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Murphy Square 2021, Page 163
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There I was holding my legs up to my chest in a tucked position, dressed in a Scooby- Doo tee I paired with red thrift store shorts and knock-off doc martens. My arms were tightly wrapped around my legs while sitting center stage on the Krogh’s trampoline. Mom and Dad referred to their yard as ...
Show moreThere I was holding my legs up to my chest in a tucked position, dressed in a Scooby- Doo tee I paired with red thrift store shorts and knock-off doc martens. My arms were tightly wrapped around my legs while sitting center stage on the Krogh’s trampoline. Mom and Dad referred to their yard as “games-to-go”. They had a swing set, sandbox, treehouse, pool, and trampoline. We had an apple tree. Darlene let us use their backyard toys. My parents let her make homemade apple crisp. Jake and his friend, Casey jumped up and down around me. We were playing “Popcorn,” the notorious trampoline game that involves trying to get someone to pop from their fixed, kernel position. After getting double bounced by both of them, I flew about six feet up in the air and saw the life flash before my eyes. I screamed. High pitched and loud, while my body flailed around like a wet noodle. I hit the tramp and bounced three or four times before stopping. “You scream like a girl,” Casey said after I laid still. Jake’s face turned red with embarrassment. I hated Casey. He was the youngest of three boys and would get beat on pretty good by his older brothers, which was fine by me. However, whenever he would come over to our house, he would always taunt me or whisper something under his breath to rile me up in his vile new found power. I remember one time he wouldn’t drop the fact that I “sound like a little girl”, so I chased him around the house with a baseball bat screaming, “Casey, you fucking !? weasel. Get back here!” He wasn’t wrong, I did sound like a girl, but I also wasn’t wrong. He was a fucking weasel. Mom rinsed my mouth out with soap for that one, as Jerry Seinfeld played in the background. From that day on I was introduced to the “naughty boy’s room”. Similar to a restroom, every restaurant, store, house, and public setting came equipped with said naughty boys’ room. This is the place naughty boys would go if they were caught misbehaving. Years later when I asked my mom what he said to make me respond in that way, she responded, “I don’t know, that’s just what Casey did,” knowing damn well he was to blame. “Why did I get punished for it then,” I asked. “Because you were our kid,” she replied. ok Six years my senior, Jake was always great about letting me tag along with him and his friends. Sometimes he’d even let me climb into his bed in the middle of the night when I thought Satan was hiding under my bed, or worse in my closet. I found out much later in life there
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 164
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were worse demons than the devil in my closet. Jake’s inclusivity came at a price, though, as it usual- ly meant I would have to do something I didn’t want to do to join the fun. This meant I could only play Donkey Kong with him on the Super Nintendo if my controller was unplugged, or if I were...
Show morewere worse demons than the devil in my closet. Jake’s inclusivity came at a price, though, as it usual- ly meant I would have to do something I didn’t want to do to join the fun. This meant I could only play Donkey Kong with him on the Super Nintendo if my controller was unplugged, or if I were to sleep in his bed at night I would have to give him backrubs until he fell asleep. He always promised he would give me a massage in return but would always fall asleep when push came to shove. He was always suckering me into making deals that weren’t at all appealing to me — a prepubescent Al Capone. He and J are and have always been completely different. He’s an introvert, I’m an extrovert. He majored in Accounting, I majored in English. He had dark hair, I had blonde hair. He was a dream child, I was a night- mare. Often, he would invite his friends over to play sports, which usually meant I had to fetch and shag balls that left our yard. This was fine by me considering when I would go to his sporting events I would usually have my back facing the game and color, though it did get old climbing the chain- linked fence connecting our backyard with the Krogh’s. One day I was so sick of climbing back and forth, that I decided I would just stay put in the Krogh’s yard. Of course, that was the day when Casey hit the ball directly into the Krogh’s slid- ing glass door on their back patio. In the snap of a magician’s finger, Jake and Casey were gone - vanished into thin air. While I, on the other hand, stood with my pants around my ankles. (Of course, it was Casey.) Darlene, the house matriarch, who had no time for bullshit, exited the house in a hurry. For context, this woman chopped off all of her hair in the late ’80s, worked the paper route every morning for 20 years on top of her full-time job at the local college, drove one of those vans that had a box TV in it, and attended the Assembly of God church multiple times a week to cope with the divorce of her husband, Tony, a DEA agent. I escaped her grip just barely, as I jumped off the top of the fence and fell onto the safe territory of my parent’s yard. “Sorry, Mrs. Krogh,” I said as I ran like a girl into the safety of my garage, evading her wrath and living to see another day. She is one of the best people I’ve ever met. I was very close with her twin daughters, Erin and Ally, who were a year older than me. She may have fed me more meals than my own mother. I don’t remember Tony much, he was gone a lot for work, except for one Sunday morning. No one was home so I snuck into their house through the same glass door Casey almost broke, made my way downstairs where they kept their twin daughters’ Barbies, and went about my business privately. My favorite was Mermaid Barbie. She had broad shoulders, a practically invisible waist, piss-yellow hair, and a tan so bad she resembled
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 165
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a brown, leather couch. Her tail was a pretty, shimmery blue color. Oh, how I loved her. As I combed Barbie’s hair with her tiny pink brush I heard the rattling vibration of the garage door open. “Fuck,” I said to myself. “They aren’t supposed to be home yet. They go to that weird singing church...
