Viral lightening burnt this shirt green
for a second a day.
Radar stations recorded
a six thousand feet per second descent.
The wounded in the damaged boat
a rope dragged under water
at night past Japanese enemy guns
to a beach.
Narcissus bleeds the darkest blue,
platinum carpet and overcast.
Divorce,
son in tears,
until you see a lawyer.
At dark
over a bay of water
lost control
in the haze.
“…. another student to court,
a bad influence on his ’son’.”
Assay the shade when it alters your arms.
He’d heard the words,
an urge as a phrase,
so the impulse must be pulled
by the CIA.
Silence yourself,
shrivel,
an all afternoon session,
five a week with Jeff Goldberg
who orders small, and no answers.
“I’m not qualified.
I don’t really want to go.”
Served papers
have locked your child’s breast
behind a lawsuit letter
two hundred a piece
and words you break.
Pots and pans weep chrome roads.
Gongs slash screams and bells.
Staircases circle.
The sky piles stone.
Insults cut the skin away
to eat the meat
stomach and bannister radium.
If guitar with the guy over the intercom
changed body or arms
they stopped to reeducate
until he disowned
and reported their version.
Go for, jam out,
any drama role
can cause restless and impulsive
and then the flank
ulcers kiss purple and rove down.
The scorn of God
if film star Peter Lawford
who listened to
and stared at the butler
was weak and false.
Then come the dark and unsure
with feelings.
The Navy robot
salvaged the broken fuselage.
Military law will deduce the causes
and transcribe the duress,
lessons
he had to not look aside during.
He saw with the wholeness
of the alone
when love hasn’t smashed it.
Focus on him
immobilized eye and ledge
like the spine of a tame cat,
even him who hated
the shallowly scooped angles.
His feet lifted gnawed latex
by the tongue and cloth laces
to pound up wires to loudspeakers.
Above the banquet tables and seat rows
unnoticed cathedrals shaded the ceiling.
Unspoken self
to be washed off
drained not even by phosphorous
until mute upon muteness.
The breathless add a wall
as the door to your cellar.
Stand, you can steal each skin cell
through stillness to listen.
Have no knowledge of what comes next
like paint on your pants
when you must not glance at a guest.
When the morning moisture is glazed off
the ripest green grapes
are the first seen,
hands full over the wagon side.
Reply Forward
Barry Titus is a 71 year old poet and writer born in New York City. His publications include: the novel, Masks and non fiction,The Dalai Lama Caper. Barry has spent the last seven years in Holland.
I want to fuck your words. Never mind your body, your face, your personality. Never mind you. It’s your words I want.
Press myself against your words and have my way. Take your words. Kiss, lick, caress, fondle, molest and taste your words. Fuck your words. Bend your words over the chair and give it to them. Hard, fast, wet and deep inside your words.
Obsessed since I first read them I dream, eat, sleep, love and lust your words. Day and night your words cut through my mind and my body like a sharp scalpel. Incision after incision I try to live my life but your words won’t let me. I love your words.
I want to fuck your words. Tie them up. Whip them. Rape your words.
I want to hold, cuddle and spoon your words. Sleep, eat and drink with your words. Live with your words.
It’s not you. It’s never been about you. It’s not what you do or how you act. It’s your words that excite me. Fascinate me.
Still what I want the most is to fuck your words.
I want to fuck your words.
Rich Hillen Jr is an author, artist and performer. He is famous for The Serial Killer Coloring Book from the late 90’s. Hillen has since made a string of horrible full length and short films such as Serial Killers Gone Wild, Night of The Groping Dead and Welcome Home. He also founded Crawlspace Records mostly to promote his former band The World Famous Crawlspace Brothers; acoustic songs about serial killers. While he fights his sex, drugs & rock n roll addiction on a daily basis, Hillen is also working on a novel called: Yellow Socks chronicling his relationships with his paranoid schizophrenic mother and the various other mentally ill women throughout his life.
“You are so beautiful.” Mother says to me. My hair has been curled with sponge curlers. I wear the pink and white flowered dress Mother bought me. I also wear black Mary Janes. The shoes surround my white Bobby socks with white lace around them. Mother strokes my hair with a brush and drinks coffee.
