Prior to the divorce, Katie slept through the night like a corpse; even the movements of her breathing were slight. Marge and Williston would joke that a circus could perform in the girl’s own room and she still wouldn’t come to. But ever since her ex left them, Katie had taken it upon herself to become a little mother. Always making sure Marge was happy and comfortable, it was custom for her daughter to check in on her at least once a night.
Shutting her eyes, Marge pulled her covers over her head and tried to slip back into the pleasant sleep she was having. Before she awoke, Marge was dreaming about Brian’s fingers. They were shorter than Williston’s, but they were substantial and when they stroked her, filled her with desire.
Unlike her father, Darryl, both men kept their nail cuticles smooth and free from dirt or motor grease. As open-minded as she was, she could never allow herself to be touched by hands like his. From the time she was old enough to recall, he would come home from work wanting his dinner hot and ready on the table. If Marge’s mother was working a late shift on the Alzheimer’s unit, it fell on her to have his supper done. If she forgot something as simple as butter for his bread or a knife to cut his meat, Darryl would curse profanities in her face while gripping her flesh so hard that it left bruises in the shape of his fingers. If he was having a bad day – his cruelty wouldn’t end until he was passed out in his chair.
It was because of him that she ran away with Bruce Ray when she was just a teen.
Despite his acne and prominent overbite, Bruce had a Chevy van and promised to take her places. Loving his guitar and how he looked in his acid washed denim, Bruce dreamed of playing big music gigs in Nashville. It only took a few make out sessions in the storage room at the All Star Video, where he held a weekend job, for Marge to believe he was the answer to all of her problems. As he hiked up her blouse, the boy whispered that they would put New Hampshire far behind them. On fire with the idea of moving beyond her father’s reach, Marge willingly agreed.
One night, after checking to make sure her folks were passed out drunk in front of the console television set, Marge packed up her meager belongings and crept out of the mobile home. She left her mother a simple note; one that expressed her sorrow for leaving without a goodbye, but that she couldn’t live with her father a moment longer. Bruce was grinning as he helped her climb into his passenger seat. Marge forced herself to watch the trailer park disappear behind her all the while vowing never to return home again, no matter what happened in the future.
Unfortunately, Bruce’s Astro van only made it as far as Connecticut before breaking down. Since it was summer, they pitched a pup tent at a local campground and both took shifts selling hotdogs at a concession stand in an attempt to earn cash. By the time Bruce saved up enough to have the transmission repaired, summer was over and nights were becoming too cold for camping. Overwhelmed with the situation, Marge began begging Bruce to get her back on the road, but her boyfriend had already moved on to a little slut from Harwinton.
As Bruce and Becky drove off to Tennessee, Marge was stuck with the decision as to whether or not she should return home to her mother’s denial and her father’s perversions or find a way to stick it out on her own in Litchfield County. Refusing to accept defeat, Marge chose to rely on her own strengths to survive.
Taking what was left of a week’s wages at the wiener joint, Marge bought an attractive outfit to use job hunting. Her skin was tanned and her pale hair had natural highlights from spending the summer outside. Without an impressive work history and barely graduating school, for the first time in her life, Marge had to turn on her sex appeal to get what she wanted. As far as she could tell, it was her only advantage when interviewing with men. After one week, Marge was able to find work at Staples and moved in with a coworker who was a single mom and desperate to split a rent.
Although she could take or leave it, sex with a man wasn’t so bad as long as she could get a little security out of it. Having a good buzz on didn’t hurt either. Going home wasn’t an option. She’d rather walk into hell itself before running home to her father.
20
KATIE
Friday 1:45 AM
Assured her mother was a sleep, Katie stepped out into the tranquil darkness. The fire escape wasn’t the sturdiest part of the apartment complex, but the rickety staircase, required for the town’s building code, was more than a back entrance. It was a safe little haven for Katie to sit out on and contemplate her world.
With a plastic lawn chair just big enough to fit on the landing, Katie tucked one leg under her bottom and listened as her next door neighbor’s wind chime played a quiet song. The breeze was stronger than she expected. With her toes curling in her slippers from the cold, she pulled her favorite old hoodie around her. Drawing a cigarette to her lips, she fumbled with the lighter. After a few clicks, it lit. Relaxing her shoulders, she blew out the smoke. The soothing taste of nicotine floated through her, settling her.
Looking down, she knew her thin legs looked ridiculous in the lime green and pink heart pajamas, but she didn’t care. Coming out to the porch for a smoke had become habit. In the stillness of the night, she could let down her guard without concerning herself about anyone.
The cigarette flared in the darkness. Sleeplessness was common. The feeling of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, trying to implore her thoughts to turn off, was what she hated. The more she was aware of the passage of time, the more her sense of panic progressed. The six A.M. buzz of her alarm demanded her ability to get out of bed and function enough to make it to school on time.
