Hannah

Hannah worries about getting a job.  She worries about her father's drinking.  She worries that to keep him, she'll have to give up everything else.

Hannah:  I need a job. 

I have to get a job, I can’t fucking believe it, well I can believe it, but I don’t want to.

My father says not to worry, not yet.  He says we’re not there yet.  He’s not, but I am.  He doesn’t get that worry is almost a superstitious thing with me, like I believe if I worry enough, the bad things won’t happen. 

If I don’t worry enough, then I won’t get to go to college, and I will have to quit the swim team, and I will have to quit babysitting even, because I will have to get a job that I’ll go to every day after school until probably midnight, and then I’ll have to do my homework, and my grades will drop—

But we won’t have to live in our car.  Hell, maybe we’ll still have a car. 

I don’t want to tell my Dad that he shouldn’t have done what he did.  He shouldn’t have kept a cooler of ice and an open bottle of vodka, V-8 Splash and a big red cup in his trunk.  I don’t think that it would be right to criticize him, because he drinks because of me, because of it’s hard to raise a girl on your own and its hard to teach kids all day and then come home to another kid.  It’s hard when your kid doesn’t do the grocery shopping and complains you didn’t leave her money and that’s why there’s nothing to eat for dinner except a box of macaroni and cheese that’s been in the pantry “since your mother died.”

I don’t want to tell him to stop saying these things because then he will get mad and leave and I’ll have no one.

I don’t want to tell him he’s wrong because he’s really the nicest guy deep down and actually I don’t want him to stop drinking because he has to get a break, he works so hard and anyway, he’s nicer when he’s had a few drinks.

It’s never a few.

I’m such a liar!  He always tells me that, that I’m a liar when I tell him I didn’t have Brian over when I was babysitting, and I’m not sleeping with him and I don’t smoke pot and I’m doing the best I can.  He says I’m a liar because I always act like everything’s so hard when I have it so easy, I only have to go to school and—

I’m a liar for saying I have to get a job.

But who’s going to pay to get the lights turned back on?  Who’s going to pay the cable bill for him because he says how’s he going to relax without his TV, and I have some mouth on me and not everyone wants to read a book after a long day and his head hurts so leave him alone—

He should just leave, he says after he’s had six drinks.  He should be able to do what he wants, he’s earned that because he’s been working since he was sixteen and he put himself through college and grad school, and who the fuck do they think they are at that school that they think they can get along without him and who the fuck do I think I am whining about getting a job when I have it so good?

It sounds bad, but I love him, even if he says I’m a liar and I don’t really.  Lie, I mean. 

I love him, and I want him to have his cable and his vodka and everything that will make him happy and make him love me—

And never leave me.

Rain

Rain, missing her Mom and in a way, her Dad too, takes care of herself – she thinks.  Here she’s getting dressed and drunk just before the big party.  For previous parts of this story from Nancy, Casey, Kayla and Rain, check out OGW 10/1/09, 11/5, 11/12, 12/10, 12/31, 1/14/10.  This thread of OGW has evolved into the skeleton of a new novel, called either “The Party” or “Raped”, I think.

Rain:  I emptied my Dad’s ashtray, and put it on the kitchen counter.  Took one of his cigarettes out and lit it.  Coughed, some.  Felt a little woozy – then a lot, like I was going to throw up and-or pass out.  I sat down quickly on the floor, putting my head between my knees until the feeling passed.  Stood up and inhaled from the cigarette again.  It had an awful taste, like soot, but the second hit was smoother than the first, and I figured I could get used to this.

Next – retrieved the vodka from the coffee table, poured a shot into a glass, added OJ like my Dad had taught me, and gulped. 

Whew.  Fuck.  ‘Nother head rush.  Sat down on the floor again, cooling my bikini’ed butt on the tile.  In a minute I was already on my feet again, because I always get up again, and I always will no matter what, fuckin remember that world.

As I started my second drink, I was feeling way better.  Less tense.  Smooooth.  I swiveled my hips and ran my hand over my belly, savoring the warmth, appreciating my body, which wasn’t exactly slim, but it wasn’t fat anymore and it was strong.  Like me. 

