Tim Sandlin - Skipped Parts

“About eight o’clock Caspar called to say he had to stay in Durham, but he’d bring me a nice present the next day. I found a piece of flagstone and went into his study and smashed his best pipe. Then I decided to have a party.”

The heater was too hot, but to take off my coat, I’d have to let go of Maurey’s hand, and I didn’t want to do that. Her breathing had gone real steady. I couldn’t tell if she was listening or asleep. I was pretty sure she wasn’t asleep, but I just couldn’t see making her move.

“I called up the big brother of a girl I knew in school, Mimi Rotkeillor. He was a football player I kind of liked. I invited him over, said my daddy was out of town and he should round up any friends wanted to have some fun on Christmas Eve. They brought oranges and grapefruit that they’d injected vodka in with a hypodermic syringe. Lord knows where they got the syringe.”

“How many?” I asked.

She blinked smoke out of her eyes. “How many what?”

“How many people came over?”

Lydia bit her lower lip. “Five football players from around town. They had oranges full of vodka.” I remembered the pictures in the panty box and realized where this story was heading. So did Maurey. Her hand tightened on mine and she opened her eyes.

“We ate the oranges and put on a Rosemary Clooney Christmas album and danced. They kept touching me and I thought, Daddy will be sorry now. He didn’t know real boys liked me. Someone found his liquor cabinet and we drank something. I was pretty woozy.”

Lydia punched fire for another Kool. We drove through Pinedale without a word, as if this was something she couldn’t talk about in front of people.

“One guy was kissing me and I felt warm, and then I was on the floor and he was yanking on the blue jumper. I didn’t know what was going on. He hurt me, but I was drunk and didn’t care. I kept hoping Caspar would walk in and feel bad. Another guy climbed on me and he was big and I started bleeding and got scared. One of them held me down with his knees on my shoulders and his dick right in my face while another one did it to me.”

Lydia’s voice came faster. I kept seeing boys in the pictures— numbers 72, 56, 81, 11, and 20.

“They squirted on my face and in my mouth. My hair was filthy. They kept grunting on me and when I cried, they poured vodka on my crotch and it stung. When I screamed they hit me, so I shut up and pretended I was unconscious, but they screwed me a couple more times anyway.”

Lydia stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. Her eyes were hard, and I could see her jawbone tighten in her cheek. She sped the car up some, but her voice stayed even. “After that, they stood in a circle around my body and urinated on me.” She looked over at me for the first time. “That’s your daddy.”

Maurey brought her head off the seat back; I looked out my passenger window. We came to a small river with ice along the edges and clear across where it slowed down for logs.

Lydia rolled down her window which brought in a blast of cold air. “I was so stupid about sex, I didn’t even know if you had five fathers or one until a couple years ago.”

“How many?” I asked.

“One. Only one sperm from one daddy took hold. The rest was just gooey come and blood.”

“Which one gave the come that took hold?”

She rolled her window back up. “How the hell should I know.”

Lydia decided that since Maurey was barefoot and pregnant in the snow, I should carry her into the Pierces’ yellow frame house.

“I can walk,” Maurey said.

“She can walk,” I said.

Lydia stayed firm. “We’ve done enough, I don’t want pneumonia added to the list.”

So I stood next to the car and Maurey slid over to where I could reach one arm under her knees and the other on her back. After she put her right hand around my neck, I counted three and jerk-curled her up. It was neat in that her back and legs where I touched them were naked. I hadn’t grabbed flesh in two weeks, so I immediately developed a stiffie and Maurey got the giggles.

“You can’t carry me.”

“Me Tarzan, you Jane.”

“You’re gonna drop me on my ass.”

I made a Cheetah sound. There’s a limit on how much tension kids can handle before they revert.

We staggered up the driveway in a lurch to the right a few steps, lurch to the left motion. Maurey tickled my ears.

“Quit fooling around and take her inside,” Lydia said.

“Who’s fooling around?”

At the door, Lydia didn’t volunteer any help, which made our entrance a Three Stooges routine. I cracked the screen with my right hand, twisted into the opening, then Maurey turned the knob and I backed into the door with a crash that caught Petey in the face.

Petey sat down hard and howled. I dropped Maurey’s feet maybe a tenth of a second before her back so at least we avoided the sprawl-on-the-floor thing. She looked down at my jeans and slapped me lightly on the stiffie.

“I told you no more of those.”

“I can’t control it.”

“You better learn.”

Petey held his face and screamed. “ I’m half-dead, I’m half-dead .”

Coming through the door, Lydia observed the scene with her usual disdain. Telling us the truth had made her more superior than ever.

She said, “Shut up, little boy.”

Petey’s howl stopped like she’d cut it with a knife. He stared in disbelief.

“Get off the floor. You’re behaving like a child.”

“I am a child.”

“Don’t brag.”

Petey stood up, thought about bratting out on Lydia, but changed his mind and faced Maurey instead. “I’m not supposed to be alone all day.”

“You lived.” Maurey headed for the back of the house.

“Mama’s gonna get you when she comes home. Hey, you’re naked in back.”

Maurey turned. “So?”

“Mama’s gonna get you.”

“Fuck Mama.” Maurey smiled at us. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

Lydia beelined for the kitchen with a mesmerized Petey in her wake. She’d wanted to criticize Annabel’s homemaking ever since she heard about the recipe box full of alphabetized index cards. I figured she was in there making a cleanliness inspection, looking for cracks in Annabel’s Lysol defense system, and I didn’t really care to watch Lydia probe for character flaws. She does enough of that with me. But standing alone in the living room felt squirrelly, so I eventually followed on in.

Lydia was standing on a chair, running her fingertips across the tops of shelves. She looked at her hand and said, “How could a woman like this get knocked up?”

I’m sure Petey had never seen a grown-up stand on a chair—Annabel had stools. “Mama’s gonna be mad at you,” he said with no conviction. “She doesn’t like people touching her stuff.”

Lydia looked way down on Petey. “In the grand scheme of things, little boy, no one in the whole world cares what your mother likes or doesn’t like.” She stepped down, walked to the refrigerator, and glared inside. “Everything is dated in ink on little strips of masking tape, the leftovers are clearly labeled. I’d die before I’d live like this. Where’s the recipe file?”

I pointed to a flowered file box on the cabinet between a pair of crocheted oven mitts and a framed sampler that read, No matter where i sit my guests, they always like my kitchen best.

“Don’t touch that,” Petey yelped, too late.

Lydia dragged the chair back over from the shelves to the linoleum-topped kitchen table. She sat down and pulled out all the index cards. “Look at this—chipped beef and cheese, chocolate pie, Cindy’s mother’s venison casserole, cornbread, corn pudding—the woman is a maniac.”