my teeth rattle. You little bitch.
How dare you talk to me like
that? You know anything
I do to get by, I do for you.
“You”
Meaning her collective offspring.
I look into her eyes and find only
honesty there. She means every
word, hasn’t even the slightest
clue how full of shit she totally
is. I don’t care. She should know.
“Some people wait tables or work
in grocery stores, Iris. Hustling
BJs is lazy work.” All on your knees.
Emotions cycle through her eyes
like a color wheel. She wants
to hit me. Wants to hug me.
Her hands, still attached to my
shoulders, tremble. I’m sorry.
I just don’t know anything else.
Finally her hands fall away.
I thought maybe things would
change with Greg. Get better.
What planet does she live on?
“Get real! What guy wants
a woman like … like you?”
Smacked Down
That’s how she looks, but I don’t
feel bad about it. She wants me
to mother her. Well, what mother
with half a pair of balls wouldn’t say
the same thing? (Not counting
my mother!) And I’ve got a full pair.
I swear I can see smoke billowing
from her ears. Who made you so
stinking mean? She spits the s’s.
What a fucking stupid question!
Isn’t she expecting my answer?
“Who do you fricking think?”
She wants to say more, but at this
exact moment, Gram comes
into the room, carrying an armful
of detergenty-smelling laundry.
Her head swivels toward us.
Uh. Am I interrupting something?
Iris shakes her head. Nothing
important. I need a smoke.
She rolls off the bed. And a beer.
I Must Look
As pissed as I feel. Without
a word, Gram lays the folded
clothes on the other bed.
She turns toward me slowly,
and for maybe the hundredth
time, I wonder what has carved
such deep wrinkles into her face.
She’s only, like, fifty-three
or so, and I’m pretty sure that,
unlike Iris, Gram used to be
a knockout. You okay?
Her voice is pillow soft.
My eyes sting suddenly. It
should be Iris—Mom—
asking if I’m okay. “No.”
Gram comes over, sits on
the edge of the bed. Up
close, her face looks like
earthquake-splintered stone.
Worn, but not worn out.
I wish I could change things
for you. And for her, too.
Her childhood was no
walk in the park either. Not
easy, being an army brat. And
touching down in Barstow
wasn’t exactly a reward for years
spent hauling around the U.S.
Then, when her dad got killed …
well, she went starved dog wild.
Between Fort Irwin, Edwards,
and the Marine Corps bases,
there were plenty of men willing
to be stand-ins for her fallen
father. Only it wasn’t exactly
daughterly love they were after.
Guess That Explains
How she got knocked up
with me when she was
only sixteen. Just my age.
And maybe it explains why
she never outgrew teendom.
Still, “Why are you taking her
side? She pisses you off too.
Not like we can’t hear you
yell at each other, you know.”
Gram nods. I know. I’m sorry.
It’s not such a big place.
Barely enough room to fit
you all in. But we’ll get by.
Yes, I get mad at Iris. She can
be downright infuriating. Always
was a selfish girl. Never one
to think about others, or try
to spare their feelings. Not
mother material, not at all. Not
fair to any of you to pop you
out, then leave you to mostly fend
for yourselves. Even coyotes and
jackals do better by their pups.
All I’m asking is for her to get
a job. Something legit. Pay taxes,
stop whoring arou—She skids
to a stop, has said too much.
“It’s okay. I know what she does.
Hate what she does. She’ll never
stop. Not for you. Not for any of us.”
In the Next Room
Sandy starts up a fuss. Short
nap. He’ll be a little turdcake
tonight. Gram and I move at
the same time. Iris will let him
squish around in his wet Pull-Up
until someone else changes it. I stop
Gram with a touch of my hand.
“I’ll get him. You do enough.”
I kiss her cheek gently before
sliding off the bed, onto the chipped
linoleum floor. Nothing special
about Gram’s house. Except Gram.
One second, she says, giving me
a fierce hug. I know things haven’t
been easy for you kids. A regular
parade of Iris’s men, most of ’em
bad ones, in and out of your lives.
Not even knowing your daddies.
Moving around, cycling through
homes. No homes at all sometimes.
And not because the army was giving
anyone orders. I wish I’d known
sooner, but Iris didn’t talk to me
at all for years. Anger just eats
a person up inside, and I swear
that girl was born angry. Anyway,
that ain’t no here nor there.