Show morea brown, leather couch. Her tail was a pretty, shimmery blue color. Oh, how I loved her. As I combed Barbie’s hair with her tiny pink brush I heard the rattling vibration of the garage door open. “Fuck,” I said to myself. “They aren’t supposed to be home yet. They go to that weird singing church that lasts hours.” I grew up catholic. I knew church to be two things: boring and joyless. I threw Barbie onto the floor into the mess I made after emptying the toy box, ran past Tigger the fat cat who only ever left the water bed to eat and poop, and made my way up the stairs using both hands and feet. Some call it “bear walking” others call it fleeing the scene of the crime. Just as I reached the top of the stairs, the door to the garage opened. I ducked under the kitchen table, pulled the chairs inward to cocoon myself from danger, and saw two masculine brown cowboy boots walk across the tile floor. I didn’t get a look at who was wearing the boots, but I knew they belonged to a big person who had a bad taste in shoes. The mystery man walked to the fridge, opened the door, and poured himself a glass of milk. A few gulps later I watched the boots make their way down the stairs I fled from. A few seconds passed be- fore I pushed a chair out and made my way for the sliding door. I was home free, or so I thought. Tony appeared behind me and said, “Luke.” I 3! ° stopped dead in my tracks with half of my 40-pound body out the door. I turned and faced him with a smile. “You’re going to have to clean up the mess you made downstairs,” he said with a laugh. He extended his hand graciously as a limo driver would to a famous person exiting the back of a limousine. I accepted his gesture for what it was - a child burglar who had just been caught playing with toys for little girls. Tony watched as I shamefully put the toys back in the box where they belonged. He also made me put the dried-up playdough back into their respective containers, which was already left out when I got there. He didn’t believe me. My credibility was zilch and I had no alibi. While I was putting the purple playdough, which had been mixed with green, back into its container, I looked over and saw Tony not paying attention. I quickly swiped a shimmery gray elephant beanie baby and stuffed it in my elastic waistband. Tony took my hand when the last of the mess was picked up and walked me back to my parent’s house. I wasn’t the first criminal Tony captured that week, and I probably wasn’t the last. My mom opened the door with a smile, which soon evaporated into a resentful, disap- pointed frown. I’m not certain, but I’m pretty positive at this moment she would have punted me if no one else had been around. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Tony. “This seri- ously won’t happen again.” She took my hand, pulled me
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 166
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into the house, and slammed the door in embarrassment. “Get to your room,” she said. I walked back to my room with my head down, closed my door, and sat in the tent I placed on top of my bed. I took the elephant beanie baby out of my waistband and stroked its ears nervously. I put my ear up...
