Fatally Yours (Part I)
"Normal" teenage chicks think they have it hard. Growing pains, blood, hair in strange places. Ha! They have no idea.
From the time I learned to talk, my family made it very clear that we were hated. I was taught to keep everything hush hush, never answer questions and never slip up.
Once when I was eight, Mama convinced Dad to let me spend the day over at a friend's house. Ofourse when we pulled up to their cute little Tudor style home on the Southside of town, a place our kind didn't visit too often, I was held captive in the car for 15 minutes and lectured about the repercussions of what could happen if I accidentally betrayed us in any way.
It was after that day that I knew how truly separate that we were.
As soon as their tiny black pom pom of a dog saw me, he started freaking out. He ran, lightening speed, up to me and snatched onto anything he got close enough to grab with his gnarled mouth. Nikki's dad ran over and scooped up the little fucker, his teeth still embedded in my purple sweatpants. Her dad kept apologizing over and over yet I could barely hear him over the ferocious snarls and guttural warnings from the dog, squirming around in his arms trying to escape for one last chomp.
They put the dog in the laundry room and my heart finally settled down. Don't get me wrong, I was eight years old, yeah, but I wasn't a pansy. I was used to dogs wiggin when they saw us, barking and growling. All Mama and Dad had to do was look at them and they would whimper away but I wasn't strong enough for that yet. Until then, I'd never actually had one attack me and (setting my pride aside for a moment,) it did scare me a little. First off, I loved those sweatpants and the tiny teeth imprints left in them weren't a good look. At that moment, I wouldn't have minded leaving some teeth imprints of my own inside the little thing's throat.
We spent the rest of the day in Nikki's room. I don't think I had ever been so envious in my whole life. The pale pink walls were decorated with smiling princess, their teeth shining just as brightly as the tiaras nestled in their golden manes. A row of porcelain dolls sat on a shelf, clad in layers of lace, with hollowed eyes and painted on smiles. In the corner sat a white vanity where me and Nikki took turns combing out each others hair. When she was finished, I had a high ponytail dangling off the left side of my head (very 80's chic) and little white satin flowers meticulously placed. She showed me her all her jewelry from the green wooden beads to the gold chain that her grandmother had given her. I tried on her lip glosses that faintly tasted of spoiled melon and I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I actually felt pretty, very "soft" and "dainty." I know, those are such girly words, but I'd always been taught that people like me had to be strong and hard, which is how we were raised; there was just no time for Barbies and ballet in our world.
Later that evening, Nikki's mother called us in give her a hand w/ dinner. A pot of water boiled on the stove, waiting on potatoes that Nikki was helping to peel and the air smelled of charcoal from the grill her father was lighting out back. Her mother and I stood at the marbled countertop forming hamburgers into patties. My stomach was talking to me and the fresh deep smell of the pink meat tweaked my nose. After all the patties were formed, I tore off a hunk and popped it into my mouth, letting it squish into my teeth and melt away. In the white Styrofoam plate where the meat had been, stood a pool of dark thick blood left over. I was asked to clean up and I while I was taking it to the trash, I tipped it to my lips and let the liquid slide down. Yum, sweet at strawberry pop. Nikki's mom ran up to me and swatted it out of my hand, giving me a look so bizarre and full of disgust. God, I was so embarrassed and ashamed but at that point, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to be ashamed of.
I went home that night so confused. I wanted a life like Nikki's. I wanted to be a little girl with a two story house, Princess posters, a fluffy dog and marbles countertops. Up until then, I didn't think it so far from home, but that day solidified it. I wasn't, and never would be.
But ya know, that was years ago. I've learned to deal with humans now, or actually, I've learned how to avoid them. Granted, their like germs, they're everywhere, so you cant totally bypass them. You just gotta learn to interact with them as little as possible. I'm in high school so of course my everyday is filled with their nonsense.
Unnoticed. Just go unnoticed. It was the easiest way. There were some older chicks in the pack that knew nothing of the word. They relished in knowing they were being stared at, making humans drool at their bodies like we did theirs (only with an amusing twist, of course.) Females in our world may have not had as much physical strength as the men, but we had the power. My cousin, Rowan, and I used to set out on the roof top when we were younger and snoop on the girls below. They would take puffs of their menthol cigarettes, red smears from their lips staining the end and flipping their long pale hair as they spoke of things like boys, bands, make up, "second base" and pills. Rowan wanted that. She wanted the attention that those girls walked with everyday. It baffled me. One night on the roof I asked her why. "Power," she said.
