Iphigenia Murphy

by Sara Hosey

  “Oh yeah?” said Corinne. She had been turned away from me, but now she turned onto her back too. “What’d he do?”

  “He was dealing drugs and stuff. But I guess he’s out already.”

  We lay in a silence a little longer. Angel, who had been nestled in the curl of my legs, now tried to work her way in between them. She groaned and settled.

  “It was me. Who turned him in,” I said at last.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I called the police one day and told them where to look.”

  Corinne was quiet for a minute. “Wow, Iffy.”

  After a while I just said it, out loud, for the first time ever: “He did stuff. To me …”

  Corinne inhaled sharply, but she knew already. She kissed me on the side of the head. “Oh, Iffy …” She wasn’t surprised, but I could hear in her voice that she was upset.

  “He said …”—I told her what I had never told anyone—“that I should thank him. That I was so ugly, that no one else would ever want to …”

  Corinne sucked in her breath again. “God, Iff. That’s disgusting. That’s so awful.”

  I listened, hearing her.

  After a while, Corinne asked, “What’s up with your dad?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what’s his deal? Why didn’t he, like, do something?”

  I lay there, thinking.

  “He’s just …” I was at a loss, really. “He’s just … kind of … I don’t know,” I said. I almost laughed. “I honestly don’t think he cares. He doesn’t … there was this one time. I was just a kid, like twelve or something. My stepbrother had me in his room and my dad came home and my stepbrother was like, threatening me and telling me to get out and all that and I went in the living room and I was crying. And my father looked right in my face. He looked right in my face and he saw me and he turned around and walked into the kitchen.”

  “Iffy,” Corinne whispered. She squeezed my arm.

  “And then you know there was my stepmother and she said things, messed-up things. God, I don’t even want to repeat it … about me, like, dressing a certain way or bothering my stepbrother. Like she was always suggesting … that I wanted to go in there or something.” A sadness seemed to settle deeply in my stomach. I was saying out loud things I had long seen in the periphery but had never looked at straight on. “They knew, Corinne. Maybe they didn’t know everything. But they knew. And they didn’t protect me.”

  I heard Corinne sigh. “Yeah. I think it’s like that a lot, Iffy. I think that’s how it is a lot.”

  Again we lay, listening to the crickets, the cicadas screaming in the night. “So, they moved in when I was nine.” It looked like Corinne was going to get the whole story.

  “That must’ve sucked.”

  “I mean, it did, but it didn’t at first,” I said. “I was excited at the time. She was really nice to me in the beginning. She actually told me to call her ‘Mom.’” I felt an anger rising in me as I told Corinne this. Anger and shame and guilt too: guilt that I so badly wanted to replace my mother that I called another woman “Mom” in exchange for some stuffed animals, some peanut butter cups, a few minutes of pretended interest in my television shows.

  “Then she turned on you?”

  “I guess. I think it was probably all just a show.”

  We were quiet for a minute.

  “For a long time,” I continued, “I did think it was my fault. Like, she found out what I really was and she was so disappointed and that was why she hated me so much.”

  “Fuck her.”

  I made a noise like a laugh, even though it wasn’t funny.

  “But the worst part … was that I … oh god, Corinne.” My breath caught as the shame came. I didn’t think I could say it.

  “It’s okay, Iff,” she said, facing me in the darkness. I couldn’t see her features, but I felt her there. She put her hand on my shoulder. “You can tell me.”

  “My stepbrother, so you know, he’s, like, older than me?”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “It’s just that … I remember thinking he was … Like, I was so excited to have this older, handsome stepbrother.” I took a breath and then spit it out, “It was like I had a crush on him.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Iffy. You were a little kid.”

  I turned my face away and began to cry.

  I hadn’t ever really thought about that before, I don’t think. It had been there, in my mind, but I hadn’t thought about it. In a flash, I remembered the day they came over for the first time. I was playing with my Barbie dolls on the coffee table. My dad brought this woman and her son into the living room. I didn’t know then that they were monsters. They were smiling.

  I had met her one or two times before that and she had always been nice to me. She introduced her son and I put the dolls under the table, feeling embarrassed, like I was too old to play Barbies. My dad had said we would all be a family now or something like that. I looked at these people, tried to smile. The boy smiled back at me, said, “Hey, little sis.” I thought, everyone will be so jealous that I have this cute stepbrother.

  “You were just a little baby,” Corinne kept saying. “None of it was your fault.”

  She put her arms around me. I was crying, sobbing in the way I had once before, after the guy with the knife, just kind of heaving. It felt terrible and embarrassing, but it was also a relief to cry into my sleeping bag like that, to have someone else there.

  There was more, more that I felt like I wanted to get out, but I didn’t know how. So, for a while, I just kept crying.

  It was a long time, I think. When I finished crying, I sat up, still hiccuping, Angel groaning because I disturbed her. I grabbed a dirty T-shirt to wipe my nose and eyes.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m okay.”

  We just lay there together quietly, me hiccuping at odd intervals. Angel settled down and started snoring.

  “Smell that?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Corinne confirmed. “Skunk. You think it’s nearby?”