“Don’t be afraid. The judge will be real sweet to you. I just hope I don’t see that girlfriend of your father’s. What’s her name?”
“Oh, you mean Valoria? They’re just friends, Mom. That’s not his girlfriend. Dad’s just lonely, that’s all.”
Mother takes another sip of her coffee. She closes her eyes and presses her hands to her forehead. Mother’s fingers shake.
I LOVE COURT
In the court room I see people who sit on benches. I sit near the back with Mother. Finally, I see him. Father sits toward the front. Father looks like a young boy. He smiles with his lawyer as if the lawyer is his father.
“The court calls case number #45987 Scareli versus Scareli,” the bailiff says.
Mother and I walk towards the front of the courtroom. Father is already in front of the judge. The three of us together again.
“First what I like to do is to call the minors to my chamber. The judge removes his glasses and wipes them. “Lets all take a ten-minute break,”
The bailiff leads me through a long hallway to a room.
“Have a seat,” the bailiff says to me. I sit in front of a large oak desk with framed pictures of the judge’s family. Certificates surround the walls. I breath. I am scared. The judge walks in and takes a seat at the desk.
“Want some candy?” He hands me a lemon ball.
“No thanks”
“The judge puts the lemon ball in his pocket. “Well, then. Do you want to live with your father or your mother?”
Inhale
I stare at pictures of a happy family on a big desk. A boy, a man and a young mother with long, soft blonde hair combed to one side. The mother smiles. Her teeth white. A pearl necklace hung soft on her neck.
Exhale
“My mom is crazy, she can’t take care of me. She just got out of a mental hospital a month ago and she doesn’t have a job either. So I have to live with my dad. There is no way I can live with her.” Inhale
“Beatie, I always like to hear what the child has to say. I will keep this discussion with you today in mind when I make my decision. By the way, you say your father is not crazy, correct?”
Exhale
“No way. My dad is one of the smartest men in the world.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. If it wasn’t for him I don’t know what would happen to me. I mean, my mom is just plain crazy. She never does anything around the house and she always sleeps. She thinks my dad has girlfriends and everyone in the world is out to get her. My dad has one friend named Valoria who spends the night sometimes since Mom moved out. Dad says they’re just friends, but Mother thinks my dad wants to be with Valoria instead of Mother. Can you believe that? Maybe if she wouldn’t sleep so much my dad would want to be with Mother instead.” Keep breathing
“Is that what you think?” The judge asks.
“What else could it be?”
Inhale
PATRICIDE OF THE RICARDOS
Our parents return to the courtroom. I wait on a chair outside of the room. It’s a blur and I’m confused. I’m a fish in a glass bowl waiting for someone to feed me fish flakes. A young boy stares at me through the glass.
“Hey Cosmo” the boy says to me. I pucker my lips since I can’t speak. Maybe the boy will feed me.
“Jeffrey it’s time to eat dinner.” I hear a woman’s voice say.
“Okay Mom I’ll be right there” The boy stares at me from above. Please feed me I wiggle my fin. The air is getting thin.
“See ya Cosmo” The boy walks away.
Time passes. Mother walks out of the courtroom first with her lawyer. Mother dressed in a glitter pant suit. The lawyer shakes Mother’s hand. Father walks past Mother and the lawyer. Father looks away as if passing a stranger on a busy street. He walks in front of me. Is it possible Father didn’t see me? Mother picks imaginary sparkle lint off her shoulder as Father’s feet leave us. Mother’s lawyer walks away.
“Mom, what happened?”
“Your father divorced me and gets to keep the house, Ricky is dead.”
“What about me?”
“You get to live with me on the weekends.”
“Is that good?” I ask.
“No.”
AFTER THE PATRICIDE
Mother smokes a Salem in her housecoat. She rubs the ass of a cigarette in the glass black ashtray on the night stand near her bed. She covers herself with a dirt cream-colored blanket. Mother falls asleep. Mother wakes to go to the bathroom and eat puffed rice cereal out of a box. Mother does not leave her apartment for three months.
DEMON EXTRACTION
(Father visits Mother at the Flat)
“Frata, you’re gonna end up back in dat hospital if you don’t get out of bed. It’s been three months now and dis house is a mess.” Father and me sit by mother’s side.
