Rag Page 2

  What?

  Like—like you hate me, she said, swallowing. Like you can’t stop.

  I don’t hate you.

  Oh, it doesn’t matter. Maybe there’s a different word for it. For that way you look.

  I wiped the counter with a paper towel, in a circle, the same circle over and over.

  Did it hurt a lot?

  Yes, she said.

  I was quiet. The counter was cleaner than it had ever been and yet it still felt sticky.

  Do you want children? she whispered.

  No.

  You’re lucky, she said, her voice thinning out, a wisp, floating away from me.

  Come here, I said, squeezing the phone in my sweaty hand. Come alone.

  She exhaled—not surprised, not unhappy—and for a moment I thought I had a chance, the future bloomed out before me, and then she said He’s home, and hung up.

  GOOD GIRLS

  I WOKE up and smelled them and followed their smell—

  —shampoo perfume sweat lotion cheap clothes conditioner nail polish blood—

  —to the house with its broken screens and the cracked kitchen glass and the holes in between the boards and its skinny walls—their bodies flashing endlessly in the windows—

  —they had long blond hair I found it everywhere—on the porch or in the yard or on the sidewalks or buried in the grass—I rolled in it and it stuck to me—

  —it better not shit on the lawn one of them said—that was the first thing they said about me when they saw me squatting near the front door—I didn’t shit but I did piss on the grass when they weren’t looking—

  —there was a woman in the house—not the mother—she would say about the slamming doors or the radio on too loud or some other thing girls!!!—but the girls didn’t care—

  —I think the mother was dead and the father too—

  —dude it’s like it’s obsessed with us—does it have tags? one of them wanted to know grabbing me by the neck—look idiot it doesn’t even have a collar it’s obviously homeless—what kind is it—it looks like a Shepherd one of them said—no those are bigger maybe a Boxer said another—what the hell are you talking about if you think that’s a purebred you’re out of your fucking mind—

  —I remembered being a man what it was like walking on two legs and having arms to put around a girl’s shoulders and the way her bones felt if you squeezed her—I remembered sitting up at a table and eating with a fork—but I didn’t remember my name or how long I had lived or when I stopped being a man exactly—so I can’t say if I miss it—

  —I breathed against the house at night—sometimes they were sleeping sometimes they were whispering into the phone—sometimes they were crying in the beds or in the bathroom—I smelled their wet faces and their lips against the receivers and their feet rubbing together beneath their dirty sheets—

  —it had been a long time since I’d been a body in that kind of bed—alone and with other bodies—whose names I can’t remember and maybe never knew—

  —none of them liked to get up in the morning they had to be pounced on or bitten or smacked on the butt by whoever turned the alarm off—

  —they microwaved bacon and wiped their greasy hands on the chair cushions—they tried to make eggs but burned them every time—going out of the room and then coming back to a blackened pan—they ate cold pastry from foil packets or peanut butter fingered from a jar—sometimes they gave me chips or let me lap up the crumbs they left behind as they walked—

  —they loved to call each other names or punch each other’s arms or pull each other’s hair—often I saw just a tangle of bodies in the house the girls so close together on the couch or sharing a bed and trying to get a signal on the cell phone they found in the street—they were always finding things or hiding things or taking things home—and some of these things I remembered the name for and some of them I recognized but could not name—like when one of the girls had a bag in her hand—clutching it by its neck she whispered to another girl don’t tell and then she dumped the bag over the bed and out came a pile of black lace—and they smiled just looking at the black things and smearing them around on the blanket and giggling—

  —I got into the house once when the woman left the back door open—I ran in and I headed straight for the place where the black things were and I took one and buried it in their yard beneath a bush so I could sniff it and always know where it was—

  —they had parties—they put Christmas lights on the back porch and mixed alcohol in a bucket—some friends came—four boys in a truck—I showed my teeth and fear popped through their flesh and the girls wrapped their heads around the side of the house and yelled DON’T WORRY HE’S FRIENDLY—

