Bruce Wagner - I'll Let You Go

Crystel darkens as Dillo the Newbie works up the courage to take her pills. “Are you Earlymae because you were born in May?” she asks ingratiatingly.

“No, December ,” says Mrs. Woolery, mouth buckling in disgust. “Well uh course I was born in May! What do you think, stupid?” She laughs and so does Crystel; Amaryllis tries to smile. “May third to be exact. I’m a Taurus and that ain’t no bull. Now swallow ’em, Dillo — swallow ’em up. Hup it!”

Jane Scull appears at the screen door with bags of McDonald’s, and Crystel eagerly lets her in. (Shanggerla makes her own entrance, carrying a tackle box filled with bandages, disinfectant and bug spray.) A sweet, heavy girl with wet, whitish acne and double hearing aids. “You smell worse than Shangg,” says Mrs. Woolery while Crystel greedily takes the bags and Shanggerla sets the table with Golden Arches paper and plastic.

Mrs. Woolery tells Amaryllis to come over. She says it again and the girl obeys. “What’s this about your upper part?”

She shyly retreats, but Mrs. Woolery insists. Lifts her blouse.

“Lord, what happened here ?” The others stand around goggling, and each time Amaryllis tries to lower her shirt, Mrs. Woolery stops her. “Better call someone about that ’fore they say I did it. Good Lord, that is ugly.” Shoos the girls back to the table, insisting Amaryllis eat because she’s going to give her a Percocet for pain. “I’m gonna have to put something on that mess and don’t want you cryin’.”

A living room feast: Mrs. Woolery allows them to have their repast on the Lemon Pledge — polished Ethan Allen table. What a pretty picture for clients’-rights managers the nation over! Sweet-faced sucklings tucking into Egg McMuffins on a sleepy Saturday morn … but soon Amaryllis was feeling odd. Tongue dried up and heart began to race. Stopped eating — just plumb stopped in her tracks — and was dimly aware of others commenting on that, laughing about it too. Then she was on the couch, woozy, heavy-lidded, cotton-mouthed, Mrs. Woolery daubing her chest with alcohol-soaked tissues while Jane, Crystel and Shanggerla looked on. Pain stabbed at her as the nipple was roughly disinfected, but foremost there was nausea; as the poor soul ran to throw up, Shanggerla comically chased after, holding slender caramel catch-basin hands under Amaryllis’s chin — the newbie chose not a sink but one of the dead toilet bowls (which infuriated Mrs. Woolery). The salty innkeeper trudged in not long after, reaching behind the porcelain tank to turn the water on so the McBarf could be flushed. Assuming the lion’s share of meds came up with the food, she decided to give the girl another round. By this time, Dennis the Phantom Menace was lurking, on best behavior. Then he whined and cried because the food was gone and Jane Scull gave him fries and the rest of her McMuffin.

Amaryllis was lifted to bed. She panicked because with the second wave, she didn’t know what to do with her arms; it was as if they belonged to someone else. She thought of Edith Stein and other Blesseds throughout the ages — Hildegard and Theresa, and the virgin martyr Cecilia and the hardships they endured, and of course thought of her babies too. Unexpectedly, Boulder Langon popped into her head in time to say some harsh, untranslatable thing before Amaryllis fell asleep to the giddy horseplay screams of roommates beyond.

Snapshots: darkness at noon. Stranger in a strange land — Mrs. Woolery’s land. To the bathroom again, but this time Shanggerla leads the way. Amaryllis on the bowl, making a torrent. The pee smells funny. Shangg brings her back to bunk. An interlude — duration unknown — then bathroom again. This time she’s left there sitting long after her business is done. Now led to living room, where Dennis and Crystel play raucous games with Jane Scull. Mrs. Woolery gone. Jilbo opens screen door, sullen in a bad C&R suit. Jane, stricken to see him. He goes to kitchen locker and gets Shangg and the boy pills. Jilbo gives some to Crystel, who hands them to Amaryllis. Dillo swallows. Jilbo storms down hall and shouts. Shangg hurries to rip befouled Glad bags off futon while the helmeted boy wheels and whirls his way to the Airstream.

Amaryllis sleepy on kitchen floor. Crystel reaches into wall — party plates with M&M’s, Fritos and Dimetapp. Her mom’s in jail for cooking speed. She says the bushes and dirt around the house used to catch fire. Stands up to chase the shrieking Dennis. Jilbo gone. More games with Shangg and Jane Scull. They prop Amaryllis on the couch.

Bunk and bathroom with Shanggerla again. Dennis sticks a hand under while she pees. Puts tip of finger inside her hole, then runs out laughing. Shangg laughs too.

On living room couch, shirt bunched under chin. Bandage off, nipple lactating pus. Jilbo stares, rubbing his crotch. Jane red-faced, squirmy, dumb-sobbing. Crystel watching from hall blank-faced as Jilbo suckles bacterium. Porky Jane thrashes and mutely wails, a widow in a silent film.

Darkness — real darkness, outside too. Pills worn off enough to wander. No one on the futon … freshly “made” with new lawn-and-leafers. Creeps into living room, where E. Allen props adorn the deserted stage. A thought occurs: Leave! Now! Hurry! Through the front door … —but she cannot. To the back of the house she goes, and into the night. Dim lights burning in shell. She has to find Crystel … but why? To tell her — maybe she’ll come with. She is the only familiar thing. Walks toward trailer … what if it’s Jilbo inside? Hears Airstream laughter of a child. Britney on radio. Walks up steps and goes in. Trailer musty, close, incense-filled. Dennis on his back, helmet intact and Crystel astride, stuffing in the soft little dick. Sings and laughs along to the Britney — and Shanggerla with something inside her. She takes it out and nudges it to his butt-hole, then puts it back in her mouth, then buzzes back to his butt-hole then back inside her. Penis Rollin’ Tens …

Crystel sees Amaryllis.

“He likes it,” she says, heading off judgment. Amaryllis comes closer, mesmerized. Dennis the Phantom Menace looks at her and laughs. Fuck me! he says. Crystel laughs. Fuck me! says Crystel, laughing and grinding anew. Shangg is laughing too. They all watched Jilbo’s porn tapes. Fuck me! Fuck me! say Crystel and Dennis. Fuck my juicy pussy with that fat white cock! My pussy is so wet! Make me come! Can you make it come? Make my pussy come! As Amaryllis backs out, Crystel grabs the dildo from Shanggerla, rusty with blood, and shoves it in herself. Like a tagged wrestler she scampers to the boy, pinning and laughing and sucking—

Out! — through the driveway, under cover of shivering trees, hugging the shore of lawns and bushes as she goes, choking and crying. The main road looms. Winds up beside the trash bin of Kanyon Korner Mart. She thinks of Topsy standing beside her that morning at the bakery — Topsy! The very name makes her yelp in the chill air. A car parks and a teenager gets out.

Amaryllis hears her own voice: “Excuse me, miss, but do you know the time?” The girl looks at her as if she’s mad. “Nine-thirty.” Amaryllis thanks her. Chest is burning and she has to pee; a low wave of pharmacological inertia washes over … She thinks of asking the girl for money when she comes out; maybe she’ll go in after her. Jolts awake: what if Jilbo’s shopping inside? Or Mrs. Woolery! She begins to run — yelping and crying, toxins excreting through hot tears, straight down the middle of the brightly lit boulevard. Anyone could see her: any cop or concerned citizen … even Earlymae. She was convinced that woman didn’t sleep and spent the night trolling the streets for children, ricocheting between residential homes.