Katie’s quiet time beneath the mantle of stars allowed her to put off her insomnia for a while, at least until she finished her smoke.
What troubled her now wasn’t her impending insomnia, it was her mother. Marge was acting off kilter. As much as Katie tried explaining away her quirks, there was a certain failure occurring when it came to setting priorities.
A mother should be concerned with her daughter.
Although it was not unusual for Katie to test Marge’s parental boundaries, even she felt disappointed that her mother didn’t care enough to question her safety.
I had a teenage boy in my bed.
How could she not be alarmed? After a few health classes and being grossed out by watching “Jersey Shore,” Katie knew what could happen to young girls who fooled around. With all of the STDs out there, why wouldn’t Marge want to question her daughter’s blatant reckless behavior? Especially when it occurred under her roof?
With nothing left but the filter, she flipped the cigarette over the rail, and waited, unwilling to go inside. She tried to remember any deep mother daughter moments the two had shared. Marge was always quick to offer advice on physical beauty, but that was limit of her concern. Not once could Katie recall the two of them sitting down for a heart to heart. Despite their compatibility, there were no sexual activity discussions or being asked if she needed to see a doctor about going on the pill –the subject of birth control remained nonexistent.
Her mother got plenty of action, so it wasn’t like there was an unspoken law about abstinence being preached. Between the late night house calls and Marge’s growing collection of raunchy lingerie, it wasn’t assumed that her mom was waiting for marriage before having sex. At first, Katie feared her mother would end up pregnant until after a search for matching socks, located a value sized box of Trojans in Marge’s top drawer.
As much as Katie wanted to be trusted, Marge’s apathy felt wrong somehow, like a piece of Marge’s brain was missing when it came to parenting. Even her failure to overreact about the joint was weird. When her mother brazenly walked in to the bedroom, Katie was sure the woman would rant. Her mom drank a lot, but she wasn’t a stoner. When she reached out for it, Katie expected her to go flush it down the toilet, not take a hit.
It was as if Marge believed that Katie was grown enough to know the secrets in life. That at the age of seventeen, she was adult enough to no longer require advice and guidance
. The only thing Marge ever wanted from Katie was for the girl to reconsider her refusal to enter beauty pageants. Entering contests was something her mother and grandmother had done together. Marge began dragging Katie to them years ago. But when Katie turned fifteen, she refused to participate in the ridiculous shows. Dressing up and parading across the stage like a Barbie doll was humiliating. She had to put a stop to it. What bothered her was that her mother didn’t object to anything else.
Boys, clothing, friends…
School was an issue of its own. In the midst of her senior year, Katie’s classes were a struggle. Marge hadn’t asked how things were going, if she wanted to apply to college, or if she had enough credits to graduate. In fact, Katie’s attendance had slowly begun to decline and Marge hadn’t asked about that either.
It wasn’t that Katie didn’t want to do well in school; she couldn’t focus. It was impossible to sleep when her mother was drinking. Marge liked company when she was getting liquored up. If Brian wasn’t over, Marge would insist that her daughter hang out. Her mother would start off flying high, feeling giddy and dancing, but suddenly, her mood would take a turn and Marge would begin crying. As much as Katie tried to soothe her, there was no calming her mother down until she finally passed out.
Most mornings Katie awoke to Marge hung over on the couch or sprawled across the top of her bed. By the time she got her mother cleaned up and off to work, Katie didn’t have time for her own morning routine. That and she was hungry. With her stomach always growling, she constantly feared some of her friends would hear it. Like a sounding alarm, it signaled to everyone she skipped breakfast again. Darla insisted no one noticed it, but Katie couldn’t get over her paranoia. She didn’t want the other teens to know that she went hungry because there wasn’t enough food at her house.
Or that mom spends more on booze and tobacco than on groceries.
The other issue was her wardrobe. She didn’t have the name brands that were in style. Marge bought a lot of Katie’s things at consignment shops or off the clearance racks at Target. Katie had a couple of things she really liked, but could only wear them so often before her friends would start poking fun at her for not switching things up.
Worse would be having someone from school recognize my secondhand clothes.
Trying to burrow her hands within the tattered cuffs of her sleeves, she stared out at the dark sky. The constellations were difficult to make out from where she sat, but she could always spot the Big Dipper. When she was a child, while picturing what beautiful surprises were hidden within its cup, Katie would leap in the air and try to grab on to the imaginary handle. But, with the passage of time came the understanding that no matter how pretty they appeared, stars, like so many other things in life, would always remain out of reach.
Slowly rising, Katie turned in for the night. Her bed awaited her and the heaviness of her eyelids finally felt as though she just might sleep.
Tiptoeing past her mother’s room, she was careful not to bang around. After years of the two of them sharing such a confined space, Katie hated how cranky her mother was when awoken from a deep sleep. It would be followed by a couple of drinks. She wanted the two of them to talk, but not because her mother felt she had to, but because Marge wanted to.
