Tigers, Not Daughters - Samantha Mabry Page 0,63

“Of course.”

Rosa reached for Walter’s hand, and Walter let her take it. She didn’t thread her sweat-damp fingers with his, but she held his right hand, palm up, in her left hand. Then she touched it. For what felt like a long time, she traced Walter’s fingers across his rough fingertips and the blunt edge of each of his nails. She pictured these fingers holding hammers and light bulbs and ladder rungs. She pressed her thumb into the mound under his thumb. She spread his fingers wide to feel the webbing between them. This was a hand that did things. Rosa liked that. She liked that he wasn’t a ghost, or a phantom animal. If she wanted, she could walk up to him and touch him.

Jessica

(early Monday, June 17th)

Jessica and John had spent the last ten hours together, and she’d been half there for all of them. After her shift, she had gone to John’s house because he’d told her to come to his house. They’d watched television. They’d driven around. They’d gotten burgers from a drive-through. They’d parked and eaten those burgers in the car and then made out a little even though John’s mouth tasted like meat and Jessica wasn’t really into it. Then they’d driven around some more. They’d talked. Well, John had talked. He’d talked about how his older cousin was never home anymore now that he’d enrolled in some classes at the community college, and because of that, John had to do more chores around the house. He may have talked about some other stuff, but Jessica hadn’t really been listening. For sure, she hadn’t said anything back. He’d never asked her anything about herself or her job or her family. Eventually, Jessica pulled up outside her house, thinking that John would get the point. He didn’t. The engine was off. The windows were rolled down. It was nearly five in the morning, and Jessica was so very over all of this. She thought back to when she was in grade school, in the choir. Her heart used to feel so full.

Jessica had a song stuck in her head, one she’d heard at work that day, probably seven or eight times. John was still talking as she looked out the windows and started humming to herself.

“Jess?” John urged. “What are you doing?”

Jessica closed her eyes and kept right on humming.

“Jess!” John grabbed Jessica’s arm and shook her a little.

Jessica turned to hum in John’s face, so close and so sloppy, spit flung from her lips to his. John blinked and leaned back.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

The bruises around John’s eye were still black and plum-colored, ringed with mucus yellow. It was sort of a masterpiece.

“You’re making excuses to not see me,” he added. “And you’re acting all mean.”

“That’s not true,” Jessica replied half-heartedly.

“It is true.”

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jessica asked.

John said nothing. It was hard for Jessica to take him seriously, with his eye looking like that. She bit back a smile.

“So,” she said, “I guess you just want to sit here and do nothing?”

“Fuck!” John shouted. Jessica recoiled and John leaned forward to press the tip of his nose into her ear. This time she felt his spit on her skin. “Fuck!”

“Stop,” Jessica gasped.

“You stop!” John yelled.

“I’ll just take you home.” Jessica tried to twist her key in the ignition, but John stopped her.

“You’re not listening to me! What’s wrong with you?”

“Are you serious?” Jessica spun in her seat. “Are you just now realizing that something is wrong with me?”

Jessica opened her car door, but John reached across her and slammed it back shut. She grabbed frantically for her phone to call her sisters inside, but John snatched it from her hand and tossed it out his window and into the grass. He did the same thing with her car keys: yanked them out of the ignition and tossed them out the window. Then he took both of her arms, pinned them to her sides, and pressed his forehead against her temple. Jessica’s whole spine rattled, and a scream