Play Again - Complete Version

Michelle Culver was twenty four going on fifty. She had gone from an
attractive, slim girl full of hope at the age of thirteen to an
overweight mother without any true expectations in life. Or for that
matter, any hope. A strand or two of gray hair speckled her long
brown locks and try as she might, Michelle couldn't pull them all
out. She was out of shape and always tired. To her, sleep was the
best thing about living. It was then that she could dream of a life
worth living.

Tetris. The game where blocks stack up higher and higher, and the
goal is to fit in the pieces so as to knock them down. Michelle
could never seem to fit the pieces in right, and before she knew it
the game was over and a message, with a yes and no button, was
flashing across the screen.

Would you like to play again?
Michelle clicked the little gray button.

Michelle was eleven years old and developing into a beautiful young
woman. She excelled in school without even trying and everyone loved
her. Her body was years ahead of her time and she had no problem
attracting the attention of all the boys. Her Mom, long divorced
from Michelle's father, was dating Lawrence Forus, a forty something
attorney who smelled like paper and ink toner. He was an attractive
middle aged man, with sandy blonde hair and forest green eyes, but
the years had softened his once hard body and he had a slight paunch
in the middle. Michelle didn't really trust him, or like him, he
seemed "fishy" as her two sisters liked to describe him, but Mom was
happy and that was important. A year later, they married and the
family moved across the country to San Diego, California, away from
Michelle's childhood memories and friends. The beautiful four
seasons of Vermont were now replaced by the boring, always sunny
weather of southern California.

It only took a month before Lawrence, or Dad as he insisted on being
called, would start to beat Michelle. It wasn't the smack upside the
head -- owww, that hurts -- kind of beating. It was more along the
lines of the "motherfucker, you do that again and I'll kill you in
your sleep" kind. Michelle never did though. Her two little sisters
would scream for "Dad" to stop as he sat on top of Michelle and
pounded her with his fists. Michelle's hands would desperately try
to cover her face and ears, as she prayed to someone - anyone - that
he'd stop in time. On the really bad days he would open her small
mouth with his gray, letterhead worn, grimy fingers, and spit into it
and force it shut. "Taste me you bitch," he would laugh, letting
drool drip from his mouth all over her chin and neck. Later that
night, Michelle would vomit, hoping any remnants of that man would
leave her body.

Michelle's Mom would just watch. Michelle was not sure what her Mom
was more afraid of, Lawrence or her. She would sit on the couch, a
vacant stare occupying her empty face, watching some invisible fly on
the wall, listening to some song implanted in her head from the glory
days of her youth. Michelle would crawl to her, and she would back
away at first, until she knew that he -- that he -- was gone. Her
arms would open and she would pet Michelle like their cat, Babe.
Only Michelle didn't purr.

It wasn't always that bad. "Dad" would go away for weeks at a time,
and sometimes if Michelle was lucky, months. Those were the good
days. Sharon and Beth, her sisters, and Michelle laughed then. They
had to. There was no laughter when he was there. When he was gone,
their Mom -- the one they loved, the one who loved them -- returned.
Michelle always wanted to ask her why they stayed, but she knew the
answer. "He'd find us. And kill us," or "He provides a good life
for us." "Good life my ass," Michelle thought in response to the
unasked question. Michelle wanted to tell her that she'd rather be
dead then spend another day with him. Her mouth, though, like a
child being forced to eat spinach, stayed shut. Then he would come
back. Had to be home by six for dinner when he was there. Dinner
time always came much too soon.

Things never got better, only worse. First, he started with Sharon.
Sharon was the youngest, eight at the time. "Dad" liked them young.
He didn't even bother to hide it, raping Sharon right there on the
living room floor, in front of their mother who acted as if she were
a deaf mute, and Michelle playing with her Tinker Toys building a big
impermeable fortress. "Dad" got tired of Sharon after a year or so
and turned to Beth, who was eleven at the time. Michell, now
thirteen, had tired of Tinker Toys and now built great monuments of
protection with Lincoln Logs. Higher and higher the walls would go.
He would tear them down. He had a way of doing that.

