The knowing, wise, old eyes of the school nurse regarded the lovely, auburn-tressed girl who sat across the desk from her. The complaint was a common one; the girl was suffering some faintness with her menstrual period. Ordinarily, Ernestine would have sent the afflicted girl home with instructions for bed rest for the remainder of the day, but she was stopped in mid-reach for the special form excuse she would have to fill out. The girl had just said that she didn't want to go home, asking instead, that she be allowed to stay in the Health Office until the close of school.
"Is there some special reason, Charity, something that would keep you from staying at home…?" the nurse asked.
Charity Scott glanced up into the kindly face, momentarily, then concentrated her gaze on the pen-holder on the desk as an attack of dizziness reminded her of her reason for this visit to the school's Health Office. She didn't know exactly how she should answer Mrs. Keaton's question. It was difficult to put into words; she just knew that it would be best if she did no? Go home. With an effort, she began, "M-My dad's at h-home… he's sick and stayed h-home from w-work… t-today…" she stumbled.
"Is he quite ill?" It was a leading question.
The girl was quiet for a moment, not answering. How should she answer? How can a young girl put it into words?
"Well…" Charity dropped her eyes to the floor, "h-he drinks… quite a lot… a-and…" She stopped then, not wanting to go on.
"… And, what… Charity…?" Ernestine's voice was kind, coaxing.
"I-I just d-don't want t-to go h-home… is all…!"
Ernestine Keaton, school nurse, knew the reason without asking. She had heard it all before, many times, from many girls. She flipped through the Emergency Card file to extract Charity Scott's card signed by both parents. She knew the answer to her question, but she asked, "Is Gabriel Scott your real father?"
Most of the time, Ernestine mused, it was stepfathers who molested the young girls, but she had known of many cases where the girl's real father had had sexual interests in their own, flesh-and-blood daughters. The unnatural, incestuous lust revulsed and disgusted the nurse, but there was little she could do about those situations, most of the time, it was too late. Dear God! Here's another lovely young girl, exposed to heaven only knows what…! A drunken, sex-maniac of a father, no doubt… peeping and pinching… waiting for his chance to… to debase her… ruin her! God! Why isn't there some way we can help… before it's too late? She had to know. She probed a little further.
"Are you afraid… of your father, Charity…?" she asked, "… afraid to be alone with him… afraid he might… do something to you…?"
Charity's face flamed. She looked up in disbelief at the school nurse who had dared to say what she had not even wanted to think.
"That's crazy, Mrs. Keaton… Why sh-should I-I…?" Tears welled into her lovely grey-green eyes, and she looked away, out of the window, across the sprawling campus, quiet now after the change of class.
Empathetically, Ernestine's heart reached out to the girl. She knew for sure, now, and she understood. Softly, she said, "I'm sorry, Charity. Please forgive an old lady for prying… and I do understand… and want to help you… if you need help."
"Wh-What's to h-help, Mrs. Keaton, go ahead and write m-my health excuse… a-and I-I'll go h-home…" she said, forlornly.
"It won't be necessary. I have an extra cot… just go on in the next room, there, lie down and rest. Stay until final dismissal."
Ernestine watched the girl as she left her office and went, obediently, into the separate room where several cots were provided for the girls' use. She sighed, resignedly. Her mind was in a whirl. Dear God! How had Mrs. Keaton known…? How had she guessed…? I didn't tell her…! Daddy's really never… done anything… but… Oh, God… the way he looks at me… sometimes! I know he must be thinking some awful thoughts… about me! Thinking about sex-things… maybe about things he'd like to do to me! Oh, God! It's just horrible… living in our house… with him! But what can I do…? Dear God… What can I do?
And Don knew that Jack Roberts would be there. He was always there, except for the times when he got busted and was hauled off to Juvenile Hall for possession of drugs. Somehow Jack was always clean. The fuzz couldn't pin anything on him, even when they put on the big crunch.
Jack was sitting on a bench at one of the outdoor tables, a stringy-haired blonde sitting next to him, hanging on his every word. He was a heavy dude, for sure, as far as the chicks were concerned. Looking up, he saw Don approaching and said, "Split, baby… here comes a dude looking for a hit… like, you know, bread first, meat later."
Don sat down, giving the mini-skirted chick a long look at her cute, little behind, the skirt barely covering it, as she twitched away to join a knot of girls, giggling about some confidence just exchanged.
"Man… like she comes on strong…" Jack said.
"Must be something else…" Don agreed; then, "You mowing any grass. Today…?"
"How much you need, man…?" Jack's voice toneless.
"Ten roaches…"
"Only ten…?" Jack turned away. "Man, I ain't got the time…"
"It's all I got bread for…" Don was desperate.
