by Angela White
Angie snickered. “I’ll go with Snow White and everyone will think I’m Georgie’s waitress.”
I laughed with her, remembering her story of the drinks going down Snow’s shirt. Snow was one of the girls who always stood on the ‘she will’ side of the barn dances.
As I imagined a future where Angie was a writer, a powerful thought occurred. She would have a way to tell the world about things. That could be good for people around here, especially if she exposed the way my mother controlled the town.
“How about making it the same as one of your characters?” I suggested, heart thumping. “That way, you can act like her for marketing and stuff.”
“That’s crazy,” Angie refuted, still chuckling over Snow. “People won’t like that.”
“I’ll bet they would, if it was a good character.”
She grew serious. “You think so?”
“Yes. We all like it when movie stars show up somewhere in character. Why not an author?”
Angie shrugged. “It’s…cheesy?”
Seeing she wouldn’t go for the half-truths, I told her all of it. “After what you’ve been through, Angie, you deserve to be famous. Use your real name and tell our story. Don’t let it all be hidden by our family.”
“Tell the world about what goes on here? About us?” she asked incredulously, sitting up. “Are you nuts?”
I wasn’t sure. I only knew the need for justice was strong at that moment. “Maybe. I hate it that everyone here keeps hurting and stealing and doing bad shit, but I can’t change it. Maybe you could, if you became a writer. Then you and I, and all the other kids here would finally feel like we had a voice. I like the idea.”
I could tell that Angie did too. It was the fear of repercussion she was worried about.
“I might,” she conceded. “But it would have to be a lot more exciting, honestly. I’d have to make some stuff up.”
“Not if you added your… You know,” I said, waving. “Make it science fiction and then no one can even sue you.”
“I don’t know. You’re being helpful to the world,” Angie mused. “Maybe I should pick something better.”
I grinned. “You can just be mine, if you want.”
Angie blushed, smiling in the way I loved. She did finally get my meaning, though.
“You mean stay home and…”
“Have my babies.”
Her chest grew pointed and she gave me a silly grin that swelled my heart.
“I think I could do that…for a while.”
“You can do whatever you want, baby-cakes,” I told her, pleased with her answer. “If you want a job, you’ll have one.”
“Cool.”
Angie studied the ants by her leg for a minute and then asked, “What about my education? I’ll have to leave school when…”
I nodded to show her that I understood what she meant. Neither of us liked to speak it aloud and maybe be overheard or jinx things. “We’ll spend time at the library until you’re of age and then we’ll get you into night classes. Once you graduate those, you’ll take the test and have your diploma.”
“You looked into it already?”
I was very glad that I’d thought of it a few months ago. “Yep. Got ya covered.”
Angie leaned against my arm, hugging me. “I love you, Brady.”
“Forever?” I tossed at her. She was usually the one to ask that.
“But not a minute more,” she repeated the answer with a grin, and kissed my cheek. “My Brady.”
It turned me on when she whispered that to me and I couldn’t resist the urge to respond. When the kiss deepened into the type that brought true passion, I didn’t separate us for a long time. I wanted her to be certain of my feelings, but I also needed to be sure of hers. Things were closer now and I was constantly scared for us. I needed this reassurance as much as she did.
When we parted on each of those hot days, we did it the same way. I kissed her on the cheek and told her I’d see her in the morning.
Angie added, “Yes, you will” and smiled, and we were both able to go home for the few hours we had to be apart. By the end of the summer, we were throwing honey and baby in there and exchanging a soft kiss. We didn’t talk about what would happen when our time together ended this year. We both refused to think of it.
But that didn’t stop it from happening.
My mother gave me a full month at the restaurant before she called me back to the house and other chores. It gave my ribs time to heal and made me very pliable to whatever she wanted. Four weeks of being with Angie nearly every day had been good for me. I was smiling more, calm and eager to start each day. It was great.
Until it was over.
Leaving was always hard and I did it quickly so that it wouldn’t hurt us as badly. I told Angie on the same day that I had to go. I didn’t realize I should have given her more warning until I informed her I’d have to stay away for the next few months and tears began rolling down her cheeks.
I quickly swiped them away with my dishtowel, hoping no one saw us. “Come on, baby-cakes.”
Angie tried to smile for me, but the tears grew thicker and she fled to the bathroom.
Miserable once again, I left. When would I get to be free of this heavy guilt? When did I get to be happy? Every time I was, life interfered. How could I stop that from happening?
Knowing that I couldn’t didn’t make it any easier, but I returned to where I’d left off on the training without protesting. This was the math side of things and my mother was handling those lessons personally. Sneaking out would be impossible.
In a few more years, Angie would be old enough and we would be gone. I would try to make it all up then, but I knew, walking home that day, that I was making the right choice. We were short years from freedom. We just had to be strong enough to tough this out.
Chapter Sixteen
Washed Clean
August to December
Marc
In the fall of 1995, just as I entered my senior year of high school, my mother decided it was time for the entire family to be baptized. She’d done this to everyone about ten years ago and I had hated it then. Now, I absolutely loathed the idea. My mother, who pretended to be so holy and caring for the souls of the town, was a hypocrite and I didn’t want to go through with her ceremony. Many of the family resented it, but when she announced the dinner afterward that would have an open bar, the confirmations flowed in and left me no choice. I couldn’t fight her alone.
