the widow riggone

Ruth was not like the other girls. She didn't dream about china patterns or monogrammed towels. The neighborhood fit like a collar too tight around her neck. She wanted to breathe and see what else the world had to offer. One by one, her sisters and girlfriends, younger and older, married. Her parents fretted and Ruth overheard phrases like "old maid" being passed about all around her. She read travel books and dreamed of the people and places written all over the pages. She wanted to see the world for herself.

Ruth worked as a checkout girl in a supermarket. She did her job and kept to herself, never making small talk with the housewives and bachelors whose groceries she checked and bagged. Ruth was exceptionally beautiful, and she resented the attention this brought her. Men, married and single, often commented on her doe eyes and raven hair. They asked if she might enjoy a slice of pie after her shift ended. She never did. The girls at work kept their distance from her, and wondered aloud what it was she did to the men to make them crazy for her. Ruth ignored them all. She was, however, careful in the way she dressed. Rather than spend her money on the latest fashions, Ruth saved her money and wore her sisters' ill-fitting castoffs. She dreamed of the places she could see with the money she was saving.

Ruth's parents were not rich, but they did own their own home. To help make ends meet, they rented out a room on the ground floor. That was how she met Vito. He came swaggering up her street one day, a sack dangling over his shoulder. Ruth had just come home from work and watched him amble towards her. Something in the way he carried himself made her stop and take note. He walked with the ease of a man who had not known a hard day, and his eyes twinkled with a secret she wanted to know more about.

Ruth kept her distance from Vito. She felt that something inside her would give if she spent too much time around him. She did notice, however, that his conversations became decidedly louder in her presence. In this way, she learned that he was a salesman of some sort, and he had traveled all over the world. India had been his favorite, with its strange customs and pungent smells. Ruth would linger longer than necessary when she caught him in the middle of these tales. Afterward, she would find herself looking on her world map for the places Vito had mentioned. Her finger caressed the land mass as she inhaled the imaginary scents she had just heard described.

Ruth knew, too, that Vito thought of her. Her mother had mentioned it casually, dropping the words at her daughter's feet to see if she would gather them.

"He asked about you. Vito. Wants to know if you have a fella."

Ruth could feel her mother's anxious eyes boring through her back. Ruth didn't want to respond, but the tightening of her shoulders was involuntary. She tried to shrug it away.

"Well?" her mother asked. "Whaddya say to that?"

"I say I'm going to be late for work." And she rushed out of the room before her mother could detect the flush creeping up her neck.

She allowed it to happen gradually. Vito would happen to be in the supermarket as she was finishing up for the day. He casually shuffled around the magazine rack as she closed out her register and collected her purse.

"Walk you home, Ruth." He didn't ask, he informed.

"All right, seeing as how we're headed the same way."

On their walks home, Vito painted vivid portraits of the ships and trains and even a plane that had helped him cross the globe. He was vague about his people and where he had come from. He never quite got around to explaining what it was he sold or how it was he made a living. That didn't much interest Ruth anyway. She wanted to know anything about anywhere that wasn't here. He fed her stories about foreign lands by the spoonful.

Vito spent more time walking around town with Ruth. She began to look for him at quitting time. She felt foolish for pinking up her cheeks before his arrival, but she did it anyway. Their walks became longer and slower. He started to use words like "we" and "us". Ruth had never thought of herself as a we before. She liked to say it quietly to herself when she was alone. It rolled off her tongue with surprising ease.

Since Vito had moved into her parents' home, he worked on the docks, hauling large crates off and on the ships. At night, Ruth would ask him where the newest ship had come from, and he would say "Italy, Morocco, Germany, Spain. All of the places I'll take you someday". In her mind, she was already living in these far away places, with him, holding hands.

It wasn't how she had pictured it. Not al all. They were walking down by the docks, taking the long way home from work. Vito had been unusually quiet. Ruth held her breath, unsure if she could give up the we that she had become.

"Got something to tell you," he spoke down to his feet.

"Okay then. I'm listening."

"The boats come in and I load 'em up or empty 'em out. I'm beginning to think I should be on one of 'em."

Ruth didn't want to be one of those girls - the kind who cling to a man's sleeve and say "please" and "forever" and "anything". But that's exactly what being a we had turned her into. She stood squarely in front of Vito and clung to his shoulders.

"Take me with you. We could travel to all the old places you've been and you can show me everything. And we can take my books along and find all the new places and see them together. Please."

With that, he was pressing her against a bench, his mouth firmly covering her own. Something inside of her said no, quietly. But it was a small part of her and she didn't want to listen to it. She gave in to Vito and decided she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. They made love on a damp bench in the shadow of the ships. They made Angelo that night, the first of their three children.

One month later, they quietly married with her parents and her sisters by her side. Though it wasn't a celebration, it wasn't the scandal she had predicted either. Her sisters were charmed by Vito, as Ruth herself had been charmed. Her parents were relieved that Ruth had a good, strong man to look after her.

They set up house in a cold water flat off an alley, and they were happy. Ruth continued to work at the supermarket. She could never sit in the house all day. Vito worked longer and harder at the docks, sometimes coming home after Ruth had fallen asleep. He didn't walk her home from work anymore, and he didn't tell her stories about his travels unless Ruth asked him to. The words that flowed so easily before now became short and stingy. Ruth didn't worry, though. She knew that becoming a father was a shock that would take some getting used to. She still had dreams of traveling the world with Vito. Only now, a baby had inched its way into the plans.

Angelo was tiny and perfect. When Ruth looked at him, she felt the true meaning of we. This little person was more a part of her than anyone else could ever be. A calm settled in her chest that she had never before known. It no longer mattered where in the world she traveled or even if she ever traveled. So long as she had this little baby to coo over and cuddle with, she was at ease.

