Episode 21 Picture Time

Mr. Fedlister, combs my hair and parts it down the middle. He pulls each side of my locks behind my ears.
“You need a haircut,” Mr. Fedlister spits on the comb and strokes my hair strands again with the comb.
I’m ready for my close up. I stand on the stage. My hands rest on a textbook. The book sits on a classroom desk. A nature scene and earth globe behind me complete the picture scene.
“Smile. Say cheese,” the photographer looks through the lens. I hear a click.
Lights flash. I smile and hold the pose.
“One more time please” the photographer presses the button. The lights flash again. I blink. See dots. The dots blink and don’t stop. Off and on someone plays with a light switch in my brain. My head starts to hurt and my brain can’t keep up with these lights. I try to chase them away and close my eyes. The lights come back. Watching them swim I see neon-colored tetra fish. My stomach feels pain. I receive a message from the burrito I brought from home and ate today at lunch.
“Out. Let me out. I can’t stand it in here! I can’t breathe, Beatie,”
“Mr. Fedlister, I think I need to get to a bathroom fast.” My hand rubs my belly.
“First, Comb your hair again. Your hair is so messy, Beatie doesn’t your dad ever take you to get your hair cut?” He hands me a small black comb. I run the comb quick against my ears.
“I’ma comin’ out, Beatie, ya better let me. I ain’t stayin’here no more,”
“I gotta go,” I hand the comb back to the teacher and run out of the room. There is not much time-Burrito wants out. Once at the bathroom. Latch a door behind me. Hug the latrine. Stick my finger down my throat. Hang my head inside the bowl. I gag.
“Please Beatie, get me out fast!”
Try again. Put my finger inside. Tickle my throat.
“I’ma comin’ Here I come!”
something comes up my stomach. I release broken Burrito into the potty.
“You saved my life.” he moans. I stare at broken Burrito and flush the toilet.

MORNING TIME
Dressed and ready to walk to school. An unwrapped burrito sits on the counter of the kitchen. I throw it in my brown lunch bag along with an apple.

LUNCH TIME
I eat my burrito and take two bites from my apple.

AFTER LUNCH
Neon fish swim in my head again. My brain gets a message from Burrito.
“You gotta let me out fast. I can’t take it no more.”
I let Burrito free into the latrine.
“Thank you Beatie, I love you”

LATER
“Beatie, your dad’s on his way from work to pick you up,” I lie on a cot, covered with a brown blanket inside the nurse’s station. Mrs. Reid pats my head.
Father arrives, his eyes soft.
“Mrs. Reid, I think I’m gonna throw up again.”
“You betcha, Beatie, I wanna be free your brother Jeffrey isa’ comin too,”
Mrs. Reid grabs a plastic dish off the table near the cot. My body shoots up and I hurl Burrito onto a dish.
“Good girl, get it out.” She pats my back. I hold the plate close and concentrate.
“This is the third time in the last two weeks your daughter has thrown up at
school,” Mrs. Reid says.
“She also looks like she’s losing weight. She’s getting too thin. Maybe you should have her looked by her doctor. Does Beatie have a pediatrician?” Father pauses for a moment, his feet uncrossed.
“I’ll take her to dat doctor soon.”
Father stares at the wall. Father’s legs cross.

THE GYMNAST
A few days after school I see Mr. Fedlister. He walks toward the teacher’s
lounge.
“Mr. Fedlister, watch me. Watch me.”
I run through the grass, both my arms raised at the elbows. My Hands flop straight ahead. I run, dive and roll. I am a gold medal gymnast, a swan.
“Good job,” Mr. Fedlister glances in my direction.
I stand proud. My arms reach for the sky. This is the moment. I wait for my medal. My arms held high. The star spangle banner plays God bless America. Father and the rest of America watches me from inside the Olympic stadium. Father stands from his seat first.
“Look at dat” his gorilla hands clap with a strong muffle sound for me.
The world follows Father. People rise from their chairs. The world gives me a standing ovation. It’s the proudest moment in the American history of women’s gymnastics. The camera on Father. He wipes tears with a clean handkerchief. The camera on me. I smile valiant. The medal placed upon my neck with a bouquet of purple lilies handed to me by “Bella” the famous gymnastic coach.
Beatie brings home the Gold. Nadia, the silver medalist gives me a hard look. I smile at her. I don’t care, too bad for her. I won.
Mr. Fedlister walks away.

