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Posted in Creative Corner

Trigger~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





LITTLE ONE

I hold the envelope real tight so I don't drop it in the puddles on the way to the mailbox. It is very important business, Flowerchild says, but she lets me carry it anyway. All three of us are putting the letter out today because there's a new neighbor. "We must be careful," Grown Up said. "We must stay close together."

I have to reach up to be able to touch Gail's nose. I pull it hard and her mouth opens right up. I stand the very important business up on the side of her mouth so she can still breathe. Gail-box is very funny. She has no teeth so she won't bite the mailman. He pulls her nose everyday and doesn't even know she has a name.

Flowerchild calls me stupid. "Mailboxes don't have names, or feelings, or teeth," she says.

But she's wrong. Bugs have feelings. Flowers have feelings. Bad men have them too.
I wave to the bad man at the end of the street, as he slips a letter into his mailbox. He smiles and waves back.

FLOWERCHILD

"Great! Now you've done it," I sputter at Little One. I push her arm down fast. Stupid kid. She doesn't even care that the new neighbor's a registered sex offender. Doesn't even care that she is the juicy bait. That she is what he's drooling over.

He won't touch me, no freakin' way. I'll kick him and stab him and stick my cigarette in his eyeball. It's her, the young one, he wants. That's what they all want. Long, straight hair, flat-chested, chubby little legs. What do they see in that? I have everything to offer and I do it real good. Upside down, inside out, on my knees. I know how it's done. I'm a pro.

But I decide who does the touching now and it won't be him. Look at him, the fat old bald man. What would Little One see in him anyway? Fine. If she wants to sit on his filthy lap, let her. I'm fifteen, I'll find plenty of laps of my own.

I flick my cigarette towards him and spit.

GROWN UP

"Hi," I say with way too much enthusiasm and wave. I offer up a half-frozen, polite smile. The new neighbor waves back. I quickly turn away as my stomach flips.

I feel the watching eyes of the neighbors peer from the windows. The doors are locked. The curtains drawn.

We don't know the circumstances, I tell myself. Don't want to jump to conclusions, I tell myself. Who am I to judge, I ask myself.

I go inside. My doors are locked. My curtains are drawn.

My stomach flips.