I heard a mumble then, a very quiet mumble. I looked at Jenny. Tears rolled down her face. Her mouth was dry as she whispered the word. Girl. Girl.
Through the woods I could see the boy again. He went back inside the party. My chance was gone. I couldn’t stay here with this girl knowing. And I was not going to leave without doing what I’d come here to do. She would have told someone, and then there would be no more parties, no more chances. It was not easy to do, but I have had the benefit of seeing a brilliant doctor, and I know how to stop myself from obsessing. I know how to be flexible. And this girl was making me angry. I was trying to be nice to her. I was trying to help her. She was being cruel to me. I know what that feels like. She had no right to make me like her and then push me away. Someone else did that to me, and I would not stand for it again. I slapped her hard across the face and watched her fall to the ground. I climbed on top of her and started to do what I had planned to do to that boy. I did not need to use any drugs. She was so weak and I was so strong. I did not have to put her down to finish my work. I ran my hand under her shirt. Her skin was so soft. I had not felt skin for a long time.
Girl … girl … Stop yelling.… Girl … I like your skin. I really like your skin.
Jenny was saying the words now—the words that were on the page, words I had not yet read. My heart was exploding! She was back there, that night. She had found her way back!
I took off her clothes. I put on the condom. It was so easy. She was so small, I could hold her with one hand. I made love to her then. She was crying, but I was being very gentle. But then I remembered it was not the plan to be gentle. I came here to follow a story. And that story would not be right if I was gentle. “I’m sorry, girl.” I stopped making love to her and started fucking her, hard. I tried to picture the boy, and that made it easier. I took the stick from my bag. I did not forget one word of the story. I started to scratch her. I remembered where to do it.
I stopped reading. I knew what was on those pages.
It was my story. I closed my eyes and remembered. There is so much pain as he rips into me.
It is the story I had told to Glenn Shelby, the boundary I had crossed. The bright Oregon sun is on my face. I can see my house so close. He laughs when he hears my cries.
It is the story he had remembered and savored and then inflicted on this beautiful young woman. He laughs at me and calls me a bitch.
I wiped tears from my face. I opened my eyes and read on from Glenn’s writings.
I took some of the skin from the stick and rubbed it in my fingers. It was slippery, and it began to break into little balls of flesh and then fall to the ground. I scraped some more.
Jenny opened her mouth, and the memories came out on the wings of her words.
I think he’s tickling me at first. He’s holding me down so hard with his forearm on my neck. And I think maybe he’ll stop and just do that for a while, the tickling. Maybe it’s over. But then the tickle starts to burn and then burn more and I realize he’s carving out my skin.
Yes, Jenny. Yes! And the blood starts to trickle down my back. I can feel it, warm and sticky. He tells me he’s making his mark. He tells me he’s going to eat my body, this small piece of my body like a cannibal.
Jenny continued as if she could hear my thoughts, as if we were one. And in that moment, we were one, sharing the same story. My remorse was profound. But I did not let it in.
Jenny continued telling our story.
I feel the nerve, he’s reached a nerve and I cry out again. He stops and then …
I picked up our story then, reading on.
“I’m sorry, girl.” I have to follow the story. I stopped carving her and I fucked her more. She yelled again. I wasn’t enjoying this. This was not an easy story to follow. It was not the boy, and I didn’t like how long I had to do this. I started to wonder if the story had been remembered wrong. An hour is a long time. My arms were getting tired. And there was so much yelling! “Girl! Stop yelling!” I had to stop many times so she would calm down and be quiet.
Jenny joins in. We are like an orchestra, two instruments playing the same song.
Girl … stop yelling. Girl … Oh God!
I think quietly to myself. I know, Jenny. The pain is unbearable as he thrusts into me. I am only twelve years old. My body is small. He is seventeen. He is a man. He brought me here to look for snakes. He told me I would catch a snake. See, he says. You caught a snake. I cried then. I just cried. It wasn’t an hour. Glenn had asked me how long it went on, and I told him it felt like an hour. I did not say it was, actually, an hour before we saw my mother’s car pulling into the driveway. He pulled himself out of me and left me there to bleed.
I read another passage.
I took a long break, checked my watch. I let her catch her breath.
Jenny spoke more words, more memories. They came out quietly, almost in a whisper.