Read Online Y: A Novel by Marjorie Celona - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marjorie Celona
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eat gummy bears.
“I don’t drink either,” he says. The radio is on. A husky-voiced woman talking about
the prairies. Something about jazz. Julian’s car seats are black leather and hot from
the sun. He still has a lot of hair on his arms. I look out the window and watch Lydia-Rose
swinging on the monkey bars. She lets go and lands in a crouch, stands and does a
cartwheel. Julian tells me that Moira left him, moved to another city. He hasn’t spoken
to her in years.
“There are things I shouldn’t have done,” Julian says.
I reach for a gummy bear and squish it between my fingers.
He laughs and squishes one, too. “You were my daughter for a while.”
“I remember.”
“I played Chopin for you at night.” He hums a few bars but I don’t know what to say.
I am suddenly too hot; my feet are baking in my little canvas shoes. “I taught you
the alphabet.”
“Moira did.”
“ Me actually.”
I slip off my shoe and stick my toe in the air vent.
“I love you, Shannon,” he says. He passes me another gummy bear and I put it in my
mouth, then take it out and put it in front of the air conditioner to dry off the
spit. Julian asks me not to. He asks me again.
But I can’t stop. “Who invented air?”
“No one invented air.”
“Can I have an ice cream?”
“Just—please, Shannon—take your toe out of the vent. It’s getting dirt all over the—”
“Miranda doesn’t let us have ice cream.”
“Okay—your toe, Shannon, now .” He makes a grunting sound and grips the steering wheel. “Stop it. Fucking stop
it now.” A big vein pops out in his forehead. His hands are taut. He reaches for me
and pulls me toward him, roughly, and I hit my shin on the gearshift.
He pushes his mouth against my ear. That’s when I remember. Just a little. Just a
nudge at first—a small flash in my brain—after all, I was only two. A hand, a fist?
Smack of skin on skin, his grip too tight, a lazy kick meant for no one to see, crunchy
crack of bone. The whir of the X-ray machine. White bones on film. My fingers dipped
in a pot of hot soup. An eye patch, a cast. His voice thick and weary: What comes
after G ? Say it backwards, faster now. Jell-O jiggler. Wiggly worm. Did I fall or did he
drop me? Thin skull on hard linoleum. Dull thud. Then: no sound.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he is saying, “I’m not going to—I’m not going to hurt
you—” and then Miranda is banging on the driver’s side window, her big face sweaty
and red. She runs from the car with me in her arms and Julian stares after us, his
fist in the air. There’s no sound coming out of his mouth, but I can tell by his eyes
that he is calling her a bitch.
IV.
a fter sixty-five million years, the dinosaurs are back. Harrison knocks on the door
of the cabin, tells Yula and Eugene to put on their boots, and takes them by the hand.
They skirt the edge of the property, through the tall skinny trees that line the cabin
for privacy, past the neighbor’s chicken coop with its barbed wire to keep the dogs
from getting the eggs, past the chickens gathered around a tin dish filled with ears
of corn and cantaloupe rinds from someone’s discarded breakfast. They walk past all
of this until they are standing in waist-high grass. Here and there are pockets of
tamped-down grass, and Harrison tells Eugene that this is where the deer have been
sleeping. The sky is big over their heads and Mount Finlayson looms, tree-covered
and dense with green, in the distance. Most days it is obscured by clouds. To their
left is the forest, to their right an endless field that leads to Joel and Edwin’s
scrap yard. Harrison picks up Eugene and walks into the forest, ducking suddenly under
a branch. Yula follows, and then she is no longer under the great expanse of sky;
she walks carefully through the trees, for she is seven and a half months pregnant
with me, and it is steep and slippery.
“I don’t drink either,” he says. The radio is on. A husky-voiced woman talking about
the prairies. Something about jazz. Julian’s car seats are black leather and hot from
the sun. He still has a lot of hair on his arms. I look out the window and watch Lydia-Rose
swinging on the monkey bars. She lets go and lands in a crouch, stands and does a
cartwheel. Julian tells me that Moira left him, moved to another city. He hasn’t spoken
to her in years.
“There are things I shouldn’t have done,” Julian says.
I reach for a gummy bear and squish it between my fingers.
He laughs and squishes one, too. “You were my daughter for a while.”
“I remember.”
“I played Chopin for you at night.” He hums a few bars but I don’t know what to say.
I am suddenly too hot; my feet are baking in my little canvas shoes. “I taught you
the alphabet.”
“Moira did.”
“ Me actually.”
I slip off my shoe and stick my toe in the air vent.
“I love you, Shannon,” he says. He passes me another gummy bear and I put it in my
mouth, then take it out and put it in front of the air conditioner to dry off the
spit. Julian asks me not to. He asks me again.
But I can’t stop. “Who invented air?”
“No one invented air.”
“Can I have an ice cream?”
“Just—please, Shannon—take your toe out of the vent. It’s getting dirt all over the—”
“Miranda doesn’t let us have ice cream.”
“Okay—your toe, Shannon, now .” He makes a grunting sound and grips the steering wheel. “Stop it. Fucking stop
it now.” A big vein pops out in his forehead. His hands are taut. He reaches for me
and pulls me toward him, roughly, and I hit my shin on the gearshift.
He pushes his mouth against my ear. That’s when I remember. Just a little. Just a
nudge at first—a small flash in my brain—after all, I was only two. A hand, a fist?
Smack of skin on skin, his grip too tight, a lazy kick meant for no one to see, crunchy
crack of bone. The whir of the X-ray machine. White bones on film. My fingers dipped
in a pot of hot soup. An eye patch, a cast. His voice thick and weary: What comes
after G ? Say it backwards, faster now. Jell-O jiggler. Wiggly worm. Did I fall or did he
drop me? Thin skull on hard linoleum. Dull thud. Then: no sound.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he is saying, “I’m not going to—I’m not going to hurt
you—” and then Miranda is banging on the driver’s side window, her big face sweaty
and red. She runs from the car with me in her arms and Julian stares after us, his
fist in the air. There’s no sound coming out of his mouth, but I can tell by his eyes
that he is calling her a bitch.
IV.
a fter sixty-five million years, the dinosaurs are back. Harrison knocks on the door
of the cabin, tells Yula and Eugene to put on their boots, and takes them by the hand.
They skirt the edge of the property, through the tall skinny trees that line the cabin
for privacy, past the neighbor’s chicken coop with its barbed wire to keep the dogs
from getting the eggs, past the chickens gathered around a tin dish filled with ears
of corn and cantaloupe rinds from someone’s discarded breakfast. They walk past all
of this until they are standing in waist-high grass. Here and there are pockets of
tamped-down grass, and Harrison tells Eugene that this is where the deer have been
sleeping. The sky is big over their heads and Mount Finlayson looms, tree-covered
and dense with green, in the distance. Most days it is obscured by clouds. To their
left is the forest, to their right an endless field that leads to Joel and Edwin’s
scrap yard. Harrison picks up Eugene and walks into the forest, ducking suddenly under
a branch. Yula follows, and then she is no longer under the great expanse of sky;
she walks carefully through the trees, for she is seven and a half months pregnant
with me, and it is steep and slippery.
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