Chapter 1 Part II

“No, Dickie, no! Jesus Christ!” she woke to the screams that pierced the dark Maine morning, penetrating her bedroom door as if it was paper. The howling wind did nothing to cover the dog’s yelp. Shit. He’s done it again, she thought as she rolled off her bed and her feet touched the cold floorboards. Missy switched on the lamp and glanced at her alarm clock. Fucking 6:15 a.m. and she has to get up because Dickie can’t hold his goddamn water.
“That mutt has been stinking up our house since he turned ten,” she muttered to herself as she pulled on a sweatshirt and sweatpants. “Three fucking years I’ve been living with the smell of dog piss.” It was worse than the beer smell that overwhelmed the house when her dad wasn’t out fishing. “Missy, you spoiled bitch!” he would holler, “You fucking loser! You good for nothing, useless piece of shit, get out of my house!” But those days are done, she thought. His drinking and fighting caught up with him and now he’s gone.
“Missy, come down here and take care of this goddamn dog!” Missy heard Dickie yelp again.
“Alright, Joe. I’m coming!” Missy stormed in reply. “Stop kicking my dog!” That dumb animal. Missy wondered why she didn’t just put him to sleep. Since the day her dad brought him home he’s been a problem – pissing, chewing on furniture and tearing apart her school books. They got old Dickie from the Benders. They decided to sell during the last tax reevaluation - sold their house to a rich tourist from Massachusetts and sold their boat to a fishing fleet and moved down to Florida to try to run a deep-sea charter company – year round of course. They decided to leave Dickie behind, thinking that the move to Florida would be too much for a dog had only ever lived on the island.
Missy’s dad had been a member of the crew on their ship for years, heading out into the open ocean early in the morning and return days later, only to spend hundreds of dollars at the bars spinning tales about swordfish and tuna, porpoises, white-sided Atlantic dolphin, whales and the occasional encounter with Jaws’ real life counterpart– all before he even made it home with money for the bills. When the Benders left, her dad took a used dog as a consolation prize and he never found steady crewing work again. Instead he would go out every now and then when one of the rigs was short a man.
“You stupid mutt” Joe flicked his cigarette ashes at the beagle-mix sitting on the faded and dirty linoleum next to a puddle of urine. “You won’t ever learn.”
Missy walked into the kitchen and observed her uncle. Just off the ferry from the mainland, he had removed his dirty shirt and thrown it into the pile of laundry outside the cellar door. He stood before her in his filthy jeans reeking of fish, his cigarette in one hand and a cup of instant coffee in the other. Her dog sat forlornly at his side. Dickie noticed her first. He jumped up, his tail wagging enthusiastically. He voiced the usual morning greeting that was a combination of a yawn a whine and a bay, “HEEYAOOOOW!” Missy smiled in response.
“I’ve about had it with this dog of yours, Missy.” Joe growled. “Why don’t you just keep him outdoors at night?”
“Jesus Christ, Joe.” Missy retorted. “He’s old. It’s the middle of winter. That would be fucking inhumane.” She grabbed her parka from the back of a kitchen chair, walked to the door and slid her feet into the imitation leather boots that stood there while Dickie started trotting expectantly around the kitchen table, careful to avoid the puddle on the floor.
“Come on you ignorant shit.” Missy turned playfully to her dog. “When will you learn that you don’t need to piss on the floor? I can take you out. You just need to say the word”
“It’s too late now.” Joe smirked. “You’ll never teach that animal a thing. That dog just doesn’t want to change his disgusting life.” He turned to leave the kitchen.
“Shut up, asshole.” Missy raised her voice dangerously. “What the fuck do you know?” Joe didn’t turn back. He was going to bed, preparing to rest after several days out on the water. That’s how it was – either away or a sleep – out on the boat or in bed. Missy saw him so infrequently it was hard to know when he was home.
She threw a collar and leash on her dog and they stepped outside into the cold and windy morning light. She saw the 6:15 ferry working its way back across the harbor its lights twinkiling but the sound of its engine lost in the whistling wind. The wind whipped her hair and the hand holding the leash began to ache with cold. She turned her back to the icy gusts, hunched her shoulders and pulled her hands up into her sleeves. Dickie pulled exuberantly face to the ground, his nose hovering over crisp brown leaves and patches of snow learning all that he could from the smells that lingered there. Missy allowed him to pull her down the road.
