I can still remember the day. It was one of those hideously hot, Valley days that I hated -- the kind of day that made everyone look even more desperate than they actually were. Somehow the heat exposed people, made them transparent. It made them look miserable and silly and unbearably sad all at once. Most of all, the heat uncovered the flimsiness of their lives, the thin little string of tasks that made up their day, giving it the illusion of permanency.
On this day, I was driving along when I saw this girl walking through the parking lot of a shopping center. Actually, to say she was walking isn't quite correct. It was more like she was floating, though her feet were decidedly on the ground. At first I thought to myself, My God, that person has the worst posture I've ever seen! The poor girl looked as if she had a sway back. Her hips were thrust way forward, and she seemed to walk from her pelvis, almost as if an invisible string were pulling her along. Besides that, there was an odd, somnambulistic quality to her, almost as if she were walking in her sleep.
I stopped my car and watched her. She was incredibly filthy. There was paint splattered all over her arms and legs and face. Also, she had all these little strands of string or something hanging from her hair. The overall effect was that she'd just walked away from some sort of disaster -- an earthquake, or perhaps a tornado.
Despite her ragtag appearance, I could see that underneath the dishevelled look, she was quite beautiful. She was wearing only a thin halter top, a pair of stained, brown bermuda shorts, and thongs. She had a wonderful body. I figured her for maybe seventeen or eighteen.
I watched the girl as she sat on a bench and lit a cigaret. I got out of my car. I was feeling fairly brazen -- not like my usual cowardly self-- so I went over and sat down next to her. She barely even turned her head when I sat down. She just kept sitting there smoking her cigaret. Soon, I began to feel self-conscious.
"What's your name?" I finally said. It was the only thing I could think of. "Sissy" she said, still not looking at me.
So there we sat. She made no move either to be friendly or to leave. It didn't seem to matter to her whether I was there or not. I noticed that Sissy had a book in her purse. "What're you reading?" I asked. I was just trying to make conversation.
She pulled out the book and handed it to me. It was "Swann's Way."
"Do you like Proust?" she inquired, looking at me for the first time. I didn't really remember if I liked Proust or not but I said yes anyhow.
Sissy took in this information and regarded me coolly. "Sometimes, me an' my sister read him out loud to each other. We like to do that."
I couldn't think of anything to say, so I didn't say anything.
After she'd finished her smoke Sissy got up from the bench. She seemed disturbed about something. "I have to go home and make dinner for my father," she said. "He can't cook for himself. "
She regarded me for a moment. "You wanna come?" she asked. It seemed kind of abrupt, but I figured why not? I had nothing else to do.
Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of a seedy apartment complex in Canoga Park. Out front, a multitude of aging, wrecked automobiles sat. There were kid's toys and shopping carts scattered all over the lawn. "This is it," Sissy said.
As we went up the walkway, I noticed a bald person sitting on the curb. I say person because it was impossible to tell his age. He could have been sixteen or he could have been forty. There was a long string of drool coming out of the side of his mouth. As we got closer to him, it was obvious that he was retarded.
"Hi Jason," Sissy said to the retard as we walked past him. Jason looked up at Sissy and drooled some more onto his bare chest.
"Gnrrrrkk," he replied.
I followed Sissy up the stairs and into the apartment. Inside, the place was filthy, not to mention unbelievably hot. There was an air conditioner -- one of those cheap window kinds -- but for some reason it wasn't on. Assorted clothing was strewn all over the floor, and the place smelled of sickness.
Seated in a yellowing, stuffed chair was a man clad in grey slacks and a dirty undershirt. A half empty bottle of vodka was clutched in his hand.
The man was watching a baseball game on a small black and white television set, but the sound was so low you could hardly hear it. It was strange watching all those little men running around with no sound, but the man didn't seem to mind this.
"You hungry daddy?" Sissy asked the man. The man just grunted but he didn't look up from the TV set.
"Daddy likes baseball games," Sissy informed me.
