REBELLE CUNT
His skin smelled like menthol cigarettes and chlorine. I was motionless, eyes fixated on the assortment of colognes decorating his dresser top. “You knew what this was,” he grunted before finishing. The creaking mattress quieted beneath us. We lay there in silence, rain dropping occasionally, tapping at the bedroom window. I hoped that he would still give me a ride to work.
He pulled his swim trunks up from his ankles and tossed me the clothing I was wearing when I arrived. “We gotta make a stop on the way to the club but I got you.” I rushed to gather my things, fighting back tears. Do NOT break in front of him, there are dressing rooms for that.
Very few words passed between us on the ride back to the club, where we had met. He didn’t look at me until we arrived at an elementary school, and I didn’t ask why we were there. We waited in a moving line of cars until we reached a stop sign. The crossing guard grabbed a small girl’s hand, walked her over to the passenger side, opened the back door and helped the little one in.
“Hey Ty,” the guard said, familiarly. “I believe Alena had fun today on her field trip.”
Ty looked back at his daughter, smiling from ear to ear.
“Yeah, she loves nature and animals and all that, don’t you Alena?” The child nodded.
Everyone said their goodbyes while I sat quietly, body in pain and mind blown. I couldn’t believe I was witnessing this paternal act after leaving that house.
“Daddy, who’s this?” Alena asked.
“She’s just a friend, baby,” Ty assured the child.
Her eyes lit up at the word “friend.” She was ready to ask more questions, when I’m sure his comment was meant to keep her quiet. My heart started to beat faster.
“Did you play in the pool?” Alena looked at Ty and asked. Ty glanced down at his damp swim trunks. I could still feel his hands holding me down, pushing my legs apart. I could still feel the water from his hair falling onto my face, like the rain that came when he finished. “A little bit, sweet pea. Daddy was teaching his new friend how to swim.”
Alena looked puzzled and let out a giggle. “That’s silly. All big kids should know how to swim.” She offered to teach me. I managed to smile.
We arrived at Emperor’s quickly. It was a straight shot down Adamo Drive. The parking lot was pretty empty.
“Here’s a little something for cleaning up.” Ty handed me forty dollars. We had agreed on a hundred for the kitchen, living room, and laundry. Before responding in anger, I looked in the backseat. Alena was asleep. I said nothing and instead got out and closed the door behind me. Ty sped out of the lot, gravel and dust covering his tracks.
THERE WAS HALF an hour left before the club actually opened. No customers. No dancers, minus myself. I was grateful, since this gave me space and a little time to pull it together. I washed up in the restroom sink, caught a glimpse of my reflection. I scrubbed away the chlorine, the menthol, his sweat. I found myself missing clubs with showers.
You can break now. I started to cry.
The night felt like a string of conversations and interactions for which I was barely present. I couldn’t focus, but I managed to make enough to afford a stay in a nearby hotel for the next few days. Considering the many nights I’d spent off the alley behind Brocato’s, this was a win.
I checked into a spot just up the highway and continued working at Emperor’s for another month. Most nights afforded me food and extended my stay. I kept paying to stay, but there were moments I just wanted to go back home to the Midwest. I wasn’t increasing my earnings and I hadn’t come up with a plan, so I was living exactly the same down in Florida as I had been up there.
I called my mother. We hadn’t spoken in almost two years.
The phone rang. I looked at the time and hung up. A few minutes went by before she called back. Shocked to hear from me, she immediately asked, “Are you okay?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
She didn’t bother with any more questions. “I’m gonna get you home, baby.”
Within days my mother and a family friend had thrown their resources together and paid for my trip back north. I said goodbye to the waters I’d grown to love. The ocean, the hotel pools, the heavy Florida rain. I wished I had learned how to swim. I thought of Alena and her offer to teach me, unaware of what her father had done to me right before we picked her up from school. Unaware of the monsters that lurk night and day.
When I arrived at her house, years since we had last laid eyes on one another, my mom welcomed me with open arms. We just stood there in our embrace, each unwilling to let the other go. I could feel her tears hot on the side of my neck, and her body rocked mine the way elders do at church.
“You hungry?” She broke the embrace with her most familiar question.
“Hell yeah.” I exhaled, and smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks.
We made our way inside and I took my bags to the extra bedroom. The smell of chicken and cabbage filled the air. “Just gotta throw on this rice and gravy,” Mom called out from the kitchen. I had missed my mother’s cooking. She was happy to see me, to cook for me, to nourish me. Our years of bickering seemed so small in this moment.