Something changed behind Vito's eyes when Angelo came along. He no longer saw what was in front of him; rather, his eyes glazed over with the memories of other places. Try as she might, Ruth could not get him to hold the baby or see the beauty in his rolly little toes. Vito stared at them both as if they were a plot of land he had purchased at too high a price, and he no longer had the need for such acreage.

Ruth cooked and cleaned and cared for the baby while Vito worked on the docks. She no longer saved supper until he came home. He had stopped keeping regular hours even before the baby came. Ruth saved the supper in the oven, hoping that Vito would help himself to it when he got home. Most mornings, Ruth found the meal soggy and stale, forgotten in the oven.

Uneaten meals proved to be the least of Ruth's worries. Although Vito claimed to be working longer and harder than he had ever before, the money never seemed to be enough. Ruth had always been very frugal, and kept impeccable accounts for all of their expenses. She bought nothing on credit, preferring the finality of cash passing hands. Vito, however, refused to hand over his check at the end of the week.

"You handle the kid. I'll keep the cash." Ruth felt battered by the cold words her husband hurled at her. It was getting more difficult for her to remember the long walks near the ships, and the man who had walked alongside her.

One Saturday morning, after a night spent worrying where her husband was, Ruth rose to take Angelo grocery shopping. Her gloom lifted, almost, with one look into her son's almond eyes. She loved dressing him up and prattling him around the neighborhood. On her way out the door, Ruth dunked her hand into the money jar and was stung by its hollowness. The money that was in the jar yesterday - enough for groceries and new booties for Angelo and then some - was gone. Ruth ravaged her purse and upended drawers, coming up empty. Her blouse soaked through with panic, she went in search of her husband.

Ruth spent the morning stopping in shops and chatting with nosy old ladies, wanting to appear casual in her search for her husband. No one had seen Vito. Ruth noted, however, that no one seemed surprised by his absence. She even caught a few sideways glances that seemed to suggest she should have started looking long ago.

Out of options, Ruth strolled Angelo down to the docks to find his father. Vito had stayed away from home before, but never for this long. Ruth could feel the nothing of the money jar in her hand. Th weight of that emptiness sat like an anchor on her chest.

"Riggone? Ain't been around here two, three weeks I'd say. Cold quit the job," one of the workers informed her.

"Quit? No that can't be right. He's brought home a check every week." Ruth countered.

"He may have brought home a buck lady, but he didn't earn it here. Check with the Bookie."

Ruth walked away from the dock, unsure of which direction to head in. Angelo was crying. He should be home and napping by now. Ruth needed to buy milk and eggs and meat. She plucked her options out of her head. She couldn't tell her parents. They would worry her into a frenzy. Besides, she had nothing to tell them. Yet. First, she needed to get some food in her belly. Then she could work out a plan and think about the Bookie.

She couldn't see Vito in the same sentence as the Bookie. Everyone knew what he was, and that he was nothing to mess with. His own brother-in-law had gone missing after two months of no payments. It was agreed that even this length of time was generous on the Bookie's part.

The streets parted as the Bookie passed. He walked with his left hand jiggling in his front pocket at all times. Children loved the merry sound the pocket made, but mothers held them back. It was rumored that the clanging in his pocket was due to the loose teeth the Bookie collected from his debtors. There were enough toothless men in town to lend some credence to the tale.

Ruth snuck across town to a grocer who didn't know her. There, she opened an account in her name and bought just the bare necessities. She signed her name to the ledger and looked guiltily around the store.

"I'll be back to pay this right away. Tomorrow. Or tonight. Yeah. Probably by tonight."

"Any day lady. You got an honest face." The grocer said while stacking shelves with his back to her. Ruth hurried home, hoping to find Vito at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands and a story on his lips.

Two more days passed before Vito's steps echoed throughtout the apartment. He came in at night, after Ruth had struggled to get Angelo to sleep. The door slammed shut and Angelo's cries pierced through the dark. Ruth went to the baby first, picking him up and rushing out to meet Vito. He was a stranger walking through her home. His shoulders were slumped and his face was grizzly with days' old stubble. She found him guzzling milk in the kitchen.

"Where you been?" she asked, trying to keep the hysteria out of her voice.

"I need money. Where is it?" His voice was needles pricking her skin.

"There isn't any." She watched helplessly as he stalked around the apartment, sticking his hand in corners looking for change. The words of pleading and accusation stuck in her throat like a bone. In a sudden burst of fury, Vito upended a kitchen chair and cleared the table of its contents. A ceramic bowl crashed against the wall and shattered. Angelo wailed and wrapped his fat fists in his mother's hair. Ruth resented the fear that clung to her skin like early morning frost.

He was gone in an instant, back out the door. If it weren't for the mess, Ruth would have had no proof that he had been back at all. Once she was finally able to calm Angelo's cries, he fell quickly asleep. She put him back to bed wearily.

The kitchen looked like a tornado had whipped through it. Ruth scrambled on hands and knees to clean the mess Vito had left behind. A sharp pain sliced through her palm. A shard of ceramic had poked her skin. She pulled it out and watched the blood pool in her palm. A sudden tightness gripped her stomach. Ruth sat down heavily and felt the familiar waves of nausea sweep her away. She held her head in her hands and knew - she was pregnant.

The twins - Dominic and Mary - came early and small. Ruth wanted to feel the same excitement that she felt when she first held Angelo, but there were too many other emotions crowding out her joy. It had been a difficult pregnancy. Vito was gone most of the time. His money had at first trickled down to nickels and then dried up all together. Ruth had had to go back to work at the supermarket while her mother watched over Angelo. The stares that had before slid off her like water now wormed their way into her thoughts. Her husband was a drunk gambler. She married a no-good man who put her out to work to pay his bills. Her children would grow up poor trash. Ruth would never get out of this town. She was no better than the rest of them.