21
RACHEL
Friday 1:50 AM
With lips swollen from kissing and her body pressed against Jason’s, Rachel felt alive. Her boyfriend was a furnace beneath the covers, the feel of his hands a constant reminder they were alone. Pressed together on the couch, the barn loft had grown cool, but the weight of the quilt shielded them from the air. With chest and arms bare, Jason's skin melted against hers. Now and again, she would push out from beneath the covers, only to have his hot limbs pull her back in.
For the first time all night, Jason’s breathing rate slowed. She wondered if he slept. The taste of his skin lingered on her lips, his scent pleasing as it mixed with hers. Even the air he exhaled wrapped around her, drawing her in.
Morning would come. The night would pass and she would have to decide what to do. Just after midnight, Jason texted a friend from Torrington. When she prodded him about his plans, he climbed back onto the couch with her and through the delicate kisses he trailed across her forehead, whispered everything would be fine. Rachel believed him.
Tonight she was safe. It was time to relax and shut down thoughts and worries. Maybe even enjoy the opportunity of being together under the cover of dark with the one she loved.
For the first time in her life, she wasn’t tucked away in her little girl’s bedroom like a child. She was with Jason, perfect Jason, in his arms half-dressed and alone in the privacy of the unlit room. No prying ears from her folks or insinuating eyes. Alone, just the two of them, kissing if they wanted to without being judged or reprimanded. No grating sound of throats clearing, instructing her to maintain self-control. No whispers regarding proper distance. With her break from them – Rachel was the adult and in charge. They couldn’t interfere and shame her for what she felt. As much as she wanted to reason with her parents, the idea was pointless. Although being alone with Jason was wonderful, freeing even, giving in to impulse and running away may have made her situation worse. Knowing that didn’t help. It changed nothing.
If she had calmly addressed them, with the support of the guidance office or the school social worker at her side, perhaps she could have convinced them to give her the opportunity to make her own decision. But, in her haste and resentment, she couldn’t see another option. Feeling confined and backed in a corner, bolting was the only option. It was her life, not theirs. She deserved the control – away from them and their demand for perfection.
Now it was too late. Everything had changed. They wouldn’t forgive her for shaming them. Not after leaving the house without permission and spending the night with a boy. It didn’t matter now, she couldn’t go back and pretend to be what they wanted her to be – pristine, appropriate, and without feelings of her own. She was a woman, not a child and they would never be willing to see it.
Jason was much more than just her boyfriend. Even now, in the quiet of the night, as his warm breath tickled her ear, she felt safe. Hip to hip, with arms snaked around each other, there was something more to the moment than just the way his body touched hers.
Earlier, when she encouraged him to discover her unexposed breast, he did so with a hesitant touch. Wanting to know if he desired her, she explored him back. The proof was there; he made no attempts to hide it. She could feel his response as his body shifted against hers.
Sighing at the sheer memory of it, her heart pounded quicker in her chest.
As she listened to his rhythmic breathing, she wondered when she would find herself alone with him again. If her parents were waiting outside in the morning, ready to haul her away, would she regret the night they shared? Would she regret not giving herself to him completely? Would he?
All of her life she’d been taught that waiting for marriage was the only option. That giving your husband your virginity was the perfect gift. During their hours together, each time she felt herself about to cross that line, something held her back.
What am I waiting for?
It wasn’t the image of sweet Mrs. Bunt’s face that stopped her – the Sunday school teacher who blushed profusely while discussing the importance of purity with the teens during summer Vacation Bible School. Not even the Christian teen articles that warned each time you have premarital sex, you give a piece of your soul away, were the problem.
Then what? If she was waiting for love, she didn’t need to look further. Sure, Rachel wasn’t experienced and although Jason was the only boy she had ever developed feelings for, she knew what they had was big. Marriage – they were too young for that, but the ring he gave her said plenty. It was a promise they would be together.
Her parents’ matching gold bands didn’t keep her father from having sex elsewhere, but what did he know about keeping promises? So often he stood before a new
couple and helped them recite their vows before God, claiming it was his most cherished part of his ministry, but her Dad clearly knew nothing of marriage. Rachel thought her father held the Holy Spirit in his heart, but she realized now that he was a sham, a false prophet leading them nowhere.
I’ll never be like him.
The night was going to end. If she couldn’t find a place to stay, her parents would lock her away – away from her school, away from Jason.
Forever.
Being with Jason was all that mattered. A life without him would be hell. A hell she feared more than the one her father referenced each Sunday and was bound for. Tears stung the back of her eyes. Rachel couldn’t live like that – live without Jason. She needed him to hold her, to want her, and tell her that he couldn’t stand it either. He had become her air, a physical and hungry part of her. Now she was afraid he’d disappear.
Body of Ash Page 7
