A: Chapter 1
By jab16
- 805 reads
Surly Ann
By Allen Banks
When she discovered that she was not like anyone else, it really was
no surprise. She'd suspected, of course; standing at a bank of mirrors
with several girls, all of whom had both eyes, she couldn't help but
notice the difference. But somehow, she'd been born with a type of
self-preservation, in that she knew of her deformity, but also knew
there was nothing to be done about it.
Back in the days when she could call someone uncle without hesitating,
she'd found herself in a car. Large and dark it was, a behemoth of
steel and power that vibrated through its vinyl seats and reminded her,
the one time she was in it, of a horse she'd seen in the streets of her
small town. The car resembled not so much the horse but the horse's
quivering muscles and black fur. The horse - stirrups, saddle, and all
- was an unknown. To her, the beast of the horse could surface any
moment, forgetting its finery and becoming, if allowed, the same
unknown that slept under her bed and inhabited her closet, the door of
which was never fully shut despite her efforts.
Such was the car she'd found herself in, with an uncle who'd been
asked to take her to a market that carried the finest peppers in the
town. So fine, so perfect were the peppers that a person unaccustomed
to looking for the finest would snatch up a handful, throw them in a
bag, and call it a day. But she knew better. A flick of her ring finger
and a pass under the nose revealed what was truly fine and what was
better left to the tourista who would later brag of a marvelous find in
a small town of small shops and small, dark vendors.
Due to her skill, she was sent with the uncle, in a car that reminded
her of a horse, to find the perfect peppers that her father craved and
that her mother chopped and diced into a dish that would send the dog
scrambling and the neighbors stopping by to watch Signora Yanez at it
again.
The uncle stood back while she chose. He'd already thrilled her on the
trip to the market. He'd sped, then slowed, then sped again, creating a
rhythm that made her giggle and grasp the dusty handhold attached to
the door. Though she could not see the uncle - her left eye being as it
was - she imagined he was laughing, too. She was wrong, of course, but
by no fault her own. She was too young; naturally she would assume the
fun was to be had by all. That had been her experience, anyway. She'd
spent her life watching her gaze avoided while mouths opened wide and
laughed. If she could not see the uncle, would that mean he was not
laughing?
He was not. When he placed his hand in her lap, the fingers moving
spider-like to a place she'd only considered a relief in the pine trees
behind her house, she stopped giggling and begin what was to become a
lifetime of sympathetic braking while riding as a passenger in cars.
Her feet could barely reach the floor, but they did, and so did her
head. Like an electric wire that finds itself in the hands of a capable
electrician, her head became clearer than her sight had ever been.
Uncoached, unfamiliar, and certainly unaccustomed, she made a
choice.
She peed. Had her bowels been full, she would have activated those as
well. She didn't know why, but it made sense. Relieving herself behind
her house always meant running from the dirty deed, and now was no
exception. She could not run from the car, but other things
could.
The uncle pulled his hand away after several questionable seconds in
which he thought the heat he was feeling was welcome. He shook his hand
like he'd touched an oven burner. In her hindered sight, she saw what
looked like a bird in distress. Had she turned, and taken her uncle in
by her right eye, she would have seen the uncle's grimace, complete
with tongue pointing parallel to the street.
But she did not see her uncle. Not really. She stared straight ahead
until the car pulled into the dirt yard of her house. The uncle,
impressed by his niece's performance, stared straight ahead, too, until
it was time for his niece to get out of the car. He glanced at her, and
from then on she became his poco crazita, a chica he respected and
would have respected had she not disappeared at such an early age. She
did disappear, though, and that warmth he felt on his fingers became a
too distant memory as he searched for that same respect again. His
search eventually became a burden, until he found himself shot through
the shoulder on a dusty highway, a father (not hers) breathing what was
akin to the sin of Cain and Abel on his wound. The uncle died from a
second shot to his heart, the shooter proud that his two-sighted
daughter would go to marriage with no rumor that she was intact.
Before that sordid and unhappy happening, however, she ran from the
big, black car, one hand clutching the bag of peppers and the other
waving as if she'd just returned from a long battle. And perhaps she
had; the car ride, originally an unusual treat, had taught her
something. She'd learned the ridiculous could be her savior, even if it
meant relieving her bladder during moments of stress. She'd also
learned that the unknown was not really a mystery. In fact, the unknown
was up for grabs. The best way to approach it was to treat it as
itself. Certainly, who would expect urine at a time of incest?
Big words for one so small. Her mother made a chili rivaled by no one;
even the neighbors bowed their heads before heading up for a taste. And
as for her daughter's wet clothes, her mother attributed them to the
long trip.
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