I WALK HOME ALONE
My mind thinks about food. I am hungry. I hope Father left the back sliding door unlocked and I can steal some cheese and bread out of the refrigerator.
Father told me: “Do not eat dat food when I’m not home. “You can eat an apple if you’re hungry.”
I open the wooden gate to the backyard of the bright yellow house. I make sure I put my foot on each of the round concrete stepping stones. (Someone told me that if you step on a crack you break your mother’s back.) I skip on each stone leading towards the sliding glass door to the dining room. My stomach growls. The sliding door is locked. I peer into the window and see the time on the clock near the thin bar table. The time reads 3:15. I hit the glass with my fist. I cup my hands and make circles around my eyes and press my face against the window. I see a bag of red apples on top of the refrigerator. I turn and pretend to eat a vanilla ice cream cone dipped in chocolate.
I hear a noise, a slight cry. I walk toward the sound. Lift my leg to take a step.
“Aaahhh!”
See greasy, gray fur. Red eyes open, a bright red mouth. A long thin tongue. A belly in the dirt. I lose my balance. The face of death. My behind foot grazes the spine. My lead foot smashes the ribs. Hear the crack then a high-pitched baby squeal.
My heart rushes and I run. My mind follows. I am scared and sick to my
stomach, but think your here with me and I know I’m not alone. We will make
it, won’t we? We just gotta wait till Father gets home, right? Wish we could leave but where would we go? Next door? Lorena’s house? No… Father will have a fit if we leave. We better stay here.
Now can you see the cat’s ear? A pink bit of flesh poking out of the ground. It’s sick isn’t it? All these dead cats in our lives, but your here with me and you won’t let me down. Thank God. Were gonna make it. We sit on the steps and wait. Thank God your here with me. I don’t know what I would do without you. A few hours pass. The cat is silent now. Let’s stay far away from it.

THE DEAD ARRIVAL
Father arrives! He opens the sliding glass door quick.
“Sorry I’m late, I had to present an offer for a house” he says.
“Daa-Dad, there’s a dead cat out here. I had to sit here alone while it died. It was horrible.”
“Dead?”
“Yeah, Dad… dead” Father walks out to the backyard.
“Where’s dat kitty?”
“Over here Dad” Father follows us to the dirt. Father squats and examines the cat. Father’s knuckles bend with one knuckle stuck on his chin.
Father grabs a garden hoe near the peach tree. He taps the dead animal with the small shovel, a serious look to his face.

“Dat poison I put out must have worked.”

before i died i felt the wind rushing my face by Rad Wolf

Dog by Alastair Cook

Ankitaslut by Rich Hillen Jr.

The name she goes by is ankitaslut. She’s Indian. From India not American Indian. I met her on an adult networking site. We started off leaving each other photo comments. She made it clear that she wants to be called names and treated like a slut. It’s amazing what you can be on the Internet. I’m not the type to call names and say abusive things but she came along at the right time and the words seem to flow when I message her. If she only knew what a nice guy I am in real life.

Our messages and photo comments eventually evolved into instant messaging on Yahoo. She likes to send me photo after photo and wants me to tell her how much of a slut and whore she looks like and what I will do to her. I do this with surprisingly great pleasure. I never did this before to this extent. I’ve done some role playing in bed with girlfriends before but never went over the edge with the name calling and abusive language that I do with Ankitaslut. It is really odd to look at these pictures of this innocent looking beautiful girl and only be able to tell her how slutty she looks.

Some days we do this for hours and other times just for a few minutes. She is always the first to get off line in the middle of a sentence she either says “OMG. I gotta go.” Or she just goes off line mysteriously and leaves me hanging. I’m supposed to be the dominant one, right?

I know nothing about this girl except what she looks like and her age. Well, the age she tells me. We never discuss anything. We just get right to business. I am so curious about her but I never ask her anything. I don’t even know where she lives. I kind of like the mystery of it all but there’s a part of me that wants to get to know her. Learn what’s she’s into. Where does she work? Does she go to school? Does she have a boyfriend or a girlfriend?

I finally broke down and asked her if she wanted to get to know me and vice versa and she said no. She just wants to fantasize on the internet. I immediately went back into dominate mode half hoping I didn’t blow what we had and half not caring. We haven’t talked as much since and it really doesn’t matter because it was all talk anyway. I would have rather gotten to know her. 

True Story by Earl Woodruff

I was working as a DJ at a shitty sawdust joint in Oklahoma. The band was done for the night and everyone was hooking up and leaving. A sexy Spanish girl with brown eyes and long curly black hair walks up to my DJ booth and wants to request a song.
I can’t hear what she is says, not because of the music but because I can’t stop staring at her breasts. Not huge breasts but I could see the B-cups playing peek-a-boo inside her open blouse as she is looking up at me with her request.
She catches my look. She puts her hand to her chest to cover up. That’s when I see her nails. Her fingernails were the prettiest thing I ever saw. Long nails maybe two inches long, multi-colored and painted with palm trees like her nails were on vacation. I asked her name and she replies: “My name is Lorena and I’ve been watching you all night. Could you drive me back to my trailer”
“Trailer?” I ask.
I should have said no but thinking I should feel guilty for stealing a peak at her breasts earlier I felt inclined to take her home. Well that and the thought that I may be able to bang the drunk broad. I take her to the trailer.
“We can party in the front room.” She says.
We pour some Jack on the rocks and sit on the couch. As we drink I see those nails again those wonderful sparkling two inch beauties wrapped around her glass. I imagine them wrapped around my dick.
to be continued

Maybe Die by J. de Salvo

Maybe die

My wife is asleep
The city is outside my window

And me?
I have nothing

Just this last piece
Of night

Every road out there
Leads to trouble right now

Better not
To go anywhere, better

To go to sleep
Right now

But there’s something
Inside me, crawling

Wants to shoot out the windows
Wants to make a mess

And clean it up later
Hope no one finds out, then

Stick my face into the night
And maybe die

J. de Salvo is the editor of the Bicycle Review. His fiction, poetry, and articles have been published in numerous online and print publications, including Art/Life, New Angeles Monthly, and the Poetry Super Highway.