Ruth went right back to work after the twins were born. She couldn't afford not to. Her parents had helped her the best they could but it was hard times all around. Her mother watched the babies while she worked. Ruth knew this was a lot to ask, but she was out of options.

Vito was like a mosquito in her ear. She didn't always see him, but he was always hovering around. And in the mornings, she could see the evidence that he had been buzzing about. Drawers were opened, cushions were on the floor. Sometimes, a small piece of furniture would be missing. She wished she could swat him away.

It was almost Christmas. Angelo was five and the twins were almost four. Ruth was tired of telling the children no when they asked for the littlest gifts. This year, she had scrimped every extra penny to surprise them with gifts for Christmas. A wagon for Angelo, a fire truck for Dominic, and a tea set for Mary. Ruth was also giving them each a book, in the hopes that they would inherit the passion she once had for stories.

Vito had always been a hound dog, able to sniff out every cent in the apartment. But not this year. Ruth had sewn a pouch for the money and kept it pinned to her bra at all times. She and Vito no longer knew each other in that way, so Ruth was sure he would never find it.

It happened the week before Christmas. The children were all asleep and the apartment was quiet and cozy. Ruth was ironing and humming to herself. She had always been soothed by the monotonous motion of pressing wrinkles out of clothes. She was so far away in her thoughts that she didn't hear him come in at first. By the time she turned to see Vito's steaming face it was too late. He was on top of her, shaking her violently and tearing at her clothes.

"Where's the money? I know you been hiding it from me. I need it. Give it to me now!" His face was twisted with rage. For the first time, Ruth feared for her life. Vito had never before laid a finger on her. Whether it was the drink or the gambling she didn't know, but she knew enough to be afraid.

"Stop it. You're hurting me. Please." Ruth''s cries fell like stones on the floor. She struggled to control her voice so the children wouldn't wake up. Vito tore at her neck and ripped the front of her blouse. The pouch broke free and money scattered about the room. Vito looked down at the stash and smirked. The muscles around his mouth tensed suddenly. Ruth watched the hatred boil up behind his eyes and bulge in the veins all down his neck. She held her breath.

She heard it before she felt it. Vito hit her with an open fist. The sound vibrated in her ears and the shame of it stung both of her cheeks. Ruth's mind was blank. She gave no thought to what she was about to do. It was a reflex, like scratching the itch of a mosquito bite.

Ruth raised her right hand, still holding the hot iron, and wacked Vito across the mouth with it. His head buckled back violently from the force, and his lips spit something out. Ruth looked down to see her husband's two front teeth slide across the floor like dice. A thin trickle of blood dripped down Vito's chin. A red welt seared his left cheek. He held his hands protectively under his mouth, waiting to see what would drop out next.

Ruth planted her feet firmly on the ground. She was prepared for the next hit. But it never came.

Vito spit blood onto the floor and scrambled on his knees to pick up his teeth. He didn't even touch the money that was still scattered all around him. He looked up at his wife with an unfamiliar expression. It was fear.

Vito scampered out of the apartment silently. Ruth couldn't move. Electricity was shooting through every inch of her. She felt its strength pulsating through her body. Something returned in her that had been long gone. She welcomed her old self back, promising not to let her get away again.

Vito stayed away for weeks. It was a glorious Christmas. Ruth and the children strung the modest tree with popcorn and paper dolls, and Ruth made a feast for Christmas Eve. In the morning, the children shrieked with delight at the presents tucked under the tree. Ruth's Christmas wish had come true.

It didn't stay quiet for long. Vito eventually came back home. He tried to bully Ruth but the lisping whistle of his words made him less of a threat. It wasn't that Ruth didn't feel bad for knocking out his teeth. The feeling was similar to that she had when she broke her favorite lamp - annoyance at yet another unexpected expense. Ruth did make it up to him, though. She took in other people's ironing and raised the cash to replace his teeth. It took her a year, but Vito eventually had his teeth back. Somehow, though, the lisp remained.

The years passed in much the same way. Ruth worked hard to provide for her family. Her mother continued to care for the children as Ruth worked. She spent her days at the supermarket, and ironed for rich families at night. Vito was in and out of their lives. Twice they were almost evicted because he managed to find Ruth's hiding place for the money. Luckily, she had always been able to appeal to the landlord for mercy.

The children were almost teenagers. Ruth's heart burst with pride over them. They were smart, polite and caring, all three. They loved their mother with a fierce protectiveness, and regarded their father with impatient tolerance. The boys were athletic and popular, running the neighborhood with their long legs and growing hair that always needed a trim. Mary had inherited her mother's stunning beauty and serious ways. She preferred the quiet solitude of a book to all the giggling girls.

Vito's ways had aged him long before his time. The false teeth were gone, along with a few others. His skin was papery thin and his yellowed eyes were dull. He was never not drunk, and Ruth knew the Bookie had long since lost patience with him. Three times he had come home bloody and bruised after having been beaten by the goons. Ruth didn't know how much money he owed, but she knew it was a lot. The Bookie had started to send his goons to her, looking for reparation. They harassed her at the supermarket and on street corners. She knew what they were capable of, and she was afraid.

One night during supper, Mary appeared sullen and listless. She pushed her potatoes around on the plate.

"What is it, Mary?" her mother asked.

"It's those men, Mama."

"Which men?" Ruth felt heat rising in her belly.

"The ones that are after Daddy." The boys exchanged a knowing look. There was more going on than Ruth could have known.

"What about those men?" she practically whispered, afraid of the answer.

"They follow me home from school sometimes, say nasty things." Mary was a strong girl, not prone to bursts of emotion, but Ruth could see the tears sitting on her eyelashes. She got up from her seat and protectively stood over her daughter.