Once they passed the house the bright sunlight flooded Missy’s left eye. She turned toward the sun, feeling the north wind on her check. Taking slow and deep breaths she imagined replacing all of the old stale smoky air in her lungs with cold clean new air, air as new as the day. She closed her eyes and saw the red of the sunlight penetrating her lids and felt it warming, ever so slightly, her skin. She imagined the light filtering through her, melting away anything that didn’t belong inside her, anything that wasn’t exactly right. She imagined selling her dad’s house. Someday, once she turned 18 and finished school, she should sell it all and move far away with Dickie and the money. She would go where no one knows her, where she could walk around reading a book without anyone laughing at her. She would have a little apartment and keep plants. She would have a little kitchen table with four matching chairs and a tablecloth. She would get her college degree and have a boyfriend like Aaron, someone smart and clean. Someone who wanted to talk. Someone who took her out to eat and brought her flowers and wanted to travel to far away places.
Dickie tugged on the leash and Missy opened her eyes to see Tony walking down the hill toward her, his ears and nose red with cold. He wore a black leather jacket, tight fitting jeans, and black motorcycle boots. “Got to pick up my paycheck before the 7:15,” he smiled at her and stepped close. “What are you doing.”
Missy jerked her head towards Dickie. “Got to take him out before I get ready for school.”
“Your uncle home?”
“In bed.”
“How about I come by after I get my check?”
“Alright. But I can’t miss the boat.”
Missy turned and walked back into the wind, the warmth of the sun torn away by the first cold gust of wind off the water. She stopped while Dickie took a shit and then walked into the house, kicking off her boots and throwing her coat back on the chair.
Being with Tony sober is just the same as being with him drunk, and pretty much the same as the rest of them, she thought to herself as she began to mop up the cold urine with a wad of paper towels. It’s almost like you’re not there at all, just seeing it from outside yourself like you are watching some movie – the kind where people are having an encounter – not a romance or an affair. The kind when a man and a woman meet and he knows right then that she’s got something he wants and she gives it to him straight away without making him jump through any hoops– feeling, as the need in him mounts and then suddenly releases, that she is powerful and necessary, that, if it were not for her cunt or her mouth, none of it would have happened. That is what she likes about it, the very thought of it made her insides clench, she wanted to feel it in her, to feel her doing it to him.
Missy threw away the paper towels and sprinkled cider vinegar on the floor where the puddle had been. She read once that would keep the dog from going there again but it had never worked with Dickie. Still, she thought as the acrid smell of the vinegar filled her sinuses, you never know. She filled Dickie’s bowl with dog chow and added water to the plastic tub next to the radiator which served as a humidifier and Dickie’s water bowl.
She glanced out the window, 6:35 and still no Tony. She had better get everything ready to go so she would be able to make the boat. She stepped back into her boots and ran down the cellar stairs to pull wrinkled but clean bra, panties, jeans, and Harvard sweatshirt from the dryer. She heard Dickie’s claws scratching across the floor above her as he ran toward the door. Tony let himself in.
Missy jogged back up the stairs to find him standing in the kitchen, hanging his leather jacket hanging neatly on the hook inside the door. Dickie stood behind him, his tail wagging so fiercely that it was tapping out a fast beat on a chairleg. She tossed her clothes onto the counter and stepped forward out of her shoes, closing the cellar door behind her. As she approached him, Tony unzipped his jeans and lowered his pants just enough to free his swollen penis, which curved up toward the black t-shirt covering his navel while reaching out toward her. She answered, walking over to him and putting her hands on it. He caught her wrists quickly and placed his other hand heavily on her shoulder, forcing her down toward the floor.
Missy quickly dropped to her knees and took him in, feeling his hands on the back of her head pushing her face toward him and pulling it away. She could smell nothing but the vinegar which was soaking through the knees of her sweatpants. She heard the clicking of Dickie’s claws as he walked into her bedroom. She heard him lay down on the pile of dirty laundry beside her bed. Harder and harder Tony forced her head into his navel, jabbing his penis again and again into the back of her throat. She worked carefully to time her breath so that she could inhale when her nose not pressed against him.
The wave of tension, need, she felt it in him – in his hands, in his breath, in the pulses she felt in her mouth. And then, the warm salty sour combined with cider vinegar, it was over. Tony released her and she stood, her sweatpants stuck to her knees with vinegar. 6:50.
Missy walked over to the tea kettle and shook it to see that had enough water for two. “You want a cup of coffee?” Jeans zipped, sitting down at the table, Tony replied “Sure.”
They waited in silence while the kettle heated. Missy gathered her school books from the kitchen table and stacked them in her backpack. She grabbed her clothes and ducked in the bedroom to change, leaving the dirty stuff in a pile at her feet as she shook the wrinkles out of the new ones. Best to start a new pile instead of bothering the dog who was lying on his back, feet in midair, on the rest of her dirty laundry. Her bedroom light was still on and she turned it off, allowing the bright white daylight to replace the dim yellow glow of her lamp.
Returning to the kitchen, Missy saw that Tony was smoking, looking down at the table with his feet up on the chair next to him. The kettle was still not ready.
“Why are you going in on the 7:15?”
