Published in: Desires, 1999
The guys in our family, the women too -- they're all big-boned. Big-boned with some flesh on 'em, momma and poppa types, 'generous' as my momma used to say before she took off with that rich guy. That's what my poppa says she did, anyway. I don't remember her saying that. I remember the day she left, though. Jamie and Jase had started up another one of their hollering fights, which had progressed to whaling on each other with their fists and making an unholy noise, and I was all ready for momma to turn around from the sinkful of last night's dishes and lay into both of them.
Instead, she just turned and stared, stared at those boys until they froze stock still. She stood there in the kitchen with her hands on her broad, heavy hips, with a dishcloth on her shoulder and this look on her face. This look like if she had to put up with me and Jamie and Jase for one more moment, she was gonna strangle us all the way she wished she'd done when we were born. She'd say that sometimes, y'know? "Sweet Lord Jesus forgive me, I should have strangled you at birth." In that flat voice, that said she was gonna crack, just split wide open like a bean pod, spilling out green bits. She didn't say anything that time, though. Just picked up her purse and walked out, with the blue striped dishcloth on her shoulder, and she didn't come back.
Cassie's momma is a lot like my momma. She moved out here from the big city, moved into the old Manelli house down the road and took a job at the plant, working right next to my poppa in the assembly line. That woman was so angry, so bone-deep angry, she told everyone she met that she had had it up to here with that man, and she wasn't going to put up with that kinda crap no more. That man had cheated on her for seven years. That man hadn't been able to keep his hands off any woman over eighteen excepting maybe his own daughter. That man had given her no peace. What Cassie's momma wanted more than anything else was some simple peace and quiet. Why she married my poppa then, I don't know, considering. Maybe just 'cause they were both lonely. Them getting together caused a lot of talk in the town for a while, 'cause some people here don't like white folks and black folks mixing together. I about thought my friend Pete's momma was gonna have herself a stroke, but that's mostly quieted down now.
Cassie isn't like either her momma or mine. Cassie wouldn't put up and put up and put up until the day she cracked. You say one word, look at her wrong, maybe pinch her butt as she walks by and she'll be on you so fast. "Fucking bastard!" She'll whip around and she'll be sticking one long brown finger in your face, hissing like a snake, promising to get her homeboys from the old neighborhood to come kick your face in if you push her one more time. And it's scary for a second, that fury exploding out at you, bright colored sparks flashing and screeching and you maybe take a step back. Hell, Jase'd take off running. Jamie'd blush bright red and look like he wanted to run and then he'd stand his ground. What else could he do -- she's nineteen, older'n any of us, but she's so tiny, we could stomp her into the ground. He's gonna admit he's scared of that two-bit little girl? So they'd hiss at each other, and you could practically see the hair rising on their necks, their tails swishing as they turned and walked away. And me? Me the eighteen, me the should-know-better? Me who can't help grabbing a bit of that skinny butt as it walks by?
I just laugh when she explodes. I always step back for a sec, but she's so funny-looking, like an angry baby bird, and besides, I can tell she's bluffing. Just making this shit up, about homeboys and the 'hood, trying to make herself sound all city and tough. I can't help but laugh. A strangled chuckle and she's still shaking that finger, and then my mouth opens and a big belly laugh comes up from my big belly, and she's looking like all the brown's gonna wash away to white she's so mad... Most times, that's how it ends. Cassie looks like she'll explode, and my poppa hollers, "What're you doing to Cassie?!" I catch my breath and say I'm sorry, very calm, like a gentleman. And she can't do anything but take it.
