ANONYMOUS

MINDEN, LA

JUNE 1981

There are too many people here.

It is like I’m squashed between two rocks that grow bigger with every second. The heat does not help—bodies pressed together like a tin can full of sardines. I don’t know why I’ve come at this place; I don’t usually like social gatherings. But I couldn’t really stand the silence of my empty house. I’d much rather be at work, designing a new game, but I’ve been forced to take my vacation days. I’d accrued many weeks of paid time off, and I have no idea what to do with it.

I lightly drum my fingertips against the worn surface of the wooden table, before stirring the ice cubes in my water glass with my plastic straw. It is a good spot; a nice tiny corner where I can see everyone. It relaxes me. I’ve been here for at least two hours, although it feels like it’s a lot longer.

My baggy, faded plaid shirt is drenched with sweat. The chatter around me is starting to give me a headache. I see people come and out the door, holding hands as they disappear into the warm night air. The ice floating in my glass melts, causing a puddle to gather on top of the wooden table. I am taking a sip when a shadow appears in front of me.

“What’cha doin?”

I abruptly look up. The person is smiling from ear to ear. They chuckle as they slip next to me on the seat. I cannot pry my eyes away from their toned arms and legs. They raise a hand at the bartender—a burly man with a mustache—who is busy wiping a glass clean with a rag. He grunts as he comes over to us.

”Can I help you?” he mutters.

”Two peach margaritas on the rocks, please,” the person says. They have very long, straight teeth, and they give me a wink as they clear a strand of their long hair from behind their ear and cross their legs. A flip flop loosely dangles from their foot.

Heat rushes to my face as I glance down at my worn shoes.

“You from around here?” they ask.

A bead of sweat runs down my face.

“You ain’t gotta be so shy with me, now. Fine looking as you are—you ain’t got no date?” The person shakes their head in disbelief. “I’m surprised nobody in the room has approached you.” They jut a manicured thumb at the table across from us, where a group of people are laughing at us. My cheeks flush as I stand up to leave, causing the chair to squeak loudly across the floor.

I’m heading to the parking lot and fumbling with my car keys, the hot wind in my hair, when I hear their sweet voice behind me.

“Hey, wait, where you going?” The door slams behind the person, who steps in front of the building. “I ain’t mean to cause a fuss. Come on back.”

“I best be going on home now,” I quietly say. “It’s getting kind of late. I…I wouldn’t want to keep you from your friends.” For a moment, I glance up. They had one of the most lovely faces I’d ever seen on someone. There is a strange tingling sensation going through me—one that I’ve never known before.

They snort. “It’s only eleven thirty. You gonna just let those drinks go to waste?”

My hand goes to my wallet. “I’m…I’m sorry.” I pull out a couple of wrinkled bills. “Here.”

They looked perplexed, and then began to laugh so hard that it echoes through the parking lot. They have a wild, booming laugh, one that sets butterflies in my stomach.

I feel blood rushing to my face, even though I try my best to keep my eyes off them. They way that their clothes cling to them, they are so incredibly beautiful. Flinging back their long hair, they take a step closer to me and fold my hand against the bills.

“Well, what you come for if you don’t drink?”

I don’t know how to respond.

The person tilts their head. “You’re shy, ain’t ya? No need to be shy around me.”

”I’m sorry,” I whisper, awkwardly tucking the money back in their hand. After a pause, I glance at them again, then move closer to my car. “I’m…I’m sorry—”

”Would ya quit apologizing?” They roughly shove the wrinkled bills back into my palms. “And here. You don’t have to pay me back.”

I end up dropping my keys to the ground and scramble to pick them up. I can feel my face turning red.

They give me a lopsided smile, before stepping forward and placing a hand on my shoulder, then twirling with the ends of my hair. Their eyes are sparkling like the moon above us, and they say in my ear,

”Why don’t we go to my apartment? You look like you could use a little fun. It ain’t no use sitting at a table and staring at people. You ought to know what you’re missing out on.”

When they release me, that tingling sensation only intensifies. I find myself slowly nodding.

They take a couple steps forward, before glancing at me, gesturing with their finger.

* * * * * * * *

It’s a nice place.

Colorful paintings adore the walls, and the carpet is soft and fuzzy beneath my feet as I enter the living room. The person smiles as they open a champagne bottle and brings out two glasses. The neck of the bottle clinks against the rims. I watch the purple liquid slosh, before they hand one to me.

“Here.”

I glance at it, and then them.

“You are so funny,” they guffawed. “Ain’t you never drink in your life?”