Beth was thirteen when he got tired of her. "Damn slut," he would
call her. "Who have you been fucking? You've been fucking someone
else, haven't you?" He would yell this at Beth as he beat Michelle
with his fists. He'd never hit the other two, only Michelle. He
saved that just for her. He'd yell at them and take his anger out on
her. She was his punching bag. Michelle didn't run though, she'd
rather he hit her than them. Besides, she was used to it.

Then, he started with Michelle. He came into her room one night, a
couple of hours after beating her senseless for being eight seconds
late for dinner, and sat on her bed. The smell of his Marlboro still
lingered over him.

"Take off your pants, " he demanded.
"Bu.. Bu.. But why? I di.. did.. didn't do anything,"
"I didn't ask. I told. Take off your god-damned pants."

Not knowing what was coming next, or at least not wanting to believe
it, Michelle did. He turned her over and forced himself upon her,
his paunch pressing firmly into her back while his knees forced her
legs apart. Michelle bled for hours afterwards and when it stopped,
he did it again. She was a month shy of her fifteenth birthday.

The day Michelle turned fifteen, she kissed her mother on her cheek
as she slept on the sofa. She left a note for Beth and Sharon under
their pillows. And a note for "Dad" on his. It was short and sweet -
- two words -- Fuck you. She walked out the door, knowing she would
never come back. Happy Birthday, she thought. Happy Fucking
Birthday.

Would you like to play again?
Michelle clicked the little gray button.








The one good thing, perhaps "Dad's" only redeeming quality,
had been that he gave the girls each an allowance of $100 a month.
Michelle had saved most of her allowance, and had taken the liberty
of stealing whatever money she could find, including her sisters and
her Mom's. She herself had saved a little over three thousand; her
sisters had contributed a couple thousand apiece, and the rest of it
came from her Mom's purse. She had apologized to her sisters in the
notes she had left them, sure that they would understand. She
counted the money that night in a cheap, one hundred dollars a week,
motel room a mile from the Mexican border. It was the kind of motel
room that smelled like air freshener and cigarettes, and where the
bedspread had probably been there for the last ten years. Michelle
took a whiff of the money spread out before her, but it reminded her
too much of "Dad," so instead she went back to the menial task of
separating and counting the crumpled up bills. Eight thousand two
hundred and twenty one dollars. And a quarter. It was a lot of
money for a fifteen year old girl, but she had no home, no place to
go, no job, no friends, and Michelle knew she would need every last
cent of it - even the quarter.

Michelle spent her first days of newfound freedom walking
along the beaches and boardwalks of Chula Vista and Mission Beach,
ignoring the hoots and catcalls that seemed to follow her wherever
she went. She had even been offered a job by a runty Mexican with a
pencil thin mustache named Luis. Unfortunately for Michelle, Luis
was a pimp. She walked away, laughing for the first time in months,
flattered but insulted. She ate cheaply, buying stale bread, peanut
butter and store brand jelly from the Ralph's grocery store that was
down the street from the hotel. To wash down the dry sandwiches, she
would drink the murky, sour water that came from the tap in her two
foot by two foot bathroom.

Two weeks after she ran away from home, Michelle could be
found sitting on the brick wall that separated the beach from the
sidewalk. The ocean breeze would ruffle through her hair like a fan
and the chlorine smelling ocean lingered in her nostrils. She was
reading the help wanted ads of the San Diego Tribune, looking for the
one ad that would be searching for a fifteen year old runaway with no
clue of what her social security number was. That was one detail she
failed to remember and now she was regretting it. A tall, lanky
black man sat down beside her, glanced over in an unnoticing way, and
asked if he could borrow the sports page.

When he handed it back to Michelle ten minutes later, he
thanked her and walked away without saying another word. Two days
later, in much the same spot, and at about the same time, he came
back and again asked for the sports page. Michelle had thought
little of the man at first, but now she wondered who, and what, he
was. Enough that a week later she finally said something more
than "your welcome" when he thanked her for letting him read the
sports page.

"So, what's your name," she asked, looking away. No one had
ever intimidated her like this, not even "Dad." He laughed and then
started to walk away.