Only one time, it didn't happen that way. I was sitting on the front room couch, that old cream-colored thing with the wide arms so comfy to lean against. I was sitting there reading so quiet, reading this book about kings and elves and rings, liking it a lot more than I'd expected I would, when Cassie came walking by. Cassie's mom had gone off to church, and poppa had said he was taking the boys to baseball, and maybe Cassie had thought he meant me too, and she'd have the house to herself. But I'd twisted my ankle coming down the stairs that morning, and so I couldn't go, and she'd maybe forgotten. 'Cause here she was walking down the hallway past the front room wrapped in nothing but a white towel, with those skinny long arms and legs sticking out of it so I whistled, 'cause what else is a brother to do if his sister walks by dressed like that, even if she isn't any kind of blood relation and he's only known her for a few months now? She'd been so careful around us boys that I'd never seen above her knees or even above her elbows before this. Nice.
So she whips around the way she always does and storms into the room, almost tripping over all the kids' junk on the floor but catching herself. She starts shaking that finger in my face. And I'm feeling a little guilty already so I hold back the laugh and let her harass me, let her holler in my face about her homeboys and how they'd kick my ass from here to next Sunday, and she's shaking like crazy with all that energy...and that towel starts slipping.
I can't help it, I laugh as she grabs at it and you can tell she's gonna explode like a grenade or a firework, and I'm clutching my stomach and laughing and knowing I'm gonna feel just rotten about this later. Cassie gets this look on her face, all twisted, screwed up tight and she reaches back with her fist and then slams it at my face, and if that had landed it would have hurt like hell. I may be big, but I'm not slow and I grab that fist and hold it. Her hand just disappears into mine with a thump and oh, this is the worst thing to do but I swear I can't help it; I'm still laughing as I hold her hand inside mine, our hands shaking together with the force of it -- and then she starts laughing. I'm serious. The laughter just bursts, sunshine across her face and we laugh and laugh until we've got sore stomachs and damp eyes and when we're done laughing there's such a good feeling, such a warm fellow-feeling in that room, like nothing I've known, like this is gonna be a friend for life smiling at me with her eyes.
Her hand's dropped down but it's still in mine, the other one still holding up that damn towel. Her hand so warm, practically vibrating with the energy in her, and I want to open it up, open that fist gently and squeeze her hand tight. Maybe drop a kiss into her palm, and I'm looking in her eyes and I know that she can see my wanting in them. I can't read her though. Her hand twists in mine, uncurling and squeezing for one brief moment and I think maybe she's feeling what I'm feeling. Maybe Cassie's feeling that warmth uncurling in the belly. But instead of hanging on, she lets go. Lets go of my hand, which is feeling so cold and empty in that moment, like something's missing, like I've lost a limb that's supposed to be part of me.
It's then that she takes this one step back, slow and careful. That might have been it, she might have just walked away right then, but Jase'd left his backpack on the floor, and she steps right onto it, losing her balance and sticking a hand out, catching the edge of the doorframe and almost falling but not quite. And the towel slips. Just a little, and then she catches it up again, leaning against the door frame, steadying herself. Then she stands up straight, her eyes locked on mine, on me sitting there, on the edge of jumping up to catch her. Cassie gets this look. There's this big grin on her face as she slowly takes both top edges of the white towel and pulls it open, open like a wall of white and she's posed against it. Small dark breasts with almost black nipples, surprisingly large. A flat stomach, and a mound shaved bare, a triangle between her thighs. I want to feed her. I want to put some meat on those skinny bones and then kiss my way along them. I want to drag her into bed and screw her 'til we're both sore and screaming. But she takes another step back, still smiling, and so I sit there on that cream-colored couch, thinking of how she'd look lying on it, arms stretched up above her head, legs bent and waiting. Sitting still has never been so hard.
"It's their house," she says, and I know what she means. She's not really my sister, not really...but poppa'd never understand. And I am despairing in that moment, despairing until I realize what she's saying.
"I start school in October," I offer. A long silence, waiting to hear her reply. She slowly wraps the towel back around her, hiding those slight curves.
"Maybe I'll come visit." She tilts her head, considering, and then nods, once, as if she's made a decision. Then she turns and walks down the hall.
I go back to reading, but even hours later, when the kids are back and the house is shouting again, I can still feel her smile warming the room.