to figure out if Vince is bluffing,
decides he must be. He calls. I call.
We show our cards. My full house
wins the pot! Six-fifty! Oh, yeah.
Lady and I are doing a full-on mosh
now. One thing I’ve managed
to learn, “Thanks so much, gentlemen,
but it’s time for me to go.” It is time,
in fact. My date is in twenty minutes.
Hot Damn
I am feeling good. I stop at the bank,
make two deposits. Into my account.
Into Mom’s account. Not much, but
enough to help out a little. I’d cancel
my three-way, but I promised I’d do
it. Lydia is expecting me to. And so
is Misty. Who I really want to see
right now is Ronnie. First time in
a long time I’m feeling the need
for a long, healthy roll in the hay.
I give her a call, half expecting
her to be out with somebody else.
But she answers immediately.
Hello? Oh God! The sound of
her husky voice lifts me even
higher. Uh, hello? Is somebody
there? When I let her know it’s
me, she is standoffish at first.
“You can be mad at me. I deserve
it. But Ronnie, I swear, I’m so sorry
for pushing you away lately. Things
have been …. uh, bad. We can talk
about that later. I get off in an hour
and a half. I know that’s pretty late….”
Zero hesitation. No! Come over.
I’ll stay up, however long it takes
you to get here. She pauses, and I
can imagine her voice growing
thick in her throat. Goddamn you,
Cody, she sputters. What took so long?
I haven’t cried in a long while,
not since I mostly got over Jack.
I pretty much thought my tear
machine was broken for good.
But no. I can barely choke out,
“I don’t know. But I do know
I love you. See you in a little while.”
I can’t get her off my mind as I drive
to the address Lydia gave me. I feel
awful. Feel wonderful. And for
the first time in a long time, I feel
hopeful. A few more dates, a couple
of big wins, I’ll get out of this
business for good. I’ll find a real
job. Put money away. Help Mom
somehow. Stay in school, work my
ass off and get into college. Oh, there’s
the motel. First things first.
I’m a Little Late
Usually Misty waits for me and we
go in together. Guess she didn’t want
the guy to think we weren’t coming.
I check the room number. Twice.
One time I knocked on the wrong
door. Was that guy ever surprised!
This time when I knock, Misty calls,
Come on in, baby. I do, find her
already mostly naked. The guy,
who’s a totally forgettable middle-aged
nothing, is completely naked.
Jeez, man. I’m only five minutes late.
The dude, who isn’t much down
there either, despite it being at full
mast, turns his attention away from
from Misty, focuses on me. What
are you waiting for? Time is money,
you know. Like it’s going to take him
much time at all. But whatever. It is
his money. And less time is better.
Misty distracts him with her yummy
boobs and I start to pull my T-shirt over
my head. Suddenly the door explodes
behind me. What the …. ?
Something—bear or bulldozer—
knocks me face forward to the floor,
forcing my breath into the carpet.
Misty screams and Nothing Man
yells, What the fuck, as my right
kidney takes two massive punches.
My shirt is still over my head and
I can’t see a damn thing as I fight
for air. But I hear crack-crack-crack.
And the room goes silent, except
for strained breathing, right above
me. And then I hear …. sobbing.
You fucking whore. It is Chris’s voice.
You promised …. no more …. you
said …. and you …. he means me.
His boot takes out two ribs. Oh
my God. Is he going to kill me?
Jack! Didn’t mean it. Don’t want ….
Snap!Lightning? White-hot. Electric.
Shattering. My back. Pieces. Bone.
Dark. Darker. Cut through the black,
blinding light. What? Buzzing. What?
Suck air. Where? Can’t …. No, please.
Ronnie? Sorry. So sorry. Ron ….
Light Floats
Just beyond my eyelids. I want
to open them, see the light, but
the darkness is comforting. Not
much here. Beyond the nothing
(nothing? Nothing. Nothing Man?),
something. A hum. A whisper.
Wake up. Can you wake up for me?
Motion. All around me, movement.
Pressure. Wrapping me. Pressure.
Air. Saccharine air, pumping
into my lungs, through …. plastic.
Plastic? My eyelids stutter. Light!
Sunlight. I am outside. Can’t move.
Tied? Strapped. Strapped to a gurney.
Parking lot. Red and blue lights.
Oh my God. I remember. I roll my head,
see another gurney. “Misty?” A cloth
covers her face. “No.” It is a whisper.