"What's so funny? Why are you leaving?"

"Cuz'," he answered, his feet still carrying him away from
where she sat. "Yous a lil' girl. You ain't nuthin but trouble."

The next day she asked him his name again, and once more he
laughed. Michelle was persistent, though, and on the third day he
finally just muttered "Kenny. Kenny Wayne," as he walked
off. "Kenny Wayne," she thought to herself that night as she doodled
her name and his on a ripped out page of a Bible. Next she asked him
how old he was, and for two days he merely laughed like before. On
the third day, he told her twenty six. Within a month she managed to
find out that he worked at Ralph's on the graveyard shift as a stock
clerk, that he liked rap music and sports, and that sitting on the
hard brick wall of Mission Beach reading the sports page and talking
to her was his one true pleasure in life. Kenny lived in a cheap one
bedroom apartment with two other co-workers, white guys, who he
couldn't stand. One day, Michelle asked him if he wanted to crash on
her other bed, and Kenny never again spent another night in the Vista
Loma apartment complex he had called home.

One night as Kenny's tall outstretched frame dangled off the
small double bed he had been using, he looked over at Michelle,
hesitated, and in a quiet, unassuming voice told her he loved her.
Michelle felt her throat tighten up, and her heart skipped like two
kids playing hopscotch. How could he love me, she wondered? They
had never slept together. They had not even kissed. And here was
this grown man, with his thick black curly hair, his dark eyes and
soft deep, voice looking at her -- a fifteen year old runaway with
nothing -- and telling her that he was in love with her. At that one
moment, Michelle was certain she had never been happier.

When Michelle found out she was pregnant two months later,
Kenny cried. Michelle had never seen a grown man cry before, and was
not sure if his response was due to happiness or anger.

"What's wrong?" she asked, hesitating a little, afraid that
he might be upset. Kenny was quiet and just shook his head.

"Baby?" Michelle looked at him, her eyes begging him to talk.

"Fuck." Kenny said.

"Fuck."

A fist flew down on the square, lifeless pillow and a small cloud of
dust puffed up into the air. Michelle had never seen Kenny get this
mad. It reminded her of "Dad" and scared her so much that her hands
started to shake.

"I... I can get an abortion," Michelle said, her voice raspy
as her breathing quickened.

"No," Kenny said. "No."

"What is it? What do you want me to do?"

"Nuthin. It's not you. It's me."

Kenny walked to the window and pulled back the drab brown shades that
only somewhat protected the room from the glare of the street
lights. He turned and looked at Michelle sitting up on the bed, her
knees pulled up to her chest, tears running down her white but tanned
face, as hair stuck to the moist portions of her cheek.

"You know I love you. For real," He said.

"Yea baby. I know you do."

"I gots to go," he said, quickly grabbing his pillowcase full of
clothes and walking out the door.

The quick, pertinent thud of the door rang in Michelle's ears. She
wanted to get up and chase him, wanted him to come back and hold
her. As if she were a ghost, Michelle floated over to the window and
looked down at Kenny as he bounced down the stairs. As he reached
the bottom he turned and looked back up at her. Michelle pressed her
hand against the window, looking like a child does the first time
they ever ride on a plane. Kenny smiled - a sad, regretful smile -
and put his hand up slowly, blew her a kiss and waved good bye.

Would you like to play again?
Michelle clicked the little gray button.





Kenneth Michael Culver was born on an unusually cold February
day in a San Diego clinic. Michelle left the clinic two days later,
three thousand dollars poorer, and carrying a beautiful, smiling
brown child who looked exactly like her. Michelle knew it was only a
matter of time before she ran out of money; five hundred dollars
would not last her and the baby that long. Going home was not an
option. She could only imagine how her white, wonderful, step-dad
would react to not only her, but to a child -- a black child. For a
moment she thought of Luis, the Mexican pimp, and then remembered
that she wasn't beautiful any more. She had gained sixty pounds
during her pregnancy and the cat calls had been replaced with looks
of scorn and disgust. Michelle wasn't sure if the looks were because
of her, or because of her unaware child. Probably both, she thought.

