‘That’s the difference ‘tween me and him,’ Lymon nods.
‘So, She-Ra, Sarah, or whoever you are…’ Pooh closes her eyelids and I can see her eyes rolling around like shot marbles. She pops her eyes open and spreads a warm smile on her face. She reaches out for my hand and holds it like it’s a delicate little gecko that might crawl away. ‘I missed playing dolls with you,’ she says, her voice suddenly tender.
I feel hungry for the warmth in the voice. ‘I did too,’ I tell her and look away.
‘I think you should go home.’ But the sweetness in her voice overshadows something bitter, like sugar poured over absinthe.
‘I want to,’ I say. ‘I want to go home.’
Pooh nods her approval, and some of the threat leaves her eyes. ‘Lymon is gonna help you. He’s gonna take you home.’
Lymon grins, showing his patchwork of tobacco-stained teeth. ‘I’ll take you home.’ He pats my hand.
‘I’m here with your food,’ Stella announces, entering the barn and setting the plate on the table with a bang. She raises her head to find me on my pedestal bed across the room. ‘Lymon, Pooh, what the hell you doin’ in here?’
‘We was just passing by and heard some hissing in here, had to see if she’d changed form yet!’ Lymon says.
‘Had she?’ Stella asks, wide-eyed, and points to the bare feet sticking our from under my blankets.
‘No, she still had her human form on.’
‘Ugh!’ Stella shudders. ‘Pooh, you got them lined up a dozen deep. Maybe you should get on back to work afore a riot breaks.’
‘We’re just leaving,’ Lymon says and pulls up on the black scarf obscuring Pooh’s face.
‘Did she wake yet?’ Stella asks. ‘Maybe I ought to check and make sure she is okay. Le Loup might just end up feeding her to the swamp plants but he wouldn’t want any of us beating him to it!’ Stella laughs.
‘I done checked her. She’s all fine,’ Lymon grins.
‘I bet you did, Lymon. I bet you did check her. She okay, Pooh?’
Pooh nods.
‘I was afraid Petunia dosed her too high. Well, I am relieved y’all are here. I was afraid she’d be awake and try to charm me like she has before. Wish we’d’ve tied her down, but Le Loup is the only one likes to do that,’ Stella snorts.
Pooh and Lymon nod.
‘Well, we better get a move on.’ Lymon puts out his arm for Stella.
‘See you later, black snake!’ Stella calls over her shoulder and lets Lymon usher her to the door. She unlocks it and escorts Lymon and Pooh out.
Now, if Stella had herself stopped drinking, she might’ve taken note that Pooh was a good half a foot smaller and slighter then she usually was. And if Stella wasn’t a major contributor herself to the scarcity of sugar whiskey to be had at Three Crutches, she might’ve also even caught the hint of golden ringlets peeking out from beneath the scarf, reflecting off the barn door’s nightlight like a coin tossed into the air. If the possibility of deprivation of her precious drink hadn’t led her to store as much of it away in her cupboards and in her person, well, she might’ve noticed the silver gypsy rings on the toes sticking out from under the blanket. But all Stella could see were shadows and outlines. She trusted memory for knowing how to move and where to place things.
As Stella unwittingly locks Pooh in Le Loup’s barn she tells Lymon and me how she heard folks telling of burning that snake out if Le Loup don’t get to it soon enough.
‘Too many truckers have had their trucks inspected lately,’ she says. ‘Someone has to pay. And they’re all up at the diner, torches ready to go!’
‘Oh, I think that snake is gonna slide back home by its lonesome,’ Lymon tells her and pats her back gently so as not to knock her precarious balance out of whack.
Lymon waves goodbye to Stella, then puts his trembling arm around me and we walk off into the truck stop night.
‘Are they gonna burn up Pooh?’ I ask as he escorts me into his dilapidated tin shack.
‘She’s not even there anymore. I saw her let herself out with my keys when we weren’t half out of sight. Believe me, Pooh ain’t one to keep her business waiting.’ He gropes around in the air, then yanks a chain that clicks on a flickering bulb.
‘It’s all talk anyhows. Ain’t nobody would mess with anything of Le Loup’s.’
I nod and let out a long sigh and look around at the bare little room. There’s only a military made-up narrow cot, a large mirror shard on top of a steamer trunk, and some taped-up magazine pictures on the walls.
‘Besides, rumor has it Le Loup was once a wolf himself, practicing his own kind of black magic.’
‘Are you gonna drive me tonight?’ I ask and catch a glimpse of myself in the shiny black leather outfit Pooh pulled out of her rucksack for me to borrow. I can’t help but run my hands admiringly along the glossy leather.