Sissy went into the kitchen and I sat on the couch watching the baseball game. I didn't particularly like baseball, but there wasn't much choice. Pretty soon I began to feel dizzy. I didn't know if it was because the place was so hot or if it was something else, but I didn't want to be there any longer.
I walked into the kitchen where Sissy was cutting up some vegetables on the counter top.
"I have to go now," I said. "Maybe I'll see you later."
"OK," she said, not looking up.
I got in my car and drove back home. Once there, I tried to do some work, but I couldn't stop thinking about Sissy. I didn't know exactly why, but somehow she had gotten to me. I thought about what she had told me about herself, which hadn't been much. All I knew was that she'd recently moved to California from Atlanta, where she'd lived with her mother and her stepfather. Her mother was an actress who'd done mostly plays. Her only film was a bit part as a nurse in "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest." As for her stepfather -- a man named William Boggs Fitzimmons -- he was a writer whose sole claim to fame was a book about pigs, aptly entitled "The Hog Book."
By eight o'clock that night it was still hot as hell. I couldn't concentrate on my work, so I decided to walk over to Sissy's place. She only lived about a mile from me. Besides, I needed the exercise. When I got there, I walked upstairs and knocked on the door. There was no reply. I knocked again. A moment later, a fat girl answered the door. She was eating what looked to be a ham sandwich, half of which was hanging out of the side of her mouth.
"Is Sissy here?" I inquired.
The fat girl stared at me as if she hated me. She took another bite of her sandwich. "It's for you!" she yelled over her shoulder, still glaring at me.
A moment later Sissy came to the door. She looked completely different than she had earlier in the day. She'd changed into an orange summer dress, which outlined her lithe, young body. Her blond hair -- now pulled back into a pony tail -- was clean and shiny. Oh man, I'm telling you, she looked teriffic!
Sissy seemed very happy to see me. "Oh, it's such a nice warm night," she said. "Let's go for a walk." Before I could say anything she was bounding down the stairs.
We walked along the side of the freeway and up over the hill -- the one where, as I kid, I used to hide and throw dirt clods at passing cars -- and then down past the Rocket Bowling Alley. The sun was just beginning to set and the crickets were already chirping. It was a magical time of day. Even ugly old Canoga Park looked pretty OK.
Every few moments I'd glance over at Sissy. She was truly beautiful. Whatsmore, she constantly seemed to change, even as I looked at her.
"Who was that girl who answered the door?" I asked her.
"Oh, that's Boom Boom. She's my sister. Well, half-sister actually."
"I don't think she liked me very much," I said.
"Boom Boom doesn't like anybody hardly," Sissy replied. "Don't take it personally." She smiled at me when she said this. She had a wonderful smile. And right then -- just for a second -- I sort of thought I might be in love with her. It seemed pretty crazy, but what could I do?
"How old are you anyhow?"I asked her.
Sissy didn't miss a beat. "Fifteen," she grinned. "But I can look lots older. Mostly I don't even get asked for my ID!" she said proudly.
After we'd walked for awhile, Sissy and I went back to the bowling alley. Once inside, we bought cokes and a bunch of candy bars out of the machine. We sat at a table, eating the candy and drinking cokes and watching the bowlers. It was nice.
Sissy lit up a smoke. So did I. I didn't actually smoke, but somehow being around Sissy I just felt like doing it. Then she started talking. To tell you the truth, I didn't really listen all that much to what she was saying. I just loved looking at her across the table from me. I loved the sound of her voice with it's soft, Southern drawl. I thought she could say anything and I'd be able to listen to her forever.
What I did hear of Sissy's conversation was fascinating. When she'd lived in Atlanta she'd had this boyfriend named Mouse who was a biker of some sort. Mouse used to hit Sissy a lot and one time he even knocked a couple of her teeth out.
"See?" she said. And with that she popped out her two front teeth.