“How are you going to get a job and pay your rent if you can’t get out of your bed? The money you took out of our bank account isn’t gonna last forever,” Father says.
“What money?” Mother asks.
“What do you mean what money? The money you took out of our bank account. What did you do with it?”
“I gave it to my brother,” she says.
“You gave it to your brother? You crazy woman! You crazy! You Crazy…”
Father stands above Mother. She lies under heavy blankets. Father swings a pen near Mothers forehead.
“Follow the pen!” Father says. Mother follows the pen with her eyes. Father swings the pen pendulum. Slow then fast, he moves the pen from one side to the other side. Mother’s eyes follow the pen. I watch Mother. Her eyes close. Father makes the pen go faster. Father’s brow furrows. Father thumps Mother on the head hard
with the pen. Mother growls and turns a dull shade of pale green.
“Damn Crazy Woman! I command a crazy woman to become sane!” The bed shakes.
It is a one story flat. A box of a flat. One bedroom. One bath. A kitchen and a gas stove. The Dodge is parked in front of Mother’s apartment door like an old blue Chevy Nova parks in front of seedy trucker motel.
“Beatie open it up,” Mother says.
The box sits untouched on my lap. I try not to cry.
“Mom, you just got out of the hospital. How are you gonna take care of yourself let alone take care of me? Just let me go back to Daddy. Let Daddy take care of me.
You’re sick!” I say.
“Just open the box, Beatie.”
“No, it’s not gonna change anything.”
“Open the box!”
I open the box. The box is cardboard. Six pairs of jeans stacked, the same color, same style, and a pink flower dress with a petty coat. A blue and white bag of my favorite candy, the kind with coconut and almonds, sits at the top.
“Just eat some candy,” Mother says. “I bought you some of those saddle back Ditto brand jeans you always wanted.”
“I don’t want them.”
“Then just eat the candy.”
I open the bag and stick a bite size candy bar in my mouth. The taste of tears and chocolate makes my throat dry and my tongue salty.
Mother watches me. She takes a hard inhale of her Salem.
“I bought you some Barbie, dolls too.”
Mother coughs a fur ball and rubs her eyes. Her fingers twitch.
DOORBELL RINGS
I run to the door. Father. I know it’s cFather.
“Move outta my way, Larry.”
“Look Beatie, your dad isn’t gonna come and take you home.” Larry stands at the front of the door. His butt rubbing the doorknob.
“Larry, get outta my way.”
Larry shakes his head.”You’re a dumb bunny, Beatie.”
“Please just open the door,” I say.
“Open the door,” Mother says. Larry opens the door. I see Father. He sits in the Datsun. I run to the car. The car moves in reverse. Father does not see me.
“Dad… Daddy!” Father’s body faces forward, his head faces the road. Father’s glasses sit straight on his face. Maybe he doesn’t hear me.
“Dad!”
Father’s head does not move. The car moves forward and away from me onto the road. I watch the back of Father’s black hair become a small dot. He is gone. I turn and walk towards the door. My eyes keep to the ground and notice a brown wrinkled grocery bag on the doorstep. I pick up the bag and look inside. A note sits on top of some of my clothes from home and some old sour ball candies. I read the note.
Dear Beatie:
Don’t worry. Everything gonna be okay
don’t cry. Your Dad.
BACK INSIDE THE FLAT
Larry smiles and takes a final sip out of his beer can.
“Frata, I gotta go. I’ll give you a call in a few days when I get to Amarillo. By the way, Frata can you give me some money?”
Mother takes a drag off her Salem and smashes the butt in a black ashtray.
“Here’s some.” Mother hands Larry a large bundle of cash.
“Thanks. Have a good life, my little sister, I’ll pray for you.” Larry hugs Mother.
I walk to the bathroom and sit on the toilet. I cry. Did I forget to mention I hate my life?
A FEW DAYS LATER
“Mom, do you want me to go to the store?”
“Yeah get whatever you want honey. Take twenty dollars.” Mother points to her wallet on the night stand near her bed. Mother’s body under dirt sheets.
