Traffick

  Finally, he says, Since we’re friends

  now, here’s a story I don’t tell

  many people. My high school

  sweetheart was this amazing

  girl. Smart. Gorgeous. Going

  places. A week after graduation,

  a semi hit her car. She survived,

  but lost a leg, and her face wasn’t

  ever going to be as beautiful

  again. I did everything I could

  to persuade her life was still

  worth living, but she killed herself

  that summer. You want respect?

  Get your ass up out of that bed

  and onto your feet again. You can.

  Add Vince

  To my cheer squad. Weird.

  So goddamn weird. “Sucks

  about your girlfriend, dude.”

  It was a tragedy. What about you?

  You’ve thought about suicide,

  yeah? He looks at me intently.

  “Strangely, no. I mean, I did

  ask the Great Squash to please

  haul my ass home to the pumpkin

  patch in the sky, but he ignored

  me, and I’m way too much

  of a coward to do the deed myself.”

  He laughs, but then grows

  serious. But . . . All right, I know

  this is really personal, but any

  chance you can have children?

  Not that you need a dozen

  next month or anything, but

  historically the Carinos are big

  on offspring—you know, like

  populating the planet with Italians.

  “I don’t need a dozen, ever,

  and I’m not sure I’ll even want

  one or two. But I felt that way

  before this, and if I change

  my mind, apparently the semen

  factory is still functioning. It’s

  the delivery method that’s in

  doubt. Anyway, you’re not saying

  you want me to knock Ronnie up?”

  His amusement grows. You do,

  and I’ll kick your ass. Unless

  that’s what she wants one day.

  “Just so you know, my ass can’t

  feel a thing, so kicking it would be

  irrelevant.” Am I really joking

  about this? “As for the rest,

  I guess it’s one step at a time

  (figuratively, of course) for now.

  Tomorrow is a long way away.

  The challenge is figuring out

  how to get through today.”

  Fair enough. Listen. I’m happy

  to get hold of your mom about

  your car and the house renovation.

  But would you please let her know

  I’m going to call, so she doesn’t think

  I’m out to scam her or something?

  I Agree

  And Vince says goodbye, and as

  I watch his retreat an odd sensation

  settles over me: contentment.

  Not at my condition, or the things

  that led me here, but at the vague

  possibility of a meaningful future.

  The first step is acceptance, that’s what

  they keep telling me, and I understand

  that my only real choices are to accept

  or take the quick way out, like Vince’s

  girlfriend. My seventeenth birthday

  is still a month away, three days after

  the current year melts into the next.

  I should be thinking about football.

  Junior prom. Geometry, chemistry,

  and American history. Psychology.

  I should be worrying about Christmas

  and what to buy for Mom and Ronnie.

  Those things are lost to me, but what

  remains is more important, and vital

  to my struggle to, as Vince said,

  get my ass up out of bed and onto

  my feet again. I’ve got love. Support.

  And at least a couple of friends.

  Funny, but I never really thought

  about my friends—or lack of them.

  I had lots back in Kansas, and I

  probably would have qualified

  some of the people I knew from

  school here in Vegas as buddies,

  but no, not really. And of the girls

  I went out with, only Ronnie

  qualified. As for Vince, I saw him

  as a means to an end. I had it all

  bass-ackwards, and in hindsight

  I see everything I did, every damn

  goal I set, revolved totally around

  me. Why did it take something like

  this to clear my vision, shine

  a spotlight on what’s truly important—

  not money or dope or winning a bet,

  but treasuring the people who love

  you? Figuring that out is the upside.

  The downside is I didn’t get it while

  Jack was still around, or before I could

  step in and stop Cory’s downslide.

  But any chance of that has evaporated.

  Ditto the happiness I felt moments ago.

  A Sudden Jolt

  Zaps my spine, electric pain

  just south of my disconnection.

  “Jesus!” I fling the word toward

  the wall, and it bounces back, too

  loud in the hospital silence.

  The effort sends another bolt

  down, where I have no feeling

  to speak of. How is it possible?

  My finger starts working the call

  button again and again. Overkill,

  and I know it, but I want relief now!

  Footsteps come pounding and Nurse

  Carolyn hustles in. What’s wrong?

  She hurries to the side of the bed.

  Pain? What kind, and where?

  I’m familiar enough with the vocab

  to tell her, “Lumbar region, neuropathic.”

