Crush (24 page)
Jamie is quiet, gathering his thoughts. “You said I should try and discover myself…”
“Yes, Jamie…”
“What if I don’t like what I discover?”
“Why do you say that, Jamie?” I am practically beseeching him…
He says nothing. His eyes are glazed in misery.
“Jamie, we’re adults, both of us, and we care about each other. Nothing we’ve done so far has hurt either of us, right? Have I ever hurt you?”
“Onlythe first time…and I wanted it to hurt.”
“Because you wanted punishment?” I ask verycarefully.
“No…just because I wanted my first time to be scary…and painful…like everyone else’s. And because I wanted to be sure you
cared
that it hurt me.”
“I did.”
“I know,” he nods.
“I’d never hurt you intentionally. I’d never play with you and then turn around and abuse you or call you names afterward.”
Jamie’s eyes leap up and search mine furtively.
I think perhaps I’ve gotten through to him.
When I get home the next day to check on Mom, she hands me a package, a large orange envelope with myname scrawled in curvy handwriting. When I tear it open, it’s a VHS tape with no label. There’s no return address on the envelope. So I take the tape to the VCR in mybedroom.
Soon as I press the play button, Jamie’s face appears. He’s very young, I’d guess only about seven or eight. There’s no mistaking those enormous blue eyes or that preternatural doll face. For a moment, I believe Jamie has sent me an old home video of him as a surprise. How delightful! To see a video of my boyfriend as a child, maybe having a birthdaypartyor something!
Then I begin to notice the wrongs. The camera is capturing him from the waist up, and he’s not wearing a shirt. He’s smiling, looking directlyinto the camera that is trained on him.
But his eyes are not sparkling, his smile is not happy. It’s not real.
A woman’s voice sings out, “Jamie just
loves
big, creamy
keep his smile from crumbling. His eyes glitter with tears. “Take a bite,
Jamie
,” the woman says.
His name in her voice…there is a malicious qualitythat can’t
“Take a
real
bite!” the woman snaps. Jamie flinches, and pushes the entire cake into his mouth, tries not to choke.
He’s so thin…
“That’s the way!”
The camera zooms out further, and it’s then that I see Jamie is completely nude, sitting on a bed. The wall behind him is painted putrid yellow. Big chips have been stripped away, revealing a loud, bizarre shade of turquoise.
I see the now familiar red around his ankles…the bruises, old ones in green, new ones in purplish-black.
I see the welts, the burns…
Aman comes into the picture and sits on the bed with Jamie. The man has dark blonde hair. I can’t make out the color of his eyes.
He’s naked too.
I need to turn this off, now.
But I can’t.
Jamie’s naked, in a bed, with a grown man.
I have to see what happens.
Why
? You’d think I’d realize that this video is over twenty years old, and that it isn’t the real Jamie in that video. It’s only an image.
He’s not in that room with that man and woman anymore.
Instead, I think,
Jamie’s in trouble. Someone is doing things to him. I have to see what happens. I can’t
leave
him like this.
God, how sorryI end up being after watching it.
The man leans close to Jamie and says, “Gimme kisses.”
Jamie frowns and shakes his head vigorously. “No, Daddy, please…I don’t want to do the show.”
“Come on, Pretty,” the man begs. “Show Daddy how much you love him. You
do
love Daddy, right?
Daddy loves you
.”
Guilt stabs the boy’s eyes. “I know,” he says, unable to look at the camera, unable to look at the man calling himself “Daddy.” His eyes fixdownward, clouded over, miasmas of terror.
I’ve seen his eyes do that…
“Smile!” the woman screams shrilly, and Jamie’s body jumps. “And do what you’re told!”
Jamie smiles. I see the fear.
My heart begins to crack and crumble. He reaches up and lightlykisses the man on the mouth.
The woman’s voice is low with malice. “Smile right, Jamie… or you’ll be
really
sorry...”
The little boy begins to cry. Little pieces of my heart are splashing into mystomach acid.
I need to turn it off. Now.
Jamie tries to smile right for the woman. His mouth trembles as he tries to stretch it to the left and to the right. It’s not quite right, because the woman shrills again, “Where’s mylighter?”
“No!” screams Jamie. “Please!”
“Then you smile
right
!” is her growling injunction. “I
mean
it, you little fuck!”
The boy turns back to the adult man, and slowly, Jamie’s terrified, unreal smile transforms…his lips…
It’s the same smile I’ve seen countless times in the past several days.
The only thing missing…is in his eyes…
He’s doing what he has to do.
He’s acting.
He drapes his bony arms around the man’s big shoulders, his small pink lips smiling...
Like a pro…
“That’s more like it,” the woman laughs lewdly. “Veryhot, very hot…yeah…good…good…oh, yeah…keep going…what a
nasty
boyyou are, Jamie!”