“Thanks mom”
I walk to the grocery store. It’s dark. I notice a chalk-colored sidewalk ahead of me. Cars drive by and honk. I hate to walk in the dark. I run. Once, at the grocery store, I put two six packs of root beer soda and a six-pack of fruit punch soda in the grocery cart. Three bags of different kinds of chips go in the shopping cart. grab fifteen chocolate candy bars from the check-out lane and set them on the conveyer belt along with the other snacks.
“Boy, that’s some party you’re going to have. Is that all for you?” The white haired checkout lady asks.
“No, I just do most of the shopping for my family,” I say.
“Wow.”
She puts the groceries in the bag. I walk out of the supermarket and stop at the hot dog stand on the way to Mother’s apartment.
“Six chili dogs,” I tell the gray haired hot dog lady.
“Are you gonna eat all them hot dogs?”
“No, I have a family to feed.”
“Oh,” the hot dog lady says.
EAT THE CHILI DOGS
I arrive home. Mother is asleep.
“Hey Mom, I got us some dinner.”
“Oh how nice,” she says.
I turn on the kitchen light. Mother wears her usual housecoat. We sit on the small couch together. We drink soda and eat chili dogs. Mother chews her food
slow.
“Mom, can I watch TV?”
“Sure honey. Do whatever you want.”
I turn on the TV. The picture on the television is dark.
“When I get some more money from your father I’m gonna get us a new TV, this TV needs a new picture tube.”
Mother stuffs hot dog in her mouth. Some of the chili misses her lips and lands on her cheek. More chili falls on Mother’s lap.
“Maybe if we turn it on its side it will work better.” I turn the TV on its side.
“Yeah, that’s a little better. Here, let’s try turning it upside down. Maybe it’ll be even better that way.” I turn it again and Mother and me move our heads to the side.
“That’s better,” Mother says.
“Let’s see what’s on.” I grab the TV Guide off the coffee table and flip through it.
“Hey Mom, guess what’s supposed to be on tonight?”
“Hmm?” Mother’s mouth full of chili dog.
“The Exorcist. Can I watch it?”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
“Yay!”
WATCH THE EXORCIST
Mother goes to her room. She turns out the bedroom light. I watch the TV upside down. A girl lies on a bed. A priest overlooks the girl and waves a cross to her forehead. The girl’s eyes are stretched open. The picture on the TV is snow green. The sound on the television is good. Kind of loud. I hear the girl in the bed growl at the priest. A woman cries. The woman sits near the girl’s bed. I hear a noise from the window behind me. It’s the sound of cats. The cats meow and fight outside Mother’s apartment. A girl growls at a priest on the TV and cats hiss outside Mother’s window. I listen to both sounds. Mother sleeps. Mother wakes. I watch Mother. She glides from her room and crosses the living room to the front door.
“Hey Mom this movie’s weird.”
Mother moon walks to the door. Mother opens the front door.
“Mom what are you doing?”
“Here kitty kitty… Here kitty,” Mother whispers.
Her housecoat moves to the breeze in the darkness of night. Mother’s arms raise and stretch to the moon. Mother rushes outside, her arms raised high. She welcomes a Noah’s ark of alley cats.
WHAT IS MOTHER DOING?
Mother runs to the alley behind the apartment. I follow her barefoot wearing a white tee-shirt with a print of a yellow smiley face. I stay far enough behind Mother that she doesn’t see me but close enough to see what Mother does. Mother dances near a metal trash can in the alley. A glow-eyed mom cat meows behind the garbage can. The mother nurses her kitten. Mother pauses for a moment. She raises her arm. Mother’s fingers spread into a web. She snatches and tears the dirty white infant quick from the mom. An alley baby in Mother’s grip. The kitten’s mother has no choice. She flees and leaves the child. Mother holds the baby by its neck. I hurry back around the other side to the living room. I jump onto the couch near the TV. The sound of an exorcism comes from the television. I watch Mother from the window. Mother swings her hips. A greasy kitten’s body dangles from mother’s fingers. The eyes red-orange glass marbles. Mother enters the door. A stiff-headed young cat wiggles its legs under the palm of Mother’s hand.
“Mom, where did you get the kitty?”
“Behind the Dodge, next to the president,”
Mother kisses and swings the cat.
“The president?”
“Yeah Beatie. Didn’t you know that John F. Kennedy is in the garbage can outside?”
