Read Online Mermaid in Chelsea Creek by Michelle Tea - Free Book Online

Awe? Awe seemed too grand—Sophie blushed at the idea, why would her mother be in awe of her? But, no, awe . And, the fear she had picked up had a different flavor to it, the sort of fear one might experience upon encountering a tiger, wild and bristling, gorgeous and striped, ready to take you into its mouth full of teeth. Why me ? Sophie marveled. Why all that ?
    Sophie looked down at herself. Still softened with baby fat, in a t-shirt marred with sweat from the sticky car and its busted air conditioning. Cut-off jeans in a dirty fringe around her thighs and an old pair of Vans jammed onto her feet. Even her blonde hair had a negative modifier— dirty blonde, the shade was called. Her cheekswere plump and her eyes, too, appeared plump—chocolatey brown, heavily fringed, somehow both rounded and tilted. Sophie liked her eyes the best, but they were not powerful enough to redeem the mediocrity of the rest of her. In school she did okay—slightly better in English and social studies than in math and science, but not too good or too bad at any of it. No real hobbies or talents to brag about, just an enjoyment of the pass-out game and the company of her slightly wilder, annoyingly unpredictable best friend Ella. But still. Sophie rummaged through herself and came up with a ghost of the feeling that shot off her mother, that swirl of respect and awe and reverence and thought, That’s for me . She straightened her shoulders and turned toward Ronald. He began walking toward her, dragging the stool by the seat of his pants.
    â€œRonald,” she said. “The stool?” She nodded at the furniture. Ronald was oblivious; the stool seemed to be actually helping him. As his lumbering form swayed, the stool caught him. He tilted backward and the stool’s wooden legs dug into the earth as his rear end came to rest on its seat. It was like Ronald was a new creature, evolved to accommodate his devolution. As he dragged himself closer to Sophie she caught another strong whiff of him. The alcohol wasn’t just coming out on Ronald’s breath—though it was, a flag furling and unfurling from his mouth. Beneath the sour punch of his breath was another odor, the smell of it leaching from his pores. Ronald was pickled. Sophie remembered the way he had begun to peer at her, a strange flicker of clarity in his eyes, and felt the start of somethingturning inside her. With a full-body jerk she wrenched herself away from it. No. Nope. No freaking way. She was not going to experience the inner realms of Ronald, the drunken city dump mascot. She faced him coldly. How had her mother, usually so bitchy, dealt with him with such patience? How did her grandmother handle him? What would Ella do? Throw a rock at him and run, probably. If the rock seemed clean enough.
    â€œPoint, Ronald,” Sophie demanded. “Where is my grandmother? Take your finger and point.” Ronald’s face turned up toward the sky. His swollen eyes pasted themselves shut against the sun and he leaned back heavily against his stool. He was like a sundial, orienting himself. Or perhaps he had passed out. Ronald’s hair was dark and needed washing, badly. Whole locks were held together with a dusky, oily grime. Maybe he had some streaks of gray, or maybe that was just debris, plaster and dust. Chunks of rubble were caught in his tangles. His dark skin was even darker, reddened from his time outdoors. A mist of sweat coated his body, Sophie watched it shimmer on his arms and her thirst for salt galloped inside her. No! Eeew, gross, gross, the grossest ! Worse than the rancid debris of the city creek was Ronald’s dirty, sweaty arm, and yet—so salty. Sophie bit her tongue so that it filled her mouth with water. She felt monstrous as a vampire yearning for blood. The water in her mouth helped not at all. The craving inside Sophie wasn’t thirst at all—it was the opposite of thirst.
    Ronald, oblivious, righted