Carefully, I take a sip, before a slight smile crosses my lips. It tastes rather sweet. The person grins and leans against the counter. I settle on the couch, observing their television. As I continue drinking, I can’t help but admire their kitchen and curtains. Every day, they get to wake up to a room splashed with sunshine.

The person drops down next to me after finishing their glass. “You’re kind of strange. But I like you.” They lean a bit closer, the golden chains dangling on their wrists. “A lot.”

My lips touch theirs as I carefully set down the glass. It is a delicate, tender kiss, one that awakens something inside me. I pull away for a moment, before slowly raising my head to give them another one. Their lips are soft as a cloud, and their tongue is up against mine.

Their hand is on my waist, and I love the way their fingers are pressed on my skin. They work on my plaid shirt, undoing every single button. I let their fingers explore me. As our clothing melts off, the person sighs with relief as I kiss their neck. Their body is beautiful, so beautiful, even more than the models I see in the magazines. Their hand slowly travels down my jeans, then my underwear. The person sits on my lap, and I can feel their fingers gently work their way further in.

I softly exhale and lean my head back against the couch. At first, the sensation is light, but grows upon me. A quiet noise escapes from me as I remove my shirt, draping it on the floor.

There is a strong pulsing in between my legs as I slowly slip my jeans and underwear off. With both arms, I draw them onto my lap, the cold air a relief against my naked body.

I worry that they will laugh at me, how pale and thin I am compared to their toned, brown skin. But as their body presses against mine, there is nothing but warmth. I deeply exhale as I trace every part of them with my fingers. Their flesh is a work of art, one that I am unworthy to encounter. For a moment, I gaze at their glorious face.

I am afraid of hurting them.

”What you starin’ at me for?” they ask.

“You are so beautiful,” I whisper.

The person smiles. Their arms are wrapped around my buttocks. Breathing heavily, I slowly adjust my hips as I guide myself further inside them. The sensation that follows, although quite strange, is wonderful. I apply more force. The person knits their brows, making a soft, delicate noise. As they loudly groan, I glance up.

”Are you in pain?” I ask.

They shake their head, already in a trance.

I continue as gently as I can. A gasp escapes from them. My mouth is slightly parted, hair over my face. The cushion creaks beneath us, and as my hand grips the pillow below their head, they move their waist. My face is flushing as they settle upon my lap. We rise up and down. I dig my fingers into the arm of the couch, trying my best to hold back and slow myself down, but I can barely manage.

A moan explodes from my lips, and I feel their hands press against my back. We are going faster, arms and legs tangled. It is so wet and slippery, but I try to steady myself. I am lost. I am completely lost.

We switch; I am on my back beneath them. They rotate their hips—my hands settle on their buttocks. I arch my back, before pulling them down with me. They begin to laugh, but I hook my thighs around theirs, collapsing further into them. My bare foot accidentally knocks over a lamp, sending them in a fit of laughter, and I can’t help but laugh too. We are both laughing, breathless, probably a little too drunk, but in paradise.

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“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can pay for that.”

”It was only ten bucks anyway,” they say.

I plant a kiss on their shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“What did I tell you about apologizing so darn much? Now,” they say in my ear, leaning forward, “will you tell me your name?”

”Yes,” I breathlessly whisper in their hair. A wave of intense pleasure washes over me, and I stifle back a noise, my hips rising and falling. “Yes. Yes. Yes…..yes, I…yes.”

They laugh. “Well, what is it?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

I can’t answer. I am hungry for more. Much more. My eyes are still on their body, and I faintly smile. Has anyone told them how beautiful they were? They don’t have a single blemish.

“You ain’t gonna tell me your name?”

“Can we….can please we try again?”

The person rolls their eyes and places a hand on their hip. “You all are the same, aren’t you? Only thing you’re truly interested in.”

I didn’t want them to think that. I want to know more about them. But my naked body is aching, begging for them. They had started a fire that I could never put out. I gaze at the paintings on the walls, how lovely their kitchen was. Slowly, I turned to look at them. They run a comb through their hair, sitting on the couch.

”You didn’t like it, did ya?” I quietly say. “It’s okay. You can tell me. Honest. I’ll make it up to you.”

The person looks surprised. “What?”

I’m too nervous to repeat myself.

They smile and set down the comb. “That ain’t it. You just been going at it for almost an hour. I never knew you last this long.” They take a deep breath. “You ain’t have it in a while, I take?”

I don’t have the guts to say it was my first time. I don’t. I don’t want to freak them out. The good news is, I’m beginning to understand what they like. I want to please them. I want them to be in paradise all night.

“Would you stop with the starin’?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

They laugh.