Episode Twenty-VALORIA

“It’s wee wee time… wee wee time.”
Father shouts above the sound of the television in the living room. I put my nightgown on and go to him. Father watches a rerun of Sanford and Son, his hands in his Boy Scout-issued shorts, his black leather belt unbuckled. He slides his hand out of his pants and points to his cheek with his salute finger. My cue. I know to kiss Father on the cheek. He hugs me and pats my backside. Valoria sits in the La-Z Boy chair nearby. She watches us.
“Give Valoria a kiss,” Father says.
“Okay”
I kiss Valoria’s cheek. She blushes. Her long, wavy blonde hair crowns her fifty-four-year-old smile.
“Um, Valoria, I was wondering if I could go to temple again with you next Friday night?”
“Why do you want to go to dat church, Beatie? You’re not Jewish.” You just wanna eat the cookies and dat cake afterwards”
“No, thats not true I don’t wanna eat the cookies at church” I do just wanna eat the cookies
“I don’t have a problem if Beatie goes to Temple with me. Beatie, you can even bring a friend if you like.” Valoria’s finger pushes her glasses up her nose.
“Yeah, but what happens when dat rabbi finds out Beatie’s not Jewish? She was supposed to be Catholic, you know.”
“What do you mean, supposed to be Catholic? Dad, I am a Catholic.”
“You not baptized Catholic.” Father says.
“You never baptized me? Then why do we go to St. Peter’s church on Christmas and Easter and why do you let me get the Eucharist and drink the wine. Confession? Why do you send me to confession once a year?”
“Because dat is what we do.”
Beatie can come to Temple with me again. I really don’t mind,” Valoria smiles. Father puts his hand back in his shorts and stares at the television.

BATHROOM TIME
I Shut the door. Sit on the toilet. Think.
I’m not Catholic? What if God hates me? I flush the toilet.

BED TIME
Late at night Petey wakes me from sleep.
“What is it, Petey?”
“Shh. Listen.”
I hear noises. The noise comes from Father’s bed. The bed makes knock sounds.
“Ah… ah… oy oy… umm… mmmm. Harder, harder, uhuh oy oy feels so good… feels so good uh ah. OH! Don’t stop feels so good OH!” It’s Valoria’s voice.
“UGHH!” Father grunts. The bedroom becomes silent.

TEMPLE
“Okay, Beatie your the skinniest one. You get on first.” Valoria sits on her black moped. Her helmet fits snug around the frame of her glasses. She adjusts the helmet strap and moves her body close to the front of the seat. I straddle behind her. My body stuck close to Valoria. Lorena stands next to us. Lorena rubs the scar on her nose.
“Okay, Lorena go ahead you can get on now.” The three of our butts stick together. Valoria wraps a primary-colored knitted scarf around her neck. She kicks the moped’s pedal. The moped makes a poop sound. She kicks the pedal again. The motor sputters. She guns the moped with her thumb. The Moped moves. Valoria steers the three of us onto the road.
“Hold on tight,” she says. We grip each other hard. Cars pass us. People notice and wave at us. I feel free. The wind blows our hair. Lorena my friend again. Valoria my new mother.
“Oh my God, this is so embarrassing.” Lorena says.
“Just don’t let go” Valoria says.
A white pickup truck pulls beside us. “Hey good-lookins’ How’s your cheeks?” A boy screams.”
Shut up!” Lorena flips him the finger.
“Hold on!” Valoria takes the curve sharp and swift.
We arrive to Temple Beth Shalom. We get off the moped. My butt hurts. Valoria pulls the moped near the bike rack. People walk by and stare at us.
“Shalom, Valoria,” a man wearing a yarmulke says.
“Shalom,” Valoria says.
Lorena’s hand covers her mouth and nose. She keeps her eyes on the ground. We walk inside the temple.
The service has started. We sit. We watch. The rabbi speaks in Yiddish.
I hear sounds. “Yadda Yadda Yeda Yeda”
I can’t understand the rabbi. The rabbi bows. Then we bow. We then stand. Lorena decides to pick up the bible nearby. She flips thru pages.
“Where are we?” Lorena whispers. She points to the book.
“Oh, they read the bible backwards,” I tell her.
“Backwards?” Lorena’s eyes crinkle. She scratches her forehead.

PRAY TO JESUS TIME
Dear Jesus, please make me get to eat some cookies and cake after church. I’m really hungry
“Shh… Beatie!” Valoria pats her index finger to her mouth.
“Jews do not pray to Jesus.”
“They don’t?”
“I ga valt. No, they don’t, Beatie.”

Asian Midget by Rich Hillen Jr

I work at a counter top luncheonette style restaurant in the middle of a mall. It used to be part of Woolworth’s. It was a hamburger and hotdog grill. That was years ago. Now it’s a Bistro. The food is good. Pasta, pizza, fancy salads and sandwiches. I am a server. A waiter. A head server. Head waiter. That’s not the point. The point is that I work in the mall and that’s where I saw her.

