Hannah’s Place (2)


Dinner is Stove Top stuffing and Swanson’s turkey and gravy from a tinfoil container.  Frozen food at its best.  There are eight paper plates with plastic silverware and mismatched napkins.  Eight paper cups of grape Kool-aid.  With each sip, the girls’ upper lips begin to darken, the infamous grape mustache staining their skin.

Roan and I are the only white girls here.  The rest are black, except for Maria, the Mexican with the stereotypical name.  Maria.  With braided hair like the artist Frida Kahlo, wearing a white gauzy dress with flowers stitched on the hem. She is pretty, too pretty to be here with the thugs and druggies and bad kids with bad lives. No one who dresses like her has been neglected.  At least, I can’t imagine it. Her mommy makes tamales and prays to the Virgin of Guadeloupe and lights candles.  That’s what it says they do in books I’ve read about Mexico.  I’ve only met one Mexican in Michigan, Ricardo, and I made out with him on Christmas Day a few years ago.  My brother drove me there, to that “Spics” house, though I didn’t quite know what a spic was except for a cleaning product on TV.

We made out on his mattress, on the floor like Pat’s.  It was a twin, and the blankets stunk and were scratchy.  He room smelled, too.  Like wet dog and cigarettes and Aqua Velvet and sweat, maybe sex. Maybe. I knew that he was fast, the way he grabbed my tits and tried to unhook my bra within seconds.  No happy holiday or a tacky present, just a groping brown hand all over my 13-year-old body, the one I was unfamiliar with.  The one that confused the hell out of me, just like it does now.

Ricardo didn’t get too far.  He rubbed on me with high tight Levi’s, his crotch hard, a tight lump. I hadn’t seen a cock, at least not like this.  And I surely didn’t know about dry humping.  But that is what happened that snowy, poinsettia laden Christmas.  Groping hand, tight ass jeans, and a quick “call your brother now” when he was all done.  Later, in my bedroom with the squishy waterbed and purple walls, I realized I left my retainer.  It had my name on it.


4 Responses to “Hannah’s Place (2)”

  1. 1 BehindMyBooks

    I’ve missed your story. I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve been posting, but I’ve missed THIS. They all just strike such a chord with me. Great post.

    Let me know when you get published. I’ll pre-order the book in hardcover. 🙂

    • That’s the goal! Thanks for sticking through all of it and being an avid reader of my work. I truly appreciate it, Ms. Books.

  2. Another great installment in your story. Looking forward to the next.

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