Pull Back the Covers

Boys like my hair. At least that’s what they’ve said. There’s not a lot to it, but, I guess I am the only girl in our grade that doesn’t go through a can of hairspray every week. I don’t tell them that I just wear it like this so I don’t have to brush it. My mom, once, talked me into bangs and every morning I would wake up looking like a baby bird with my hair flitting around with the air of the ceiling fan like tiny feathers. Even then, I would just go to school with that hair. Not that I thought much about it, but apparently others did. At least that’s what I’m learning. I can’t tell you how many times people have complimented me on my hair since I’ve grown it out. It always makes me feel weird because I feel like what they are saying is that it is better than before. I didn’t realize until now that before wasn’t so great. There was one boy who came up to me at the dance club and told me he’d been staring at me all night trying to figure out what was different. Then he asked me to dance. Later my friend told me that he said he didn’t know what she had done to me, but I didn’t even look like the same person. She told him she brushed my hair. The little things seem to be important. I need to remember this for later. 

Later that week, the same boy (he was my next door neighbor) came to my house to ask me to be his girlfriend. I said, ok. He wasn’t the first boy to ask. The first was Brian Tanner in fifth grade. I had had a crush on him for months. I fell in love with his braces, I think, and when he asked me in the hall on the way to lunch if I would be his girlfriend, I said yes. That was the last time we spoke. I don’t think he understood me. One time he tried to touch my hand on the swing and I moved away. He got a weird look on his face like I had just punched him in the stomach. He didn’t leave, but he didn’t really look at me anymore either. I was wearing my green and purple checkered pants that day, and he said he liked them.  Again, I didn’t say anything. I’m beginning to think I’m pretty cruel. 

So, this boy, Greg, came over to ask me to be his girlfriend. I liked the idea of a boy liking me, but I didn’t really know what it meant. He wanted me to talk to him, and he wanted to touch me, but I didn’t understand the way his hands moved. These are not places I want to be touched. Soon, he wasn’t letting me say no anymore. He had these dark looks and I wanted him to leave, but I didn’t know what to say to make that happen. He would stand in his bedroom next door at the window and watch me. Our bedrooms were directly across of each other. He would call me and talk about my hair. How it might look if it was on fire. And how, also, my family might look after the fire department had come to put out the blaze. “There probably wouldn’t be much left besides bones,” he said, “I would get you out first, though, if you deserved it.”

One afternoon, Greg and his friend Eric followed me home from school. I say they followed me rather than walked with me because they were always about fifteen paces back talking about me like I wasn’t there. “It’s the hair, man. It’s got to be the hair. Look at her, I mean, she doesn’t have tits. Where are the tits?” I knew what tits were, and I also knew I hadn’t really gotten any. Not like Jessica Adams- the girl every boy wanted to dance with. I was just, hair. I wanted tits. I wanted to be Jessica- who was hair and a*s and tits. But I was just hair. I pretended I didn’t hear them. I pretended I didn’t know they were there. I went to my front door and unlocked it as I did every day as though I was alone. “You’re not just going to go in without saying goodbye, are you? I need your bike, Eric and I  are going to take it.”

“Don’t take my bike, I just got it.”

“You don’t need it anyway, it’s not like you’re going anywhere without me. I’ll bring it back and then I’ll let you ride it while I watch.”

I let him take it. I didn’t want him to show me, again, how I ought to listen to him. He liked to show me what it felt like not to listen. I didn’t like how that felt. 

A few hours later, Greg and Eric came back. They didn’t have my bike. I knew that was going to happen. 

“Eric’s parents are gone to California. We want you to come to his house with us. My brother is going to give us a ride.”

“I can’t go, my mom isn’t home and you know I have to watch my brother.”

“I can give him some of this and he’ll stay asleep until we get back,” he said pulling a bottle of antihistamine out of his denim jacket pocket. “You need to come with me.”

“I shouldn’t do that.”

“You are.”

Eric was standing far enough away that he may or may not have heard what Greg was saying. I always wondered if he knew what his friend was like when he wasn’t there. If he did know, was this something they talked about? Did he and Eric plan how they would make their girlfriends be like little puppies and follow them wherever they went?

Greg went in my house and made my five year old brother take the antihistamine and held him down in his bed until he fell asleep. At least this is what I have always imagined. He wouldn’t let me go in the house. Some people will ask what he did to stop me. Those people are not worth talking to about this because they are the kind of people who will tell a girl that it was her choice to climb into the dryer and wait for her boyfriend to turn it on, and that she can’t blame him for what she did. 

Greg’s brother Chris drove up while Eric and I were standing outside. 

“C’mon fuckers, if I’m taking you. I’m not going to wait around. Hey, Rainey, why don’t you get up here and sit with me.”