Michael, she didn't like to call the baby Kenneth because it
reminded her of his father and in a way she still loved him, was a
remarkable child. He never fussed and always slept through the
night, and his smile was a beacon of hope for Michelle. She now had
something worth living for, and she was going to do whatever it took
to make sure that her child never had to go through what she had.
She would finish school, go to college, and take care of her child.
These were the dreams that filled her empty nights.

Michelle was down to her last hundred dollars when she
finally found a job at an ice cream stand. The ice cream stand stood
right at the entrance to the Mission Beach pier, and the owner only
hired Michelle because he could pay her under the table for two
dollars less than minimum wage. She could even keep Michael there
with her while she worked. Michelle barely made any money, but it
was enough to keep her cheap hotel room and feed her and Michael
something else besides sugary sweet waffle cones.

It was a monotonous life. Work, go home and take care of the
baby, and fall asleep together. Eighteen now, Michelle wondered if
she would ever do anything but this. Michael had become a celebrity
of sorts on the pier. The regular ice cream patrons would always
come in and see how he was doing and what new words he was saying.
Still, Michelle knew that she could not raise him this way forever.
Especially when the occasional white person would sling "nigger
lover" insults at her with him sitting on her lap. Then there were
the black women who would just glare at her with hateful eyes as if
she had stolen something from them.

It was a sweltering July day and even the ocean breeze was
not enough to cool off Michelle and Michael. She had already gone
through four bottles of water, water she would have to pay for out of
her own pocket. She smelled like a vanilla shake, beads of sweat
dripping from her face, as she waved a magazine at Michael to keep
him cool. A boisterous group of sailors, fresh out of boot camp
Michelle thought, were approaching the stand. Michelle looked away,
hoping they would pass the ice cream stand by. Months of ice cream,
potato chips and soda had not helped Michelle regain her pre-
pregnancy figure, and she felt anything but attractive.

"'Scuse me Miss," came a voice. Shit, she thought, they had
stopped. Michelle turned her head to the left and saw that there
were six of them, all white, all thin, all looking like milk men in
their pressed white uniforms. Michael smiled at the sailors, and as
was his custom flapped his little arm at them to say hello.

"Cute kid," the shortest of them muttered. "He yours?"

Michelle sighed. She knew what was coming next. "Yes," she
said, doing her best to smile. "He is."

"Right on," replied the inquisitor.

From the back of the group Michelle heard someone mutter "Damn nigger
lovers, they're everywhere." Then a murmur. And then quiet.

"Well she is," said a tall, muscular sailor; his southern
twang becoming more evident as he walked forward demanding Michelle
to give him a large chocolate cone.

"See," he drawled. "She's not the only one who likes her
chocolate."

"I said that's enough Tillman. I meant it."

"Oh go fuck yourself Barnes. Whatcha gonna do? Kick my ass
over some nigger lover?"

A reed thin sailor, patches of brown hair evident from
underneath his white dixie cup, with a confident walk moved to the
front. He was as tall as the redneck southern boy and Michelle could
almost feel him moving.

"Maybe I will."

"Like you could."

Michelle had been standing there the whole time, observing the whole
scene and not saying a word.

"Guys," she yelled.

They looked at her as if she had appeared out of thin air.

"Either get some ice cream or I'm gonna have someone call the
cops," Michelle barked.

"Yea," Tillman said. "Let's just get some ice cream and get
the hell out of here."

Michelle handed Tillman his chocolate cone and he walked away
grumbling under his breath how Barnes couldn't kick a gnat's ass if
it laid there for him. Michelle laughed and looked over at Barnes,
whose face appeared to be a little red. He's cute, Michelle thought,
but quickly shut out the dreams flying through her mind. No guy
would be interested in an overweight, white eighteen year old who had
a two year old brown-skinned son.

"Sorry about my friend. He's an ass," Barnes said.

"Don't worry about it," Michelle answered. "I'm used to it."

"How could you ever get used to that?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"If you say so," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Donnie."

"Hi," she said, feeling her face get even warmer than it
already was, her hand taking his. "I'm Michelle."

