Read Online Our Town by Kevin Jack McEnroe - Free Book Online

she called. But the music was loud, and he didn’t hear. “Dale,” she called again, but again he didn’t notice. People were dancing near the entrance, and a woman swung around and elbowed him between his shoulder blades. She apologized, but he got angry, because she hurt him, so he left. He slammed the door behind him once he’d walked through. So Dorothy shoved her way along the wall, down the stairs—making herself small—across the makeshift dance floor—and then finally outside. She followed. She saw him walking toward the parking lot. He was nearing their car. In his eyes his car.
    “Dale!” she yelled. “Dale,” she yelled again.
    He turned around. He finally saw her. But he kept his mouth closed shut.
    “Come back, baby. I was just upstairs.” She reached him and reached for his forearm but he pushed her off. “I’m having the best time, baby. Why are you leaving? You just got here. I was only just upstairs.”
    Dale stared at her, again. This time longer than before. He grabbed the sides of her head. He pressed his hands around her ears and then held tightly on to her hair.
    “I missed you, baby. It’s so good to see your face,” Dorothy said and closed her eyes and opened her mouth and waited for Dale to kiss her. Kiss her to say hello.
    But he just looked at her. Then he head-butted her as hard as he could. Her head whipped back as her nose started bleeding and she tried to put her hands to her face but he blocked them. He still held her head by the ears. He took a clump of her hair and wiped at the blood pouring from her nostrils. He watched it pool up at the edge of her lip, and dye her split ends hot red. And then he let go. He left and went back to the party.
    Dorothy fell to the ground in a ball. She cried and cried. Her face was ruined, and her hair was ruined. Her tears mixed with her blood as she wiped her face with the back of her hand and soon it was covered in a mucousy, salty pink. The valet, who had looked away when Dale was with Dorothy, walked over to her. A long, black Johnny Chen moustache framed his face—like mouse hair—and his nametag read Chulo . He reached down to help Dorothy up.
    “Are you okay?” he asked.
    She breathed through her mouth, not through her nose.
    “I guess I’ll be okay,” she said. She’d stopped crying. But still she bled.
    He pulled her up and steadied her. He rubbed her back and she leaned into his arms.
    “Do you want me to get security?” asked Chulo.
    “No,” she replied, and sighed and pushed off Chulo. Her nose still ran bloody. She breathed through her mouth. “I just need to clean up.”
    She made her way to the inside bathroom with her head down. She borrowed Chulo’s grease rag to cover her face. She’d draped it over her forehead and got through without being noticed. With a piece of tissue pushed up her nostril to clot the bleeding, she attempted to make up her face. The swelling would be hard to hide. After she finished with a layer of foundation—only just foundation—she heard a knock at the door.
    “I’m in here,” she shouted. She was angry, and had already taken something for the pain. But now she was really hurting.
    “I know, ma’am. This is Eddy, from security.” He stopped, then continued. “I have someone with me. Someone who says he knows you. Your husband, actually, he claims. Is it fine if he comes in?”
    “No, it isn’t, actually. Tell him I’m busy and I don’t wanna see him or talk.”
    “What did you say, ma’am? I’m sorry.”
    “That I don’t wanna see him or talk!”
    She could hear them speaking from behind the door but couldn’t make out what they were saying; the music was too loud.
    “He says he wants to apologize,” Eddy shouted over the noise. “He says he’s sorry.”
    Dorothy sighed again, this time through her nose. Her brick-red tissue clot fell out into the sink and the blood ink ran along the porcelain. Blood continued falling from her nose and past her lips and she