Toxicology by Jessica Hagedorn

Author:Jessica Hagedorn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2011-02-15T05:00:00+00:00

The humid days and nights crawled by. The weeks and months. Mother hated me less and less. I wanted to name you Albertine. But I was angry with her for meddling, so I named you Agnes instead. After Agnes of Rome, patron saint of young girls, rape victims, and virgin martyrs.

I was a shy, brooding child who slept in the same bed as her mother. The cruel mark Mother had left on my cheek grew more pronounced as I got older. I hated and loved my face. People often remarked at how pretty I was, in spite of the scar. An accident, Mother said, to anyone who asked.

I hated and loved my mother and did everything to please her. She sent me to the only school in town, a hot, fly-infested place filled with other impoverished children who had nowhere else to go. There was one book, which we all shared. Never enough paper, or pencils to write with. An outdated map of the world was tacked on the wall. I liked staring at it while I daydreamed. Everyone daydreamed a lot, including the teachers. At the end of a long day of dreaming, we’d trudge home to our chores and secrets. I to boil rice and sweep the house and yard and do whatever else Mother expected me to do while she worked the night shift. Albertine had moved back up north. There was no one around to tell me stories. I turned on the battered transistor radio that Albertine had passed on to me before she left, hoping for a good song to come on. Something peppy, that would fill me with joy and make me dance. While I swept, I’d mouth the lyrics, pretending the voice on the radio was mine. Let’s get animal, animal . . . Let me hear your body talk, your body talk. . . .

My father showed up at our door when I was nine years old. What do you want? Mother was scowling. He kept smiling. I stood next to my mother and stared. He was short and powerfully built, with a boxer’s broken nose and thick, wavy black hair. His clothes and shoes, though dusty, didn’t look cheap. He had obviously traveled a long way to see us. Mother glanced at his large, canvas shoulder bag with suspicion. You can’t stay here, she said. I’ve brought gifts, the man said. Mother’s laugh was bitter. How nice. He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead and neck with a handkerchief. Who are you? I asked him. Your father, he answered. My name is Frank. Frank, I repeated. What kind of name is that?

He stayed a week. Mother asked to be temporarily switched to a day shift so she could spend nights with him at home. I was forced to sleep outside, in a makeshift tent that Mother and Frank rigged next to the outhouse. Actually, I hardly slept. All I could think about was Frank lying in bed with my mother. Putting his thing inside her.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.