Melt (12 page)

      Shit, shit, shit. He takes another breath, but before he can start in again, Mom bursts in. “I knew there was something wrong with him when I saw those hands.” She looks me direct in the eyes. “Does he hit you?”

      “Oh god no, he's so gentle ….” My voice trails off in frustration. This was just what I'd wanted to tell them in the beginning, discuss with them—how Joey could be two different people. They'd been too busy shrinking me out.

      She shakes her finger at me. “Give him time, Dorothy. Boys like that, they'll erupt all over anyone in their path.”

      Nice of the therapist to typecast him. I want to defend him, I want them to know all that Joey's gone through, but all that comes out of my throat is, “No.” That's all I can say, that's all I can manage after what's happened today. I want to curl up in a ball. I want to roll up in myself and hide, take refuge.

      I can't believe they're judging Joey like this.

      But why can't I? It's not like they fawned all over him before.

      I was so dumb, to think they'd want to help him.

      No one wants to help him. Not even him.

      Mom and Dad are both lashing out at me now, about Joey. Talking over each other about how horrible he is. They don't even care why, why he acts like he does. If they gave it a thought they'd be bound to come up with some kind of educated guess—it's their jobs.

      Aren't shrinks supposed to care why?

      “Bottom line, young lady—you are forbidden to see him again,” says Dad.

      I want to tell them to go fuck themselves, but I just don't have it in me. I brush past them, head for the stairs, head for my room.

Joey

      I stare up from my bed at the ceiling. I wanna sleep but I

can't

shut

my eyes.

      I just stare stare stare hoping to

drop

off.

      I drank the beer I had. Four or five bottles who remembers whatever it was it wasn't

enough.

But I sure don't have what it takes to

haul out of this bed go out and get more.

No way.

      I lie in the dark

sore

as

shit

my steak's on the floor

thawing

probably halfway done by now at

least

I couldn't hold it on me

no

more.

I stare at the bare

ceiling I ripped down the poster when I got back home.

Even in the dark I could

see

her

up there and right now

I can't take nothing ‘cept

clear

blank

nothing.

      That's all I wanna look at.

      Nothing.

      He came home ‘bout eleven put on that goddamn Sinatra. He's down there knocking back whiskey

blasting

“My Way.”

      Jimmy he ain't home at least I don't think so I didn't hear him. Good for him

if he's got somewhere to

crash. I couldn't do that with

Doll I couldn't take that

chance that her parents would walk in ….

      Doll.

      There she is

again.

      I been thinkin ‘bout her

all

night

trying to think of a way

trying to think of

some

other

way

but there's none.

I gotta cut her loose I

can't take the chance he'll lay his dirtbag hands on her

again I gotta protect her she's gotta

go.

      I gotta break up with her and it's gotta be mean and firm I gotta make her

hate

my

guts.

      I stare up up up at

nothing

picture life without her

Sinatra goes on and on ‘bout how he did it

his way

I can't

shut

my eyes.

Dorothy

      I lie in bed, pillow pressed to my chest, eyes closed tight.

      Is he all right?

      All the other stuff, it sucks, but it doesn't matter. We'll find a way, as long as he's

      all right.

      I can't remember the last time I prayed, but I do it now. “Please, God,” I whisper into the dark. I squeeze my eyelids shut. I can't face the night, there's been too much night in this day already. “Please, watch over him.”

      Joey comes into my head; I see him sprawled in his bed. Battered, alone.

      It doesn't have to be this way.

      “Please take care of him, God. Love him for me, until he lets me.”

Ten

Joey

      Ten days.

      I ain't seen her in

ten

days.

      All this waiting it's

torture

to me

to her

Doll she's waiting to

touch me

hold me

me I'm waiting to do what I

gotta

do.

      She sends me notes from school she gives them to Jimmy she writes

one a day

I got three on Monday night.