"Want to go out sometime?" he blurted. A slight beeping
sound came from his waist and he glanced down at a small, black pager
and quickly pushed a button to silence it.

"Huh?"

"I asked you if you wanted to go out sometime."

Michelle adjusted herself in her chair. The only time she
ever got asked out was if it was by some middle aged black man who
assumed because she had a black child, that she would just give them
a piece of ass.

"Huh?"

"Are you deaf," he laughed. Making signs with his hands as
if he were translating via sign language, he spoke simply and very
slowly, pausing after each syllable.

"I...asked...you...if...you...want...ed...to...go...out...some
...time?"

"Me?"

"No, your son." he replied sarcastically. "Of course you."

"Ummmm...OK. Sure."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, that's what I said. Tonight."

"What's your hurry?" Michelle said, worried that he, like
most men she knew, was only after one thing.

"I transfer out of here in a month. I want to get to know
you." Donnie's pager went off again as he spoke, and like before he
pushed a button to silence it. Only this time he did it without
looking to see who had paged him, as if he knew who it was.

"Oh," she said, realizing that she had just stuck her foot in
her mouth. "OK, tonight is good, I get done here at 8."

"Great," he answered, flashing a toothy grin. "See you then."

"Wait," Michelle said.
"Yes?" he smiled again. It was a smile that made Michelle
want to rip her clothes off right then and there.

"What about my son?"

"Well I told you, I wanted to go out with him. Weren't you
listening?" Michelle laughed like a four year old laughs at her
Mom's bad funny faces. "Bring him," Donnie said as he walked
away. "It'll be fun."

Donnie, Michelle and Michael went out every night for the
next two weeks. Donnie took them to restaurants, movies, and even
the San Diego Zoo. Michael laughed and laughed at Donnie's
imitations of all the animals and Michelle knew she was falling in
love. It wasn't the same kind of love she had with Kenny. That love
was sort of mystical. She hadn't really understood what love was
then, and sometimes wondered if she had even loved him at all.
Loving Donnie was easy and comfortable. He would be a wonderful
father, she knew, and that was important to her, and more importantly
to her son. He needed a dad. When Donnie asked her to marry him a
week before he was leaving, Michelle was not surprised how easily she
answered yes. Her only concern was how often he would go off to use
the phone to answer one of his pages, but she was tired of the ice
cream stand, and of being close to her sisters, even her Mom, and not
being able to see them. Moving to Whidbey Island in Washington would
take care of those problems.

Michelle was sleeping in the passenger seat of Donnie's red
1994 Ford Bronco when he nudged her. "Look," he said, motioning her
to look out of her window. Michelle, half dazed, saw the sun setting
in the horizon over the ocean. They were driving over a bridge that
connected the mainland to the island. Water was crashing on rocks
beneath them. Green, piney trees provided shelter to the gritty,
sandy beach, and a purplish-orange hue reflected up off of the
water. "It's beautiful," she said. As they crossed over the bridge,
she read the sign noting the name of the landscape they had just
seen. Deception Pass. Michelle wasn't sure what it was about that
sign, but suddenly she had a feeling of uneasiness run over her. It
was as if the sign was an alarm clock, and she had just awoken from a
deep slumber. Michelle continued looking out the window, and
realized that she knew nothing about Donnie. Nothing at all.

That night, question after question bounded through
Michelle's mind. Why did Donnie's pager always go off? Why was he
always sneaking off to use the phone? It had never bothered her
before, but now it was driving her crazy. When Donnie's pager went
off four times in twenty minutes, Michelle looked at Donnie and for
the first time, questioned him.

"Who is always paging you?"

"No one," he said quickly. "Just friends."

"Alright," Michelle answered. "Michael and I are going to
go for a walk. Wanna come with?"

"Naw, I'm tired from the drive," he yawned, plopping himself
onto the bed. "I think I'm gonna catch some z's."

Michelle grabbed Michael by the hand and walked out of the
room. She chased Michael down the hallway and could only laugh as
his little feet stumbled over themselves and caused him to fall and
giggle.

