THE OPPOSITE SEX
by Joshua Bodwell
my brother and i were both
tall for our age,
so it was strange when he
brought home his 7th grade
girlfriend and she was
his height.
they sat side-by-side
at the kitchen table
faking interest in the open
history book before them,
awkward sharp hip bones
barely touching.
she was beautiful.
i couldn't keep my eyes
off her,
off her long dirty blond hair
and lack of bra.
i thought that since she was
my brother's girlfriend, it made
her part my girlfriend too
and i was proud of the choice
my brother had made for us.
eventually my brother and lori
stopped dating and my brother's
heart was broken for a very
short time.
I think that i hurt more
than he did.
a year later one of his friends
took lori's virginity with a
sandwich bag and a rubber band.
BLIND
by Daniel Crocker
"We told him that we'd help."
"We DID help. Goddammit, Dora, he tried to kill himself. He's sixteen years old and he tried to kill himself. Is that what you want him to go back to?"
"I don't know. I don't know. Maybe it wasn't like we thought it was. He's not the same boy anymore...we promised him."
"I know, but, he's better. Tad is happy now."
They were in his room. A small, perfect square at the corner of the house with windows through the two outside walls. One looked out onto the highway, yellow and red cars humming by at high speeds. The other looked out over the back yard, dead this time of year, with its barren trees and fallen leaf ground.
Small as it was, Tad had always loved this room. He had nothing but a radio, his bed and his painting equipment, canvas and little square, colored bottles. It was enough, though. The one and only thing he didn't like about the room was the closet. It was huge. His parents often joked that if he ever wanted more living space he could just move into the closet and use his bedroom to store his stuff. As if he had anything to store, he didn't. He kept very few things and what he did have he kept locked in his chest. The closet was useless space. He hated to lock away and hide all of that emptiness, but to actually hide stuff in there, that would be a sin.
"Look at these paintings," Mitchell pointed out, "they're Goddamn beautiful."
They were. Yellows and golds neatly arranged in perfect, compact images.
"Look at this. This is Mr. Hoover's old hayfield.. It looks just like it for God's sake. It looks just like a Goddamn photograph. Everything about it is perfect."
"I wonder what he did with the...other ones?" Dora asked.
"Who cares? I'm glad they're gone. These are better anyway. A hell of a lot better."
Dora knew just how good they were, but still they hadn't won Tad any awards or raised many eyebrows. These new ones were all like photographs. The sun shining bright in everyone. Every line in perfect harmony.
"We told him we'd get him off that stuff if..."
"Shut up, it's for his own good."
"What are we doing in here? He'll be here any minute. This is so wrong, Mitch."
"Look, I just want to make sure he's still taking his medicine. He's been acting kind of strange lately and I just want to make sure he's still taking it. OK? Is that wrong, honey, I mean, really?"
It was OK. It had to be. He could still remember the day Tad had done it. It was right before dinner. Tad went to the bathroom and he didn't come back out. They waited. Dinner was almost done. Soft hamburgers and hot macaroni and cheese. Tad's favorites. Dora had started to worry already and wanted to go knock. Tad had always been a quiet boy, melancholy and to himself. It was nothing to worry about though, he was a good boy. He never got into any trouble. He wasn't even interested in it. He was no worry. He was never a worry, he didn't even want a driver's license for Christ sake.
A few more minutes and Mitchell began to worry too. He kept telling himself that Tad was sixteen and that he was probably in there masturbating. Of course, he didn't want to tell Dora that. He just told her that he'd be embarrassed if she knocked.
A few more minutes and she would not be appeased. When she threatened to go knock and ask if he was OK, Mitchell did it instead.
"Come on out of there now, son, dinner is getting cold and we want to eat."
No answer.
"Goddammit, Tad, come on out of there, now, your mom wants to have supper."
No answer.
"Tad!"
By now Dora was screaming. Mitchell's palms had gone wet and her voice was a whistle in his ear.
"Shut up!"
He kicked the door in. Tad, all in black as usual, was sprawled on the floor. He was glued to it like a insect on paper in a biology class. Blood pumped a rhythm out of red smiles he had painted with a razor across his wrist. A ringed pool of purple had soaked into the blue carpet. Tad's eyes were wide open.
He was saved just in time and then spent a week among the white and teal walls of the psychiatric ward in the hospital. No, Mitchell would have known if something was wrong,it came out of the blue. Day after day the family was asked questions for which they had no answer. Tad was shown ink blots that he might have painted himself given the freedom. When it was over the doctor suggested institution or medicine in very strong doses accompanied by weekly counseling.
