_Shannon_
04-02-2011, 08:49 PM
Out in the Michigan sticks, on that horse farm, it was so early that May morning, it was still nighttime. Too early for birds. She sat outside on the dew covered grass with her arms wrapped around her knees. She shivered and looked down at her green pants. She thought the moon looked lonely. Here with her friends, she believed with her whole heart in the safety of numbers. Earlier that day she joked with her daddy that the paisley on her yellow shirt looked like an army of amoebas. Just a whisper of his aftershave hung on her collar where she had hugged him good-bye and then lied to his face about where she was going.
Nobody knew where those two guys came from. Only that they heard about a party out in the sticks, on that horse farm. They rode up in a beat up, old Detroit car; they parked haphazardly on the front lawn. So rock n' roll. Ancient at age twenty, rumors floated around that one of them was on probation.
Someone brought her more cheap vodka and orange juice from concentrate. Lips numb from drinking. The boy she really liked left hours ago. She didn't mind talking with all that alcohol pumping through her and all that wondering if he liked her. It couldn't be true. Without seeing anyone actually leave, everyone seemed to wander away out of the cold. She liked it there under the stars. One last friend remained. Safety in numbers.
Those two guys talked. A lot. Somehow, the way things go, she talked to the older one with long hair. Her friend talked to the younger, shorter one. She rambled about the books she loved. She said she wanted to be an English professor when she grew up. Lying down on the dew covered grass, she looked out at the infiniteness of the sky in those Michigan sticks, on that horse farm. More vodka and orange juice showed up from the darkness. She said something about waiting until she was married. And then she was swallowed by blackness.
When she came to, the odor of back seats and sweat and stale cigarettes overtook her. His hair hung in her face. Her leopard print underwear, which she always wore for good luck at track meets, dangled around one ankle. His entire body weight crushed her chest. She heard herself moan. "See, it feels good . Doesn't it", a voice only vaguely familiar instructed her. And because it did, she buried her face into the crack of the vinyl seat and fell into the shame of it. None of her friends were here now, not even the moon. Everything had dropped away.
"Hurry," the voice said, "I gotta get the car back before my dad calls the cops. I don't want to go back to jail." So rock n' roll. Her eyes could see nothing, but she knew by the change in weight on her body in the back seat of that beat up, old Detroit car out in the Michigan sticks, on that horse farm, that her friend had left the younger, shorter one and gone inside.
Unsure how she got dressed, she felt arms dragging her up to the kitchen door. When the screen door creaked, she looked up at the infiniteness of the sky. She thought the moon looked lonely. He let her go, and she fell to her face on the floor. She caressed the grit-covered smoothness of yellow linoleum with hands that didn't feel like hers. She heard a car start and drive away, gravel clunking as it hit the fender.
"Hey Shannon, where were you! Get up, girl. You want some chicken nuggets?" a jovial voice attached to warm hands chuckled, as they walked her into the living room to a cozy chair. Her head swimming, those hands shoved a paper plate into her lap. A bottle of ketchup appeared and splurted it's contents onto the plate. She ate like a hungry child and licked salty crumbs off her fingers. She fell asleep in that chair with that white plate, stained red, on her legs.
The late morning light filtered into her dreams around the drawn blinds, waking her slowly. Her eyes still closed, she felt her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like it was covered in spider webs. As she blinked awake, she had the innocence of those first moments of morning. And then she remembered, and thought it must not be true. It couldn't be true. She shivered and looked down at her green pants, the paper plate had disappeared.
She pushed herself up out of that chair, with a pounding head she plodded to the bathroom. The puffy, cracked toilet seat exhaled as she sat down. Her leopard print underwear, which she always wore for good luck at track meets , dangled around her ankles. A brown blood stain told her what she needed to know. Pragmatically she thought, "I guess when I have sex now it won't hurt." She knew without thinking it, that her body was ruined forever. Safety was an illusion. She wadded up those underwear and threw them away.
Nobody knew where those two guys came from. Only that they heard about a party out in the sticks, on that horse farm. They rode up in a beat up, old Detroit car; they parked haphazardly on the front lawn. So rock n' roll. Ancient at age twenty, rumors floated around that one of them was on probation.
Someone brought her more cheap vodka and orange juice from concentrate. Lips numb from drinking. The boy she really liked left hours ago. She didn't mind talking with all that alcohol pumping through her and all that wondering if he liked her. It couldn't be true. Without seeing anyone actually leave, everyone seemed to wander away out of the cold. She liked it there under the stars. One last friend remained. Safety in numbers.
Those two guys talked. A lot. Somehow, the way things go, she talked to the older one with long hair. Her friend talked to the younger, shorter one. She rambled about the books she loved. She said she wanted to be an English professor when she grew up. Lying down on the dew covered grass, she looked out at the infiniteness of the sky in those Michigan sticks, on that horse farm. More vodka and orange juice showed up from the darkness. She said something about waiting until she was married. And then she was swallowed by blackness.
When she came to, the odor of back seats and sweat and stale cigarettes overtook her. His hair hung in her face. Her leopard print underwear, which she always wore for good luck at track meets, dangled around one ankle. His entire body weight crushed her chest. She heard herself moan. "See, it feels good . Doesn't it", a voice only vaguely familiar instructed her. And because it did, she buried her face into the crack of the vinyl seat and fell into the shame of it. None of her friends were here now, not even the moon. Everything had dropped away.
"Hurry," the voice said, "I gotta get the car back before my dad calls the cops. I don't want to go back to jail." So rock n' roll. Her eyes could see nothing, but she knew by the change in weight on her body in the back seat of that beat up, old Detroit car out in the Michigan sticks, on that horse farm, that her friend had left the younger, shorter one and gone inside.
Unsure how she got dressed, she felt arms dragging her up to the kitchen door. When the screen door creaked, she looked up at the infiniteness of the sky. She thought the moon looked lonely. He let her go, and she fell to her face on the floor. She caressed the grit-covered smoothness of yellow linoleum with hands that didn't feel like hers. She heard a car start and drive away, gravel clunking as it hit the fender.
"Hey Shannon, where were you! Get up, girl. You want some chicken nuggets?" a jovial voice attached to warm hands chuckled, as they walked her into the living room to a cozy chair. Her head swimming, those hands shoved a paper plate into her lap. A bottle of ketchup appeared and splurted it's contents onto the plate. She ate like a hungry child and licked salty crumbs off her fingers. She fell asleep in that chair with that white plate, stained red, on her legs.
The late morning light filtered into her dreams around the drawn blinds, waking her slowly. Her eyes still closed, she felt her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth like it was covered in spider webs. As she blinked awake, she had the innocence of those first moments of morning. And then she remembered, and thought it must not be true. It couldn't be true. She shivered and looked down at her green pants, the paper plate had disappeared.
She pushed herself up out of that chair, with a pounding head she plodded to the bathroom. The puffy, cracked toilet seat exhaled as she sat down. Her leopard print underwear, which she always wore for good luck at track meets , dangled around her ankles. A brown blood stain told her what she needed to know. Pragmatically she thought, "I guess when I have sex now it won't hurt." She knew without thinking it, that her body was ruined forever. Safety was an illusion. She wadded up those underwear and threw them away.