The town’s biggest church sat atop a hill on New Haven road. At the bottom was a busy intersection that held the library where the geeks and younger kids hung out in the summer with their parents. The teens preferred the drive-in and Stricker’s Grove. Located between the town and the trailer park, the church only saw the entire Brady clan once every few years.
Today, the line of vehicles heading up the hill was longer than I’d ever witnessed. We had relatives in from as far away as Arizona and Nevada, where they’d gone to handle their branch of the family business. I’d learned that we were now spread across fifteen states, but I hadn’t expected so many people to show up. It proved my mother’s hold was as strong as ever.
The parking lot wasn’t large enough to hold all the cars and trucks. We parked in the grass that lined the lot and hoped no one came by driving too fast to avoid the bumpers that hung out.
The family gathered in groups in the parking lot as they arrived, discussing the harsh summer and fires that the country had been plagued with this year. I stood in the rear of these adult circles, quiet and respectful while I observed. I didn’t even remember some of these people.
Mary stood at the top of the church stairs with the minister, greeting people as she scanned our clan. I felt her gaze go over me, finding my innocent behavior to be just the opposite, and I reluctantly made my way to her side. She liked it when she and I presented the Brady face to the world.
After a few minutes of standing by her, Mary waved at me to go inside, to w
here the first few people were putting on white robes for the ceremony. I grouchily gave up my leather jacket, a prize possession, and let the church members dress me like an angel without a halo. I’d never understood duplicating or copying moments of the past. Weren’t people supposed to learn from those mistakes and not repeat them? This felt like practicing to do it all wrong again. That was as deep into the religion of it all that I got. I was more occupied with observing my mother.
I used to think she brought us all together for moments like this so that the family bond would grow stronger, but I knew better now. She used these days to assign places, suspend employments in person, and remove those who had displeased her since the last gathering. By the end of this farce, I expected no less than half a dozen uncles in the back of a nearby bar swilling beers and talking about how to get even.
The baptism ceremony itself was quick and painless. I walked up the stairs that led to what I called the indoor pool. Roughly 10’ x 10’, it was filled with water that had been blessed by the minister.
I sank down into the waist-high, warmed liquid with a grimace that the minister waved to and loudly stated, “Behold the flesh twitch as the sins hit the water that has been sanctified by the blood of the lamb!”
I heard church members give the expected responses, (oh, Lord, oh yes! Heal him, Jesus!) then the minister put his hand over my nose and ducked me backwards under the water, murmuring a prayer.
Without time to suck in air, I choked a bit, but I managed to smile and climb out of the pool without breaking down in coughs. I sloshed to the waiting changing room and ‘plain’ clothes that we all had to wear for the rest of the time we were here. It proved we had been washed in the blood of Christ, or so everyone kept saying. I hadn’t remembered how creepy it felt to be dressed like one of the Amish.
I got a bottle of water from the cooler that my mother had ordered stocked, nodding to those I knew and to those I didn’t. The older family, who had at least been able to refuse the baptism, let me pass with curious glances. It made me nervous.
As the day wore on and the line of people waiting to be cleared of their sins shortened, most of the family went downstairs to enjoy the singing or the lunch table set up in the recreation room. The weather had turned too rainy and windy for many of them, but I lingered on the front stairs as cars came and went. Some people were able to leave once they’d been blessed (or fired) and some were just showing up because they’d had to work.
I spotted a familiar brown wagon chugging up the hill and realized Angie was on my mother’s list. She and I would eat at the ‘youth’ table together and then be sent on the hayride, if my mother hadn’t cancelled that.
Georgie quickly parked and lumbered out of the driver’s seat.
I froze as he yanked Angie by the arm and shoved her toward the church. He was clearly pissed.
Angie’s mom put a hand on his arm, probably trying to remind him that family members were watching.
In response, Georgie twisted Frona’s arm up behind her back and marched her all the way to the church stairs.
I couldn’t help the horror as I stared at Angie, at the bruises on her pale skin. Georgie had hit her?
Georgie noticed my glower as Angie darted by and used his free hand to shove me out of the way.
Arms pin wheeling for balance, I fell into the wet bushes on the side of the stairs and landed in the mud.
Angie
Georgie rushed mom and me down the stairs and into the preparation room, then immediately left, stomping outside.
My mom dropped to her knees, rubbing her arm, but the pills kept her in such a fog that I didn’t think she really felt it. I had. The bruise was already forming on my arm and my cheek. I couldn’t believe he’d brought us here anyway.
The church people were horrified and that brought Mother Brady to the doorway to see for herself. Because Georgie had carried it into public, our family now expected her to handle things. I wanted her to let it go. She didn’t know how bad Georgie was getting. If she talked to him, it would only make things worse for us.
