Punk Like Me (36 page)

“Baby, that’s just not possible,” Samantha whispered, still stroking the one part of my body that didn’t make me grit my teeth. I could hear the shock in her voice, and a trace of the anger I was starting to

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PUNK LIKE ME

recognize. “Sleep, Nina. I’m right here, rest a bit, okay?” I felt her lips softly touch the bare skin I’d shaved that morning.

Someone was calling my name, and there was a dance I was supposed to be part of. I had to get there, the call was irresistible, and I didn’t have too much energy to stay to talk. My eyes were closed, but I saw stars and bright Þ elds and clear blue water. In the middle of the Þ eld stood a huge stone, big enough to climb, big enough to comfortably hold six people, a dog, and a picnic, and I knew that it would be a perfect place to watch the stars from.

It was striated, weathered, and worn, and I could tell that it had been dumped there a long time ago, after the earth had cooled then warmed again. The weather came and went, but still that stone remained, cracked and unlovely, yes, but still looking at the stars.

“I’m a rock, Samantha,” I said dreamily, and I smiled.

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PUNK LIKE ME

Someone was crying—not sobbing hysterically, but the kind of crying you do when you’re helpless and there’s nothing left to be done and tears are useless, but you can’t stop them. It wasn’t me, I knew. I wasn’t doing that anymore.

I felt a soothing, cool pressure on my face, and I realized I was lying on my side. I still hurt all over, but there was a clarity to the pain, not the disorienting twisting and half awareness that I’d had before.

I raised a hand to my face and encountered a cool, damp washcloth over my head and left eye, so I gently removed it and opened them—

both of them. The left one was still sore, but at least there was light, and it was good.

The Þ rst thing I noticed was the light streaming in through the blinds covering the windows about ten feet away. The walls were a light yellow, and the rug across the ß oor was a tawny beige. About three feet from the foot of the bed was the door that led out to a hallway; if I tilted my head a bit, I could see stairs that went down. To the right of the door was a desk, with a pile of books and a few small pennants, and on the wall was, of all things, a
Love and Rockets
poster, and next to that, a Led Zeppelin one—you know the one, with the angels being cast out of heaven? I looked at the pennants on the desk again; they were from school.

Samantha, I realized, I was in Samantha’s room and I still heard soft crying, and it was above my head somehow. No, it was a little off to my right and behind me. I stretched my neck in that direction, and against the wall, all curled up in a wicker chair, blue-denimed knees to her chest and arms wrapped around them, head buried, was Samantha. It

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was Samantha crying, and somehow that hurt me more than anything.

“Samantha?” I tried, but my voice was so faint I could hardly hear it myself. Uck. My mouth and throat felt like I’d been sucking on sand.

I had a faint image of cool electric blue and peppermint. I could use that now, I thought wryly.

I shifted onto my elbow and, reaching a hand out, placed it on Samantha’s arm. “Don’t cry, Samantha, please,” I asked her. “It’s okay.” My throat was still raw, and I could still taste blood in the back of my mouth, but at least I was now audible, and I knew that because Samantha raised her head to look at me. Of course, it could have been my hand on her arm, but I like to think that she could hear me.

Samantha had wiped her face on her sleeve, but I could still tell she’d been crying because it made her eyes luminous. She unfolded herself and came over to kneel at the edge of the bed. She caught my hand up in hers and pressed it to her face. Her skin was so very soft and warm under my hand, and I was again struck with that feeling of familiarity, of home.

Samantha kissed my palm, then just held my hand tightly between her own. “How are you feeling?” she asked me very softly, concern etched in every corner of her face as her eyes inspected mine.

“Better,” I answered, “much, much better.” I sat up farther, my hand still held between Samantha’s, and I carefully swung my legs over the edge of the bed, patting the space on the right next to me in invitation. Samantha needed no further urging and came up on the bed, maneuvering cautiously, until her back leaned against the wall.

She held her arms out for me, and I went into them willingly, trying to Þ nd a way to rest my bruised cheek on her shoulder without it hurting so much. I Þ nally found a spot, with my forehead against her neck, and brought my knees up a bit as Samantha created a warm wall against my back with her legs.

