My Name Is Venus Black(9)
“They fought a lot. I don’t think she really even loved him. I was always rooting for her to kick him out, but she never would. I think she just didn’t want to be poor again and go back to the projects.”
Betty nods. She’s quiet for a moment, and I worry what she’ll ask next. “I’m really sorry,” she finally says, “but I have to ask. Did Raymond abuse you, Venus?”
I squirm at the question. Sigh heavily. “If what you mean by abuse is did he sometimes hurt me, well, yes. Like I already told you.”
“Okay, Venus. That’s what we call physical abuse. But there’s another kind of abuse when a grown-up touches a child in their private parts or makes a child touch theirs. That’s called sexual abuse. Did Raymond do this to you?”
“No! Oh my God! Do you realize how gross that is? I would never let him touch me like that!” I realize I’m practically yelling.
Betty holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. But I had to ask. I need to understand what happened that day to make you so angry.”
“Why do I have to say it?”
“It’s okay to cry, honey,” she says in this soft, caring voice.
“No, it’s not!” I squeeze my stupid eyes shut, but a few tears spit out anyway, like a sprinkler when you first turn it on.
“Why isn’t it okay to cry?”
“Because if I cry, then I might think about it! And I’m not going to talk about it. It’s way too embarrassing!” I feel that sheet slipping, and my throat starts to close. And then I’m leaning over and hiding my face in my hands. I can hear Betty rolling her chair out from behind the desk. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she says, patting my back. “That’s a good girl. Just let it all out. That’s a good girl.”
Let it all out makes me realize I’m sobbing. I can feel my spine shaking under Betty’s hand while she pats my back with gentle thumps. It’s the same thing I sometimes do to help Leo calm down when he can’t on his own. It’s the only kind of touching he allows, and I’m the only one, and you have to count the pats out loud or it doesn’t work.
But I don’t really care about the pats. I just want Betty to keep calling me a good girl.
* * *
—
LEO IS PLAYING with a plastic shovel in the sandbox when he hears a voice. “Leo!” The voice that is trying to come in is a man’s voice but not his dad’s. Leo hates it when voices try to poke into where he is.
“Leo!” The voice is louder. Brown shoes come into view, and then the man is touching his arm. Leo tries to yell but the man sticks something over his mouth. Scared feelings get stuck in Leo’s throat. He is being lifted out of the sandbox, kicking his feet.
The man puts him in the backseat of a car he doesn’t know. It is different from the truck he didn’t know with the curly lady. He is going to have a tantrum, even though Venus says don’t.
Leo needs to blow his nose. No crying, Leo! Mother says. Get a tissue, Leo!
His mother isn’t here. There is no tissue. He curls up on the floor of the car to rock, but there’s not enough room. He looks for his purple blanket. He can’t ride in a car without it. Where is his blanket?
Leo hears the car start. He can’t cover his ears like he always does, because his hands are stuck together in front of him. He tries to yell but nothing comes out. He sees white stitches on the car’s brown seat. Some part of his brain begins to count them. He starts to calm down.
At some point, the car stops. The man takes the covering off his mouth. It hurts and Leo cries out. The man’s hair is the wrong orange. The man tells Leo, “Stay quiet.” When Leo sees scissors, he screams with fear and tries to hide on the other side of the car. But the man pulls on him and then he cuts the tape between Leo’s wrists. Now Leo can move his hands again. Then the man gives him a blue race car. He straps him in the seatbelt and says in a mean voice, “Stay.” They start driving again and Leo cries. After a while, he stops. He spins the wheels on the car and stares into the turning.
On Sunday morning, Inez shows up—and they let her in my room, and it’s not visiting hours. I notice something is wrong—more wrong than everything that’s already wrong. For one thing, she’s not wearing any makeup. Not even lipstick, which is normally the first thing she puts on when she gets in the car. For another thing, she looks wild-eyed, like she just came out of seeing Jaws.
“Leo’s gone missing,” she announces.
“What do you mean, missing?”
At first I’m not worried at all, because Leo disappears now and then, but he’s always either behind the couch, near the heat vent, or on the floor of his closet, curled up with his purple blanket. He doesn’t leave the house except maybe to walk around the block with me, or sometimes to visit McDonald’s.
“He’s gone!” Inez exclaims angrily.
“Did you check the usual places?” I ask. “The couch—”
“He hasn’t been at home, Venus,” she interrupts. “Leo and I have been staying at Shirley’s. He’s been missing since yesterday.”
Shirley works with Inez at J. C. Penney, and I guess they’re friends. I’ve never met her, but Inez has had her over to watch Leo when she’s in a pinch and I’m not around.