"From now on, you and your brothers come straight home from school together. You hear? I want you boys to look out for your sister."

The boys looked down at their plates. Angelo was the first to speak.

"They say things to us too, Mama."

"What sorta things?"

"We could work for them and help them and then they wouldn't hafta come after Daddy no more. All we'd hafta do is carry some stuff and pass some notes along." Dominic spit out the words in a hurry and then gulped hard for air. He always did that when he was nervous.

"I'm not afraid of them, Mama. I'll work. Maybe then they'll leave us all alone." She was so proud of Angelo. He sat puffed up in his chair, already wanting to be the man of the family. She wanted to let him be a little boy as long as he could.

"No one's working for anyone. I'll handle this. Now all of you finish your supper and get on to your homework. You don't have to worry any more."

Ruth stayed up late that night, trying to work out a way in her head. She could pack up the children and leave this place forever. Start fresh somewhere and never look back. But then she thought of the children and how her parents would miss them. Could she really take the children away from everyone and everything they knew and start from scratch?

One week later, Ruth was spending another sleepless night at the kitchen table, trying to see a way out. Vito burst in through the door and and slammed it shut behind him. He was drenched in sweat and his eyes were wild with fear. He worked a hole in the floor walking back and forth from the door to the window, nervously checking to make sure both were locked. Ruth took a small amount of pleasure in his panic. He had created this life for them all. It was only fitting that he know some of the terror that she and the children were forced to live in.

Vito stayed barricaded in the apartment for days. He had instructed the children to lie about his whereabouts. The exasperation in their eyes made Ruth tired of it all. She wondered how long it would continue.

It was late on a Saturday night. The children were asleep in their beds. Vito was curled up on the couch, jumping at shadows. Ruth was finishing up a large pile of laundry, feeling bone tired when a rock whizzed through the living room window. Vito crawled off of the couch and shook her by the shoulders.

"Don't let them in the house! They're going to kill me, Ruth. They mean business this time."

Ruth stared blankly at her husband. She couldn't see a trace of the traveler whose words took her around the world. She thought of the children they had made together, and she was grateful to him for that. She knew what she had to do.

"Go in the bedroom. Don't come out. I'll get rid of them." Vito hugged her quickly and ran off to the bedroom. Ruth worked quickly. She went to wake the children but they were already sitting up, waiting nervously.

"Quick now. Put your slippers and sweaters on. Run to Grandma and Grandpa's house. Don't come back here until I come for you. You hear?" The children nodded their heads and obeyed their mother. Dominic sniffled his tears back, while his sister patted his shoulder soothingly.

"Mama, let me stay. I can help." Angelo offered.

"No no. There's nothing for you to do here. I'll be along in just a little bit. Go on now."

Ruth led them to the front door. She opened it cautiously and peered out. The Bookie was surrounded by three goons. They looked at her and the children curiously. She stepped forward and the children peeked out from behind her back.

"You let my children pass. You hear? Let my children pass." They snickered at this woman in her robe, but something in her stance told them to do as she said. The men parted, and Ruth pushed the children past them.

"Go on now. I'll be there in just a while. Go ahead. Run before you catch a cold." The children sprinted off into the cool night air. Ruth breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that at least her children were safe. Nothing else mattered to her now.

The Bookie stepped in front of Ruth. His eyes were hard marbles looking down at her. Ruth held her robe close against her body, hoping he couldn't detect the shivers his stare was sending up her spine.

"You know what we're here for. He's got no more time." Ruth pictured her husband, curled up under the bed in a ball, and she felt pity for him. She wondered what she could have done to turn their fate over the years, but she came up blank. Then she thought of her children running through the dark night to safety, and her sorrow quickly turned to rage.

"In the bedroom." Ruth stepped aside. The men filed into her apartment and headed to where her husband was hiding. She stayed out on the stoop, staring up at the black night sky. There were no stars to wish upon tonight. The clouds were gray and gauzy, so low she could feel them pressing down on her. She pretended it was all a dream.

His screams made her shudder in earnest. The three goons carried him out past her, and the Bookie brought up the rear. Ruth bit the inside of her lip to keep from screaming herself.

Vito's eyes were wide and his mouth was twisted in terror as snot ran down his face. He begged Ruth to save him, making promises he could never keep and uttering prayers she had never heard.

The Bookie took a handkerchief out of his pocket and shoved it in Vito's mouth. There was no need to do that. No one in this neighborhood would look out their window at the sound of screams. They would all know what it was about.

Ruth watched them carry her husband down the stairs and around the corner to the alley behind the house. She closed the door behind her and slumped against it.

She heard it happen. First, the muffled screams and then the pounding. The wet sounds slapped against her ears as she imagined Vito being beaten. Then, a hard thud followed by long, low wails. A throaty choking, pitiful whimpers, then nothing. Silence.

Her ears ached from the strain of listening to it all. She tidied up the mess they had left behind in the bedroom, then fixed herself a cup of tea. She sat a long while, letting her tea grow cold. When the shaking finally stopped and she trusted her knees not to buckle under her, Ruth rose and went to get her children.

The garbage men found him in the morning. The goons hadn't even bothered to cover up his body. He was curled up on his side, with his hand tucked under his head. He looked peaceful from behind, as if he were far away in a dream.

Ruth quickly donned the black of a widow. She wanted to hide behind the shield of it. Though her beauty had faded somewhat over the hard years, it was still strong enough to attract the attention of men just days after her husband had been buried. Ruth had no need for a man in her life. She had her children, and would get back to her books, now that her mind was free to be hers again.

The children each handled Vito's death in their own way.

Angelo seemed ready to fight anyone who walked across his path. He got into some trouble over the years, but managed to pull himself out of the pack before it was too late. He eventually took all of his anger out in his job, working demolition crews and swinging sledgehammers against concrete.

