Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet No. 16 by Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant
Authors: Kelly Link Gavin J. Grant
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would have to go and get Clem, who was not afraid of bugs or darkness. Clem would take his shirt off to squeeze into the narrowest crevice, digging into the dirt with the tips of his cowboy boots to push himself forward. I liked Clem. Afterwards he would stand before me, his face smeared with mud and with tiny rocks clinging to his chest and hand me the ball.
"Thank you Clem,” I would say in my sweetest, most grateful voice, but he was a shy boy and would walk away quickly, with his head down, smiling strangely.
* * * *
Sometimes Rhina and I played another game and that was digging in the dirt with Rhina's dolls, an activity we referred to as “trench-dig.” We used their sharp feet and long plastic legs to make a network of trenches around the corner from the steps. It was during an afternoon of trench-dig that I had my first sexual experience. It was high summer still and, as usual, I was in the nude. Rhina had just dug an exceptionally deep trench and rolled some of the excess dirt together in her palms to form a little ball, which she inserted between my legs.
"It's poop,” she said. I left the little ball of dirt in there until I went to bed that night because I didn't want Rhina to think I didn't understand. Maybe that doesn't count as a “sexual experience,” but then, this is not a coming of age story, so never mind.
* * * *
Like I said, our family's nude period went on for eleven years. In the tenth year, my dad completed his master's degree and got a job teaching a writing workshop at Seton Hall College. The legitimacy of being a college-level instructor must have had an effect on him, because one evening he came home from work and kept his clothes on all night except to take a shower. Soon, Mary followed suit and I, gratefully, took my corduroy overalls out of the steamer trunk for good. Without a word, the nude period was over.
Guy was at the college from after lunch until eight at night and my mother kept her job as a hostess at a nearby Shoney's. She worked the three to midnight shift, so, from three to eight, I was technically on my own. My mother and father justified leaving me at the trailer because Mary's Shoney's was only a ten-minute walk across the highway and Mr. Daws was always at home next door if I needed help. He had a disability and was very kind. Anyway, I was perfectly happy to be by myself. Most days I just watched TV and waited for Rhina to get home. Sometimes I drew pictures of the characters I saw on television. Gesture drawings. Mary had taught me how to do this because she said I was a natural and that art was like any other muscle: use it or lose it.
* * * *
Once I was drawing a gesture drawing of a man named McHale who was in a show about his navy. I drew him walking rapidly through the galley with a plate of food that looked like dumplings. When I looked up from my drawing, Clem, Rhina's older brother, was standing there. There were no locks on the doors and sometimes Rhina came in unannounced, but never Clem. He was wearing cowboy boots and jeans and had no shirt on. His body was thin and exceedingly brown because he had played outside nearly every day that summer.
Now there was something unsettling about the way Clem was standing and looking at me with his head tilted to one side and his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. He was smiling a little but it was a slightly mean smile. I tried to smile too to show that I was not surprised by his presence. I only ended up feeling awkward, somehow naked again although I had my overalls on.
"Get out of here Clem,” I said, but even as I was speaking I knew that it was not going to be so easy to get him to leave. He stood in front of me with his arms on his hips and I watched his tight, tan belly rise and fall. When he came and stood directly in front of where I sat, I could smell him and he smelled like the outdoors, like grass and dirt and insects. I noticed another thing about Clem: there was something swelling in the
"Thank you Clem,” I would say in my sweetest, most grateful voice, but he was a shy boy and would walk away quickly, with his head down, smiling strangely.
* * * *
Sometimes Rhina and I played another game and that was digging in the dirt with Rhina's dolls, an activity we referred to as “trench-dig.” We used their sharp feet and long plastic legs to make a network of trenches around the corner from the steps. It was during an afternoon of trench-dig that I had my first sexual experience. It was high summer still and, as usual, I was in the nude. Rhina had just dug an exceptionally deep trench and rolled some of the excess dirt together in her palms to form a little ball, which she inserted between my legs.
"It's poop,” she said. I left the little ball of dirt in there until I went to bed that night because I didn't want Rhina to think I didn't understand. Maybe that doesn't count as a “sexual experience,” but then, this is not a coming of age story, so never mind.
* * * *
Like I said, our family's nude period went on for eleven years. In the tenth year, my dad completed his master's degree and got a job teaching a writing workshop at Seton Hall College. The legitimacy of being a college-level instructor must have had an effect on him, because one evening he came home from work and kept his clothes on all night except to take a shower. Soon, Mary followed suit and I, gratefully, took my corduroy overalls out of the steamer trunk for good. Without a word, the nude period was over.
Guy was at the college from after lunch until eight at night and my mother kept her job as a hostess at a nearby Shoney's. She worked the three to midnight shift, so, from three to eight, I was technically on my own. My mother and father justified leaving me at the trailer because Mary's Shoney's was only a ten-minute walk across the highway and Mr. Daws was always at home next door if I needed help. He had a disability and was very kind. Anyway, I was perfectly happy to be by myself. Most days I just watched TV and waited for Rhina to get home. Sometimes I drew pictures of the characters I saw on television. Gesture drawings. Mary had taught me how to do this because she said I was a natural and that art was like any other muscle: use it or lose it.
* * * *
Once I was drawing a gesture drawing of a man named McHale who was in a show about his navy. I drew him walking rapidly through the galley with a plate of food that looked like dumplings. When I looked up from my drawing, Clem, Rhina's older brother, was standing there. There were no locks on the doors and sometimes Rhina came in unannounced, but never Clem. He was wearing cowboy boots and jeans and had no shirt on. His body was thin and exceedingly brown because he had played outside nearly every day that summer.
Now there was something unsettling about the way Clem was standing and looking at me with his head tilted to one side and his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. He was smiling a little but it was a slightly mean smile. I tried to smile too to show that I was not surprised by his presence. I only ended up feeling awkward, somehow naked again although I had my overalls on.
"Get out of here Clem,” I said, but even as I was speaking I knew that it was not going to be so easy to get him to leave. He stood in front of me with his arms on his hips and I watched his tight, tan belly rise and fall. When he came and stood directly in front of where I sat, I could smell him and he smelled like the outdoors, like grass and dirt and insects. I noticed another thing about Clem: there was something swelling in the
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