But now you know where I live.
Whatever happens, I want you
to remember this is always your home.
Love, unlike any I’ve ever known,
floods through me. I kiss Gram’s
cheek. “I will.” I want to say more,
but I’m afraid if I do I’ll jinx
myself, and the other kids too.
Speaking of them, there’s Sandy
again, crying like he’s dying.
“Better go!” I dash toward
the door, and as I leave, I can
hear Gram’s quiet, Tsk-tsk.
Then she whispers, Too bad Iris
can’t be more like her daughter.
I Don’t Think
She meant me to hear it.
But I did, and I flush,
blood warm with pleasure.
That was probably the nicest
thing anyone has ever said
about me, if not to me directly.
I start toward the small bedroom
that used to belong to Iris when
she was in high school. I hate
going in there, because I know
it’s where she got preggers
with me. Same bed, even. No,
I’m not guessing. One night,
after a beer or two too many,
Iris felt the warped need to share
the whole story—how Private First
Class Kenneth Cordell sneaked
in through the window, not once,
but enough times to make damn
sure and knock up one Iris Ann
Belcher. Thanks so much, Daddy.
A Poem by Cody Bennett
Not Damn Sure
Where my real daddy ran
to, if he settled down in some
Podunk town or if he fell flat
off the face of the earth.
No clue
who he is or why Mom
slept with him seventeen
years ago, give or take.
Maybe it was rape.
No lie.
Mom is pretty much
a prude. A nice prude.
and all things considered,
a really great mom.
No complaints
about her or how we
live. Yeah, I’ve got
a stepdad, but he’s pretty
damn good to us.
No reason
to turn all emo over not
knowing my real—scratch
that—I mean biological
father. Why would I want to?
No worries.
Cody
After Wichita
Vegas is a strange, strange city.
I mean, everything in Wichita is
ebony and ivory. Everyone knows
where everyone else stands on things
like immigration (electrify the wall)
or global warming (greenhouse … huh?).
But in Vegas, no one knows
one damn thing about their next-
door neighbor, even. We moved
here almost two years ago, and
the only reason I know anyone
on the block is because of school.
Even there, unless you really
push hard, you don’t make
friends, and if you do, they’re
liable to move away before long.
They say Vegas is a transient
city. Whole lot of truth in that.
People come. People go. Not
like Wichita, where people
mostly stay. Guess I miss
some things about Kansas.
But worrying over it won’t help
anyone. Especially not me.
I Go with the Flow
Don’t make waves, don’t
buck the current. I clean my
room, play nice with my little
brother. Maintain a solid 3.0
GPA. Might even go on to
college. Meanwhile, I work
part time at GameStop to pay
for gas and insurance. My hair
is trimmed, my clothes are neat,
and I never wear all black,
except to funerals. You probably
wouldn’t notice me walking
down the street, unless you
happen to be attracted to
“average.” It’s not such a bad
thing to be. When you fly
well below the radar, you get
away with a hell of a lot.
Of Course
My mom would forgive me
just about anything. Always
trying to make up for the absent
father thing. Not sure why.
My stepfather, Jack, is really
pretty cool. To her. To me.
He’s an aircraft mechanic,
working a civil service job
at Nellis AFB. Mom met him
at Boeing in Wichita. She was
a receptionist there. It wasn’t
exactly love at first sight, at least
not for her. She called him
“persistent.” He called himself
“bit by the love bug.” Okay,
that’s corny, but hey, that’s Jack.
I’ve gotten used to corny. Typical
Jack joke: A rope orders a drink,
but the bartender says, “We don’t
serve ropes here.” The rope goes
outside, ties himself up, unravels
one end, goes back inside. Bartender
says, “Hey, aren’t you that rope?”
Rope shakes his head. “Frayed knot.”
Get It?
You know, “frayed knot,”
meaning “’fraid not.” Corny
as hell, like I said. But also kind
of funny. Anyway, it’s easy
enough to put up with corny when
it’s from-the-heart honest.
Jack is honest as a mare-sniffing
stud, which is why he gets along
with Mom. She can’t stand when
people lie. Can’t blame her, so I try
not to do much out-and-out lying.