"You know how much… put it in the saddle-bag on your hog!" Jack said.
"It's already there!"
"About ten minutes, then," Jack told him. "But I don't know why in hell I should take a chance on being busted for ten lousy roaches? Christ!"
"Shit! I can't buy it by the ounce, yet!" Don flared.
Jack glanced around apprehensively, then glared at Don. "Back off, man! There's liable to be narcs around…!" He turned to leave, but after one step, he came back and went on. "No more, after this, Don, it's got to be by the ounce!"
Don watched him as he mounted his big Japanese motorcycle, kicked it into roaring life and rode away up the broad avenue. Jack, he knew, didn't live in that direction, but then, a big man like Jack wouldn't be foolish enough to keep the stuff at home. Idly, he wondered who Jack was working for, because he was pretty sure the pusher was handling hard stuff, as well as marijuana. He knew the kid was making big bread, and he was envious, but at the same time, he was aware of the risk Jack was taking in furnishing him with the ten roaches he had ordered. The fuzz could bust you for that as easily as for a whole kilo.
Don went to the order window and bought a large Coke and a bag of fries. He was munching them when the girl Jack had been talking to when he arrived came over and sat down next to him. She took a piece of his French Fried potato, put it in her mouth and sucked it in, little by little. He watched in fascination, aware of the symbolism, and his penis jerked upright in his pants.
"You come on strong!" he said. "What's your name…?"
"Marcy," she said, repeating the performance.
"You Jack's chick?"
"In a way… we swing…" she said.
"He's a heavy dude… I don't want him to put the crunch on me!" Don told her. "So… why don't you split… now… unless you got something going…"
"Just being, like, you know… Friendly…"
"Flake off!" Don snapped.
She scribbled a telephone number on a paper napkin and thrust it at him, "Get me on the horn, Don! It might be… like, you know… a real thing…" She was gone.
He remembered seeing her around Perry High School. She was a junior, too, like himself. He watched her walk away and decided he would like to get to know her better. It would be easy if Jack didn't have a prior claim on her. He finished off the fries and drank his Coke. Man! She's on it!
A few moments later, Jack roared into the parking lot, parked Don's cycle and ambled over. He sat down.
"Same place…" Jack told him, "and remember, only in ounces from now on!"
"I'll remember!" Don said, getting up. "See you around!"
He mounted his motorcycle, started it and headed for home. As he roared along the avenue, his long hair blowing in the wind, he spotted her walking along the sidewalk. He would know her anywhere, her auburn hair, the way she walked.
Pulling alongside her, he stopped and grinned. "Want a ride… Sis?"
Charity returned her brother's smile. "Sure, if you promise to go slow, I don't want my hair to blow all over!"
She climbed behind him, straddling the cycle saddle, exposing her firm young thighs as her skirt hiked up. The vision of those lovely columns was not lost on Don Scott. He thought his sister had the most beautiful figure he had ever seen. Many times, lately, he had spied on her in various stages of undress… and last week, he had caught her completely nude when he had walked into her room without knocking. She had been flustered, covered herself in embarrassment and shooed him out of the room, but not before he had gotten his eyes full.
Don rode slow, enjoying the feel of her arms around his middle and the twin mounds of her luscious breasts seemed to be boring holes into his back.
Shit! Chicks like Marcy are like nothing… compared to. Sis! She's really got it… and all in the right places, too…! But damn it! She's still my sister! Christ! If she wasn't I'd really want to swing with her! Man! She's something else!
He allowed his hand to drift down to her knee and run up her thigh a few inches while he steered the cycle with one hand. Charity slapped his hand away, and she cringed, inwardly, at the salacious suggestiveness of his caress. She put her mouth next to his ear and shouted over the roar of the wind, "That's not nice, Donnie! Stop it!"
"I can't help it if you've got nice legs!"
"You can keep your hand to yourself, little brother!"
Don bristled. "Little brother, hell! I'm almost as big as Dad!"
"I don't care… I don't want you to do that! It isn't right, and you know it!"
"I'll do what the hell I want to!" he said, defiantly.
"You do… and I'll tell Mom!"
"Oh, Christ! Here we go, again!" he mimicked. "I'll tell Mom! Don't sweat it, though, Sis, because I'm going to split one of these day. I've had it! It's the street for me!"
"You're going to… run away?"
"Soon's I get a little bread… I'll be long gone!"
"Why?" she asked. "Anyway… you've got to graduate from high school!"
"School! Crap, Sis… there's nothing for me at school! Only the chicks! Man! Some of them come on strong… like, you know… they swing! Groovy."
