Read Online Living Dead Girl by Elizabeth Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Scott
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listen.
"Do I sound okay?"
I nod. He calls and then, when he's done, shows me Annabel's new clothes again, ones we had to buy at the thrift store two towns away. (Birthday gift for my cousin, I was supposed to say if anyone asked. No one did. The man in front of us bought six faded ladies' bras and an old television set, wood-paneled with a huge number pad worn down from someone pushing in channels.)
We bought old clothes, jeans with pink trim on thepockets, elastic waist and boxy shape. Nothing like the jeans I've seen shopping with Ray lately, the kind that curl in at the waist and push out at the hips, no more girls' section for me, salespeople saying, "Oh, they do grow up so fast now, don't they?" and Ray's mouth twitching, then buying me boy's jeans. Narrowing his eyes at home as I hold my breath and tug them into place.
Smiling as they slip over my hips. Still in kids' clothes, little girl playing at being a boy.
Come over here and let me see. Let me see my little Alice.
Ray went a little crazy with the shirts, tiny tanks and tees, blouses with lace and shiny white buttons shaped like pearls. Skirts too, little ones with flippy bottoms, flounces for him to toss up.
New underpants bought at the big store where we buy toilet paper and the cleaner I use to mop the floor, white only, no lace, no trim, smaller than mine. Smaller than mine, Ray noticed, and no dinner for me that night.
Sneakers with pink shoelaces, we bought those too. Ray was sure he knew her size.
"I'm good at guessing," he said. "I'm good at knowing what will be just right. Who will be." A smile for a little girl, red-haired, freckled, looking at sandals near us.
Girl smiled back. Ray went over to look at shoes with her, oh I have a little girl about your age, no she isn't hereshe's home sick, hold out your leg so I can see the shoe, yes I think I like that, I do. Come on, Alice.
Pulling over on the way home, empty construction site, abandoned office building. So eager it is over in seconds.
"I wish all little girls could be like that," Ray said. "Stay like they are forever. Never grow up into what they all become."
Pointing at a woman struggling with the hands of two little girls at the bus stop, angry-faced and exhausted-looking, quick smack one, two, on the back of the girls' heads.
"Who could hurt a child like that?" he says. "Someone should report her. I hope someone does. Children should be loved. They are love."
43
AFTER THE WOODS, AFTER I TRIED TO hold out my hand for a way back to 623 Daisy Lane, Ray carried me to the truck. "See this?" he said, and parted his hair with his fingers, showed me long silvery lines on his scalp. "My mother did that. Cut me when my hair got dirty, cut me trying to get the tangles out. If I'd done a better job, she wouldn't have had to do it."
He drew my hand, paper limp and smeared with dirt, to his head. "I don't want to be like her," he said. "I won't be like her. But I will have to punish someone if you can't be good. And you want to be good, don't you?"
Oh yes I said yes I will be good please let's just go homedon't take me back there again I want to go home with you now.
He smiled. Ray's smile is wide and sunny, happy.
Rotten, dead inside, underneath.
When I smile, I think it looks like his.
44
AS I'M WATCHING THE MORNING TALK shows, Ray is mapping out roads, maps open all across the kitchen table, and I realize I will not see this apartment again. Goodbye singing refrigerator.
Nothing else is worth thinking about, and I go back to watching people yell at each other. Today men who didn't know they were dating men who were pretending to be women are screaming they were tricked, they aren't like that--that way, they keep saying, I'm not that way.
I wonder what TV will be like in the desert, if the channels will be in the same place or if I will have to learn everything again.
Annabel will cry a lot. She will say she is Lucy. She will want to go outside. She will talk about her parents. Her
"Do I sound okay?"
I nod. He calls and then, when he's done, shows me Annabel's new clothes again, ones we had to buy at the thrift store two towns away. (Birthday gift for my cousin, I was supposed to say if anyone asked. No one did. The man in front of us bought six faded ladies' bras and an old television set, wood-paneled with a huge number pad worn down from someone pushing in channels.)
We bought old clothes, jeans with pink trim on thepockets, elastic waist and boxy shape. Nothing like the jeans I've seen shopping with Ray lately, the kind that curl in at the waist and push out at the hips, no more girls' section for me, salespeople saying, "Oh, they do grow up so fast now, don't they?" and Ray's mouth twitching, then buying me boy's jeans. Narrowing his eyes at home as I hold my breath and tug them into place.
Smiling as they slip over my hips. Still in kids' clothes, little girl playing at being a boy.
Come over here and let me see. Let me see my little Alice.
Ray went a little crazy with the shirts, tiny tanks and tees, blouses with lace and shiny white buttons shaped like pearls. Skirts too, little ones with flippy bottoms, flounces for him to toss up.
New underpants bought at the big store where we buy toilet paper and the cleaner I use to mop the floor, white only, no lace, no trim, smaller than mine. Smaller than mine, Ray noticed, and no dinner for me that night.
Sneakers with pink shoelaces, we bought those too. Ray was sure he knew her size.
"I'm good at guessing," he said. "I'm good at knowing what will be just right. Who will be." A smile for a little girl, red-haired, freckled, looking at sandals near us.
Girl smiled back. Ray went over to look at shoes with her, oh I have a little girl about your age, no she isn't hereshe's home sick, hold out your leg so I can see the shoe, yes I think I like that, I do. Come on, Alice.
Pulling over on the way home, empty construction site, abandoned office building. So eager it is over in seconds.
"I wish all little girls could be like that," Ray said. "Stay like they are forever. Never grow up into what they all become."
Pointing at a woman struggling with the hands of two little girls at the bus stop, angry-faced and exhausted-looking, quick smack one, two, on the back of the girls' heads.
"Who could hurt a child like that?" he says. "Someone should report her. I hope someone does. Children should be loved. They are love."
43
AFTER THE WOODS, AFTER I TRIED TO hold out my hand for a way back to 623 Daisy Lane, Ray carried me to the truck. "See this?" he said, and parted his hair with his fingers, showed me long silvery lines on his scalp. "My mother did that. Cut me when my hair got dirty, cut me trying to get the tangles out. If I'd done a better job, she wouldn't have had to do it."
He drew my hand, paper limp and smeared with dirt, to his head. "I don't want to be like her," he said. "I won't be like her. But I will have to punish someone if you can't be good. And you want to be good, don't you?"
Oh yes I said yes I will be good please let's just go homedon't take me back there again I want to go home with you now.
He smiled. Ray's smile is wide and sunny, happy.
Rotten, dead inside, underneath.
When I smile, I think it looks like his.
44
AS I'M WATCHING THE MORNING TALK shows, Ray is mapping out roads, maps open all across the kitchen table, and I realize I will not see this apartment again. Goodbye singing refrigerator.
Nothing else is worth thinking about, and I go back to watching people yell at each other. Today men who didn't know they were dating men who were pretending to be women are screaming they were tricked, they aren't like that--that way, they keep saying, I'm not that way.
I wonder what TV will be like in the desert, if the channels will be in the same place or if I will have to learn everything again.
Annabel will cry a lot. She will say she is Lucy. She will want to go outside. She will talk about her parents. Her
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