18 minute read
Kerf . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Beth Feldman Brandt
Kerf
By Beth Feldman Brandt
Advertisement
name the space left by the groove of the saw
wood to dust line defined by emptiness
name what exists only as absence
singed kindling curled into fire then air
words inhaled understand quiet
empty place at the dinner table bed
the name that escapes me late at night
still holds the image of a face
what exists in the cut of the blade
disappears when the pieces fall apart
Beth Feldman Brandt is the author of Sage, in collaboration with visual artist Claire Owen, and their new project will be part of the “Bartram Boxes Remix ” exhibition at the Center for Art in Wood in 2014. Beth works in the arts in Philadelphia, where she finds plenty of Philadelphia Stories.
In actuality, Tempo did kind of idolize Denise, who was the sort of person who knew exactly what to do in every situation. That afternoon, for instance, by giving it a name like Confectionery, by explaining how aesthetic appeal and presentation were as important as the baking itself, Denise had turned their game of make-believe into a lesson in sophistication.
Edwin was sitting up now, bouncing, saying he wanted to play ‘fectionery. Without missing a beat, his mother said maybe later, and she told the children to go ahead and play now, she ’d kiss them when she and Daddy came home that night. She smiled at Tempo, and it was like Mrs. Peralta was beaming all this positive energy into her. If at that moment Tempo had looked in the mirror, she wouldn ’t have been surprised to see herself glowing from the inside.
Tempo followed her back downstairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Peralta went over the children ’ s schedule for the evening.
It was a little after six now. She beckoned for her husband, who ’d just appeared, and introduced him to Tempo.
Mr. Peralta wound his tie around his neck and said, “Wow, that’ s a name. ”
Tempo, channeling her mother, said, “It was my dad’ s idea. ”
“Is your father musical?” Mrs. Peralta asked.
Tempo shook her head. “He was in love with his car. ”
“Oh, you poor thing. ” The woman looked simultaneously amused and genuinely sympathetic, and Tempo felt another ray of positive energy.
Mr. Peralta cinched his tie and looked Tempo over. “Small for sixteen, isn ’t she, Suzie?” His wife frowned and told him not to be crude.
Tempo was blushing, and she almost died when Mr. Peralta winked at her and said,
Urban Landscape by Lesley Mitchell © 2013
Mrs. Peralta slapped him hard with her purse and grabbed his arm. “One more word, and you ’ll find yourself without a babysitter or a date tonight. ” She tried to smile at Tempo. “I’ m sorry. We ’ re going to leave before you decide we ’ re completely beneath respectability. ” Tempo was still blushing as Mrs. Peralta yanked her husband out of the kitchen.
Yesterday in the hallway, Joy had told Tempo to put some Kleenex or something in her bra before she went to meet the Peraltas. Hilary Kralich and Lacey Davidson were standing right there, laughing their heads off, while Joy said without boobs, Tempo didn ’t look anywhere near sixteen.
“Do you even wear a bra yet?” Hilary asked.
Tempo knew Hilary hated her guts, especially after Mrs. Carson had discovered her copying Tempo ’ s earth science test at the end of last year. (Hilary had also stolen Tempo ’ s report on President Clinton ’ s reelection and plagiarized from it, but nobody had found out about that yet.) Still, Joy was the one Tempo was furious with. Even if Joy were only bragging—she ’d never had to stuff her bra—it still felt like a betrayal.
Joy must have sensed this, because later she told Tempo she wasn ’t trying to put her down.
“But seriously, Temp, ” Joy said. “The Peraltas take one look at your chest, and they ’ re going to think you ’ re not to be trusted. ”
That night, Tempo had tried out Joy ’ s advice using a pair of socks. It startled her to look in the mirror and see those lumps in the middle of her chest. She felt the way a pregnant woman probably did, or someone with a goiter or a tumor, something that didn ’t belong. With that thought, she ’d canned the whole idea, although now of course she ’d had to listen to Mr. Peralta ’ s awful comments instead. Plus she was feeling guilty all over again for lying to his wife.
Just as Joy had said Denise had said, Elizabeth and Edwin were a total dream. The only snag came before bedtime, when Edwin asked Tempo to take a bath with him. He just wanted her to keep him company, but still, she couldn ’t help feeling supremely weird sitting there on the edge of the tub, just looking, or just trying not to look while it stared right back at her. She ’d seen pictures before, naturally, but it was different seeing a penis in person. A pecker, Joy would call it. Earlier that week in study hall, Joy and company had passed around a dirty version of the Peter Piper tongue twister.