Don left the avenue and turned into their street. Reaching the house, he turned into the driveway and parked the motorcycle. Charity clambered down and went into the house, feeling the dislike deep in her of the shabbiness the whole place exuded.
She passed through the living room, where her father sat, glassy-eyed, nursing a can of beer and watching a newscast on the portable television set. He sat, heavily, wearing only an undershirt and tan work pants, his paunch hanging over his belt, slightly. He had kicked off his shoes. A three-day growth of beard darkened his jowls.
Gabriel Scott's eyes lighted up as she came in, responding with a grunt to her airy greeting. His eyes roamed over her figure, his head twisting to follow her path through the living room and dining room to the door of her bedroom that opened up off the dining area. He turned back to the T.V. newscaster, only after she had disappeared into the sanctuary of her bedroom. Christ! She gets prettier every day! No matter what they say… those short skirts sure show a lot! Damn…! And she's my daughter… turning into quite a woman!
Outside, in the driveway, Don reached into the saddlebag on his cycle and extracted a neatly wrapped package, the ten marijuana cigarettes he had bought from Jack Roberts. With trembling fingers he stowed them safely in his shirt pocket. Shit! He hadn't liked that scene with Jack, but a guy had to have some of his own! He had to have something to share… and he had a place to share it… and some kids to rap with. Then, there was the sex… with chicks that were with it. That's all there is, man! That's all there is… and now there was Marcy! He checked his pocket. Yes, he still had her telephone number. He'd have to give her a buzz on the horn… like, tonight! Man! She really comes on strong!
He went into the house through the back door to his bedroom, converted from part of the back porch. It was a tiny room, hardly large enough to contain the single bed and a small student desk. He hid the roaches, suppressing a desire to burn one, right then, knowing that he had to save them for later. Stretching out on his bed, he retrieved a pornographic novel he had hidden under his mattress and soon lost himself in the lurid descriptions of natural and unnatural sexual athletics.
As he read, the explicit descriptions stimulated him, and his penis came up to rigid, erect attention, his hand going down, unconsciously, to massage and caress it. His thoughts drifted to the girls he knew, but soon the vision of his sister pushed the others aside, as somehow, the forbidden became the most desirable in his mind. Charity? Christ!
Retreating to the door of the motel room and stuffing the money in her purse, Dorothy Scott said, "Damn it! I told you when I came I couldn't stay all night… It's just impossible!"
She avoided another lunge of the drunken traveling salesman she had agreed to meet after her stint as a cocktail waitress, made it out the door and headed rapidly for her car. The slam of the door behind her as she fled told her there would be no more difficulty from him. Thank God!
Ordinarily, she tried to avoid the real drunks, but this one had been fairly sober, looked clean and decent, a man who had been on the road for two weeks… and needed a woman, baby. She had met him at ten thirty, after work, went to his motel with him, where he broke out a new fifth of V.O., forcing her to drink with him before the bout on the bed. Ugh! I hate to have drunks mauling me!
She had done her best for him, giving him his money's worth, using her mouth to bring him to a fully hardened condition, then allowing him to slobber his lips over her nakedness, hurting her lush, white breasts with his strong hands; finally, ineptly trying to use his tongue on her, before he rammed his short but thick penis between her legs and jack-hammered away into her vagina until he came, after long minutes of exertion, and collapsed on top of her. She had had to push his slumbering weight off of her in order to get dressed; it was already nearing midnight, and she always tried to be home by then to allay Gabe's suspicions.
The salesman had awakened just as she finished dressing and insisted that she stay with him all night. He was willing to pay, he had told her. She had refused, politely, but he had become abusive. It was then she had made her hasty exit. God! I just couldn't do it! His money looked awfully tempting, though! But I'm still a wife, and mother, first! I couldn't ever let Gabe find out… but I'd die, I think, if Charity or Donnie ever found out what their mother is doing…! And dear God, it's only for the money, money to get a few of the little extras, extras that make life just a little better for all of us. I wouldn't do it, if there was enough money! Heavens only knows when Gabe'll be able to get a job, and keep it.
Dottie drove home through the almost deserted streets of Redfern, past grand old houses of an earlier time, most of them beginning to fall apart with abundance of time and decay. The huge trees, on either side of the broad avenue reached their limbs across the street to each other, creating a feeling in her as though she were driving through a long tunnel. The cooling effect of the trees, in the day time was pleasant, and the effect of the arching trees was different. It was at night, the eerie feeling overcame her.