"I’ve been missing a lot of days and they might not let me graduate if I don’t start going. Besides, I’m getting my trucker’s license and the program starts today.”
Missy ducked into the bathroom, splashed warm water on her face and rolled on some deodorant. She quickly applied purple eye shadow, black eyeliner, and mascara. The kettle began to whine. She stepped back into the kitchen and turned of the burner, Grabbing two clean mugs out of the dishrack, she threw a tablespoon of instant coffee into each one, filled them with water, and gave them each a quick stir.
She turned back to the table, one mug in each hand to see Tony looking at her, standing once again. As she approached him, he took her by the shoulders and turned her away from him. She placed the cups on the table, away from her books, as he fumbled with his pants and then her own. He entered quickly, his penis had the softer feel of second sex. Forcing himself into her, with his left hand he reached around and down, flattening her bush and pushing her to him. The other hand was in her sweatshirt, pushing up her bra, grabbing and pulling at her breasts, as his warm damp breath penetrated her clothes and moistened her back. Her right hip collided painfully with the table each time he pushed into her.
She felt it, the tremor, a shiver and a shake as she satisfied him again. The warm and sour wetness was between her legs this time, messy. 7:00.
He stepped away again, fixing his jeans. “See you on the boat.”
Hoping to clean up a bit, she left her pants where they were, if that got in her underwear she would smell his sex all day. “What about your coffee? If you wait a minute I’ll walk down with you.”
“Nah. I’m all set.” He picked up his leather jacket carefully and placed his right arm in it.
“Alright. I need to get ready for the boat.” Missy walked into the bathroom, “See you later.”
He was gone, the door closed behind him while Missy used toilet paper to wipe herself clean. She brushed her teeth and ran a comb through her hair. Suddenly a pierce whistle sounded – audible even over the cry of the wind. The ferry’s five-minute warning.
“FUCK!” Missy threw on her coat and grabbed her school bag. “See you later, Dickie!” Running into her boots and out the door, Missy barely noticed the icy blast of winter air enveloping her..

Chaper 1 Part I

She turned the knob all the way left, quickly to keep the pipes from shaking, and huddled under the hot water that trickled out of the shower head. “Just a minute,” she thought. “Just a minute under the water until the room warms up.” The goose bumps on her arms and legs began to disappear as she inhaled the warm steam.
First in the shower most mornings, Beth had the benefit of a nice dry bathroom, the near certainty of an unused and clean towel, almost unlimited hot water, and no wait. The drawback? The bathroom was stone cold on dark Maine winter mornings. When she hopped into the shower at 5:15 a.m. she curled her toes to minimize the pain in her feet precipitated by the chilly bathtub. The dry dull ache of cold Beth enjoyed on her limbs during the brief summer months when they swam in the frigid Atlantic was not so different from the feel of the porcelain beneath her feet December through March.
“Damn it.” Beth cursed under her breath as the water suddenly ran cold. Someone’s running the warm downstairs. As she finished rinsing her hair, the goose bumps reappearing on her skin, Beth repeated the pledge she took almost religiously. “When I am grown up, I will live in a brand new house. Everything will work and everything will be new. There won’t be any leaks or drafts. The fuses will never be blown and there will always be enough water pressure and hot water to go around.”
This fantasy was just one of the many the Beth entertained. She imagined that she would be adopted by one of her teachers, that she would become deathly ill so everyone paid attention to her, visiting her at the hospital to hold her hand and tell her how much she meant to them. She hoped she would become a famous actress whose renown was attributable to her sensitive emotional portrayals of tragic characters.
She dried herself off and pulled on her clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a sweater, a pair of cotton socks and converse all-stars, and exited the bathroom hanging her wet towel on the hall banister for use by her brothers and sister once all the clean towels were gone. The dim morning light was beginning to penetrate the house, silent except for someone’s snores.
“Who’s next for the shower?” She called into the twilight.
“In a minute.” replied one of her brothers. She walked into her bedroom. Sensing instead of seeing in the dark room, Beth collected yesterday’s dirty clothes and her schoolbag. She heard her sister sigh and turn over in bed. She left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Good morning, Miss Tish!” Beth was more like her mother, who preferred to spend her early morning sitting quietly at the eastward kitchen window with a cup of coffee and a cigarette.
“Quiet down, Dad!” She glared, coming down the stairs and heading for the downstairs bathroom to place her clothers in the hamper, brush her teeth and comb her hair. “It’s too early for that kind of noise.”
“Beautiful morning!” he bellowed in reply with an enormous grin. “Clear as a bell.”
“Are you ready for your coffee, Fred?” Beth’s mother asked from the kitchen.
“Thank you, Mrs. F!” came the enthusiastic reply.
