When Horses Had Wings (14 page)

Kenny heard me. “Now don’t start. I didn’t
buy
all of these, Re-
nee
. That stupid U-
bang
-ee down ‘ere gave me extry.”

Someone had done something nice, given Kenny free merchandise, and here he was calling the guy degrading names and insulting his intelligence. Kenny was lower than the current water table. “Ever think maybe he was just trying to be
nice
,” I said.

Kenny double-blinked. “Naw, I doubt he was being sweet on me.”

By nightfall, Kenny and Ricky had conjured up an extra-long list of excuses to step outside: they had to get more bottle rockets from Kenny’s car, needed to see where that smoke in the park was coming from, wanted to see about a car Ricky’s friend’s brother had for sale. Each time, they returned smelling like a potpourri of dried alfalfa, bark chips, and smoldering pine needles. I figured they’d blown through Ricky’s entire stash of pot. But as it turned out, Ricky had an ample weed supply and Kenny still had plenty of Roman candles to burn.

Glimpsing the remaining fireworks, Ricky suggested, “Let’s shoot ‘em off the balcony!”

Momma acted like she hadn’t heard Ricky’s temporary flash of brilliance. Either that or she was too engrossed in the evening’s televised festivities to pay him any mind.

Sean slept, draped end-to-end across both our laps, exhausted from all the running around he’d done that morning at the parade and then later in the park.

Kenny and Ricky each grabbed a Roman candle and proceeded through the sliding glass door that lead to Momma’s apartment balcony. “Aren’t you supposed to butt those things into the ground?” I asked. If either of them heard me, he didn’t respond. I saw little use in repeating myself. I was too busy weighing out Momma’s strict interpretation of my marriage vows.

It looked like I’d have to wait for God to intervene before I could break my ties to Kenny. ‘Til death do us part. Maybe his demise would come quickly and he’d blow himself to smithereens with some of his fireworks. Possibly, Kenny might get zapped by lightning, run over by a semi-truck, or fall victim to some industrial catastrophe. Or perhaps the Lord would look down on me with pity, the way He had favored David in that Bible story, and grant me victory against an oversized goon.

I was reviewing all the causes of premature death I could think of, when a ball of fire swooped through Momma’s living room. It happened so fast, I didn’t register Kenny’s Roman candle had shot backwards from the wrong end. All I saw was a green globe of light, like some kind of UFO, whiz by me. The glowing ball bounced off Momma’s recliner and then tumbled out of sight, leaving behind a burned trail of singed shag carpet.

I leapt from the sofa and stomped along the streak of smoldering yarn for all I was worth. Then I ran to get a pitcher of water from Momma’s kitchen, but she’d already beat me there.

“Move!” she yelled, jolting past me. “Gotta pour this on the floor before it’s too late.” However, her carpet was the least of her worries.

“Holy shit! Sonofabitch!” Kenny yanked at the curtain rod over his head. “Get the other side,” he hollered at Ricky. “Get it down! Now!”

Dark smoke billowed up from the bottom of the gauzy curtains framing the patio door. The Roman candle’s misfire had caught the edge of the panels, setting blaze to one of them along its hem. Within seconds, the window treatments flamed waist-high, smoke swirling up to the textured ceiling. In no time at all, the air turned a tobacco color.

Kenny tugged at the curtains, shattering the rod, while Momma splashed three quarts of cold water onto the sheers. Her aim being less than perfect, she managed to spray her Zenith TV, too. On the screen, televised fireworks burst into 3-D. Instead of putting out the curtain flames, Momma had extinguished her television.

I looked on in silence, my feet locked into place beneath me. Sean sputtered awake and sat up wild-eyed.

In all the commotion, I couldn’t think what to do next: seize my child and run for our lives, or grab the phone and call the fire department. As strange as this might sound, a part of me wanted to simply stand there, the way a farmer might monitor a stubble fire, and watch those curtains flame brilliant against the night sky.

~

Sometime around midnight, I placed Sean on the sofa in our living room. His eyes fluttered open like a doll’s before he dozed off again. I covered him with a lightweight sheet and switched on a fan. Tonight I was extra-thankful for the oscillating propeller noise.

Closing the bedroom door, I gave Kenny a glare that must have alerted him to what was coming next.

“Don’t say a goddam word,” he warned.

