Bruise

In bed I touch my legs and arms. Downstairs father slurs to Jessica, ‘You’re so pretty, I’m awful proud of you.’ Something slams against our table or wall. He says, ‘Do you know who in this house skipped school today?’

Jessica says, ‘Johnny?’ like she’s surprised.

‘Yes,’ something breaks. ‘Your brother can’t get his act together.’

I pull my Algebra book with rumpled Price Chopper cover from my backpack. Think about equations.

Taste the half sandwich I ate before father saw. Is it still by the refrigerator making a mustard line on linoleum? Will Jessica throw it away?

What happened to those dragonflies I watched at the river, hooked together by tiny dragonfly private parts, flying around? And the dead fish on the riverbank?

Once I saw a bum eat a raw fish behind the supermarket. He lifted that fish from a dumpster, popped off its head. I said to my friend, ‘Hey do you have money look that guy’s gonna eat that. We should buy him a sandwich.’ But we didn’t have any money so we watched him suck skin from bones and lick his lips. I threw up on the sidewalk. My friend got embarrassed and left.

Jessica comes upstairs with her college books. She says, ‘You’re getting too old for this, Johnny.’ I make the jerk-off gesture with my hand by my thigh and she slams the door. I like the smell of her perfume. I hold onto my headboard with one hand and try to make myself hard. I close my eyes and I swear one of these times I’m going to.