She turned into her driveway and noted that Donnie's big motorcycle was not there. It was slightly after midnight, and she was irritated that he was not home. She had told him, repeatedly, that he must be home before eleven thirty, but more and more, it seemed, he'd been staying out later and later. And I really don't know where he is… Or who he's with! I hardly ever see my children… Anymore. They're gone off to school before I get up, and they're out, somewhere when I come home at night. No, it's Donnie that's out, Charity's always here, at least, when she does go out on a date she's got enough sense to come home at a reasonable hour.
She let herself in the front door. Her husband was seated before the television set watching a movie re-run. He had made no move to open the door, barely glancing up when she came in and responding only with a grunt to her greeting and brush of a kiss. He took a swig from his ever-present can of beer, looked up at her, finally, as she turned to go into their bedroom that opened off the living room and said, "Out kind of late, ain't you?"
"I had to work overtime," Dottie lied. "One of the girls had some car trouble… and couldn't get to work on time."
"Oh…?" He was satisfied.
"Did you see about that job at the mobile home factory?"
"Yeah, they filled it already. No jobs available, they said…"
"And the dairy job across town…"
"Didn't make it…" Gabe growled, "ran into a couple of buddies and drank a few beers. Swapped a few yarns…"
She went into their bathroom, musing that they didn't call her husband 'Gabby' for nothing. He was just that. When he sat in a bar with some of his old crones, the hours flew away from him as he talked and told stories. Yes, he was well-known in the town as drunken Gabby Scott, ne're do well, unable to hold a job for more than a few months, a man who was willing to let his wife support him and their two children. He was a real mess, and Dottie wondered why she continued to put up with him. If I'd had any sense I would have divorced him ten years ago…! But, here I am still married to him, slaving to keep us together as a family, and I take on men on the side, for a little extra cash, acting the whore, and trying to be respectable at the same time! Dear God, what else could I do? I guess I love him, still… I did love him, I think, when we were first married, or maybe it's just blind loyalty… loyalty to the children… because I thought they needed a father…
She turned off her thoughts about her family as she prepared for bed. She was tired, physically and emotionally. She had risen at about ten in the morning, did her housework, reported for work at two thirty in the afternoon… and afterwards the hour and a half she had spent with the salesman: that had really done her in. His sex techniques had only served to arouse her, to be left dangling, emotionally, when he had cum, the end result being frustration. Remembering the sex act, she decided she had better wash herself, even though she had insisted, in spite of his grumbling, that he use some protection. Thank God, I've been lucky so far, no disease… or pregnancy…! And to think how often I take the risk! God! Is it all worth it?
The bathroom connected with Charity's bedroom. On impulse, Dottie opened the door a crack and looked in on her firstborn, a beautiful, young girl budding into young womanhood. Charity lay in her bed, sound asleep, a sweet, serene expression on her face, her upraised arm had brought a mounding breast up from under the sheet, its contour under her thin nightgown promising a fullness that was also her mother's. Her face was framed in a glory of auburn hair, and Dottie could think of only one word to describe her daughter in peaceful sleep: innocence.
… And as she watched, a fleeting grimace crossed Charity's face. It was an expression of pain. Dottie guessed instantly. It was time for her daughter's menses to begin. She had remembered marking it, secretly, on the calendar. She didn't know why she did it, but perhaps she didn't expect the innocent to remain innocent. It was, she realized, a cynical attitude, a fear that corruption begets corruption… or simple guilt on her part, the hypocrisy of the lie she, herself, was living making her suspicious… almost paranoid concerning her daughter's chastity. She told herself that she was only being protective. Kids these days seem to have lost any sense of decency! They're reaching out for sex long before they're emotionally ready for it! Sex and drugs! It's just horrible!
She finished her bath and came out into the bedroom, a towel wrapped about her. Heading for the dresser to get a clean nightgown, she was aware that Gabe lay on the bed in his shorts, the bulge of an erection throbbing up against the fly of the thin cloth.
"Dottie, you got a ten-spot you can let me have?"
She hesitated. "No, I'm saving to get our couch upholstered, and I've got just enough, now," she told him. "I've already picked out the…"
"God damn it!" he roared. "I ask you for ten, and I get ten reasons why I can't have it!"
He came off the bed, bounding over to her, moving fast for his corpulence. "And how about a piece of ass, or are you too tired… or too sleepy?" His hands reached to rip the towel from her body, revealing her lovely nudity to him. Instantly, he crushed her in a bear-hug, his lips seeking hers.
She turned her face aside and said. "Please, Gabe, not tonight! I am dead tired, and…"
Crack!
His open palm caught her across the face. "Bitch!" he growled. "I ought to give you something to remember!" He drew back his hand to strike, again.
"P-Please, Gabe, don't hit me again…" she begged, tears welling into her eyes from the pain and humiliation. "I-I'll go to bed w-with you, a-and you can have the ten you want…"