Vein River

by Kellie Honaker

  We hurried from the house and I felt that familiar happiness return to my belly. My friend was by my side again.

  Once we were a good piece from the house, Abigail said softly. “I never thought you’d speak to me again.”

  I sighed deeply, not quite knowing how to answer her. I never want to hurt her, but I also don’t want to complicate my life any further than it already is.

  “You’re a strange person, Abigail, and I love you, and I don’t mean it in the way that you’re hoping. I just…I want us to be friends as we’ve always been. We can do that, can’t we?”

  She grasped my hand and smiled brightly. “Of course, Angie. I want you in my life in whatever way I can have you.”

  We scrounged enough to afford the picture, and we ended up sharing a popcorn and coke. It surprised me that she agreed to see House of Frankenstein, as much as she hates to be scared. I smile to think of it now. I know she did it more for my benefit than anything. She knows I love Halloween and all things spooky. I had the hardest time focusing on Boris Karloff because Abigail kept clinging to my arm. I held her hand reassuringly and reminded her that it was just a movie.

  It felt good to enjoy something with her. It felt good to be in the dark, to not worry about being judged. I didn’t have to fret whether or not the look on my face would betray me. When the scary parts were over, Abigail relaxed her head against my shoulder. Abby is the bold one, the brave one, and I’m the weak one that lacks the strength to push her away.

  Angelina’s Diary

  August 24, 1944

  I usually like going to the market to run errands for my mother, because it gives me a break from the farm. Going to town wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t have to run into people you don’t like. I was coming back from town while Mary Elizabeth was going in. Our paths crossed on the bridge. I decided to ignore her, so I just kept pedaling my bike. She didn’t have a basket or anything with her, so I doubt she was going shopping. Who knows what she was up to. Maybe she was just there to harass me? I wouldn’t be surprised. She was just walking down the lane swinging a long stick as if she didn’t have a care in the world. I was beginning to think I was in the clear. Lord knows I try to avoid altercations. I should have known better. The next thing I knew, I was flying through the air. I fell hard against the floor of the bridge, my bike falling on top of me. My groceries fell from the basket, the bag of sugar busted open; half the contents scattered across the road. My heart broke a little bit. Of all the things to lose at a time like this, it just had to be the sugar. Mama’s not going to be happy, that’s the last one we can buy for a while.

  “Serves you right, you queer,” Mary Elizabeth scowls. She’s holding what’s left of the stick in her hand. The other half is in the spokes of my back tire.

  “What!?” I gasped, jumping up from the floor of the bridge.

  A broken spoke scratches my leg from ankle to knee, bringing blood, but I don’t realize this until later.

  “My sister Abigail has always been a strange one. I’ve lived with her every day of my life, so trust me when I say that I know her far better than you. It’s not so much her attraction to women that caught my attention; it’s her utter lack of interest in men. She’s fourteen, she will outgrow this curiosity of hers, or at the very least, learn not to entertain it. But then you come along. You come along and encourage this behavior. Now I understand why you turned down Alan.”

  I am equal parts fear and fury.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I hiss.

  “Don’t play dumb, Angie. I followed you. I saw the two of you canoodling at the movie theater.”

  “We weren’t canoodling,” I said sarcastically. “The show got creepy, so we huddled together. Big deal.”

  “You’re a heartbreaker, Angelina, that’s what you are. It doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman.”

  I started gathering the scattered groceries.

  “I highly suggest you talk to a priest, Mary Elizabeth, because you’re delirious.”

  “You better watch your back, Angelina. Because if you hurt my sister like you hurt Alan, a priest won’t be able to save either of us.”

  Angelina’s Diary

  September 25, 1944

  I’ve made it a point to not go to Abigail’s house anymore. I told her what Mary Elizabeth said, and she agreed it was best for her to just come here. So, that’s the arrangement we made, and I’m always happy to see her. I haven’t told anybody about these feelings; not even Abigail. I’m scared one day we won’t be together, and I don’t want to make this any harder than it already is. So, I’m enjoying her company while I have it. I don’t want our friendship to be complicated, but I don’t want to lose her completely, either.