  —the one place it was hard to see in was the bathroom when they were in the shower because the steam clogged the window and I shoved my eye against the glass again and again legs trembling I sniffed as hard as I could—smell of hot flesh and soap—girls! the woman yelled inside—how many times do I have to tell you no dirty panties in the sink!—

  —which is what they wore lying in the backyard on a blanket—I came running I drooled over their brown knees—they hit me on the head but I kept on doing it—until they sprayed me with the hose—

  —they were doing that thing where it was a school night and they weren’t going anywhere but they acted like they were—a red shirt thrown over the lamp and the girls drawing on their faces and grabbing things out of each other’s hands and bending to look at themselves in the dresser mirror—their jeans so tight their hips puffed out over the top—one of them took a bottle and shook it over her arms—liquid crawling from elbow to wrist—someone put on the radio and they stepped on the bed and closed their eyes—fake fruit smell—the other girls said oh god it stinks!—and the girl at the mirror said it’s designer!—and they screamed back it still stinks!!!!!!

  —but everything smelled good to me—

  —they walked to their school together carrying books one of them always running to catch up one of them always combing her hair one of them always looking into the cars that passed all of them always talking at the same time—it’s following us again—I think he’s cute—ugh are you kidding he’s got mange—I think he belonged to the guy with the trailer in the backyard but got away—oh you mean the guy who did all those drugs and blew up his grandma’s garage—yeah him—I heard he was in jail—I heard he was dead—I heard he beat all his kids and they still wanted to live in that shithole—why do you think anyone does meth if they know it’s going to fuck up their face with scabs and shit I mean crack makes more sense just like cosmetically—shh there’s Mr. Kinkaid—where—in the car—oh my god don’t smile at him—but they did smile at him it was like an itch they had their mouths moving whenever they saw a boy or a man and when the car pulled into the parking lot I pissed on its tires—

  —I was made for finding meat and eating it—how natural it came to me—a rat in my mouth they saw me at night a light pointed at me they screamed ew DISGUSTING!!—I dropped the rat—and left it but still they wouldn’t let me lick them for a week—

  —they whispered we should call the cops on you they’d put you in the pound they’d euthanize you—grinning as they said it—but when I whined they said oh for fuck’s sake don’t be so pathetic—and slammed the door as they went inside and the woman said—why do you let that dirty thing follow you around—and the girls snapped back we DON’T it just DOES—

  —they were no longer in school and the house throbbed with the smell of them even the jasmine even the barbecues even the new tar on the roads was crushed beneath their smell they gathered in the backyard and one of them was smiling to herself the others pushed her shoulders saying what is it—what—

  —when finally from out of her pocket she pulled the thing and held it in her lap for them to see—oh my god give it to me you don’t even know how to work it—don’t point it at me!!!—I’m not I’m just showing you—it looks real—it is real—I mean no like it could kill s
omeone—well you could if you got them in just the right place another one said—what’s the right place?—right HERE one of them said and pushed the other’s head—I was in the bush on the other side of their driveway next to the neighbor’s fence and they said come! come out! come here! slapping their thighs—sit! stay! they giggled and one of them pushed on my butt and my legs buckled beneath me the ground very hot against my belly—I rolled on my side and they pushed their shoes against my ribs—they cooed in a long loopy song as they dropped potato chips on my face—and poured soda over my head which stung when it got in my eyes and made a pool beneath me sticky and spreading—they ate the rest of the chips and one of them was mad about not having any more orange soda—you do it—no you no YOU!!!—they fumbled the stuff between them and the empty bag was tossed on the lawn—they stopped giggling their bodies throwing shadows over mine and I tried to get them all in my eye at the same time—they had a whole sack of the metal balls and they emptied them into me the mouth of that thing against my mouth against my ribs on my tail one by one taking turns I just lay there and whined—it’s not a lot of blood at all—it’s just a BB gun what did you expect—they were grabbing it out of each other’s hands—arguing—one of them put one of the balls in the other’s arm click click—the girl who was shot screamed so loud I couldn’t hear anything for many long moments—shit you cunts!!! she shouted bent in half her hair hanging down almost touching me I moved my leg and she groaned—they had been drinking vodka—she vomited and then they were all laughing again sitting on the ground and falling over each other they forgot about the thing and the pellets and her puffy arm with its little red eye of wound—clutching their stomachs their legs a heap kicking the ground they were helpless helplessly happy—what the fuck!!!!!!!—laughing—laughter—