Best I can do. A second gurney
carries another still figure. Nothing
Man. Gone. Both of them gone.
But I am still here. “Thank you, Jack.”
A paramedic asks what I said. “Phone,”
I tell him. “Call Mom. And Ronnie.”
A Poem by Eden Streit
Still Here
At least I think so,
what’s left of who
I used to be
a shadow
on the sidewalk.
I look up, try to find
a rainbow, but the only
thing there is
a lone cloud,
stretching thin
and thinner, clear
to almost not
there, across
an upside-down sea.
I lower my gaze into
a puddle, close my
eyes at what I see.
Don’t want to believe
that ghost is me.
Eden
I Am Less Than a Ghost
I am a corpse, sleepwalking the streets
of Las Vegas. Sometimes I think
I should just head on out into the desert,
lay down on a soft mattress of sand,
close my eyes against the diamond sun
and circling black wings. And wait.
It might be preferable to this cement bed
behind a 7-Eleven Dumpster.
There are lots of us living on the street.
They say Vegas is easier than Reno. Warmer.
There are shelters, I’ve been told, where
you can eat free. Shower sometimes. Sleep.
But I’m afraid of the questions. Too many
questions. So when my stomach offers up
its acid, when I can’t stand the hollowness
for another second, I sell one more slice
of my soul. One slice, twenty dollars. I’ve been
>
here three weeks. Not much left of my soul.
As for My Body
It’s battered, scraped, bruised. The Tears
of Zion shift looks about a hundred years old.
I did spend a few bucks at the Salvation Army.
Bought a used skirt, two tank tops. Underwear.
I hate to think who used them, or why they gave
them away. But they only cost a dime apiece.
I stink, too. I’ve managed four or five showers,
when the man of the hour wanted to spring for
a motel room. More often, it’s the seat of his car.
Quick and easy, five minutes or less. No emotion.
No pain. And the weirdest thing is, I’m not
the least bit embarrassed about doing it anymore.
That’s the worst part. That, and when my brain
insists on remembering Andrew. Thinking
about how he held me, rained his love down
all around me, brings devouring pain.
So I’ll think instead about the coming night, where
I might peddle the remaining tatters of my soul.
Rush Hour
The freeways are bumper to bumper,
so surface streets jam with commuters.
A few of the pushier girls go straight
up to them at traffic lights, knock on
their windows. How about a date?
Most of the guys shake their heads.
Some of them look close to panic. Afraid
they might catch something through the glass?
But every now and again, one of them
opens the passenger door and the girl slips
inside. The car takes off, and minutes
later, comes back around, business done.
I watch a girl get out of an older Cadillac.
At least they had plenty of leg room.
She steps to the curb, stares me down
with steel eyes. What are you looking at?
For some crazy reason, I shatter.
“N-nothing. I m-m-mean I d-don’t know.”
Her gaze softens. New to the biz, huh?
Well, sweetheart, this is a real bad place
for tears. Those guys are freaking sharks.
If they smell blood, they’ll chew you up.
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re
the first person who’s even talked to me
since I got here. I mean except to tell
me to suck harder, or ….”
She cracks up, and so do I. Yeah, well,
I know exactly what you mean. Uh, don’t
get me wrong, okay? Her nose scrunches
up. But you could really use soap and water.
“That bad, huh?” My face actually heats.
Doing disgusting things with gross men
doesn’t embarrass me, but her observation,
no doubt deserved, does? “I’m on the street.”
She reaches into a pocket on her skirt,
pulls out a thin fold of bills. Here’s fifty
dollars. Get a room and some food.
And listen, from the looks of you, this
isn’t the right business. Get smart. Call
home. You don’t belong on the street.
I shake my head. “You worked for that,
and I know what you had to do for it.”
Everything about her hardens. I told
you to get smart. Take the money.
I don’t know what you ran from,
but living like this can’t be better.
Funny, but my girlfriend, Ginger, keeps
telling me the same thing. I never wanted
to listen before. Maybe now I’d better.
Her nose wrinkles again. Call home.
But shower first. She turns abruptly.
Later, she snorts over her shoulder.
Good Samaritan
The words pop into my head. That
is the second time someone I didn’t
know and will likely never see again
handed me money they couldn’t afford
to give away. I don’t understand. Why
me? Other words surface from a place
of deep indoctrination: Whatever they
do for the least of my children, they do
for me…. I wander along the overbaked
cement, sucked into a cerebral vortex.
