Johnny Read online

  Johnny came over the morning dad was leaving. And it wasn’t pretty. My mom told him that I was upstairs in my room and that I didn’t want to see him. Johnny, of course, just climbed up the drainpipe. I’d planned for that, and I had the sash down, and my drapes drawn.

  I looked like a freak. My cheek had swollen to the size of a melon, and part of my eye was going blue. My hip ached, and I couldn’t move my shoulder too well.

  I didn’t want Johnny to see me like this. I didn’t want him to know.

  The crack of my father’s sudden hand against my face kept replaying itself in my mind. Crack! Crack! Crack! And then me falling to the ground...

  And the feel of the carpet under my elbows as I’d hit it.

  Crack!

  “LEAVE HER ALONE! LEAVE HER—”

  Johnny knocked on the window. Dad didn’t know Johnny could climb up here so he had to be quiet. “Cat, open up, damn it! Open up!”

  “Johnny, go away. I just need...to be by myself.”

  “Cat, what have I done? I’m sorry. If I did something...”

  His statement stung deep.

  Johnny couldn’t know about this. He couldn’t. He and dad would get in a fight and...and dad would win. Big, bulky dad who’d played high school football and lifted weights. Wide-shouldered dad.

  He’d crush Johnny.

  “Cat, open the fucking window!” He banged on it again and again and it was so loud I started panicking that my parents might hear!

  From behind the drapes, I said, “Johnny, please, I’ll call you. I’ll—”

  “What is it, Cat? Is it your parents again? Did your dad hit your mother?”

  “Johnny, PLEASE!”

  He went silent. Maybe he could hear my sobs right now.

  After a while, he said, defeated, “OK.” A pause. “OK, fine, I’ll go. I’ll... Cat?”

  “What?” I croaked.

  “Eu amo-te. Don’t forget that, baby. Eu amo-te!”

  The floor came up to crash against my knees. My sobs were so loud that I’m sure even downstairs they could be heard. My hands covered my face.

  And I whispered, “I love you, too.”

  -2-

  Just as Johnny came to the front of the house, dad was outside with his suitcases. He caught sight of Johnny sneaking away.

  “Johnny?” my dad said.

  Johnny looked at the bags, looked at my dad, and suddenly all was clear. Well, not that I’d been hit, but that something very bad had happened last night. Something bad enough to send my dad packing.

  “Johnny...what are you—”

  I had moved over to a dormer window facing the front lawn and was watching from above.

  “Mr. Ramsey, it’s not what you think.”

  “Not what I think?”

  “Jack, calm down.” My mom put her hands on dad’s broad shoulders.

  He shrugged them off viciously. “What am I to think, young man!”

  “I—I was just—I...”

  “Have you been sneaking into my daughter’s room?” Dad started stalking closer! His fists cocked! “Have you been—”

  “JOÃO!”

  Dad turned his head.

  Johnny turned his head.

  Mom turned her head.

  All three were looking across the street at Pat Abreu, whose voice had boomed loud enough to send the rafters shaking. He looked big, he looked large, and he looked supremely protective of his son. “VEM CÁ, JOÃO!” He pointed to his right.

  Pat had lost any hints of looking like Santa in his features. If he had been Santa before, he was Zeus now. Even from across the street I could see his chest heaving. And his right hand trembling with rage.

  “You keep your son away from my daughter!” dad bellowed. “You keep him away!”

  Pat said nothing.

  “Keep him the fuck away, old man! Or I swear I’ll put a fist in his face—”

  “DON’T YOU DARE THREATEN MY FAMILY! DON’T. YOU. DARE!”

  “Jack,” my mother said. “Jack, calm down, honey. Calm down.”

  “OR WHAT, PAT?”

  Patricio just stood there, waiting...

  “OR WHAT? I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!”

  Mom pleaded plaintively, “Jack, you’re making a scene.”

  “João? Para quê que esperas? VEM CÁ!” Johnny, what are you waiting for? COME HERE!

  Johnny strolled past my dad, slowly, almost begging to provoke him. And, just like a typical macho male, he kept staring my father down while he did it. Then he stopped, toe-to-toe with him. He was about to say something when Pat roared, “JOHNNY, GET YOURSELF OVER HERE BEFORE I TAN YOUR DAMN HIDE!”