For their story, the children selected “Little Red Riding Hood, ” which they were both evidently familiar with, because when Tempo got to the part where the wolf persuaded the girl to pick flowers for her grandmother, Elizabeth declared, “He ’ s lying, ” and Edwin cried, “Bad wolf! Bad wolf!”
Tempo herself felt the wolf was just beastly (she ’d always thought the hunter at the end a bit sketchy, too). She kept reading, though, and when everything turned out all right, or at least the girl and the grandmother came out alive, the children actually clapped, said good night to each other, and went to bed, just like that.
“I love you, Miss Tempo, ” Edwin said, before she kissed him. It was almost enough to make Tempo want her own baby brother.
In her room, Elizabeth said she didn ’t need a goodnight kiss, but she insisted Tempo sit beside her until she fell asleep, which was in about two minutes flat. Tempo felt the positive vibes zapping into her again. She sat for a little while longer watching Elizabeth, taking in the halo of light the bedside lamp put over the little girl’ s head.
Back downstairs in the library, Tempo had gotten through about a chapter and a half of her book for Honors English when someone knocked on the front door.
It was a soft tap tap tap, and that was it, as though the person already knew there were children sleeping inside. Tempo thought about the wolf in the fairy tale knocking at the grandmother ’ s door, which was absolutely ridiculous for sure. She told herself that maybe it was the Peraltas and they ’d forgotten their key. Mrs. Peralta had said they ’d be back sometime after nine. Which would make them a little early, actually. It took Tempo another minute to work up the nerve to answer the door.
It was only Joy. She giggled and waved while Tempo unlocked the door,
and now Tempo discovered it wasn ’t only Joy, but Hilary Kralich, too. The girls pushed their way inside.
Tempo shut the door behind them and locked it again. “You guys scared me half to death, ” she said. “What are you doing here?”
Hilary grinned and said, “Surprise!”
Tempo told the girls they couldn ’t stay because Mrs. Peralta had said no friends over while she was babysitting.
“Oh. ” Joy ’ s smile disappeared. “Fine. Then you ’ re not our friend. ” She waited a second before she smiled again and said,
The girls brushed past Tempo and sailed down the hall toward one of the living rooms. Hilary leapt onto the squarish sofa, and Joy collapsed on the daybed, putting her feet up on the cushions and flinging her arm across her forehead like she ’d swooned.
Tempo stayed back in the hallway, saying she had tons of homework, including five chapters of Catcher in the Rye. Okay, the reading was optional, and it wasn ’t really her kind of book—the narrator had an attitude problem and a tendency to swear. But she wasn ’t going to tell them that. She reminded them that she wasn ’t allowed to have anyone over.
Hilary snorted. “Lame. ”
Joy sat up. “When?”
Any minute, Tempo said again, and now thank God the girls were getting up and walking back toward the front of the house. Instead of leaving, however, Joy started up the staircase with Hilary bounding along right after her.
Elizabeth and Edwin were asleep, Tempo protested, and anyway it wasn ’t right to go upstairs in somebody ’ s house unless you were invited. Joy said pshaw, like that was a word she used all the time, and Hilary shook her head and told Joy, “Oh my God, she really is a wet blanket, isn ’t she?” She asked Tempo what was she was going to do, tell on them? She threatened to scream—and when Elizabeth and Edwin woke up they would see who would tell on who.
Joy said to Tempo, “I have to show you something up here. ”
Tempo followed them upstairs, half afraid of what they would do if she didn ’t stay with them and half curious about what there was to see. She paused in the hall between the children ’ s bedrooms, but Joy and Hilary continued on.
You could probably have fit Tempo ’ s whole apartment in the Peraltas ’ bedroom suite. She could sense the size of the place even from the doorway, which opened into a sitting room, and beyond that, the main bedroom. Joy and Hilary were banging around in the bathroom.
“Denise?” Tempo watched Joy slide open the drawers under the vanity, rummaging through everything. The bathroom gleamed—the faucets, the towel bars, the handle on the toilet—as if all these tiny spotlights were being focused on Tempo.
Hilary opened a cabinet and then slammed it shut again.
“We really shouldn ’t be in here, ” Tempo said, as Hilary started into the Peraltas ’ closet.