I see many good looking women everyday I work. Young and old sexy women pass by the restaurant and I look and I watch whenever I can. I like women. All shapes and sizes and ethnicities.

One day I saw a hot Asian midget girl walk past with an average size friend. I was in shock. I was in awe. I was turned on for some reason.

I’ve been curious about being with a midget for while but mostly seeing them on the internet or on TV. Rarely seeing them in real life. I’ve always been attracted to Asian women and have dated a few and been with a few through the years. She was a delicious combination. I couldn’t get her out of my mind for days.

A few weeks later she appeared sitting in my section at the restaurant I work at. I had to server her and her friend. I was red in the face from excitement and nervousness. I acted polite and courteous and maybe a little extra friendly but I wanted to hit on her so bad. I wanted to try and talk to her but I was too shy. I did my job of servicing them and tried not to stare and enjoyed looking at her for the half an hour to forty minutes they stayed.

When she got up to leave I made it a point to watch her and check out her little body. Mmmmm. She was well proportioned for her height. She was wearing a short skirt and tights on her shapely little legs. I’m a leg man and love tights and pantyhose on a girl. Apparently I love them even more on an Asian midget. So my new dream girl vanished into the crowd at the mall and I haven’t seen her in over a month. I still think about her and wonder what I will do the next time I see her. Until then I’ have to settle back into checking out girls over the height of five feet. Oh well.

Episode Eighteen-I LOVE FRATA ENDS

I have to make a poop. I sit on the toilet at the bright yellow house my family and I used to share. I contemplate my future and think about what happened
to my parents.
“Petey… Come in, Petey.”
“This is Petey. What is it, Beatie?”
“My parents are no longer married.  They’re divorced. I wanted you to know.”
“I know, I watched you and your parents during the court proceedings. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with your family, Beatie.”
“Thanks for the good thought, Petey. I just can’t believe we are not going to be together anymore.”
“It is a shame. Are your parents at least speaking now?”
“Yeah, a little more now. I think Dad feels bad for Mom cause he divorced her and all.” 
“Well, at the very least it’s good to know your parents are on speaking terms. 
I’m glad at least they are not fighting with each other.”
“Petey, I just wish they could get back together and work things out.”
“I know you do, honey.”
“How could they end themselves together? I just don’t understand it. My parents belonged together like peanut butter and jelly, like salt and pepper… Paper and
pencil for chrissakes.”
“I am sorry Beatie”
“You know, Petey, the two of them could make me laugh like nobody else in the world, I know it didn’t seem like it, with the fighting and mom’s sleeping all
the time but they were funny. They had the most perfect timing together. It’s what made them great. They could have tried harder and made it work.”
“I know how you feel, Beatie, but your parents did try. That’s all one can ask for.”
“I know. You’re probably right Petey, as usual.” I grab toilet paper from the roll.
“I guess maybe people try to hold on to whatever they can.” I tear a section of paper off the roll and wipe my eyes.
“We never want it to end.”  
 
DROP OFF
Father doesn’t say much. We drive to Mother’s place. We pull up in the Datsun.
“I’ll wait in the car. You knock on the door,” Father says. I get out of the car with a trash bag of my clothes for the weekend. I knock.
Mother opens the door in her housecoat.
“Hi, Mom.” With a glance towards Father I walk inside. Father drives away in the Datsun. Every weekend is the same.  
 
PICK UP  
The phone rings.   
“Get your stuff,” Father says. “Tell your Mother dat I’m on my way.”
“Do you want me to wait outside Mom’s place like usual?”
“Yes, maka sure you’re ready to go so I don’t have to get out of the car.”
 
Episode Nineteen-GIVE HER A CARD
I bought a Valentine card over the weekend at the store when I went grocery
shopping for Mother, since mother doesn’t do much but sleep. The greeting card for Lorena is dark red with two hearts.
Outside of the hearts, I write: Sorry about what happened a while back to your nose, neck and arms.
I sit in Mr. Fedlister’s class and watch Lorena. She opens the envelope and reads the card. Lorena looks at me. I smile. She stuffs the card back into the envelope. Lorena swings her arm around and places the card inside her desk. With a blink in my direction, Lorena looks away.  

RECESS TIME AGAIN
Both of us stand near the drinking fountain. Lorena bounces a red ball.
“Wanna be friends again, Beatie?” “Okay,” I say. I watch Lorena bounce the ball. I’m not sure if I am happy or sad.
I’m not sure I feel anything and if I could feel I don’t know what to think.
“Good glad we are friends again cause I’m having a sleep over at my house this weekend. You’re invited,” Lorena says.   Lorena’s hand continues to bounce a ball.
We keep our eyes on the ball.  

