doorbell rang, and rang again, and then Chuck knocked on the screen door and called "Hello? Hello?" I threw open the bathroom door and ran past my mother and my aunt and Fanny, kicking a fusillade on the floor with my silver stilts, gripping the bottom of my gown so I wouldn't trip. "Let's go!" I shouted, banging the screen door behind me, pulling on Chuck's tuxedo sleeve. I ran, Chuck ran; my mother, Rae, and Fanny ran too.
"What's happening?" Chuck shouted, wheezing beside me. I glanced as we ran and saw his caterpillar eyebrows, a clear plastic box with a purple bow that he clutched in his hands, his tuxedo that shone a rust color by the light of the street lamp and looked high at his ankles. I didn't know if I felt like laughing or crying. Then I did both, at the same time, as we flew up Dundas Street. "What's wrong?" he shouted again, and I just shook my head and kept running and sobbing and giggling. The white carnation in his buttonhole dropped, and my silver heel trampled it.
His truck was all the way up the block. Over my shoulder I saw that my mother and Fanny had given up, but Rae was right behind us, then right behind me when I opened the door on the passenger side. She pushed me aside, hoisted herself like a gymnast up into the seat, then settled her squat frame there, arms folded and face stony. "You're not going!" she yelled at me.
"Lady, please get out of my truck!" Chuck cried.
She didn't budge.
How dare she carry on like this when she'd left me alone all those years with my mother in Fanny's furnished room? How dare she butt in now, when my childhood was over? "Rae, get out! Dammit! The whole neighborhood is looking," I hollered, though the streets were empty.
"Not till you go back into the house." She glared at me, unfolded her arms, then emphatically folded them the other way.
"I'll ... I ... I'm calling the cops to get her out of my truck," Chuck sputtered. His face and ears were red. I could see the plastic box with an orchid corsage inside sitting on the sidewalk.
"You should be ashamed of yourself. A grown man with a fourteen-year-old girl!" My aunt yelled at him now, and her heavy jaw jutted forward like a bulldog's. "You think I don't know what you want?"
"I don't care what you say. I'm going out tonight!" I screamed at her.
"Do you know what men like that do?" she screamed back.
"Lady, get out!" Chuck banged on the hood with a mallet fist, and with each bang I could see Rae's maroon hat jump a little on her head.
An hour later my aunt descended from the truck, her eyes puffy with weeping. I stepped up to take her place, as though triumphant. But I was acting. By now I was really tired and miserable, and what I truly wanted was to go home, with her, to forget the whole awful scene and Chuck and New Year's Eve—all of it. I watched her walk down the empty street.
Chuck jumped behind the wheel, breathing as though he'd just done hard physical labor, and I could see his temple throbbing. As we drove off, I spied the orchid, still on the sidewalk in its clear plastic box with the big purple bow.
"Chuck ... I'm sorry." I was embarrassed for all of us that she'd accused him as she did. I touched his white-knuckled hand that gripped the wheel, but he pulled away as though he were disgusted with me. I sat, baffled about what to say or do next.
He drove to our spot on City Terrace. "I don't feel like going to a nightclub now," he muttered. "I didn't do anything to deserve that." His voice rose like a little boy's and he pounded his fist on the dashboard so hard that the truck shook.
It scared me a little, though I couldn't blame him for being so upset. "Chuck..." I opened my mouth to sympathize, to say how angry I was at my aunt, but he turned to me and grabbed me, his fingers digging into my bare arms, then his tongue thrusting down my throat, his stubble scratching my skin and hurting. I fought to break loose but he pinned me. With one hand he snatched at the long skirt of my gown, tugging
"What's happening?" Chuck shouted, wheezing beside me. I glanced as we ran and saw his caterpillar eyebrows, a clear plastic box with a purple bow that he clutched in his hands, his tuxedo that shone a rust color by the light of the street lamp and looked high at his ankles. I didn't know if I felt like laughing or crying. Then I did both, at the same time, as we flew up Dundas Street. "What's wrong?" he shouted again, and I just shook my head and kept running and sobbing and giggling. The white carnation in his buttonhole dropped, and my silver heel trampled it.
His truck was all the way up the block. Over my shoulder I saw that my mother and Fanny had given up, but Rae was right behind us, then right behind me when I opened the door on the passenger side. She pushed me aside, hoisted herself like a gymnast up into the seat, then settled her squat frame there, arms folded and face stony. "You're not going!" she yelled at me.
"Lady, please get out of my truck!" Chuck cried.
She didn't budge.
How dare she carry on like this when she'd left me alone all those years with my mother in Fanny's furnished room? How dare she butt in now, when my childhood was over? "Rae, get out! Dammit! The whole neighborhood is looking," I hollered, though the streets were empty.
"Not till you go back into the house." She glared at me, unfolded her arms, then emphatically folded them the other way.
"I'll ... I ... I'm calling the cops to get her out of my truck," Chuck sputtered. His face and ears were red. I could see the plastic box with an orchid corsage inside sitting on the sidewalk.
"You should be ashamed of yourself. A grown man with a fourteen-year-old girl!" My aunt yelled at him now, and her heavy jaw jutted forward like a bulldog's. "You think I don't know what you want?"
"I don't care what you say. I'm going out tonight!" I screamed at her.
"Do you know what men like that do?" she screamed back.
"Lady, get out!" Chuck banged on the hood with a mallet fist, and with each bang I could see Rae's maroon hat jump a little on her head.
An hour later my aunt descended from the truck, her eyes puffy with weeping. I stepped up to take her place, as though triumphant. But I was acting. By now I was really tired and miserable, and what I truly wanted was to go home, with her, to forget the whole awful scene and Chuck and New Year's Eve—all of it. I watched her walk down the empty street.
Chuck jumped behind the wheel, breathing as though he'd just done hard physical labor, and I could see his temple throbbing. As we drove off, I spied the orchid, still on the sidewalk in its clear plastic box with the big purple bow.
"Chuck ... I'm sorry." I was embarrassed for all of us that she'd accused him as she did. I touched his white-knuckled hand that gripped the wheel, but he pulled away as though he were disgusted with me. I sat, baffled about what to say or do next.
He drove to our spot on City Terrace. "I don't feel like going to a nightclub now," he muttered. "I didn't do anything to deserve that." His voice rose like a little boy's and he pounded his fist on the dashboard so hard that the truck shook.
It scared me a little, though I couldn't blame him for being so upset. "Chuck..." I opened my mouth to sympathize, to say how angry I was at my aunt, but he turned to me and grabbed me, his fingers digging into my bare arms, then his tongue thrusting down my throat, his stubble scratching my skin and hurting. I fought to break loose but he pinned me. With one hand he snatched at the long skirt of my gown, tugging
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