  Here’s an odd piece of news for you: Mary Elizabeth and Sid have started courting! It’s an odd and almost poetic pairing. They’re both so hateful that they deserve each other. At least once a week I’ll see one or the other—sometimes both, walking down the lane across from my house. Their excuse is that they’re checking on old man Crockett, but I know better. They do it just to get under my skin. If I’m in the garden, or the orchard, they’ll whisper just loud enough for me to hear. They call me a fairy, a dyke, a faggot, a queer. I just hope my parents never hear them. Dad will lose his mind. I don’t know why they have to be so hateful. I’ve never done anything to either one of them. At least they don’t bother Abigail, it’s just me they’re after. I think Mary Elizabeth is jealous because men want me, and Sid is jealous because he wants me and can’t have me. I believe that’s it in a nutshell.

  I don’t think they’ve told anyone; it’s not like they have the proof, anyway. I think they’re keeping it to themselves merely just to torture me. I’ve thought about telling my parents, but I’m scared it would cause more trouble than it’s worth. Name calling doesn’t really hurt anything other than grate my nerves, so unless things escalate, I’ll just keep it to myself.

  The more time passes, the more intense my feelings for Abigail become. She once told me that she sneaks out of her house at night to take walks along the bridge. She said it’s romantic in the moonlight. So, we picked a night and I joined her on her walk. She was right. It’s incredibly romantic. People scarcely use the bridge during the day. It’s merely a means for farmers to go to town on the rare occasion they need something that they can’t provide for themselves. So, at night, no one crosses it at all. It’s like a private bubble for me and Abigail. A covered little hovel to steal kisses and listen to the chorus of the river. We grasp every moment we can. I’ve found myself working at a break neck speed in order to finish my chores just so I can meet Abby at Crockett’s pond. By day, our sanctuary is the pond. By night, it’s the bridge. We manage to see each other at least every other day. I’m the happiest when I’m with her. I feel alive and genuine, like she is the one I’m meant to be with.

  31

  Annie

  I turn the page and it’s blank.

  No.

  I fan the pages with false hope, as if flipping the pages could magically lengthen the story. But there’s nothing left. It’s over. Angelina’s diary is cut short just like her life. She must’ve died right after this, but what the hell happened?

  I look at the clock: 9:00pm

  I dial Miss Jenkins. She answers on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Jenkins, I finished the diary. I still don’t know what happened to her, although I have my suspicions.”

  “Spit it out! Spit it out, child! What do you know?”

  “Angelina and Abigail Stone were lovers. Abigail’s sister, Mary Elizabeth Stone, was suspicious of their relationship and threatened Angelina more than once.”

  “Mary Elizabeth Stone…” Miss Jenkins goes quiet, then suddenly she gasps. “Mary Elizabeth the nun!?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “She mentioned taking care of a Mrs. Brooks, a neighbor. But the neighbor was too
busy grieving the loss of her son to even hurt a fly, so I know she didn’t do anything to Angelina.”

  “The only people she really mentions are two boys, one named Randy and another named Sid. Sid had a temper, from the sounds of things, so he piques my interest. There’s nothing particularly incriminating in the diary, so Angelina had no clue that she was going to die soon. She was falling in love with Abigail, it’s very evident by the tone of her writing. If she had lived long enough, the entire diary probably would have been written about her.”

  “Hmm…”

  “This is so frustrating. She wanted me to read this diary, and I still don’t have any answers.”

  “Try to be patient. I have a feeling you’re closer to the truth than you realize.”

  I called Copper for an update and nothing has changed. That is both a good thing and a bad thing. It’s good that they’re still alive, but horrible that it’s only by a thread. I read the diary in a single sitting, but I can’t see where that has helped the situation at all. I’m so frustrated. I’m this close to telling Angelina to shove it up her ass.