CALL MOTHER
“Hello, this is Lucille.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not coming over this weekend. I got invited to a slumber party instead.”
“What should I tell God the Father?”
“I don’t know, maybe tell him I have plans.” 
“What if he makes me pay?” Mother asks.
“Pay? Pay for what?”
“For you not coming over.” 
“Mom, God the Father is not gonna make you pay for me not coming over.”
“He could try to persecute me.”
“Mom, God the Father is not gonna persecute you.”
“How do you know?” Mother asks.
“Cause I pray to him every night before I fall asleep.”
“Are you saying if I start to pray to God the Father maybe my neighbors won’t be so nosey and God the Father will not try to
persecute me?”
“Yeah, Mom. Try to pray to God the Father and ask him not to get you. Maybe that could work for you.”
“What if you’re wrong Beatie, and he is one of them?”
“One of who?”
“You know, a nosey neighbor.”
“Mom, why do you always have to think people and objects are not what they are? Huh, Mom?”
“Because, Beatie, people are not what they really seem. Neither is God.”
“Well, Mom I doubt anyone is out to get you.”
“How do you know?”
“Cause Mother, you’re just paranoid. Have you been taking your medicine? Stop being so paranoid.”
“Beatie, just because I’m paranoid
doesn’t mean no one is out to hurt me.”
“Either way Mom, I’m not coming over.”

PARTY TIME  Saturday 9:00 PM
The record player plays disco songs in Lorena’s living room. It’s the dance
contest time.  The contestants for the dance contest are: Lorena, Rosie, a shy fair-skinned redhead girl named Melanie, Sandy with her tight pink ribbon ponytail, and me!
“Come on, go,” Rosie tells Melanie. Melanie stands. Only her arms move. The music plays. We don’t watch her.
“Hey, I gotta go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” I say. Melanie shakes her arms.   
I take a pee and flush the toilet. I grab a small round soap from a dish next to the sink. The soap could pass for a piece of chocolate out of chocolate truffle box. This looks yummy I wash my hands with the candy. I dry with a green terry cloth towel. I return to the dance contest. It’s Sandy’s turn now. Sandy shakes her hips and kicks her feet.
“Okay, who’s next?” Rosie asks.
“Me,” I say. Sandy sits down.
I stand. The music starts. The music is great. I kick and shake my hips. The girls clap and watch me.
“Beatie, do the splits!” Lorena says. I spin, jump, spread my legs in the air and land on the floor. 
“That is so cool,” the girls say.  “You win, Beatie.”
“Okay let’s play truth or dare,” Rosie says.
“Beatie, truth or dare?”
“Um, truth.”
Rosie’s eyelashes stick to her eyebrows.
“Okay, is it true your mother was some famous model at one time, but she went crazy or something like that?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I just wondered that’s all. You picked truth so you have to answer.”
“Yeah Beatie, you got to answer, you picked truth,” Lorena says. 
“My mom might have been a model at one time. But she never went crazy.”
“That’s not what my mom told me,” Rosie says.
I scratch my head. “My mom never went crazy. Okay now it’s my turn, Rosie, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” she says.
“I dare you to eat this milky chocolate.”
I show Rosie the soap.
“Why do you want me to eat milky chocolate?”
Rosie asks.
I smile. “I can’t think of anything else to dare you with right now, so just put
it inside your mouth.”
Rosie places the milky chocolate on her tongue.
“Close your mouth,” I say. Rosie closes her mouth.
“Now hold it” I say.
Rosie spits out the soap. ”This isn’t chocolate, it’s frickin soap!” Rosie grabs her throat. Her eyes water. Rosie coughs.
“That’s funny, Beatie.” Lorena shakes her head. Rosie spits. The girls laugh.

ABOUT THE SAME TIME AN EMERGENCY PHONE CALL IS PLACED Saturday 9:03 PM
Operator: “This is the emergency operator, may I help you?”
“Yes, there’s a naked woman with red hair running around my apartment.”
Operator: “What’s your address?”
“925 Mapleshade. She’s swinging a cat.”
Operator: “The naked woman is swinging a cat?”
“Yeah, it looks like it could be a kitten. Now she’s swinging and hitting the cat on people’s front doors… Lady,
please no! She’s running away now.”
Operator: “Okay, we’ll send someone right over.”

LAND LORD CALLS NEXT DAY
“May I speak to your father?” The mans voice on the phone sounds important.
“Can I tell him who’s calling?”
“This is your mother’s landlord.”
“Hold on please.”
“Dad, phone call for you.”

FATHER GETS ON THE PHONE
“She what? What? No, dats a mistake. She seemed fine. No, I don’t know anything about why she would do dat. Yes, I guess I can come and get her stuff out of the
apartment.” Father hangs up the phone.
“Dad what happened? Huh? What happened, Dad?”
“The police… Someone called the police on Frata. They came and picked her up in a police car… She is back in dat hospital.”

