Ball by Tara Ison

Author:Tara Ison [Ison, Tara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781619026827
Publisher: Soft Skull Press
Published: 2015-10-14T05:00:00+00:00

WHEN I GET home, I hurry straight to my room, wary and quiet and carrying my shoes. I’d told my father I’d be studying for midterms at the library, I’d be home late. The first few years after my mother left, I was eight or nine, and we were left alone together, he was always so nervous, so worried. He wanted to do everything right, be the perfect parent. Make a good home for me, make sure all my needs were met, give me lots of quality time. He was always careful I was eating right and getting my vitamin C, No candy before dinner, baby, here’s an orange, and Finish your milk, okay?, that he’d covered me tenderly and well in high-SPF sunscreen, that I had a full bath every night, Did you do your homework, don’t lie to me, now, that I brushed my teeth before bed. I was the first of my friends to get her bedroom all redone the way she wanted, to get her ears pierced, to get her own computer. He bought me a car when I was sixteen and gave me a credit card for gas. But he was so strict, suffocating, had all those rules, As long as you’re living in my house . . ., I’m the parent, you’re the child . . . or he’d get angry, grill me about where I’d be and with whom, Boys only want one thing . . ., and always wait up for me, I want you home by eleven from now on, I want you to always tell me if anyone ever pressures you to do anything you don’t want. . . . But I realized it was just because he cared so much. He wanted to keep us close, connected. And I proved myself so trustworthy over the years, got such good grades, was such a good girl, did everything I was supposed to, that he finally relaxed and eased off. He pretty much lets me come and go as I please now, thank God, hardly ever questions me anymore.

Like tonight. His bedroom door is closed, the light is off, but I tiptoe anyway, tiptoe past in a nervous rush.

I promised my boyfriend I’d read his treatment when I got home, but I decide to read it tomorrow, when I’m clearheaded. Instead, I go online and bring up the girlfriend’s site.

I’m on vacation, my babies! it announces. But here are some favorites to keep you happy until I return!

Just for logging on as a Visiting Guest, I can see a gallery of still photos (Freebies!) and a five-second loop of flicking tongue, leather-strapped breasts, an open-thighed flash of groomed red pubic hair, vivid, moist-looking skinfolds. I look for staple scars or needle marks or lingering bruises from previous work. I think last time was the breast job. Not to make them larger, he’d told me; to make up for the breastfeeding, pick them up a little. She’d had her nipples regrafted and reangled higher.

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