When it finally spits me out again, I am
on the sidewalk in front of a church. Guardian
Angel Cathedral. Catholic. I am struck
by the beauty of the angular architecture,
and by the amazing artwork above my head—
Jesus, hands extended in welcome, to one and all.
I’ve never once walked beyond the doors
of a Catholic church. But I am drawn inside
this one. I enter, a stranger to the faith.
To the God of this faith and every other.
Friday evening, no worshippers, I find cool
solace inside. I slide into a seat at the rear,
fold my hands. Close my eyes. Do I remember
how to pray? “God, you know I have done
terrible things. I don’t want to do them anymore,
and ask for your forgiveness. I am so sorry….”
My voice catches in my throat. Was I speaking
out loud? Just a little more. “Thank you
for good Samaritans. And please, God, please,
if it’s your will, show me the way out.”
A sense of peace blankets me, and a gentle
voice whispers, How can I help you?
God? No. There is shallow breathing, too.
I open my eyes. A priest sits beside me.
He reminds me of Andrew—handsome,
and fresh, with compassion in his eyes.
“I don’t know how, Father, but I do need help.”
Need his help, and God’s help, to be saved.
A Poem by Seth Parnell
No Way to Be Saved
No way to hit reverse,
turn around,
go back home.
No
chance at forgiveness.
The shale cliffs of
redemption
have crumbled,
surrendered to the sea.
How do you look
for
miracles when you
deny belief? How can
someone
formed of bone and sin
trust his weight to wings?
How does a man
like me
find innocence again?
Seth
I Don’t Remember Innocence
Not, I guess, that I need to.
Nothing innocent about
how I live now. Nothing
naive about being a toy.
That’s what I am now. A toy.
But, hey, what are my options?
I thought about trying to go
home. Once I even swallowed
every ounce of pride, put
in a phone call to Dad.
His raspy voice lifted
memories, good and not so.
Hello? Hello? Who the hell
is this? Then he thought
a sec. Seth? Is that you, boy?
Don’t know if it was the “boy,”
or just remembering his words
the night he sent me away,
but I couldn’t say a damn
thing. I slammed down
the receiver, retreated into
a murky cave of depression.
It’s a place I’ve visited
more and more lately.
The only thing that seems
to yank me away from there
is working out. Sweating
poisons of body and soul.
Having Jared around to help
me sweat isn’t so bad either.
&n
bsp; In the few weeks since he
started helping me, I can
see a vast improvement.
He agrees. Much better form.
Both your lifting, and your body.
He is really close, and the smell
of his sweat beneath his leathery
fragrances reminds me of a tack
room. For some reason, it is
desperately turning me on.
Despite my ballooning
attraction, I have yet to overtly
put any sort of moves on Jared.
He might be taken. And I am
under ongoing ownership.
But no way can I lie back
on this weight bench without
that traitorous part of my body
totally giving me away.
I inhale like I can’t find air.
You okay? he asks. His own
breath falls hot on my neck,
and the stable smell becomes
almost overpowering. Tack.
Sweat. I remember something.
I was little. Playing at Grandma
Laura’s. Hiding in the tack room.
Hiding with my cousin, Clay.
He touched me. There. And it
felt good. So good. So ….“Oh.”
I turn to Jared. What the hell?
“I’m okay. Except …” God!
“I totally want you.” There.
Said it. He can laugh at me now.
But he doesn’t. He kisses me.
We Are Alone
In here. The workout room
is always deserted midday.
Still, I might hesitate, but
Jared is in total control.
Come on. He leads me into
the sauna, but doesn’t turn
it on. Now our sweat scents
mingle and the combination
is heady. There is no need
for words as our bodies link.
He is strong. The first strong
man I’ve ever been with, and
this time I don’t give. It is new.
Frightening. Exhilarating.
But somehow I trust it to be
all right. And it is more than
that. A piece of my puzzle
falls into place, a piece I didn’t
know was missing. Fifteen
minutes to Seth, reinvented.
I’m Still Trying
To sort it all out in my head
when Carl gets home. Early
for once, and with no company.
“Oh. Didn’t expect you so soon.
I’ll start dinner right now.”
Don’t bother. He goes into
the living room, pours himself
a drink. Does not pour one
for me. So tell me. What