As they make another noise, I smile in their hair. I want to feel their insides. I want to give all I have to them. And as I slip deeper into them, they cry out, holding onto me, leaving scratches on my back as our hips rise and fall, rise and fall, my lips against their ear.

* * * * * * * *

We spend many nights together.

It is not always lovemaking, though. Many of the time, we read and talk about books and movies and our favorite artists. Theirs is the Beatles and Queen, mine is Earth, Wind and Fire. I want to invite them over to my house, but I’m afraid to. I like their apartment. It is warm and cozy.

For the first time in my life, I have a friend.

The person teaches me how to dance. They have an old record player that we would spend hours listening to different tracks to. At first, I’m nervous, but they hold my arms and we sway side to side to. I place my hands on their waist, and they giggle at my red face.

“Stop being so stiff. Loosen up your shoulders. You gotta let the music take you.” They glanced down. “And move your feet like this. You got them long legs, use them. Watch me, see. Look at my feet. Nope…there you go. You got it! An’ you told me you ain’t a good dancer. What else you lyin’ about?”

Our shadows spread across the walls. We both cannot stop laughing as we romp and stomp around the living room, in the kitchen, and back to the bedroom. Like trees in the wind, we bend and sway to each song.

“You gotta watch out for your enemies, now,” I say as the person squints at their TV screen. We are sitting with our legs crossed on the floor, which is covered in popcorn and snack wrappers. “Look to your left—your left! Quick, quick, quick!” The sound of crashing and explosions fill the living room. The person frowns as the screen flashes, game over.

”I’m terrible at this,” they laugh.

“No you’re not,” I quietly say, sitting behind them on the carpet so that they are between my legs and placing my arms over their shoulders. “You’re learning.” My hands gently rest over the joystick as they held, my fingers interlocked with theirs. As the game resets, the light of the screen in the dim room illuminates our faces. “We’ll win this time.”

They give me a smile, causing my heart to skip a beat. I rest my chin on their right shoulder as they snuggle up close to me.

I want to live with them forever. I want to ask them to marry me, and we can both leave this place behind. I want to share everything with them. But I am too afraid to tell them these things, because they might find out who I am.

As we lay in bed naked one evening, holding onto each other, I notice bruises up and down their arms and back. I ask them what is wrong, but they brush it off, say they fell down the stairs. They don’t seem to like me asking that much, so I stop. But it still sits at the corner of my mind, even when I try to forget. Each time I leave; there an emptiness that fall over me.

A week later, I hear a crashing sound as I come up to the apartment. There’s a cry, and I quickly move behind a corner. After a while, I peek out. A man, probably in his late forties, stumbles drunkenly out in the hallway. He has streaks of gray in his dark hair and stomps down the steps. I rush into the apartment and see the person sprawled out over the kitchen floor. On the table are a few needles, some dollar bills, and a strange white powder.

There is a lot of blood. I try to get them to stand up, drink a lot of water, but they can hardly take a sip. They look at me for a moment, like they just see me for the first time. They struggle to breathe, and I am about to tell them that I will call for help.

The person don’t say nothing, I realize they aren’t blinking anymore, just stare at the wall. I see that their neck is at a strange angle.

* * * * * * *

“You need a ride?” I ask, slowing my car.

The man stumbling at the road gives me a strange look. But I know it him. It’s two in the morning, and he is drunk as a skunk. I smile and lower the window after putting the car in park. Hopefully, he don’t see the blood on my shirt, or the water in my eyes. I don’t think he does. It’s too dark. But I like the dark.

He mumbles something, shielding his eyes against the blinding light. As he stumbles forward, I open the door to the passenger side, and he climbs in. As I drive off, he snores loudly, leaning his head against the glass. I focus on the dirt road ahead of us.

By the time I pull up to my house, it is around the crack of dawn. He is much bigger than I, but I do my best and drag him backwards across the grass and up the porch stairs. I lock the front door, before glancing at the basement door. My hair falls over my face.

* * * * * * *

I sharpen my knife.

It’s been quite dull, as I’ve been using it to chop oranges. These cheap kitchen blades are worthless. I think next time, I’ll got to a butcher’s shop. Their knives have a higher quality. I spit on it, before wiping it with the end of my bloodied plaid shirt. As I approach the basement door, I take my bucket with me.

I already hear the man’s rustled movement once I go down the stairs. His eyes dart back and forth, and he winces in pain as he struggles to break free from the rope secured around his arms and legs. I made sure to make the knots extra tight. He flinches as my shadow appears in front of him. It’s been a day. I think he’s coming out of it now.