Samantha brought both arms around me and rested both hands on my shoulder, which seemed to be the only place that didn’t hurt, and I laced my arms around her waist. She rested her head against the wall, while I felt her body rise and fall in time with her breath. I rested comfortably like that for a while, then Samantha kissed the top of my head. “You don’t have to go back there.”

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PUNK LIKE ME

I took a deep breath, considering. “Yes, I do,” I said resignedly. “I really, truly do.” I let the breath out.

“Why, Nina? Why in the world would you have to, would you want to?” Samantha’s voice was confused, exasperated, and I disentangled myself from our embrace and moved over a bit so I could speak with her directly, face-to-face.

Samantha was all concentration and focus as she looked back at me.

“I can’t let them win,” I told her simply, “I just can’t. Besides, they’ll have me sent to jail.”

“What?” she asked incredulously. “What do you mean?” I took a deep breath, mentally girded myself to relive the late-night events, and launched into a semiedited version of the story. I left out as much of the physical stuff as possible, and my father’s speech as well, although Samantha did ask me to explain what had happened to my face speciÞ cally, and my back and ribs. She had helped me to change, after all, and had seen some nasty-looking contusions along my torso.

I also left out the insights I’d had about the mountains—they just didn’t seem appropriate, somehow. “And so, if I can do that, I’ll earn their respect. That’s what I have left,” I Þ nished, “theirs, grudgingly, and my own, intact.”

Samantha was absolutely livid. Her face was stark white with rage, and instead of the tight, thin line I was getting used to her mouth becoming in anger, she was practically snarling. Her eyes snapped with crystal Þ re, so light they were almost colorless, and she’d clutched the edge of the bed with such strength that the tendons in her hand stood out in sharp relief.

“You, after all that,” she paused, “have to earn their respect? Your whole life on the line, you keep your integrity intact, and you have to earn their respect? Their respect,” and she said the word with contempt,

“should mean nothing. They don’t deserve you, not your love, not your respect, not your care or your time, Nina.

“They’re going to make your life hell for nothing, Nina, and it’s going to be almost impossible for you to make it. Stay here with me. I’ll talk with my uncle. It won’t be a problem.”

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I shook my head no. “Legally, they’re responsible for me, and if they can make up shit to have me jailed, what do you think they’ll say about you? Or your uncle? They can say he’s harboring a criminal, a minor. They can accuse him of kidnapping…” It was starting to hit me. They really could do that—just call the cops, say I’d stolen something, or, holy shit, I’d forgotten—what if my father hadn’t lied? He was a manipulator, true, but he wasn’t really a liar, except when he wanted me to be one, apparently.

What if Kerry had really said that? Oh my God, if I wanted to leave, I would really have to be homeless, a street person, so no one could Þ nd me, and how long could I live like that? Even if I sold everything I had, it wouldn’t be enough. I’d have to run and keep running, because I’d be thrown in jail for one thing or another. And God forbid I broke the law; then I’d be everything they’d said I was. My blood ran cold, so cold I started to shake.

“Nina, what is it? You’ve gone absolutely white. What’s going on? Should I call the doctor?” Samantha lunged forward and caught my shoulders, and I was shaking so hard, I could only stare at her in utter horror. Because I couldn’t lie, because it was wrong to do that, I was going to jail, or I was going to die, or both.

“No, no doctor, that’s not it,” I Þ nally managed. “It’s just, they can really do this. They can really, truly, do this.” My voice strangled.

Samantha stroked my hair to calm me down, and I admit, it helped, a lot. I felt my heart return to a somewhat normal pace, and warmth ß owed from her Þ ngertips down my head.

“Do what, Nina? What can they do, huh?” She gathered me into her embrace again, and I held on to her as if she were the only thing between me and the void. In some ways, she was. Cuddled up again, and safe for a little while, I told Samantha the whole thing this time, including my father’s accusation that had supposedly come from Kerry, and his threats and visions for my future in juvenile hall.

I felt Samantha stiffen in anger next to me, and her breathing, though forceful, was very even and controlled. She held me tighter, almost crushing me. “Sam,” I protested, “that hurts.”