“Mom, the President isn’t in the garbage can.”
“Well, then God the Father is.”
Mother shuts the door to her room. I stare at the TV. A girl screams at a priest. A bed shakes. The baby cries in Mother’s room. I fall asleep.
MORNING TIME
“Mom I don’t feel so good today. I don’t think I’m gonna go to school. My stomach hurts.”
I haven’t been to school for two weeks. Mother says when the spirit moves me to return to school and moves her to drive the Dodge she will drive me to school. Mother sits at the dining room table. She drinks black coffee and smokes.
“Want to watch TV?” Mother asks. She sticks her finger in her nose.
“I thought maybe we could go to the store and get me a surprise,” I say.
“A surprise?”
“Yeah, like some toys,” I say.
“A surprise?” Mother asks.
Mother puts her cigarette out in the ashtray. She gets up and walks to the bathroom. She shuts the door.
“Go get a surprise for yourself,” She says through the door.
I hear Mother vomit in the toilet.
“Mom, are you okay?”
The toilet flushes.
“Just go get a surprise and bring me back a chili dog,” she says.
I leave Mother. I buy a chili dog and a Barbie doll. I return home to Mother.
Nurse Lucy record now available on Amazon and Itunes
We finally started filming yesterday for the Who is John Galt video. Thought this week the weather would be cooler at Lake Mead.
It was still 95 degrees. Two of my lead actresses backed out at the last minute and didn’t show up. Down to one crazy nurse, three heat stroked drunks and a few young difficult actors to work with. Ha! Kidding.
I kiss her cheek
and miss her lips
for not to intimate
She saw the miss
and wanted more. Ah God!
life’s a whore
But we just said
we’ll not to bed
she, them, all I cannot comprehend
You want it on the mouth?
Without a second thought
we bring what we have brought
All tongue and lips
I touch her hips
and surely it’s divine
My hand it’s free
And like the blind to see
I take what’s given to me
From her hip my fingers trace
her side, her breast, her neck, her face
I drink up all the draught that is my race
Once again I’m drunk and without hate
woman! you do inebriate!
I, me you do debilitate
On her knee, and up her thigh
my fingers they do fly
but at the top I stop nigh
Her skirt is tightly drawn
on legs spread open like the dawn
but I dare not touch the mons
For there’s no guarantee
that if I did I would be free
entangled still might we be
One more trip
one more rip
one more taste of her flavors I will sip
And as my hand comes close
to that which I desire most
I dig into my fleshy host
I would not dare impede
like some rampaging steed
because I know that she does bleed
Mother Nature here’s a curse
You base lecherous sot or worse
and all those impediments in your purse
As I dream of woman’s powers
I walk through fields of dewy flowers
I sit and lick and drink the juice for hours.
Diego’s Bio: An actor and writer of plays, poetry and prose. His focus on the human condition and just how peculiar it can be. photo by Mick Opportunity
Three years later. Sunday morning. The father finally speaks to Mary. A fragile man.
Inside a humid sacristy the priest advises the ministers and sacristan.“Mary fill the pitcher. All the way. Use the Boones Farm. It’s going to be a full house today.”
In the name of God. At the alter. Mary helps a frail priest pass eucharist.
“The blood of Christ” She hands the young solder a half full goblet.
“Ah-man” The young man sips the sacrifice.
She stares. Sees blood in the man’s eyes. Mary wonders if the soldier can still smile with a lover. She wipes the glass clean with a lipstick soiled handkerchief.
Most evenings. After dinner. Mary escapes by van to the desert. Alone she listens to classics. The young woman imagining fears. Pain. Mary recalls the other day. At work a handsome rock star sneered at her uniform.
“God what a sleazy looking costume. Come here baby take the dollar”
The next day. In a hot kitchen. The father glares at Mary. She cooks dinner for her dad and a wounded serviceman. Makes chicken garbanzo soup.
“Mary have you ever actually been to confession?” The marine asks.
“No. Fuck. Never got around to it.” She looks inside the dishwasher for a knife.
Most every word out of Mary’s mouth these days is “Fuck.” Her father sticks to a chair. Can’t stand the girl. The old man’s options limited. The soldier hungry as hell. What a slut The father’s daughter still has no degree. She carves and chops dead chicken fat off the butt.
