my heart -- sinking
There are three stories Marlene tells about her first kiss, and none of them are true.
I. The construction site was dangerous, full of upturned rusty nails and loose steel beams, leering men and heavy machinery. As such, it was Marlene's favorite place to play, holding her white dress close against her thighs as she stepped over sledgehammers and power saws, exploring. She was full of bright curiosity, trailing after the men and asking about this piece or that, where that beam was going and what would they do once they got it there. They regarded her as a nuisance, a danger among dangers, and told her in rough shouts to get away.
Marlene had grown so used to the shouts of get outta here kid, get outta here kid, get outta here kid, that when they finally turned serious, grim and panicked in their nature, she hardly noticed. And then when the shouts changed into look up! look out! she finally did look up, hypnotized by the tilting heavy steel sheet slipping over the edge of the roof and shrieking down at her, it's sharp side like a thunderstrike from god coming down to slice her into two even halves, right down the middle.
And then there was a rough hand around her wrist, a frustrated growl, and a tug. Marlene was pulled forward just as the metal landed with a crash where she was last was. She yelped and curled toward her savior in an immediate instinctual reaction. He did not hold her close -- was never the type to hold her very much at all -- but he did turn her chin up and press their lips together, a shock to her system that kept her from crying out again. And then he released her with a nudge away from the site.
"Get outta here, kid."
II. She was laughing crying squealing dancing dying barefoot in the rain in the grass. It should be afternoon but the clouds had blown in -- a rare occurrence down at the Docks -- and so the sky was gray and the grass was gray and the water was dark gray and in her white dress, Marlene felt helpless and not nineteen.
He glowered standing in front of her, unamused by the way she giggled like sobs and spun and spun and spun and let the rain stick to her white dress and show parts of her skin right through until her feet slipped and Marlene went crashing down, landing hard on her back. Suddenly the giggles were gone from her sobs entirely.
She reached for his shirt, white like her dress and showing parts of skin right through, and tugged him down until his mouth met hers.
Marlene only laughed to keep from crying.
III. Thunder sounded like a crush and Marlene screamed without meaning too. Her hands flew to her ears as the noise rumbled through the steel around her. When the storm had started, she'd sought refuge underneath the half-formed creation, amidst the the upturned nails and loose steel. The rain dripped down her skin, clung to her white dress and kept it close and wet around her thighs. She wasn't crying but wasn't laughing either, staring around at the sledgehammers and power tools and trying to remember everything she knew about the before-times.
He didn't like her there, told her so and was furious as the wind picked up and almost took his hat away. Marlene didn't move and didn't say anything, just twisted the short hem of her wet white dress between her fingers. He said get out of here kid. She didn't move but he did, closer.
He said get out of here kid and still she didn't step away.
He said get out of here kid and when she still didn't move, chin tilted up in silent defiance, the man with the black hat crossed the space between them and crushed his lips to hers so hard she saw red.
And then in a flash he released her and gave her a nudge back towards her home. Get outta here kid. He was always trying to save her.
(IV. You've always hated the rain, remember? That's always the first thing you think about when you remember. You've always hated the rain and it's always made her cry. Tell yourself the two are unrelated.
The two are unrelated.
Now think about how her dress stuck to her skin, wet with rain. That's always the second thin you think about. The third is always the skin of her thighs you could see through it.
Remember the way she yelped when she heard you coming. Remember it? Good. Marlene was always scared of you.
With good reason, too.
After she screamed, you'd said, "Get outta here, kid." The day before a piece of sheet metal had slipped and killed a man. You remember the flash of blood, don't you? Yeah, you do.
Marlene didn't move, maybe wasn't that scared of you, so you took another step forward and repeated yourself. "Get outta here, kid."
All she'd said was, "What does red look like?"
Pause a moment in your recollection, just like you did back then, and take a moment to really remember red. You've got the benefit of experience now. Think about your mother spitting up red into the sink. Think about your father with a spray of it on his cheeks. Think about homeless men red all over in the gutter. Thin about waking up with red in your mouth. Think about Mr. Slaughter underneath a slowly revolving ceiling fan, stains of red in his white shirt. Oh yes, you know what red looks like.
She took your pause for answer, stepped over sledgehammers and power tools, upturned nails and loose steel to cross the distance between you, to place herself in your arms and began to cry with her face in your shoulder and her hands locked together behind her back. This is your favorite part to remember.
Marlene asked again, said, "Tell me about red," and you don't have the heart to, so the wind kicks up and you push her away.
Tell her once more. "Get outta here, kid."
But she looked so miserable. Thunder struck again and she screams, covered her ears with her hands. You took the distraction as the chance to step forward, this time put your arms around her and kiss her deliberately on the lips. Her scream catches against your mouth, softens to a sigh. Marlene sinks her hands into your hair. Her thumb brushes over the rim of your hat and you shiver, growl, and see red.)