She can't call

her parents they took her

cell

and they got her friends' parents to check phones and even double

check their cell bills online for

deleted

calls to me.

She puts in these

quotes from

poets

inventors

people that changed the world and

shit she copies them into her

notes

trying to pep me

up she's like a cheerleader for the

soul.

Rah rah

you can do it you can

fix

your

life.

      Right.

      Like you can

hammer

in some nails

tighten

up those loose

beams

like you can

patch

the rotting floorboards in your

head.

      What's next

one of those

Jesus

was a carpenter

speeches?

      My life

it's way too far

gone

for repairs the whole

foundation it's unstable it's

decaying

I can't take the chance of letting her

walk around in it anymore you never know what's gonna

collapse next the whole

ceiling might come down on her

I might

bury her

in my rubble.

      My life

it's been condemned.

      She writes ‘bout AA she says maybe I could just go and

listen

maybe it could

help me.

She lists meeting days and times at the church give me a

goddamn

break

like those washouts could

possibly have

anything

to say they talk in

bumper

stickers.

      She asks me to write back

at the end of every note she

asks.

I wanna

so

bad

but I don't.

It'll only make it harder if I do.

For me

for her.

      She don't write

love

at the end.

She don't write it but

it's there

all the same.

What does she

think I am

stupid?

      It's not her fault she don't know any better what

love

can

do.

Let her go find someone

else

maybe there's someone

out there

that believes in that shit someone that goes for all that

Cinderella

Snow

White       

Rapunzel

b.s.

Like that's ever gonna happen.

      Fucking fairy tales.

      All they do is mess with our heads make us

believe

in the impossible make us

hope

when there's nothing ….

      She asks ‘bout my face. Looks better than you'd think. It's one

big

purply-black

splotch like a tie-dye

shirt like the Milky Way

minus them shining

stars.

It aches

my face it

aches

but my insides

they ache

more.

I try to think

ice cubes

I picture

my

body my

head filled with

ice

numbing out my

heart my

mind.

      She asks ‘bout my

pop.

Is he leaving me

alone?

      Yeah he's got other

interests to keep him

busy like throttling

Mom. Lucky for me huh?

      She asks,

How's the boxing going?

      The boxing's the only thing that's

keeping

me

going.

      She asks if I'm

all right ….

      I don't write

back but she don't

complain that I

don't she just keeps

asking me to

she keeps writing

every

day

writing

sending me those sayings and

yesterday's note it said she's sneaking

out

tonight

her parents are going to the ballet in Manhattan and she's

sneaking out to the

bridge

she knows I'll be

there it's Saturday

night.

      Tonight.

      It'll

all

be over

tonight.

Dorothy

      Such a big crowd tonight, and so loud. It's a miracle no one ever calls the cops about the noise. There's houses around the corner on each side, and voices carry over water.

      But they never get in trouble, they just hide their cans and bottles if patrol cars go by, and toss them if they have to. They can be as loud as they want, and no one stops them.

      When I saw the crowd, something inside me cringed, and I wanted to turn around and go home.

      I wished I could see him alone tonight.

      Of course I didn't leave. I walked into the noise, into the laughing, stoned voices. In a way I wish I wanted to be like them so I could do what they do and just blend in, but I don't, and I can't be something I'm not.

      I'm searching for him.

      I'm nudging my way through a sea of denim. Most of the faces I know and some of the names even, but I only want to talk to Joey. It's been so long and I haven't heard a word back from him. I've been telling myself that doesn't mean anything, but if that's true, maybe that's worse.

      He knows I'm coming. So where is he?

      I see Jason finally. He shrugs when I ask about Joey except to point more toward the center. I brush some more past bodies holding bottles and glowing cigarettes. I take in a big a whiff of smoke, cough, and then I see Jimmy and his girlfriend Shana. They say they just saw Joey a minute ago, he can't be far.

