Sunday dinner at Jess's grandparent's house was always a big deal: everyone dressed up, the meal was huge, and the invited attendee was always the guest of honor. I'd only begun coming about four months ago, when his Uncle Carl decided to go skinny-dipping in the lake behind the house and had gotten bit by a turtle in a very "sensitive" area. He'd run screaming, dripping wet and naked, into the house. After that, I just wouldn't stay away.
A full moon wa out, shinning brightly, its twin rippling in the water as the various creatures under it move around. Jess and I are laying outside on the balcony, curled up on a blanket. I sigh.
"It's so peaceful."
Jess smiles and I curl up against him, laying my head on his chest. "Musch better than inside." he grimmaced. "Sorry 'bout Artie. Guess the kid just can't hold his liquor like we all thought he could."
I laugh, "Well, it was sweet of your grandmother to offer to wash my dress." I tug at the hem of the t-shirt that I was wearing. "And it was really sweet of you to give me your shirt."
"Well," Jess jokes in a prissy tone, "we can't have young ladies running around indecent. Especially when there are menfolk in the house."
I laugh again and Jess reaches down to kiss me. I lay my head on his chest, and he kissed my neck softly, rolling over and braching his arms on either side of my shoulders. His hands roam over my stomach, my bra, pulling the shirt over my head. His skin glows milky white in the moonlight, his face full of shadow. He looks at me, reaching down, his fingers brushing my thigh and I close my ees. Deep in my mind, I hear a slam, crying, and feel the pain of hands pinned against a rough wall.
"Stop! Stop!" I yell, pushing up against Jess's chest and he rolls off of me, surprised.
"Babygirl? You ok?" he asks, reaching out to stroke my hair, but I curl up like a centipede poked with a stick.
"Don't touch me. Just. Don't." I burrow my face into the bony flesh of my knees while my brain screams: Get out! Get out! My face burns and I stand quickly, grabbing my shirt, "I....go..." I mutter, rambling, trying to leave, my brain moving faster than my body possibly ever could.
"Baby?" Jess is on his knees, struggling to get his bearings, while I climb inside and pull on my shoes.
Get out. Get out.
There's a spurt of laughter in the living room; I head through the kitchen, out the back door where noone is sitting, and rush through the streets. At the edge of one street, I sit in the darkness beside someone's back fence, sink my teeth into my wrist to to keep from screaming, and cry.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
Laissez Bon Temps Rouler
Mardi Gras (n.): a celebration of drunkenness and debauchery characterized by nightly parades where it is perfectly acceptable to fight other people for cheap plastic toys that will not last the night and beads; origins in Mobile, Alabama, though it is more widely known for its celebration in New Orleans, Louisianna.
"The only...the only...the only good thing." I slur into my rum and Coke. Kent, Jess, my best friend Maggie and I were all sitting in one of the many bars lining Downtown's streets. After an hour of standing n the cold, watching the parades roll by and catching little more than a handful of beads and one or two Moonpies, Maggie and I were tired. Then, after Jess almost decked some guy for catching (snatching would probably be a better word) the teddy bear he'd been eyeing for his niece, we realized that things could get ugly fast. So we drag the guys down the streets, keeping clear of flying frisbees (which, as amyone who's grown up around Mardi Gras can tell you, lead to concussions, your Mom yelling at you for not ducking, and twenty people scrambling to pick up the dented and/or blood-stained frisbees.)
Walkng further into Downtown, we realize that we are passing into territory that made Maggie and I happy to have two guys around. Strange men in overcoats wander between the crowds of girls screaming, straddling the barricades and flashing the floats trying to get more beads. Bars were filling up, and hookers are clumping together on the corners, battlng for space with the transvestites. Up ahead was the Brewery, a bar whose windows look smoked until you walk inside and realize that it is the residue of twenty or so years of nicotene that hang over the place in a cloud, and we duck in.
While the guys go off next door to buy cigs, Maggie and I order drinks from a tall waitress whose nametag referrs to her as "Cleo".
"Yall want what?" she aked, brushing an un-naturally blonde curl out of her face with a hand way too large for a woman. I repeate the order, oozing outhern manners and charm, and she rolls her eyes. "Alright, but yall don't tell none'a those policemen out there that I did it for you." After she has secured our promise, Cleo saunters off to fill our order.
now, two hours later, the parades are winding down and the bars are filling up. The guys and I are riding the express train to Drunk Town, while Maggie (who hates not being stone-cold sober) sips her cherry Coke, watching what we do to (1) keep us from getting into deep crap and (2) log it all up to tell us in the morning.