I knew what he meant. He liked to have me sit beside him so he could pretend he was accidentally touching me when he shifted gears. I pretended like I didn’t know what he was doing because I knew he would blame me if I said anything. I had tried it. The last time I tried to say anything he said, “you know, Greg told me I could have you whenever I want for fifty bucks. That I can do whatever I want. He also told my buddies the same thing.”

I didn’t know if he was telling the truth or not, but I thought I understood that he wasn’t above doing it if I didn’t just keep my mouth shut. He had this greasy smile and hair that swished back and forth when he talked like lamp fringe. When I first met him, I thought he smelled really good, doused in Ralph Lauren Polo, but now, the smell had begun to turn my stomach. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking I smelled the cologne and try to hide myself under the covers. 

So, I got in beside him, and Greg slid in beside me. Eric’s neighborhood wasn’t far. We could have walked, I’m not sure why we needed Chris to drive us, but, I wish I would have stayed in the car. Even if Chris was going to touch me when the others weren’t there. But, Eric’s house was in one of the neighborhoods where everyone drove those new small vans and decorated at Christmas like they were on the edge of Santa’s village. So, it felt harmless driving in. People with money seemed to have all the things I wanted. I found out later that didn’t mean a lot about what they had in their upper story. As my grandmother used to say. 

Before I became Greg’s girlfriend, I used to spend my weekends looking through these two books of fairy tales I had and copying the pictures of castles and fortresses and dragons. Once I drew a princess, but she wasn’t the thing that I wanted to understand. So, when we were walking up to Eric’s house, I started thinking about those fortresses and castles. He started telling Greg about his dad’s guns and they started getting excited about holding one of them in their hands. I wanted to leave, but Greg had me by the hand, and he was squeezing so hard it was turning red then white at the fingertips. He knew I wanted to leave. He knew how I felt about guns. He knew about that nightmare I had at least once a week about my stepdad the week he died. The gun glinting like fool’s gold being pulled from a river bed. The gun the ender or the beginner of everything. I could see by the look on his face as he peered back at me that he loved the way he was making me feel. I just followed. 

When we got into Eric’s bedroom, he pulled back the covers. The only thing I can think to compare what I saw there to is Commando and Rambo getting together to contrast weapons. Somehow, before, I had loved those movies when I was a little younger. The hero going to any means to protect the ideal. All those enemies being destroyed. But, I didn’t want to be in the same room with it. 

Eric had a twin bed, and every inch of the mattress was covered with a weapon. Handguns and rifles and semi-automatics. Silver and black. Authors of things I’d rather not remember. So, I stepped out of the room. The two boys laughing at me as I’m sure my face turned the color of Eric’s dingy white sheets. I decided, then, that just because someone had money, it didn’t mean their house was clean. 

Greg didn’t want me to leave. He had two guns in his hands already. Touching them in that same way he would touch me when I wanted him to leave me alone. Handling them. But, he put one back down on the bed and pointed a long-barreled black one at me. 

“You don’t trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, that hurts,” he said walking closer as I backed into the hall.

“Stop. Leave me alone. Stop.”

“Look, it’s not loaded. Here I’ll show you.”

And he twisted his body out the door of the bedroom into the hall to face me. The gun aiming at my sternum. His hands steady as a closed door. 

“Don’t do that.”

“It’s fine. It’s not loaded,” he said before pulling the trigger. The gun discharged through the ghost of my second’s earlier self. I had thrown myself into the hall bathroom and the bullet went through another bedroom wall and out the exterior siding. 

I don’t remember what happened next. I can only see the gun every time I close my eyes. And hear Greg laughing. I can see his silhouette in his bedroom window right now. Making motions like he wants me to brush my hair. 

Author's Note

This is the first story story I've ever written from start to finish. First that feels complete, I should say. I'm sure I have room for improvement. Not averse to hearing those things, but also not looking for it to be ripped apart. Just to say.

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

this was extraordinary. it is pure horror. has all the essential elements that are demanded to make a good story. the hair was a very memorable element. it is a strange thing to talk about at length in a novella, but that's what makes this work so intriguing. hair. it means a lot to this character, although she can't fully explain why. a type of neurosis. her hair is something that means something to her.
early on, there is great characterisation. as a middle school teacher, i know how self conscious girls can be. and that aspect was captured very sharply. and this makes her someone relateable but also vulnerable. it is a very good setup for what's to come. as an aside, i enjoyed the irony in the first few paragraphs. humour is something all stories should have. it is one of the seasonings of a complete meal.
the plot slowly boils and we get a lot of foreshadowing before the reveal. i was tense throughout. we learn that Greg is bad news but it is worse than we anticipated. the psychopathy of this character was drawn extremely well. it is frightening. and again, from my experiences i have met such people in real life.
the ending was also very intelligent. nothing is resolved and this nightmare is set to continue. it is a chilling but a fitting way to end this narrative. evil is persistent. and the main character is not safe yet.
when it comes to short stories, i know what i like. thus, i usually give feedback. however there are not edits required for this piece. every sentence works, the plot, the characters are all magnificently done. the scenes are drawn out really well. and like in your poetry, there are themes for days.
i really encourage you to write more prose. i for one look forward to more.

