wet. Well, Mr. Ruskin will take it anyway, I say. I push hard on the pedals to get to the drugstore just as it is opening.

  The candy is right under the cash register. I want a Three Musketeers because it lasts a long time and some Pez for my Mickey Mouse Pez dispenser, I get lemon and orange, and I want one more thing but I don’t know what.

  There’s so much, so much to think about until Mr. Ruskin says, Scags, you can come back again, why—but I don’t listen to adults when it comes to candy, they don’t know a thing. They say, Get just one thing, but how is that possible when they bring you someplace that has fifty things? I finally decide on a Snickers bar.

  I put my candy up on the counter which is hard to reach. I think Mr. Ruskin is angry at me because I didn’t listen to him, but he’s not. He asks me if I want a bag and I say yes. I like to put my little parcels in the basket on the front of my bike and drive along so that they don’t bounce out.

  I give him the wet dollar and he smiles at me and hands me my change which I stick in my wet pocket. It doesn’t matter if pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters get wet. Bye, I say, and raise a hand like an Indian and go outside, put the bag in my wet basket and get on the bike for the ride home.

  I go to the back yard with my bag of candy. I go to my tree where my rock collection sits on Lizzie’s grave. As I’m walking across the grass, I see a mound behind the tree. The mound is crying. I
get scared, who is it, what could it be, and then I know and I run to the tree and stop in my tracks.

  Five puppies all black and wet sucking on their mother’s nipples. All for me, I think. The mother is licking each one of them as they suck and they have such tiny bodies and such tiny eyes that aren’t open yet and they must have been born last night.

  A dog and five puppies and they’re all mine. I found them. They are so cute, little and black. They have these pink tongues and I start to cry when one of them loses the nipple. I go running into the house to get a bowl of water for the mother. I leave my bag of candy on the counter and carry the bowl carefully. When I put it down, she takes a lick of it and looks at me with tired eyes and shuts them and all five puppies are alive and sleeping now too and I run back inside to get my Pops.

  Pops is in the living room in his chair wearing nothing but a pair of bermuda shorts. I tell him I found the puppies and he says, What puppies? The ones in the backyard, I say. He looks at me as if he doesn’t understand, but then he remembers and says, We’ve got to get them covered up because there’s going to be a storm tonight, a bad storm. I tell him they are all black and little and just born and exactly what I wanted. He goes and gets a pair of shoes but doesn’t put them on but follows me outside in his bare feet.

  We have to be very calm around the mother, he says, and we have to see if she’ll let us move her, she may not. I have to be prepared for that. I tell Pops that I already brought her some water and she is so tired she can hardly drink. I know there is no talking to a dog, Pops says, but if we are gentle with her maybe she’ll let us take her somewhere else.

  Where Pops, where can we take her? To my room? I know that is a mistake. I shouldn’t let him know yet that these are for me that he is going to give me a puppy because I’ve been so good and he knows I can be a good girl and take care of them all. All of them. For me.