Now, if I had any good sense about me, I might have kept quiet. But Independence Day had a carry-over effect. The more I thought about my gutless response and the damage Kenny had caused, the angrier I grew. I didn’t know who I detested more, Kenny or myself. I’d stood there like a deaf-mute while the village idiot had set fire to my mother’s residence.

Ready for sleep, Kenny pulled off his red, white, and blue muscle-shirt. I stared at the words “Spirit of 1776” emblazoned on the fabric. Had that war been fought by folks like me, I felt sure we’d all be celebrating Queen’s Day instead the Fourth of July.

I couldn’t keep my tongue still another minute. “Damn it, Kenny! Have you lost your mind altogether? How could you do such a
stupid
thing?”

His eyes dared me to continue, but I kept going.

“You smoked up Momma’s apartment, burned up her curtains, and cracked her sliding glass door. For chrissakes! You even melted the knobs off her
TV
. And now you’re going to come in here and act like it never happened? Just go to
sleep
?” I tugged out of my jeans, stomping the waistband flat against the floor. “If you and Ricky hadn’t been so busy getting
high
, none of this would have happened.”

“Shut up. I don’t have to listen to this. Heard enough already.” Kenny swaggered past the end of the bed and over to my side, where I remained standing. Leaning close, he all but dared me to hit him. “It was an
ac
-ci-dent. Kind’a like your face, you know? An accident.” He howled into the air. “You’re one ugly-assed dog. You know that?”

“So help me, I’m sick of your pure ignorance and your name calling.” If he said another word, I might find a new use for the butcher knife he’d left on the nightstand. He’d employed the blade as a fingernail cleaner. But right then it looked more like an equalizer to me.

“Who you calling
ig
-norant?” Kenny grabbed me by one arm and held me in a tight claw. “Huh? You calling me ignorant? It’s time I took you down a few notches.” His eyes darted from me to the corner where he kept his rifle.

I clenched my teeth and pushed back against him, trying to break his hold. “Let go of me, you pig!”

Kenny dragged me back to where the gun stood upright against the wall and shoved me facedown onto the bed. I felt his knees sink into the mattress on either side of me. With one hand, he pinned my head down, and I knew he was reaching for the rifle with the other.

“
Pig
? Who you calling a
pig
?” The gun’s steel barrel ground against my spine. From behind, another hard object threatened further harm. “How ‘bout you lay there real still, now, so I don’t
accidentally
shoot you?” Kenny sank his teeth into my right shoulder. “’Bout time I taught you some
re
-spect.”

I took what he had that night, took it all without so much as making a sound. This animal was not my husband. Though he held me forcibly, he did not possess me—and he never would. He proved he could overpower my body, but that meant nothing. My mind was untouchable, beyond his vicious grasp. And my heart was even farther out of range. He could pull that trigger, for all I cared. I’d be better off. At least death offered some promise of relief.

~

“Baby?” Kenny checked my eyes to see if I might still be asleep.

I wasn’t.

I’d been lying there for more than hour listening to the window fan churn and the birds call to each other. Cardinals. By their high-pitched chirps, I could tell them apart from all the others. Sean snorted from the living room sofa, turned over, and sighed. He’d be awake and padding into our bedroom soon.

I didn’t want to hear whatever Kenny was about to say. But I couldn’t help noticing the odd way he’d addressed me. Not exactly the kind of pet name you’d expect to hear from someone who’d raped you the night before. I refused to make eye contact.

“Baby, please look at me.” Kenny sat upright on the mattress, now bare from where he’d wrestled off the fitted sheet. His thick, calloused hands caressed my shoulder. He kissed me lightly on my neck. “I know you’re mad. Got ever’ right to be.” Each word sounded as though it was being squeezed from him. Maybe he was about to cry. I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for him. I wouldn’t ever forgive him for what he’d done.

“I’m no good,” he professed. “Never gonna be one of them guys with a suit and tie. Never gonna be anyone to anybody.” He hung his head over my torso and wept. “I need you to love me, Renee. I
need
that. I’m sorry. I go crazy sometimes—thinkin’ you
don’t
.” His tears fell moist against my naked breast, his sobs echoing in my left ear. I had to turn and face him, if for no other reason than to salvage my hearing.

