Taken by Storm by Angela Morrison
DeeDee’s coming in handy. i let her flirt all she wants. i’m starting to enjoy being around a stacked girl in a clingy, low-cut tank. After tiptoeing around in Leesie’s rarified presence, i’m coming back to earth, happy to relax and be a guy and let DeeDee’s jiggling flesh rev up my animal instincts.
i want old Troy boy to be ticked. DeeDee’s his territory, right? But he’s too busy going after Leesie to pay any attention.
DeeDee invites me to a party at her house. i go hoping Leesie hears. No way she’ll actually be there. She has a Thou shalt not party rule, too. Nobody even invites her.
i arrive about eleven. Loud music. The place reeks of beer. i stand in the open door and remember the last party i went to in Phoenix. August. One last hot night in the desert before school started. Better tunes than this. A kidney-shaped play pool. Volleyball in the water. Chicks in wet swimsuits. Making out with one. Casual. Missing Carolina. Belize was only a couple weeks after that. It seems like years instead of months. Some guy dared me to hold my breath underwater for four minutes. i did five—easy.
DeeDee spies me at the door, grabs my arm, and reels me inside. “I thought you weren’t going to show.”
i shrug.
“Hey,” she yells at a couple of guys in the kitchen, “you can’t light that up in the house.” She turns to me. “Want a beer?”
i shake my head no. Reflex. Alcohol and free diving don’t mix. Not that i’ll need to hold my breath for five minutes here. i should pour a few cans down my throat. i can use some artificial numbing. Maybe i’ll head outside and ask the guys puffing away if they have any extra.
DeeDee has other plans. She knocks back the rest of her beer and pitches the can. She herds me down to a crowded games room in the basement. The stereo blasts. A bunch of girls gyrate in the dark. DeeDee grinds on me until the song fades, then shoves over a couple sprawled on a couch and yanks me down beside her.
Kissing her is nothing like kissing Leesie. She tastes like beer and cigarettes, smells of BO and heavy perfume. After a few minutes choking on her, i thrust her off me.
“My bedroom’s down here.” She pulls me back and bites hard enough to stain my neck. “I think it’s free.”
Why does that make me feel sick to my stomach? Freak. Am i broken again? Damn Leesie. It’s her fault.
i leave DeeDee pouting on the couch.
“Fine,” she yells after me. “Go on back to that stuck-up Mormon slut.”
Never.
i slink out of there, humiliated. Anger sizzles in my fingertips, stings my nose. Defogged. / Unfuddled. Isn’t that Leesie’s poem? i want that to be me. No longer haunted by her—those hands, that hair, fruity shampoo, and old leather. Deep eyes and a smile that brewed hope. A hundred thousand virgin kisses.
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8
Monday morning a couple of DeeDee’s friends station themselves close to Leesie’s locker. i get busy at mine, within easy earshot, keep my back to them, pretend to hunt for an assignment in my binder.
“Did you see DeeDee with Michael?”
“Not for long. They disappeared somewhere in the basement.”
“She said he was really good.”
“How good?”
i turn my head to watch the full performance.
DeeDette #1 bends over and whispers in DeeDette #2’s ear.
“You’re kidding!” she says, nice and loud. They both whip their heads around and stare at Leesie.
She slams her locker door and stalks off to class. My first reflex is to pant after her, tell her it’s a lie, tell her i can’t stop thinking about her, that after her, DeeDee was repulsive. But my legs don’t move. Leesie doesn’t care. Her plastic face reveals that much. Let her think what she wants. If she doesn’t know me better than that, fine.
i lose it with the Troy thing on my way to lunch. Easy to see by the way he hangs on her locker door, pulsing his pecs, that he’s coming on to her again. i turn around, march back to them, hook Leesie by the arm, and hustle her across the hall into the teachers’ bathroom. Shut the door. Lock it.
She jerks her arm away from me. “What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” i stick my angry face into hers. “i thought you couldn’t stand that guy!”
She backs away. “You think I have a choice?” She turns her face away. “He hasn’t been this persistent for a long time. Guess he thinks I’m easy now.”
i crowd her against the tile wall. “Want me to set him straight? Resurrect the Ice Queen?”
When she looks back at me, her eyes are full. “I’m sorry, Michael. Really, really sorry.”
The dam i built with my anger cracks, threatens to collapse.
She slides past me, puts her hand on the doorknob. i see the four faint scars i left on it. i jam my shoulder against the door, won’t let her open it. “Wait.”
The air crackles between us. We haven’t been alone since that night. Passion envelops me in a hot surge.
“Listen, Leese.” i touch her hair. “Nothing happened with DeeDee.”
She steps back. i ache to touch her hair again.
“That’s not what I hear.”
