Stifle

© 2011 L. E. MAE. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2898-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2897-6 (dj)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-2899-0 (ebk)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911688

Printed in the United States of America

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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~dedication~

This book is dedicated to all the Violets;

Them that make it and them that don’t.

I am not writing this book to stand up for you;

I am writing it so you will stand up for yourselves

There be all kinds of crazy in the world…

Contents

~Chapter 1~

ELEVEN SHADES OF GRAY

~Chapter 2~

STIFLE

~Chapter 3~

PRAYER CHAIR

~Chapter 4~

LICORICE WHIP

~Chapter 5~

SHARIN DIS EASE

~Chapter 6~

INFLICTED

~Chapter 7~

VERDE

~Chapter 8~

MOTHER-ESE

~Chapter 9~

SWEET TATER

~Chapter 10~

BIBLBOLOGNA

~Chapter 11~

DUGOUT

~Chapter 12~

PLUM DUMB

~Chapter 13~

SAFFRON

~Chapter 14~

ROUGE AND NOIR

~Chapter 15~

RATS

~Chapter 16~

AUNT HILLS

~Chapter 17~

PARANOID PHARMER

~Chapter 18~

TURTLE BLISTER

~Chapter 19~

DEVILTRY

~Chapter 20~

DOVETAIL

~Chapter 21~

IN SIN YOU WAIT

~Chapter 22~

DEAD BANG

~Chapter 23~

BI-POLAR ICE CAPS

~Chapter 24~

CHEATS

 ~Chapter 1~

ELEVEN SHADES OF GRAY

SHE SAT, FOLDED UP in in nausea, watching the bleak snow drift from the slate sky, She had scraped the bubbling paint from the pane, and she could see the cold evening through the gray black sharded scars. Across her lap lay Elias’s.22 rifle, and she rested her hand on the barrel still as a mouse. She had taken it down some time ago, taken it’s small cardboard box of shells, and loaded the steel weapon carefully. She could hear them talking about her in the living room, but the ringing in her ears precluded listening. She already knew what they were saying anyhow: She was a whore, incorrigible, and she should be sent away… blah blah blah. It mattered not to Violet, she knew they would never really let her go. She would be stuck in this room full of gunshine forever, she would die right here in this tarpaper casket. If people could die from humiliation, she would have been dead long ago. Mercifully so. She had reached the end of her endurance. She pondered her circumstance indifferently, callous to the thought of herself. She blinked and felt the blue black bubble that was her right eye. She had looked at it in her filmy mirror in her dense room, she knew it was black and blue but in the numb light, the high hot color of it leached into a variety of grayity. Her ghost face was framed with stringy dishwater hair, her eye bruise dark as pond mud, bold as a storm cloud in her twilight. The upper lid had turned wrong side out, and what she was sure were blood spots had formed in the corners, though they appeared only clotted darkness in her reflection. Now she merely sat in her charcoal world, her being absorbed and shaded, morphed into 11 shades of gray. The glint on the gun barrel was the brightest thing about her, and she sat, thinking but not thinking, thoughts buzzed around in her ashen gray matter liked houseflies laying their eggs deep inside her cortex. Maggoty thoughts hatched and ate their way through her lobes: itchy ideas of suicide nibbled on her ear drums. Glassy foggy dented and demented, she merely sat, overwhelmed in the flood of her life. She had been in this pattern of self destruction for so long and she struggled now for a reason to live. She rolled events through her mind, scrolling through the sepian toned footage remotely, like an old black and white picture show. Melancholy rained down upon her in a primer gray tide. Grim as the grave, she surveyed her past and future, measured her present: no matter how she mixed it, gray was the result.