Pepper was the only member of the family who had ever proved susceptible to Fred’s excessive morning enthusiasm. Pepper and Fred enjoyed breaking the early morning silence on Greenwood Lane by expressing their mutual love for the dawn of a new day. Fred would often break into song and his choruses of “Some Enchanted Evening,” “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” and “Climb Every Mountain” were usually accompanied by Pepper’s loud purring. As Beth listened to her father’s impressive baritone and her cat’s equally impressive show of support, she wondered how it was that the joy of this day had not yet managed to infect her.
“Six o’clock. Have a good day.” Her mother called softly as she stepped away from the window framing the sun rising over the Atlantic, put out her cigarette, and placed her coffee cup in the sink. As she headed up the stairs in her quilted bathrobe and slippers, her early morning demeanor was replaced by the no-nonsense air of the master of ceremonies, the conductor responsible for having the remainder of the household up, washed, dressed, fed and out the door. “C.J. your next for the shower. It’s after 6 o’clock. Let’s get MOVING up there!”
“I have a headache. Let me sleep a little longer. Mike can go next!”
“I don’t want to go next. It’s CJ’s turn.”
“You’ll feel better once you get into the shower C.J. Get moving now.”
“FUCK!”
Beth stopped to give Pepper a quick scratch. She took quick note of her cat’s tattered and bloody ears and what looked like an infected scratch on his cheek. “You’re not as tough as you think, you know. Your wild life is going to catch up with you.” Beth ducked into the mudroom for her coat and shivered as she pulled the icy parka over her sweater. She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Are you coming dad?”
“On my way.”
She felt the parka warming slowly and pulled on her hat and mittens. The house shook as C.J. stomped from his bedroom to the upstairs bath. Fred wrapped a scarf around his neck, pulled on his coat, (name of hat) with earflaps down to protect against the cold and donned the enormous fleece lined leather gloves he pulled from the pocket. “Let’s go Miss Tish.”

They turned their backs to the blood red sunrise and trudged over a footpath through the trees without speaking, the snow and fallen leaves crunching and rustling under their feet. The tops of the trees were shivering in the wind, a sure sign that, once they left the shelter of Greenwood lane, they would be molested by a fierce north wind.
“Did I ever tell you about my cousin Perry?”
Beth looked up in surprise at her father who, for all his boisterousness getting ready to leave the house, usually maintained a strict silence on the pilgrimage to the ferry. “I don’t think so.” She rejoined tentatively. “Does he live around here?”
“No. Salem.” he paused uncertainly, also out of character. “Well, Perry, see, he was a really good student. Smart and successful in school. He ended up getting a scholarship to study engineering at M.I.T.” The look that Beth shot her father showed evidence of both doubt and surprise. She didn’t know that her dad was close to someone that went to M.I.T. She didn’t know that he had any real friendships with people who had attended college at all. Her father caught her eye briefly and then they both looked down at their feet as they continued to labor through the leaves and snow.
“Yeah, we all thought that Perry really had it made. But, the thing was, he had this girlfriend and they were pretty serious. He didn’t want to leave her behind after high school so he decided not to go to M.I.T. after all. Instead he took a factory job – worked at the Parker Brothers factory making board game pieces. Making toys” he spat disgustedly “when he could have been at M.I.T. And you know what happened in the end? In the end, she left him after only a couple of years. And there he was, divorced and uneducated.”
He stopped speaking as abruptly as he started and they walked on in silence for a few minutes.
They were coming out of the woods, out of the hollow, onto to the windward face of the island. Beth could already hear the wind howling in the trees. She buried her face in the neck of her parka and her pulled her mittened hands up into her coat sleeves. “What do you think we can learn from Perry?” Her father interjected suddenly.
Beth lifted her face long enough to send him a scowl and reply, with a certain air of superiority, confident that her parenting advice was eminently reasonable and that, when she had children of her own she would not subject them to such ineffective didactic attempts,” I think that if you want to know whether or not I am thinking about giving up on college to be with Ben you should just ask me.” She ducked her face pack into her parka just in time to avoid getting the first blast of icy air full in the face. Her cheeks blistered instantly. Fred bowed his head quickly against the wind and they made the rest of the journey in silence.

this is what i'd call throwing out the baby with the bathwater

October 26, 2004
NY TIMES
U.S. Action Bars Right of Some Captured in Iraq
By DOUGLAS JEHL
WASHINGTON, Oct. 25 - A new legal opinion by the Bush administration has concluded for the first time that some non-Iraqi prisoners captured by American forces in Iraq are not entitled to the protections of the Geneva Conventions, administration officials said Monday.
The opinion, reached in recent months, establishes an important exception to public assertions by the Bush administration since March 2003 that the Geneva Conventions applied comprehensively to prisoners taken in the conflict in Iraq, the officials said.