"What do you mean he's been acting strange lately?"
"He's been complaining a lot. He never...he's never done that before. He wants a bigger room, a car, a T.V. His goddamn eyes are always glued to that T.V. And he hardly paints anymore. And his doctor said that Tad has been saying...
"The doctor has been telling you what Tad tells him?" Dora's eyes were accusing.
"I'm his Goddamn father! I have a right to know about my boy. It's for his own good."
"It's against the law...isn't it?"
"He's underage. Why in are you being this way, for God's sake? Don't you want to help him?"
"Of course I do."
"Then shut up and help me find his medicine...Anyway, the doctor has started asking Tad about his painting. About his old painting. He wants to know how Tad feels about it. If he misses all the attention it brought him. And the money."
"And..."
"You know he never gave a damn for those things. But..."
"What?"
"He says he can't see them."
"What he won't let the doctor see them?"
"Would you listen! Tad says that he can't see them. No matter what question the doctor asks him about his old paintings Tad answers with, 'I can't see them.' That's fucking wierd, Dora! Now, I want to know if he's still taking his GODDAMN MEDICINE!"
"Calm down...we've looked everywhere and we can't find it. Maybe he has it with him?"
"No. No, I bet it's in the closet. Yeah, it's in the closet."
Mitchell opened it. The paintings came tumbling out, near a hundred of them packed in the closet, tight as a puzzle. With the opening of the door the jig-saw arrangement had been broken and the pieces came pouring out in a gush. The smears of blacks, greys and off-whites that had had Tad on the brink of fame. The crowds of faceless people wandering aimless and blank eyed. The dull steels and concrete flower cities surrounded by dark and thick, heavy wood frames. Most of them had ribbons, or write ups from the local paper taped to them. On the bottom was Tad's favorite. His self portrait which had hung in a museum until he couldn't stand to have it away from himself any longer. He'd been offered twenty-five hundred dollars for it, but he would not have taken a million. Not to have his pale, gaunt, elongated face held by long veiney hands in another home. Hidden away from him. Not with his eyeless sockets containing an empty universe behind them.
"I think I hear him coming. Let's get these picked up."
"It's your imagination. God, would ya look at this morbid shit. Look at it! Is that what you want him to go back to? Let's find that goddamn medicine."
Faint footsteps stumbled down the hall, knocking things over unheard. The door opened.
Tad stood there with a paintbrush in his hand, the wet and black, wooden end protruding out. His eyes were shut with something dark and gooey sliding from under the eyelids.
"Mom, Dad, I've gone...
110
by Thomas Michael McDade
Third shift, late September in the Crowell Textile cafeteria Ray Hibbs crushed a Coke can top to bottom with one hand before walking to the mens' room.
"There's a friggin strange one," whispered Arky through a thick mustache, "wearing tassled loafers sweeping floors."
"Strong bastard is all I know," said Russ, tracing the 9-ball tattoo on his arm.
When Hibbs returned he was dabbing his bald head with a paper towel. Russ and Arky stared at the floor. He sat on a long wooden bench and wiped dust off his loafers.
"Arky," asked Russ, "gonna give blood for George Poole?"
"What they pay these days?"
"You'll feel good, like the bumper sticker says."
"Fuck George and his Poole," said Arky, grinning.
Hibbs crossed his arms. "I'll give," he said.
"Strong guy like you could give two pints," said Russ.
"Bank's where?" asked Hibbs.
"Orange Street," said Russ.
"Zinc Penny Bar next door," added Arky. "They say double up on liquids after donating."
Hibbs got to his room at 8:00 after breakfast at Lovely's diner. He did finger pushups until he collapsed like he used to do when he worked as a circus strongman. He slept 3 hours on the floor. After a shower and shave, he dressed at a mirror too small to check his tie right. He tried to remember when he'd last worn his gray trousers and blue blazer. "LTD, Mrs. Hodge," he said out loud. His tie had regimental stripes. "Regimental Zip scores a major upset in the feature at Hialeah," he said like the announcer he'd been listening to when they busted him for embezzling from Ditmar Ford to bet horses.
Hibbs splashed Jade East on his face. He bared his teeth, stretched his face like a yogi he'd seen on TV. The lion pose.