  “Probably not. I think the smell just really carries.”

  “Yuck.”

  “I kind of like it.”

  “You would,” Corinne teased, gently.

  We lay there longer, smelling and listening.

  “Iffy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You got a plan?”

  “Not really,” I paused, “I didn’t really think I’d make it this far.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I guess I figured I’d wind up in jail or in foster care or dead or something,” I confessed. “I didn’t think that a fifteen-year-old could just start living in a park and no one would notice.”

  She pressed. “But what’s next? You can’t stay here. Not in the fall. Not in the winter.”

  “I’m not sure yet.” I hadn’t wanted to think about this. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Can you go to your mom’s?”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. “There’s a lot of history there. She’s … disapproving. Plus, last time … well, last time was probably the last time, you know? She’s pretty fed up. And, like I said. She’s got her own … you know.”

  “But she might take you back?” I persisted.

  “Maybe,” Corinne conceded. “It’s iffy, Iffy.” I heard her smile.

  I almost smiled too.

  Chapter 26

  Corinne promised me, eventually, that she would try to go to her mother’s, but said she wasn’t leaving until we found Dougie.

  But no one knew Dougie. We even went back to find Corinne’s friend Monique, but she wasn’t there and none of the other girls wanted to talk to us. And I hadn’t been able to find that guy Danny again either. It was hot and
quiet every day. It seemed like we had hit a dead end.

  One good thing was that there was always more stuff by the rock. Wet wipes, dog treats, cans of fruit cocktail, a carton of six eggs with a note that said “hard-boiled, for humans and dogs,” a big, fluffy pillow, ten bucks, twenty bucks.

  “We hit the lottery,” Corinne said each time we recovered another haul.

  We toted stuff for a picnic at a little clearing by the old railroad bridge that day, all three of us, me and Corinne and Angel, in great moods, eating our eggs and our fruit cocktail. Anthony had said he would find us, but he didn’t say what time, so I was nervous, always listening, waiting, hoping he was gonna walk up any minute.

  Corinne had brought my little radio and she changed the station maniacally, never wanting to hear any commercials.

  “Is this your kind of music?” she teased, landing on a song I recognized. It was Bon Jovi.

  “I used to kind of like him,” I said. When I saw Corinne’s face I asked, “Is that embarrass—”

  “Yes,” she cut me off. “Very. And I’m from New Jersey.”

  She switched to Hot 97.

  “Better,” she said.

  I wanted to talk more about music, to get more information. The guys I had met when I first started skating made it clear that pop was for losers, so of course I never said anything about the music I liked back then, including poor Bon Jovi. The boys all had Ramones T-shirts; one day Jess gave me a tape. And then I was like, this makes sense. It felt, in my ears, the way really good food tastes. I couldn’t get enough of it. And then, even better, was that the Ramones were from Queens. They could’ve been guys I knew; they could’ve been me, even.

  From the Ramones I discovered the Sex Pistols and then I started listening to more old stuff: the Velvet Underground and David Bowie. I don’t remember how I found the Pixies, but they made sense to me in the same startling, exciting way that the Ramones had.

  Hot 97 went to commercial and Corinne ran a finger over the serrated dial.

  I heard a few muffled chords that I recognized. “Wait, the Rolling Stones,” I said. “I think?”

  Corinne propped the radio on a brick, neatly extinguished the cigarette she was holding and rested it carefully next to the radio.

  “Let’s dance,” she said.

  Corinne stepped in front of me as though she was stepping onto a stage and began to sway and move. She had one arm bent at the elbow and held in the air as though she was holding one of those fancy, long cigarettes and the other arm also bent, but held down along her body. One foot was in front of the other and she twisted at the waist as she rocked back and forth. Sometimes she shimmied her shoulders.

  She was smiling, but she was completely serious about this dance, so completely unselfconscious, like there was absolutely nothing absurd or insane about it. “Come on,” she demanded. “You dance too.”

  She grabbed my hands and pulled me to stand. I resisted, saying, “I don’t really dance.”

  “Whatever.” Corinne let me go, backing away, but still facing me, as though she was taunting me. She started kicking her feet in this really awkward way, not at all in keeping with the song’s rhythm.

  I laughed—at her dance, at its unexpectedness and silly beauty—and then she was laughing too, although probably not at herself, just laughing because she was the kind of person that laughed when other people laughed. I surrendered and got up there with her and started pumping my hips a little, which is my standard move-a-little-but-not-so-much dance, although it didn’t really fit the song. So, I started to try to copy Corinne and we were both moving and jerking and Angel was nipping at our kicking feet and jumping up, like trying to tell us to stop such silly dancing, that we would hurt ourselves with this nonsense. We both kept trying to grab her front paws when she jumped up, tried to make her dance like a human, but then she would dodge and escape and harass the other dancer.

  And then I heard the leaves crunching and Angel started barking and I stopped dancing. I saw Anthony through the woods, carrying something big and unwieldy. Angel ran to him, circled him as he approached, nipping at the air around him.

  “What is going on here?” Anthony laughed.

  “Um, we might ask you the same thing,” Corinne said, still dancing.

