11 messy lipgloss

I lay in bed.

One French braid done,

one half done.

Then I felt the mattress dip.

“Jo, Joelene.”

“Elene.”

“Jo-Jo.”

Then two big hands

on my skinny back:

“Joelene?”

“Come on, Squirt…”

I flew up

and frowned at him.

“Do not call me that!”

The sound of Papaw’s old truck

hummed out front,

then rattled through the gate.

My parents were leaving

for the market

As they would always do

on Saturdays.

Leaving me alone

with Eric.

He knew too.

So, he smiled

like a fox.

“You’re stuck with me,

little lamb.”

“Could you stop calling me

those stupid names?”

I all but snapped.

The sun was out, bright as ever.

And Eric eyes looked like sea weeds.

And his scent was intoxicating weed.

And I could smell it on his breath.

Weed and something else.

And he leaned in and smiled.

“What should I call you then?

Bunny?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t call me anything…”

Ignoring him, I reached for

my passion lip gloss.

I spread it over my mouth.

Eric looked there, then sighed, and sat.

He looked like a stranger.

He was a stranger.

I barely knew the man.

He barely knew me.

Yet, he kissed me.

Did older people behave this way?

I’m naïveté, wrapped in a pretty pink box

with a red bow.

He smiled. “Listen.

She’s not my girl.”

I kept my eyes

on the yellow glittery liquid,

thick

and half-finished in the

pressed-out tube.

My heart was pressed-out

and oozing glittery blood

all over

my dirty-grey carpet.

“Just so you know…”

I smacked my lips together

and confidently began.

Mamaw said being young

is a weapon.

I chose to be a knife.

I wanted to stab Eric

where he stabbed me.

“Your kiss didn’t feel nice.

I lied.

It tasted disgusting.”

Eric didn’t move.

He didn’t react.

There should have been blood

dripping down his chest.

There was none.

His grey button-down

was dry.

His smile stayed on.

And he said:

“If it was…

then let me correct it…”

And he leaned in,

pressed his lips on mine.

This time…

I felt his tongue,

I felt

the stickiness of my lip gloss

against his mouth,

and I felt stars.

Woah…

12 strawberry smoothies

The kiss was done right this time.

And I think I was in love.

And when Mamaw and Papaw

came home later on.

Baskets filled with fruits

and vegetables,

I was more talkative

than ever before.

I helped them unpack,

helped Mamaw put the stuff away.

Papaw laughed and shook his head

when I fought to take his coat,

and he said:

“someone is in a good mood.

What did Eric feed you on here?”

Sloppy kisses and wet tongues.

Then Eric came around

the bend of the hallway.

And he only chuckled.

But when Pops looked away,

he sent me a wink.

And I melted.

Oh, we’re keeping secrets.

No. Problem.

All evening

while we made the cheesy pasta

and strawberry smoothies,

Eric kept giving me

coded gazes and subtle smiles,

and I ensured to sit awfully

when Mamaw wasn’t around.

Because if he thought I couldn’t see

his eyes going under,

then he was gravely wrong.

The week went on like this.

I found some new toys.

And they were more fun

when I thought of Eric.

They were addictive.

And so was Eric.

He’d steal moments

and spend time with me

whenever he could.

In the barn.

In his room.

In the horses’ stable.

In the living room

when my bring-ups weren’t home.

Eric and I

couldn’t get our hands

off each other at all.

And did I like it?

Yes, I did.

13 between the thighs

Now I was sitting

on his bed,

in his room.

The lights were down,

the night was cold.

Eric kissed me once,

then twice,

then thrice.

Then I lost count.

He kissed me until

my lips felt heavy.

Then when he got tired

of kissing my lips,

he went to my neck.

My eyes rolled

back in my head.

So much different

than goodnight kisses.

Then when he finished

kissing me on the shoulder,

he asked in a strange,

deeper voice:

“Can I show you something,

Joelene?”

Yes.

I was excited.

Would we go outside?

Take a train tomorrow?

Would it be a date?

What would I wear?

What should I do with my hair?

I was all out of Vaseline,

so my hair was dry.

But Eric wasn’t

going to take me anywhere.

At least…anywhere

outside of this room.

Hands on thighs,

lips on my neck.

And those hands went higher.

And he pressed harder against me.

And I was laying flat.

And he was between my legs.

Then his fingers

were slipping past my rags.

And then…

I was seeing fireworks.

Holy Moly…

14 young gals

And no, not sex.

We didn’t have sex

that night.

But his hands

were skillful.

And I took a trip

to some faraway place

more than once.

And the next weekend

when Mamaw invited

her friends over,

they had a heated discussion.