It was funny. Even without her teeth Sissy was beautiful. But it wasn't so much her physical good looks -- which were considerable -- that had gotten to me, but rather this chameleon-like quality that she had. She seemed to be able to change almost at will. One moment she could look like a little girl, the next second her face would grow hard and cold like a woman twice her age.
Oh, Sissy had been around the block a few times, I had no illusions about that. She told me that Mouse had made her sell her body when they couldn't get the rent money up. The first time she'd been only twelve.
"You mean you were a prostitute when you were twelve"?! I exclaimed.
"It wasn't so bad." Sissy mused, munching on a Snicker's bar. "In fact, it was sorta fun. One time I fucked Magic Johnson," she said. "He had the biggest dick of any human being I've ever seen in my entire life!"
I must've given her a funny look. "Don't worry," Sissy said.
"I don't do it with anybody now unless I really like them."
Later, Sissy told me about this one time when she and Mouse had been real down on their luck and Mouse had decided to rob this liquor store. Sissy didn't actually do any robbing, but she'd driven the car. As she sat waiting outside the store, she'd heard a shot. Then Mouse had come running out. "I don't know for sure, " she said, " but I think I mighta killed the guy. He never would tell me for sure, but I really think he did."
Her eyes went foggy for a minute, and then bingo! -- she became a little girl again.
"This is fun sittin' here now, isn't it?" she beamed.
"Yes, I said. "Yes it is." And inside, I could feel my heart go pitter pat, pitter pat. God, she was so beautiful. I was really pretty crazy about her. I didn't care if she'd robbed a million liquor stores!
The next morning Sissy came over to my place. We decided to walk up to the delicatessen in the shopping mall and have some breakfast.
That day I was in a pretty black mood. "My father is dying," I told her. "He has cancer. The doctors said he only has six months to live."
Sissy just looked at me. "We all have to die," she said. I thought that was a pretty strange response, but I didn't tell her this.
When we got to the deli, Sissy kept asking me nonstop questions about all the Jewish words on the menu. She seemed to be be getting a big kick out of the fact that I was Jewish. "You're my first one! " she said happily, running her tongue overher large teeth.
She seemed so happy that pretty soon I began to feel not quite so depressed. I watched her as she spread cream cheese on a bagel and slurped her orange juice.
Then, while she munched her bagel, Sissy did something that I thought was absolutely wonderful. Underneath the table, she reached across and put her hand in my crotch, right there in the deli and all. The next second I had the biggest hard on I've ever had in my entire life.
"Let's go to my place and fuck," she said.
"But what about your dad, and, er...Boom Boom?" I asked.
"Daddy's down at welfare pickin' up his check, an' Boom Boom's at work," she said, squeezing my crotch. "Come on, let's go!
"Allright," I said, trying to sound casual.
We went to Sissy's apartment and fucked. We fucked for hours and hours and hours. Sissy was absolutely tireless. Long after I'd worn myself out she still wanted more. In fact, she seemed to gather energy with each subsequent fuck, which I thought was rather nice. Still, there was no way I could keep up with her.
Finally, I lay on my back, staring up at the stucco ceiling. I was drenched in sweat. The apartment was a million degrees, but I didn't mind. Somehow it added to the atmosphere. I imagined that Sissy and I were in Atlanta, or at least some Southern town like that, and soon I fell into this Tennessee Williams-ish kind of fantasy.
Sissy and I were Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman in "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof." All we'd do all day is lie around in our underwear and all. We'd clink our iced teas and smoke cigarettes and blow the smoke out real smooth like they do in the movies. Outside the house I could hear the low murmur of Southern people talking on the front porch and the sound of the Negro gardener sweeping up piles of leaves. Tsshhhh, tssshhhhh went his rake.
Pretty soon I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke to find Sissy sucking greedily on my prick. She didn't notice that I'd woken up, so I just watched her as she went about her business. Most girls look fairly stupid with a prick in their mouth, but not Sissy. On the contrary, she remained quite lovely. She really did.