Dominic clung to his mother's side. He was her constant protector. He became a fireman, always prepared to run into burning buildings and save someone.

It was her daughter, Mary, who finally made it out. After her father's death, Mary buried herself further into books. Ruth gave her daughter all the travel books she had saved over the years, and Mary made it her mission to visit every place her mother had ever dreamed of.

Ruth sits in solitude with her memories and daydreams. She resents the arthritis that has crippled her back, the glaucoma that has clouded her vision. At 93, her body does not work the way it once did. She is surprised and annoyed by this betrayal.

In her mind's eye, Ruth sees everything clearly. The postcards of the places Mary has traveled. Angelo standing by her side, ready to take on the world for her. Dominic in his uniform, standing proudly at attention. Her grandchildren and their children, strong and smart and out in the world. In her mind's eye, it is as if they are all gathered in the room around her, lavishing her with love.

Continue reading...

river, without the e

Albert was my first openly gay friend. Before I met him, I saw one of his plays. It was about a son who had suffered years of sexual abuse at the hands of his father. The son kidnaps and tortures his father. During the last scene, the father is hogtied, naked, with a gag in his mouth. The son stands behind the father, triumphant, with a plunger held high above his head. As the son aims the plunger at the father's exposed rear, the theater goes black and a horrific scream rips through the darkness. For the curtain call, the father and son stood stonily in front of the audience. The son held the plunger victoriously above his head, smiling broadly. The father stood naked, bits of rope binding his wrists and ankles, gag still firmly wedged in his mouth. The audience didn't know whether to clap or call the police. It was the most uncomfortable I had ever felt in an audience. It was brilliant. Albert became my hero.

He and I were in a playwriting class together. It was a very small class, maybe six of us in all, and we sat around a conference table in a circle. I was the only woman in the class. Albert and I were both in love with our professor, Jonathan. He was the first teacher I had ever had who insisted his students call him by his first name.

Each week, Albert would purposely write scenes with sexually explosive dialogue and ask Jonathan to read the scenes with him. Albert would invariably get a boner in these classes, sweat breaking out on his forehead and dripping into his eyes. Afterward, Albert would appear spent, finding excuses to stay seated at the conference table until he could talk his erection down.

A few weeks into the semester, HE walked into class. The door swung open in the middle of a discussion, and he swaggered in. He walked with the ease and confidence of a man coming home at the end of a day. His jeans were saran wrapped to his thighs, and his bulge pulsated like a neon sign. He handed a slip of paper to Jonathan and wordlessly took a seat next to Albert. We all stared as he sat back in the chair with his legs spread wide and stared up at the ceiling. Albert clutched my hand under the table, directing his wide gaze at the bulge. I nodded in acknowledgment. Jonathan stared down at the slip he had just been given.

"Welcome to class Brian Gallagher. Tell us about yourself." There was no movement or reaction from him. He continued his study of the ceiling.

"Brian? Yoo hoo. Anybody home in there?" Jonathan snapped his fingers in front of his face. He was a rock. I felt Albert's hand sweating in my own. We squeezed messages to one another. Mine said, who is this guy? His said, I don't know, but he's mine bitch!

After a tension-filled minute, he lowered his gaze from the ceiling and stared straight ahead. His mouth barely opened, but a gravelly voice escaped.

"Brian's dead. Left him back in California. Name's Rivr now. Without the E." That was all we got. Albert squished my fingers in his hand. He looked over at me, licked his lips and mouthed, I love him! Jonathan shook his head. I couldn't tell if he was impressed or annoyed.

"Okay. River without the E. Last name?"

"None."

"Of course."

Over the next few weeks, Rivr hinted at a past that was dark and tormented. There were rumors of drugs, prison, murder and a 40-year-old ex-wife. Rivr scoffed at our immature conjectures, but did nothing to quiet the stories swirling around him about his origins.

Rivr's writing was so graphic it made even Albert blush. Each week, he brought in scenes that were brutally misogynistic.

Man: "Woman, the only way to shut you up is to shove my hard cock in your mouth!"

Woman: "You know I'd do anything to make you happy."

Man: "Get over here and suck me hard before I find someone else."

Woman: "No! I couldn't live without your love."

As a theater major, I wrote, I built sets, I hung lights. These were all tasks I felt comfortable with. I was not an actor. I did not act. Even reading people's scenes in class made my throat go dry and my stomach twist into a pretzel. Rivr's scenes were the worst. As the only woman in the class, I was forced to read all of the female parts. He always asked Jonathan to read opposite me. In addition to teaching, Jonathan was also a playwright and an actor (the worst combination.) While I read each scene directly off the page as dryly as possible, Jonathan inhabited each scene. He reached across the table and shook me by the arms, shouting into my face when Rivr's stage directions instructed. I found my voice shrinking further away as Jonathan's voice, and Rivr's words, became more demonstrative.

I began to dread these classes and devised different ways to get out of reading Rivr's scenes. I suddenly developed allergies, sniffling and sneezing my way through classes. I also mysteriously developed larangitis on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 1-3pm, and once hiccuped for an hour, finally getting thrown out of class.

The excuse-making became exhausting. One day, when I had been too exhausted to feign illness, I was called upon to read Rivr's latest woman-bashing masterpiece.

"No." I said. The class perked up with interest.

"No? What do you mean, no?" Jonathan challenged.

"I find Rivr's material to be offensive and it makes me uncomfortable to be a part of it. Sorry, Rivr."