It’s a metamorphosis before my eyes…and I can feel the breakfast I had at Jamie’s this morning, the toast with apricot jam, lurching up my esophagus.
Turn this off. Turn it off. You can’t do anything about it. You can’t help him. You can’t save him.
But I watch…
The man’s low grunts churn mygut…I burp sourly.
Over and over I have to
remind
myself that the boy is being forced to do this, that he does not like what’s happening to him,
that he is less than ten years old
.
Because he’s such a good actor. He’s been well trained. The threats he’s being given bythe woman have facilitated his abilityto convince anyone watching that he
loves
what the man is doing.
I hate myself as I watch this video. I watch as the boy uses slow, tentative, economic movements, the palpable fear of “doing it wrong” coming straight through to me from the TV screen. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a sound. I hear the woman’s gruff, vulgar commentaryas she hands the camera to the man.
Now I see what she looks like. Her hair is almost black.
Jamie has her eyes.
No he doesn’t…her eyes are watery, bloodshot…glaring, wet blue ice…
…
I suspected she had something to do with why he’s so frightened and ashamed…
“
Please, Mommy! I’ll be good! I’ll be good!”
I figured she’d been a religious drill sergeant, guarding her son’s purity and turning him into a neurotic tangle that I’d have to comb through…
How far off I have been…how fucking far off…
I had no idea it was anything remotelylike this…
Undigested food crawls into mymouth as I watch the woman use the thick, black flashlight. When Jamie cries in pain, she screams at him to shut up, pulls the flashlight out of him, hits him in the head with it. Blood begins to dye the white pillowcase.
She lights a cigarette. “Come on,” she says, and the video camera wobbles and jumps sickeningly. “Hold him.”
Jamie begins to scream. “No! No! Please!”
“You’re a bad boy,” the woman says happily. “You gotta be punished.”
The man uses one hand to pin Jamie’s scrawny shoulders to the mattress while he continues filming with the other. He kicks and thrashes hysterically. “Please, Mommy! Please! Please don’t hurt me!” His screams drown what’s left of my heart. My stomach eats it away. I see the woman’s lit cigarette slowlydescend, down, down, down…
“Please don’t do it, Mommy!”
The camera zooms in as the cigarette hisses against Jamie’s skin. Gray smoke wisps away from the blackened hole left behind. His wrenching screams split my soul into two huge red shreds and theycollapse beside me.
I burp back the vomit and eject the video. I run to the bathroom. The contents of my stomach violently project into the
I feel convicted. I feel like I’ve victimized him everybit as much as the man and woman did, just bywatching.
He told me that he’d been through some things. I never would have believed it was this bad. I’d heard his parents had mistreated him…beat him up.
I hear Stacysaying, “
He’s been though a lot…more than any of us knows…and I knownot to ask
…”
I remember the wayhe smiled, the wayhe kissed the man.
The wayhe was so utterlyconvincing.
I recall the threats his Mom made to get him to do those
sizzled against his pallid backside. I smell cooked skin. I hear his screams tearing the membranes of his throat out. My rent soul shudders in memory.
I’m so angryI could kill them.
If theyweren’t alreadydead.
I’m on a seesaw of emotions. No, a mechanical bull. It’s
He was a child, a baby, and they desecrated him. They took everything pure and sacred about their own child, and raped it.
Theyhated him. There’s no other possible wayto explain…
…the repugnance, the evil, of what theydid...
He did nothing wrong
. I have to keep reminding myself. He was a child. He had no power.
He didn’t judge me when I opened up to him. I can’t judge him now
.
No matter how it hurts.
He was so believable, with Daddy...
I have to forgive him…
…
but he didn’t do anything to forgive!
Mymind argues with itself.
Because it hurts. So much.
Whydid I
watch
that fucking thing?!
I feel like a pervert, a degenerate, my Uncle Price. It doesn’t matter that there’s no wayin hell I was aroused or titillated.
I watched…that’s all I had to do.
And now realization avalanches onto me.
It is a video depicting two adults defiling the body, and crushing the spirit of a beautiful, innocent child.
It is a crush video.
I haven’t heard from him since early this morning, and that’s not like him. Sure, we had a bit of a thing last night. I had a meltdown after I asked him to do me kitty-style, but we had a long, good talk about it, and he’s convinced me that we did nothing wrong. I didn’t hurt him, he didn’t hurt me. We’re both adults. It was completelyconsensual, and in all honesty, we both enjoyed it. We loved it. It was fun, and like he said, it was dirty, but in a good way.
I’m tired of feeling
dirty
about sex. I’m tired of feeling dirty every time I have an erection or an orgasm. I’m tired of the aftereffects of what myparents did to me.
They made me do things I didn’t want to do, then they
punished
me.
Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
Mymiddle name is Guilt.
I’m fucking
tired
of it!
I called him, “Daddy” again…Why did I do that? Fuck!
Nausea and guilt are one and the same.