  —I licked their hands I was shivering all over they tasted like salt and like the way they smelled I could barely breathe and I sank into the middle of them I was bleeding a little from a lot of different places and they laughed and laughed at me but I didn’t mind—

  —I’d had my chance as a man.

  ALICE

  FRIDAY NIGHTS used to be Steak Nights. Exactly ten ounces of prime rib for me, eight for Wendy, six for our daughter Alice. Other nights we had fish and green vegetables, tofu and brown rice; but Friday was about flesh and blood.

  Then a Friday came and there was only one steak at the table, set at Alice’s place. I drank my milk, stared at my empty plate. It was Alice’s twelfth birthday. After that Alice ate meat every day, and Wendy never served me meat again.

  We didn’t say that Alice was getting fat. She was. She was getting very fat. She grew hips, a double chin, several extra stomachs. Alice’s teachers sent home notes and made phone calls, but Wendy handled those. She used the word thyroid a lot. Wendy prepared all the meals. I wasn’t allowed to give Alice snacks or treats of any kind. I did the shopping at the natural foods market; I bought the steaks in bulk from the butcher. He thought we were giving them to our dogs. We didn’t have dogs. Just a daughter.

  Wendy panfried the steaks until they were barely warm. No matter how much deodorizer she sprayed, the house always smelled like blood. We weren’t allowed to help in the kitchen; we weren’t allowed to open the refrigerator. The only exception was when I did the grocery shopping and put away the food. There were slots for everything: Greek yogurt, vegetables, milk. Nothing touched anything else. The meat was triple-wrapped. Poor meat. I poked a hole in the cellophane and the meat dripped on the glass shelf. Are you sad? I asked it. It dripped some more. I gave the steak a kiss and it was a lot like other kisses I’d had: cold, smooth, dead. And yet this meat would feed a living person, the person I loved most, it would help make so much more of her. I kissed it again, out of gratitude, and the kiss sank into the meat, becoming a vitamin, a protein, fuel, ready to hit the pan screaming.

  I hadn’t worked since Alice was born. I washed the dishes, did the cleaning, completed the list of chores Wendy left for me each morning. On my lunch breaks I drove to Alice’s school and sat in my car, eating Wendy’s tiny sushi rolls and miso soups and drinking cold green tea. I didn’t taste any of it. It was like eating air. From the street I could see right through the window of Alice’s English class. Her head was like a ball balanced perfectly atop a larger ball, so elegant, so very beautiful that I could never believe, from a distance, that she was mine, something from my own body. Her dark hair always clean, gleaming. She had a pencil box I had given her many years before, yellow with blue and red dots, which she held in her lap; I think Wendy put strips of beef jerky in it. When the bell rang and Alice went off to History I rolled up my lunch bag and put my seat back and fell asleep.

  One afternoon I found a ten-dollar bill wadded up in the gutter skirting our front lawn. I hadn’t seen unbudgeted money in years. I drove to a fast-food restaurant and ordered three hamburgers and ate them all during Alice’s class, sucking the grease from my fingers for a long time. The taste of fat, that’s what grease is. We all love to put it inside ourselves, even Wendy, Wendy loves it and that’s why she won’t eat it. Wendy has a hard time with love.

  I put the bag under the seat, thinking I would throw it away in the neighbor’s trash when I got home, but I forgot. Wendy found it.

  This, she said, shoving the bag in my face. This is disgusting.

  It was after dinner. Alice was in bed. I was scrubbing the sink with a toothbrush. I took a deep breath.

  Wendy, you give Alice meat every—

  I give her steak, not garbage, Wendy hissed. Alice is growing. Alice has a condition.

  I blinked. What condition?