  The kind initiated by my short-circuited

  nerves, rather than musculoskeletal,

  which is muscle or joint discomfort,

  caused by overloading them. This is not

  overwork. “It’s bad. Real bad. Please,

  can you give me something?” She nods

  and goes to get permission while I sit

  here wondering if the source of this

  searing static isn’t my stressed-out

  brain informing my body that I

  deserve to hurt. Maybe I should

  keep my appointment with the shrink—

  the one I’ve been avoiding, as if I

  don’t need a psyche adjustment.

  Carolyn returns with both meds

  and my mom in tow. Mom watches

  me swallow a dose of relief, and

  waits for the nurse to go. I need

  to talk to you about the house—

  “Hey. Ronnie’s brother, Vince,

  stopped by. He says he has a cousin

  who can help with the alterations. . . .”

  Another sharp stab in my lower

  back makes me wince, and Mom’s face

  creases with concern. “Don’t worry.

  I’ll be okay as soon as this pill

  kicks in. Anyway, Vince says maybe

  he could have it done by . . . what?”

  She pulls a chair over close to me.

  Takes my hand. I didn’t want to worry

  you about anything outside of here, but . . .

  But There’s a Lot

  To worry about, starting with Mom

  hasn’t been able to put in very many

  hours at her already low-paying job.

  She’s behind on bills, chief among

  them the mortgage. Jack’s life

  insurance kept her head above water


  for several months, but she can’t see

  a way to satisfy the bank. She’s thinking

  about letting the house go to a short sale,

  which means we’ll have to live

  somewhere else. Uncle Vern will

  let us move in for a while. There isn’t

  a rehab hospital close by, but there’s

  a gym not far away. Hopefully we can

  find a decent physical therapist.

  “Go back to Kansas? No fucking way!

  What will I do there? I can’t farm. I can’t

  fix tractors. Hey, I know. Maybe I can

  find work as a scarecrow.” Anger carves

  into me, a white-hot blade. “No, Mom.

  I won’t leave Ronnie or give up on my rehab.

  I’ll figure something out.” Where can I

  find a big wad of cash? Is there a market

  for sex with a guy in a wheelchair?

  A Poem by Brielle Scott

  Scarecrow

  That lovely name

  is what I was called

  in elementary school.

  All it took was one

  vile

  boy informing everyone

  on the playground

  that my clothes were Goodwill,

  and my face was

  ugly

  enough to scare

  crows dead off a high

  wire, and the other kids’

  laughter

  inspired a whole line

  of barnyard jokes. It took

  years to understand how that

  defined

  the way I looked at myself

  and perhaps explained

  why I changed myself so

  drastically. I became one of

  the painted

  women I saw on TV,

  and that inspired

  all the wrong people to steal

  piece after piece of

  me.

  And then Ginger came along.

  Ginger

  Stealing Time

  To spend with Brielle has totally

  been a challenge. You’re not

  supposed to hook up with other

  residents here, and since we’re all

  girls, that isn’t a problem for most.

  At first, it wasn’t an issue for us, either.

  But kissing led to touching led to

  the overwhelming need to explore

  each other in the most personal ways.

  And that means sneaking around,

  something I hate. I’m an in-your-face,

  this-is-me-take-it-or-leave-it kind

  of person. I’d rather just let everyone

  know that Brielle and I have connected

  because this feels like we’re living

  a lie, and dishonesty sucks most of all.

  Still, after dinner, rather than follow

  the group down the hall to watch TV,

  I go to my room, wait a few minutes

  for the others to settle in, then I slink

  the opposite direction, to Brielle.

  She’s waiting for me on her bed in

  a fuzzy blue robe. She opens it, and

  there is nothing underneath but

  toasted-oat skin stretched over soft

  flesh. She is all curves, a complete

  contrast to Alex’s taut, straight lines.

  Turn off the light, Brielle whispers.

  Darkness shades the room, but

  not completely. The moon is bright

  through the window, offering just

  enough illumination so we can see

  each other’s silhouettes. Brielle

  coaxes me closer. I’m nervous,

  but more about someone finding

  out than about what we want to make

  happen. I approach slowly, peeling

  back my blouse and dropping

  my skirt to the floor. “What about

  your roommate? Should we worry?”

  No need to rush, she purrs. Sonya

  is cool, and I asked her to please

  give me an hour alone in exchange

  for some help with her algebra.

  “Good. I do appreciate a smart

  woman, not to mention excellent

  planning. But I’ve got something

  more exciting than algebra in mind.”