Jonathan and Rivr looked at each other and rolled their eyes. I didn't care. I no longer lusted after either of them. I just wanted to work on my own play (which was about a schizophrenic boy who kills his father at the request of his lustful mother. Not on the level of Albert's plunger, but I had my aspirations.) Albert patted me under the table. He knew how I had come to hate class, and he was willing to sacrifice his own dignity for the good of the class, and his raging hormones. Before Jonathan or Rivr had time to respond to my refusal, Albert batted his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Um, Rivr, I'd be honored to read your scenes. I find your work...riveting," Albert cooed. I leaned forward in my seat, thrilled to see the discomfort in the room. Both Jonathan and Rivr seemed to have shrunk in size at this proposal.

"I could do it like this, if you prefer." Albert added, raising his voice as high as he could manage. He stroked his neck while Rivr squirmed in his seat. I was in heaven. Rivr couldn't seem to find his voice, so Jonathan spoke for him.

"I think, that's very good of you, Albert. What do you say, Rivr?" Jonathan looked expectantly at Rivr, who seemed to be wishing he had remained in California, with Brian.

"Yeah, cool, yeah whatever cool yeah. Cool." Rivr could not meet Albert's eyes as he spoke.

Albert leaned across the table and patted Rivr's hand affectionately.

"It'll be magic, love. You'll see," Albert promised.

In the weeks that followed, Rivr's scenes toned down considerably. He turned his focus away from verbally battering women, (at least directly), and concentrated on a sappy father-son story with a dead mother.

"Son, your mother was a whore sent from hell."

"I know it pop. She wasn't good enough to spit shine your shoes."

"Ain't that the truth!"

Albert, however, championed the dead mother's cause. Playing the son, he wept pitifully whenever he talked about the mother. This drove Rivr to histrionics. He wanted the son to be full of venom for the mother. Albert rebuked all attempts to follow Rivr's directions.

"I'm so sorry Rivr. I'm trying to be more of a bastard," Albert said sheepishly, "It's just that your script is so moving. It's very emotional for me to read."

"I know Albert," Rivr would sigh. "I'm a very effective writer. Just try to control yourself."

Meanwhile, Albert promised me a surprise for the last day of class. Our final projects were due that day, and Albert had not let anyone see what he had been working on. While everyone else discussed their travel plans for break, I dreamed about Albert's surprise and counted the days.

I sat around the conference room on the last day of class. Everyone was there, anxious to read their scenes. Everyone but Albert. I looked expectantly at the clock, knowing that Albert hadn't been late to class once all semester.

"Has anyone heard from Albert?" Jonathan asked. We all shook our heads.

"Well, looks like we'll have to start without him," he lamented.

After we had all read and discussed our scenes, there was still 20 minutes left in the class. Everyone looked expectantly at Jonathan, hoping to be let out early. Just as he was about to dismiss us, Albert burst in through the door calling out apologies.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! Fresh off the presses. I just couldn't get this scene right!" I shot him an icy stare and he kissed my head before sitting. Everyone else looked disappointed. I sat up at full attention, giddy with anticipation.

"Okay," Albert sighed. "This is a real departure for me. It's a story about two brothers. I"ve never done anything like this before. I'm a little nervous."

"It's okay, Albert," Jonathan reassured. "I'm sure it's fine. Let's have a look." Jonathan reached for a copy of the scene, but Albert pulled it away.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan. I'd actually like Rivr to read it with me, if it's all right. I sort of had him in mind when I wrote it. You inspired the character, Rivr," Albert blushed.

"Yeah," Rivr agreed. "This isn't the first time I've heard that."

"Okay. Let's get on with it," Jonathan said, looking somewhat ruffled.

"Oh, one last thing," Albert cleared his throat. "The character Javier was inspired by Rivr, but I'd like to dedicate this to Noreen." Albert smirked as I sat on the edge of my seat, holding my breath.

The scene involved brothers, Javier and Armando. Rivr read Javier's lines, and Albert read Armando's. The stage directions described two buff and sweaty brothers chopping wood in the forest, discussing an upcoming dance at their high school.

Javier: I sure hope Maria will go to the dance with me.

Armando: I don't care. I'm not going.

Javier: What do you mean, not going? You're my best brother. We have to go together. I'm sure you can find someone....

Armando: I'm not taking any stupid girl to the dance, "brother".
(Javier throws down his axe and grabs his brother by the arms) Javier: Hey now, what's this all about? You can tell me.

Armando: Can I? Can I tell you anything?

Javier: You say it, brother, whatever it is. I'm here for you.

Armando: You know how Mom says you don't look like me cause we're fraternal twins?
Javier: Yeah sure.

Armando: Well that's a lie.

Javier: You mean we're not fraternal twins?

Armando: No, we're not fraternal twins. But it gets worse.

Javier: I don't see how.

Armando: We're not really brothers at all. Some neighbor lady left you on our porch and Mom took you in as her own. So, there are absolutely no blood ties binding us. None whatsoever. (Javier picks up the axe and furiously chops up a branch, grunting)

Javier: How....I don't understand....(Javier throws down the axe and kneels in front of Armando. Javier hugs Armando around the hips and weeps into his crotch. Armando rubs his back soothingly.)

Armando: Javier, there's more.

Javier: I don't think I can take anything else. (Armando kneels down and cradles Javier's head in his hands.)

Armando: I can't. But I have to. But how will you understand me? Please. Forgive me brother. I am in love with you.

At this point, Rivr's eyes widened and Albert shot in towards him, ramming his tongue into Rivr's mouth. I counted to four before RIvr freed himself from Albert's vice-like grip. Albert's eyes were closed. He had a heavenly expression on his face. When he finally opened his eyes, he saw Rivr staring at him like a frightened child.

"Oh my God, Rivr. I don't know what came over me. I was method acting. Your performance was so mesmerizing. I couldn't help myself. I really became Armando." Albert pinched me under the table. I bit the inside of my lip to keep from exploding.