Show moreinto the house, and slammed the door in embarrassment. “Get to your room,” she said. I walked back to my room with my head down, closed my door, and sat in the tent I placed on top of my bed. I took the elephant beanie baby out of my waistband and stroked its ears nervously. I put my ear up against the wall of my bedroom to overhear the consequences for what some would call ‘breaking’ that I deemed ‘untam- able curiosity’. “I know it’s not soap in the mouth,” I whispered to Elephant. “That only happens when I swear, like the time I chased Casey around the house with a baseball bat, calling him a ‘fucking weasel’.” I soon realized putting my ear up to the wall wasn’t necessary, as my mother’s stern, the raised voice carried effortlessly throughout the house. “Why don’t they lock their doors?” she said with deep agitation. “Yes! I’m off the hook”, I whispered to the elephant. “It’s their fault for not locking their doors.” My celebration was short-lived, though, as Dad, per usual, rained on my parade. “Why don’t we watch our kid?” he responded. “Shut up, Dad!” I voiced out loud. I threw the elephant against the door and stripped off my turtle neck. I crawled back into my tent, cradled my pillow, and sat waiting for hours, which in kid time meant 10 minutes. My parents entered the bedroom, sat at the edge of my bed, and flipped up the tent doors to look at me. “What are we going to do with you?” my mother said. “They weren’t supposed to be home,” I respond- ed. “The weird church is supposed to last all morning.” “We told you never to say that.” “That’s what you called it?” The look she gave me while I was at the front door returned. My Dad let out a huge silent smile he soon tried to hide. He couldn’t let me see the comedy of a mother whose judgmental gossip is voiced back to her by her a young, stupid child. While he was looking away, he noticed Elephant laying on the ground “What’s this,” he asked as he picked it up and brought it into the tent. “Tt’s Erin’s. She left it over here when she came to play a few days ago,” I lied. This wasn’t my first rodeo. “Why am I just seeing it now,” he’d rebut. “Tt was under my bed,” I barked, not missing a beat. “You're just going to make it worse on yourself if you’re lying?” He replied. “T’m not lying,” I said with a straight face. “What were you doing over at their house any- way,” my mom asked. I couldn’t have told them I was playing with Barbies, because last time I mentioned I wanted a one
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 167
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everyone laughed at me, including my brother who said I was a girl. It was bad enough I could no longer wear my dad’s long shirts as dresses or watch the Powerpuff Girls. But there was no way around it — I was caught red-hand- ed in their house. “They just have so many more toys than we do. It’s...
Show moreeveryone laughed at me, including my brother who said I was a girl. It was bad enough I could no longer wear my dad’s long shirts as dresses or watch the Powerpuff Girls. But there was no way around it — I was caught red-hand- ed in their house. “They just have so many more toys than we do. It’s more fun over there,” I’d say. “You have plenty of toys here,” she’d say point- ing out my Lincoln logs and Legos. “There’s are more fun!” “What do they have over there that you don’t?” Well, for starters they obviously had Barbies, but they also had doll sets, kitchenettes, an easy bake oven, cabbage patch kids, baby dolls, Polly pockets, and the grossly underrated, betty spaghetti. “T wanted to play with the kitty,” I said to quickly shift the conversation. “Alright, I’m going to call Tony and ask him if that’s what you were doing,” my mom said, as she got up from the bed and exited my bedroom. No, no, no. This was not supposed to be how this went. I knew they were going to pepper me with ques- tions, but they were supposed to lay off after I told them about the cat. At this point in my life, I had been asking for a pet every day of my life. “Stop!” I yelled at her as I rushed to beat her to vs the wall phone with the long curly cord. She got there first. Dialed away. I could hear the dial tone from where I was standing. Each ring served as a new dagger in my chest as I waited, anticipating Tony answering to answer. My shtick was up. I couldn’t bear it anymore. “Okay, I was playing with Barbies,” I confessed in a loud wail as I fell to the ground. This was my rock bottom moment — sneaking around with Barbie. My mom hung up the phone, came over, and sat by me. “Why did you lie?” she asked me sincerely. “T didn’t want you to know,” I responded as tears slide down my cheeks. “Hunny,” my dad said. “You can’t be going into people’s houses when they aren’t home.” “T know,” I said while shaking my head. This wasn’t the first or last time I had done this. In my years- long breaking-and-entering phase, I went into the Kro- gh’s, the Rolstad’s next door, the Deyle’s across the street, and Schmidt’s two doors down. Yes, my parents probably should have watched their five-year-old closer, no one is arguing that, but also these people really should have locked their doors. The Midwest is far too trusting of one another.