“Shit. Is that the mailman?” Mary wipes her hands with a dirty dish towel.
She runs to the box. The winter schedule arrives. Mary opens the envelope. Looks at it. “Shit!”
The University of Guitar Hero raised tuition fees again. Mary stuffs the college catalog in the trash. -ginnetta correli
In wet dreams. Jack penetrates the blind man’s wife. Left with cream splatter on hand. The toilet sea must swallow confessions of love… daily. Ashamed to admit dirty whispers of smelly knickers. The wife has no choice. The mother and infant pirate must drown. The other day the vet told the pretty “bitch” young Jack would grow up to be lazy and lie. Maybe even ingest “Mary” and that girl what’s her name? “Jane”
Life scares the man’s wife. Pinching her once raw now soft nipples. Jack wants only to suck easy treats from plastic bottles instead. To kill is not her blood. A stranger’s blood. The bastard’s blood. Deadline. As canine alpha two bleeds the woman’s heart is ripped. The male pup cries with hunger. Pushed and bitten by “King” baby Jack cast to sea. -ginnetta correli
Father and me sit at the real estate office again. We do not speak. I spit in my silver flute and I try to make audible flute sounds with my mouth.
The phone rings. Father answers it. “Beatie shush dat pipe!” Father swings his fist at me.
“What do you mean suicide watch? Yes, yes, of course Frata is going to be a little sad, but I can’t take dis anymore. The doctors, dey are the ones who make her sick. What do you want me to do? I can’t live like dat. No satisfaction for me. She is lika a box. No… I want out of the marriage!” Father’s finger rubs his forehead.
THREE WEEKS LATER
Father and me and sit alone in the real estate office. Again, we do not speak. I puff on my flute and can now make audible flute sounds.
THE PHONE RINGS:
“What you mean she’s out of the hospital? Dey discharged her? She’s not well. No, she cannot come back here. I cannot handle her anymore. Maybe her brother or sister can take her.” Father hangs up the phone. Father does not speak to me.
THREE WEEKS LATER
Father and me sit at the real estate office again. We do not speak to each other again. I also no longer practice the flute. It’s too hard.
THE PHONE RINGS:
“What you mean I am overdrawn in dat account? I have forty-thousand dollars in the bank. You mean the joint account? Yes, I have it with my wife. We are in the process of getting a divorce. Frata? She what? What you mean she took the money and left me two dollars? Dat is a joint account. She lives with her brother Larry now.”
FATHER MAKES A CALL
“What you mean she moved out of her brother’s house? How did she get an
apartment? Yes, we are in the process of divorce. Why would she take my money? How am I gonna pay the house payment? Dat dam crazy woman!” Father hangs up the phone. No, Father does not speak to me.
EPISODE FIFTEEN (Three Days Later)
LITTLE RICKY GETS KIDNAPPED
“Something may happen after dat school tomorrow,”
“What something?”
Father stuffs a banana in his mouth.
“Your mother…” Father says something else but his mouth is muffled with
banana.
“What about Mom?”
“Your mother might be picking you up from dat school.” Father swallows.
“What do you mean Mom’s picking me up?
Where am I going with Mom?”
“You’re going to live with her in dat apartment.” Father throws the banana peel in the garbage.
“I can’t live with her. How is she gonna take care of me? She can’t even take care of herself.”
Father closes the lid to the garbage. “I know dat. But the lawyer says she has custody of you until we go to court.”
“Dad, what’s gonna happen to me? She just got out of the hospital. You know she’s not well yet.”
“The doctors say dat they have to release her. They say dat she is stable.”
“Please Dad just meet me after school and I’ll go home with you.”
“I cannot do dat.” Father grabs an apple.
“Why not?”
“I can’t, dats all. It’s something dat may not even happen so don’t worry about something dat may not happen.” Father takes a bite from the apple.
My stomach hurts. Dat something has thrown a rock at my belly.
TOMORROW SCHOOL TIME
I sit quiet in my sixth grade class, my face fixated on my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Fedlister. With his bald head and dark curled mustache. He stands in front of our class.
