Sniffles. Lending credibility to her story, yes, but the moist wheezing air fluttering in and out, in and out… From Lisa it seemed obnoxious somehow. Her nose, far too thin for sniffling. It whistled.
It seemed that she’d been molested underneath the pier again. At least that’s what she told everyone who sat at her table near the window, inside Hathaway’s. “A big man,” just like the last time, she claimed. Sniff. “Two of them.” She usually stopped there, brushed a wisp of blonde hair from her eyes, and gulped cold bitter beer into her gullet. Half a glass disappeared in an instant. Big, heavy glasses at Hathaway’s too. Not the type of glass you expect to see in San Jose.
“They had friends too,” she said, green eyes ruefully studying the half-empty glass.
It was at this point that her listener ordered the next drink, usually.
“Dozens of them, up on the hill. Laughing at poor old me.” Poor old me was John the bartender’s cue. Pretzels and nuts. Lisa’s skinny arms were hiding her skinny breasts now, as if someone might leap from under the table and try to steal them. “I was quite scared, you know.” Up went the glass, emptying quickly, then she exchanged it and a nod with John.
Eyes, either blue or brown or some similar color watched and waited from across the table. What happened next, they wished to know. “They held me down,” Lisa offered in a distraught manner. “There were two of them.” Sniff. “Well, you can imagine.” Then she would drop her eyes like lead fishing weights and nearly start to cry.
No one ever had the temerity to press for more than she would offer. What was the point? As she told them all, “Well, you can imagine.” They could.
Only I knew the truth. And John of course, (maybe John knew). Lisa Hopkins is a liar and a drunk! And other things; skinny, salt-stained skin, hot dog lover, and lover of verdant seaweed groves. She dives you know. And that makes her beautiful, or maybe it’s her green, green eyes. But she lies like a drunk.
The only time Lisa was molested was twelve years ago, come October. And she wasn’t really molested at all. Here’s how it went down: She showed up at Boom Boom Benny’s place, the tall black guy that used to drive the dented tan Torino and honk at everyone on a Friday night. Drunk. Benny gave her a beer upon request. Then a few minutes later another upon demand. Then Lisa wanted a joint or something. Maybe coke. It was too hard to understand through the slurring and Benny gave up and gave her two more beers to shut her up. She did.
That’s when I walked in. I lived at the dim-lighted apartment only three blocks from the beach part-time, on weekends and after work at the Moon Restaurant, which has been closed for years now. Benny was my best friend more or less, in those days. I think he eventually moved to Cincinnati, Ohio, of all places.
Benny fiddling around with the stereo. Loud angry horns and maybe flutes foisting for attention. This girl, Lisa, green eyes eating me up as I walk in. She seemed to have an extra beer so I reached a hand out. We talked a bit and then I took her in the bedroom and stripped her jeans and blue swim suit top off, but she slurred for me to stop. I had a girlfriend, what did I care?
I left her there, half on half off the bed. Slurring something. Benny and me went somewhere. That’s it. The Big Rape.
The next day, the day after? Probably a couple of days later Lisa shows back up with this huge dude named Ralph or Rick or something like that. Her boyfriend. Benny told me all about it later, in a rush of words, still half scared to death. The guy was huge.
Lisa had been raped, molested, or at least kissed; no one was really sure at that point. She told her boyfriend it wasn’t Benny, but the one that molested her looked like Benny only he was white. Me, I guess. The huge guy shoved Benny against a wall and growled. He left, screaming at Lisa as he dragged her along. That’s it. The Big Aftermath.
It’s funny how things go, especially stories. A month later Lisa was alone. Broken up. Her ass of a boyfriend had dumped her because she’d been raped, is what she told everyone. Somehow it was more romantic to be raped under a pier. And that’s how the story goes.
It’s been twelve years. Once a month now Lisa gets jumped under that pier again. You’d think she’d just stop going there, wouldn’t you?
I hang at Hathaway’s; it’s close to other places I like. And John’s cool. Maybe I get some perverse pleasure out of watching the green-eyed girl tell her story of woe too. Funny thing, as Lisa mouths her lines like a dedicated actress, I don’t think she knows it’s me that she’s talking about. She doesn’t even know who I am anymore. Once not long ago she asked me if I wanted to buy her a drink. What’s she going to do, tell me her story? It makes me want to laugh.