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 168
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“Why didn’t you want us to know?” my mom asked. “Cause boys don’t play with Barbies,” I respond- ed. ok ok 3 “T’m Jake the Snake,” Jake said while huddling in the middle of the Krogh’s trampoline to redirect the conver- sation off of me. Though embarrassed, he was always a protector of me, at...
Show more“Why didn’t you want us to know?” my mom asked. “Cause boys don’t play with Barbies,” I respond- ed. ok ok 3 “T’m Jake the Snake,” Jake said while huddling in the middle of the Krogh’s trampoline to redirect the conver- sation off of me. Though embarrassed, he was always a protector of me, at least when it came to other people’s perception of me. I stood up from the tramp and collected any remaining dignity I had at six years old. “T want to be the Big Show,” Jake’s friend, Casey said and then turned to me. “Who are you?” I sat and pondered this a moment before respond- ing. I knew I couldn’t say “Do I have to be an actual wrestler,” I asked? “Or, can I make up one?” “Sure,” Jake said. I always preferred watching the female wres- tlers, while my brother and his friends preferred the likes of Stone Cold Steve Austin, Triple H, or the Rock. My favorite was Trish Stratus. I loved how she was able to be both sexy and tough. A brute and a lover. She always wore very tight, leather outfits, sometimes pairing it with an eccentric robe and cowboy hat. Her persona was every bit as charismatic as it was badass, and it was something so foreign to me that young only having ever seen women represented as homemakers or boy-obsessed. Should could take a punch just as well as she could throw one. She was skilled on the ropes just as much as she was the ring. Previous to her and her generation of female wrestlers, the women in the world of Professional Wres- tling were more or fewer sidekicks to the men. Pretty faces that were good for a petty catfight, or a “bra and panties match,” which is a match where the winner must strip her opponents to nothing but their bra and panties. Trish wasn’t like that. She was competitive and paved the way for a completely new generation of female wres- tlers, and also reestablished what it meant to be sexy. It always bothered me that I wasn’t able to choose her, or any other diva, to play seasons with on my PlayStation 2. You can play with them in individual matches, but you don’t get the opportunity to compete for a belt and simulate their career virtually, which is all I wanted to do. When I would pretend to wrestle my life-sized Scoo- by-Doo doll I would pretend I was her. I would jump off the couch like it were the ropes, and I would give Scooby the “Chick Kick” the signature move that often led her to victory. Poor Scooby was knocked out every time. I knew I couldn’t say her, though, but it didn’t occur to me to
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 169
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make up a boy wrestler’s name. The reason is that it wasn’t an option for me at that time. I didn’t identify with any of the male wrestlers, who were hyper-masculine. I identi- fied with the females, which I recognize is not common amongst five-year-old boys, and especially boys who are...
Show moremake up a boy wrestler’s name. The reason is that it wasn’t an option for me at that time. I didn’t identify with any of the male wrestlers, who were hyper-masculine. I identi- fied with the females, which I recognize is not common amongst five-year-old boys, and especially boys who are Professional Wrestling fans. “I want to be the butterfly girl,” I said proudly, standing three feet seven inches tall. “The butterfly girl?” Casey said mockingly as Jake’s face turned bright red in embarrassment. This moment was my first experience with real shame. Why did I want to be a girl wrestler? What’s wrong with me?
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 175
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Broken glass, spilled ink and wasted years Pigs in blue suits patrol corridors Cradling their pistols They coo to them Nursing their fear and shame Doging and ducking blame Politicians sit in thrones, Ignoring anguished groans Choking on cigarette smoke Fishnets in ten below Starving mouths to...