“God, I’m sorry,” she apologized immediately, and loosed her hold a bit. “Better?”

“Much, thanks,” I answered and sighed. I was all out of words, all out of feelings, and it seemed like I was out of options, as well.

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PUNK LIKE ME

Why had I told the truth, anyway? Was it really such a big deal? I had a whole world of possibilities open to explore and, since I wasn’t locked into being an ofÞ cer in the army or the navy anymore, everything to look forward to.

All I had to do was agree about one little thing, such a minor aspect of an entire personality. But it wasn’t such a little thing, was it? I mean, look at what had happened. Sure, I’d been physically disciplined before, but never like this. Ironically enough, I’d been disciplined severely as a child for once telling some sort of stupid little lie that children tell, because I had wanted to please my parents, and this time, it had been for honesty, for a truth that didn’t please them.

And I couldn’t understand it, either. Up until a few months ago, the beginning of summer actually, my parents had both always been tolerant. They’d never said anything about gay people, except that everyone was different, amen. Until my dad had changed, I mean. What was up with that, anyway?

What if I just went back to them, told them I’d been temporarily confused? They’d love me, they’d care for me, my parents, I mean, if I just went along. But I couldn’t. I’d know the truth, and I’d never really trust them again, if they were happy to live with a lie. And I couldn’t live with them knowing that they loved me under false pretenses, that they really, deep at the heart of it, thought I was ß awed, less than human.

Funny, I didn’t feel ß awed. I didn’t think anything was really wrong with me—not before, and not now. Maybe a little stupid sometimes, but not ß awed.

No. It became crystal clear to my mind. They were wrong, because if they weren’t, then everything they’d told me and taught me before was a lie. No, it dawned on me, they were hypocrites, which was even worse, because it meant they pretended to live up to ideals and principles, just mouthed them, didn’t really mean them or practice them.

But I did, and that’s why they were so mad, because I showed them their values were false, and mine were the genuine article, the real deal. I was—what was I? I was authentic! That’s it! Authentic! But the knowledge was a cold and lonely thing, knowing what the future held, and I shared those thoughts with Samantha.

“I’ve always known that,” she said, with a slight smile that came through in her voice, and she kissed the top of my head. “That’s the

• 239 •

very thing that I, um,” she faltered, “admire about you.” My heart smiled at that. I’d heard what she said and what she meant.

“I don’t see why we can’t work something out, why you can’t stay here,” Samantha said softly, still gently stroking my hair. “There has to be some way to make it work, legally, I mean.” I pulled back a bit to look her in the eye, directly. “Samantha, legally I’m chattel, possessions, goods, and as long as they don’t kill me or do anything outrageous, like permanently maim me, they can do whatever the hell they want,” I told her. “They’d have to voluntarily give up their rights to me, and that’s not going to happen.” My mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “That,” I said, “would make them look bad.

They want to punish me, break me, not look bad to the neighbors.” I thought of “Aunt Kathy” bitterly.

“Believe me when I tell you,” Samantha said fervently, “they look pretty bad already.”

I smiled, carefully because my mouth hurt, but still a smile, grateful for the support. But I sobered quickly enough. It would have been lovely, perfect even, if I could just quit worrying about my parents and stay with Samantha. That was even more tempting, but I knew it couldn’t happen. I had to live the life handed to me, just as Samantha had to live hers, and I knew I had to face this on my own, to know for myself whether or not I could be broken. I was scared and angry, but I was determined, too, to overcome, in my own way.

I’d just have to be the “family’s” living reminder of what honor and integrity really are, set an example for Nicky and Nanny so that one day, when they needed to stand up for something, they’d know how.

“You know, Sam,” I said thoughtfully, “I’m really going to just have to suck it up and tough it out until I can leave. They hold all the cards. The only thing they don’t control is my mind.” Samantha was not at all happy with my decision and was vehement in her responses. “God, Nina, they could have killed you!” she practically yelled, pacing the conÞ nes of the room. “There has to be another way!” She ran her hands through her hair and just stared at me, considering. “I don’t suppose you’re going to decide to just go with it, with them, and just suck it up that way?” She watched me carefully, obviously waiting for a response.