DC Grondo spent thirty years promoting country western music concerts throughout the Great American Southwest. He’s finally come back home to Chicago and is pursuing the dream of being a writer, sparked so long ago in college. Still searching for his niche, DC has written nonfiction articles concerning the enviroment and social inequality, as well as several stories ranging from science fiction to romance. His short stories and articles have appeared in The Fiction Zone, The New Times, The Q C Express, and The New Paradigm, Stories That Lift, and The Hub.
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17 Responses to “POOR BABY • by DC Grondo”
Comments
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March 1st, 2009 at 1:56 am
Well-written, but I wasn’t very engaged, I’m afraid.
March 1st, 2009 at 3:22 am
Interesting, quirky buildup, but the story was like lite beer; I wasn’t totally satisfied when it was done.
March 1st, 2009 at 5:32 am
Nicely written, but it doesn’t seem to go anywhere.
March 1st, 2009 at 6:04 am
Interesting story. At first I found Lisa wholly unsympathitic, but I think the male narrator protests too much. Somwthing xculd’ve easily have happened. And I’ve heard stories of people who’ve been raped that are so tramautized that they become confused about when and if they’ve been attacked again.
March 1st, 2009 at 6:05 am
Hmmm.Not sure what to make of that. Seems full of hate for sure.
March 1st, 2009 at 6:06 am
Gritty and reminiscent of a western. Liked it.
March 1st, 2009 at 6:57 am
I wasn’t sure I’d get into this at first–a subject matter thing–but you won me over. A sad story for both the narrator and Lisa.
March 1st, 2009 at 7:12 am
On the face of it, this story is unconvincing, but if one is allowed to read between the lines one can make sense of it: A very silly virgin, unlucky in finding a spouse, wanted to have a baby without involving a man, so she went to a bar which she believed frequented by “loose women.” Having read too much distorted “pulp” fiction, she invented the rape story so a vulnerable male would quickly clamber into the sack with her knowing he won’t be blamed if she’s already “knocked up.” She intended that the man would not get into any trouble at all. Most men, being too sane to climb so easily into bed, are just sorry for her. But not THAT sorry.
March 1st, 2009 at 8:06 am
Well, DC, this piece resonated with me. Maybe the shades of Leonard Cohen and Tom Waits hiding in the words, or a vision of Springsteen’s Jersey boardwalks, but I like the way you strung out old Lisa’s sad story. Might’ve punched up the ending a bit more, the way Hubert Selby did in “Last Exit to Brooklyn.” (Ever wonder why today’s literary fiction seems so…anemic?) I gave it four beers…er, stars.
March 1st, 2009 at 8:34 am
Plenty realistic and complex. Five stars from me.
March 1st, 2009 at 9:17 am
I enjoyed the read DC
March 1st, 2009 at 5:16 pm
Good voice and flow. Lisa wasn’t very sympathetic, nor the protag., but the title is the clue. Good names for the other charcters amde this very realistic.
–dj
March 1st, 2009 at 9:54 pm
A dark and painful story for anyone who’s been around trauma or emotional sickness. I didn’t ‘like’ or ‘enjoy’ the story but I found it well done and not only believeable, but I’ve met folks like both the narrator and the drunk. Too close to the pain of people’s fouled-up real lives to be enjoyable, but well done.
March 2nd, 2009 at 1:01 am
excellent story, sad and unhappy people, not likeable, depicted well. Is the narrator lying – did he do more than he said? Even if he didn’t he was taking advantage of someone vulnerable, and thus deludes himself as much as Lisa. What I liked most about it were the uncertainties of it: ‘Eyes, either blue or brown or some similar color’; ‘Lisa had been raped, molested, or at least kissed’. The reader is left a bit bewildered, really has to work, which I like. And there are no answers, which I also like.
March 2nd, 2009 at 7:27 am
I thought that was great. A little uncomfortable to read but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
March 2nd, 2009 at 1:57 pm
Too serious of a subject to be toyed with. I agree with Sharon.
March 6th, 2009 at 9:17 am
I think this is a hard story to follow if you have never known a person like Lisa. If you have, then it’s brilliant. Some readers are seeing this as a case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), leading to confusion in the victim. I don’t know, but I’m guessing DC was aiming at this, confusing the reader like Lisa confused patrons of the bar. Another way to look at the story is that Lisa uses drama to get what she needs. Unfortunately, both scenarios occur in real life. Very good story.