She perused all the things she could escape by putting that gun her mouth; she searched also for a reason to live. Finding none, she pictured herself as a corpse, wondered if it would hurt when the bullet pierced her brain. She envisioned them finding her, half her head missing, blood and brains the only color left in the room. A quick death was the only thing she felt entitled to. To what end and by what means should she live? Poverty, a future of shame and ignorance, breeding more of the same. If she squinted hard enough at the picture show, she could see the truth about herself. She was guilty too. She raised the rifle, turned it upside down so she could reach that trigger. She lowered her skull onto the barrel, opened her maw wide, closed her lips in a cool caress, tasted the gun’s oil. This was it.

 ~Chapter 2~

STIFLE

HUGGA BUGGA, BUGGITY BOO… lady bug, lady, I love you. It was a soft spring morning and Granny’s peonies were in full pink bloom… so sweet, they glistened in the early morning dew, and she loved to play with the lady bugs she found sleeping there. She let this particular red and black spotted beauty crawl over and under her small 7 year old mitts… the hem of her modest pink paisley dress, soaking in the dew, clung uncomfortably around her ankles. Quite happy with her newly made friend, and especially happy with her ode, she squatted under the tall elm tree that shaded the peony bed that lay at the end of the vegetable garden… sunlight barely touched there, and the old tree made her feel protected somehow, as if it were guarding her, connecting her not only with the ancient earth, but with the sun and sky as well.

Hugga Bugga… Dang IT! she exclaimed as her lady bug friend lifted wing and flew off her hand into the early morning sky. She gave a furtive glance around, no one had heard her swear out that dirty word, and being certain she was all alone in the garden, said it again, just for fun… DANG IT. She smiled, and pleased with her daring self, set about finding a new friend to play with. The puffy fat flowers were loaded with them, and she bent intently to her work, gently parting the soft moist petals, inhaling their divine fragrance with delight, eyes peeled for spotted red and black amongst the pale white and pink blossoms. She found a lovely one, and straightening up, held it’s round plump perfection to the one ray of sunlight that managed to sneak it’s way into her secret shady spot. It began crawling over her hand, tickling the small fine hairs, making her giggle. She began composing a new song, staring off into the distance, watching the soft dew vaporize in the early morning sun. She took a deep breath, smiled at her tiny buggy pal, softly sang, "Lady bug, lady bug, you are my fr…

THWACK. Stars shot through her brain, as boyish laughter rang out over her. Wrenched backward her wind knocked free from her lungs, and her vision suddenly gone, he leapfrogged over her face to sit backward cowboy style on her frail chest, leaving her face tightly covered with the pillowcase he had just placed over her head. Arms pinned, with no breath to cry out, it was so easy to stifle her. She struggled under his weight, couldn’t be heard under the pillowcase… she could smell the fresh clean scent of granny’s laundry; she was suffocating in the downy tide.

Dirty bitch was the last thing she heard before merciful darkness claimed her.

 ~Chapter 3~

PRAYER CHAIR

VIOLET AWOKE IN THE garden. She felt hollow, thick and numb as a pumpkin with it’s seeds scooped from it’s very center. Indeed, felt as if all her inner promise had been carved out. Her grace evicerated, her dress wet with pee, she made her way out of her secret shady spot, into the light, to the overly sparse house that her grandparents lived in. She made her way through the foyer with it’s threadbare orange carpet, the living room where the prayer chair sat upright against the wall, to the kitchen. Pap sat in his usual spot at the head of the kitchen table, smoking a Marlboro, sipping his Sanka. Granny poked her head into the refrigerator, pulling out the fixins for a big breakfast.

Good morning, Violet. Pap smiled. Come give Pappy some hugs and kisses, he said, pulling Violet into his lap. Violet instinctively pulled back, but it was too late. He had felt her shameful wetness, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Violet knew she was in for it, but was shocked into a wooden silence. What could she say? She didn’t have the words.

Uh oh, she’s wet again he said, You better stop wetting that bed, girl. You’ll ruin the mattress. You’re to old for that he reprimanded. Go get changed then come back down for prayers. Violet made her way upstairs to the bedroom she shared with her sister. Tater was still sleeping in the bottom bunk bed, drool dribbling across her puffy, round moon face. Violet hated her with a repressed watery rage. Even in her sleep, she looked and felt like a burden.