The dam goes back up. Floodgates close. My heart starts pumping rage. “Believe what you want.” i leave.
Leesie doesn’t follow me out.
chapter 29
HANDS
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #38, NAIL PRINTS, PART 2
I can’t hide here forever,
scrubbing my hands of him,
frantic to erase the scars that fit his fingernails
imprinted soft white on me.
I’m desperate to go back to unscarred hands
the faith of eight on baptism day—
a white dress and warm water running into the font,
dad up to his waist, me floating on tiptoe,
dad’s hand on my back,
the other raised square over my head,
the whoosh of immersion
and washed-clean perfection.
Please, let me return to my father’s blessed hands
heavy on my pure head, gifting me
with guidance, protection, calm assurance—
god’s breath on my soul.
the spirit can’t abide me.
I am unclean. I can’t wash away
the prints of his lips, his hands—
a sharp knock. mrs. d’s concerned voice.
I shut off the water. the scars glow in the
fluorescent bathroom light.
I can’t hide here
forever.
LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK
POEM #39, MUCK OUT
I ditch—first time
in my life—find
my dad in the sow barn,
where michael left me.
Hurts to walk through
that door.
dad’s up to his ankles in muck.
He hands me a shovel. I scoop
reeking shavings into the battered
green cart I used as a kid,
trundle behind dad’s big silver wheelbarrow,
scraping the barn floor clean,
dumping the offal into a steaming
pile by the door.
together, we fill our carts with pine
curls, fresh and fragrant, blanketing
the pens and pathways with clean,
new scent.
dad leaves, but I linger—fall
to my knees again, at last,
scrape my soul raw,
plead for redemption,
loving and longing for His
sweet touch again,
needing Him like I never
have before.
chapter 30
PROTECTION
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8
DeeDee keeps after me. Tenacious, that girl. i decide to like the taste of her cigarettes. Why not? What else have i got to do? i spend lunch making out on the stage with her. Easier
“Want another chance?” DeeDee’s drooling in my ear. “Tonight?”
“Sure, Dee.” Leesie’s already condemned me for it. It’s about time i got some.
She giggles triumph. “Back door. Eleven. I’ll be waiting.”
i get away from her after school, walk downtown. It’s a joke to call it that. One street with most of the storefronts boarded up. But there’s a drugstore and Gram’s favorite, the Variety Store. Leesie and i bought Halloween candy in there. Can’t go in that place. i cross the street deciding i’m more likely to find condoms in the drugstore. Freak. i’ve never had to actually buy them before. But the stash my dad conveniently left in the bottom bathroom drawer is back home in Phoenix. Teacup High doesn’t have a bin of freebies in the nurse’s office. Does it even have a nurse’s office? If i’m going to DeeDee’s, i need to buy some myself. Leesie touched the one in my wallet. No way can i use that.
i push through the door to the drugstore. The place is dark and tiny. A woman almost as old as Gram stands at the counter—probably her best friend. i buy some gum and bolt, cross the street, and force myself through the Variety Store door. A pimply-faced guy from school stands at the cash register. A couple of women with little kids are in line. Some junior high girls mess around in the makeup aisle.
i wander up and down the aisles looking for the men’s section. i find shaving cream and aftershave but no condoms. i hunt until i find a few boxes hanging on the end of the sanitation aisle, next to tubes of yeast medication and home-pregnancy kits. i pick up a box, think about using them with DeeDee.
My dad slept around plenty. Way more than i ever will. i remember a conversation i had with him after Mandy played house with me.
“Don’t feel so glum. There’s lots more where she came from.” Dad glanced around. “Don’t tell your mother I said that.”
“How many did you . . . i mean, before Mom.”
“Didn’t count.” Dad wiped his hand across his face. “Too many. I wouldn’t recommend that. Tough on your mom. Tough on me, too. Made it hard to settle down to one woman.”
“But you just said—”
“Don’t think you need to break the old man’s record. Sex didn’t kill a guy back then.”
i know what Mom would say if she was standing with me staring at a box of textured tubes in the Variety Store aisle. “Respect yourself more than that. Respect her more than that. Even if other boys don’t.”
Damn, i miss them. i wish i was so far away from here. i’d give anything to be standing on the dock at the condo waiting for the club boat to come pick me up. Us up. It’d be so much better if it could be us. Every breath that keeps me living aches for that.
i’m dying to go back to the condo, face it all, but maybe stupid Leesie is right. i’m not even up to buying a freaking box of condoms. What will happen when i plunge back into the ocean? i heard about a guy with cancer who went over the wall and just kept sinking. Would i do that? Could i? The ache to find out throbs out of control. Leesie’s lake will be iced over by now. Gram’s got an ax in the garage. i don’t have enough weights. Rocks?
i turn around, and a wall of shampoo and conditioner surrounds me. i pick up an orange bottle, set down the box of condoms, flip the shampoo bottle’s lid open, and sniff. No. i try a red one—have to peel off the shrink-wrap to open it. Not that one either. i open another bottle and another. Tropical Breeze. Coconut Aloe. Pineapple Splash. Raspberry Dream. No, no, no.