"Hang on baby boy," an out of breath Michelle said. "Momma
needs to run back to the room real quick."

Michelle walked quietly down the hall and stood outside the door to
their room. She heard Donnie's muffled voice coming from inside.

"I know, I know. It's only temporary babe. I promise."

Michelle got on her knees and pressed her head against the door,
straining to hear more.

"One month. No more than that. I felt sorry for her and her
kid, OK?"

"Momma?"

Michelle had been so intent on hearing what was being said that she
had forgotten Michael was there.

"Shit," came Donnie's voice from inside. "She's back. I
love you. Gotta go."
Michelle heard an abrupt click and some hasty movement from inside
the room. "Come on baby," she said, grabbing Michael by the
hand. "Let's go on that walk."

Michelle walked down the streets of Oak Harbor, Washington
watching people pass her by. Happy people. People in love. Mom's
with their kids, laughing -- and meaning it. Twelve year old boys
racing their bikes across the street as angry motorists honked their
horns at them. Michelle realized she had never gotten to play with
other kids, and that for the longest time she had been anything but a
kid. But here she was -- married, eighteen with a two year old son,
and she was a kid.

I'm not going to let this beat me, she thought. He's not
going to get rid of me. I don't care if he feels sorry for me or
not. She picked Michael up and brought his small body in close to
hers. His muddy fingers grabbed her cheeks, and he smiled.

"I love you Momma."

"Come on baby," Michelle sighed, as she ran her fingers
through Michael's wiry, black hair.

"We're going home."

Would you like to play again?
Michelle clicked the little gray button.





Donnie swore that it was over between him and Kathy, his old
girlfriend, after Michelle confronted him. "I love you," he
insisted. "You and Michael mean the world to me." Michelle had no
other place to go, and when she saw the way Michael fell asleep in
Donnie's arms that night she knew she would stay.

Donnie's ship went to sea two months later, leaving Michelle
and Michael alone like old times. Except now they had a two bedroom
apartment which via the magic of Donnie's credit cards had become
fully furnished. He had handed over his checkbook to Michelle before
he left, telling her to take care of the bills. Every two weeks, as
Donnie would be scrubbing some meaningless piece of pipe while
floating in the Pacific Ocean, Michelle would get his paycheck. The
military took care of everything it seemed, and for the first time
since she had ran away, Michelle felt comfortable.

Bored, Michelle found a job at a video store. She had
finally gone to the Social Security Office and sent out for a new
card. Michael loved his baby sitter, Nicki, especially her two year
old son Dustin. They were best pals and many times Michelle would
stay the night at Nicki's place and let the two of them run wild.
Donnie would call Michelle collect whenever they pulled into some
foreign port, and they would talk for five minutes and he would have
to go. Often, Michelle could hear people laughing in the background,
including the soft, sultry laughs of a female. She hated the fact
that he had to be gone for so long, and that when they did talk it
was only for a moment. Part of her wondered too if Donnie was being
faithful. Ever since that one night, doubts had continually been in
her head.

When Donnie came home it was as if they had just met again.
They made love like newlyweds for two weeks straight and could not
get enough of each other. In time, however, everything turned into a
routine. Work, come home and eat dinner, watch TV, go to bed, and if
they hadn't fought like they normally did, they would make love.
Before long, six months would pass and it was time for Donnie to go
back to sea. This time, though, they would be able to keep in touch
via e-mail. Donnie thought having a computer would help keep
Michelle from getting bored and restless. Plus, they could use it to
keep in touch.

It was on the computer, in a chat room, that Michelle met
Caroline. Bored one evening after Michael had gone to bed, and
feeling lonely, Michelle ventured into a world unknown to her, but a
world that strangely appealed to her. Here, she could be anyone and
anything she wanted to be. She didn't have to be a nineteen year old
runaway, with a three year old child, suffering through a lonely
marriage. She could be Happy! In fact, her screen name even made
reference to that -- she was Happy_Girl. Ironically, one of the
people she started talking to was Caroline. It was ironic because
Caroline was married to a Navy man and lived five minutes from
Michelle. After a month of talking on the phone, they met, and soon
were best of friends.