Joy went through a set of shelves, a formidable display of shoes, polished and stacked two by two. “She said it wasn ’t even really hidden. ”
Joy ignored her. She and Hilary headed for the bedroom, leaving Tempo to straighten up and turn off the lights in the closet and the bathroom. Tempo was
flash • sudden • micro • hint • pocket • short short • palm-sized • postcard •quick • compressed • smokelong • prose-poetry
a nonprofit press and online journal committed to compressed forms of poetry, creative nonfiction, fiction, & visual arts
Compressed Creative Arts
http://www.matterpress.com
Matter Press and its online Journal of Compressed of Creative Arts are these things & more:
• a paying market for compressed fiction, poetry, and creative nonfiction pieces • an archive of the very best new & emerging writers working with compression • a publisher of flash-based fiction and creative nonfiction chapbooks • the place to go for online private workshops & single-piece critiques of flash fiction • a blog featuring statements from writers and visual artists regarding artistic compression • a resource, along with FlashFiction.Net, for all things flash fictiony • the exclusive publisher and distributor of The Pocket Guide to Flash Fiction • a paying market for visual artists working, in some way, with things in miniature • a writer-friendly publisher with fast response times and a love for reading submissions • a member of AWP & The Council of Literary Magazines and Presses
sure Mrs. Peralta would be the type to notice anything out of place. Returning to the sitting room, she thought she heard noises downstairs—footsteps rustling, voices calling her name. She hurried out to the hall. But there was no one.
Back in the bedroom, she told the girls she wanted to go downstairs.
Hilary smiled. “Then go, Lame-o. ” Joy, searching through the drawers of the Peraltas ’ bureau, didn ’t answer.
Tempo stared at the back of Joy ’ s head. When they were little, they used to try to send each other telepathic messages on the playground, certain they could succeed if they both concentrated hard enough at the same time. Now, however, Joy was on some completely different, completely insane wavelength.
Joy crawled onto the bed and patted down the duvet. She thrust her hands under the pillows, into the pillowcases. Finding nothing, she crawled back down.
Tempo tried to smooth out the comforter. “Please. ” Her throat caught on the word. “You ’ re going to get me in trouble. ”
Joy finally looked up. “Jeez, Temp, don ’t be a baby. ” And then she yanked open the drawer of the nightstand and said,
“Here. We. Go. ”
It took Tempo a second to identify the contents of the bag Joy was holding up. The substance in the bag.
“Oh my god, ” she said. “Why would the Peraltas have that?” According to every health teacher she ’d ever had, marijuana was, like, really bad for you. It was toxic. It was illegal.
Joy shrugged. Everybody needed to unwind, she said. Mrs. P. was pretty uptight in case Tempo hadn ’t noticed.
Hilary was jumping up and down, clapping her hands. “Maybe they need help. ” She snatched the bag from Joy and beamed at Tempo. “You know, getting in the mood. ”
“What mood?” Tempo asked, and then she made a face. “Gross. ”
Hilary dangled the bag in front of Tempo. “Here ’ s a question for you, Brainiac. What do you get when you put sex and pot together?”
Tempo pushed the bag away. Joy, all wiser-than-thou, said, “Denise and Trayne would get completely randy whenever they smoked it. One time, I could smell it all the way downstairs, and I went up to Denise ’ s room to warn her. I saw them on the bed together. He was lying back with his pants off, while she crouched over him with her head down near his stomach. She was sucking at it. ”
A wad of horror wormed its way down inside Tempo. “She was sucking at it?”
Joy laughed, and Tempo asked, “What did you do?”
“I cleared my throat and said, ‘How does it taste?’ and Trayne said, ‘Uh, Joy, we could use a little privacy. ’ Denise didn ’t even look up. Oh my god, it was the funniest thing ever. ”
Hilary said, “A sexpot!” She giggled. “Get it? Sex plus pot equals sexpot!”
Tempo was quiet, her brain spinning with the times Denise had played House and School with Tempo and Joy, the day she ’d given Tempo a boxful of Barbies because Joy wasn ’t interested in them, the afternoon of Confectionery. The memories whirled and frayed and then fell away, leaving only the picture of a girl and a boy, naked. A girl and a boy naked together—doing drugs and doing each other, as Joy would put it. She would be laughing her head off while they did each other, did that to each other.
Joy took the bag back from Hilary, and Tempo said, “Put it away, Joy. God, I’ m all nauseous now. It’ s disgusting. ”
Hilary sneered. “Disgusting? Mrs. Peralta being a sexpot?”
Joy said, “I don ’t blame her. I think Mr. P. ’ s pretty hot, actually. ”
“Just put it away, ” Tempo said.
Instead, Joy opened the bag. Tempo almost gagged on the smell. Taking three baggies out of her pocket, Joy said, “Share and share alike. ” She pulled a handful of marijuana out and divided it between the baggies. She handed one baggie to Tempo and one to Hilary.
“You ’ re stealing it?” Tempo asked.