GET THE VALUABLES FROM THE FLAT
“Wow, your ex wife sure had some party,” the landlord says.
We are inside Mother’s apartment. Father and I stand behind him. Father and the landlord’s head move around and around to the walls covered with grape soda and tomato soup. Father grabs a snot handkerchief out of his pocket and covers his nose and mouth. I walk into the kitchen and grab a dirty glass from the floor. The landlord opens the refrigerator.
“Ugh, that smells awful.” The landlord turns his neck and covers his lips.
The refrigerator rots with the smell of sour milk and fermented cans of cat food. I fill my glass with water from the dirty sink. Broken plates, bowls in the sink and on
the ground, empty soda cans and cherry pop decorate the white porcelain dishes like sticky thin see-through icing on a cake. Father kicks the plates out of the way with his dress shoe.
“Dis place a mess. How she live like dis?”
I take a sip of my water. I don’t say a thing. Cat poop is scattered on the dark blue shag carpet. Father and the landlord spin their heads together in unison. They take it all in. I take another drink of water from my dirty glass.
“I’m sorry but I’m gonna have to keep the deposit,” the landlord says.
My hand sets the empty water glass down near a dead roach on the counter. I move to the bathroom with urine-stained clothes strewn on the floor.” Inside the toilet, dark chocolate logs with a rotten egg smell fill the bowl halfway. I sit on the seat. I wipe my private area.
My neck turns with a click towards the bathtub. Cold water mixed with miniature party dresses, pink bikinis and eraser size, plastic green, doll shoes float
inside the tub. I see something else. Six naked, Barbie dolls rest aside four white fur paws. The paws stretched like tooth picks. Fur face down. The kitten Mother stole from another mother, now a dead, fiber fluff whale in a diluted sea of blue-eyed naked blondes.
I can’t look at it. I cover my eyes with a soiled towel. Mother is sick. What am I gonna do? It’s going to be okay Beatie
“Why do I have to go through this?”
I dunno
“Dad! Da-Dad! Mom drowned my Barbies…”
“What Barbies?”
“Come here look”
Father peeks inside the bathtub. “Damn what dat Crazy do dat for?” He lets the water out of the tub. The dead kitten sticks to the bottom of the tub while it
glides near the water plug. With his fingers, Father picks up the cat by it’s neck.
“Give me dat trash can” He points to a small wastebasket near the sink.
“Here Dad” I hand him the trash can.
“Mama Mia she crazy” Father places the soggy kitten in the garbage.
yuck…

Triptych by Tuxedomoon

Hippodrome Mime-Last Nights of Paris-Ginnetta Correli

Naked by Rich Hillen

I’m naked in the middle of a department store and no one notices. It’s not a department store. It’s a Grocery store. It’s not a grocery store. It’s a sex club. A department store of sex. A grocery store of sex. Still no one notices me. The room is filled with cocks. Cocks in hands. Cocks in mouths. Cocks in pussies. Cocks on guys and cocks on girls. Cocks. Cocks. Mine blends in with the rest.

I dig a shallow grave in the corner to sit and die in as I watch couples, singles and transsexuals living their lonely morbid lives. I accept my fate.

There’s an old man rolling around on the floor begging for someone to piss on him as he touches himself.

There’s men whipping women and women whipping me. Tied up. Tied down. Begging. Crying. Laughing. Moaning.

Men on women. Men on men. Women on women. Trransexuals and transvestites doing everything in between.

I grab my cock and start my own memorial and pay tribute to my surroundings. I get turned on and laugh to myself when I see the fully clothed tourist girls clinging to their men frightened by the scene. They’ve never seen such debauchery in real life. I have. This is the highlight of my life. I think.

A woman walks up to me in a short tight dress and offers a hand. It’s not a woman but looks like a woman so I give myself to her. My cock is hers. She has her own but takes mine. I abandon everything until I cum. The party’s over for now.

At least I was a part of something, someone for a moment. I crawl back in my grave.

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.

Crash Dive by Barry Titus

Crash Dive

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.

Who is John Galt?

Finally finished this. Thank You to the band: End of Science for a great tune and to the actors some of whom are pissed at me at the moment.

Fuck Your Words by Rich Hillen Jr

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.

Episode 17 Court Morning-Mourning

“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. 

‘Darling are you wet?’

she hides her face in my chest

unwilling to let go

for in our embrace

I have grown nearly hard

she presses against me

Minutes ago, as I sat on the bench

waiting for her arrival

I thought of the night

yet to be had

and promised myself

that I wouldn’t shag

As she approached

her hips they did sway

God, help me

back and forth, left and right

as smooth as the skin she wore

and I grew, pulling my jeans tight

Closer she moved with each step

her chest jumping and bouncing, dancing

like it would, like it will

when I finally decide

to rip off her clothes

and put myself inside

To gain the final submission

she must wait, so must I

I tug her hair

she lifts her face up to mine

I turn, taking her hand

Intent on finding somewhere to dine

days, weeks, months later

finally we meet ready for each other

her body is soft, wet

and ready for me, my member

fills her as we both sigh

it was worth all the wait -Diego

Mixed Media by Rajinder Aggarwal

Thirteen-Squaretumbleweed

Episode 16 Mother’s Flat

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

Outtake from yesterday. Who is John Galt?

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.

