There There(43)

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Opal pulled three spider legs out of her leg the Sunday afternoon before she and Jacquie left the home, the house, the man they’d been left with after their mom left this world. There’d recently been blood from her first moon. Both the menstrual blood and the spider legs had made her feel the same kind of shame. Something was in her that came out, that seemed so creaturely, so grotesque yet magical, that the only readily available emotion she had for both occasions was shame, which led to secrecy in both cases. Secrets lie through omission just like shame lies through secrecy. She could have told Jacquie about either the legs or the bleeding. But Jacquie was pregnant, was not bleeding anymore, was growing limbs inside her they’d agreed she would keep, a child she would give up for adoption when the time came. But the legs and the blood all ended up meaning so much more.



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    The man their mom left them with, this Ronald, he’d been taking them to ceremony, telling them it was the only way they would heal from the loss of their mother. All while Jacquie was secretly becoming a mother. And Opal was secretly becoming a woman.

But Ronald started to walk by their room at night. Then he took to standing in their doorway—a shadow framed by the door and the light behind him. On a ride home from ceremony she remembered Ronald mentioning something to them about doing a dream ceremony. Opal didn’t like the sound of it. She took to keeping a bat she’d found in their bedroom closet when they first moved in by her side, next to her in bed, had taken to holding the thing like she’d once held Two Shoes for comfort. But where Two Shoes was all talk and no action, the bat, which had written on its butt-end the name Storey, was all action.

Jacquie had always slept hard as night stays until morning comes. One night Ronald went over to the end of her bed—a mattress on the floor. Opal had the mattress across from her. When she saw Ronald pull at Jacquie’s ankles, she didn’t even have to think. She’d never swung the bat before, but she knew its weight and how to swing it. Ronald was on his knees about to pull Jacquie up to him. Opal got up as quiet as she could, breathed in slow, then raised the bat up high behind her. She came down as hard as she could on top of Ronald’s head. There was a deep, muffled crack, and Ronald landed on top of Jacquie—who woke up and saw her sister standing over them with the bat. They packed their duffel bags as fast as they could, then went downstairs. On the way through the living room, there on the TV was that test-pattern Indian they’d seen a thousand times before. But it was like Opal was seeing him for the first time. Opal imagined the Indian turning to her. He was saying: Go. Then the sound of him saying Go went on too long and turned into the test tone coming from the TV. Jacquie grabbed Opal’s hand and led her out of the house. Opal still had the bat in her hand.



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    After they left Ronald’s they went to a shelter their mom had always taken them to when they needed help or were between houses. They met with a social worker who asked where they’d been but didn’t push when they didn’t tell her.

Opal carried the weight of Ronald’s possible death around with her for a year. She was scared to go back and check. She was afraid that it didn’t bother her that he was dead. That she killed him. She didn’t want to go and find out if he was still alive. But she didn’t really want to have killed him either. It was easier to let him stay maybe dead. Possibly dead.

A year later Jacquie was gone from Opal’s life. Opal didn’t know where. The last time she’d seen her, Jacquie was getting arrested for what reason Opal couldn’t tell. Losing Jacquie into the system was just another shitty loss among Opal’s many. But she’d met an Indian boy her age, and he made sense to Opal, he wasn’t weird or dark, or he was, but in the same ways Opal was. Plus he never talked about where he came from or what happened to him. They shared that omission like soldiers back from war, all the way up until an afternoon Opal and Lucas were hanging out at the Indian Center, waiting for people to show up for a community meal. Lucas was talking about how much he hated McDonald’s.

    “But it tastes so good,” Opal said.

“It’s not real food,” Lucas said as he balanced and walked back and forth on the curb outside.

“It’s real if I can chew it up and see it come out the other side,” Opal said.

“Gross,” Lucas said.

“Wouldn’t have been gross if you’d have said it. Girls aren’t allowed to talk about farts or poop or curse or—”

“I could swallow pennies and poop them out, that doesn’t make them food,” Lucas said.

“Who told you it’s not real?” Opal said.

“I had half a cheeseburger I forgot was in my backpack for like a month. When I found it, it looked and smelled exactly the same as when I left it. Real food spoils,” Lucas said.

“Beef jerky doesn’t spoil,” Opal said.

“Okay, Ronald,” Lucas said.

“What’d you say?” Opal said, and she felt a hot sadness rise up to her eyes from her neck.

“I called you Ronald,” Lucas said, and stopped walking back and forth on the curb’s edge. “As in, Ronald McDonald.” He put his hand on Opal’s shoulder and lowered his head a little to try to catch her eyes. Opal pulled her shoulder away. Her face went white.