She stood upright on the gravel walkway and told him, 'Go in. Stay in your room until l call you out.”
'Okay, Dell, okay.”
Off he went, running like crazy, still hugging himself. His boots pounded the ground, leaving more prints in the dirt. He jumped onto the porch, and, once inside the house, he slammed the front door.
'They’ll stay far.”
Dell drew a ring in the air. Then she clapped her hands. Then she removed the hood and helmet, placing them on the walkway, and spit into the yard.
'They’ll mess elsewhere.”
The Nissan had already pulled in alongside the house -- the driver’s door standing wide open. And Patrick, straining, was busy lifting two heavy paper sacks from the bed. Then he cradled them, one in each arm, and walked around to the yard, where Dell was wiping her mittens across her apron.
'After-noon, M-m-m-iss Munro,” Patrick said.
'Hello, Patrick,” Dell said. 'ls it afternoon? My how the day flies, you know.'
She was grinning. Her voice had a friendly tone. She seemed like someone else, someone younger.
'Yes, m-m-m-am, sure does!”
Dell aimed a finger at the porch.
'You can put your load there, by the door. I can bring the sacks in myself. You remembered Land O Lakes -- sweet and unsalted, yes? And the buffalo jerky?”
He nodded. He was grinning too.
'Of course, you remembered, yes, yes.”
She watched as he set the sacks on the porch, lightly touching her hair, the yellow bun.
'l appreciate all you do for me, Patrick. You’re such a , kind young man.”
Then he was going to her on the walkway, smirking from one side of his mouth. She reached for his hand, took it, and held it against her chest.
He stammered, 'I-I-I-I-”
'I know,” she said, 'you already paid for everything?
He nodded.
'Right, yes, of course. Thank you, thank you.'
'W-w-w-will you?' he asked.
'Yes, Patrick, I will. But not here, not in the yard, not by the tomatoes.”
What happened next I didn’t understand. Neither did Classique. It didn’t make any sense.
Dell led Patrick to the side of the house, where she had him stretch out on the ground. Then she knelt down beside him. He rested a hand on her yellow bun as she unzipped his pants. And his eyes shut, his lips parted. She found his boy-thingy and held it -- ugly thingy, swollen and purple. And she kissed it, put it in her mouth for a bit. He was moving her head with his hand -- back and forth, back and forth -- gripping her bun. It was like Dell was eating something big, her cheeks were puffed. She was hungry.
Back and forth.
Patrick was breathing hard, moaning a little bit.
She’s hurting him, I thought. She’s sucking his blood.
Then Dell suddenly quit. She stood and straddled him, lifting her dress, bunching the hem in her mittens. And she squatted, pretending she was a rider and Patrick was a horse. She moved her hips around, but didn’t say anything. She wasn’t laughing or smiling, just riding along quietly. But Patrick’s fingers were scratching at the dirt. His sneakers twisted, and his lips trembled like he wanted to yell, like he just couldn’t get the words out-”H-h-h-h- h-help!' But he never screamed, only groaned and thrust upward some. His face was flushed as he uttered, 'Oh, sh-sh-shit, oh-!”
And that was it. Dell was done playing. She climbed from him, letting her hem fall around her boots. But Patrick remained on the ground, exhausted, his thingy still sticking from his pants.
She’s a vampire, Classique thought. You’re next.
And I didn’t want Dell doing that to me, draining my blood, putting her mouth between my legs, or riding me.
'It’s gross,” I whispered.
So we began sneaking away, but a juniper twig snagged my dress. When I yanked free, the bush rustled. Then we ran. We flew past the mesquites. And I worried that Dell had heard me, that she and Patrick might be chasing after me.
Eventually, I stopped behind a tree and looked. But no one was coming. Her house was in the distance. Just then Patrick’s Nissan honked twice. He was leaving. And I figured they hadn’t spotted me running away.
I took a deep breath.
That rabbit-hole is nearby, Classique was thinking. Why don’t you show me it. You’re safe from them, I think.
If I do, you’ll have to listen for her. She could trap us.
No, she won’t. She didn’t hear you. You escaped.
'Okay,” I said. 'All right.”
Then I wandered to the footpath, glancing around every so often for Dell. The rabbit-hole was easy to find, a cavernous opening beneath the mesquite tree. And I showed it to Classique, my arm extended. I held her over the brink. The hole was black, much larger than I remembered. I could maybe squeeze my shoulders past the rim.
Closer, Jeliza-Rose. Let me go in.
But the rabbit is there.
Closer, please.
'This is Alice’s hole,” I said.
And just then Classique slipped. In she went. Spinning, spinning, spinning into blackness, beyond my reach. Lost. She was falling through the earth, to where the people walked with their heads downwards.
My stomach sank like Lisa. 'Classique!”
And I wanted to cry. And I would’ve too -- but she sent a message: 'It’s okay, dear. I’m falling very slowly. The sides of the hole are filled with cupboards and book-shelves. I wonder how many miles I’ve fallen by this time?”
I couldn’t go home. Not yet. So I stayed there until dusk, in the golden light, wondering how to rescue her. I sat under the mesquite tree with my legs crossed. I tossed pebbles into the creepy hole. Then the train whistle blew. And I knew the Bog Man would soon be stirring in his grave.
'Classique, don’t worry,” I said.
But no message came.
She’s sleeping, I told myself. She’s sleeping, flying down down down, dreaming of me and What Rocks and her bodiless friends.
And wandering home that evening, I was angry at myself for finding the rabbit-hole in the first place. And mad at Classique too. She wanted me to take her closer. It was her fault anyway -- now I was alone again.
'You’re so stupid,' I said. 'Sometirnes you’re the dumbest.'
14
Classique was the first head I discovered in the thrift shop bin. I held her in my palm and showed my mother.
'She’s so beautiful,” I said.
My mother shrugged. She wasn’t looking at me. She was gazing at a shelf lined with painted china plates, all mounted on wire stands, each depicting a different image-a waterfall, John Wayne, kittens, Jesus on the cross, The Beatles.
'Can I have her, please?'
And to my surprise, my mother said yes. She dug two dollars from her purse.
'If it’s more than that,” she said, 'put it back.”