With a tug, I covered my nude body with the top sheet. I didn’t want to let his eyes fall across any of my soft parts. Those were mine to deny him now. With utter detachment, I took pleasure in watching him wallow in his misery. I wouldn’t give him what he wanted, wouldn’t offer my forgiveness. Not this time. I’d seen that act before. Through repetitious exposure, I’d grown impervious to its intended effect.

“What can I do?” Kenny begged. “Just tell me...anything, I’ll do it. I promise. I’ll do anything to make it up to you.”

Using the wall for a headboard, I propped myself up on my pillow and stared through him. I had nothing to offer. The only way he could make things better would be to take his ass and all his clothes and drive off to someplace far away, like his daddy had, and never come back. Now that I thought about it, maybe Neta Sue hadn’t received such a bad deal after all. When it came to loving a woman, Kenny’s father had likely been no better than his son.

Kenny stroked my hair, combing his fingers through it. “Baby, I was the one who loved you when no one else did. Remember?” He smoothed a few locks into place, twining them behind my ear. “Didn’t run away when you got pregnant, the way some guys do. I married you and gave our baby a name...even worked as a garbage man to feed us.” Kenny shook his head. “I know I ain’t always done what’s right. Not even close, sometimes.” He’d quit crying and now sounded woefully earnest. “But I always
wanted
to.”

“Wanting’s not enough,” I said, choking on my own regrets.

TWENTY-ONE

O
ne hot, airless night in August, Anthony finally said the words I’d been warned would come twirling out of his mouth. Pearly had predicted it. “Them words gone spin like a twista headin’ straight fo’ yo’ house.” I’d hoped that I’d be separated and living elsewhere, when and if that ever happened.

But I wasn’t.

“There’s got to be
some
way for us to see each other,” Anthony insisted. “I can understand why you don’t want to call in sick on your new job. But don’t you have some weeknight or weekend when you can slip away by yourself? Don’t you ever go
anywhere
, alone?”

“Not really. Unless you count the grocery store or Washateria.”

Anthony ignored my remark. “Babe, I just want to take you to a nice dinner and talk someplace where there’s no fluorescent lights or mystery meat specials on the menu...and no shop foreman staring at us. Come on, whadda ya say?”

That sounded like a scene from one of my few G-rated fantasies about him: an image of the two of us seated at a table covered with starched white linens, one set with lots of extra forks and sprigs of lilacs, inside the kind of place I’d only seen on TV—or while driving sixty miles per hour past their storefronts.

“If we went somewhere in Dallas, Kenny wouldn’t ever know it,” Anthony said, plotting his way through the deed.

I snickered, thinking about Kenny’s travel range and friendship circle. “If we went any place other than the taco shack, no one Kenny has ever
met
would know it. Kenny thinks going anywhere past Lolaville is adventure travel.”

Anthony cracked up. “Don’t worry. I can do better than that. Besides, if I wanted to feed you Mexican food, I’d make it myself before I’d take you
there
.” His voice took on a more serious note. “Will you at least think about it?”

I couldn’t stand it. Desperate to keep him in pursuit, I blurted, “That’s
all
I’ll think about ‘til I figure out how to make it happen.”

As soon as I said that, I realized I couldn’t take it back. I’d done it. I’d crossed the threshold and become what Pearly called a
player
.

Over the next few days, my thinking turned downright strategic. What I came up with was pretty clever, considering my inexperience at direct deceit. A new Winn-Dixie had opened near Keslo Electronics. I told Kenny I wanted to take advantage of their grand opening sale while he babysat Sean. Already I was aware that he’d planned a boy’s night out, which for Kenny was practically every Saturday night, at a baseball game.

“Me un the guys are gonna drink beer, eat pork skins, belch, fart, ‘n watch baseball,” Kenny argued. “Cain’t do that with no four-year-old around.” He propped his feet on a couple of two-by-fours suspended over a matched pair of concrete blocks—our coffee table. Poring over the evening’s TV schedule, he asked, “Why can’t you go during the afternoon?”

I was already a step ahead of him. “I’m helping Momma. Remember? I promised I’d help her bake for her church bazaar?” I thought quickly. “I might could save a few cookies back for you and the boys, if you’ll take Sean to the ballgame with you...just this once.”

“Chocolate chip?”

“Mm, hmm. With
pe-cans
.”

