Dirt

Chapter 5

Galen tried to push up on his arms, but he felt broken. This sucks, he said. He lay facedown. The dirt scratching against his burned thighs hurt more than he would have guessed. The sweater an oven, a cocoon. A slick of sweat beneath, and he was thirsty. His face on fire.

His butt muscles were coming alive, blood rushing into his thighs, and his legs felt like hollow tubes, the muscle not attached to the bone. He pushed up onto his knees, then tried to stand, his legs like straws. Points of pain everywhere along their edges, the muscles unreachable, not responding. But he was able to take a step, and another. His back had been folded for too long, so he felt like he was leaning.

Almost got you, he said. You almost had to admit you’re not really a body. Just a fake, an illusion, and I’m watching you reassemble now. All the clanking around to pull the dream back together.

He lurched his way around the shed to the fig tree where the other illusions were just finishing tea.

You look a little stiff, his aunt said, smiling. And suddenly he understood. His aunt hated him. It was instantly clear. He liked her, and he had thought she liked him, but now he could see that she hated his mother and hated him as her extension. Her smile all meanness.

Wow, Galen said. Holy shit.

What? Jennifer asked.

Nothing, he said.

We’re finished now, his mother said. We’ll be leaving to see Grandma in a few minutes.

Galen made his way carefully to the free chair and sat down. Cast iron, no cushion. His butt might fall back asleep. But it felt good to sit, and the shade was glorious. He closed his eyes to the smell of figs, a scent so rich it made a body of the air. Wow, he said. The figs.

Nearly ripe, his mother said. Another week at most. And she poured him a glass of orange juice. Here, she said. Even when she liked him least, she would provide for him. And this was the difference. His aunt would push him off the edge if she ever had the chance, but his mother would never do that.

Galen wrapped both hands around the cool glass of orange juice, and he wondered whether to drink it. He was thirsty, incredibly thirsty. And the orange juice would be delicious, cool and tangy, with a bit of pulp, and he loved the pulp. But he felt dizzy, the top of his head gone, a floating sensation, and he didn’t want to lose that. He felt he was seeing everything more clearly now. The orange juice might stop all that. Too cold, too acidic, a jolt that would bring all his attention to his stomach, and he would no longer be floating free.

Freakazoid, Jennifer said.

Galen closed his eyes and tried to focus. What did he really want? He held the glass of orange juice in both hands and brought it closer, close enough to put his nose into the glass and smell the sweet fruit. He breathed the orange juice, in and out, in and out.

I can’t watch, his mother said. We’re leaving in five minutes.

Galen didn’t like having the time pressure. That was changing the experience. An end was being enforced now, and that was going to fuck up everything. Damn it, he said.

Whoa, Jennifer said.

He didn’t want her here. Or his aunt. He wanted to be alone with the orange juice.

And then he decided to just do it. He tilted the glass and tasted the juice, sweet and bitter and overpowering, and he held it in his mouth, refused to swallow.

Does Mikey like it? Jennifer asked.

He tried to forget her, tried to focus only on the sweet juice in his mouth, but it was impossible. He swallowed, and exactly what he had feared would happen did. The track all the way down to his stomach, and he felt the weight of his stomach, the caustic need, all of his awareness pulled downward, the top of his head no longer open. A stone sinking down, hitting bottom, stuck there now.

Thanks, he said. Thanks for fucking that up.

And what was that exactly? his aunt asked.

Nothing, he said.

Exactly, she said.

Galen opened his eyes, chugged the rest of the glass, then set it down on the table.

Welcome back, his aunt said. We are the humans.

You are empty shells, he said. Husks and nothing more. He got up and walked into the house, had to use a hand on the banister rail to get up the stairs.

He sat on the edge of his bed and bent over carefully to remove the sweater, drenched in sweat. Ow, he said. That really hurts. He could hardly breathe. He took off the boots, dropped his underwear, and stepped carefully into the shower. Took a cold one, for his legs, and even the cold water hurt. He dabbed himself carefully with a towel, then put aloe on his legs and face and neck. In the mirror, he looked unnaturally bright. The dark skin of his face had become bright pink beneath, a kind of secondary glow.

Galen, his mother yelled. We’re waiting.

I’m coming, he yelled back. He put on clean underwear, a T-shirt, socks, and tennis shoes, walked carefully down the stairs.

Damn it, his mother said. Put on some pants. She was standing in the foyer with a hand on the doorknob. His aunt and cousin lounging in the sitting room.

My legs are burned.

Well of course they’re burned. Put on some pants.

Fine, he said. He went back upstairs and found some old swim shorts that were too small and wouldn’t cover more than a few inches of his thighs.

Cute, Jennifer said. I like that look. It would be even better if you pulled the white socks higher, up to your knees.

Shut up, Jennifer, his mother said.

I’m warning you, his aunt said.

Then his mother was out the door, and they all followed. He got in the backseat, and Jennifer slid in beside him, his aunt up front. He had a boner by the time they pulled out of the lane. Suburbia all around them, housing developments. Theirs was the only undeveloped farmland for miles. Ten acres of walnuts, a few acres for the house and lawn, a couple acres for the driveway. Everyone else bunched up in quarter-acre lots or smaller.

Newly paved streets, winding, with thin saplings planted all along. But soon enough they were in the old section, houses from the fifties. And the old shopping center.

They have wonderful pumpkin pies at Bel-Air, he said.

Stop, his mother said.

They really do make wonderful pies.

How about you give it a rest, Galen, his aunt said.

It’s been so long since I’ve tasted pumpkin pie.

