My Name Is Venus Black(96)

She sighed and put down her pen. She looked at me and said, “Can we just stop with the dramatics, Venus? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” I stared at her hard, then got up and went down to my room. No way I was going to live another day with that monster in the house. I took the gun out and debated using it on myself. But I knew I couldn’t do it, and besides, there was Leo. Recently, Raymond had gotten more short-tempered and rough than ever with Leo. I’d been allowing him to hurt my brother, one bruise at a time. And if I were gone, God knows what would happen to Leo.

In that moment, I saw as never before that Raymond was a sick, abusive pervert who would never stop hurting both of us. He had to be stopped, and clearly, Inez wasn’t going to do that.

At around eight-thirty, she was busy putting Leo to bed, when I announced within Raymond’s hearing that I was getting into my pajamas. I went down to my bedroom. Waited. Heard the outside garage door open and shut. A radio came on, and the sequence was suddenly familiar. And with it a parade of mortifying images passed before me. When I learned to masturbate…When I paraded around naked, dancing to the radio…When my friends spent the night and used my shower…Every morning when I came out of the shower…right in sight of the hole.

Burning shame and fresh resolve took over.



Slowly, I took off my blouse and hung it in my closet. But when I started to undo my bra, I couldn’t do it. Not knowing his eye might be there. Instead, I casually approached the dresser, Inez’s words pounding through my brain like a mantra: Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t be ridiculous. Don’t be ridiculous.

Okay, I won’t be ridiculous. I reached into the top drawer for the gun. It should not be loaded. Raymond’s eye shouldn’t be at the hole. Don’t be ridiculous….I held the gun to the hole and pulled the trigger.

The kick was so hard, and the explosion so loud—it was nothing like when Raymond took us out shooting cans in the woods. I heard the heavy sound of him falling, followed by a last gasp of shock or pain—sounds that I would never forget.

I ran past the stairs to the back door of the garage. I got there before Inez. Raymond’s body was sprawled backward over the hood of a car, blood splattered everywhere. Weird little globs that reminded me of pink popcorn slid down the car’s window, and I realized it must be brain matter. I recall thinking: Who knew it would look like that?

I must have been in some dream state of shock, I suppose.

Inez found me there and started screaming, “He’s dead! Oh my God, what have you done! Oh my God!”

“I’ll call an ambulance,” I said calmly. “Good thing Raymond doesn’t peep at me.”

I left the garage and went to the kitchen to call 911. I told the operator matter-of-factly what had happened and where I lived. I could tell it was hard for her to hear me over the loud sound of Leo’s wailing. Leo! I finally registered his presence, along with the fact that I was still holding the gun.

That’s when reality hit, and the strange calm I’d felt collapsed into wild terror and hysterical sobbing.

Somewhere in there, I wet my pants.



* * *



—



NOW I’M STANDING two feet away from that terrible hole, my arms wrapped around my chest, tears streaming unchecked down my cheeks and neck.

And then I realize thirteen-year-old Leo is standing next to me. I’m frantic to protect him, the way I didn’t all those years ago. “Oh, Leo, you shouldn’t be down here,” I plead, trying to be firm, but gentle, too. “Please go back upstairs!”

I move away from the hole and sit on the bare mattress, hiding my face in my hands, trying to smother my sobs. But instead of leaving, Leo sits down on the mattress near me and puts a hand on my back. To my great surprise, he starts patting, and quietly begins to count, “One pat, two pats, three…”

At ten pats, I cry out, “I’m so sorry, Leo!”

“I forgive you,” he replies, as if he’s been taught to do this. He continues patting and counting while I sob.

I don’t know how long I cry or how high Leo counts. Eventually I hear steps coming down the stairs. “Venus?” calls my mother. “Leo?”

Inez stands in the doorway. “I couldn’t find you,” she says, her voice thin and wavering.

I look up at her then. “Why didn’t you fix it?” I ask, wiping my nose on my arm. My words hang in the air, and we both know my question means more than one thing.

“I should have,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” says Leo.

Inez and I look at each other, and smile despite ourselves. “Something the Herreras must have taught him,” I say, wiping at my tears.

“Well, it’s a good one, isn’t it?” she says.

“If only it were that easy,” I say, looking away. Leo has stopped patting my back.

“What if it could be?” Inez says. “What if it’s not too late, Venus?” Her question is tinged with such raw hope it’s hard for me not to weaken. “What if we fix this hole right now,” she continues. “We can do it together. I even bought some of that sparkle shit you’re supposed to use to cover it with.”



“Spackle shit,” I correct her, and we both crack up. It takes the two of us a while to plug up such a big, ugly hole. After we’re done, we decide to paint the whole room white.