She ended up turning out just like them and was proud of it. We we're raised together. The same family, friends, homes. The same tragic events, and to a lesser extent, the same good ones. But we were vastly different. She loved this life and truly thought we were special. I truly knew we were cursed. She wanted power, and in all my pores, all I wanted to do was feel "normal."
So many crescent nights I was dragged along to the field. I'd set there, crumbling pine cones and picking away at blades of grass as her and her many mindless human boys used each other. Their verdant smoke would drift into my face, stinging my eyes and clouding my head. Zoned out, I would lay back in the dirt, my mind silencing out their giggles and groans.
The Light above us, still a slivered smile, cast silver shadows on the field and I could feel them hit my skin, sinking deep inside my veins. The Lunar Spirit taking me to a higher levels of transcendence. As much as I wanted to hate Her, I couldn't. She was a part of me.
I've been flipping for three years now. you'd think I'd have gotten used to it, but no. Not a chance I ever will either.
It was my 13th summer when I was forced to deal for the first time. Mama and Dad had been expecting it for a while I think. I'd gotten the whole "you're growing up" talk, kind of like a lot of thirteen year old chicks, I assume, although mine had to be a little tweaked. I'd heard it a million times, but that time they really wanted me to believe it. They wanted me to accept the fact that we were "special" and all this changing bullshit was a "gift." Yadda yadda...
As the moon grew fuller night after night, things began to get different and I started to experience things I'd only heard talked about. In the field at the end of the street I heard the faint sound of rabbits screaming, their necks held tightly in a hound's mouth, the moth's wings fluttering around the faded street lights and the air slowly hissing it's way out of the tires on my neighbors rusty Ford Pinto.
And on that July night as the sun minutely grazed the horizon and the Full Moon took over the sky, I began to feel myself flip for the first time. A faint rash spread across my skin, itchy and hot. Hairs began to grow, each and every strand sprouting like tiny needles. As my back hunched and my skin tore, the pain was like, oh my Goddess, but oddly enough, that wasn't what stood out. To this day it still haunts my ears: the pop… pop… POP of my spine elongating and twisting into it's new form.
And then: black. My thoughts and memories always void until the Moon set. That mourning I woke up in the foxglove, a chill dew for a blanket. My body ached and my skin stung from the tiny gashes across my bare stomach and legs. Dried blood, which had turned a dark brown color, was caked under my fingernails and it's copper smell completely filled the air.
*****
Every Friday night when the Moon was low, Rowan and I would head a couple blocks west to the Square (the part of Downtown that human parents cringed at the thought of their kids going.) Vendors lined the streets, selling everything from knock off designer sunglasses to organic fruit and a coin littered fountain glowed in the courtyard.
We would meander around, pointing and laughing at stupid human tricks they were using to show off for each other. I loved to browse through the old vinyl records in wooden bins, the paper smelling like sweet mildew and time. Rowan would find vendors with their back's turned and help herself to some blush or mascara.
One night at the edge of the summer, I set on the hard stone wall of the fountain as Rowan flirted up some boy that had randomly offered her a hit off his joint. She giggled as he bounced her up and down on his lap, their heads in the clouds. I let my fingertips graze the water and I counted the coined wishes: hopes up, heads down. The air smelled like chlorine and bud but the sound coming from somewhere across the courtyard was nothing but pure.
I got up, Rowan barely noticing, and headed toward the perfectly tuned strums of the guitar. The Voice was deep and almost growled out the words as he sung.
"… I've got some bad ideas involving you and me…."
I crossed the street, still not being able to locate the Voice but then there on the corner, passed the tattoo shop where the bikers came out freshly inked, was a boy dressed in black. A beaded hemp band fit loosely around his wrist and his dark hair fell in his face as he leaned over his instrument, his fingers sweeping back and forth, always applying just enough pressure to make it cry out.
"… I touch myself at thoughts of flames…"
His guitar case was open in front of him with a few bills and coins tossed here and there. I reached in my own pocket, knowing I wouldn't find much, but pulled out a wadded up dollar bill and threw it in. He looked up for just a moment and smiled at me with his eyes while he kept on singing.
"…. I swear it's not contagious…."
I set down on the curb and just listened, letting his song fill my ears and the lyrics strike a cord. I'd never been so intrigued by a human before and I just couldn't seem to take my eyes off this one. His darkness, his voice, that thick musty smell of patchouli as he flipped his hair back.
"… This could be love…."