  Exhausted, I climb into bed. I hear Mom pull in the driveway, finally home from closing up the grocery store, but I don’t bother going down to greet her. I listen as she cooks a microwave dinner, and climbs the stairs to eat it in bed, while watching tv. I sense her peeking into my room to check on me. I pretend to be asleep. I don’t want to talk to her right now. She has no idea of the burden I carry.

  32

  Annie

  I open my eyes to a blue tranquility. The moonlight spills through the window and across the floor, ending at the foot of my bed. Angelina stands at the end of this light, and not a beam of it crosses her path. There’s a catwalk of light from woman to window, and it’s impossible to tell where the light originates and where it ends. My days of being frightened are over. Knowing what I know now, I gaze upon Angelina with a sort of melancholy. This poor girl. Cursed by her beauty and trapped by her heart. Whatever else she has to show me—it only gets worse from here.

  She reaches for me and I take her hand with a feeling of dread. I don’t want to go, but I need to see this through. She guides me to the far wall and I fight against her grasp. She’s trying to pull me through the wall!

  “Angelina, stop it! I can’t…”

  With a yank, she jerks me through the wall and safely to the other side. There was no resistance, no impact of wood or plaster. It was as soft and gentle as passing under a sheet, to move from one room to another.

  She walks with me in this dreary world, where the colors bleed and the trees have eyes. The river moves, but is silent and slow, and the moon is three times larger. Barns that have been dilapidated for years stand renewed in fresh cut fields. The bales of hay are swollen with rot and breathe with the movement of insects. This is a morose form of her memory. All things are frozen in time. But even Angelina, in her powerful ways cannot deny the decay.

  We move to the bridge, her hand in mine, the boards soundless beneath our feet. In the middle of the bridge, beneath the kiss of the moon, two women move in love. It’s a delicate display of lace and breath, soft kisses and tender caress. Their affection is fluid, like that of the river, a dance of passion between two lovers.

  Abigail is far from the washed-out lady locked away in a bitter tower. Now, she is young with porcelain skin, enveloped in an act of ecstasy. You would think such intimacy would cause me to blush, but I am enraptured by their honesty. I feel no shame in watching their bodies. Instead, I’m moved by the beauty of them.

  I don’t know how long I stood there watching. Time is useless in this place. The air shifts slowly like the shift of a mood. A black darkness covers the moon.

  “Well, what have we here?”

  I jump to the sound of the voice, while the lovers rush to cover themselves. A monster of a boy with ape-like hands stands at the mouth of the bridge. A step behind him is a pretty girl with auburn hair to the waist.

  “I told you they’d be here,” she says to him. “They’re like clockwork. Every Tuesday Abigail sneaks off during the night.” She looks witheringly at Abigail. “It’s time you went home, little sister.”

  Abigail clutches Angelina’s hand and looks pleadingly at her sister. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

  “We won’t tell, so long as you get your ass home.”

  Abigail nods and pulls Angelina along. “Okay, we’ll go home—that’s fine.”

  “No,” Mary Elizabeth steps in front of her sister. “You go home. Angelina stays here. She needs to learn a lesson. I warned her to leave my sister alone, and now I see that she’s been molesting her all this time.”

  “That’s not true!” Abigail protests. “I kissed her first!”

  Mary Elizabeth pushes her sister towards the exit, but Abigail clings to Angelina’s hand.

  “I’m not leaving without Angelina!”

  Sid swings a fist at Abigail’s face. His knuckles land with a crushing force.

  She crumples to the ground and howls in pain, blood gushing from her nose.

  “Abby!” Angelina screams. She rushes to her lover, only to be blocked by Mary Elizabeth. Abby’s nose points painfully towards the left. “Sid, you bastard! You broke her nose!” Angelina hisses.