Mother Nature’s Curse by Diego

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

His Mother Mary

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

A JACK TALE

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

Episode Fourteen-Suicide Phone Rings & Episode Fifteen-Little Ricky Gets Kidnapped

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  
 

Colors of the Wind

EPISODE 13 Removal of a Body Part (1 week later)

“Come on you guys. Let’s play jump rope,” It’s recess time at school.
“Okay, Beatie you be in the middle.”
I assume the position. Lorena and Rosie twirl the rope. I jump.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, my mother told me to shut the gate.”
The rope whips my legs. I fall.
“Oops, sorry,” Rosie says.
“Hey! Help me up,” I say.
Lorena puts her hand out. I take it. Lorena drops me. My back falls to the
ground.
“Hey you guys! That wasn’t very nice!” I stand. Rosie shoves Lorena into me. My body drops.
“Hey,that hurt.” I stand.
Rosie shoves Lorena at me again. This time I push back.
“Knock it off,” I say. Lorena looks back to Rosie. 
Rosie smiles. “Come on, Beatie. What’s the matter? You scared or something?”
“What are you talking about? Why should I be scared?”
“Because you’re a creep,” Rosie says. The kids on the playground notice and
form a crowd around the three of us.
“Yeah, you and your family are sickos,” someone in the crowd yells.
“How about her dad? He looks like a pervert,” someone else says.
“Here, sicko.”
Rosie rams Lorena at me again. Lorena’s mouth lands in my ear.
“I really don’t want to fight with you, Beatie,” Lorena whispers.
“I know”
I think for a moment. I grab both Lorena’s arms and hold them. My nails are long, thank God. My hands move up and come back down fast on her shoulders. Lorena’s eyes do not meet mine. I dig and scoop her skin. Lorena looks at her muscle. Her lips do not move. Lorena’s eyes understand. The crowd is large now. Someone drives Lorena into me again. I thrust my nails. This time at Lorena’s neck. Her eyes to the sky. I puncture her throat.  
Oh, look. Lorena’s bleeding. I will win. No one can stop me. I will win, I will win.
“Here comes Mrs. Scudmeiser,” someone says.
I am about to win. I come at Lorena with my teeth. I bite her nose. Lorena screams. 
“Oh my God. Look what she did!” Someone gasps. 
“Stop! Stop that right now!” Mrs. Scudmeiser grabs me.   
I am ecstatic. I won. I don’t have a scratch on me. Everyone is scared of me. 
I am proud to be me.
“Beatie, what have you’ve done?” Mrs. Scudmeiser asks. Lorena puts her hands on her face and keeps them there.
“Tilt your head back, Lorena. You’re okay. Honey, don’t you worry,” My teacher says. Mrs. Scudmeiser walks fast. Her hand has a firm grip on my arm. She guides Lorena at the waist with her other hand. Blood drips on the black tar.
“Move out the way,” Lorena and I are led out of the school yard. Mrs. Scudmeiser looks straight ahead. We walk fast to the school office. We meet Mrs. Reid, the school nurse, inside the First Aid room. 
“Oh my God, that’s horrible!” Mrs. Reid says. I stand near the doorway. 
Mrs. Reid’s eyes trace my eyes for clues. “Beatie, why?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
Lorena sits in a chair. Her hands cover her face with a tissue. Lorena’s eyes stare at the wall. Mrs. Scudmeiser caresses Lorena’s nose with an ice pack and towel. 
“It’s going to be okay, honey. Don’t you worry. Someone get me another towel, she’s bleeding all over the place, the tip of her nose is chewed off. Someone please call an ambulance.”
Lorena is comforted by all who notice. I stand at the doorway and watch Beatie in disgust.

RAMBO
Father and me sit at the skinny bar table It’s dinner time. My head moves to the left. I watch Father slurp noodle soup. His throat gurgles. I wish he would laugh or look at me. Dad why do you ignore me? Why don’t you speak to me? Please just talk to me… I feel water in my eyes. Father stares at
his spoon.
“Come on Dad, please talk to me.”
Father looks up from his spoon. He stares at me yet, Father is far away. He is somehow lost in a desert. He walks fast toward a red sand hill wearing green army fatigues and a beret. Somehow I’m in the hot sun walking behind him. I wear my pink knitted parka and a green Eskimo cap made out of dog fur. The wind blows hot dirt inside me and Father’s mouth.
“Wait Dad, wait for me” Father moves fast ahead. I can’t seem to keep up with him. He carries an empty metal baby carrier on his back. Father runs.
“Wait for me Dad” He keeps a fast pace ahead. I breath hard and run behind him, climbing a sand mountain. I trip and fall. Father stops and turns. He looks at me quick and continues the pace. I get up and adjust the scarf around my throat. Running hard, fatigue sets in. I fall on a rock. My neck sweats. My mouth dry like cotton. Time to let Father go. I watch him move fast. My eyes squint. Away he goes till father becomes invisible.
Reality is real. Father drops his spoon hard in his soup bowl. He looks at me and points at me with his salute finger.
“Beatie, you have a criminal mind.”