The rice steamed in its bowl and the gravy got thick. Mom’s hands were covered in flour. She turned off the stove, fixed our plates, and sat them at the dining room table. I leaned in and took a deep breath. Something wasn’t right. Something about the gravy. I stood up and rushed to the bathroom. This wasn’t road sickness or nerves. I cursed into the toilet and wiped my face with a washcloth. Mom stood in the doorway. She knew what it was before I did. “I’ll call down to the Women’s Center and set up and appointment.” I nodded, avoiding eye contact.
The signs were clear before my return, but I hadn’t admitted it to myself. For weeks I had been nauseous in the mornings and craved snack food more than usual. Sleep had become my preferred hobby and my body was changing. But I was in denial. At the clinic, a very happy nurse congratulated me and reality finally set in. I was eight weeks pregnant.
“We like to stick by our new parents every step of the way. You have access to counseling here—pampers, formula, and classes are all free of charge.” The nurse handed me a gift bag full of pamphlets, future check-up information, and chocolates. At the very bottom of the bag was a book for children. I thanked the nurse for her help and saw myself out. Once I was back at my mother’s house, I called and set up an appointment with Planned Parenthood.
“HAVE YOU EVER had a procedure like this before?” the Planned Parenthood receptionist asked.
“Yes. When I was twenty-four or twenty-five?”
We set a date for early September, just a month before my thirtieth birthday. I had a few weeks until then to hustle up the money I needed. Every day I logged onto the cam modeling site I worked for and put in as many hours as possible. I met up with a few former clients in the area for dates. I earned enough to handle the costs of the abortion by late August. I also saved up enough to start looking into housing options. If I was going to heal and move forward, I would need a place to call my own.
THE NIGHT BEFORE my appointment, I received a phone call from Ty. “I’ve been feeling really bad about what happened. Even prayed about it. I should have just let you clean up the place like we agreed.” He added, “Ya know, I’m a God-fearing man.”
I knew this tone and that story all too well. Ty spoke of what had happened that day in Tampa as if I were a temptress sent from the underworld to test him. It was clear that he didn’t “feel really bad” about the pain he’d caused me, but because he’d failed whatever test he thought I represented. He “felt really bad” about keeping company with a whore and he called me to absolve him of his sins. Strange, how memory works. I recalled begging him to stop. He recalled me begging him to keep going.
I didn’t absolve Ty. Instead, I told him that I was pregnant. He interrupted—“You don’t actually expect me to fall for that, do you?”—before I even got to mention next morning’s appointment.
“I hope you figure out who the actual father is and—” CLICK! I hung up the phone.
I woke up at six a.m., hopped into the shower, and waited on my ride to the clinic. When we pulled into the parking lot, we were met with a small group of protesters. I turned away from them, looked in the opposite direction until we reached the entrance. The lobby was cold and already crowded. I waited near a small television. Mom sent me a text message from work. I knew she wanted to be there, but it was nice to hear it from her. I also knew she couldn’t afford to miss a day’s work.
Just as I started to drift off to sleep, a miracle in the uncomfortable waiting room, the front desk called my name. An older woman with a clipboard in hand motioned me to follow her. We walked down a long hallway until we reached a smaller waiting room. This one was much cozier. There were snacks, blankets, juice, and recliners. Two women were seated, waiting for their turn. I got in line, choosing a recliner close to the restroom. There was a pattern: two to three seats between each of us. Near to one another, but far enough away at the same time. One by one we were called to the back, our chairs refilled with new bodies.
I lay there on my back, eyes glued to the ceiling, legs spread, and feet in stirrups. The doctor spoke with me as the medication started to kick in. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I counted backward from one hundred in hopes of falling quickly asleep.
When I came to and was released, Mom was parked, waiting outside the exit. We spent most of our car ride in silence, but she held my hand tightly, and looked over at me when she stopped at stop signs and red lights. She didn’t know what to say, and for some reason, I found comfort in that. She didn’t need to say anything, and she wasn’t going to force it. I stared out the window, attempting to block out the memory of that Florida water rushing back. I wondered, Will I be able to keep my head above the surface?
We pulled up to the apartment, neither of us rushing to get out.
“Hey you. Whatcha thinkin’?” Mom poked me affectionately.
I wiped my face and looked into hers. “Swimming.”