‘I like ya better in that pink dress you got on under there.’
‘I don’t,’ I laugh. ‘But I better take Pooh’s clothes off and leave them for her. Don’t want her coming after me.’
‘Yeah, and she would… You should take that ugly thing off anyway. You’re too sweet to be dressing all naughty and dangerous.’ I ignore the high-pitched tone Lymon’s voice takes.
I start to slide off Pooh’s clothes.
‘Here, lemme help ya.’ Lymon reaches out his hand so I can step out of the leather. I hesitantly put my hand in his. ‘And take them pumps off.’ He squats down and tugs the pumps off as I raise each foot. ‘I like those Mary Janes you wear,’ he says and digs them out of the rucksack Pooh gave me.
I look over his head at the pictures pinned up on the wall. They’re all torn-out magazine ads of little girls in frilly dresses, little girls in swimsuits, and little girls in underwear.
‘Lymon…’ I pat his head and he leans into me. ‘We really better go. I wanna go home.’
‘Just, please.’ He wraps his arms around my legs. ‘I ain’t loved a pretty little girl in so long.’ He sobs and burrows his face into the crinoline of my dress.
‘Lymon, they’re gonna find out I escaped and come looking for me.’ I hold my hands above his head, not wanting to touch him further.
‘Stella ain’t gonna be by there till the morrow to bring ya eggs by.’ He tugs on the hem of my dress like a little kid begging for his mommy to stay. ‘I just, it’s been so long, since way afore the penitentiary,’ he mumbles into the fabric.
‘What got ya in the penitentiary, Lymon?’
He leans down to kiss my feet. ‘God, how I miss tiny baby-girl feet.’ Lymon’s voice gets that high sheen to it.
‘Lymon.’ I put my hands on his head, but he shudders, so I remove them fast like I hit a hot stove. ‘Lymon, they’re talking burning me up. Now I don’t want to burn up or get fed to the plants or anything ’cept go home now!’ I reach for my Mary Janes to try to put them on. Lymon grasps my hand and falls on the floor holding it.
‘Please, please!’ he cries. ‘I’ve loved you since I first seen ya. I tole them all you ain’t a snake. I won’t let no one hurt ya ever, ever!’ He bangs his forehead against the floor. ‘I ain’t gonna put nothin’ inside ya, I just want to hold ya some, look at ya, that’s all, that’s all!’ Lymon knocks his head harder on the floorboards.
‘Lymon…’ I say with a pleading whisper.
‘You don’t know what it’s like. I’m sorry if I disgust ya, I can’t help it. I tried in prison, I spoke to all their doctors, and they took everything out of me, years and years, tole them everything.’ His forehead is starting to leave little flecks of blood with each bang. ‘They let me out, but I knew
it weren’t out of me! I can’t help it! I love
you!’
‘Lymon, stop banging your head. Lymon, you’re bleeding.’ I squat down and grab his head between my hands.
‘I’m sorry!’ He wails again and relaxes his head into my hands. ‘I just need just a little, then I’ll take you right home. No one will know. I’ll take ya right home, just ten minutes…’
‘Lymon,’ I sigh, exasperated.
‘Five! Five minutes, that’s all! And I’ll give ya’—he reaches backward into his pocket—‘one hundred, no, two hundred dollars!’ He waves a wad of bills at me. ‘I been so lonely,’ he whines.
I look down at him, peering up at me, like a dog waiting for its owner to signal its next trick.
‘I know what it’s like to be lonely, Lymon.’ I look at the money and think it would be good to come home with something to give to Sarah. I take the money from him and place it in one of my empty Mary Janes.
‘Oh, bless you, bless you. You are a saint, a savior.’
‘So I’ve been told.’ I sigh again. ‘Five minutes…’
‘Oh, yes!’ he says, jumping to his feet. ‘Oh, yes! Now, sit here on my bed for a bit.’ His voice is quivering and its timbre is starting to elevate again. I sit on his bed and he kneels in front of me.
‘I’m just gonna unbutton these sweet little buttons on your sweet little pink dress here…’ With fingers shaking like a detoxing drunk, he slowly pops my buttons open.
‘Five minutes, Lymon,’ I remind him.
‘Yes, I know, I know. Just let me see … oh, oh.’ He gasps like a man that just lost a million-dollar bet.
‘What?’
‘Oh, break my heart!’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You have on one of them sweet white undie shirts, with a sweet little baby-blue bow at the tippy top!’ Tears stream down his face. ‘I’m so happy!’ He looks up at me, the lines on his face relaxing so he looks ten years younger. ‘I could die now.’
‘I’m glad I made ya happy, Lymon.’ I smile at him.