I have been trying to make a point for the last twenty minutes but am quickly losing it. "The only....good thing...." I announce to the bar at large. " The only good thing...about..." I gesture around me, looking for the word and quickly giving up, "is...is....the drinking!"
A cheer goes up at this statement, along with calls for another round.
Maggie picks up her purse, discretely brushing off crumbs and rubbing at some mysterious stain with a napkin. She touches Kent's shoulder, saying quietly that we should probably leave. Kent, who could handle his alcohol better than most people that I knew, gestured to Jess, who comes over and slings my right arm around his shoulder, holding me up. While we make out way back to Kent's car, I notice it: the fountain. It is an enormous stone fountain, carved in the classical tradition of Greece. In my inebriated state, it looks like an amazing place to go swimming.
"Guys...guys....wanna sit." I mutter, while the guys slowly let me down on the wide side of the fountain. I flip backwards, landing flat on my butt in the Artic-cold water that only reaches to my waist, laughing my drunk head off. The guys look on, amazed, while Maggie stuffs her fist into her mouth to keep her composure. Young couples, just as drunk as I am, stop to gawk, while mounted policemen trot up, looking at each other for guidance, not sure if they should laugh, bring me a towel, or drag me into the police station. Finally, when a group of college guys begin to throw their pocket change into the ountain, one of the mounted policemen trots away, returning with a towel.
"You g'head and get her outta there 'fore she gets sick, kay son?" he says, hanging it to Kent.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." he replies, thankful that we're not getting hauled in.
"The only...the only...the only good thing." I slur into my rum and Coke. Kent, Jess, my best friend Maggie and I were all sitting in one of the many bars lining Downtown's streets. After an hour of standing n the cold, watching the parades roll by and catching little more than a handful of beads and one or two Moonpies, Maggie and I were tired. Then, after Jess almost decked some guy for catching (snatching would probably be a better word) the teddy bear he'd been eyeing for his niece, we realized that things could get ugly fast. So we drag the guys down the streets, keeping clear of flying frisbees (which, as amyone who's grown up around Mardi Gras can tell you, lead to concussions, your Mom yelling at you for not ducking, and twenty people scrambling to pick up the dented and/or blood-stained frisbees.)
Walkng further into Downtown, we realize that we are passing into territory that made Maggie and I happy to have two guys around. Strange men in overcoats wander between the crowds of girls screaming, straddling the barricades and flashing the floats trying to get more beads. Bars were filling up, and hookers are clumping together on the corners, battlng for space with the transvestites. Up ahead was the Brewery, a bar whose windows look smoked until you walk inside and realize that it is the residue of twenty or so years of nicotene that hang over the place in a cloud, and we duck in.
While the guys go off next door to buy cigs, Maggie and I order drinks from a tall waitress whose nametag referrs to her as "Cleo".
"Yall want what?" she aked, brushing an un-naturally blonde curl out of her face with a hand way too large for a woman. I repeate the order, oozing outhern manners and charm, and she rolls her eyes. "Alright, but yall don't tell none'a those policemen out there that I did it for you." After she has secured our promise, Cleo saunters off to fill our order.
now, two hours later, the parades are winding down and the bars are filling up. The guys and I are riding the express train to Drunk Town, while Maggie (who hates not being stone-cold sober) sips her cherry Coke, watching what we do to (1) keep us from getting into deep crap and (2) log it all up to tell us in the morning.
I have been trying to make a point for the last twenty minutes but am quickly losing it. "The only....good thing...." I announce to the bar at large. " The only good thing...about..." I gesture around me, looking for the word and quickly giving up, "is...is....the drinking!"
A cheer goes up at this statement, along with calls for another round.
Maggie picks up her purse, discretely brushing off crumbs and rubbing at some mysterious stain with a napkin. She touches Kent's shoulder, saying quietly that we should probably leave. Kent, who could handle his alcohol better than most people that I knew, gestured to Jess, who comes over and slings my right arm around his shoulder, holding me up. While we make out way back to Kent's car, I notice it: the fountain. It is an enormous stone fountain, carved in the classical tradition of Greece. In my inebriated state, it looks like an amazing place to go swimming.
"Guys...guys....wanna sit." I mutter, while the guys slowly let me down on the wide side of the fountain. I flip backwards, landing flat on my butt in the Artic-cold water that only reaches to my waist, laughing my drunk head off. The guys look on, amazed, while Maggie stuffs her fist into her mouth to keep her composure. Young couples, just as drunk as I am, stop to gawk, while mounted policemen trot up, looking at each other for guidance, not sure if they should laugh, bring me a towel, or drag me into the police station. Finally, when a group of college guys begin to throw their pocket change into the ountain, one of the mounted policemen trots away, returning with a towel.
