Saturday, March 8, 2014

Play - draft two

In 1973 my sunny days began and ended with me sitting impassively on my front steps
My castle
Not like many children today who seem to require
Expensive electronic gadgets to occupy themselves

I could caper around busying my inquisitive mind for hours on end on my steps
Counting perfectly the cars that went by


Pretending I was the exquisite Dianne Carroll
Giving an eloquent speech to my loyal fans
Head held high and tilted
Looking down beyond my pointed nose
Hair curled and poofy and perfect like a high fashioned helmet
Or pressed straight and pulled back tight in a bun

Me, being a Queen on my royal grounds
Where I first loved the smell of water tasting thirsty sidewalks on hot days
And California cold nights

Where there was my tree
Just nine papa steps in front of my porch
Whose leaves and branches reached to God's house
And hung almost to the grass
But were not strong enough to hold me
Yet assured me that I was strong enough to brook
Whatever should come my way
That I was okay

My front steps

There were only three and that was perfect
My mom, dad and I had recently moved from the green
Or was it brown?
Apartment building on Walnut in Central Long Beach
To the single dwellings on the west side of town at 1367 Cameron

In the apartment before my sister Roshann was born
We lived on the second floor
The steps were ugly and concrete and cobblestone
There was a peek a boo space between each step
And a black iron rod to hold onto as one traversed up and down

But those steps were not mine
They belonged to everyone
No one claimed them as their own
No one dreamed of having long brown hair
And marrying a Prince on those steps

Those were not my friends
I would not tell my secrets there

One day I was in the living room and the door was left open
I was finally, to the surprise of my parents, tall enough to open the screen door
An easy unlock
And rode my tricycle down those steps

God is good

My Cameron Street steps were not disappointing like those
They did not call out to me with the intent of temptation
When I was momentarily unsupervised

They did not propose excitement on a peaceful Sunday
And then produce danger
My new steps did not lie
I was safe on those steps
That were red and three and my own

Next door on Cameron, west of us, in the green house
Lived two girls whose names and faces I can never call to mind
I have not outgrown their raspy voices however
They had cool sneakers and strong arms and could double Dutch a full song
Indeed they were real
Though I have had lovers who wished they were not

They were fifteen and sixteen and their backyard
Shared the same fence as ours
And pomegranate and lemon trees
And they also had a garage and no dog
But theirs was not mine

They had a white tent behind the garage and a nephew who was
A few years older and shy
I remember almost his voice
Barely his hair that was short like big boys wore their hair
Faded blue jeans that looked clean but were not

Something was up
I saw the fusee signals and heard the cacophony of voices in my head
But crossed the line anyway

I was four and they demanded I stop being a big baby and suck his dick
I remember that it had never been a dick before

Somehow I knew that boys had pee pees
But dicks were new
Perhaps pee pees grew into dicks

But my young Virgo analyzing was not going to postpone this
There was a dick in front of me and big girls I thought were my friends
Begging in their demanding voices for me to suck

But it was not peppermint or Bit o Honey
More like a Bomp Pop or Big Stick
But it was not smooth and orange and sweet
It was Play-do left open
Ashy and uncared for

I wanted my steps
This was my first dick and I wanted my steps
That were safe and red and led to my porch
Where there was dust and loose gravel and chipped paint and no dicks
My porch had no dicks

I was just next door but far from my porch
From my father who would beat that dick up if he knew
Far from my mother who would spank their big girl butts if she knew
That her daughter was not sucking at all

Was gagging on flesh too big for her mouth
Too hard for her jaws
Too long for her throat

I did not like the girl's yelling hand on the back of my head
Touching too firmly my baretts that were red and friendly like my porch
Did not like the bossy one moaning like it felt good to her
With her inhale hiss and ahh
And eyes half closed and head moving passionately in half circles then back again

Then from nowhere there was liquid that was warm and salty and not my spit

I ran out of the tent screaming
"He peed in my mouth! He peed in my mouth!"
I ran as fast as I could to get past my porch
That was no longer safe and into my for real castle

Before I could get away
The short haired one caught me and carried me to the t shaped clothesline post
That was strong and sturdy
Like maybe this was for more than sun drying skirts and blouses
To be worn on Sundays
Maybe this was for other girls who had pee in their mouths
And ran to get away

She tied thick brown rope around my neck
And the other end to the top of the post
And held my body as it swung
This was a station for girls who could not run faster than a fifteen year and threatened to tell

This was a four year olds Calvary

She whispered me threats I believed
And let me go with a shove that said all I needed to know
Come time for my bath I lied about the rope burn
To a mother too smart for burn lies on her daughter

I don't remember the speech after the bath
Don't remember what happened to the nephew
I vaguely recall the girls
I do remember that my steps were too close to theirs
They were not my steps anymore anyway
There was a dick

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