Body no want awareness, no truth, just sit in creaky porch chair and wiggle and watch Helen weed beds, humming out for touch as sun goes. Body want float on back in salty water and see sun shimmer as Body sail, but Helen say Body can no swim, will sink stone like. Body love Helen. She smile with pirate talk and sponges Body’s skin and puts cold on Body’s burned foots, naming each piggy. In summer, she tickles ear with dandelion whites and points at rhododendrons and traps for Body nice fluffy bees in jars and lets Body hold jar, if no tell Daddy. Body laughs, feeling the buzzies throw weight 'gainst glass, wants to pet them to say hello. Helen worry when Body can no blink well, she say 'why eye puffy? what Daddy do?' She blot Body’s face with hot rag and take Body to man with cold hands. She pats hair going 'there there,' wiping snot, shoveling peppermints into mouth like Body feeding Donkey at zoo. Body sit in garden by her, clawing brown and picking wriggly thing. Body think noodle and bites down. Helen get angry and open Body’s mouth, forcing earth hands going 'ew ew' picking mush off tongue saying 'swish' as she gives lemonade. Body notice she get fat and won’t let Body touch tummy no more. Helen sit on porch step, arm round Body, pulling close to whisper warm ear tickles. She say Body listen good. She think Body no understand. Body understand, but can no remember much. Body remember ‘rape’, she says it lots. Body remember ‘Daddy’ and ‘rape,’ but no else. She leaks and hugs as Body watch light leave sky, dreaming of ever westward planes to carry Body along brother Sun, running from Dark, arriving where Body no wake dew soaked and tired and is no proded by cold hands or Daddy’s belt and can sit as Helen plucks bees from never not bright skies.
More short stories…
the child in the well
Like any new parent, my nights are full of small-hour screams. "Sleeping" means lying supine and anticipating Zachary's next holler. When it comes—as it always does—I sneak from the covers and shuffle down the hall. I linger in the nursery doorway, admiring this new creature as he stands wailing, his little fists curled around the crib's slats, his skin…
belch
It was a winter Tuesday, and I was commuting home from work. The subway was crowded, and I sat beside a homeless man. You don’t need to know much about him; all that matters is that he burped. The belch was cartoonishly violent. Its production sounded painful; the man’s esophageal structures flapped like a stiff playing card in bicycle spokes. It overpow…
wednesdays
I'm told she was ubiquitous during my childhood, but I don't remember. Despite earnest attempts to recall, those early years remain jumbled: mom and dad at work, me upstairs sniffing a knitted blanket as she chopped onions—me devouring shards of watermelon on the stoop of the dentist's office, her holding my hand as we crossed the street in the August s…
Damn. Completely fresh from anything I've ever read before. Well done, my friend.
Nice piece, Will. A very unique perspective to take.