Joy sighed. They ’ll never ever miss it. ”
“Damn straight. ” Hilary gave her bag a shake. “This is enough to roll, like, two joints. How about a little more?”
Joy shook her head. “I don ’t want to risk it. ”
“Risk what? They won ’t know who took it. ”
Tempo stared at Joy again. Obviously, the Peraltas would know who took it, or at least they would know who they thought had taken it. But why wasn ’t Joy saying anything? Why wasn ’t she putting the bag away? She wasn ’t even looking at Tempo.
“Come on, Joy. ” Hilary said. “Let’ s just take the whole freaking bag while we can. ”
Tempo had trouble getting her voice out. Finally, she said, “I can get more the next time I babysit. ”
Joy turned.
“I’ll take a little each time, ” Tempo said.
“The way Denise did. I can always come back for more. ”
“What if the Peraltas don ’t like Tempo?” Hilary asked. “What if they don ’t have her back?”
“They ’ll have me back. ” Tempo steadied herself. “Trust me. ” She managed to sound serious and at the same time act as though it was no big deal.
Joy nodded. “That’ s it, Temp. That’ s my girl. ” She started to put her arms around Tempo, and for a split second Tempo felt herself about to slap her friend across the face and tell her to go to hell.
But she didn ’t. She went ahead and hugged Joy, as if they were two little girls again, meeting under the monkey bars at recess, and while Joy put the rest of the marijuana back in the nightstand drawer and closed it, Tempo arranged the pillows and finished smoothing out the duvet.
The girls had just reached the foyer downstairs when they heard the keys being laid down on a counter, the murmuring in the back of the house. Hilary and Joy slipped out the front door. Tempo closed it behind them and locked it.
She made her way back to the kitchen. Mrs. Peralta asked how every-
thing had gone that evening.
“Everything was fine, ” Tempo said.
She wanted to tell Mrs. Peralta the truth about Joy and Hilary and the marijuana. She wanted to tell her about Denise. About herself.
The woman paid her. Tempo put the money in her pocket, slipping the bills behind her plastic baggie. She fingered the baggie for a moment.
Finally, she said to Mrs. Peralta, “I think I forgot something. ”
She hurried upstairs and raced back down the hall to the master suite. In the doorway, she paused, feeling as if she really had forgotten something, or lost something. Then she dashed into the bedroom, put her baggie into the drawer with the Peraltas ’ stash of weed, and hurried back out.
At the stairs, she met Mr. Peralta.
“Tempo, ma Cherie. ”
He came close to her, so close she could smell the wine on his breath, feel the warmth on her forehead. She stood still as his hand brushed the top of her head.
“I hope we see more of you very soon, ” he said.
It would still be some years before Tempo would come to understand that she was like a little boy playing with matches when she whispered, “I think you ’ re pretty hot, Mr. P. ”
His hand jerked back, and then froze. It hung in the space between them, as if it were something separate from him. She stared at his hand, and then stared at him staring at it. He wouldn ’t look at her.
The hall light came on, and Mrs. Peralta appeared. “Is everything all right?”
Mr. Peralta laughed, a phony kind of laugh. “Tempo was just saying good night to the children, ” he said.
After a pause, Tempo nodded. “I promised Elizabeth. ”
In her room, Elizabeth was sleeping, her perfect face angled slightly away from the light, just as it was when Tempo had left her. Tempo reached out, as if to pet the girl. She sensed the Peraltas hovering in the hallway behind her.
When Mrs. Peralta called the next day, or over the weekend, or the following week, it wouldn ’t matter whether Tempo lied or didn ’t. Mrs. Peralta would know. Not everything, but she would know enough to understand Tempo wasn ’t such a goody-goody after all. Maybe she would think she wasn ’t to be trusted. Maybe she would think she wasn ’t mature enough. Maybe she wasn ’t, maybe she was.
Tempo turned off the bedside lamp.
Bryan Shawn Wang grew up a few miles from the King of Prussia mall and now lives with his wife and children in Wyomissing, Pennsylvania. A former biochemist, he teaches biology and chemistry at local colleges. His fiction has recently appeared, and is forthcoming, in Rathalla Review, The Summerset Review, Valparaiso Fiction Review, and Kenyon Review Online.
All writing is creative…
Inform and inspire.
Write across both creative and professional disciplines, experience intimate workshops & seminars, and get professional experience—all while honing your writing skills. Join our highly customizable and flexible writing program at Saint Joseph’s University.
M.A. in Writing Studies
Join us for a spring open house on Tuesday, March 5, 2013, 5:30 -7:00 p.m. To learn more and register, visit us at sju.edu/philastories
Graduate Studies
College of Arts and Sciences
