Hive Ave Fall2024 - Flipbook - Page 9
Hive Avenue Literary Journal
“I just knew, it felt obvious to me,” she says matter of
factly like it was a universal truth; like you hadn’t spent the
better part of two years trying to make sure she never knew.
Why does this hurt?
It all falls out. The tears from your eyes, a broken sob, an
apology. You try stu昀케ng chicken down your throat.
Another sob tries to escape but is mu昀툀ed by the cramming of a dry biscuit.
You’re choking.
It’s hot.
You’re a mess.
“David can’t know, you can’t go home and tell him.” The
thought hitting you late, a deer in headlights just narrowly
dodging the oncoming tra昀케c. Your stepfather can’t know. She
assures you he won’t.
“I mean it Mom, please don’t tell anyone, promise you
won’t.”
“Bear, I promise. It’s not a big deal, alright? Just breathe.”
She 昀椀nally looks at you, and you can see your own swollen eyes
re昀氀ecting through her sunglasses.
You listen and you breathe and by the time you’re both
home the panic has eased, maybe this was okay. It starts to feel
good, to be seen, being an inch closer to her understanding you.
You keep breathing.
Mom, would you wash my back?
This once, and then we can forget
And I’ll leave what I’m chasing
*
“You don’t believe in God anymore?” Inhale.
“I don’t think I could aft-”
“After everything God has gotten you through. Everything
and you turn your back on him?” She sneers at you and your
whole body tenses. You hate this feeling, the uneasiness pressing down on your stomach and laughing at you.
You want to make your words sting, like a scared dog
gnashing and bearing their teeth. You want to remind her of
every night she spent at the bar instead of raising you. Blame
her for things you knew weren’t her fault. You want to show
her the rotten and chewed-up parts of your being. Confess the
nights you spent on the cold tiled 昀氀oor, scrubbing the 昀椀ngerprints of family and friends from your skin not knowing they’d
never fade. Liquidize your shame to paint the little girl kneeling
every single night at the foot of her bed, bargaining with god.
Ask her where she was. Ask her where was he.
Your hands start to scream from the pressure of your 昀椀ngernails digging into your palms, and you think you might draw
blood if you keep this in any longer. She pulls the car into the
driveway and you don’t think she can stomach to look at you.
The blood is drawn and you want a way to pour it back into the
gaping ugly wound before you bleed yourself dry.
Words can’t leave your throat as she parks and slams
the door following her exit. You meet the eyes of your stepfather, already accusing and asking the question “What have you
done?”
You dial the radio down before leaving the car.
Mom, am I still young?
For the other girls to pursue
*
Non-Fiction
Can I dream for a few months more?
*
The trees are bare and the sky too gray for your mother
to justify her aviators. You drive through town, the bitter breeze
sneaking in through the cracks of those same freedom panels.
Your mind goes somewhere else this time. You think this
is what they call disassociating as your eyes bore holes through
the front window and you can’t recognize anything you pass,
despite knowing where you are. You won’t be here much longer,
this town, once you graduate you hope to leave it in the rearview even if you end up regretting it.
You think about the speech you did in eighth grade; you
made it to the state speech contest. You think you lost because
they knew you were blu昀케ng about your faith saving you. You
can still see the judges’ eyes peering into your soul as you spoke;
did they know the sky was empty when you prayed?
Your mom wrote the speech anyway.
You disappear further, losing your attentiveness to the
world around you as the Jeep morphs into a confessional box
on wheels, your mother the priest, and you the sinner itching
to confess every terrible thing you’ve done. You can’t hear the
priest reading from her book at her ambo, you aren’t even sure
if she’s speaking, nonetheless, you clear your throat and speak.
“What the fuck?” is the 昀椀rst thing you hear as you come
back to the barren streets of 昀椀ve-o-one. What did you say?
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