“Hey, man—what’re you doing?” The zitty cashier stands in the aisle, staring at the mess i made. “Dude, these aren’t testers.”
i hold another bottle up to my nose. “i’m just trying to find it.”
“You’re going to have to pay for these.”
i pop open one more: Sweet Banana Mango. Leesie flows out. i close my eyes and inhale, exhale, go into my breathe-down right there in the store with acne man scrambling around gathering up the bottles i opened.
“You want me to ring these up?”
i hold out Leesie. “Just this one.”
“Sorry, man.” The clerk carries all the bottles i opened to the register.
i buy eight shampoos, six conditioners, and some over-the-counter sleeping pills. No condoms.
When i get home, i set Leesie’s shampoo on my desk, chuck the bag with the useless bottles into the back of the closet. i remember the pills, drag them out of the bag, and swallow a couple with the dregs from a bottle of warm cola sitting on my desk. i resist the urge to take more. Stupid way to do it.
“Michael, honey, let’s get the tree started.”
Gram hauled her artificial tree up from the basement one branch at a time. She carried up the box of decorations without my help, too. Did she ask me to do it this morning? Last night? She shouldn’t be carrying boxes up and down those stairs.
Gram and i work on the fake tree, faking cheer. i can’t help but think how much better it would be with Leesie there. i have to make myself stop that. Nothing changed just because i found her freak shampoo. She’s still as fake as Gram’s ugly Christmas tree.
“Don’t you like real trees?” i take the top piece that Gram fluffed and jam it in place. Mom always insisted on a live one. Real pine with long fat needles.
“They make such a mess.”
“But they smell good.”
Gram sits down on the couch. “I do miss that.”
i sit on the couch beside her. The sleeping pills make me dopey enough to say, “What happened to them?”
She looks at me like i finally cracked. “You know. You were there.”
“After. What did you and Stan do with them? i need to know. i keep having nightmares.”
“You poor child.” She smoothes her hand over my hair. “They were cremated. Stan sent—”
My eyes close. Cremated. At least i know. i force my eyes back open. “Is that what you wanted?”
She shakes her head. “We could have bought a plot here. There’s room by your grandfather.” Tears creep down her face.
No way can i tell her what salt water does to a body. What sharks do to a body. i turn away from her. “i’m sorry i brought it up.” i stand and open the decorations box, searching for Christmas tree lights.
The pills finally get to me. i wake up around midnight on the couch. Gram finished the tree by herself. Glass balls. Silver icicles. She left the lights plugged in. For me, i guess. Big colored bulbs send yellow, blue, red, and green playing over the white ceiling.
Mom’s Christmas light dogma was tiny white lights only—like at Leesie’s dance. Mom made Dad and me string them all over the front yard in Phoenix. i always had to climb the ladder to wind them around the big saguaro that towered over our desertscape. Dad would hold the ladder and laugh every time i pricked myself. Mom shouted directions until Dad’s gut laugh infected her. They both ended up falling down laughing at me. i’d give up and join them. The lights always looked awful.
Weird to think Mom and Dad are just ash now. Not even the bloated floating bodies in my nightmares.
On my way to Dad’s old bedroom, the phone rings.
“I’m waiting.” DeeDee has her silky voice on again. “You should see what I’m wearing.”
“i’m kind of down. Maybe another time.”
“I can come to your place.”
DeeDee at Gram’s? DeeDee in my dad’s old bed under the pants quilt? “No.”
“Then you better get up here fast.”
We can talk, right? Leesie always wanted me to talk more. Maybe i’ll feel like something else after that. Why shouldn’t i? “i’ll be up in a minute.”
DeeDee meets me at the back door, dressed black and slinky. She starts in on me before i can get my coat off. i resist the panic that hits, keep my tongue jammed down her throat as she rips off my sweatshirt and maneuvers me to her bedroom. She pulls me into her cig-scented lair and onto her unmade bed. She’s just flesh, right? She’s using me; i’m using her. No big deal. i did th
When i’m done, i pull on my jeans, look down at the floor.
Freak. i used Leesie’s condom. i pick up the torn package, fold it carefully, and slide it into my jeans’ pocket.
“Stay.” DeeDee pats the bed beside her. “I’ll sneak you out in the morning.”
i don’t reply. i haven’t actually said anything to her the entire time.
“Please? It’ll be nice. You owe me now.”