"You g'head and get her outta there 'fore she gets sick, kay son?" he says, hanging it to Kent.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." he replies, thankful that we're not getting hauled in.
Merry Christikwanzannakka!
"Please, Jess?" I begged.
"Cecillia. No." jess grabs my arms, pulling them above my head and stepping out of my range.
"But...but..." i sputter futily, searching for an argument that I haven't yet used. Coming up empty, I growl, "You're so hardheaded!" and plop onto my bed, pouting.
Jess chuckles quietly. "Babygirl, I'm not hardheaded. You know what Smith said he'd do if I came up to the school again."
Jess and I had been friends since my freshman year of high school. Unforutnately, after one particularly nasty episode, he had been kicked out and banned from the campu.
"But it's Christmas!" I whinned. "Besides, it's not even a school function-it's a Christmas dinner. Even old numbnuts wouldn't be that cold!"
"Dime in the swear jar, babydgirl."
"Damnit, Jess!" I explode, "New Year's Resolutions only count between January first and January eigth. After that, they become void. Everybody knows that!" I stand, walking to my closet and pulling out a soft red wool dress.
"So, baby, when did you get religion?" jess smiles sarcastically.
"If you're gonna be a smartass, you can at least pull out my black hose for me." I snap, now digging under my bed for my black boots. "Besides, if you don't come with me, I'll be stuck between Charlie Manson and Beau Wilson, who is the shyest guy that I know."
"Well, honey, who am I to deprive you of what could be a fun-filled, joyous evenng?" I grab my purse and stomp to the door in response. "Have fun! Give Beau and Charlie my best!" he calls after me.
The high school's parking lot was, of course, full when I pulled in, the fun just beginning. Cars honked, trying not to hit the Nativity scene's cows and sheep that were beng herded by harried-looking shepherds. Shetland ponies for the "little 'uns" whinnied beside the larger horses, already harnessed up for the sleigh ride. The gym's front doors were thrown wide open, letting the light from inside pour out and causeing those drifting in and out of the gym resemble Jacob Marley.
"Cecillia!" Ms. Hooper cries as I walk in. Her Christmas sweater was blinking "Merry Christmas" in red lights, perfectly in time with the pulsing of reighndeer antlers perched on top of her tightly curled blue-gray hair. If ever there was a stereotype for tacky Southern Christmas attire, I believe that she topped it.
"Hey there, Ms. Hooper." I exclaim, momentarily blinded by the lights, "Don't you look..." I search for the right word, "festive!"
"Oh, thank you darlin'. Now you go on over- I can think of two young men just dying to see you!" she gave what could have been called a coquettish wink, if she were thirty years younger and even knew what the word met.
Grandma, looking dishevled with frizzed-out hair and her red Christmas tree sweater straining over her breasts and belly, waved as I walked by and silently pointing to a table set up close to the stage. Two figures are already seated there with various people coming over to crouch beside them for a moment or two before hurrying off.
Taking a deep breath and pasting on a smile, I begin to walk over, stopping to talk to all of the church members who had known me since I was born. About halfway to the tabl, I spot Charlie standing up and quicken my pace, silently begging that he keep his mouth shut and not make a huge scene.
"Sissy! Sissy! Over her!" he bellows, waving his plump arms in the air as if he were trying to steer an airplane to the runway.
"Oh, God." I blush, closing the gap between us more quickly than I thought possible.
"Look, Sissy, mistletoe! You've got to kiss me now." he laugs, pointing upward at the shrivled bunch of mistletoe just barely hanging on for dear life from a hook over the rail. Quickly, I peck him on the cheek and, turning to Beau, peck him as well.
"Merry christmas Beau."
"Merry Christmas, Cecillia." he stammers, pushing his flopping dark hair out of his eyes and turning as red as my dress. "You look pretty."
"And you look very handsome, Beau. I'm surprised that all the girls aren't fighting me for your attention." I joke flirtatiously. Beau blused a deeper red than I thought was possible, and Charlie glowers at both of us.
"So how was it?" Jess aks later that night. He wassitting on the roof smoking when I got home, and I sit on the window sill, passing a cig back and forth between us.
I roll my eyes, unzipping my boots and kicking them off. "Well, Charlie's breath has gotten worse and I swear that he dragged me over to the mistletod at least a dozen times. Then he tried to grope me on the sleigh ride."