Jenna, with her big tummy,

was talking about sexual abuse

and what was the difference

between consensual

and non-consensual sex.

And Papaw was helping Robert

and Eric with the grill.

And Mamaw said:

“Perverts are all around us.

Men who like younger girls

should be interrogated.”

And Papaw laughed:

“So because a man likes

a younger girl he’s a pervert?”

Jenna side-eyed him.

“He has the potential.

Any man who is fine

with touching a young gal

should be watched.”

And Eric looked around

and his eyes met mine.

They looked like a green,

stormy sea.

Like he was troubled.

And I hoped he knew

I didn’t think he was a ‘Pervert,’

even though I was younger

than him.

But when I tried to smile at him,

to reassure him,

he walked away

and escaped around the back.

And without thinking,

I went after him.

Because I didn’t like

to see Eric sad.

It made me sad.

15 ’round the back

Eric’s back was turned

when I went ’round the back.

Past the rubber pool.

And the chicken coop.

And the old swings.

And the ponds of

slime-green water.

And he had one hand on his waist.

The other holding a phone to his ear.

And as I was about

to call out to him, he spoke:

“Yeah, I miss you too.

Can’t wait for this war to be over

so we can see each other again.

I love you.”

Then he kissed through the phone

and laughed.

And my heart popped,

and I stepped back,

and my shoe pressed

on a piece of stick.

And he looked back

and saw me

with my bent lips

and big, watery eyes.

And his eyebrows

pulled together:

“it’s not what it looks like.”

But I turned around

and ran off.

He was fast.

He held me

as I was about to break

the corner.

I caught a glimpse of Jenna

and Mamaw,

and a teardrop slipped down

my cheek

as Eric pulled me

behind our big cherry tree.

I cried and kicked.

“Shh, shh. Hey, hey…”

He was trying to shut me up,

so they wouldn’t hear.

“Take your pervy hands off me!”

I screamed and broke away.

I said pervy so he’d feel hurt.

He was no pervert.

If anyone was the pervert,

it was me. I was flashing him

at any chance I got.

The man got eyes; he’ll look.

I turned to face him

and he took a step back.

His face softened.

“Joelene. Listen,

it’s not what you’re thinking.”

“It is. You have a girl,

don’t you?” I demanded.

“That was no ‘girl’.”

He was acting cautious

and delicate.

Like he was afraid I’d yell:

“Eric touched me!

He kissed me!

He’s done things to me behind your backs!”

No doubt,

Papaw would have

murdered him.

For touching

his babygirl.

“Please, look,

it’s my mom.”

He came close to me cautiously,

and I dropped my eyes

to see the ID: Mom.

Oh.

I sniffled,

feeling shame.

And Eric smiled

at my forfeit.

And then he came closer

and hugged me.

“Don’t worry, squirt.

It’s just me and you…”

And I believed.

Because this was all consent.

So it had to be right. Right?

16 in the barn

The following week with Eric was like

seven minutes in Heaven.

We played,

we talked,

we laughed.

But Eric hated the boring questions,

like: what’s your favourite colour?

What are your dreams?

What are your aspirations?

Eric always fanned them off:

“I don’t know.”

“Not sure.”

“Mm. Too lazy to think about it, squirt.”

But when it was my turn to speak,

I’d fish out a whole list of things.

I wanted to be a pediatrician.

I wanted to skydive some day.

I had a lot to say.

But Eric would fall asleep

whenever I talked about them.

But I couldn’t say nothing.

He was tired.

Papaw took him to the farm

on Mondays and Thursdays.

Now we were in the barn,

feeding the horses,

washing away manure

with the long hose.

And I got a flash of mischief,

and started spraying Eric with the water.

He playfully tried to dodge it,

and I laughed and threw my head back.

Then he was grabbing me

and dragging me against his wet chest,

and he held my fingers

and peel them off the hose easily.

And I was being sprayed next.

Until water was dripping

from my hair

and mouth,

and my white blouse

and skirt were now

see-through.

And Eric could see

my nipples against the fabric

and the pink fabric

of my panties.

And his eyes

changed.

“What?” I asked,

using my youthful weapon again,

and Eric shook his head anxiously.

Then he swallowed

and asked: “can you ride

the horse?”

I nodded slowly,

cheeks pink,

eyes just as dilated as his.

“Should we ride

one of them then?” He asked.

“Yes,” I said,

making no move to remove

my wet clothes. “I don’t mind.”

17 wet

We rode horses until midday crept in.

Mamaw and Papaw were still at the market,

and I was here with Eric,

walking back to the house,

wet and giggling.