“Beatie, wake up. Focus,” Mr. Fedlister’s cornflower blue eyes light up like a flashlight. He points to me with a yard stick. I focus on Mr. Fedlister’s tight plaid, polyester pants.
“Beatie, since you seem to be in a different world than the rest of the class, can you tell us what deep sea creature no human eye has seen in its natural form?”
I think for a moment. ”A squid?”
“No, that is not correct.”
“It’s not?”
“No, Beatie, it’s a giant deep sea squid, not just a squid. If you didn’t have your eyes on my pants you would have listened and paid attention. You would have known the correct answer when the class discussed it earlier.”
RECESS TIME
With my head hung upside down, my legs hooked and locked around the monkey bars. I imagine I’m a bat who sleeps in a dark cave. I close my eyes. I try not to think about Mother and what might happen after school today. I’m afraid.
“Can I have a turn?” she asks.
My eyes open and center on the tip of Lorena’s nose. Her face still covered with a small gauze patch. She stands above me and waits for me to move off of the bars. A few months have passed since I mutilated my best friend. She keeps the patch on her face as if her nose is whole and its just ugly for no one to see but her. The scars on her arms and neck less prevalent now. I ignore her.
LUNCH TIME
I can’t eat. I’m going to throw up.
AFTERNOON TIME
I fixate my gaze to the front of the class, on Mr. Fedlister’s slacks again. I hear “The Star Spangled Banner” playing in my head. I hum a verse to myself. Oh say can you see by the stars early light…
“Beatie, pay attention here, right here not in your musical fantasy world.” My teacher points near the crotch of his polyester pants with the wooden yardstick. I continue my hum. For so proudly we hail… Mr. Fedlister’s blue eyes flash bright. He shifts his weight to one side and grabs the transparent tape off his desk with a free hand. He rips the tape into two sections. He walks to my desk fast and tapes my mouth closed in the form of an X.
“Now focus!” he says. I focus.
BELL RINGS
My heart moves fast like humming bird wings hovering around a dry bird feeder. I am scared. I can’t think. I’m going to run. I don’t want to see it. I’m not going to look. I do see it… Mother’s red Dodge Cornet waits for me across the street from the school. I walk slow. I know I can’t run away. I see Mother. She smiles at me and her hands wave. Larry-my uncle whom I hardly know sits next to her in the car.
“Hey Beatie what’s my cute little niece up to? I haven’t seen you in ages, man. Boy, have you grown.”
I pretend not to hear his question and kick a small pebble on the sidewalk.
“Mom, I’m not going with you.”
Mother is dressed in her white nurse’s uniform. Her starched bonnet a Danish windmill. Larry gets out of the car. Larry is short, skinny and greasy-looking.
“Beatie I have a surprise for you,” Mother says.
“I don’t want a surprise.”
“Come on honey, just get in the car,” Larry moves towards me.
“Mom just let me go home to Dad. You’re too sick to take care of me.” Mother’s gaze is soft. I feel she understands. She must know what’s at stake. I don’t back away from Larry and I don’t run away. I trust Mother to do what is right. Mother will do what is right. Larry grabs me and throws me in the Dodge.
Mother and Larry lock the doors. Mother starts the car and guns the motor with her nurse’s shoe. I try to make it to the window. Larry keeps pushing my face down on his lap.
“Let me out! You prick! You prick…”
“Stay down, Beatie. You’re making it hard on yourself.”
“Oh Shit, we need gas. I need to stop at the gas station,” Mother says.
“Let Me Out! Help Someone, Please Help!”
Larry is strong. He presses my face down hard. We arrive at the gas station. People watch the three of us in the Dodge. My body jerks like bacon sizzle in the blaze of sun.
“Help! Please Help Me!”
Mother puts the gas in the car and smiles.
“I’m a mental health nurse and my daughter is schizophrenic. We’re taking her to a hospital,” I hear Mother say to an old woman who pumps gas next to mother.
“I’m so sorry, I knew someone once who had schizophrenia,” the woman says to Mother. The woman stares at me. Larry has a death grip on my neck.
“I’m not Crazy!”
“Good luck to you,” the old woman says.
“God bless you and thank you,” Mother says.
We leave the gas station. Mother’s foot pushes the gas pedal hard. Larry squeezes me firm. God, I hate my life