When she finally noticed that I'd awoken, Sissy let my prick slip out of her mouth.
"Hello!" she said
"Hi," I answered.
Then, just like a little kid with a new toy, she began to pretend my penis was a gearshift knob on an automobile. "Rrrrnnnnn, rnnnnnnn, rnnnnnn," she went, shifting into second
"Please don't shift my penis," I asked politely.
Instantly Sissy began to pout. Oh, she was such an actress, this one! But then she seemed to get a bright idea. You could see it on her face. The next second she climbed on top of me and sat right down on my rigid cock. "I like to be on top! " she said, bouncing up and down. "It's fun!"
Sissy looked down at her blond cunt, which was dripping juices all over my crotch. This seemed to delight her. Everything seemed to delight her.
"I like it when it gets all wet and sticky," she said, scooting up and down on top of me.
"Yunnhhhhhh," I replied.
When we'd finished our lovemaking, Sissy said she wanted to go over to the Thrifty Drugstore to get an ice cream cone. This was fine with me. I really didn't care where we went, to tell you the truth.
Inside the drugstore, Sissy was like a little kid. She wanted to touch everything. She kept stopping to handle the perfumes, the greeting cards, the hairbrushes and combs. She seemed particularly fascinated with all the different coloured bottles of shampoo.
As we walked through the store, I noticed that Sissy was wearing this really horrible old pair of tennis shoes. They were practically falling apart. I told her she should pick out some new ones.
"Really?" she said. "Are you sure?" She couldn't believe that anyone would want to buy her anything.
"Go on," I said. "It's allright.
Sissy looked and looked, finally deciding on a pair of those blue deck shoes. They only cost $3.50 so I told her to get another pair, but she said no, one was enough, thank you. For a girl that was basically poor white trash, she really had very good manners.
When we got outside it was dark. We walked down a side street, past all the little houses with their lights on inside. Sometimes you could see people gathered around a TV set, or perhaps a man in a chair reading a novel. Everything seemed very still and peaceful. For the moment the world seemed a good, safe place to be.
I wondered what it would be like if Sissy and I got married. Would we be in one of those little houses, watching TV or reading? Would she come up behind me and put her hand on my shoulder, just lightly?
Then the next second, the other part of my brain jumped in and said, "What the hell are you talking about man! This is just a kid. A goddamn fifteen year-old kid, for God's sake! A fifteen year old ex-hooker who's robbed liquor stores and maybe even participated in a murder! Come on man, wake up! "
Just as I thought this, Sissy took hold of my hand and all the thoughts went away --poof -- just like that.
We walked along, not saying anything, just holding hands. She was a great hand holder. She didn't grasp too much or not enough. No, she did it just right. And her hand never got all sweaty either.
Man, she was really something!
The next day Sissy and I drove up the coast highway to Santa Barbara. We stopped at this one beach in Ventura where a long rock jetty ran for several miles along the sand. Then we noticed something peculiar about the place. Inside the rocks that made up the jetty there were all these cats. Hundreds of cats, maybe even thousands. They were obviously wild -- you could tell from the look of them. Most of them were very skinny, as if they hadn't been fed for a long time. It was really a very strange sight, seeing hundreds of cats climbing all over the rocks like that.
Sissy seemed very excited by this. She went over to try and pick up one of the cats, but it arched its back and hissed at her.
"Be careful," I said. "They might have some kind of disease or something."
But Sissy kept on running after the cats, climbing in and out of the rocks, talking to them and chasing them all over the place. She kept it up for the next couple of hours.
Late that night we drove back to Los Angeles along the coast.
The lights on the ships out at sea made the scene look like some kind of magical fairyland. Sissy was very quiet during the ride. Ever since the cats she'd been quiet.
Finally we got to my house. "Do you want to come in and watch TV?" I asked. Sissy looked at me blankly.
"I don't care," she said, real pouty like.
We went inside. Sissy plumped down on the couch and sulked silently while I watched a rerun of "The Fugitive." I've always been a very big David Janssen.
