Zane's Nervous

  “When did people start accusing you of things?”

  “Second grade.”

  “Second grade?”

  I sat back down and folded my hands on my lap, trying to prevent them from shaking.

  “Yes. It was the day someone beat up Brenda Morrison and two other girls in the bathroom. Brenda had two black eyes, three broken ribs, and a smashed knee. I’ll never forget the way she looked when they took her away in the ambulance.”

  “And they said you did that to them?”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t make sense. I was terrified of Brenda. She was the biggest bully in the entire school.”

  “Why do you think they accused you?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Brenda said I did it. So did the others. She said it was me, but it couldn’t have been. They said I followed them into the bathroom from the playground but I don’t even remember half of recess that day.”

  “There were more instances after that one?”

  “Several.”

  “Please tell me about them, Jonquinette. If it isn’t too painful.”

  “It’s painful, but that’s why I came here.” I finally looked Dr. Spencer in the eyes. “There was Mrs. Greer’s dog.”

  “Mrs. Greer?”

  “Our next-door neighbor when we lived in Florida. She was the nicest old lady and I swear I’d never do anything to hurt her. I’d never do that. Not ever.”

  “But someone did?”

  “She said I was on the porch complaining about Shadow, her poodle, barking. I never did that. I loved Shadow.”

  “Whom did she tell that to?”

  “My parents. She came over after . . . After . . . ” I hesitated.

  “After what?”

  “After someone poisoned Shadow. It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t even know where to get any rat poison but—”

  “But?”

  I lowered my eyes. “My daddy found an empty can under my bed.”

  “And Shadow was poisoned to death?”

  “Yes. Poor thing.”

  “And the next incident?”

  “Seventh grade. Someone put hair remover in the shampoo bottles in the girls’ locker room.”

  “They said you did it?”

  “No, no one said I did it that time.”

  “Then what makes you think you had something to do with it?”

  “Three empty bottles of hair remover in my locker.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “It just went on and on until—”

  “Until what?”

  “Until the really bad things started to happen.”

  “What sorts of things?”

  The tears started falling before I felt them coming.

  “I can’t do this.” I wiped my tears with my bare hand. “I’m sorry but I just can’t.”

  Dr. Spencer got up, walked around the desk, and started caressing my shoulders.

  “Jonquinette, please continue. I can’t help you unless you confide in me.”

  “I didn’t really come here to discuss my childhood,” I whispered.

  “Then what did you come here to discuss?”

  “The things that are happening to me now.”

  “Like?”

  I was so ashamed, but it had to come out. “The reason I think I’m insane is because I wake up sometimes and I’m wearing clothes I’ve never seen; my hair is curled instead of up; my glasses are tossed someplace; a couple of times they were even broken. And then there’s the other stuff.”

  “What other stuff?”

  I clamped my eyes shut. I’d never felt so degraded. “Dr. Spencer, sometimes there are strange smells on my body, on my breath, all over me. Sometimes there’s sticky stuff between my legs and—”

  Dr. Spencer sat down on the corner of her desk, facing me, and lifted my chin with her hand so I’d look at her. “Jonquinette, are you telling me that you have sex with men and don’t remember it?”

  “That’s the really crazy part, Dr. Spencer.”

  “Please, call me Marcella.”

  “Marcella, I’ve never been with a man. I’ve never had sex but—”

  “But?”

  “Somehow I managed to break my hymen and even contract one venereal disease.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “An OB/GYN told me. My freshman year in college something happened to me. I had gone to the library one day to study and I somehow blacked out. Afterward I went to the campus clinic because I was sore down there and I didn’t know why.”

  “And this has been happening ever since then?”

  “Yes, it has.”

  Admitting it caused an instant breakdown. I grabbed hold of Marcella’s arm and began to cry. I buried my head into her chest; She wrapped her other arm around me.

  “I’m so afraid,” I whimpered. “What’s wrong with me? Am I really insane?”

  “No, I don’t think you’re insane,” she said reassuringly. “If you were insane, you wouldn’t have sought me out to help you. And I will help you, Jonquinette. I promise you that.”

  9

  jude

  Jon had lost her fucking mind. I couldn’t believe she went up there and told that bitch all of our fucking business. She was going to have to pay for that. And promising that doctor chick that she’d let her continue to help? Not as long as there was one breath left in my body.

  To top things off, Jon had the nerve to leave there and go to the grocery store. She knew how much I hated the grocery store. Nothing but a bunch of bratty-ass kids begging their parents for candy, sugar-infested juices, or salty foods.

  When I took over, we were walking down the pasta aisle. Of course, there was a hard-headed chap blocking the way. I jerked my cart toward him but he didn’t budge. Just glared at me and rolled his eyes. His mother was picking out a box of elbow macaroni.

  “Ahem, could you tell your kid to move the hell out my way,” I lashed out at her.

  She snickered like she couldn’t believe I’d actually said that.

  “Are you going to move him or should I just knock his ass over with my cart?”

  She grabbed her son by the shoulders and pulled him aside. “Move over here, David.” She leered at me. “You don’t have to be so rude, miss. He’s just a child.”