Rivr was speechless. Jonathan held his hand over his mouth. The rest of the class sat on edge, waiting for violence to erupt from Rivr. But it didn't. Nothing happened. Rivr stared down at his hands for a moment and then quietly got up and walked out. Albert then stood up and gracefully curtseyed at the class. He walked out without looking back. The rest of us waited in stunned silence until Jonathan finally moved and said, Well, good work everyone. Enjoy the break. He walked out of the room in a daze.

That was the last time I ever saw Albert or Rivr. Albert had to drop out of school to care for his dying mother. I hadn't even known she was sick. Rivr disappeared as wordlessly as he had appeared. I wondered if he ended up in a new school in a new city, introducing himself as Blue, without the E.

In my mind, I like to see them both somewhere together. They're on a deserted island, sipping margaritas in the sun. Albert is laying on his stomach blissfully. Rivr is bending over him, massaging oil into his back. Albert is chuckling at Rivr, who is, naturally, wearing jeans and cowboy boots at the beach.

Continue reading...

deep sea sleepover

A sea turtle rose up from the ocean floor, flapping its flippers like an underwater bird. Its ascent was slow and lazy. Fish of all different sizes and colors swam around it, unfazed by its sudden appearance. The sun cut through the surface of the water casting shadows of light and dark.

Ruby floated on her stomach staring down into the water. She breathed quickly through her snorkel, excited to be so close to a sea turtle. She had never seen one before. She took a deep breath and swam down towards the turtle. Surprisingly, she caught up to it with just a few kicks of her legs. She swam directly above it, kicking her feet each time the turtle propelled itself forward.

The water was warm and delicious; Ruby felt like she had been in the ocean forever. She wanted to stay like this, with the turtle, always. They had become instant friends. The turtle looked up at her often, making sure she was still shadowing him. (Somehow, Ruby knew it was a him. In the same way, she suddenly knew his name was Harold).

Ruby reached out her hand and patted Harold's shell. It was hard and smooth. Harold enjoyed the petting. He looked up at her and grinned. Ruby held on to Harold's shell, hitching a ride through the ocean.

Ruby took a big bite out of the hamburger she held in her left hand. Its juice dripped down her chin. Harold turned and frowned. Hey, he said, I'm hungry too kid. With that, Harold opened his mouth and snatched the hamburger from Ruby. He chuckled and swam away, licking his lips.

Alone in the water, Ruby floated down into the darkness. She relaxed, lulled by the rhythmic tide pushing and pulling her. The warmth of the water eased all of the tension from her body. She felt a release in her stomach, a sudden rush, instant relief.

Ruby's eyes shot open and she sat bolt upright, filling her lungs with air. She was disappointed to find herself awake and on dry land. A faint glow was visible beyond the curtains. The sun would soon fill the room with light. She looked around the bedroom. All of her friends were still nestled in their sleeping bags, dozing soundly.

Ruby hoped to snuggle down into her sleeping bag and fall back asleep. An uncomfortable dampness clung to her legs. She felt her pajama bottoms and realized they were wet. A scarlet flush crept up her neck and spread across her face. It had happened again! She had wet the bed. Well, not exactly the bed, but the Strawberry Shortcake sleeping bag she was sleeping in. The sleeping bag had already caused considerable controversy. The invitation to Lisa's sleepover had read: Bring your own sleeping bag, and Ruby had. What she hadn't realized was that, seemingly overnight, she and her friends had become almost-teenagers, pre-teens, tweens. As such, the girls had to play by a whole new set of rules. She had learned some of them the night before. Lesson 1: the first girl to fall asleep would have her training bra frozen in the freezer. (This was the first occasion that Ruby was grateful for her flat chest. There would not be a bra of any kind in her future for at least several months). Lesson 2: Playing with Barbies would be replaced with toenail painting and boy bashing. Lesson 3: Pig-outs were still okay, but would be followed by obsessing over the fat growing on hips, thighs and bellies. Ruby had not known any of this. She didn't understand when or why or how they had all changed so drastically. She didn't like the new way of things, and looked forward to being back in her own bedroom. There, she could play with dolls and chip off this stupid purple nail polish that made her feet look bruised.

Ruby had tried to quietly play by the rules, but when she unpacked her sleeping bag, she realized she was in violation already.

"Um, what's with Strawberry Shortcake, Ruby?" Alyssa had gawked at her. Ruby did a quick scan of all the other sleeping bags. They were the expensive kind, nylon on the outside, fleece or quilt on the inside, and stuffed with real down feathers. Ruby's was cotton and worn. Stuffing leaked out from Strawberry Shortcake's elbow. The only way Ruby could fit into it was to curl herself into a fetal position. She only now realized she should be embarrassed by it.

"Ugh, I know. Gross, right?" Ruby crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out, scrunching her face into a look of disgust. She hoped this would suffice. It did not.

"Um, then why bring it here?" Alyssa challenged, while the other girls snickered and poked each other.

"Well, I was actually doing a favor for my cousin Robert. See, he's an environmentalist. He's working on a cure for global warming. You know, save the polar bears from drowning and stuff."

"I love polar bears. I wish I could keep one in the jacuzzi!" Lisa crooned.

"Duh. They like the cold!" Bella challenged.

"Whatever." Lisa rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Yeah. So. What does that have to do with Strawberry Shortcake?" Alyssa refocused the attention back onto Ruby.

"I loaned him my real sleeping bag. He had to take a last minute trip to Siberia. They may have found an answer there." Ruby wasn't even sure where Siberia was, but she doubted her friends would know either.

"So let me get this straight," Alyssa smirked. "Your cousin is some big environmentalist, flying all over the world to "cure" global warming..." (here Alyssa used air quotes), "...and he doesn't have his own sleeping bag? Please." Alyssa crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, satisfied that she had defeated Ruby. The other girls held their breath, anxious to hear Ruby's response.