"Are you allright?" I asked after awhile. But she wouldn't even look at me. "What's wrong?" I finally asked. "Is something bothering you."
"You people make me sick," she said finally.
I looked at her. "What people?" I asked her.
"All you people...you're all exactly the same," Sissy hissed. She was glaring at me now, and there was real hatred in her eyes. "And you're just like all the rest! You and your cancer and your death and your talk, talk talk. God, is that all you ever do is talk?
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Fuck you!" Sissy yelled, jumping up off the couch. "Fuck you to
death!" And with that, she stormed outside.
When she came back in the house, Sissy was friendly and sweet again. She kissed me on cheek, then headed for the door. "I gotta get home and make sure daddy's eaten some dinner. He'd sit in front of that dang TV all day and just not eat a thing if I let him get away with it." I found Sissy's concern for her father to be quite admirable. "OK," I said. "See you tomorrow. "
Bye sweetie," she said, kissing me again before she left. Normally I couldn't stand it if someone called me sweetie or honey, but when Sissy said it, it sounded wonderful.
I told you I had it bad.
The next morning I drove over to Sissy's house. When I got there, I ran up the stairs and knocked on the door. A moment later her fat sister answered.
"Hi Boom Boom," I said. "Is Sissy here?"
Boom Boom still looked like she wanted to kill me. "Sissy ain't here right now," she spat.
"Do you know when she'll be back?" I asked.
Come back later," Boom Boom said. Then she slammed the door in my face.
When I got home I tried to get some work done, but nothing would come. I simply couldn't stop thinking about Sissy. Every time I thought about her my heart seemed to hurt. Oh man, it was awful.
At around 4:00 I went back over to Sissy's place. Out front, Jason was sitting on the curb watching cars and drooling on himself. "Hi Jason," I said.
Jason looked up. "Fnnnggg gwanngh" he said.
"Have you seen Sissy?" I queried. Jason looked at me rather quizzically and inserted a finger into his left nostril.
"Phhhggggggghh" he said, taking a good healthy pick
I went back upstairs and knocked on Sissy's door, but this time nobody answered. Finally I gave up and left.
When I got home it was around 5:00 p.m.-- the time of day I hated most. Nothing seemed to make any sense at this time of day. Everything was in limbo. Nothing was firm. It made me feel very weak and scared. This happened to me every day at this time, but on this day it was particularly bad.
The doctor had told me that if I felt the depression coming on I should immediately do something physical, but I just didin't have enough energy. It
was like something had sucked all the life out of me, and I was just this dead thing, this blob. Finally, I decided that the best thing to do would be to go to sleep, so I went and lay down on the couch.
Soon I fell into a strange dream. In the dream I was back at the Cat Beach, only this time something was wrong there. The entire beach was littered with the bodies of dead cats. A few stray cats hobbled along, poking around amongst the bodies of their mates. They were obviously very sick and would soon die too. In some of the rocks along the jetty, mother cats were eating the bodies of their sick and dying babies. The hot sun glared down on them. Something horrible and ominous was in the air, a kind of sound or maybe even a kind of demonic presence of some sort. Whatever it was, it was terrible.
I woke in a sweat and before I knew what I was doing, I was driving like a madman over to Sissy's house. When I got there I bounded up the stairs two at a time. My heart was beating a mile a minute.
Knock, knock knock.
Nothing.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A moment later, Sissy's father answered the door. He was still attired in the same dirty white undershirt he'd been wearing that first day I'd met him. He stood there blinking up at me, unrecognizing.
"Is Sissy here?" I asked.
He just stood there, sort of weaving around. "I said...is Sissy here?"
"Nuh," he finally said.
"Well, ah...where is she?"
"Sissy won't be back," her father said.
"You mean she won't be back today or..."
"Sissy won't be back...ever. "
"But...I mean...