Show moreBroken glass, spilled ink and wasted years Pigs in blue suits patrol corridors Cradling their pistols They coo to them Nursing their fear and shame Doging and ducking blame Politicians sit in thrones, Ignoring anguished groans Choking on cigarette smoke Fishnets in ten below Starving mouths to feed, I'll give you an arm and a leg mister, my children are in need Broken glass, spilled ink and wasted years Lake Street in 1986 Crack pipes and crooked teeth Reagan’s on T.V. Turn the dial, an act so vile Poverty gleams, sharp and mean Controlled rent and redlining Being poor is a crime Medicate, rinse, repeat A child’s toy laying face down in the street Medicate, rinse, repeat Broken glass, spilled ink and wasted years Cufflinks Bloody sinks Poverty is a crime Locked up Knocked up The piggy bank is shattered River of green Bodies neglected A corrupt system reflected Broken glass, spilled ink and wasted years
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 177
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Campamento en Pajuiles Junto al rio Mezapa se juntan mujeres y hombres nifios y abuelos a cocinar y a velar. Los perros ladran su apoyo. Los bebés tiran piedrecitas. Los jovenes dan discursos prometiendo su proteccion a la naturaleza. Una abuela soltera presta su presencia por el bien de sus...
Show moreCampamento en Pajuiles Junto al rio Mezapa se juntan mujeres y hombres nifios y abuelos a cocinar y a velar. Los perros ladran su apoyo. Los bebés tiran piedrecitas. Los jovenes dan discursos prometiendo su proteccion a la naturaleza. Una abuela soltera presta su presencia por el bien de sus nietos. Guardan la libertad del agua, protegen el rio y el bosque. jFuera patriarcado! jApartese empresario! sediento por sus $35 millones de Lempiras al afio. Somos hechos del agua, incluso él. En la cordillera de los Montes de Dios el aire rodea la montafia y el agua corre. Crecen los nifios en solidaridad unidos por su amor al agua que nos pertenece a todos. Encampment en Pajuiles Beside the Mezapa River, women and men, children and grandparents gather to cook and to keep watch. The dogs bark their support. The babies throw little rocks. The youth make speeches promising to protect nature. A lone grandmother lends her presence, for the well-being of her grandchildren. They keep the water free, protect the river and the forest. Get out, patriarchy! Out of here, businessman! thirsty For his $35 million Lempiras per year. We are made of water, even him. In the mountain range Montes de Dios, The air encircles the mountain and the water flows. The children grow up in solidarity, united by their love of water that belongs to all of us.
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 181
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ContentWarning: This piece contains descriptions of the sexual assault of a minor, as well as self harm. If a woman knows what’s best for her she will dress the right way. Mother said, and withknowing, she knew. Men were made different than women. From God came Adam,from Adamcame Eve, and with...
Show moreContentWarning: This piece contains descriptions of the sexual assault of a minor, as well as self harm. If a woman knows what’s best for her she will dress the right way. Mother said, and withknowing, she knew. Men were made different than women. From God came Adam,from Adamcame Eve, and with Eve came all earthly desires. Natu- rally they feel the right to take what istheirs. They can’t help it. So women must help them, in their desires, reroute their eyes, so not asto cause a stir in their belly. You must have layers, as many as possible. Every time you leave thehouse you must arm yourself with at least three of them. Four, if you’re riding the public bus. Busses are nasty places. As are the bus stops, train stations, and the alleyway where thedumpsters sit by the back door of the apartment building. These are places where the people whonobody cared about were, and so they didn’t have to hide in the shadows. Dolores, Mother said,would become one of those people, God save her soul if she wasn’t careful. If she didn’t knowwhat was best for her. And she did, or she wanted to. Should she be taken in one of these places,grabbed in daylight, or groped while standing on the bus, it’s best she had layers so that maybeHe might give up, in the end. Too much fuss. The trick is, if you’re good enough, He might notnotice you in the first place. That’s why there were no dresses, nothing with lace or velvet,nothing colorful either, or patterned, or pretty. Women who wore things like that were asking forit, Mother knew. No, it was long johns, and the roomy slacks, with two shirts (an under andover), her jacket, and with a great big coat covering it all. And it was all grey. Or brown. Sometimes, a muted yellow. Never anything the other girls wore. But Dolores knew, they all hadno-good mothers. May they be damned. But Dolores learned by thirteen. That clothing is just als ga clothing, not armor at all. It can betorn off quickly, without hesitation, even if you wear enough to make yourself nonde- script. It canbe shed in an instant, even if you wear the long johns, even if you try to run, or grip the knife youkeep in your front pocket. All protection