Today’s fight had been over me riding on Daniel’s bike. Georgie had spotted us during a supply trip for the restaurant. When my mom had finally come from her stupor to find out why he and I were screaming, he had attacked her for not watching me like she’d been told to. I tried to pull him off, and got a black eye from a backhanded slap.
I shrugged away from the concerned church strangers, like my mom did, and we let the family take us to a rear room to treat our injuries. As I held the ice pack to my face, I wondered if they would make me go out to be baptized this way. I had been anticipating knowing I wasn’t evil despite the voice inside, but not anymore. Marc was here, he’d witnessed some of Georgie’s abuse, and it was too much. I didn’t think I could get through the baptism ceremony without crying in embarrassment.
I’d gotten a quick glimpse of Marc flailing in the mud and I did hope that he was okay, but I didn’t want to visit with him this time. I had no idea what to say now that he knew some of what I’d been hiding all these years. After his reaction to Rodney and Scot trying to hurt me, surely he would be able to understand why I’d kept quiet and forgive me.
The church members decided that my mother and I were in too much emotional turmoil to be able to accept the Holy Spirit the way we needed to be. A car was brought around to drive us home.
I was relieved, but also insulted. Mary needed to get rid of us so the talk would get off her abusive brother and return to her control.
As I climbed into the rear of the Brady car–the first and last time I was ever in it–my stomach lurched and I couldn’t stop from blowing chunks all over her backseat.
It almost made the day worthwhile for me.
Marc
Angie being hurt sent so much rage through me that I’d fled the church, covered in mud that I later had to clean from my car seat. I wanted to attack Georgie, or comfort Angie and expose our sins to the world. To keep myself from ruining everything that we’d been planning, I had to leave.
Unable to do more than get drunk or get into a fight that I couldn’t win, I took my rebellion to the next level, defying both God and my mother. I didn’t know why it was so satisfying to sit in the church parking lot unhooking Jeanie’s pink bra right after being baptized, but it was.
Five hours after I’d been cleaned of my sins, Jeanie ground her damp body against me and I tilted my hips to line us up.
This was the second time we’d gone all the way and I wanted to take my time so that I could practice. Someday, Angie and I would do this. In that moment, as lust flowed, I discovered the age-old escape of being with one person while pretending it was someone else. My kisses softened, my penis grew harder than the car we were in, and Jeanie growled in delight against my lips.
She had been disappointed last time, but I was determined to make up for it. I hadn’t expected the need to take control and I had sprayed my delight all over her thigh before she reached her climax. Afterwards I’ve vowed that would never happen again and it wouldn’t.
Jeanie smeared lipstick over my cheek as she bucked wildly, trying to push me over the edge so she could scorn me again, I thought. To make sure that didn’t happen, I slid a hand between us like Larry had suggested. When she started moaning, I knew I had her.
I didn’t let up until Jeanie cried my name and even then, I kept using my hand to be positive that she really enjoyed it. When she collapsed against my chest, I eagerly helped her lay down on the seat. As I slid between those long legs, pushing iron, my lids closed and that forbidden face and body focused in my mind. I rutted like a pig for a minute before pulling out to coat Jeanie’s thigh–this time with my male honor intact.
Jeanie was still smiling as I pulled my pants up, leaving her to clean the mess this time –like she’d demanded of me on our first try. I lit a cigarette, thinking I finally understood those scenes in movies.
Jeanie slowly recovered and dressed, not saying anything. That’s when s
he was content and I enjoyed the pride of proving I was a man.
“You wanna go out again?”
I grinned at her question, ego swelling further. “Yep. Car?”
“My parents aren’t home next weekend,” she suggested. “They have a long trip.”
“I’ll be there,” I agreed. Now that Jeanie was putting out for me, I planned to enjoy it to make up for all the times that I’d listened to her nag or whine over the years. Then I would take what I’d learned and use it to make Angie cry my name.
My body hardened again at the thought and I checked the time. “We’ve still got an hour. Turn over.”
Jeanie was happy with my performance and rolled over on the seat so that I could reach her dress. As I shoved deep, she moaned and slid her hand between her legs. Chuckling, I started those quick strokes that she liked and studied her every reaction. I had a lot to learn.
Losing my virginity to Jeanie’s knowing body gave me the distraction I needed to stay away from Angie, but she never dulled or became less important to me. I was just old enough to foresee the hell that was coming and to keep waiting. At seventeen, I couldn’t do anything about Angie’s awful life yet, but I added Georgie to my list of people that I owed big time. At some point, he would pay for hurting my Angie.
Angie
I didn’t understand how people could let themselves get out of control until December of 1995.
After Marc seeing Georgie’s abuse, I was glad that he stayed away, but I also missed him terribly. We’d had a wonderful summer break together. It had almost killed me when it ended and I was still carrying that pain and anger. Some days were harder than others.
I’d been dealing with bullies for a long time–other girls who didn’t like me for any number of reasons. They preferred to gang up on me and their other victims. In gym, they waited in groups in the locker room. In art, the supply room. For music, the instrument room. They picked a place where they wouldn’t get in trouble by a teacher who couldn’t ignore it due to the rest of the class watching. Having an audience wasn’t good for a bully, unless the audience was on their side.