      Then I find him, suddenly he's right there in my path, at the end of my path, leaning against the bridge railing. I see his bruises. Even in this bad lighting with only the one streetlight beaming nearby, even like this he's discolored. “Hey,” I say, but he doesn't say anything back. I reach for him, I grab him up in my arms and he hugs me back, but it's not like always. He's stiff. There's something wrong.

      I knew there was something wrong, going all this time without an answer, without any reply at all. I tried to tell myself different, but I knew.

      Really, I knew all along, from the beginning—that there was something wrong. I just thought we could get past it.

      But there's something in his vibe that's changed, it's holding me back even as he holds me, it's keeping me away ….

      “Joey, what is it?”

      Then I feel it press into the small of my back. It's a bottle. It's a bottle he's holding and it's bigger than a beer bottle.

      Fuck.

      He's back to the rum.

      “It's nothing ….I'm just ….” His Bacardi breath blasts me then. I want to be understanding. I know he's been through so much, but the last time I saw him drinking that stuff I also saw him almost kill someone.

      “When did you start drinking rum again?” I ask. Dammit, this isn't the conversation I wanted to have. I missed him so much, I guess I didn't want any conversation. I just wanted to feel him again.

      But I can't let this go.

      He sighs. “Lay off me.”

      Lay off of him. He hasn't seen me in ten days, and this is what I get? Why wasn't he looking forward to being with me? Why couldn't I mean more to him than drinking?

      I pull out of his arms.

      It doesn't take much effort, he was barely there anyway.

      I look him in the eyes. They're impossible to read. It's like he's closed off access, like he's changed the keycode or something.

      I say, “I missed you.”

      He looks away, says nothing. What the hell is wrong with him? It's more than just the drinking ….

      I say soft, “Can we go somewhere?”

      He says hard, “Why? So you can lecture me about what a bad boy I am?”

      Oh god. “No ….”

      His voice is like the steel we're standing on. His breath—it pokes at me, it thrusts at me like crackling flames, like fire. I'm cornered, I'm melting from its heat.

He bellows, “Save it, okay? ‘Cause I don't wanna be saved.” People are staring now, between him raising his voice, and me crying. I didn't even realize I was crying, until a tear rolled into my mouth.

      He says, “Why don't you go home,
Dorothy
? Why don't you go back behind them gates where it's nice and safe and there's no way for me to get past, there's no way for big bad me to get to you, to huff and to puff and blow your life in.”

      I can't speak. I make this croaking, choking sound.

      He says, “Go back where you belong, Dorothy. You can't change me—you saw my genes—you got a real good look at them, didn't you.” He moves in on me now, he's against me, his chest is pounding against mine, and he's scaring me. His eyes, they're cold and blank. He's leaning on me; he puts his hands out, he touches my shoulders, and then for one second I think he's going to hold me, fold me into his arms, laugh, say this was a big joke.

      Instead, he shoves me.

      I stumble back, I almost fall.

      “Go home,” he says.

      Oh god, I want to die.

Joey

      I shoved her

it took

everything I

had I

pushed her real

rough

and that was it.

      I knew that would be it.

      She's

hysterical she's

bumping

by all the people who were

watching us like a

freak show

she's heading pretty fast for someone

crying

so

hard.

I take another swig of Bacardi it's only my

third I had

two so I could

smell like I been drinking it. I take another now and it tastes like

shit why the

hell do I

drink

this

stuff?

      I can't see her anymore she's

gone

oh god

she's

gone

this bottle it's so

heavy

in my hand

I look out at the water

at the stupid ripples moving in the stupid

moonlight

all that water where's it

go anyway what's

the

point?

I pull my arm

back I

pitch

the rum

right out there in the

water it goes pretty

far before it

thunks

down and

splats right by a

duck

who flaps off like a

bat

out of hell.

I turn away

before I can see if it

sinks or floats.

Everyone's still

staring at me

christ

they need to get a

life I yell out, Which one of you

losers

is gonna spot me a

six-pack?