"She's gone! he repeated. "Gone..." The poor guy looked like he was about to cry. I didn't know what to say so I just turned and walked back down the stairs. Behind me I could hear something that sounded either like coughing or crying; I couldn't tell which.
I didn't feel much like going home so I walked back over the hill to the bowling alley. It was really crowded when I got there. I went and sat at the table whereSissy and I had sat a week ago. I just sat there, letting the sounds of the clattering balls and voices fill me up.
There was something peculiar about the bowlers, but I couldn't figure out what it was. Then suddenly it was clear. They were all deformed in one way or another. There were paraplegics, hunchbacks, quadrapalegics, guys with no arms and legs -- cripples of every possible shape, size and variety.
I sat and watched the crippled bowlers. They were having a grand time, laughing and shouting, drinking beer and being rowdy just like regular people. I watched a guy in a with no arms wheel his chair down the lane and throw the ball with some contraption he'd rigged to his teeth. His buddies all cheered him on, laughing and snorting madly.
It was really something. As I watched, I tried to feel sorry for the crippled bowlers, but I couldn't pull it off. After that didn't work, I tried to thank God that I had my health and all that, but I couldn't do that either. I was just so damn sad and lonely that I couldn't feel feel much of anything.
After about an hour, I left the bowling alley and went home. On the way, I went by Sissy's place again. I was sort of hoping Jason might be out front on the curb. I thought maybe I'd try to strike up a conversation with him or something. But when I got to the curb where he usually sat, it was empty. This made me feel even worse than I already did.
When I got home I lay down on the couch and flipped the TV on with no sound. My face felt all numb and my mouth didin't seem to be working very well. I wanted to cry or something but nothing would come. There were little things clicking and popping in my brain but I did my best to ignore them. After awile, I fell into a dull, grey sleep.
About a month later, I was at home watching a cooking program on afternoon TV. Watching cooking programs is one of my favorite ways to pass the time. The only thing I don't like is if the person on the show sticks his arm up some old chicken's rectal cavity or something. Things like that can be pretty disgusting. Fortunately, this doesn't happen very often.
Anyhow, I was watching this cooking show when I heard the mail clank in the little slot. I went and got it. It was the usual garbage -- bills and stuff. Then I spied the postcard. I knew instantly who it was from. Sure enough, the postmark read Atlanta, Georgia.
The picture on the front of the card was one of those corny old cartoons of a bum hitchhiking in the middle of the desert. The caption underneath the picture read, "I'll make it ....one of these days."
I'd always loved those old postcards. They reminded me of long stretches of empty highway and little pink motels with green neon signs that shone in the night and ten cent bottles of Dr. Pepper and ladies in flower print dresses. That kind of stuff. You know.
On the back of the card was a note. It read simply, "Thanks for the tennis shoes," It was signed, Love, Sissy.
I noticed the handwriting. It had those large squiggly letters with big, huge dots over the i's. Very teenage.
I sat back down on the couch and thought about Sissy. I wondered what she was doing. I wondered if she'd gone back to Mouse -- to robbing liquor stores and hustling her ass on the streets. I pictured her face. I wondered if it would grow hard and bitter by the time she reached twenty. I wondered if she still read Proust aloud. I even wondered who was making lunch for her father now that she was gone. I wondered all kinds of things, but I didn't get any answers.
I looked at the postcard again. I held it under my nose to see if any of Sissy's smell had rubbed off on it, but it just smelled like an ordinary postcard.
The cooking show ended and another program came on. The show was "Body Buddies." It featured this not-very-in-shape couple doing a bunch of stupid exercises. The guy had this gigantic gold medallion around his neck and this phony curly hairdo and the woman had fat, white arms that jiggled whenever she moved.
It was impossible to look at them. Finally, I flipped off the television and sat there staring at the empty screen. I watched the tiny speck of light in the middle of the screen grow smaller and smaller and smaller. Finally it disappeared.
I couldn't think of anything to do, so I didn't do anything.
©harsh reality productions, inc.