  Don’t be ignorant. I could smell this from the driveway. You bring this poison into our house?

  I didn’t bring it inside.

  It’s inside your body, which is inside our house, she said, throwing the bag out onto the back porch. I followed it. She tossed a box of laxatives at my feet. How her nostrils flared when she was angry, a vein pulsing beneath the skin. She was probably pretty, most likely very pretty, but it had been a long time since I’d seen her prettiness. I imagined kissing her, or grabbing her by the hair. I didn’t want to do either. I smiled. After a moment she slammed the door.

  I stayed in the guesthouse for two days, taking the laxatives. Nobody had ever stayed in the guesthouse except me and it was, like the main house, pristine. I plumped the decorative pillows on the bed and kept my shoes off the comforter when I watched TV. Alice brought me water and green tea and fruit, lingering on the doorstep while I ate an apple.

  Did you really have three hamburgers? she asked, glancing at me.

  Wendy told you?

  She’s still really mad.

  I know. I shouldn’t have done it.

  Alice pushed her thumb against the doorjamb, rubbing the smooth white paint. Do you miss it? she asked, tipping her head to the side, her neck folding in smooth rolls over the collar of her dress.

  Meat?

  She nodded.

  No, I answered. Not anymore. I’ve had plenty in my life, I said. It’s for you, now.

  Alice smiled. How’s the apple?

  Good. I chewed, swallowed. Crisp, I added.

  Isn’t there anything you miss?

  I thought. Maybe ice cream.

  Alice’s eyes widened. You used to eat ice cream?

  I think so, I said. It was a long time ago. Before you were born.

  She touched my stomach then, very lightly, looking at me to see if it was okay. I still had some muscle there. Wendy liked to say that what we ate made us what we were; Wendy wanted to be something like a rock garden, pure, hard, blameless. What did she want our daughter to be? Giving her all that gristle, all that fat. But fat is pure, too. So white and solid. Wendy wouldn’t have thought of that.

  What did you have for breakfast? I asked.

  Bacon, Alice said. And a Polish sausage.

  And lunch?

  A ham sandwich.

  Good, I said. Good girl.

  I g
ave her the core of the apple and she closed her hand around it like it was something precious. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d had fruit.

  What’s your mother doing now?

  She’s vacuuming.

  Do you want to come in?

  Alice nodded. I sat on the couch.

  Come here, I said, patting my knee. I was not invited to Alice’s doctor’s visits. I didn’t know what she weighed. The last time I knew her numbers she was a month old and weighed less than a week’s worth of prime rib.

  Oof, I said when she sat down. Her flesh hung down all around my thighs, bumped my stomach, filled my arms. I hugged her waist. My legs went numb almost instantly.

  Am I big? she asked, looking down at me.

  You are very big.

  Am I pretty?

  You are very pretty.

  She blushed. We sat like that for a moment, in silence. Part of me wanted to eat what she ate, to share in her pleasure at the table, to join her wherever she was going; but I knew that part of raising a child is to set them on a path that isn’t yours. I was turning into air; that was natural. But she, she would have what she deserved. Nothing could dislodge her from the earth; she would stick to it and everything would stick to her: experiences, life, joy. Her body was making room for it all, each cell exceeding its limits. She was growing up.

  Good? I said after a moment. She smiled.

  Good.

  I came back to the main house. Fish was now off the menu; yogurt, cheese, and milk followed suit. The refrigerator was nearly free of food, filled instead with a cool violet light. The butcher was ordering meat from a small organic farm outside our suburb; it came in a crate and cost a fortune. Alice grew and grew. Her skin was very clear and her teeth were perfect. She smelled wonderful. We were careful not to let Wendy see us when Alice sat on my lap. Wendy didn’t know what was pure and what wasn’t; we went along with her way of doing things, but for our own reasons. Wendy appeared on a workout video for vegans and when I saw my wife’s sweatless face looking into the camera with such rigid determination I laughed. At dinner I ate my spoonful of rice and when I caught Alice’s eye she smiled, her cheeks full of meat.