It was Caroline who convinced Michelle that there was more to
life than her husband. It was Caroline who introduced her to her
numerous male friends. It was Caroline who helped undress Michelle
and then watched as three men had their way with her. And, it was
Caroline, who taught Michelle the wonders of being with another
woman. It was all a big, lurid fantasy for Michelle, like some scene
out of a Cinemax late night movie. Caroline and Michelle jumped from
bed to bed, sometimes together, other times not, and laughed about it
the next day. Michael would fall asleep on whatever couch or chair
was available that night, pretending he was oblivious to it all, but
knowing something was wrong.

When Caroline introduced Michelle to Alex, a guy she had met
off the Internet but was only friends with, Michelle had no idea that
she could feel so giddy and completely lost as she did with him.
With Kenny, Michelle thought that he might have been a replacement
for "Dad," that he had been there when she needed someone. Need was
exactly how she viewed her marriage to Donnie. She needed to escape
and he provided that for her. She needed someone to take care of her
and Michael. He did that. Alex, though, was different. Michelle
would lay up at night, dreaming of his boyish movie star like looks.
His blue eyes were mesmerizing, and he had a cleft chin that she
could run her fingertip over for hours. She loved to run her fingers
through his thick blonde hair and memorized how he breathed in small
huffs with an occasional deep breath when he slept. Michelle
wondered what Alex saw in her, but Caroline insisted that Alex was
being genuine. She could not stop thinking about him. Nor could she
stop loving him. They began an affair, he was married as well, and
would secretly sneak off to meet one another, even when Donnie was
home.

Michelle was twenty three when Donnie became eligible for
shore duty, which meant he would be home every day. No more six
month vacations from her marriage. Alex had divorced his wife a year
ago and was pressuring Michelle to leave Donnie, but Michelle was
hesitant. Even though he had lied to her, Donnie had been good to
her when she needed it most and was wonderful with Michael. As much
as she loved Alex, he was in school and didn't have a steady job. He
wouldn't be able to provide for her or Michael for quite some time.
Over and over she told Alex that she would leave Donnie, if and when
he finished school and got a job -- a good job.

It became harder and harder to find time to see Alex, who
was beginning to show frustration with the whole situation. Donnie
had started to get suspicious and was much more inquisitive about
where Michelle was running off to, and going to Caroline's house had
become taboo so she couldn't use that as an excuse any longer.
Donnie couldn't stand Caroline and he made as much known to
Michelle. The only time Alex and Michelle would see each other was
when Michael was in school and Donnie was at work. Usually, she
would go over to Alex's small apartment and spend a couple of hours
with him before rushing off to pick Michael up from school.

The weight of it all became too heavy for Michelle. She
couldn't do it all. She couldn't pretend to love one man, love
another, take care of her son and work a full-time job. She was
twenty four going on fifty. Life was merely a process of waking up,
breathing and pretending everything was alright. It wasn't though,
and she knew it. It was two o'clock on a Saturday afternoon when she
called Alex. Michael was taking a nap and Donnie was on duty until
six. He answered the phone as he always did, with a loud "Wassup."
Michelle could hear Pearl Jam playing in the background, Eddie Veder
singing soulfully, "I know someday you'll have a beautiful life."
Michelle didn't say anything at first, her mind was on the song and
the words... "I know you'll be a star in somebody else's eyes."

"Michelle, is that you?"

Michelle snapped out of her trance. "Shit, yea it's me babe,
sorry. I was listening to that song."

"I love that song," he said, his voice soft and lulling as
the song finished playing. Michelle heard a click, and knew that
Alex had stopped the tape. She could picture him lying there, on his
small bed, wearing nothing but blue and white polka dot boxers as
cinnamon incense burned on top of his dresser.

"What's up hon?" he asked.

"Can you come over now," Michelle answered. "We need to
talk."

"Yea," he said, a curious tone coming over him. "What's up?"

"Just come here. OK?"

"Sure, be right there," he said, as Michelle heard the other
end disconnect.

