Today Is for the Js

Published in BIGnews Magazine, 2002

A long time ago, Morgan saw her mother naked. The exaggerated curve of her mother's hips and the low slope of her elderly breasts was a reminder of wasted years, and frightful evidence of what awaited Morgan. The sight of her mother shook her so much, in reflex, Morgan shoved her mother.

The visiting nurse gently scooped Morgan’s mother up from the floor. The nurse sucked her teeth at Morgan. She shook her head at Morgan.

"She’s your mother,” she said. “You should take care of her like she did you," scolded the nurse.  

Morgan hated confrontations, but had she been able, she would have told that nurse the truth — her mother never took care of her. 

Morgan stared at the thin misshapen piece of soap on the floor of her shower that had reminded of that day and of her mother on the floor, her white flesh contorted.

With both hands, Morgan gently scooped up the soap, the way the nurse had lifted her mother. She rubbed the soap in her hands until it made a thick foam, which made her think of her father next. He always loved to share perverted instructions for her to follow as she showered. 

"Rub the bar of soap in your hands and then bring the lather to your private area. Don't you dare bring the bar of soap between your legs, it could slip in," he'd say to her from the other side of the locked bathroom door. He always kept his voice purposely flat to throw her off from the fact that he was holding himself, pressed against the door.  

In memory of both her dead parents, Morgan brought the bar of soap between her legs and cleaned herself raw. 

Next, in the shower, Morgan tried to make herself cry. If she could cry, she would at least feel something. To cry, she brought the memory of her sister forward from where she’d locked it away. Her sister Lily, struck by a car. Morgan thought back to the sight of her mother crawling over the pavement, putting her hands on what used to be her daughter. 

It didn't work. Morgan couldn’t cry. She felt no pity. Instead, she was jealous that it wasn't her crushed that day. Angry that her mother never cried for her the way she cried for Lily.

Thinking of her family was difficult, especially now, when she had no one. Morgan believed that having someone, no matter how small their part, was important to being human. Having no one, made her whatever she was now, something detached and uninspiring. 

Morgan was cold.

There was a cold in her bones, something the warm shower could not ease. She massaged shampoo into her long hair. Keeping her hair long was essential. Aside from the scar at the corner of her upper lip; the one thing that made her beautiful, was her hair. She lifted a finger to the scar, a reminder that she was real and that she could be hurt. She remembered when Michael bit her. He was a hard man that often made her bleed from both her mouths.  

Morgan came out of the shower and dressed in the robe she liked to wear for David. David, like Michael, was one of her favorites. He never had time for words. He came in, like a man being chased, and forced her on her back. He made the pain real — he made her real. After he was the done, his goodbye was the sound of the door closing and the farewell sight of the stack of cash left on the bed beside her. But today wasn’t for David. Today wasn’t for Michael.

Today is Tuesday. Today is for the Js.

Morgan's ritual was simple, shower, lotion up, set aside something soft to wear for; John, James, Jeff, and Jerry. The hard men who came on Tuesdays to remind Morgan that she was very much alive and very much deserving of pain.