Sample of The Possessor

The playground was like a pasture; overgrown grass and small wild flowers stood defiantly in the growing heat. A makeshift pitcher's mound and home plate were visible in a far corner. On the other side, next to the road, two outhouses stood ten feet apart. A crude sign hung above each door indicating gender. The doors stood ajar. As the day grew hotter, I imagined the flies and bees that swarmed around the holes.

Lost in her own thoughts, the girl didn't look up until I drew nearer. When she finally lifted her head, the blonde hair parted to reveal a pale blank face and somber blue eyes. Two puny legs dangled from under the simple cotton dress that hung on her thin body like a blanket. My legs whipped against the tall weeds as I came toward her, but she didn't move except for that one bare foot scuffing the ground. I could see the red-rimmed eyes and the listless full-lipped mouth. She reminded me now of those pictures of young girls liberated from concentration camps in World War II.

She turned a sullen face toward me and said in a quiet, firm voice, "I saw you this morning in that truck with that woman. Who are you?"

Caught off guard, I took a step backward, swallowed hard, and attempted to speak. A low, gurgling sound slipped through my lips as I grunted, "Mac."

Her eyes narrowed and her body tensed. "What did you say?"

I gulped and tried it again. "My name is Mac."

She looked me up and down for a second before staring straight ahead as if I didn't exist. Her foot began to kick at the ground again. I felt like a complete fool. At fourteen, girls were a complete puzzle to me and that was very evident now. I scratched my head hoping I could think of something clever to say. Snazzy words that might impress her eluded me. I backed up a couple steps, hoping she had forgotten about me, and started to leave.

"You new here?"

I whipped around to see that nothing had changed. She still sat motionless on the swing.

"Yes, yes I am. I'm staying with my aunt and uncle for the summer." I bravely took a step forward rubbing my hands together. "My father is sick so I have to stay until he gets better."

I silently cursed myself for sounding whiney.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"I think he had a heart attack."

"I see," she replied, looking away as if mulling over what I'd said. Her body suddenly straightened and she kicked back with one foot and the swing began to move back and forth. One foot lazily pushed against the ground as her arms tugged at the chains.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She came to a skidding halt and looked at me. I had hoped to see a smile or some other kind of recognition that I really existed: not so. Her eyes appraised me with caution.

"Dory Grace," she said.

I thought for a second. "I don't think I've every heard that name before."

"I 'spect not," she said and commenced swinging again. This time she swung higher and the blonde hair hung down behind her as her feet stretched for the sky.

"It's a pretty name," I said.

Dory Grace didn't smile or recognize my comment. I felt foolish and the long pause demoralized me. As I grew older, I never understood why it was so difficult to communicate with girls. When younger, you pulled their hair, stuck out your tongue, and wham--love! Now I had to talk--feel stuff. I felt like a duck out of water and the harder I tried, the further I got from the water. I overheard my mother one time tell a neighbor that girls matured faster than boys. If that were true, I thought, I just as well quit trying but some need inside me kept telling me not to give up.

Suddenly, she broke the silence.

"You ever think about dying?" she asked.

Startled, I answered before I thought.

"That's crazy!"

The swing came to an abrupt halt. Her bare feet dug into the powdered dirt, blowing a cloud of dust into the air. A cold anger iced Dory Grace's somber blue eyes.

"I'm not crazy! Don't tell me you never had thoughts."

I hesitated and considered for a second. "Sometimes...when I've been punished...stupid things fill my head...but that doesn't mean I would really do it."

Dory Grace turned away and started to swing with a renewed vigor.

"Told you so," she said in a short-clipped tone.

"Do you think about dying?" I asked, almost apologetically.

She swung higher now, her thin body lying almost horizontal to the ground. A hard smile broke across her face.

"Sometimes I do," she said matter-of-factly.

"Why would you think that?" I asked.

"Because to die would be freedom," she answered, bringing the swing to an abrupt stop again. This time her feet were completely hidden in dust. She hopped out of the swing and I saw that the melancholy had disappeared, replaced by a sudden exuberance. "Where did you say you come from?" she asked, hands on her hips.

I shook my head in dismay. Dory Grace had gone from a somber, angry, and melancholy girl who talked of dying to the complete opposite in less time than a heartbeat. At that moment, my understanding of girls had reached a new level of misunderstanding. I stood dumbfounded, at a complete loss for what to do or say. I stepped back as she approached me, amazed when she slung one arm through mine to lead me toward the lone teeter-totter.

"I'm from Kansas City," I answered.

 "You gonna move here?"

I shook my head. "No, I'll return to Kansas City when my dad gets better."

She immediately slipped her arm out of mine. "Oh," she said, not hiding the disappointment in her voice.

Somehow, that disappointment gave me courage: a girl might like me.

"I'll probably be here the whole summer. At least that's what my Aunt Holly told me."

Dory Grace strolled ahead of me, her skinny legs almost hidden by the billowing fabric of her dress. She slipped a leg over one end of the teeter-totter. A hand pushed the blue dress between her legs before she plopped down hard on the wood and grasped the handles.