“Omitting” is something else.
I do my fair share of omitting.
Despite Mom’s ongoing request
to know where I’m going, who
I’ll be with, and when I’ll be home,
she rarely questions the bare-bones
details I usually provide.
I suppose that might change if
I ever fall into serious trouble.
But so far I’ve done a whole
lot of weekend partying without
getting busted, addicted, or dead.
Smarter than the average stoner.
Tonight Being Saturday Night
I plan on a little fun before
going home. First I have to
finish my shift. One hour and
counting, the door buzzer
signals a customer. Hope he
knows exactly what he wants.
Oops. I mean she, and not just
any “she,” but Veronica Carino.
I haven’t seen her around much
lately. Not since I broke up
with Alyssa, her best friend.
“Hey, Ronnie. What’s up?”
She barely glances my way
as she starts a counterclockwise
circumnavigation. Wii. Xbox.
PlayStation. Doesn’t she know
what system she has? “Can I help
you find what you’re looking for?”
leans across, inflating the scoop
of her tank top. Thanks, but I think
I found it. She wets her lips with
the tip of her tongue, pouts full on.
How come you haven’t called me?
Is This a Trick?
Something she and Alyssa cooked
up to make me look like a jerk?
Ronnie Carino has never even
batted her pretty green eyes at
me before. Let alone given me
an up-close view of those tasty-looking
tits. Something twitches
behind my zipper. Glad I’m
standing behind the counter.
“Uh … called you? Guess
I figured since ’Lyss and I broke
up, you’d probably be mad at me.”
Ronnie takes a deep breath,
rounding the mounds I can’t
quit staring at. Then she exhales
in a big sigh. Why would I be mad
at you? You and ’Lyssa weren’t
good for each other. Oil and H2O …
True enough. We argued over
everything, from music to sports.
Only one thing was really good
between us…. That twitch again.
“So, are you saying you want to go
out with me?” The direct approach
usually cuts straight through
the bullshit, but it can backfire.
I half expect her to laugh and tell
me I’m out of my mind. Instead
she smiles a total come-on. Yeah.
Why? Does that surprise you?
Can’t she see the shock in my
eyes? I feel like I touched a hot
wire. “Kinda, I guess.” I watch
her inhale. Exhale. Ah, why not?
One reason comes immediately
t
o mind. “What about Alyssa?”
She’ll get totally pissed off. But
after she thinks about it, she’ll be
okay … or maybe she won’t….
Ronnie dips even lower, giving
me a quick nipple shot before
drawing back and straightening.
Right now, I don’t care what
’Lyss thinks. Do you? She waits
for me to answer. The thought
crosses my mind again that this
could all be a setup. Still, I shake
my head. Great. How ’bout tonight?
I Watch Ronnie Leave
Wondering what the hell just
went down. Thinking with my
dick. That’s for sure. So what
is Ronnie thinking with? That
makes the dick in question
think even harder. Thank God
when the door opens next, it’s
a bunch of kids. Keeping an eye
on them will help me forget
about what might happen tonight.
Ronnie and I are going to Frozen75,
the only underage club in Vegas.
I guess she’s on some special list
so we won’t have to wait in line
to get in. No booze inside, but
whatever. I just want to watch her
dance. We can keep the refreshments
in my car. And as for dessert …
Stop that! One of the kids comes
over, whining about Pokémon
Purple, and why don’t we have
it, when it’s right in front of his
grubby, little face. “Hang on a
sec and I’ll get it for you.” Brat.
The Rest of the Hour
Creeps by. Tick-tick … tick.
I’m actually happy when people
come in, asking dopey questions.
At least it keeps me from looking
at the freaking clock every ten
seconds. Why am I so anxious?
Well, yeah, there is the idea
that I just might hook up with
one very hot girl. I have to admit
I have thought about boinking
her more than once, while
taking solo care of a hard-on.
Oh yeah, the big M. I probably
do it more than I should, and
Ronnie is definite boner bait,
at least when I’m left to my
own imagination instead of
Internet porn. Viva la webcams!
Good thing Mom and Jack
aren’t too nosy when it comes
to my personal web-browsing
history. One very good example
of “omission.” If they asked, would
I out-and-out lie? Who wouldn’t?