I. The construction site was dangerous, full of upturned rusty nails and loose steel beams, leering men and heavy machinery. As such, it was Marlene's favorite place to play, holding her white dress close against her thighs as she stepped over sledgehammers and power saws, exploring. She was full of bright curiosity, trailing after the men and asking about this piece or that, where that beam was going and what would they do once they got it there. They regarded her as a nuisance, a danger among dangers, and told her in rough shouts to get away.
Marlene had grown so used to the shouts of get outta here kid, get outta here kid, get outta here kid, that when they finally turned serious, grim and panicked in their nature, she hardly noticed. And then when the shouts changed into look up! look out! she finally did look up, hypnotized by the tilting heavy steel sheet slipping over the edge of the roof and shrieking down at her, it's sharp side like a thunderstrike from god coming down to slice her into two even halves, right down the middle.
And then there was a rough hand around her wrist, a frustrated growl, and a tug. Marlene was pulled forward just as the metal landed with a crash where she was last was. She yelped and curled toward her savior in an immediate instinctual reaction. He did not hold her close -- was never the type to hold her very much at all -- but he did turn her chin up and press their lips together, a shock to her system that kept her from crying out again. And then he released her with a nudge away from the site.
"Get outta here, kid."
II. She was laughing crying squealing dancing dying barefoot in the rain in the grass. It should be afternoon but the clouds had blown in -- a rare occurrence down at the Docks -- and so the sky was gray and the grass was gray and the water was dark gray and in her white dress, Marlene felt helpless and not nineteen.
He glowered standing in front of her, unamused by the way she giggled like sobs and spun and spun and spun and let the rain stick to her white dress and show parts of her skin right through until her feet slipped and Marlene went crashing down, landing hard on her back. Suddenly the giggles were gone from her sobs entirely.
She reached for his shirt, white like her dress and showing parts of skin right through, and tugged him down until his mouth met hers.
Marlene only laughed to keep from crying.
III. Thunder sounded like a crush and Marlene screamed without meaning too. Her hands flew to her ears as the noise rumbled through the steel around her. When the storm had started, she'd sought refuge underneath the half-formed creation, amidst the the upturned nails and loose steel. The rain dripped down her skin, clung to her white dress and kept it close and wet around her thighs. She wasn't crying but wasn't laughing either, staring around at the sledgehammers and power tools and trying to remember everything she knew about the before-times.
He didn't like her there, told her so and was furious as the wind picked up and almost took his hat away. Marlene didn't move and didn't say anything, just twisted the short hem of her wet white dress between her fingers. He said get out of here kid. She didn't move but he did, closer.
He said get out of here kid and still she didn't step away.
He said get out of here kid and when she still didn't move, chin tilted up in silent defiance, the man with the black hat crossed the space between them and crushed his lips to hers so hard she saw red.
And then in a flash he released her and gave her a nudge back towards her home. Get outta here kid. He was always trying to save her.
(IV. You've always hated the rain, remember? That's always the first thing you think about when you remember. You've always hated the rain and it's always made her cry. Tell yourself the two are unrelated.
The two are unrelated.
Now think about how her dress stuck to her skin, wet with rain. That's always the second thin you think about. The third is always the skin of her thighs you could see through it.
Remember the way she yelped when she heard you coming. Remember it? Good. Marlene was always scared of you.
With good reason, too.
After she screamed, you'd said, "Get outta here, kid." The day before a piece of sheet metal had slipped and killed a man. You remember the flash of blood, don't you? Yeah, you do.
Marlene didn't move, maybe wasn't that scared of you, so you took another step forward and repeated yourself. "Get outta here, kid."
All she'd said was, "What does red look like?"
Pause a moment in your recollection, just like you did back then, and take a moment to really remember red. You've got the benefit of experience now. Think about your mother spitting up red into the sink. Think about your father with a spray of it on his cheeks. Think about homeless men red all over in the gutter. Thin about waking up with red in your mouth. Think about Mr. Slaughter underneath a slowly revolving ceiling fan, stains of red in his white shirt. Oh yes, you know what red looks like.
She took your pause for answer, stepped over sledgehammers and power tools, upturned nails and loose steel to cross the distance between you, to place herself in your arms and began to cry with her face in your shoulder and her hands locked together behind her back. This is your favorite part to remember.
Marlene asked again, said, "Tell me about red," and you don't have the heart to, so the wind kicks up and you push her away.
Tell her once more. "Get outta here, kid."
But she looked so miserable. Thunder struck again and she screams, covered her ears with her hands. You took the distraction as the chance to step forward, this time put your arms around her and kiss her deliberately on the lips. Her scream catches against your mouth, softens to a sigh. Marlene sinks her hands into your hair. Her thumb brushes over the rim of your hat and you shiver, growl, and see red.)