Stupid, ugly Tater head, thought Violet to herself. She began halfheartedly rummaging through an enormous pile of rumpled, somewhat unclean laundry. Finding a pair of mildewy underpants and a very wrinkled blue dress with a faded bow on the back, she shed her wet clothes and quickly donned her newly found garb. She would still smell like pee, but at least she was dry, besides, there was no running water in Granny’s house, so she would just have to make do with the way she was. Violet made her way carefully down the 13 steps, burning and raw. She tried her best to forget all about IT. This was not the first time something like this had happened, but she didn’t have the words to name IT, and whenever she thought of telling someone, red hot shame poured over her like internal hellfire, mortifying her into secretive silence. Besides, in this family if you weren’t speaking about Jehovah or Jesus, and you were a girl to boot, best to just stifle yerself. Anything that happened to you was just Jehovah’s way of punishing or preparing you for something that you had done or were going to do. Violet knew that somehow she had brought IT on herself, and IT was between she herself and God.

You want some banana pancakes, Hon? Granny asked in her sweet dulcet-toned voice. I know they you favorite. The thick cloying smells of hot bananas and frying bacon hung heavy in the air.

Nothin’ for Violet Pap tersely interrupted She’ll say her prayers, then she can fast for the rest of the day. I want you to ask Jehovah in his holy son’s name to help you stop wetting the bed, Violet, and fasting will help to purify you to receive his answer, so you can hear him clearly. Also pray that he will help you to not just hear his answer but to understand it. If you pray righteously, Violet, Jehovah will cure you. he said, giving Violet a quick squeeze and sending her into the other room to her small upright prayer chair. It was uncomfortable, and though she went quietly to it and sat down, Violet did not pray. Instead, she listened to the sounds of the family gathering around the table,tried to name the mysterious IT and tried not to think of the delicious food that was just a room away from her. Her stomach rolled with hunger, her heart heavy with guilt and her soul ravaged with shame, she fell asleep, dreaming tortuous dreams of laughing boys with fiery bananas and lady bugs on the wing.

 ~Chapter 4~

LICORICE WHIP

BEEP…  . BEEP…  BEEP. Blue, Tater and Violet went to see who it was out in the drive. Violet was very happy to see her friend from school, Beckon Caw and her ma, Squaw.

Y’all wanna go tricker treatin wid us?’ asked Beckon, leaning out the car window. We gonna go in town, get lots o candy." she had finished in her across the river drawl.

Sure we love to go, but we gotta to ask first said Violet. Granny might let us… let’s go ask.

Of course Tater was already in the house askin for everybody.

Granny, Violet’s friend wants us to go trick or treatin… can we go? Ma won’t care, I know. Granny looked at them with her warm kind eyes. She didn’t believe in Halloween, or birthdays, and especially not in Halloween Birthdays, such as Violet’s happened to be. Yet she could tell that this might be good for Violet, who turned 8 this very day, to do something to celebrate. She’d just been so sullen lately.

"Y’all ain’t got no costumes… ’ she hedged. The kids knew they had won.

Don’t need none, said Violet hopefully, breathlessly. Could she really be going trick or treating? She dared not dream. They never did anything for Halloween,or birthdays; not even Jesus’ birthday. Violet had never completely understood why, something bout lovin yourself more than you love God. Sounded hokey to her, she just couldn’t believe that with all the wrong in the world, God would destroy HER, poor Violet for wanting a little birthday cake or Halloween candy, for Pete’s sake.

Well, yer Ma’ll be back round 9… best have them drop ya’s up there. I’ll tell her where you at. All three children ran to her smothering her with hugs and kisses.

Yeah… thanks, Granny!! Trick or treatin… what fantastic luck… this was gonna be so much Fun.

