Melt (3 page)

she

said.

      She

said,

But

even

if you didn't

I guess I still don't care.

Not enough to walk

away.

      Then she did it again. Oh my

god oh

my

god

oh my god

she

took

my

hand.

The one without the donut in it.

      She

said,

I've never felt

anything

like this before.

Have you?

      I shook

my head

no.

      We sat

quiet

for a minute

my fucked-up hand in her soft one

just

feeling that

feeling just

sucking

it

in absorbing it to our

cores.

      She

said,

So really

the only question is

Why do you keep calling me Doll? It's a little cliched

nes

pa?

      Nes pa? I repeated.

      She spelled it,

N'est-ce

pas
. She

said, It's French. She

said,

It means

loosely

Wouldn't

you

agree?

      I said I guessed I would agree but it was just that she reminded me of my

mom's

porcelain

dolls how they were so fragile and

pure.

I told her all this

even though I knew how un-frigging-believably gay it sounded. Then I promised I would

stop calling her that

really I would.

      It's okay, she

said.

She was still

holding

my

hand and her hair and her eyes were all shimmery

with

light

and I felt like I was one of them

ducks

out

there sailing smooth through the

water all lined up

in

a

row.

      She

said,

Now that you've

explained it I

understand.

      You

do? I asked. I wasn't even

sure that

I

understood. Maybe she could

explain me to

me.

Wouldn't

that

be something.

      I

do, she said.

And I think it's

nice. I'm

flattered.

      Go figure. I never

flattered

anyone before.

Flattened,

but

not flattered.

      Squeezing

squeezing

squeezing into my

palm

she said,

And

don't

worry

I won't break.

Three

Dorothy

      “Do you cry?” I asked him.

      I felt his hurt, under the charge we were sharing. It moved at a lower current, almost slipping below the radar, but I felt his pain.

      I couldn't help him. I could hold him, hold space for him, but I couldn't save him. He had to find his own way through.

      He stared into me, blinked like he was trying to process the question. His eyes were like the sky when the rain ends, caught between gloom and sun.

      He rubbed his thumb across my skin, traced the raised artery going down my wrist. It felt coarse, like sandpaper, and it was so, so satisfying. It was like having a perpetual itch scratched, finally.

      “No,” he said. He drew in a breath, breathed it out slow. “No, I don't cry.”

      We looked at each other some more. He wanted to confess all his sins, I sensed, but I wasn't ready to hear them yet. I just wanted to know him in that moment, it was all I could take, this was all so new to me. He got that. It's amazing what you can comprehend without speaking or hearing a word if you just allow yourself. He understood it, and he respected it.

      He still had that jelly donut in his other hand. He realized it just as I did—we both glanced at the donut, and laughed. He held it up to my lips. I sunk in, took a bite from the sticky center.

      I wanted to kiss him then, I wanted to share the sugar on my lips, have it melt in both our mouths.

      I wanted to know what he tasted like.

      I wanted to know so, so much, and I felt like I'd burst if I didn't act, but I didn't.

      I didn't, because it wasn't time yet.

      “You need to get going?” he asked, and I did. It was getting dark, and my mom was going to worry about me. It was getting chilly, too. I shivered, wished I could fold myself into his arms to get warm.

      But it wasn't time for that, either.

      He wolfed down the remains of his donut, licked his fingers, wiped them dry on his jeans. Then he ran his hand up and down my arms, one and then the other, smoothing down the raised hairs. Who would ever think something so hard and calloused could be so soothing?

      His other hand was still locked in mine. Neither of us wanted to be the one to let go.

      I took another look at the water, at the reeds growing at the edges. So vulnerable, so exposed out there, and yet they endured.

      He said, “Where do you live? I'll walk you home.”

 

We held hands all the way to my house, about ten blocks. I was still trying to get used to suburbia, all those houses so similar and still. Except for the occasional kids playing in the street—and there weren't many because it was dinner-time—the neighborhood was silent. You could never walk a noiseless block in Manhattan.

      We didn't speak, and yet we were communicating. Getting to know each other, without words. When you think about it, words don't count for much anyway. It's the intentions behind them that count. And this was like we were skipping past the words, like we didn't need them.

      “This is it,” I told him when we got to my house, a Spanish-style villa, gated and set back from the road and the other houses.

      He stared at the gate's crisscrossed wrought iron strips. “You live here?”

      “Yeah, why?”

      “Nothing … it's just … this is like, the nicest house around here. Hell, it's a friggin' mansion.”

      I looked at the sidewalk, didn't say anything.

      “Hey, I didn't mean … it's just …. Oh, Doll.” He sighed, let my hand slip from his. “We're so different.”

      “That's only a problem if you make it one,” I said, looking back up at him.

      “Yeah, you say that now ….”

      I took his hand back in mine. “See you in school tomorrow?”

      “Uh, no … I go to Boces. That's for technical training.”

      “I know what it is. Okay, then come over after school.”

      “Come here, inside?”

      I nodded. “Come over tomorrow, and you can tell me anything you want. Okay?”

      “But, your parents ….”

      “My parents will like you because I like you. Don't worry.”

      His eyes looked panicked. He sucked in a burst of air, let it out slowly like he'd done earlier. The stress faded from his face.

      He smiled his little side smile. “Okay.”

      We let go of our hands together this time, stood there for a moment, silently saying goodbye. Then he turned, ambled down the street.

      He stopped at the corner street sign and gave a wave.

      I waved back and unlatched the gate.

Joey

      All the way home it was a battle.