  I picked up the nearest jar of spaghetti sauce and smashed it on the floor. I leaned down and picked up the lid. There was shattered glass attached to it. I held it up and she hauled ass with her kid in tow. I laughed. That’s what she gets, fucking with me.

  I smashed a few more jars to get rid of some of the anger Jon had stirred up in me by telling our business. By the time I turned the corner, one of the store managers was rushing to see about the noise.

  “You need a cleanup on aisle five,” I told him. “Some bratty kid was pitching a fit and his mother allowed him to have a tantrum. If I were you, I’d make them pay for it. It makes no sense.”

  He shook his head in dismay. “I don’t know what’s wrong with kids these days.”

  “Me either. If you hurry, you might be able to catch them up by the registers. She has on this horrid pastel dress and he has on a Teletubbies tee.”

  “Thank you, miss,” he said before taking off for the bank of cash registers.

  I smirked. I knew that heifer and her brat were long gone if they had any sense.

  I decided to peruse the meat cases since I was already there. It had been ages since Jon had fixed a decent meal. I didn’t understand why she didn’t like eating out. We made enough money to eat out at least three nights a week, but she was on this cooking-healthy-meals kick. I was so sick of chicken that I didn’t know what to do.

  I thought back to all the shit Jon had told that doctor. She made it seem like I was a bad person. Like I was in the wrong all those times. Didn’t Jon realize that I did all that to protect her? That Brenda Morrison chick in second grade had issues. Always teasing Jon about her clothes and hair. Always glaring down her little aquiline nose at us. That day on the playground, she wen
t too far. She called Jon a fat pig, demanding more money, and I wasn’t having that. So yes, I kicked the little slut’s ass. Beat the shit out of her and her friends. They deserved it.

  Now I will admit that I felt a little bad about poisoning Shadow. He was a cute little poodle, but I had to do it. Mrs. Greer hollered at Jon for no reason about running on her yard to get a ball. I mean, get real. Shadow could take his little dumps all over her yard at will, but Jon couldn’t get her ball back? So yes, I told her to make that dog stop barking while I was sitting on the porch. His barking wasn’t bothering me that much, but I was trying to play jacks in peace. I really just wanted to get into it with Mrs. Greer after what she had done to Jon. She took it a little too far, though. Talked a little bit too much trash. Sorry, Shadow, wherever you are, but the bitch had to pay.

  As for those sluts in seventh grade, they’re lucky all they ended up with were bald heads. I started to buy everyone pizza and sprinkle rat poison all over it. The shit had worked so well on Shadow that I knew it would do them all in. But there was a problem. They all hated Jon and she never uttered a word to them. Just cringed up in fear every time they looked in her direction, changed in the stall instead of in front of them, and sat in the bleachers during gym class. I never understood that shit. Jon would take a failing grade instead of participating. Personally, I know for a fact that we could’ve showed all their asses up. By that time, Jon had started working the hell out of the treadmill we had in the basement at home and drinking water by the gallon. All the baby fat was gone and we were in awesome shape, even back then.

  What really pissed me off was Jon talking about my sex life. Something she didn’t know jack shit about. Thank goodness she didn’t, because I didn’t want that doctor bitch knowing how I liked to get my freak on. As far as I was concerned, it was my pussy, not Jon’s. I’d do what I wanted with it, when I wanted, and no one was going to stop me.

  I was highly disappointed with the selection of steaks. Half of them looked brown or were laden with fat. Someone really needed to report that grocery store. Every time we went in there, the meat looked less than kosher. Even some of the chicken Jon purchased reeked with salmonella.

  I picked up a porterhouse steak and started sniffing the package. I didn’t want to get home, rip off the plastic, and fall out from the stench.

  “Is there something wrong with the meat?”

  I glanced to my left and saw this fine specimen of a brotha standing there in a blood-covered apron and paper hat. He was tall with sepia skin and dark eyes.

  “Yes, the hell there is something wrong with the meat.”

  The smile on his face dissolved and he crossed his arms in front of him like I’d just personally insulted him.

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  I tossed the package back into the case and put my hands on my hips. Nobody out attitudes me.

  “Every single time I come up in here, the meat looks foul.” I pointed a few feet down to the chicken. “Especially the chicken. What’s up with all the yellow? Granted, I don’t work for the FDA or anything, but damn.”

  He broke out into laughter. That sort of turned me on.

  “I apologize for the quality of the meat, and between me and you, I’ve been waiting for someone to come in here and tell it like it is.” He leaned in closer to me and even though he’d obviously been butchering meat all day, I could still pick up on the faint scent of his cologne. “I keep telling the manager that some of this meat is bad, but he continues to sell it anyway.”

  I grinned at him. “Well, maybe I’ll blow the whistle on them and call one of those investigative television shows or something.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  We both laughed. I started squeezing his upper arm because I wanted to know what he was hiding underneath that tacky uniform.

  “I wouldn’t want to cause you to lose your job, though,” I said sarcastically. “What on earth would you do then?”

  “I have other talents.”

  “I bet you do.” I eyed him seductively. “Can I see where you butcher your meat?”