      I didn’t even want to put something on over my bikini, wanted to go to the party just like this, slinky and warm and smelling of smoke.  But Casey’s mother would freak, I was sure of that, and then she wouldn’t take us to Brian’s house.  What a bitch.  Mothers. 

I looked down at the red spot around my bellybutton piercing.  The vodka sure cut down on the throbbing.  I wished it didn’t look so new.

Upstairs in my room, I fumbled through my makeup and found a cover-up stick, which I smeared around the new piercing.  It worked pretty well at covering the red.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  Swiveled my hips again – Look, Mom, I’m dancing.  Thinking about my mother killed my buzz, made me suddenly sad.

Fuck that, I said.  Yanked a spaghetti strapped, low-cut, tie-dyed long dress from Target off its hanger and pulled it on.  Tripped going into my parents’ bedroom looking for a scissor.  Fuck!  I pulled in my knees and held on for a moment, trying to stop crying.  Gotta grow up Rain!  Not a little Mommy’s girl anymore.  Gasping for air, I pulled it together, found the scissor and cut down the dress to fit my height – sort of tall, but not enough to match my cup size, so the big dress.  The vodka I’d drunk plus the blur from my tears made me cut a jagged edge, but it was okay.

No one was going to be looking at my hem anyway.

The phone rang.  “Mom?” I said, a sudden rush of hope flooding my synapses -- hoping she was waiting at the train station now for a ride.

Stupid Rain.  I hung up on whoever it was because it wasn’t her. Felt my heartbeat slamming in my chest and tears starting again because it seemed like I wasn’t just on my own tonight.  No one lived here anymore. Not even my Dad, not really.

Not even Rain, myself, not always.

Tonight I would be someone else.  I hurried downstairs, leaving all the lights on as I went because in spite of the hard, all-together, strong person everyone knew me as, I was scared of everything, even the dark.  In the kitchen, I tossed the pack of cigarettes and my Dad’s lighter into my tote on top of my towel, did a shot of vodka straight from the bottle, and left the lights on in the kitchen and living room as I passed through to the front stoop to wait for my ride.  I felt better already.  But I stayed in the halo of light by the front door just to be safe.

Rain

Rain first appeared as herself in OGW, Nov.12.  Her mother has run off to NYC, her father is a drunk.  Rain has also appeared as Kayla's best friend in OGW, Oct.1, and both girls are friends with Nancy's daughter, Casey (OGW, Nov.5).  The three girls are preparing to go to a party on Saturday night, their first party with boys, alcohol, no parents and... I'll keep after this thread until their story together becomes clear.

Rain:  Kayla holds my hand while I’m getting pierced, and In a breath, it’s done.  The rush is spectacular, and makes me forget how sad I am.  I’m no longer afraid.

     But I should be.

     Why I should be becomes hideously clear when Kala is climbing on the table to get her belly button pierced.  There is yelling outside in the waiting room.

     Oh God, not now, I think as I rush out without buttoning my jeans.

     “Leave him Rain!”  Kayla shouts.  “Just do it,” she says to the piercer, frantic.  Now I wish I’d let Kayla go first.  It means so much to her!  But the piercer hesitates as I run out and the yelling gets louder.  Oh Daddy!

     “You hafta let me back there she’s my baby unlock the door now I demand—“

     “Daddy, no!” 

     I run out the door and nearly knock him over, grab him in the nick of time.  He touches my face, gently, looking down on me like I’m still his baby, even though he’s leaning on me now.  He pulls out his iced tea, what’s supposed to be iced tea, as if no one would guess it’s spiked.  He leans on me harder.

     “Sir, there’s no drinking in here.  Sir!”

     Daddy doesn’t listen.  The frizzy-headed goth girl behind the counter was so nice before talking to Kala and me about the star tattoo behind her ear, showing us her piercings.  Now she turns her scorn toward me.

     “He has to leave.  Take him out.”

     I only nod, and comply.  Kayla emerges before I can get my Dad to the door.  She’s crying.