      There was this new part of me

still back at the water

still holding Doll's hand.

Breathing

breathing

breathing in that air.

Feeling like one of them ducks all neat all in order all

right.

      Yeah

all right.

      I'd actually felt all right there.

      But then there was my

other part.

The part I'm used to. The part that don't let me have nothing ‘cept drinks and some bud. The part that don't let me rest for a goddamn minute.

The part always

poking

poking

poking at my back

reminding me what a

loser

I am.

      That part it don't wanna let me breathe for nothing.

      That part that

part that

part keeps me frozen on the scrawny-ass ledge from the second I wake up.

      That part was saying,

She lives in a palace she's got

gates and stone pillars she's got ivy growing up those pillars she's got all these pine trees in her yard it's like a forest in there

through

them

gates.

      That

part

said, There ain't no place for someone like you behind them iron gates.

Them gates

they were made for locking

people like you

out.

Them gates are there to keep Doll

safe

from

you.

      Yeah.

      It's like Pop says.

He says people like

me

if we make it past twenty

we wind up with steel bars of our own. There just ain't no mansions behind them.

      It's us that's behind them locked up nice and

snug.

      Actually, I'm ahead of schedule. Call me precocious.

      I already got a little taste of the future,

courtesy

of

Pop.

      I get the picture in my

head

so fast

before I can even tell myself

not

to go

there.

Don't matter.

This memory ain't

nothing compared to

some.

      There we are in

court.

      Again.

      ‘Cept this time it's not family court.

This

time on account of my

age and the

severity

of my

crime

this time this

time

this time

I made the major league. The criminal courthouse in Mineola.

      The routine in courthouses is everyone stands ‘round the halls and waiting rooms making deals and whatnot to save the court's time.

      That's what we always did before but

not

this

time.

      This time they keep me

separate.

      This time they haul my ass down the hall in cuffs like I'm some

big

shot

criminal. There's no one else around. Get this: they cleared the area first. Apparently I'm some

maniac

they gotta protect the world from.

      Suddenly I'm the bogeyman.

      They lead me right through

no

man's

hall

my hands are pulled behind my back

steel's snapped ‘round my wrists.

I'm so used to the position it's kind of comforting. I got my fingers linked together it's like I'm

holding

my own hand.

      The two court officers they walk me one on each arm into some

puke

green conference room then they

uncuff me and I sit in a

hard metal chair by a rectangle metal table just what I needed

more steel.

      In follows Mom and my

lawyer

chairs scrape back

they

sit

at the table where I

am. They sit

by

me but they don't

face

me. Mom I guess she's ashamed

of me

of her.

My lawyer

who the hell knows what his

problem

is. He's sitting there all smug in his camel hair coat or some

shit

too good for his client I guess. Then

Pop

marches in all stiff and coply like a pole's up his butt he comes in he stands next to the flag.

I look past him out the window but all I can see from my poor angle is

gray

sky

and the top of this sad tree its gnarly twiggy branches are all naked. Old Mother Nature that bitch she stripped its leaves right

off

it.

      The Assistant DA rolls in he's this

puny

guy trying to be

big

in a navy pinstripe suit. He

thunks

his broad briefcase

down on the table

click

click

unsnaps it open

hauls out my record.

I got a sheet of priors that just keeps on

giving. There's

fights there's drunk and

disorderly there's smoking

bud on school

grounds and wait

there's

more.

It's all petty b.s. I never hurt no one that bad at least

up

‘til

now.

      I didn't even mean to hurt no one

this

time

not like this

not to put the dude in no coma.

He just got in

my face

he wouldn't go away. Who told that

prick

to get in my face

like

that?

      Pop's

standing tall

by the stars and stripes

he's in his

neat

blue

uniform

shiny badge attached. He don't look at me

neither

not that I want him to.

Suddenly the sun casts through the window look at that it

broke

through the gray

it lands a ray right at his

black

patent

shoes. He looks like he's standing in a

path

of

light ain't that some ironic shit.

      The ADA he don't even glance my

way

no one even

turns

in my direction do I even

need

to be here? That ADA he says he's gonna let me off with

probation.

      Again.

      He don't say so but I

know it's on account of

Pop

being a cop. It's always on account of

Pop

being a cop.

But this time this

time

this time

Pop

says,

No.

We stare at him. He's standing all

righteous

arms crossed next to the

red

white

and blue. He says,

No.

He says,

Send him to

jail. Maybe it'll teach him a

lesson.

He

says,

Doubtful but

maybe.

      That's it then. My lawyer he don't do shit in my defense he works for

Pop

not me I guess.

      Whatever.

      My mom she'll never say one

word

against what

Pop

wants god forbid.

      They bring me in front of the

judge

all rise

he seals my

fate and
badabing
we're

done.

      After that they

cuff

me.

      Again.

      They're taking me back to

lockup.

Who gives a rat's ass

anyway.

They ain't doing

nothing new to me.

I already got myself

all

locked

up

in my head.

      My hands

they're pressed together

I can

feel

my

pulse

beat.

      Mom's

crying.

      Now she's

crying.

      I made her

cry.

      They're taking me

away for four

months.

      Good for them.

      Pop

calls my name but I don't

answer. Then he

stops me he grabs at my arm he

pinches

hard

into me but I don't flinch.

      Pop

looks

looks

looks at me

he looks me in the eyes.

What do you know he

actually

looks

at me

no shit.

      I make myself

look

back it's the first time in I don't know

how

long

I look straight into the