"Get on." A silly grin on her face, she pointed toward the other end. I placed my hands on bare wood smoothed by years of young children's play. "Push it down real hard," she said

My hands gripped the end of the teeter-totter. I pushed and my end crashed into the dust. Skinny Dory Grace shrieked as she flew into the air. My heart jumped into my throat. I stood motionless for a moment as she landed and rolled across the ground, arms flying every which way, and emitting a loud, mournful scream. Once she stopped and sat up with grass in her hair and dust on her face, my feet finally moved.

"I--I didn't mean to do that," I stammered, running to her side. My trembling arms waved around her head not knowing what I should do.

Dory Grace burst out laughing and pointed a taunting finger at me. "I fooled you," she gasped.

I sat back on my haunches and stared at the frail girl who was, for lack of a better word, crazy - but crazy in an exciting way. When she laughed, her eyes danced. You forgot the thin body lost in the oversized dress. I felt a need, a hunger, a yearning in her that I really couldn't comprehend at fourteen-years of age. Like a caged dog, Dory Grace seemed to have broken free for the moment, carousing around the neighborhood looking for adventure. It might have been that she didn't know me, or me her, that allowed her that brief escape into laughter - I didn't know.

"You're crazy," I said, shaking my head. I laid my hand on her shoulder and gently pushed.

Something snapped in her. A spark leaped into her face. Breaking into a large grin, she tucked her knees under in a crouching position and, like a cat, sprang at me.

"Crazy enough to pin a city boy down," she shrieked.

I really didn't know what to do. My parents taught me to never wrestle, hit, or fight with a girl and now I found myself flat on my back as this laughing girl straddled my chest. Her sharp, bony hips dug into my flesh. Her short, rigid fingers snaked their way under my arms and I began to wiggle with laughter. Dory Grace proved to be very skilled at the art of tickling. In desperation, I grabbed her arms and pushed hard until she slid from my body and fell on her back.

"Your turn!" I cried.

My body towered over her and my fingers searched for their mark. Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, pulled me into the air, and tossed me to the ground like I was an old dishtowel. Flat on my back, I rubbed my head and wondered what had happened.

 I heard Dory Grace scream, and this time the fear was unmistakable.

"Leave me alone, Tony!"

I propped up on one elbow. My blurry vision made out a tall, thin teenager around sixteen or seventeen who had clasped Dory's thin arm in a tight grip and had roughly pulled her to her feet.

"Get back where you belong," he snarled.

"You don't own me, Tony!" she screamed.

Tony's right hand cuffed Dory Grace so hard on the cheek that she stumbled back into the swing. She grabbed the chain to steady herself with a look of disgust on her face.

"Do as you told!"

 She snapped, "You ain't got no right, Tony..."

Tony raised his right hand again while the left pointed to the idling car parked in the shade by the outhouses. "Get to the car, Dory!"

"You leave him alone, Tony. He meant no harm."

Mystified by this whole experience, I realized that these people were different from anybody I'd ever met. Who was Dory Grace? Why was Tony hitting Dory? Most important to me now was what was Tony going to do to me? Dory glanced at me for a second before she lowered her head and ran toward the car crying. Tony watched her until she reached the car before he turned his attention to me.

Without a doubt, Tony was the meanest boy I'd every seen or met in my life. He had long muscular arms on a tall, lean, and tanned body. He wore no shirt and long crisscrossed white scars adorned his chest. His wicked smile exposed jagged teeth that looked like they'd been filed into points. The eyes were the most frightening: small, dark almond eyes that held pure evil. There was no doubt in my mind that Tony loved to hurt people. It emanated in every movement he made, every facial expression. My heart thumped so hard my chest hurt. He took a step toward me and I scrambled backward, pushing hard against the ground with my elbows as he approached. His eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a sinister smirk. I actually feared for my life at that moment. I couldn't get away from Tony's savage kick. His thick army boot hit me in the side and the follow-through rolled me over onto my stomach. Dirt filled my eyes and mouth. I gulped for air. The next kick landed under my armpit and flipped me onto my back again. The last kick clipped my chin and brushed up against my nose. I immediately felt blood spurt down my face. I cried in pain. I cried in fear. My life experiences were void of the bullies like Tony in this world. As he bent over and jabbed a finger into my chest, I felt the sheer terror of the moment. My trembling hands covered my eyes to hide from the fatal blow. A low moan of acceptance slipped from my lips. Tony pried my fingers from my face, bending them backwards until I screamed in pain. He stared at me with pure hatred.

"Don't get near sister again!" his hoarse voice yelled. "She mine."

His sputum sprayed my face and I smelled acrid tobacco smoke. He jabbed me hard with his fist in the chest, deflating my lungs. In desperation my hands pushed against my chest as I gasped for air. Tony gave me a crooked smile, rose up, and stood astride my body. He worked his mouth as if chewing tobacco. A large blob of spit pushed through and hung tenuously on his lips.  I turned my head in disgust as he spit and the wet blob landed on my cheek and rolled down onto my neck. Stepping over my prone body, he calmly started back to his car. I grasped my throat believing that I would never breathe again. I watched Tony climb into the car and as he started to close the door, looked back at me and laughed. I thought I saw Dory Grace chance a look back at me as the car drove away. Alone on the playground, a rush of air finally filled my lungs and I heaved a sigh of relief. The tears started as a trickle and then I began to sob uncontrollably, thankful to be alive.