     “You knew how important this was to me!” she shouts. 

     She’s right, but I can’t deal with her, with guilt or shame right now.  Right now, I have to get Daddy home.  Shit, what a day!  His arm roughly scrapes my new piercing, and it hurts like hell, but I can’t worry about that either –

     “It’s your fault!”  Kayla says, lunging at my father.

     He steps back quickly, almost falls.  The bitch-girl behind the counter has come out to open the door for us and has the nerve to grab my Dad by the arm like he’s a bum, and I turn on both of them—

     “Leave him alone!”  To Kayla I say the unforgiveable, “If getting pierced was so important, where’s your mother?”  To the gothic thug I just say, “Cunt,” and to my Dad I say, “Go, Car.”

     No one is happy.

Rain

Rain:  Rain is Kayla’s (OGW 2, Oct.1,2009) best friend.  Rain’s mother recently took off to become a dancer in NYC, Rain’s father is an alcoholic.  This is the morning of the belly button piercing and the party Kayla was so eager to attend.

Rain:  My mother didn’t come home today.  She said she’d be here for the weekend, but she didn’t show up Friday night, and Saturday morning she called to say, “I’m performing at Dancespace tonight!  Remember that piece—“

I didn’t remember.  I didn’t want to.  Tears leaked over my cheeks.

“You can come to the city and see me tonight and stay at my friend Wendy’s apartment, you can sleep on the couch.  Are you happy for me?”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m proud of you.  You’re really making it on your own now.”

“I am.  It’s wonderful to feel the real me peeking out again, you know?  Not a wife or a servant or a – well, I’ll always be your mother, of course.  Can you make a ten o’clock train?”

“No thanks Mom.
“Oh! ...Oh.”

“You said you were going to take Kayla and me to get our belly buttons pierced before the party!  And you said you were going to be here!”

“Well Rain, I’m sorry, but this performance is important to me.  I have to dance, I just have to.  It’s my spirit, it’s my soul, it’s--”

“I gotta go.  Love you Mom.” 

Then I slumped against the wall, slid down to the floor, wrapped my arms around my knees and softly cried.  My father came in, sat next to me, put his arm around me, and held me while I cried harder.  “She never wanted to be my mother!  I ruined her life.”

Dad pat my back.  “You could never ruin anyone’s life.”  He got up.  The last remaining flap of hair on top of his head was standing on end. 

I smiled.  Getting up, I asked, “Juice?”

“The usual,” he said.

I made him a strong screwdriver that was mostly vodka, two ice cubes, and a splash of OJ.  “Can you take Kayla and me to get our belly buttons pierced today?  Mom was gonna do it.”

“I don’t know, noodle.  I’m not feeling so well today.“  He took a long swallow, then stared down at his hand, which was still shaking.  After finishing the drink, he was steadier.  “I’m not so sure I approve of you mutilating your body anyway,” he said.

“Dad…”  I poured him another drink, and just orange juice for myself.

“Yeah, okay, I guess.  If I’m feeling better.  I think I’m coming down with something.”

He said that every day, and I paid no attention.  “Oh Daddy, you’re the best!”  I said, and meant it.  If it weren’t for him, what would I do?  Sleep on some stranger’s ratty couch in New York City?  Not me.  I hated dancing, too, hated it!  Dad would never take off to find himself when I needed him.  He would never do that to me.

“I’m gonna shower.  You, eat something!  You’re too thin!” he said, peeling my arms off where I’d thrown them around him, and topping off his drink before heading upstairs.  “And make some coffee!” he yelled down.

“I’m gonna call Kayla and tell her she can come over.”

He didn’t answer.  I knew what he was doing, he was crying.  Crying over my mother.  Crying that we were left out of her new life, and because he had a pounding headache, and he had to deal with me and my friends – make us happy – anyway.

     Sighing and setting my face to “impassive,” I stopped thinking, and busied myself with making a pot of coffee.  I would drink it black today.  Thick and black to grow me up, and I wasn’t going to tell anyone, even Kayla, that I was afraid.