"I know, right?" Ruby rolled her eyes at the oddity of it all. "See. He's this really strict environmentalist. He doesn't like to own anything that's not absolutely essential to living. He doesn't want to be a part of our consumer society, so he borrows stuff when he needs to. He's like, really extreme in everything he does. But he's going to save the world. You'll see."

"Yeah. I'm sure." Alyssa glowered at Ruby, unconvinced. Just then, Mrs. Avery, Lisa's mother walked in with a tray of snacks.

"Who's hungry? I have snackipoos!" she sang. All of the girls looked uncertainly at each other, no one wanting to be the first to admit hunger.

"Oh come on girls. Live a little. It's all organic. And fat free!" The girls climbed over one another, reaching for popcorn and soy cheese balls. Ruby was saved. For the moment.

She felt her soggy pajamas and considered her options. On the previous two occasions this had happened, Ruby had been home in her own bed. The first time she had been dreaming of swimming in the Olympics, and the second time she dreamed she was sitting on the toilet. On both occasions, Ruby had gotten up and changed her pajamas and sheets, unnoticed. If her friends found out about this, she was sure she'd have to leave the country. Or kill them all in their sleep. Both options required more energy than Ruby could muster at this early hour.

A plan suddenly presented itself to Ruby. She visualized it in her head, watching it unfold step by step. If she played it out the way she envisioned it, she might be able to recover from this unfortunate incident. It was a big risk, but she saw no other options.

Ruby inched out of her wet sleeping bag, making as few movements as possible. Thankfully, the floor beneath her had not gotten wet. She stood up and draped the sleeping bag over her arms, which were stretched out straight in front of her. Her body was rigid, her gaze unblinking. She carefully walked over her friends, staring straight ahead at the bedroom door. She held her breath as she opened the squeaky bedroom door and walked out into the hallway. She continued her robotic gait until she was safely in the bathroom with the door shut behind her.

Leaving the light off, Ruby turned the faucets on in the tub. She looked nervously from the door to the slow-rising water. This was the one moment that could sink her plan. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears she was afraid the drumming would wake up the entire house.

When the tub was almost full, Ruby turned off the faucets. She carefully stood and eased herself back into the sleeping bag. She almost fell face-first into the water with her body bound in the sleeping bag, but she righted herself in time. Inch by inch, she lowered herself, encased in the sleeping bag, down into the tub. The sleeping bag quickly absorbed the water, and the weight of it wrapped itself around Ruby. It was not an unpleasant sensation. Ruby snuggled down inside the sopping sleeping bag and let the warmth of the water envelop her.

Ruby strained her ears for any sign of life in the house. There was none. She felt safe in her cocoon as light began to filter in through the bathroom window. She felt strangely comfortable, and remembered the sensation in her dream, of floating down into the deep dark water. She drifted off to sleep, wondering if Harold would be there to greet her.

"What in the world...!"

Ruby sputtered water out of her mouth and splashed to a sitting position. She blinked back the bright light, confused and frightened. Mrs. Avery stood glowering over her in her pink bathrobe, hands firmly planted on her ample hips.

"Ruby! What are you doing in my bathtub? With your sleeping bag?" For a moment Ruby was genuinely disoriented, which worked in her favor. It all rushed back to her momentarily, and she remembered to stick to her script.

"I'm in your bathtub?" she fluttered her eyelids.

"Yes! Look at this mess! What are you doing in here?"

"I, I don't know. I was swimming the English Channel, I think."

"What are you talking about?" Here Ruby looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes for added effect.

"Oh my God. It's happened again. I am so sorry."

"What? What's happened again?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Avery. I thought I had gotten over this. You see...." Here she gulped and lowered her head. "...I'm a sleepwalker."

"A sleepwalker?"

"Yes, ma'am. But it hasn't happened in ages. I am so sorry. I didn't mean to make a mess." Mrs. Avery exhaled a long and tired breath and looked around the bathroom.

"It's all right. Let's get you out of there." Ruby stood up and wiggled out of the sleeping bag. As Mrs. Avery unstopped the tub, she groaned as if she were in pain. Ruby waited until all of the water had drained out of the tub before stepping out and into a large towel Mrs. Avery held open for her. She felt guilty for lying, but it was necessary for her self-preservation.

"Oh, Ruby. Your sleeping bag. I'm afraid it's ruined."

"That old thing? It's okay. It's not my real one anyway."

"Oh. Okay. I'll go get you some dry clothes."

"Thanks, Mrs. Avery."

Alone in the bathroom, toasty in a terry cloth bathrobe and out of her wet pajamas, Ruby smiled, knowing she had avoided social banishment.

In the days to come, Ruby became a celebrity of sorts at school. What did it feel like to sleepwalk? her friends wanted to know. Like walking with your eyes closed but still able to see everything clearly, she had responded. What was the weirdest thing she had ever done while sleepwalking? they wondered. Shoveled the sidewalk in her bathing suit in January, she responded. Even the janitor stared in amazement.

Suddenly, the new rules weren't as important for Ruby to play by. It seemed she was somehow exempt from the rules, above them all. Her behavior became "quirky", and "eccentric". If anyone dared question her wardrobe choice, Ruby quipped that she had gotten dressed in her sleep and hadn't fully woken up until third period. Everyone was in awe, waiting to see what would happen next.

Ruby enjoyed her new-found popularity. However, she had to turn down the sudden abundance of invites to sleepovers. She excused herself from these parties by explaining that she was now under observation at night, to track her bizarre behavior while sleepwalking. The truth was, she no longer had a sleeping bag since she unfortunately had had to sacrifice Strawberry Shortcake to save herself. She truly hoped that her cousin would return from Siberia soon.

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