  “Bookshelves,” he announced, putting them down. “You know, for the Public Park Public Library. This is my donation.”

  I broke out in a huge smile. “That’s so awesome!”

  “Oh lord,” Corinne groaned, collapsing dramatically on the ground. “What the—?”

  “Where did you get this?”

  Anthony turned to me. “I didn’t buy it,” he explained. “Someone was getting rid of them.”

  “So, it’s trash,” Corinne put in.

  “Isn’t there a saying? One man’s trash?”

  “Is another woman’s lending library?”

  “I think that was really nice of you,” I said.

  “Where should I put it?”

  “Um, right here is fine,” I said. “Corinne?”

  “A little to the left.”

  “Perfect.”

  We looked at the shelves, leaning a little against the big oak tree, and the whole clearing suddenly became a little more civilized, a little more homelike.

  Anthony took Watership Down out of his back pocket; placed it on the middle shelf.

  I smiled at him.

  “I wish I had a camera.” I surveyed our setup. “I like how this looks.”

  “You finished that book already?” Corinne asked, sitting up. He nodded.

  “You must be a fast reader,” I said.

  “Nah, just broke. Broke, with a lot of time to ride the subway.” But he smiled as he said it. I noticed he had a faint laugh line on the right side of his mouth. Someday that little line might be a deep wrinkle. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever seen, I thought. “And it was a great book, actually. Might even be my new favorite book.”

  “Well, it sounds good,” I said stupidly, realizing only after I’d said it that he hadn’t told us anything about the book.

  “It’s about rabbits.”

  “Rabbits,” I echoed. “Yeah, I guess so …” I picked up the book and looked at the cover. Yes, there were rabbits all right. I put the book back on the shelf.

  “But it’s good though,” he insisted.

  “Cool,” I said, smiling, wishing I had something else to say.

  “Cool,” Corinne mimicked. “Whatever, you two.” She bent down and grabbed handfuls of leaves and tossed them in our direction. Rather than flying, they fell, pathetically, from her hands. “Why don’t you just start making out and forget all this talk about books.” She stuck her nose in the air and did an exaggerated snooty voice. “Oh yes, and have you read Shakespeare? No, my dear, I was too busy showering at the children’s playground!”

  I had already shouted, “Shut up, Corinne!” but she just kept going. I picked up a handful of pebbles and sprayed her with them.

  “Eek!” she cried. Angel lunged, snapping at the rocks.

  Corinne lifted her hands in the air and threw herself at my feet. “I give up,” she said dramatically, before Angel leapt on her and started licking her face. “Oh my god, stop! Call off your hounds, Iffy!”

  “Angel,” I tried to admonish her through my laughter. She jumped up on me, back to Corinne and then back to me again, her tail wagging, her big jaw smiling. She wanted to just keep on playing.

  “Hey, good dog,” said Anthony, holding out his hand to pet her. She obliged, hitting at his palm with her big skull, resting a paw on his foot. “So, hey,” he said suddenly. “What did she just call you anyway?”

  “What?”

  “Just now. ‘Iffy’?”

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s a nickname.”

  “It’s cute,” said Anthony.

  Co
rinne groaned; I smiled.

  Angel, feeling neglected, jumped up on Anthony, sticking her face in his face. He rubbed her neck.

  “How long have you had her?” he asked.

  “Couple of months, I guess,” I said.

  “Found her in the park?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted, trying not to think about Ann.

  “How long you been living here?”

  “She was born here, right under that bridge,” Corinne said. “She owns the joint. In fact, the city is gonna change the name. Gonna call it ‘Iffy Park.’ Sorry. Make that ‘Brenda Park.’”

  “The Park of Saint Sneak?” I offered.

  Corinne’s face lit up. “Good one, Iff! I mean, Bren.”

  “You are just something else today, Corinne,” I said, laughing, but screwing up my lips at her.

  She flipped her hair. “Must be because there’s a gentleman around.”

  “Where?” Anthony joked, looking over his shoulder. I grinned.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve been here since the end of May.”

  “Whoa!”

  “Yes,” said Corinne. “I tell her she’s veteran homeless now. An expert. A pro—professional, that is. Do not get the wrong idea.”

  “I am a gentleman,” Anthony insisted. “I would never.”

  “A professional bag lady,” I said. “I prefer pro-hobo.”

  Corinne laughed at that one.

  “I read about these people,” said Anthony, “who plant vegetables on public property. I think it’s called guerrilla farming or something. You should totally do that.”

  “Not a bad idea,” I said, lifting my eyebrows.

  “Oh, yes it is,” said Corinne. “It’s hard enough to convince her she’s gonna have to leave this park someday as it is. Don’t get her starting a garden.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s too late in the season anyway,” I said. “Gonna be fall soon.”

  “There’s always next year,” Corinne said sarcastically.

  “What are you gonna do for the winter?” Anthony asked.

  “We were just talking about that,” Corinne said.

  “Don’t know,” I said. “I’ve got the dog.” I looked at Angel, who had thrown herself to the ground and seemed, amazingly, to be already asleep. “I guess we’re just gonna have to bundle up and all. You know?”