with the boy who used to play hide and seek for hours, long after the fireflies started to pepper the night sky.
When I reach the store I’m drenched in sweat. It’d be cooler if I pulled up my hair, but then I’d look like trash, thin t-shirt soaked through with perspiration, stuck to my skin like I’m in a wet t-shirt contest instead of trying to get groceries.
Grabbing a cart, I shiver when the doors slide open, the AC blasting through me. It feels good and awful at the same time, kind of like when Buck first put himself into my ass last night. Mom said men liked the back door. I’d been appalled when she said it. Now, though, I was forced to be more open minded. There’s no way I can keep up with men like Shep and Buck if I don’t use everything I’ve got.
He was gentle, too, at least at first. So it wasn’t so bad. Just real unfamiliar. Not like I expected.
I came all the same, and I don’t know what that says about me.
First stop is the cleaning aisle. I grab bleach and gloves. And, while it’ll be awkward to carry home on the bike, I grab a mop and bucket, too. Some spray and a vanilla-scented candle. There’s a small roll of thick twine that I grab as well. I want to get more, but I’m already pushing the limit of what I can haul back.
Next I grab three steaks, big ones. It’s a splurge and the price makes me feel a little sick. But it’s the first meal I’m fixing for the boys and I want to say thank you. Next I grab some baking potatoes, some sour cream, and another splurge: bacon bits. Eyeing the beer longfully, I wish I could get them some, but I’m not legal for that, yet.
It’s a little strange for me to think about. The way Shep and Buck took my body last night, all those things-- it became okay for men to do to me yesterday. But I can’t buy them alcohol. Where’s the sense it that?
Feeling good about my purchases, I take them to Miss Tammy at the front. Miss Tammy’s been working at the General for as long as I can remember. She looks the same, too. Old, grizzled. Like she’s seen more than she’ll let on.
“This all, Vickie?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The scanner beeps and she eyes the steaks. “Your Mama must be… workin’ hard.” Miss Tammy is also a bit of a busy body.
Shuffling, I look out the window at my bike, beginning to regret this trip. “It ain’t for her.”
“Oh,” is all Miss Tammy says, but I can feel her honing in on me. Her eyes putting pressure, like she’s able to reach out with her mind and poke me, saying tell me, tell me, tell me .
I keep my mouth shut, though, and the total is less than fifty. A relief. Saying ‘goodbye,’ I grab my haul and head out.
Balancing on the bike is precarious. I’ve got the food and stuff inside the mop bucket and the mop handle hooked over a shoulder. The other end rests on the handlebars. I hold them and the handle with one hand and the other holds the bucket.
Peddling is hard and my thighs are aching. If I keep shopping like this, maybe the hips Lloyd pokes fun at will melt away. It takes me twice as long to get back to the trailer park as it took to get to the store.
Wobbling through the park, the car in front of my Mama’s is gone. When I glance at her window, I see the blinds snap shut. It feels like a slap.
My brain knows that she used me. That my own mother set me up and was happy to whore me out. I get it, I do. But she’s still my mama, and while things weren’t great growing up, they weren’t terrible, either. Sometimes she’d make pancakes for dinner just because. Or pet my hair while we watched Saturday morning cartoons. Seeing her spy on me and hide from me is hard. It makes my chest ache in a way that doesn’t feel like it can get better.
Wheeling the bike next to Buck and Shep’s, I unload the groceries and haul them in. It’s just after noon and I’m starving. After more cereal and milk (there ain’t much else right now) I set to work.
The twine I take out back. There’s a small
When I reach the store I’m drenched in sweat. It’d be cooler if I pulled up my hair, but then I’d look like trash, thin t-shirt soaked through with perspiration, stuck to my skin like I’m in a wet t-shirt contest instead of trying to get groceries.
Grabbing a cart, I shiver when the doors slide open, the AC blasting through me. It feels good and awful at the same time, kind of like when Buck first put himself into my ass last night. Mom said men liked the back door. I’d been appalled when she said it. Now, though, I was forced to be more open minded. There’s no way I can keep up with men like Shep and Buck if I don’t use everything I’ve got.
He was gentle, too, at least at first. So it wasn’t so bad. Just real unfamiliar. Not like I expected.
I came all the same, and I don’t know what that says about me.
First stop is the cleaning aisle. I grab bleach and gloves. And, while it’ll be awkward to carry home on the bike, I grab a mop and bucket, too. Some spray and a vanilla-scented candle. There’s a small roll of thick twine that I grab as well. I want to get more, but I’m already pushing the limit of what I can haul back.
Next I grab three steaks, big ones. It’s a splurge and the price makes me feel a little sick. But it’s the first meal I’m fixing for the boys and I want to say thank you. Next I grab some baking potatoes, some sour cream, and another splurge: bacon bits. Eyeing the beer longfully, I wish I could get them some, but I’m not legal for that, yet.
It’s a little strange for me to think about. The way Shep and Buck took my body last night, all those things-- it became okay for men to do to me yesterday. But I can’t buy them alcohol. Where’s the sense it that?
Feeling good about my purchases, I take them to Miss Tammy at the front. Miss Tammy’s been working at the General for as long as I can remember. She looks the same, too. Old, grizzled. Like she’s seen more than she’ll let on.
“This all, Vickie?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The scanner beeps and she eyes the steaks. “Your Mama must be… workin’ hard.” Miss Tammy is also a bit of a busy body.
Shuffling, I look out the window at my bike, beginning to regret this trip. “It ain’t for her.”
“Oh,” is all Miss Tammy says, but I can feel her honing in on me. Her eyes putting pressure, like she’s able to reach out with her mind and poke me, saying tell me, tell me, tell me .
I keep my mouth shut, though, and the total is less than fifty. A relief. Saying ‘goodbye,’ I grab my haul and head out.
Balancing on the bike is precarious. I’ve got the food and stuff inside the mop bucket and the mop handle hooked over a shoulder. The other end rests on the handlebars. I hold them and the handle with one hand and the other holds the bucket.
Peddling is hard and my thighs are aching. If I keep shopping like this, maybe the hips Lloyd pokes fun at will melt away. It takes me twice as long to get back to the trailer park as it took to get to the store.
Wobbling through the park, the car in front of my Mama’s is gone. When I glance at her window, I see the blinds snap shut. It feels like a slap.
My brain knows that she used me. That my own mother set me up and was happy to whore me out. I get it, I do. But she’s still my mama, and while things weren’t great growing up, they weren’t terrible, either. Sometimes she’d make pancakes for dinner just because. Or pet my hair while we watched Saturday morning cartoons. Seeing her spy on me and hide from me is hard. It makes my chest ache in a way that doesn’t feel like it can get better.
Wheeling the bike next to Buck and Shep’s, I unload the groceries and haul them in. It’s just after noon and I’m starving. After more cereal and milk (there ain’t much else right now) I set to work.
The twine I take out back. There’s a small
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