He folded his arms behind his head. “Turn on Channel Eleven. Wrestling’s about to start.”

I spun the dial. So help me God, I silently swore, if I ever got rid of this man, I was never again going to function as anyone’s remote control. “Well?”

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Kenny eyed me suspiciously. “You meetin’ somebody at that grocery or something?”

I squeezed my pelvis tight to keep from wetting my pants. Had I said something to give myself away, tipped him off somehow? “Right. I’ve got a hot date with the produce manager. Didn’t I tell you?” I gave my best pretend laugh and twisted at my wedding band. I couldn’t tell if he really thought I was on the make or if he was simply trying to get out of taking Sean to the ballpark.

Kenny stared through me and grunted, “Save me some of ‘em.”

“So you’ll take him with you, then?”

“Didn’t say that.” He craned his neck to see around me. “I just said
save me some
.”

“I’ll have to bake extra. And I won’t have time, if I gotta do all the grocery shopping between when I get back from Momma’s and when you leave.”

A television announcer shouted, “And now,
live
, from Dallas Sportatorium—”

I thought fast. “Besides, don’t you want Sean to grow up natural? You don’t want him to spend all his time focused on
women’s
stuff, now do you?”

“Oh, awright.” Kenny scowled, probably wishing I’d shut up so he could hear his show. “But I’m not doin’ this every weekend. So don’t go astin’ me to.”

It was that simple.

Anthony and I had planned all along to meet at an inconspicuous place, like maybe a grocery store. That grand opening couldn’t have been better timed. We’d go to dinner in Anthony’s car, leaving mine in the Winn-Dixie parking lot in case Kenny got ambitious enough to drive by. And later, when we returned, we’d hug and kiss goodbye right before I drove home with my car trunk filled with bottles of soft drinks, boxes of macaroni and cheese, and tubes of toilet paper. With any luck, Kenny wouldn’t know how long I’d been gone. He and his friends would spend hours whooping it up at the ball fields.

I felt jittery all the same, partly because I knew what Kenny would do if he caught me, and somewhat because I was afraid of what Anthony might do, given the chance. Fooling around wasn’t on my agenda. We were simply going to have a romantic date, something I’d never experienced. And that alone, I thought, would sustain me until I found the strength to leave Kenny for good.

Unfortunately, my predictions were never as accurate as Pearly’s.

~

Anthony waited for me right where he said he would be—on the east side of the parking lot. I pulled in three spaces over from where his black Trans Am idled. Every vertebrae in my spine tingled. My muscles jumped like a hooked trout. I drew a deep breath and stepped from my Mustang, strutting on air. No longer a fantasy, my first ever real date with Anthony was about to begin.

Anthony hustled to open the passenger-side door. “I didn’t see you pull in.”

“I was trying not to call attention to myself.” I grinned and brushed my short skirt smooth.

Anthony laughed as I stared dreamily into his mouth at the tongue I wanted him to flick against my own, feel him slide wet across my skin. My lips ached. My breasts stood at full attention. At any moment, I half-expected smoke signals to rise from underneath my skirt.

Anthony’s eyes scrolled my body. “Then you better go home and change clothes. ‘Cause in
that
outfit, nobody’s going to miss seeing
you
!”

I skimmed my hands over my breasts and noted my nipples were rigid. My red knit shirt was tied together with a spaghetti strap on one side. Opposite the bow, my other arm and shoulder peeked out bare. It would have been senseless to wear a bra, but now I felt somewhat overexposed. I folded my arms high across my chest and asked, “So what do we do now?”

“Depends.” Anthony stared at the single tie holding my top together. I knew what he was thinking. And the answer was yes. If he pulled that string tie apart, my shirt would fall to my waist. “How long you got?”

“That depends on what you have in mind,” I said, torturing him with my eyes. “But somewhere along the line, I
do
need to pick up some groceries.”

He pointed to the sprawling store. “Sign says it’s open ‘til ten. How much time do you need to shop?”

“I brought a list.” I patted my purse. “It won’t take me very long.”

The black hair peeking out from under Anthony’s open collar caught my attention. He looked like a male model in that body shirt. The silky fabric shimmered in the light and clung to his sculpted biceps. Beneath the purple and navy print, I could see his taut muscles, imagine touching them. I wanted to nestle my nose in his soft chest hairs, breathe in his masculine scent, and trace my tongue along his lips. “Uh, it’s getting a little warm in here,” I said. “Maybe we ought to get going.”

