What a Shit Show

There is one night a year where everyone in this town gathers under one roof. You would think it would be in the cold of the winter or at church during Christmas time, but it happens sometime in the fall, usually when the weather is perfect. Not too hot or not too cold. Naturally everyone would want to be outside, gaze at the full moon, frolic in the fallen leaves. However everyone chooses to come under this roof, crammed into this old auditorium, despite the mice who scurry against the walls, floors squeaking beneath footsteps, ceiling occasionally leaking like slow IV drops. 

It’s the grand show of the year. The reason why this show is so special is because it’s a reenactment of all the good things that have happened in this town over the last year. Everyone who has given birth, those who have bought a new house, got engaged, or graduated college, get to watch someone reenact them on stage and be seen by everyone in the room.

I know last year, when my sister got promoted to CEO of her job, a handful of actresses sat in her living room, asking her questions and picking out clothes from her wardrobe to wear. My sister sat in the audience beaming, as she watched someone act like her on stage, wearing her clothes, sitting in her office chair, as the audience cheered her on.

I have never been the one to be celebrated, because nothing very special happens in my life. In fact, I usually go by unnoticed. I sit alone at home, eating mostly bread, butter, and eggs, painting in the mornings and reading at night. Most people don’t understand my paintings. I have brought them out to the farmers markets once or twice, only to have the shoppers pass by without even glancing my way.

I know I don’t have a reason to celebrate. I’m the only woman in this town who hasn’t graduated high school, has never been in a relationship, and has never been able to hold down a job. I’m the only one who lives out of a van year round. I know what they’re all thinking, she doesn’t even pay taxes. 

It’s a week before the grand play. I stroll through the park by the edge of the lake. I buy myself chocolate milk and a bagel with the Food Stamps I receive monthly. I see families passing me by, laughing in the sunshine, while I sit under a tree and read on this lawn that I didn’t pay for. Freak, I can hear them all think out loud. I am wearing a baggy jacket over my tank top today. I feed the birds the scraps of my bagel.  

This year the head of the play is Josh Kanter. My cousin Lindsey’s husband. He is a fine, talented, charming man. I have known him since I was in middle school. Now he has three little children with my cousin, evenly spaced apart by two years. I can tell Josh has been wanting to lead this play for years, with each passing play he managed to push himself into a higher and higher position of leadership. That’s Josh. He sees something, he places a target on it, and he will do anything to get it. Like this play, or like my cousin, the girl who holds the epitome of conventional beauty. 

That’s one thing about being on the outside, I notice everything. I am like the camera, watching everyone. Recording everything. Only they think I’m invisible. 

The play is getting closer. It’s tomorrow. My family has a dinner party to pre-celebrate the play. That’s my family, always wanting an excuse to drink. I sit at the edge of the table. I play with my niece. I don’t particularly love children, but both of their parents are quite tipsy and laugh aloud. The child finds comfort holding onto my legs. 

“Oh shit!” my cousin calls out from across the room as she holds up her phone, “the person who is supposed to do the spotlight just got sick!”

“I wonder who else can do it?”

“I-I can…” I say, in a small voice. No one hears me. “I said, I would like to be behind the spotlight.”

Everyone turns quiet. Faces skeptical. Mouths agape. 

“Um… you have no experience though,” Josh speaks up. 

“Yeah but you need someone for tomorrow, and I’m available… never mind.”

“Let’s just have you do it, Lindsey.”

"I will gladly do it, Josh," she says, as she plants a kiss on his lip.

Everyone returns to the frantic conversation. I return my attention to my niece, ignoring the commotion, returning to my invisible self. 

The day of the play arrives. Lindsey shows up to the auditorium. She goes up the extra flight of stairs to control the spotlight. She will get featured in the play this year for buying a new home and giving birth to a new baby. 

The show begins. Everyone is smiling and clapping as usual. There is something quite morbid between the laughs and smiles in the room. Like they’re ignoring the plaque between two white shiny teeth. The actors get on stage, acting out Lindsey and Josh, as they hold the keys to their new house. I sit at the edge of my chair, I squirm. 