On his dresser there were pictures of Judy Garland and Liza Minelli in a frame too large. Between them was one of a girl who looked 11 or 12. She blew a kiss. He planned on having the three pictures phonied into one like tabloids do. Hibbs caught a bus to an Avis car rental. Only decent car was a dark blue Riviera. "Goddam, Ray Hibbs driving a Buick," he said to his side-view mirror. He opened the sunroof and reached up to feel the wind.
His ex, Dawn, had sworn he'd never see his daughter again. Ex was a warden until she hooked up with a drunken window washer half her 36 years. Jack the Ripper could have babysat after that. Hibbs saw Monica regularly. He pushed an oldies station and the Platters sang "Twilight Time."
Hibbs parked at a Wendy's and lit a slim White Owl cigar. He got lost in smoke drifting out the sunroof. When he reached to get radio news, he saw Monica with her nose pressed against the windshield. She rolled off and jumped in the passenger side. "Where's your hair?" asked Hibbs, before he hugged her.
"I want to look more like my mother," Monica said, through hot pink lipstick and braces. She'd left a backpack the same color as her lips on the hood. Hibbs retrieved it.
"How far we going with this, Monica?"
"I saw 'Cabaret.' Liza Minelli is my mom."
"Pretty soon we'll be meeting at the funny farm," said Hibbs.
"Liza found you at the circus, right?"
"Okay, Akron...she couldn't resist. Why are you dressed in black in daytime?"
"I'm going to be a dancer, just like Liza. Bet she could dance like hell when she was 12. Got catching up to do."
"Black doesn't go with your pug nose. You writing 'Liza' on your tests?"
"No, just M.L. Hibbs and I know a cute little uniform shop where we can go to get a nurse cap for Career Day at school."
"Casing the joint, huh? Funny. I'm giving blood today you can comfort me like wounded in action."
"Gross. Can we go to the track after?"
"Next week."
"You always say that. How's the Daddy luck?"
"Cloudy and mild. Cheesecake?"
"Won my heart, Mr. Hibbs."
The M.K. Deli had a shelf on every wall about a foot and a half from the ceiling. A miniature circus lived there: colorful wagons pulled by horses, a marching band, three feet of elephants, trunk to tail. Plus clowns galore, tigers jumping through hoops, bareback riders, trapeze artists suspended from the ceiling and a highwire corner to corner. The Wallendas were frozen in their legendary pyramid. There was a cannon aimed at a man hanging off nylon line like a fake Superman. A strongman Monica said was Hibbs wore a leopardskin.
Hibbs and Monica ordered Jolt and 4 pieces of cherry cheesecake. Olive, an old waitress with ankles so swollen it was a miracle she could walk asked Monica if she'd sold her hair to buy a gift for her Dad.
"Yup," she answered, reaching into her backpack. She handed Hibbs a Timex Indiglo. "And this for you, Olive."
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Chanel! I couldn't."
"I'll pour it in the sugar," warned Monica.
"Well, I guess," said Olive, mussing Monica's hair.
"Okay, where, how and why?" asked Hibbs, weakly smiling.
"When we went to see '101 Dalmations' you said the light in your watch wasn't bright enough. Timex has solved that. And Olive always cuts us big cheesecake. Don't worry I didn't use anything from the stash."
"I wish you had. Explain."
"Well, I hid in a trash barrel at K-Mart. They closed without me. Slept in a hammock. I tested every kind of Little Debbie sweet. What a night. The two that opened up were in love. I sneaked out while they were panting in hardware. God, CD's, you name it. My backpack was about to break."
"Fireworks at home?"
"She was out with a boyfriend."
"What'll you be up to at 16?"
"Don't care. Just hope I don't have big boobs like your ex-wife. Throw my gymnastics and dancing off."
Olive brought extra cheesecake and dabbed perfume on Monica's wrists. Monica tried to get Hibbs to talk about his 18 months in prison, but he kept changing the subject.
"If she'd have let me visit, I would have found a way to bust you out," whispered Monica.
"Yeah, a K-Mart trash barrel but I'm the Caldor's type."
They ate all the cheesecake and Olive shook her head in disbelief. Monica chugged her Jolt and put on her drunk act. She pulled a fist-sized roll of bills from her pack. There was a heavy red rubber band around it. She tipped Olive 600%.
"What's with the blood, Dad?" asked Monica as they got back on the highway.
"Guy at work's having open heart. Good deed, I need to do a good deed."
"Maybe I'll donate."