“Okay. But can I give you a quick kiss first?” Anthony’s eyes had found my face. I could see his heart beating right through his form-fitted shirt. He nodded at the solid brick wall in front of us. “We’re parked out of view.”

To be honest, I wanted to straddle that console and tear him free of his clothes. But somehow I restrained myself enough to say, “I think it would be best to wait until after dark, when no one can see us.”

~

Other than maybe school or work, Spaghetti Junction held more people than I’d ever seen in any one place. Anthony had driven a half-hour to find somewhere remote enough for us to be seen together. Downtown Dallas was a good choice because Kenny and his pals avoided that area as diligently as they dodged adulthood. None of them wanted to risk being hassled by the Dallas police.

Anthony set down his menu. “Would you like a glass of wine? They have a nice Chianti, I see.”

I had no idea what Chianti might be. I’d never before sipped wine. Would one glass of it make me stupid? Maybe I’d look really lowbrow if I didn’t have one. I didn’t want Anthony to think I was too much of a country hick to take to a nice restaurant. Though I’d turned twenty-one, it hadn’t occurred to me that I could legally drink. “What are you having?”

“The house Chianti sounds good. But feel free to have anything you like.”

“I’ll have the same thing, then.” I figured I could always take a few sips and leave the bulk of my glass untouched. But when the drinks came, I timidly tasted mine and admitted, “I’ve never drank anything alcoholic before.”

“You haven’t?” Anthony seemed surprised. “Well, why didn’t you say so? I could’ve helped you pick something better. Do you like the Chianti?”

I took another taste, savoring the bittersweet liquid as the moist heaviness slid down my throat. “Better than sex.”

“Depends on who you’ve had sex with.” Anthony smiled like he expected to change my opinion soon. “If you mean sex with people like Darlene and Kenny, you could be right.”

“Well, I never had sex with Darlene.” I laughed. “And Kenny’s the only man I’ve been with, so—”

“You never had a guy in your life before Kenny?” Anthony’s eyebrows peaked. He stared at me as if I was some rare species long since thought extinct.

I glanced around the room to see if anyone might be listening to us. “Not really. Unless you count my first boyfriend, David Lassiter. And we never went any further than kissing.”

“That’s
it
?” Anthony chortled.

It seemed he was making fun of me, treating me like some prudish schoolgirl who’d just confessed to not knowing how babies are born. “I was
fifteen
when I met Kenny.
Sixteen
when we married. When would I have had a chance to be with anyone else?”

The possum-grin Anthony had been wearing disappeared. “Sorry. I forget.” He twirled his spaghetti with his fork.

I studied the stringy pasta, the way it spun on the tines, and thought about that tornado Pearly had forecasted. “One day, girl, it’s gonna blow the roof off yo’ whole house.” From what I could tell, that day had arrived.

~

It would be easy, though mostly unfair, for me to blame what happened that night on our waitress. That pesky woman in a skimpy outfit kept asking, “Would you like another wine refill?” So finally, to make her go away and leave us alone for more than five minutes, I said yes. Later, I could see how that might have factored into my downfall. By the time I’d finished my third glass of Chianti, I no longer cared who was listening to us. In fact, I’d even stopped worrying if Kenny was waiting for me back at the Winn-Dixie. However, I was sober enough to feel relieved when I saw that he wasn’t.

At the grocery store, Anthony and I drew the attention of a few curious spectators—possibly because of the way we staggered through the frozen foods section, my nipples winking at all the stock clerks. I’d been looking back at Anthony, instead of ahead where I was steering, when I caught the corner of my buggy on a stacked display of cereal boxes. Dozens of Corn Flakes cartons crashed to the floor, thudding and echoing against the cheap asbestos tiles.

Giggling like a pair of delinquent teens, Anthony and I ignored the spill and hurried to the next grocery aisle. As Anthony shuffled behind me, he playfully pinched my bottom.

From an end aisle, a few feet over from breakfast foods, a store clerk stopped to spy on us. For a few minutes, we tried our best to look like normal shoppers. But once the gawking man left, which was pretty quickly, I launched a single-roll of toilet tissue into the air. “How ‘bout a game of supermarket football?”