‘Let’s’—his voice crackles, it’s so high—‘let’s take that undie, undie shirt off, please, please?’
‘Sure, Lymon, I’ll take it off for ya.’ I pull my arms out of the dress top and start to slide off the undershirt when he stops me.
‘Oh, honey, go slow, please. I been dreamin’ of this too long to have it go too fast. I wanna get my five minutes’ worth. Can you lie yourself down here?’ I lie on the thin mattress of his cot. He leans over me. I pull my undershirt down and slowly reraise it.
‘Oh, is that ya belly button?’ he singsongs like he’s talking to an infant. ‘Can I—can I kiss it?’
‘Sure, go ahead, Lymon.’
He lets out a squeal. He slowly lowers his head, and his hot breath on my stomach tickles and makes me pull my shirt down over his head.
‘Oh, you ticklish little girl. Ticklish?’
‘No,’ I pant between laughs, but he takes his mouth and blows belly farts on my stomach.
‘Lymon! Lymon!’ I gasp. ‘Stop!’ I laugh convulsively as he blows his lips against my stomach again. ‘Stop!’ I reach for his head and push hard.
He picks his head up suddenly. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I got carried away there. Can I move on?’ I nod, lay my head back on his hard flat pillow, and catch my breath. He raises my shirt up toward my chest.
‘Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Is that what I think? Oh, Lord!’ He clutches his heart with one hand while holding my undershirt up with the other.
‘You okay?’ I lift my head.
‘Ohh.’ He lets out a long moan. ‘Ohhh… You have the most’—his voice splinters—‘beautiful little baby nippies!’ His fingers tear at his cheeks as if his face were a mask he was trying to rip off. ‘So pink, and flat, and tiny and perfect!’
I stare up at the cracked wood slate ceiling. I can see the tin roof through the splits.
‘Can I—can I touch?’ he says between pants.
I nod and focus on the scurry of critter feet on the ceiling boards.
His fingers graze little circles around my nipples. He starts tweaking them in fast little nips as if he were grabbing pinches of salt.
I ignore the annoying sensation and his irritating squawks and gasps as I watch little clawed feet hanging over a board above our heads.
‘Lymon, we gotta go soon,’ I say up to the ceiling.
‘Just a minute more, just, just, just…’
Other little tails sweep out, scurrying over to the bigger tail. I listen to the squeaks of the baby rats as they snuggle their mama.
‘Lymon…’
‘Roll over for me, sweetie, can ya, please?’
I let out a loud dissatisfied groan and roll over.
‘Thank you, thank you, thank you! Now, I’m just goin’ to slide off your dress here…’ He reaches under me and works the dress down over my hips and off from around my legs. Then he starts hyperventilating so intensely I’m afraid he’s going to pass out on me.
‘Lymon, you wanna sit down with your head between your knees,’ I say over my shoulder.
‘I’m fine, I’m fine … just been a long time…’
‘What about Pooh? Why didn’t ya ever have a time with her?’
‘Oh, she might be a young one, but she ain’t no pure little girl. It’s only sweet little girls, like them magazine ads, that I fancy. Okay, now, I’m gonna take down your sweet little white tights, okay?’ He doesn’t wait for me to answer. He just starts working his fingers around the elastic waistband.
I lay my head on my folded arms and stare at a picture of a girl pinned up to the wall six inches in front of me.
‘Oh, okay, now, I’m just gonna slide them over your sweet, so sweet, tender little p-p-panties, pink p-p-pan-ties. Did Le Loup get those for ya? I bet he did, ’cause they are awful sweet.’
I nod my head against my arms and notice how the crotch and chest portions of the pinned-up girls on the wall are worn so thin you can almost see through them.
I feel him give a little tug and my tights are off.
‘Oh my, oh my! I have me a pretty little princess, lying here on
my
bed in just her darlin’ little pink panties! Oh my!’
‘Five minutes must be up, Lymon,’ I say to the girl on the wall.
‘Just let me sit here and rub ya a little. I just wanna touch that pretty white soft baby skin.’
I shrug my shoulders and he eagerly sits down next to me. ‘You got skin like my stepdaughter did,’ he moans.
‘I gotta get home, Lymon.’
‘Just, just…’ His fingers bounce off the skin on my back like a plane making a poor landing. Finally, after more hyperventilation, he begins to gently touch and caress my back, arms, and legs.
‘That does feel nice, Lymon,’ I say and rub at my heavy-feeling eyelids. ‘Think I still have some of that drug in me.’
‘Aw, you just, you just relax now.’
‘That does feel good, though. Nobody has touched me for a long time,’ I say into my arms.