PETEY TIME
“Petey, are you asleep?”
“Yes, I’m right here, Beatie. What is it?”
“Petey I just don’t know what to do. You know my dad won’t talk to me except when I do my homework and then he just yells and gorilla-swipes me in the head.”
“Have you tried talking to him in a nice pleasant way?”
“I try every day but he looks the other way and ignores me. I can’t stand it. Ever since I brought home my report card and got in that fight at school with
Lorena.”
“Tell me… Beatie what happened?” 
“That stupid teacher, Mrs. Scudmeiser, gave me an F in writing and I got in a
fight at school with Lorena.”
“Yes, I watched the fight. You should never bite someone’s nose off.”
“I know, I feel awful about it.” “Tell me what’s going on with your school
work.”
“Well, Petey, my teacher Mrs. Scudmeiser told Father I daydream in class.”
“Do you daydream in class?”
“Sometimes, but I can’t help it.”
“Why can’t you help it?”
“I try to pay attention to what my teacher says but somehow I just can’t
hear all the words.”
“What do you hear?”
“I guess for one thing it’s all a jumble. The words get mixed up and I’m watching everyone else taking all the sounds in and then I hear flutes playing in my brain. Ya know, Petey?”
“Flutes playing in your brain?”
“Yeah, flutes. I think it’s because I wish I had a flute”
“Why a flute”
“Cause Dad and me saw a girl once on television playing a flute. Dad said she
was gifted and that her parents must be proud of her. I bet if I got the chance, I could be as good as that girl. Don’t you think?”
“Yes, now I think I know what you’re talking about, Beatie. For now just try to pay attention and try not to talk too much in class and especially try not to fight. Maybe that would help.”
“So, you think I should try to be more quiet in class and maybe try not to hurt others?”
“You could try that, Beatie. You’re good at reading, right?” 
“Oh, yeah Petey, no one can touch my reading skills. I really do just think Mrs.Scudmeiser just has me confused with my sweatshirt.”
“Your sweatshirt?”
“Yeah, I have this sweatshirt. I got it from my Aunt Rhoda
last Christmas. Anyway, its a picture of an angel staring at the sky it says
‘daydreamer’ on it. I believe Mrs. Scudmeiser thinks I’m a daydreamer cause
of my shirt.”
“Hmm… could be. Your shirt may not help your situation much.”
“I know, Petey. If I could just get Father to speak to me everything would be
fine. I beg him every day to speak to me.  He doesn’t say a word. He glares at me and is silent.” 
“There, there girl.” Petey cuddles close to me. I hug Petey hard.
“Why don’t we pray about it?”
“Yeah, that’s a great idea, Petey.”
I fold my hands and squeeze my eyes.
“Dear God: Please, please make Father speak to me. I hate when he just walks away from me and ignores me. I’m gonna work extra hard to do good in school. Please God, help me not to get into any fights or arguments with anyone. Please God… Please.” I say the Our Father prayer twice.  

REPORT CARD TIME
It’s a miracle! Beatie is a wonderful asset to our class. Your daughter is gifted and has artistic hands and teeth. Beatie is assigned to grade six.

I run home and hand my end of school year report card to Father. He reads the report with his salute finger pressed on his lips. Father removes his finger. His mouth moves. Father speaks. “I’m gonna buy you a flute.”
“You mean your gonna buy me a real silver flute?”
“Yes”
Wow! Imagine… me, Beatie Scareli at Dodger stadium right before the World Series of Baseball is bout to begin. Me, the solo famous flutist in front of a large audience of classical music and baseball fans. Only my flute plays. No one sings. The crowd is silent. They imagine the words:
Oh say can you see/by the stars early light/for so proudly we hale. I see Father. He sits somewhere in the stadium wearing a blue Dodger baseball hat. Father smiles. A finger to his lips. Father watches the audience. All eyes upon me. His daughter a gifted wonder for all to see.
“Look at dat,” Father points to me.
“Dats my daughter Beatie”

Episode 12 Little Ricky Learns To Write

I sit at a desk inside Father’s real estate office. Father stands behind me.
We are alone.
“You sit in dat chair and write the way you’re supposed to write-not lika crazy person.”
I have a firm grip on my pencil. Father has me write sentences.
“Now make all lines straight, got dat? People have to read it.”
I write a sentence: The bird flew away after it learned to fly.
I hand it to Father.
“Here, Dad. I’m done.” Bam! King Kongs hand swipes my cheek. Eyes tear and my face stings.
“Do it again and do it right, not lika a crazy. How are you going to get a good job if you get all D’s on your report card?”
I stare at my paper.
Father walks outside the office. He picks up a newspaper on the doorstep. Father walks back inside the office. He sits.
Father puts his feet up at his desk and begins to read his papper.
I try to write the sentence again.

THE PHONE RINGS
Father answers and speaks to the phone.
“Is dat right? Six months pregnant? How is she going to do dat? We can’t raise a baby. Yes, put Frata on the phone.”
Mother gets on the phone.
“Frata who is going to take care of a baby? You can’t even take of yourself.
What? You named it Lenney? Put the doctor on the phone.”

THE DOCTOR GETS ON THE PHONE
“You doctors are her problems. You make her crazy with drugs. Just give her dat paper right now and do dat procedure.”
Paper? What Paper? What procedure? What is Father talking about?

FATHER HANGS UP THE PHONE
“Dad what were you talking about? What paper? What procedure? Who is Lenney?
Isn’t that the guy… Lenney at the mental hospital with Mom?”
Bam! King Kong swipes me again.

PETEY ARE YOU THERE? IT’S ME,
BEATIE… AGAIN.
Its night time. Petey is close to me in bed. I hold him in my arms.
“Petey, Petey.”
“I’m here, Beatie. I’m right here.”
“Mother is pregnant. I’m going to have a baby brother.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. What about the procedure and the paper your dad was talking about?”
“I don’t know. He gorilla-swiped me when
I asked about it.”
“I don’t think your father wants a baby.”
“I don’t think so either, Petey.”