becomes especially obsolete if the monster lives withinyour home, and catches you in the show- er or in your bedroom. And Mother is blind to it all because Mother convinced herself a little while ago that not all men are nasty creatures, not all,not this one. The first time Dolores went to the hardware store on 26th and Lincoln, she only boughtone roll of duct tape, the classic silver kind that gleams in the light like metal. One roll will onlylast you a few days though, she learned quickly. Four at best if you don’t shower. To keep up shehad to get at least three rolls a week. She would pocket three and buy one, at least, to stay honest - but a few weeks in, the clerk told her in a knowing voice to open her jacket and she ran out thedoor and into the alleyway all while he shouted thief. So now she takes the bus to thesupermarket in the suburbs on Sundays, where no one notices girls like her in the hardwaresection. She starts with her chest, and it hurts at first but you get used to it. If you wrap a smallpiece of cloth around your- self you won’t have to peel it off at the sensitive parts the nextmorning. She tucks her breasts back by her armpits and tapes each one down, and then in manygreat swathes, she wraps it around and around and around, almost to her navel. Her private parts are harder. It’s delicate down there, and going to the bathroom provesto be a problem. But she knows what she has to do, the risks she must take to protect herself. She begins at the top of her thighs, wrapping around until about where her knee bends on either side. Then she puts
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Murphy Square 2021, Page 182
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on two pairs of underwear. He would never do it in the morning, Mother was there, and anyways, there was never enough time. Dolores knew this to be true. She woke up every day at five-thirty, she never needed an alarm. First, she would remove the tape from the night before. Her thighs hurt...
Show moreon two pairs of underwear. He would never do it in the morning, Mother was there, and anyways, there was never enough time. Dolores knew this to be true. She woke up every day at five-thirty, she never needed an alarm. First, she would remove the tape from the night before. Her thighs hurt themost. Over time they began to chafe and bleed, and lotion only made it sting more. When she would lock herself in the bathroom at precisely 5:45, she sometimes would look down at her- body and cry at the state of it, and how it hurt like a bitch, and how much had been stolen fromher. But she knew that Mother would say it was never hers to begin with. Sometimes she would shower, but the water made it so she couldn’t hear, and she was so afraid of him turning the lock with a hairpin or a butter knife. She knew He would never do it inthe morning, besides,He didn’t do things like that anymore, not since she developed. But if He did. Anyways, the smell helped. She tried to go to the bathroom once before she began wrappingand once after she finished her thighs. She spent most of the day holding it in until it hurt. Most of the time, she wrapped up wads of toilet paper or doubled up on her mother’s maxi pads and placed them in her underwear, just in case she had an accident. The first time she wet herself a great big spot rose through her long johns and slacks andher classmates laughed and laughed and Mother said, Dolores how could this happen and shewas in big trouble. And He laughed, too when He heard, and Dolores glared up at him because she knew it was his fault anyway, and that night He was especially mean when they were alone. He pulled her hair even though it was shorn short and He called her his baby. She hated it when He called her that. That night she pissed the bed in fear of it. She pissed thebed most nights, but Mother didn’t notice. And in the morning it didn’t matter. Because that washer time, her only time. He didn’t know because He didn’t look anymore. Not since the first time she bled from him and after that when she began to bleed on her own. He said that He might get her pregnant and besides Dolores was growing up and He didn’t like that. He must have still liked it a little bitbecause, though because He would still touch her through her long johns and two pairs of underwear, and the tape He didn’t notice, and He would touch himself too. Every night. And He would call her baby, baby, baby. When He would leave Dolores would cry and cry and piss herself most nights. But she would remember that at least He didn’t get in like the first time, and she would try to revel in her success. Although the image of him touch- ing himself, saying baby,baby, baby made it hard. So she wrapped from the front to the back, front to back, and then around her hips. And it hurt, but not as bad as her thighs, and not as bad as being invaded. Every morning she had this hour to herself, to feel as if she had some sem- blance of power. After she was done, she would look in the mirror, the silver tape shining like silver, her own set of armor, and say under her breath, as if practicing lines for a play. “I am not your baby”. But she knew she’d never say it.
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