no kiddin’
I’m ready to fight
been lookin’ for my Trevor all day and all night
I change it for Trevor and when I say his name, his face twitches a little and I can’t tell if it’s a smile or a frown, but he isn’t roaring no more and the blood is almost completely washed from his face. I turn the water off and strip his clothes from his body before picking him up again, naked now. I rest him on the toilet and stand back up to take my own dripping clothes off, leaving me in a sports bra and a pair of Marcus’s old boxers. I reach up to the bathroom cupboard and grab the tub of shea butter. I sit down on the floor in front of the toilet and pull Trevor’s body down into my lap, cradling him again.
“Alright now, worst of it over.” I hum. “This gonna help too.”
I scoop out a handful and begin to rub it over his torso, tracing each rib until his brown shines. I move up to his collarbone, the left side large and puffy. He winces, but doesn’t fully growl. When I get to his neck and face, I move my hands in circles. He starts to moan again, this time the kind of moan that comes out when you finally scratch an itch. I trace the letters of his name across his forehead, trying to be gentle, but still get the blood moving.
After he’s smooth and glowing, I carry him back to the bed and set him on the floor, grab some new clothes out of the drawer, and start dressing him. I make a bed out of pillows beside the mattress, so I can wash the sheets, and put my hand on his cheek. Even with the shower, his eyes are swollen shut.
“You can sleep now, baby, just let yourself sleep.”
He’s snoring that familiar snore in minutes and I start wrapping the sheets up to stuff in the hamper. Every time I turn away, I get so lost in the rhythm of his snores that I expect to look back and see his face: lips so perfect, tranquil, childlike. The image ain’t none of that, though. He is beaten and puffed up and his lips are a mix of colors that I wish did not exist inside his world and he looks like he could be a man inhabiting the body of a boy.
I start singing again. Not because I think he can hear me but because I’m getting dizzy and all I want is Daddy to come up from the grave in ghost form or moon form and sing to me.
I wake up to a knock, stumble to the lamp. Peek through the peephole first. It’s bright out and I’m not really sure if it hasn’t gotten dark yet or if it’s Saturday morning. Tony stands right where the sun must be, so his face is dark, but his outline is drawn in light.
I open the door and slip out to the landing, shutting it quietly behind me. The sun is visible now and it must be morning because the sun rises in the east, right over the shit pool.
“Hey.” I lift my hand up above my eyes to shield them where Tony’s body does not.
His hands are in the pockets of his old jean jacket and he’s smiling like I done lit up his world with one word.
The thing about Tony is he thinks he’s gonna fix me, thinks he’s gonna fix everybody. He won’t do nothing for himself, would rather follow me around hoping he can love me into a different life. There are days when I look at Tony and just wanna touch his cheek to make sure he’s still warm, that he keeps a little heat for himself. Then there are days when Tony’s mass robs me of my own shadow. How am I supposed to do nothing when he’s watching, ready to jump in and save me?
After Marcus got arrested, Tony gave me a break. Answered when I called, but didn’t show up unless I asked. Then, a couple days after the subpoena, I called him sobbing after one of the cops grabbed me outside the liquor store and stuck his fingers down my pants, up into me, and pulled, scraped his nails along my insides and came up with blood dripping down his fist. He put those fingers down my throat, said I gotta remember the taste. Said this what’s gonna happen if I say his name. Thing is, I don’t even know his name, don’t even remember his number. Vaguely recognized his mustache, the voice from some party. Now I can’t remove him from my tongue.
Once I called Tony, he met me where I was huddled beside the pool, avoiding the apartment where Trevor would be waiting for me to cook him dinner. He kneeled down to me and he didn’t ask me what happened, except I’m sure he could smell it. I let him hold me because I didn’t know what I wanted and the default is always touch, always skin, and Tony was eager to provide.
Ever since then, Tony’s been by my side. Shows up at the Regal-Hi by the time I’m getting Trevor ready for school just to escort us out to Marsha’s car or onto the bus. Comes by for dinner sometimes. There are days I come home and he’s standing outside, waiting. I don’t even know why Tony insists on getting messed up in my bullshit when he doesn’t have to. I called him while Trevor was sleeping last night, asked him to bring a first aid kit.