XLVI | Some Jerk
❦
The painting
of Tammie by memory
is just the canvas
washed
in hot pink.
(Meaning it’s a failure.)
She didn’t even
look human
no matter how many times
I painted over.
Tammie wanted to see
what else
I’ve painted
when the day’s over
so I lied
and said
I was painting feelings.
She examined
the bright pink canvas,
her eyes
an inch from
where the deformed
humanoid
began.
She smiled apologetically,
no comment
about my lie.
I like your paintings.
Somehow
because of that sentence,
no—
because Tammie won’t let me
watch her practice,
I drag the easel
to the main hall everyday
and search for things to paint.
Eyes watch
from their armchairs
as I set up
my workspace again—
by the wrought-iron window today.
New canvas,
borrowed stool.
I line the bottles of paint
between the easel’s feet.
Dipping my brush into black paint,
someone
coughs behind me.
The small boy with the plastic ear.
Fake.
It’s obviously
a fake cough.
What do you want?
I resist the urge to erase his face
with my black brush.
He looks
my setup
up and down,
the way perverts
check out girls.
You’re blocking the way.
My brush
sinks back
into the pool of black.
There’s still space for you to walk.
I point
at the empty space
in every other direction.
I am beside the window,
disturbing no one.
He crosses his arms—
thinking up
more reasons.
You’re making a mess.
What the-?
I stare
at the paint splotches
that have dried
into the beige carpet
without me knowing.
‘What’s your problem?’
I have more to say,
blood roaring
in my ears,
insults on the tip of my tongue.
But
none of it translates
into words.
He smirks
at my
silence
and introduces himself.
Asher.
I might look small
but when I hurt you,
you’ll be the small one.
He stalks away
like he won
the lottery.
Instead of painting the wrought iron window frame,
I paint
a black spiral—
and the word
JERK
on the carpet.
❦
Evening medicine time,
we exchange rude gestures without speaking.
Take your medicine,
the masked nurse prompts.
I glare at her, seeing
Asher’s arrogant smirk
behind her mask
and slicked back ponytail,
flickering
like a taunt.
Tammie smiles
at me
when I return
with the pills swimming in my stomach.
He’s still glaring
at me
so I fix my eyes on Tammie until
Moonlight Sonata lets us go.
I’m forced
face to face
with him at the entrance to the bathroom,
in a childish contest
of who will blink first.
He smirks,
arrogant and mocking.
Your friend
doesn’t even exist.
I lost
because
I blinked first
and looked away.
Why,
I will never
know.
I only know I’ve knocked him to the ground
and toppled a shelf of clothes over him.
I also know it’s my hands
round his throat.
I know tears are falling down my face
and I’m sobbing while he screams.
Tammie’s
telling me
to stop.
I hear her
over him,
I smell her
over him.
Our eyes meet.
Then I’m on the ground,
he kicks me
between the legs,
crushing my hand—
the one I use for painting,
the one with four fingers—
beneath his foot.
His hands
wrap around my throat.
There’s still screaming
but I’m not sure
if it’s
mine,
because
I can’t breathe anymore.
❦