And when we ran up the steps,

the house sounded empty

and our steps were hollow and ominous.

Then we were in my room,

and I was stripping off.

I pulled my shirt over my head.

Eric caught a glimpse of my chest,

and he turned around respectfully.

“Tell me when you’re done,” he said,

and dragged his shirt over his head.

And I stripped my skirt off.

And I never knew why

he was in my room.

When he could change

inside his.

And standing half-bare

in my rags and bra-less,

I dropped my hands by my sides,

and said confidently:

“you can turn around now.”

He slowly spun around,

like a criminal, caught in headlights.

He froze.

Eyes trailing over my body.

And with a smug smile,

I hooked my fingers

under the waist of my rags,

and pulled them down slowly.

I stepped out of them,

leaving them in a tangled loop.

Now I was bare.

Eric swallowed again.

That pointed thing in his throat moving.

Then before I knew it,

he was close to me.

Hands on my arm.

His naked chest brushing against my naked chest.

Our breaths mixing.

Then we were kissing.

And he was kissing me too hard.

And he was going fast.

Until I was on the bed.

And he was over me.

And we kissed and kissed and kissed.

He bit my lip.

He bit my ear.

And he dipped his hand between my legs.

I saw stars. I saw sparkles. I saw the whole night sky.

And then he started undoing his belt.

Fear welled in my gut.

I lay still, underneath him.

But there was a red light in my head.

Saying: stop, stop.

But I closed my eyes.

He didn’t kiss me.

He told me to open my eyes.

And when I did, he wasn’t looking at me.

His eyes were shut, his head tipped back.

And it happened.

The worst thing I’d ever felt.

I screamed and tried to push him off.

But it was already gone.

Something I could never ever get back.

18 hot water

I lay in bed awake.

Blood on the sheets.

Goosebumps on my flesh.

Eric lay asleep beside me.

I was burning up.

Like someone poured hot water there.

I was spent.

I could hardly move.

I’d ridden all day.

Not just horses you see.

And all I kept seeing

as I lay on the crumpled sheets

was Eric’s open mouth,

rough hands on my waist,

hot breath on my face.

As he panted and panted.

But I couldn’t shake off

the uneasiness of what I’d done.

Eric rolled on his side

and pulled me into his arms.

He lay his head on my chest;

it was heavy.

And I asked:

“Eric? Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes.” He said

in a sleepy voice.

Then I asked next:

“Would you do it again?”

Silence.

Then…

“Ah, maybe…”

Youth was a weapon.

Youth was a weapon.

“Okay. There are plenty

of boys out there anyway…”

I murmured, half-sourly.

Because I knew it’d work.

He propped his head up.

“What? What was that?”

And I started to giggle.

“No, repeat that!”

He laughed, tickling my sides.

“Repeat it, repeat it!”

I squirmed

and kicked

and chuckled like a hyena.

And he was laughing too.

Sweat on his nose,

his eyes friskily wide.

And in that moment.

Let me tell you,

he was worth the sin.

Then I said:

“you heard it!”

And he said:

“no, I didn’t, repeat.”

His voice was chopped

’cause he was romping.

And when he didn’t get an answer

that didn’t involve teeth and mischief,

he put himself between my legs,

kiss my lips.

Hard then slow,

then hard again.

And in no time,

I couldn’t feel the guilt anymore.

It left.

Along with the hot water.

19 bible study

Mama said I was acting different.

That I was more fiesty

and mature.

That I stayed in my room

too much.

Played music

too much.

Then she had a problem with my feet

being on Eric’s lap

one movie night.

Papaw didn’t care.

But Mamaw?

“Foot down, gal!”

Let me tell you,

that woman needed to be washed

in the blood of the lamb

more than anyone.

Maybe not more

than me.

Because since that night,

Eric and I had been washing

in so many things.

None of which holy.

I felt guilty at dinner,

at bedtime,

at breakfast.

I felt guilty in the shower

when the impurity oozed out of me

like a bleeding sore.

And that sore got worse

on Sundays when Mamaw

took me to church.

I always thought that man

with the biggest bible

and offering plate

would see through me.

“No fornication!

Obey thy parents!”

One bible study,

I was sure he’d found out about me

falling asleep without doing

the dishes one night.

He’d called me up,

saying I was possessed with a nasty spirit.

That there was some lust demon behind me.

He rubbed my head

with consecrated oil.

Pushed his hand against my forehead

with force, eyes shut,

bible against his chest.

And he spoke in that language

Mamaw would speak in at dinner.

And when I went back to my seat,

Mamaw cried and held me

for the longest while.

