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“What’s so funny now, missy?”
“In my head, I called your dick undeniable and balls majestic jewels.” My teeth take in his nipple to tease him.
“Stop it, Phoebe. No teeth near my nipples. Remember what happened last time?” He scolds me like a child, but I know he worships the ground I walk on; some days, he might even lick the ground I walk on. Just depends on the mood he is in.
“It was three stitches, you big baby.”
“Okay, next time I am sucking on your titties, and you say it’s too much, I’ll keep going.”
“Good, because that’s not a punishment; that’s how I fucking scream to the ancestors I’m coming on your dick.” Again, my teeth pretend to bite him like a shark.
Enzo pulls me up, so we are aligned face to face.
“What did your mom say when you left?” It’s strange that he wonders. We only talk about the future.
“What do you mean?” I push myself and let my long hair fall over my shoulder, covering my boobs.
“I know you guys weren’t close, but what did she say when you finally left?” Enzo sits up and pushes the hair behind my shoulder and ear.
“I thought you wanted to go to bed.” I grab the covers and pull them over my head as I lay under them.
“Phoebe, babe.” Enzo pulls down the cover to reveal my face. “You look like the girl ofThe Grudge.” My wet hair still sticking to my face.
“The better to scare you with, my pretty.” I tickle his sides, but he grabs my wrists and pushes them above my head.
“Spill it, my little horror movie star.” Enzo lays on top of me as he kisses my lips, awaiting my answer. I blow out a big breath of hair; my air floats away from my face until Enzo moves it to the side.
“If you are going to run, run far. So far, no one knows your name or face. Go where you can be anyone instead of no one.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Phoebe. Here I am dwelling on my dad’s shit. But at least I knew my parents loved me.” Enzo rests his head on my stomach. I tickle his back the way he likes until he falls asleep.
I think about his words; I wonder if they are true.
“You think my mom didn’t love me?” She didn’t say it often, but I wasn’t expecting to hear it. I think back to our moments together. It may not have been love, but it was comfort and safety.
If anything, it felt my whole life she felt sorry for me. Like she was sorry she couldn’t love me the way other mothers did. Maybe she was too young, too inexperienced from her own mother’s absence to know how to care for a daughter, raised by the world just like she was. Mom could have been sorry my father didn’t know how to hold a permanent position in my parenthood plan. It might have been she was sorry the only stability I got was from a grumpy old war vet who tried not to stare too long at my face because it reminded him of the faces of his enemies. The Vietnamese, not the Japanese. It didn’t matter, though; we all looked the same to him. I was just a child, but I knew I had done something wrong by surviving my mother’s full-term pregnancy.
You start asking yourself who would want me? Those thoughts and ideas turn into, if my own family doesn’t, then no one else will. If they don’t love me, I am unlovable. If they don’t like the shape of my eyes, I should shield them. When my questions are too bold, I should keep silent.
Yet, after a while, you play the pity game, and then a new thought comes, covering over the old ones. What if they were wrong? What if I am not unlovable, they just didn’t know how to love me properly because they never loved themselves enough to try? What if I was wanted, which is why they kept me around because, even if it wasn’t perfect, it was enough.
What if my purpose in life wasn’t to let the sorrow of my adolescent years bring me to a halt? What if it was the reason I became who I am today? Maybe I get along so well with strangers because I see them as I see myself. A friend among a foreign land, trying to make a living by purely existing.
I could have turned to drugs, alcohol, education, workforce. I could have done it all to numb the pain.
But instead, I took the pain and made a promise with it. I told myself I didn’t want to suffer for someone else anymore. Even if their wounds became mine, their problems intertwined inside of me. My body was built from them. I wasn’t going to let it stop me anymore, debilitate me further. From now on, Phoebe wasn’t going to be ashamed when the sunlight hit her face, and her eyes sparkled in its rays.
Pictures were my freedom, my escape. In my promise to the pain, I didn’t numb it any longer; I exposed it. I shared it with the world through the eyes of a camera.
Many members of my family were weak enough to believe they had no control over the cycle. The situation overpowered them. I would not be the same; I would be different.
Chapter 6
Kenzo
44.4280° N, 110.5885° W Yellowstone National Park
Therearetoomanytourists here. I can’t even admire the vastness of the geysers, with the hundreds of people walking by me with cargo shorts and fishing hats.