"Gotta weigh 110."
"Never."
"Maybe you should be Julie Krone instead of Liza."
"Ever wish your ex-wife hadn't deserted when you were framed?"
"All the time."
"Will you ever have a tie-wearing job again?"
"Never can tell."
Monica turned up the radio. Paul Harvey was on. "Your ex-wife oughta marry him. They both have all the answers."
The Clover Uniform Shop was located over a jewelry store. The staff remembered Monica. They fussed over fitting her cap. Hibbs chatted with a tall redhead named Georgia under a skylight where many exotic planters hung.
"I want to be a Navy nurse," Monica explained when they let her ring up the sale. Monica lifted up the change tray. "God, hundred dollar bills," she exclaimed. "May I touch one?"
"Sure," said Alice, the owner. "And you take your money back. Warms my heart you want to serve your country. My grand aunt was a nurse at Pearl Harbor."
"Is she still alive?" asked Monica.
"No, God rest her soul. They missed her in '41 but a Honda got her last year."
Monica fell to her knees and mumbled prayers. Half of her ended up in shelving under the counter. Hibbs glanced at her and started to roll his eyes but instead finished writing Georgia's phone number on his wrist.
Leaving was like trying to go off to war with a house full of drunk relatives. Monica egged them on.
"Going to be late for the blood bank," said Hibbs.
"Bless you, Mr. Hibbs," said Alice, swooshing them out the door.
"Damn, daughter, you'd think it was Disney World."
"Gave you plenty of time to flirt."
"So what?"
"She's common. I went through her purse while I was praying. Big pack of condoms."
"Maybe it wasn't her purse."
"Matched her hooker shoes. Hope she doesn’t find out you're an ex-con."
"Monica, if you'll calm down, you can drive the Buick after. It's got cruise control."
"Don't have to bribe me, Dad, I'll get over it."
Monica read a Nancy Drew Mystery on the way to the blood bank. Hibbs sang "Yellow Submarine," a song that usually cheered her up. She held his hand as they walked into the waiting room.
"Dad, can I drive by Cindy's house?"
"Sure."
"Thanks," she said as a loud, gritty voice made her jump.
"Hibbs, you made it, thanks, man, really appreciate it."
Russ dropped his New York Magazine.
"Russ, my daughter Monica."
"Hey, you look like..."
"Liza Minelli," snapped Monica. "She's my mother."
Russ's head bounced between them like he was at Olympic ping-pong.
"You mean he," stammered Russ to Monica, thumb aimed at Hibbs.
"Love at first sight," explained Monica.
"You don't say?"
"Would have been Lt. Columbo's exact words," said Monica.
"Hibbs, Arky's in there now. Don't know what happened. Maybe copycatting you. I think you're his hero. All the ornery's going to drain. Like the Middle Ages. Leeches sucked out a man's bad qualities. Same here."
"You don't say?" said Monica.
Monica was Hibbs' shadow. She giggled when he was asked the AIDS questions. She helped with the blood pressure. Her eyes were six inches from the needle going in his vein. Sitting on the floor she watched the bag fill, told the nurse the blood going through the tube reminded her of licorice. She hummed "New York, New York."
Hibbs dozed, snored. Monica kissed his forehead. She walked him to the canteen like he was wounded. Monica had the nurses autogragh her cap. Hibbs drank 8 cans of Ocean Spray.
"Dad," Monica whispered. "How much do you need for next week's Daddy luck? I can double up. The uniform shop keeps a $200 change fund. In the register!"
"Don't know, been thinking cold turkey."
"Dad, did the habit drain, like that guy said?"
"I wouldn't mind."
"What about our exercise? That too?"
"Don't know."
"You think we can't do that skylight?"
"There's not a skylight we can't do," said Hibbs.
"Okay, we'll just B&E, leave the money. Never been much. With you quitting horses, we won't need it. We'll just practice for our circus act." Her lips trembled.
"Okay with me."
"Do you want this?" said Monica, handing Hibbs $50.
"Give me a break, little one."
"It belongs to Big Red, I took it out of her purse."
"What am I going to do with you, Liza?"
"Maybe I'll eat a bunch of bananas and make 110."
They left holding hands. While Monica was showing off the handful of gold blood drop pins signifying the 5 gallon club, Russ and Arky came running. "Let's go out to the track for the 9th," shouted Arky. But they backed down when Monica got behind the Riviera wheel and turned the key.