They piled in to the Caws old car, pillowcases in hand, very happy to be invited. The Caws were not rich, but they were very friendly, kind country folks. They had just moved to Coven from across the river, and Beckon was in Violet’s class. Violet had liked her the very first time they had met, when Beckon had taken the empty seat beside Violet during lunch break on her very first day.

"Hey, can I set here?’ she had asked Violet, and Violet had been unsure exactly how to respond. No one ever wanted to sit with her.

Sure, I guess Violet replied.

My names Beckon Caw. I know, I know… it’s a dumb name… my parents think they funny… I’m part Indian… Crow… that’s why my hair so dark… it sucks, pretty much. she had rattled on, obviously nervous.

What’s an Indian crow? asked Violet, stunned that someone was talkin to her, even if she was part crow.

Not Indian crow… Crow Indian…  . imma sayin imma part injun… not part bird… Wanna share my sam’ich? Beckon asked. Just peanut butter n jelly. She offered, holding out half of her lunch.

Uh yeah sure… my names Violet.

After the flower? That sounds like a granmaw name . . . said Beckon Caw.

Naw… the color… you think that’s bad… I gots a brother called Blue and a sister named Indigo… but everone jus calls her Tater.

Why’s yer ma names youns ‘at fer? asked Beck.

Cause she had us all so close together, close like the last three colors o the rainbow… blue, indigo and violet… she says you caint tell them three colors apart… they so close together… Violet explained.

o… ok… well… my ma’s name is Merrianne Caw… but everyone calls her Squaw… here they both laughed. And my daddys Indian names Last Big Crow Caw. Everone calls him Last Caw… on account he drinks a good little bit. They had laughed and laughed. That was last year, and they had been friends ever since. Beck didn’t have a costume either, just a pillowcase like them. It didn’t matter though, they were going to get a ton of candy, just the thought of it made them all smile.

Hey gal, ain’t it yer birthday too?’ asked Squaw Caw. That’s a pretty cool birthday… ya some kind of witch baby or something?" she joked, making Violet feel special. Truth was, it was a cool birthday to have, if she just wasn’t a member of her family. They had always made her feel weird about it, as if it were a smudge on her soul.Birthdays weren’t good for anybody anyhow was their way of thinking, but a Halloween Birthday? Surely, no good could come from it.

Blue sat silently staring out the window, no doubt planning his candy route, making his plans on ditchin his cow sisters so he could make better time and get more candy. Besides, at the ripe old age of 11, he could be trusted to make his way through town on his own. Fine by Violet, who was whispering with Beckon on the opposite side of the car. Tater had a captive adult audience, assaulted poor Squaw with a barrage of questions, leaning forward into her ear, shouting above the rather loud engine, never letting up.

I just love Halloween cause I like candy, I’m gonna eat all my candy for I get home, cept any black licorice or black jelly beans or candy corn, cause that stuffs like blah, I mean yacka that’s stuff’s so gross… one time, I was eatin a cow’s tail and I pulled my silver cap off my tooth, right there in front see, she blathered on, stretching her thick lips back to prove it. She never even stopped for a breath. Every once in a while she’d pause for just the tiniest fraction of a moment, square head tilted, lazy eye nappin, shinin dully on some imaginary candy pile that only she could see. That was why every one called her Tater… short fer Tater Head, cause when she sat and spaced out like that she looked exactly like a Mrs. Potato Head… her real name was Indigo Jean, but no one ever called her that. They called her Tater, and it fit. Then she would come out of her tater world and she’d forge ahead with her conversation whether any one answered her, looked at her or not. Old Squaw never told her to shut up, just nodded her head now and then, seemingly un-bothered. In no time at all, they arrived, parking the car on a side street, they all piled out. Just as Violet had suspected, Blue made his break.

Right, so I’m just gonna go around these few blocks,right, by myself, right, I’ll meet yous back here, right, in like an hour, right? And of course they let him, didn’t hesitate at all.

That’s not fair ! The girls all squealed. Can we go by ourselves? Oh, the atrocity !

"Don’t be silly… you all stay with me,’