[Eilis]

Hey, Ern, thanks for such an encouraging review. I haven’t tried writing a story for several years but do think about it. I’m in an extended period of writers block where I feel very limited by my own mind. I hope to get out from under that and start writing again more consistently. John Updike recommended writing at least 500 words a day and I think about that often and think maybe I should just write without thought or purpose and see what comes. I appreciate the specificity of your comments, it helps me see things more clearly. I’m glad the story feels complete and plausible to you. Thanks for taking the time to dig in to these longer works.

[Laz K.]

I never really understood the need for violence, cruelty, or domination. In other words, I guess I don't relate to the notion of evil. To me, stories about such subjects always felt like pure fiction. I suppose that's very naïve of me, but I never saw or held an actual weapon. It could all be just a kind of defense mechanism, a kind of denial, as it's all too disturbing a topic for me to face.

Having said that, the way you narrate the story works well. There's enough characterization so that the reader may be able to visualize the characters, especially the protagonist. I kind of wish I hadn't read it, because the way the creepy kid with the gun is backing out of the room, and then how the girl keeps seeing him in her nightmares are truly creepy. They are haunting images that stick in the mind. But, that should be taken as a compliment to your storytelling skills.

[Eilis]

I do take that as a compliment, thank you, Laz. I was hoping for that haunting sense of things. I think it is natural for us to respond to unfamiliar experiences or ideas with a feeling like they are fictitious because it's hard for the mind to process things it hasn't encountered. It is definitely a form of keeping the mind safe from harmful influence. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and comment on this longer work. It was interesting for me to have the opportunity to read it again and also good to hear what you thought of it. I always appreciate your time and thoughts. Thanks very much.

[barleygirl]

One of my favorite short stories of all time (I rarely read a short story repeatedly) is "Where are you going, where have you been" by Joyce Carol Oates . . . your story reads like that & I love it for many of the same reasons. Your writing seems to have a ton of extra words & phrases, as well as a ton of sentence fragments. I get that you are using this for effect, not that you're unaware. The over abundance of babble reflects how a teenage girl actually thinks & sentence fragments, a well-used tool for generating suspense. I just feel when it becomes noticeable, then it's too much. Here's a sentence that could've been said with 25% of the words you used: "The only thing I can think to compare what I saw there to is Commando and Rambo getting together to contrast weapons." Why not just: "What I saw was Commando and Rambo getting together." I have a fine editor working over my upcoming book & he cuts out a ton of junk I never even saw in my own writing or in other people's writing before. I prefer the clean way it reads, without all the stammering words & phrases that convey little except the speaker's style of speaking. All in all, this is impressive for a first story (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Eilis]

Thanks, Margie. Wordiness is an ongoing issue for me. I do need to learn to be more concise, yes. I appreciate your notes on that and I’ll definitely revisit the story at some point when I have a little more distance and can see it more objectively.

I’m glad you liked it, as well. I’m trying my hand at more stories but I’m much less confident with the medium. I appreciate all you had to say.

Thanks so much.

[Richard🖌]

Dang, Eilis! What a helluva story!!

I can't help wondering if not all of this came out of your imagination; if Rainey may be more than a fictitious character. And, I say this, because you breathe such vivid life into every player and their personas. I felt everybody as if I were there, and (especially) the speaker, as though I were inside her, thinking and feeling, rather than reading and taking-in her narrative.

By nature, I'm not a story reader here at the Café … I'm just a simple poet with no acumen for critiquing such advanced and involved writings as stories, and I am sure you can tell that I'm no literary expert, either, Eilis. But, I have read a good number of published novels and short stories out of my own personal library, and to my mind's-eye, you're a damned brilliant master raconteur.

Even so, I spotted a few {typos}: “I can give him some of this[,] and he’ll stay asleep until we get back{.},” he said{,} pulling a bottle of antihistamine out of {his} denim jacket pocket. “You need to come with me.”
Some other stuff here and there, too, but I'm sure (if you've the mind) you could do a lot better at it than I can.

Mostly … that your syntax, grammar, and simple verbal vernacular are such that your first paragraph exemplified the main character, in such a clear and concise manner, I was immediately endeared by and to her, as I was equally disgusted by Greg and his punk brother and buddy … you really got me involved in such a way I never once wondered, "How long is this going to be," or, "Am I going to lose interest and just trudge through till the end, anyway(?)," as I usually do; it just never came to mind.

Your ability to express thoughts, feelings, and emotion, and to paint scenarios in such a way they spring effortlessly to life, is quite amazing, to say the least.