Only the sounds of the car after that. A throaty engine, a big 350 or something, his mother had told him once. She was trying to get him excited, perhaps thinking he would start changing the oil and such, saving her some money. But he didn’t give a shit about cars. He didn’t care about anything that other people cared about. He was not here to be a slave to houses and cars and jobs and marriage and kids and TV and all that crap.

He put his hand on his boner, squeezed it a bit, tight in the shorts. Jennifer staring out her side window. And then they were piling out of the car and he was trying to hide the boner by tucking it into his waistband and holding out the front of his T-shirt. Looked obvious, probably, and he couldn’t think of a way to make his hands look natural, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and his aunt and mother weren’t looking at him anyway.

Suzie-Q, his grandmother said when they shuffled in. She just didn’t look that old. It didn’t make any sense that she was here. They were all waiting for her to die, but it might be a very long time. Twenty years or even longer. She was only seventy-one.

She hugged Galen’s mother, and then she hugged Galen. A strong squeeze.

My handsome grandson, she said. Are you getting ready for school?

Not this fall, Galen mumbled. I’m deferring a year.

Well, she said. I think that’s a good idea. We talked about that. Take a year off. See the world first.

Galen couldn’t bear to look at his aunt or Jennifer. His grandmother squeezed him again and then finally let him go.

Come sit, his grandmother said. So nice of all of you to visit.

There was nowhere for them to sit. One chair in the corner, then the two beds with their curtains, the old woman with the wet eyes in one of them, smiling at Galen now.

Sit on my bed, his grandmother said. So they did that, which meant they were all facing outward, away from each other in a kind of ring, stiff backs like the half-buried rocks at Stonehenge, waiting. Galen’s grandmother grabbed the chair from the corner and brought it over to sit.

Look at all of you, she said, smiling.

How are you, Mom? Galen’s aunt asked.

Oh, I’m fine, she said. How long has it been since you last visited? Has it been a year? And is that Jennifer?

Of course that’s Jennifer, his aunt snapped. And it’s only been a month. Less than a month.

Suzie-Q visits me every day. And Galen, even though he’s busy getting ready for school in the fall. She was smiling at him, that new and foreign face in her dentures, not the face he grew up with. Well, his grandmother said. Isn’t this nice.

I’d like to talk with you, Mom, Galen’s aunt said. About the trust, and about college for Jennifer. This will be her senior year of high school, and then she’ll be going to college, so we need to make arrangements.

Oh, we have plenty of time for that.

I’d like to talk about it now, Mom.

It’s maybe a little early, Galen’s mother said. We could wait until later in the fall, couldn’t we? Or even the winter.

Shut up, Suzie-Q.

Stop that, Helen. Don’t talk to your sister like that. You’ve always been like that.

Galen’s aunt took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

I thought there wasn’t any money for college, Galen said. Is there money for college?

Oh, I don’t have any money, his grandmother said.

That’s right, Galen’s mother said. There’s only enough to pay for this good care home.

Galen’s aunt was shaking her head, looking down. I hate this so much, she said. I hate this more than I could ever possibly say. Her fists were clenched in her lap. Lies all my life. Both of you. Only lies.

Stop it, Helen.

Because I’ve been so bad. Helen has said the truth, and we hate the truth, so we hate Helen.

Stop it, Galen’s grandmother said again. You’re just awful. You never stop.

That’s right. I’m always the awful one. I’m the one who needs to be beaten after you’ve been beaten. But never Suzie-Q. Never little Suzie-Q. Suzie-Q helps us pretend that we’re good.

Mom, we don’t have to listen to this. I’ll take you out to the garden. She stood up from the bed, walked over to her mother, and the two of them were out the door quickly.

Galen could hear his aunt’s shaky breathing, furious. And she gets everything in the will. She gets everything.

What do you mean? Galen asked.

She hasn’t told you?

No.

Your mother gets everything. You don’t get anything. Jennifer doesn’t get anything. I don’t get anything. It all goes to your mother. But then your mother will give it to you in her will. So I guess you’ll be fine in the end.

The three of them sat there, looking down, and then finally his aunt got up. I’ll be at the car, she said.

Jennifer stood up and closed the plastic curtain around the bed. Stand up, she whispered. So Galen stood up. Now drop your shorts.

Galen did as he was told.

And your underwear.

So Galen was hanging there bare.

Get it up, she said.

Galen didn’t feel any desire at all. After all that? he asked. That’s impossible.

Jennifer lifted her skirt, and then she reached down and pulled her panties aside.

Wow, Galen said. Light blond hair, a few wisps of it, and she opened her lips with a finger so he could see pink. Oh, he said, and he could feel his boner rise back up, in small lurches until it was hard and ached and he stepped toward her. But then she dropped her skirt.

Stand sideways, she said. And put your hands behind your back.

Okay, he said.

I’m going to slap your dick, hard, and you can’t move, and you can’t make a sound.

What?

If you move or make a sound, you’ll never see my pussy again.

Why are you doing this?

Hold still.

She swung hard with an open hand, and what he felt was an explosion of pain. He wanted to scream, but he swallowed it. He kept his hands behind his back and closed his eyes and could feel the tears. Then the hard slap again, and he was whimpering, shaking.

She leaned in close and whispered in his ear. How does that feel?

Why did you do that?

She reached down for his balls. Don’t move, she whispered.

No, he said. Please.

But she squeezed, gradually tightening her grip, and he felt the pain rise up into his stomach, the nausea. Please, he gasped.

Jennifer let go, then slapped one of his burned thighs, hard, which made him want to howl. Don’t forget, she said. And then she stepped away through the slit in the curtain and was gone.