I felt loved. But she still said:

“girl, I will fuck you up!”

as soon as we got home.

Mamaw needed a trip

to the altar herself.

But that aside,

I’d been sitting in my hammock,

staring up at sky,

munching on baked cookies

with a book on my chest quite often.

It helped me to take care of the guilt

in the daytime,

and at night,

I knew,

I’d sin again.

Because even Eve couldn’t resist

the forbidden fruit.

Even she couldn’t deny

the tempting serpent.

20 shiny wrapper

Mama came into my room,

one late morning.

And she said:

“Jo-Jo.

I found something in the washer.”

Then she pulled out a shiny

rubber wrapper.

Saying it wasn’t theirs.

Then asked: you having sex?

I said no,

she said I was lying.

Then she added:

“who’s the boy?”

And I knew I couldn’t tell her

cause the ‘boy’ was currently

downstairs with Papaw,

laughing and chatting like the

big ’ole pal they were.

And I didn’t want Eric

getting into trouble.

In my community,

an offense such as betrayal

meant stoning to death.

He without sin

cast the first stone.

Nobody in Rosemount

should fling not one.

Mr. John across the road

beat his wife,

Mr. Leonard stole Mass Roy’s

cows last month.

None could cast not one stone;

I tell you.

Then Mamaw gave up,

cause she knew I wasn’t ’gon tell her.

So she sat on the bed

in her old house frock and said:

“you’re a big girl; do what you want.

Get up. Eric is leaving.”

And I asked:

to where?

The shop?

Downtown?

I got up,

already reaching over

for my shoes.

But Mamaw said:

“no Joelene,

he leaving for his country back.

The war is over.”

And lord,

I could feel the knife

I’d often use on him

piercing through my heart.

Just the night before, he’d been under

as I smiled above him.

Our mouths had met,

then he’d ask me after:

“wanna come back home with me after the war?”

At the time he was slipping

his hand under my nightie.

And I said: “yes.

But what would I tell Mamaw?”

He said:

“don’t need to tell her nothing.”

And now…he was leaving?

Without telling me the plan?

21 newsboy cap

So I got up and ran downstairs.

Papaw wasn’t in the kitchen,

but Eric was standing

and drinking from the milk jug.

“Where ‘you going?!”

I wasn’t talking quietly.

Eric turned around

in his Newsboy cap

and his brown dress-shirt and suspenders,

and man, he was Rose’s Leonardo DiCaprio

in the flesh.

And my stomach tightened

like someone knotted my intestines

the way one would knot a rope.

He said: “Joelene, listen…”

Looked behind me, around us.

“I can’t take you from your parents.

When you’re older, I’ll come back for you.”

Then my mother walked into the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?”

Eric tensed,

and I thought that if I were wicked,

I’d tell Mamaw what he’d done.

No doubt, she’d have classed him

as a pervert.

He’d be stoned to death.

“Jo don’t want me to leave.” Eric grinned

and rubbed me on the head,

I stared up at him evilly from behind his wrist.

He had begging eyes.

But I loved this idiot

too much to snitch on him.

I loved him but Eric

never loved me.

I still love him.

He’s my first love.

Papaw came laughing,

saying how adorable it was.

But there was nothing adorable

about this at all.

If they knew what we’d done

more times than my hands could count,

they wouldn’t be smiling with admiration.

Eric patted my shoulder again,

and Papaw went with him to pack,

and my tears were near to falling.

He was leaving.

He was leaving me.

Right after I gave him every,

single,

thing.

I knew I was too young.

And it wouldn’t last.

But damn him,

for making me feel like it would.

Fucking Eric.

Then when he was finished,

he passed me in the living room.

He looked around.

The coast was clear.

Then he rubbed my back

and whispered in my ear.

“I’ll always want you, Joelene.

Always.”

And he kissed my cheek,

and his eyes were glassy.

He looked away

before I could see the tears.

And mine started flowing.

Damñ him.

Mamaw said earlier

that his work had started back

and he needed to leave.

But he never told me anything.

Then as he started to leave,

he turned to me and waved,

and my heart felt like it would never

be whole again.

Eric left.

He left me so suddenly

yet all at once.

He left me after promising,

that he wouldn’t.

As the trunk hummed

through the gate,

and Eric looked back,

to give me one last smile,

I knew deep down,

Eric wasn’t coming back for me

anytime soon.

He wasn’t. He wouldn’t.

I knew.

Oh, I knew, I knew…

that he had gone home

to be with his real ‘gal’

Oh, I knew. I knew, I knew,

with every single part of me

though it hurt,

though it burns like chili pepper,

that Eric had only wanted

to take advantage of me…