He hasn’t called. He hasn’t come by. I’ve called twice, and there’s no answer. I’ve left messages on the machine. I wonder if his Mom has had some kind of setback, if they released her too early and she’s back in the hospital with another clot or something.
I call St. Paul’s. She has not been admitted and she’s not in the E.R.
I have a feeling something terrible has happened.
Maybe he’s had a chance to think about it.
Maybe he does think I’m a sicko.
Maybe I’ve lost him.
More Guilt. Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.
Late afternoon becomes evening, and still, nothing. I call over there again, leave a third message. Where
is
he?!
By nine-thirty, I’m weeping in front of my TV with my kids surrounding me. They know when I’m sad. Misty drapes herself around myhead like one of those neck pillows. Sam tucks himself under myleft arm. Tigger snuggles under myright. Ginger sits on mylap and kneads mychest.
At least I have
them. They
don’t get angry and stop talking to me for no good reason!
Aknock at my front door has me knocking the kids off of me as I scramble up to answer it.
But it’s not Tammy, it’s Stacy.
“Raystood me up. Wanna go sing?”
“I don’t feel like it.”
Her shoulders slump. “Why?”
I have no idea how to talk to her about this. And somehow, just telling her that Tammy and I are having a “thing” isn’t gonna
“I’m not sure.”
“Well…what happened?”
“I don’t know…”
“You don’t
know
? Well, call him and find out, for pity’s sake!” A big tear rolls down my face. “I
have
called him. I’ve left
messages. He hasn’t called me back. I haven’t heard from him since this morning.”
“Did you guys have a fight?”
It didn’t feel like a fight. It felt like a problem, followed by a discussion, followed by what I thought was the resolution. It felt verysimilar to when Tammywas feeling bad about his childhood, and I was able to comfort him. Tammy comforted me today. Why would he suddenly…
“No,” I answer.
She smiles. “Oh, maybe he had to take his Mom somewhere or something.”
“Maybe.” I hope it’s something that simple.
But usually, he calls me at least once a day, just to say, “Hi.”
“Come on,” Stacyprods me gently. “Let’s go out. You need to get out. If he comes by, he’ll know where to look for you.”
I scold myself for being such a simp. Mywhole existence has become so wrapped up in him and how happyhe makes me feel that I don’t seem to have an independent bone in my body anymore.
“I’m on call tonight.”
“So? You can still go out. Get your ass up,” Stacy says with more force. “You still have a life. I know you’re in love, but don’t stop being yourself, goodness sakes!”
The End is decorated for New Year’s with brightly colored balloons and foil streamers. The onlysongs I have in myheart are melancholy love songs from the jammin’ oldies station. From the catalog, we select an early ‘80s R&B ballad we’re both familiar with, entitled, “I Call Your Name” by a band called Switch. It’s a pleasant surprise for the crowd, who is used to us doing uptempo New Wave.
“Here they are again,” the emcee announces. “Old Reliable. We’re still not sure theyeven like us calling them that!”
Laughter, cheers and whistles flyup from the audience.
“Jamie’s in love,” coos Stacy, and I take a swing at her. The mob goes crazyas we sing our hearts out. The song’s mood can only be described as mutually sad and joyful, and the way it’s structured, it soars into the air subtly…you’d have to hear it to know what I’m saying. It’s everyfeeling I’ve ever had for TammyMattheis, and my voice, though deeper than Bobby DeBarge’s falsetto, effortlesslycarries each moroselyeffervescent note.
I’m still me. I’m still a star, here at The End. I can still sing and make people happy.
The song ends. We bow. The crowd applauds.
Then I see him, sitting at a table in the back, alone.
He’s here.
He’s smiling at me.
Mylife begins to move again.
I leap off the stage and run to him, jump into his arms. I have absolutely no concern for the shock I give the assembly when I kiss him passionately, frantically, barely letting him up for air. When we finally part, he gently sets me down, and I glance all around me. Stacy’s still up on stage, clapping and smiling. Afew faces look surprised. Maybe a few are frowning their denunciation. I don’t care. I’m so relieved he’s here. I’m so relieved he’s not angry with me. I begin to see more smiles. The cheers begin to increase in volume. “Whoohoo!” Stacy hollers, and the rest follow suit.
The people of Sommerville see the expression on my face as I run into Tammy’s embrace.
It’s something they’ve never seen before.
As the attention begins to shift to the next singer taking the mic, I ask him, “Where have you been all day? I called your house…I was worried maybe something happened to your Mom!” I hug him again, feel his big arms roping around me. He’s trembling.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, gazing into his eyes.
They’re…I don’t know…sad? Angry?
Something
is
wrong. I know it now.
I glance to my right. Lard-Ash Battle-Feldman is standing there with her husband. Benny is only gazing nebulously, but Yvette is giving me one of those looks that makes myblood run ice cold. I turn away from her scorn and examine Tammy’s eyes