  I Climb into Bed

  Beside her, open my arms, and

  she settles into them like a warm

  mist. Her lips seek mine, and our kiss

  is sweet and gentle at first, but quickly

  blossoms into passion. Brielle rolls

  onto her back, urges me on top

  of her, and the skin-to-skin contact

  lifts the rich scent of cocoa butter.

  “Mmm. You smell like chocolate.

  Hot chocolate.” We giggle softly,

  like little girls, though the response

  of our bodies is all woman. With Alex,

  I was never in control, something

  that always bothered me. I take charge

  now, and it’s a feeling like no other

  to give pleasure before asking for it

  in kind. Emotion wells up, seeking

  release along with the rise and fall

  of her breasts. I don’t dare admit

  to having fallen in love, though,

  not to her or to myself, so I find

  other words, hope they convey

  how very much I care: “You are

  beautiful, do you know that?”

  Unreasonably, her muscles contract

  and grow tight. Don’t say that.

  Don’t lie to me. I’m ugly enough

  to scare crows dead off a high wire.

  My initial reaction is to laugh,

  but I stifle it, knowing she means

  what she said. “When was the last

  time you looked in a mirror?”

  She sighs. Every time I look in

  a mirror I see that girl—the one

  my classmates made fun of. I can’t

  find anyone else there. Just her.

  “That is so wrong. Whoever told

  you that you were ugly was obviously

  blind. I wish he—or she—could see

  you now. You are amazing.”

  I kiss her to prove it, and she relaxes

  again. “That’s better,” I soothe, then

  spend thirty minutes convincing

  her how wrong that person was.

  I Only Think About Alex

  Four or five times.

  I try to keep my mind

  solidly here with Brielle,

  but comparisons seem

  to be inevitable. Alex

  made me take, take, take.

  Brielle opens herself to

  my giving. Truthfully,

  I have always been on

  the receiving end, whether

  by invitation or because

  I had no choice. This is so

  new I might have no idea

  how to enjoy it, except it’s

  instinctive. My own joy

  comes from making Brielle

  sigh with pleasure, and at

  last cry out that yes, this

  is right, and yes she feels

  beautiful. And I love

  that I can do that for her

  when I couldn’t manage it

  for Alex. I am turned on,

  alive, because I am powerful.

  Post-Pleasure

  No time to revel in afterglow,

  we slip back into our clothes

  before Sonya can return to claim

  her bed. “I wish we could sleep

  together.” Thinking about it,

  I’ve rarely slept alone. Before

  I left Gram’s, there was always

  at least one sister tucked in beside

  me. And then there was Alex,

>   who I loved to snuggle up against,

  though as time went on, she pulled

  away from me more and more.

  That would be nice, says Brielle.

  But that will probably never

  happen, and it makes me sad.

  Why did we have to connect now?

  “The natural cussedness of things,

  that’s what my gram used to say.

  It’s like the good stuff always hits

  at the exact wrong time. Sucks.”

  She comes over, slides her arms

  around my neck, kisses me sweetly.

  Are you really leaving day after

  tomorrow? Why do you have to go?

  I push her gently away, look

  down toward the floor so I can’t

  see the sadness in her eyes. “Gram

  needs me. And I have to figure

  out who I am. I don’t know who

  that is, or who I want to become.

  I only know who I was, and this place

  is a constant reminder of yesterday’s

  Ginger, the one I have to leave

  behind. I just wish I didn’t have

  to leave you, too. I never expected

  to care about someone again.”

  Brielle pushes closer, lifts a hand,

  and her fingertips flutter against

  my cheek. I’ll go you one better.

  I never expected to care for anyone,

  period. I’ve worked very hard to

  avoid it, in fact, which is why

  everyone thinks I’m cold. Maybe

  I am, but it’s because I’m afraid

  of getting hurt. Love wasn’t meant

  for people like you and me. You

  have to be strong and brave to fall

  in love. And maybe a little stupid.

  Before I Can Figure Out

  How to reply, we hear footsteps

  outside the door. Brielle pops up

  onto her bed and I hustle over

  to the cracked vinyl chair near

  the window, making sure my

  clothing is straight and buttoned.

  My butt is barely planted when

  Sonya comes in, humming

  a Maroon 5 song I recognize

  from back when I still listened to

  music. She stops when she sees me.

  Considers. Smiles. Oh. Hey, Ginger.

  I don’t really care if she suspects,

  so I meet her expression head-on.

  “Hi, Sonya. Thanks for giving us

  a little space. We were just talking

  about how you have to be brave

  to fall in love, or maybe stupid.

  What do you think?” I address

  Sonya, but give Brielle a wink.

  Sonya laughs. I think you have