Placing the knife on my lap, I take a seat in front of him.

“What…what are you doing?” A scowl crosses his face. “Let me out of here, will you?”

”You stole from me,” I whisper.

”Stole from you?” he explodes. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

”You took away—” My voice is quiet, a bit hoarse. “You took her away. Why did you take her away?”

”Took who away?”

I fiddle with the knife in my hands. Surely, he couldn’t be this dense.

The man tilted his head and grins. “If I wasn’t held back, you’d have your face smashed against the ground like a pancake.” He scoffs. “Look at you, all skinny and puny. Ain’t nobody will want you. But you take the easy route. Subdue a man like this? Untie these ropes, and I’ll show you how a real man fights.”

”Ain’t nothin’ easy about this,” I whisper.

“Wait…ain’t you what she involved with? It is you.” He smirks. “You got puppy eyes for my daughter, don’t you? You think you doing something. You ain’t shit. You ain’t.”

My hand tightens around the handle of my knife. “You watch what you say.”

”Or what?” the man yells, spitting at the ground. It lands in front of me. “What are you goin’ to do? Beat me?” He narrows his beady eyes. “She had it coming, so I did it for her. And as for you, you are weak. Weak, you hear? You couldn’t last a moment if I was out of these ropes. And you know it. You’re just a miserable, sorry son of a bitch who can’t get nothin’ in life. So you manipulate other people.”

I glare at him, although my vision is blurry.

”That’s right,” he dryly continues, licking his lips. “That little knife of yours ain’t gonna do as much damage as you’s think it is.”

The room seems to swell, then expand.

“She with child,” the man said. “Had gotten the results back from the doctor, was puffin’ her chest. Actin’ like the world owed her something. She was a whore, that’s what. I sacrificed everything for that woman, and she threw it all away for nothing.” He scoffs and adjusts his feet. “I’m not afraid to die. Ain’t no use talkin’. So why don’t you do what you come here for?”

Water beads in my eyes. My hand is shaking. I cannot cry in front of him. I won’t cry. I haven’t cried in nearly two decades. But my chest is on fire.

”She tell me she pregnant the other day,” he continues. “After she disrespect me by going all around these streets, sleeping with whoever. I decide to teach her a lesson.” His eyes meet mine. “You’ll never be able to meet either of them. Yes, I mean them. Her and the baby. Not in this life.” He suddenly burst out laughing. “Your one shot, and you blew it, eh? You’re a failure.”

I don’t exactly recall what happened next. I just remember how my vision got white. I only know that the knife in my hand was suddenly soaking wet, and the pain and soreness in my arm. His skin comes apart, one by one, in ribbons, meat and flesh and fat, and finally, bone. Dark red soaking the door, the floor, the walls. My hand wouldn’t stop shaking as hunks of his flesh came apart, just to make him stop talking. He curses me, curses the world, curses his daughter with every wretched breath he took. If he wasn’t afraid to die, I would make him be afraid to live.

Gradually, I scoop his moldy skin into the bucket. If I had a snake, I would feed it to them.

His strangled screams fill the murky air of the basement. I do it as slow as I can, for every word he has spoken to me. Peeling it off is quite easy. Skin is in layers, so you must know how deep to use your knife to cut in. You start at the base of the forehead, before coming down at the neck, then finally ending at edge of the foot. I watch each layer turn from white to pink, and then red. When he is nothing but a bright, swollen lump, I take his skin upstairs and bury it in the front yard in a deep hole where the maggots can feast upon it. I am breathing very hard. I know I cannot make him suffer as much as I want him to.

My eyes are very wet and sore.

Ihaveachild Ihadachild ababy

MYBABY

I wash my bloodied hands in the sink and sit out on the porch steps to have a cigarette, although I can’t get the box open. I fumble with my lighter, before I drop it with my trembling hands. It lands on the damp dirt below.

My hands rapidly go for a nearby chair. I smash the windows with the legs, before flinging it across the yard. I reenter my kitchen, toss out drawers, leave silverware loudly clanging on the floor. Whatever cups, bowls, and plates that are in my cabinets I toss to the floor, ignoring the sound of shattering pottery. I flip over my table, throw whatever comes into my sight, punch holes in the walls. There is a picture of my parents and I hanging in the wall. I rip it in half, before chucking it at the table.

The frame shatters into pieces.

Slowly, in the midst of the mess, I weakly sink to the floor. I hug my knees and bury my face in my lap, curling up in a ball. My breaths are heavy, ragged. I am choking as salt water silently rolls down to the bottom of my chin, dripping on the floor, before I begin to sob.

I had a child.