  He pulls Abby up by her hair. “I’ll do more than break your nose, if you don’t get out of here!” He screams in her face.

  She sobs and scrambles towards the exit. Angelina watches as Abby races up the hill. I can feel the panic of being left behind, but also the relief of knowing that Abby got away. These feelings are not my own. I surely don’t want anything bad to happen, but the intensity doesn’t belong to me. I feel what Angelina is feeling, and I’m overcome with dread.

  He steps menacingly towards Angelina and she backs away from him. He has at least a hundred pounds on her. She is no match for him.

  “Well now, what should we do to you?” he asks, but the question is more for Mary Elizabeth.

  “She needs to be punished,” Mary Elizabeth replies.

  Sid unbuckles his belt. “I think the punishment should fit the crime.”

  Angelina bolts for the exit but he’s too quick for her. He tackles her to the ground, his body crushing her. He pulls down his trousers as she squirms and pleads beneath him.

  I glance over at the ghostly specter, my host to this horrible memory.

  “Please, Angelina, I beg of you, I don’t want to see this!”

  He penetrates her and bucks as hard as he can.

  She screams, high-pitched and shattering. The sound consumes me and brings me to my knees. It bounces off the mountains and rattles inside my ribcage. This is the sound that has haunted me. It is a sound that breaks bones. This is the whistle that I desperately wanted to blame on a midnight train.

  Before I can recover from the scream, I double over in pain. I grab my genitals. Oh god, the pain. Angelina wants me to understand. She told me she wants me to suffer. What better way to understand, than to suffer as she has suffered?

  “Stop…” I plead, clutching the hem of Angelina’s nightgown.

  But it doesn’t stop. It only gets worse.

  Once he’s satisfied, he beats her. This arouses him further, so he rapes her again, but this time a different orifice.

  “Stop!” I scream, reeling on the floor. “Please, please stop.”

  I scream and plead and clutch at myself, the word “stop” a never-ending mantra. I cling to the hope of Abby getting help, but feel it waning as time passes.

  I feel the break in my spirit when the realization dawns: there is no help coming.

  He finishes with her, thus finishes with me, and we lie unmoving on the floor.

  He strolls from the bridge, completely refreshed and mighty pleased with himself.

  Mary Elizabeth waits on the bank for him. “Took your sweet time, didn’t you?” She sneers.

  He shrugs. “I do a good job.”

  “Not quite,” she hisses. “You can’t just leave her
there; she’ll tell on us!”

  While they bicker, Angelina has made it to the opposite end of the bridge, towards town. They enter the bridge to find her escaping, so they chase after her. Angelina stumbles on her trembling legs, and rolls down the embankment. She lands face first in the water, crushing her already busted nose on a rock. I moan while my eyes water. An image flashes across my mind: Angelina at the foot of my bed dripping puddles onto the floor.

  “Don’t let her go anywhere,” Sid says. “I have an idea.”

  Mary Elizabeth stands on Angelina’s back as she struggles to get out of the river.

  As I cough and sputter and struggle to breathe, Sid rushes to the entrance of the bridge. There in the bushes, to the far side of the road, is a pack that Sid hid earlier. He knew he was going to punish the girl that made him look like a fool, so he figured a rope and knife might come in handy.

  He makes a noose and returns to Angelina.

  “Let’s hang her by her pretty head,” he laughs.

  He slips the noose over her head and drags her back to the bridge.

  “Wait,” Mary Elizabeth says, taking the knife from Sid. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time.”

  She takes Angelina’s hair by the fistfuls and cuts it off with the knife. I think of the long black locks draped over my bathroom towel. It all makes perfect sense. I understand it now.

  Sid swings the rope across a beam and hefts her into the air. They toss her feet back and forth between them, as if she is nothing but a ball on a string.

  I choke and scratch at my neck. I can’t breathe, I can’t speak. I stare imploringly at the spirit of Angelina. She lowers her head sadly and the pain evaporates.