"I'm sorry, babygirl." he smirks, crawling inside and peeling off his jacket and boots. "But if I know my girl, he got his."
I laugh, "Yep, I said that if he wanted to keep his hands they had better stay far away from me."
"That's my girl."
"Cecillia. No." jess grabs my arms, pulling them above my head and stepping out of my range.
"But...but..." i sputter futily, searching for an argument that I haven't yet used. Coming up empty, I growl, "You're so hardheaded!" and plop onto my bed, pouting.
Jess chuckles quietly. "Babygirl, I'm not hardheaded. You know what Smith said he'd do if I came up to the school again."
Jess and I had been friends since my freshman year of high school. Unforutnately, after one particularly nasty episode, he had been kicked out and banned from the campu.
"But it's Christmas!" I whinned. "Besides, it's not even a school function-it's a Christmas dinner. Even old numbnuts wouldn't be that cold!"
"Dime in the swear jar, babydgirl."
"Damnit, Jess!" I explode, "New Year's Resolutions only count between January first and January eigth. After that, they become void. Everybody knows that!" I stand, walking to my closet and pulling out a soft red wool dress.
"So, baby, when did you get religion?" jess smiles sarcastically.
"If you're gonna be a smartass, you can at least pull out my black hose for me." I snap, now digging under my bed for my black boots. "Besides, if you don't come with me, I'll be stuck between Charlie Manson and Beau Wilson, who is the shyest guy that I know."
"Well, honey, who am I to deprive you of what could be a fun-filled, joyous evenng?" I grab my purse and stomp to the door in response. "Have fun! Give Beau and Charlie my best!" he calls after me.
The high school's parking lot was, of course, full when I pulled in, the fun just beginning. Cars honked, trying not to hit the Nativity scene's cows and sheep that were beng herded by harried-looking shepherds. Shetland ponies for the "little 'uns" whinnied beside the larger horses, already harnessed up for the sleigh ride. The gym's front doors were thrown wide open, letting the light from inside pour out and causeing those drifting in and out of the gym resemble Jacob Marley.
"Cecillia!" Ms. Hooper cries as I walk in. Her Christmas sweater was blinking "Merry Christmas" in red lights, perfectly in time with the pulsing of reighndeer antlers perched on top of her tightly curled blue-gray hair. If ever there was a stereotype for tacky Southern Christmas attire, I believe that she topped it.
"Hey there, Ms. Hooper." I exclaim, momentarily blinded by the lights, "Don't you look..." I search for the right word, "festive!"
"Oh, thank you darlin'. Now you go on over- I can think of two young men just dying to see you!" she gave what could have been called a coquettish wink, if she were thirty years younger and even knew what the word met.
Grandma, looking dishevled with frizzed-out hair and her red Christmas tree sweater straining over her breasts and belly, waved as I walked by and silently pointing to a table set up close to the stage. Two figures are already seated there with various people coming over to crouch beside them for a moment or two before hurrying off.
Taking a deep breath and pasting on a smile, I begin to walk over, stopping to talk to all of the church members who had known me since I was born. About halfway to the tabl, I spot Charlie standing up and quicken my pace, silently begging that he keep his mouth shut and not make a huge scene.
"Sissy! Sissy! Over her!" he bellows, waving his plump arms in the air as if he were trying to steer an airplane to the runway.
"Oh, God." I blush, closing the gap between us more quickly than I thought possible.
"Look, Sissy, mistletoe! You've got to kiss me now." he laugs, pointing upward at the shrivled bunch of mistletoe just barely hanging on for dear life from a hook over the rail. Quickly, I peck him on the cheek and, turning to Beau, peck him as well.
"Merry christmas Beau."
"Merry Christmas, Cecillia." he stammers, pushing his flopping dark hair out of his eyes and turning as red as my dress. "You look pretty."
"And you look very handsome, Beau. I'm surprised that all the girls aren't fighting me for your attention." I joke flirtatiously. Beau blused a deeper red than I thought was possible, and Charlie glowers at both of us.
"So how was it?" Jess aks later that night. He wassitting on the roof smoking when I got home, and I sit on the window sill, passing a cig back and forth between us.
I roll my eyes, unzipping my boots and kicking them off. "Well, Charlie's breath has gotten worse and I swear that he dragged me over to the mistletod at least a dozen times. Then he tried to grope me on the sleigh ride."
"I'm sorry, babygirl." he smirks, crawling inside and peeling off his jacket and boots. "But if I know my girl, he got his."
I laugh, "Yep, I said that if he wanted to keep his hands they had better stay far away from me."
"That's my girl."
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