  “Huh?”

  “I said, can I see where you butcher your meat?”

  “Umm, we’re not supposed to have customers back there.”

  “So, you’d risk losing your job over bad meat, but you won’t risk it over me?” I stuck my bottom lip out. “I’m hurt.”

  “Aw, don’t be that way.” He licked his lips and started looking around to see if the coast was clear before taking my hand and leading me to a set of double doors. “I guess it wouldn’t harm anything for you to take a look.”

  We were in the meat locker and just like it appeared in movies, it was cold up in there.

  “It’s cold as shit!” I exclaimed.

  He laughed. “By the way, I’m Lewis.”

  “So it says on your name tag.”

  “Since you don’t have a name tag, how about telling me yours?”

  “You can call me whatever you like, but I’d rather not talk at all.” I grabbed him by the back of his neck and slipped my tongue into his mouth briefly. “So what are your other talents?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said out there that you have other talents.” I decided it was high time to see what he was holding, so I grabbed his dick. “Nice. Very nice.”

  “Thank you.” He started palming my tits. “These are nice, too.”

  “Want to suck them?”

  He looked at the door to the freezer. The coast was still clear.

  “I might lose my job behind this. You better make this good.”

  I laughed. “I make everything good, baby.”

  Jon had on this tired-ass, homely dress, but it was easy to get out of and before long, I was nude and holding on to a vacant meat hook with my hands, surrounded by sides of beef.

  Lewis was on his knees with my legs wrapped around his shoulders and his tongue was exploring my pussy.

  It felt exhilarating. I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and whispered, “You see, Jon. I run this. This is my party.”

  Lewis stopped going down on me. “Who the fuck is Jon? I’m Lewis.”

  I dug my fingernails down into his hair and pushed his head back into my pussy. “Shut the hell up and eat!”

  10

  jonquinette

  What a boring week at work. While I enjoyed peace and quiet, it was even a little too much for me. I couldn’t wait until my appointment with Dr. Spencer on Monday. Hopefully, this time I could bring myself to tell her more about what had happened to me. It was hard to believe that I was willing to open up like that, but I didn’t see any other choice.

  I hadn’t had any weird smells on me that week. Male smells. But something strange did happen that morning. I was sleeping late since it was Saturday and my phone rang. I grabbed it because I assumed it was Momma. I knew that she was due back late the night before and I was right in my assumption.

  “Jonquinette, baby!” she squealed into the phone. “I’m back! Did you miss me?”

  “Of course I missed you, Momma.”

  I really did miss her, too. Even though Momma and I didn’t see each other all the time when she was in Atlanta, it was a source of comfort to know that she was right across town whenever I needed her. Unlike Daddy.

  “Did you enjoy Europe?”

  “That’s the understatement of the century, baby. I had the time of my life.”

  “That’s great, Momma. You deserved it.”

  “So what have you been doing with yourself? I hope you aren’t still cooped up in that apartment every weekend. Life’s too short for that.”

  “I get out and hang with some of my friends whenever I get the chance,” I lied. “Most of the time, I bring work home with me and end up buried in that for hours.”

  “They don’t pay you enough to bring your work home, Jonquinette. I still don’t know why you wanted to become an accountant. You could’ve been anything you wanted to be.”

  “I wanted to be an account
ant, Momma, and I’m very satisfied with my job.”

  She sighed, voicing her disapproval that way. “Well, you’re still young, so if you ever want to try another profession, it’s never too late.”

  She had a lot of nerve. All she’d ever been was a housewife, and after she kicked Daddy out, she moved in one sugar daddy after another to cover her bills.

  “I’m happy, Momma. Can’t you just be happy for me?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  There was a pregnant pause while we both gathered our thoughts.

  “Jonquinette, how about dinner tomorrow?”

  “I have to go to church.”

  “Church doesn’t last all day. I’m talking tomorrow evening. Say about six at the Ram’s Head Tavern over in Buckhead.”

  I really didn’t want to go to dinner with Momma but knew I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t make her happy.

  “Okay, Momma. I’ll be there.”

  “Great.” She giggled. “I could tell you were sleeping when I called so I’ll let you go. See you tomorrow, and don’t be late.”

  “I won’t be.”

  She hung up. Momma had this thing about never saying goodbye. I think it was because her first childhood memory revolved around tragedy. She remembered kissing her grandparents goodbye one morning when they left for the mom-and-pop store they owned on the coast of Miami. They never came back. Two masked gunmen took their lives for a measly thirty-seven dollars. Momma’s parents were janitors, but somehow she turned out to be extremely materialistic, along with her two sisters.

  I stared up at the ceiling but I knew sleep wouldn’t come easily for me again. After five minutes or so, I decided to see if the Saturday morning news was still on. I reached for the remote on my nightstand and hit the power button. After I propped my back up on a bank of pillows, I yawned and eyed the screen. I sat there for two hours, staring at it, wondering when, why, and how I’d written the words “You’ll never win” on the television in red lipstick.

  After I finally managed to move, I decided to just make the best of it. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen something written by my hands that I never wrote. “You’ll never win” made no sense to me. Who’ll never win what?