Well, I wanted to pick out a few hallmark parts to expound on, but, in my usual exuberance, I can see I'm already overstaying my welcome … "again". LOL!
Let me close by saying, "I thoroughly enjoyed this story, Eilis, and am glad (if she was You) Rainey didn't die!

Why did I read a story when I'm not a story reader? The title 'roused my imagination, albeit, not what I thought, and every line held me spellbound for more … I may become a story-reader, after-all : )
Thank you sincerely for this genuinely-splendid, surprise treat! ⁓ Richard 🍃

[Eilis]

Hi, Richard. An epic comment. Thanks for taking so much time in reading and commenting on this story. Unfortunately it is based on my own experience. But, writing about these things is very helpful and makes me feel I have a kind of power I didn’t have as the girl.

I appreciate your tips and pointers. A lot of the weird punctuation and so on is intentional as it was an aim to stay consistent with the girl voice. I will take a good look at it and make sure there aren’t any areas that can be tidied up.

I really appreciate your time and kind words. Your comment is a confidence booster for someone who hasn’t written many stories. Thank you!

[Richard🖌]

This is an easy typo fix, Eilis:
“I can give him some of this[,] and he’ll stay asleep until we get back{.},” he said{,} pulling a bottle of antihistamine out of {his} denim jacket pocket.

[Eilis]

Ok, Richard, thanks. I’ll fix it as soon as I can get some time on my computer.

[Richard🖌]

Love your writing, Eilis, and I know we all have a history, but it truly hurts to know you were treated like this, that happened to You at all, and more-so as a sweet and innocent young girl. 😔
Were you actually shot, and if so, have you completely recovered physically?
I am thrilled you fund the courage and posses the skills to write and share such a soul healing story.

Bless your beautiful heart with happiness galore.💙

[Eilis]

Thanks for these kind words, Richard. I wasn’t shot, no.

[gram linski]

wow, what the f**k ? your stories give depth to your poetry and intellect, and your raw honesty, you give the harshed of situations a tender touch loved the writing and the emotional way you talk quite naturally about a very fucked up thing, great poetry, naked with nowhere else to hide

[Eilis]

Your first statement made me laugh, but it’s actually exactly what I think I was looking for as a reaction. Sometimes everything seems normal when it’s nowhere near normal. It’s just a person only has their own perspective. Sometimes it takes awhile for the depth of understanding to creep in. So, I like her sometimes flippant voice. She’s still learning. I understand her and her experience very well, yes.

Thanks for all the nice things you said regarding this. I really appreciate the time you took reading on my page and leaving comments, Gram.

[Samuel Dickens]

Being into short stories, and especially those that involve young people, I read this with keen interest and a critical eye. Being inside the head of the young female narrator was most interesting and informative. (They've always been a mystery to me, you know) As she spoke about her hair and how it was one way or another and which looked better, I thought it might be an innocent tale. Then comes Greg, and I didn't like him at all. No, he was not what a normal boy should be. "Run from this creep!" I told the girl. Alas, she didn't, and little by little, I saw the whole situation start turning dangerous. I thought of the Manson clan and his followers. Seduced by evil, oh no!
My opinion is that you've created a fun-creepy story that is entertaining and well worth reading. Additionally, I think some of the wording could be better and there are a few minor problems with punctuation. Here are some of the nits I spotted. There are more, but I don't want to get carried away.
"... lot to it, but, I guess..." No comma is needed after "but".
"... mom, once, talked..." Neither comma is needed.
"... all night trying..." Comma after "night".
Write more stories, please--I like what you do.

[Eilis]

Hi, Samuel. Thanks for your in-depth ideas on this. I really appreciate both the praise and the points of critique. Some of my punctuation and structure is deliberately weird. I sort of felt like it suited the voice. But I’ll go back over the things you mentioned and see where I can tighten up.

Thanks for taking the time to read this. Your comment is encouraging. I did enjoy the process of writing this a lot, so I may try to write more.

I appreciate your visit.

[gram linski]

tell Samuel to bugger off, lol, don't change anything, the man would be mortified by my non punctuation,./,, ;}

[Beccy]

The darkness descended slowly, almost agonisingly so, but was the more effective because of that.

'I decided, then, that just because someone had money, it didn’t mean their house was clean.' For me, that is the standout line in a genuinely standout story, that breathed life into every line; and if this were mine, I wouldn't change a word.

Beccy.

[Eilis]

Thank you very much, Beccy. I was a little nervous about this one—putting it out there, so your comment is great to receive.

I did want the darkness to creep up. The banality of it, perhaps. It’s still developing in my mind.

I appreciate you reading this longer one. Thanks again.

[Beccy]

I saw earlier that you had removed it for editing; I was intrigued and am pleased you decided to post it.

[Eilis]

Thanks. I’m glad I decided to as well.