Michelle looked into Alex's eyes and tried to tell him it was
over. She wanted to tell him that she had to be with Donnie, that it
was the right thing to do for her son, and that she couldn't be with
him anymore. But as she held his hands and stared into his icy, but
kind, aquamarine eyes, she became lost again. She melted into him
and their bodies connected like a magnet does to steel. He was
moving slowly in and out of her, his fingers grazing the smooth
outline of her face, his voice whispering into her ear "I love you.
I love you," as she moaned softly, when the bedroom door opened.

"What the fuck is going on here Michelle?" Michelle didn't
need to see the face. It was Donnie.

"Who the fuck is this?"

Alex jumped up, and seeing something in Donnie's hands just
as quickly got back into the bed. Michelle looked to see what had
frightened Alex, and saw that Donnie was holding a rifle.

"Yo man," Alex whispered, as he sat up with a pillow
covering his lap. "Put that shit down. No one needs to get hurt."

"A little fucking late for that, ain't it man?"

"Donnie," Michelle cried, her hands reaching out for
Donnie. "I'm sorry, Donnie. Put it down."
Donnie pointed the gun at Alex and pulled the trigger, the blast
echoing through the room. Alex's body slumped forward and his chest
fell onto the pillow. Michelle screamed -- her mother's scream. The
scream she used to hear when "Dad" beat her.

"No"

"No"

"Oh My God No"

Donnie calmly lifted the gun and started to point it at Michelle.

"Mom? What's going on Mom?"

"Michael, get out of here," Donnie ordered.
Michael came into the room and noticed the shiftless body of Alex,
the hysterics of his Mom, and the rifle that Donnie was pointing at
her. Michael ran towards Michelle.

"No, Michael," she pleaded. "Go."

It was too late. Donnie had already pulled the trigger, and
unknowingly Michael saved his mother's life. The bullet hit Michael
in the side of the head as it came to rest on Michelle's lap.
Michelle looked up at Donnie, her face not knowing what to do, her
body frozen. She spat as she spoke.

"Kill me."

"Do it."

Donnie put the barrel of the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger,
leaving Michelle in a sky blue room painted with fresh red spots, a
single queen size bed, a cheap K-mart dresser, and three boys. All
dead.

Michelle didn't cry. She pushed Michael off of her and
stepped over Donnie's body. Wearing nothing but a pink terrycloth
bathrobe, she walked out the door and moved zombie-like down the
road. As was often the case in Washington, rain was coming down,
hard and incessant. Michelle's body ached inside. Her heart,
whatever was left of it, beat slowly, unsure of whether to go on.
Pain ripped at her, and a single tear fell from her face. Michelle
didn't care about the rain, or the wind beating down upon her. Cars
zipped by, people looked. It didn't matter to her, nothing mattered
anymore. She walked for what seemed like miles, her legs tired, yet
she plodded on. She walked through dirt paths, broken glass and
lonely alleys. Homeless people stared up at her, frowns on their
faces, unhappy with their lives. Michelle wished she was them. She
wished that she could have their pain instead of the pain she now
felt.

Michelle walked past the sign marked Deception Pass to the
middle of the bridge. She stared out into the ocean and closed her
eyes. She couldn't hear the pounding of the surf, nor the annoying
caws of the seagulls.

"Taste me you bitch."

"I gots to go."

"It's only temporary."

"Mom. What's going on Mom?"

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life.

The voices rang in her ear like a church bell on a Sunday
morning in December. Michelle opened her eyes. There was "Dad"
sitting on top of her, his weight pushing down on her stomach and his
hard, steel knuckles meeting her soft flesh. Mom was crying on the
couch, reaching her arms out. Kenny was waving good bye. Alex was
kissing her. Donnie was pointing a gun at her, his gray eyes red
with anger. Michael was running with her, to her. His head on her
lap.

No more games, Michelle said. I don't want to play this game
anymore. Michelle climbed on top of the rail. She looked down at
the rocks beneath her. She turned her head and looked at the road,
the road that would lead her to some new place, to some new life.
Maybe she could go find her dad. She wavered on the edge, unsure of
which direction to go, not knowing whether it mattered.

Would you like to play again?
Michelle clicked the little gray button.