I turn to my niece who sits next to me, "Kayla, don’t you think there is something wrong with this play?”

“What do you mean, Auntie?”

“Like no one is talking about your mom and dad getting divorced, only about the happy things that happened. Or about the girl in your class who was in a car accident and now she’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

"I guess people don't want to hear about the sad things."

"But what if all the bad things that we don't talk about is like pressure building up, and one day it'll erupt like a volcano?"

"I see what you mean."

“You’re a smart kid,” I tell her. “There is something that I would like to be celebrated for too, Kaylie. Would you mind… going up to cousin Lindsey by the spotlight and distracting her?”

“Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“If you only do one favor for me in my lifetime, let it be this,” I say. 

The curtains close. I get onto the stage. I have no idea what is about to happen to me.

Maybe I am tired of being invisible. 

The light is still shining. On me. I am assuming everyone in the audience is staring at me, thinking this is a mistake. I can’t see their faces. 

“I hope everyone is enjoying the play so far,” I speak into the mike. “I know everyone is excited to celebrate today, but sometimes we miss the dirty and tragic things that happen in this town. We shove it under the rug.”

I spread a rug onto the floor. 

“Get this woman off the stage!” someone from the audience yells. 

“Oh, you want to get me off the stage?” I laugh. “Now, Josh, if you want to kick me off this state go ahead, but soon everyone will know about what happened six months ago right before our family’s Easter dinner.” 

Josh runs onto the stage. “You better get off the stage now, or I’ll call security.”

I don’t hear a word from Josh or the audience. I am back in the garden, between the tall grasses brushing against my legs. Easter is tomorrow. I am picking apples for the family.

I hear rustling in the bush. Josh is walking around. I wave a low hello. Josh asks me how I am, I say I’m fine and I expect him to leave me alone. He does not. 

“Now, what is one thing you haven’t yet experienced before?” Josh asks me.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever been fucked before?”

“Why… no, sir.”

“Hmmm…” Josh replies.

I go back to picking my apples. I shake the branch and three of them fall down the tree, ripe and fertile. 

Josh is still behind me.

“Why are you asking, Josh? Do you want to fuck me?”

He laughs. 

“Tell me, do you want to fuck me?”

“I do,” he replies.

“I know I am not the most attractive woman here, and you’re married to my cousin.”

“That’s true. But you are so in your own world. It really turns me on thinking that I can be a part of your world for a little while. To enter the gates that have been so locked. Now… why don’t you wait for me in your van, eh?”

Blood rises to the surface of my skin and paints my cheeks red. I put my basket down. I feel butterflies flapping between my legs, tickling me with excitement.  “Alright,” I say, marching on to my van. 

I tidy up the bed in my van before Josh arrives. He enters the van, begins to peel off my clothes, and kisses me softly. Each kiss is an explosion of sensation. Each touch quivering with aching desire. He peels off my underwear, I bite my lips hard.  When he enters me, my body moans beneath his, our breaths fogging the windows of the van. Our sweat mingled into one form of liquid, our eyes locked into each other, his body and my body are one. When he comes inside of me, I welcome him with secret enjoyment, and I am satiated.  And when he leaves my body and pulls up his pants, a deep hole of longing remains. I will never be the same again. 

He waves goodbye. When I see him again, he pretends nothing happened between us. He treats me again like the cousin who is invisible. Lindsey doesn’t seem to notice at all, although there is a stronger jealousy stinging from her eyes. 

I am hurting. I don’t say anything. Until I notice a bump on my belly, I am vomiting, I need to stay in bed for longer hours in the morning.  

I am still on stage. My shirt is off, exposing my round, pregnant belly. Two security guards are behind me. Josh stands in the corner, his mouth agape. He is saying something, but I can’t hear anything. Lindsey lets out a long wail. The spotlight goes dark. I hop off the stage and sprint out of the hall and I leave the stage for Lindsey and Josh to tear apart. 

Tonight is the first night I drive my van away. I don’t know where I am going, all I know is that I can’t stay. I merge the van onto the highway and begin a journey into the unknown. The baby kicks my belly, and I put one hand on it, whispering to it softly.  

What a shit show this was.