  Dad and Johnny’s eyes stayed locked while Johnny crossed the street, Johnny always looking, always staring.

  Dad pointed a finger across the street. “Don’t come back, little boy! Don’t come back or your father won’t be the only one—”

  “JACK!” Pat’s voice sent lightning over the street.

  A few rubberneckers had walked outside by now. Mrs. Simmons with rollers in her hair. Little Suzie with her mom and a guy who had probably spent the night there.

  I was mortified.

  Pat looked briefly at the others.

  He looked at my father once more, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something. The silence could be felt like a cracking tree.

  “Pat,” my dad said, his tone calmer now. “I’m sorry, but this changes things between us. Not when my kid’s involved.”

  I wanted to shout out, You bastard! How dare you act as though you’re protecting me! But I was too ashamed of the way I looked.

  I was too afraid to—believe it or not—embarrass my father anymore than he had already embarrassed himself.

  “If you say so, Jack.” Pat kept standing there.

  Mom patted my dad’s shoulders, then turned him around. She waved at Patricio when my dad wasn’t looking. Pat nodded in acknowledgement. If I had to pinpoint an emotion in his face, I’d say it was disappointment.

  Pat closed his eyes, bowed his head, turned around.

  Johnny stayed for a second. His eyes lifted up to look into the dormer window. He cocked his head, wondering. And I slid down to hide from him.

  I was back in my room by the time my dad was knocking at my door. “Cathy,” he said, “please open up.” His voice was contrite, soft. He tried the doorknob.

  “NO!”

  He didn’t try again.

  With a croaking, hoarse voice, he said, “Cath—Cathy, I just want you to know that...that...I’m...sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m gonna get help. I’m gonna take classes or something. I’m gonna get this...under control. I love you, sweetie. I was out of line. I was completely out of line. It’s gone too far, honey. I realize I have a problem. I realize it now. If any good can come of this... Well, there is no good from this. I... I love you with all my heart and I was out of line and I...” I heard him sob. I actually heard my father break down and sob with manly tears. “I...love you, baby. We’re gonna fix this. I promise you. I’m gonna fix this. I’m sorry.” A pause. “I’m...so sorry.”

  My pillow was drenched as I lay face down on it.

  And then I heard him walking away, the pat-pat-klunk of his boots on the wooden flooring.

  I’m sorry. I’m gonna fix this.

  And when would I see him again?

  And wasn’t he the same man who held my hand and told me all would be OK when Melissa Stravport threw mud on my dress?

  I ran to the door and opened it!

  My dad turned.

  His light brown eyes were red, his face pale and gaunt. He looked old, so very old.

  And then he took in the appearance of my own face. He gasped! “Oh, God, look at what I did to you.”

  He wept.

  I wept.

  He stretched his arms out to me, and we wept on each other.

  “I’m gonna get help, baby. I’m gonna... I promise you. I swear it.”

  “OK, daddy. OK.”

  “I love you, you
know that? I really, really love you!” He stroked my hair desperately, clutching at it eventually as if it were gonna fly away.

  “Yeah, I know.” My voice was hoarse and dead.

  He put me at arm’s length. “Cathy, I can’t let you go to Portugal alone—”

  “It’s OK, dad. It’s—”

  “Just let me finish. I just...can’t. But maybe next year...we’ll go together. What do you say?”

  And will Johnny go with us? I didn’t ask. “Yeah, uhm, sure. Sure.”

  He kissed me once on the head. But he forgot that my cheek was bruised because his thumb pressed into it too hard as he did it.

  I hid my grimace, but the pain went all the way to my toes.

  The bruises would heal, I told myself.

  The bruises, yes.

  -3-

  But it was only a matter of time before Johnny found out. When I skipped school (mom had arranged it), Johnny couldn’t be kept away from our house. Mom tried to keep him from coming up but he kept knocking on the front-door and insisting. Because Johnny is who he is, he never enforced his entrance into the house, although he physically could have. But he accepted my mother’s No each time.

  It was Pat who finally got through to her.

  He came over. I listened from above the steps.

  “Your familial issues are no secret to us, Alice. You have nothing to be ashamed of. We have known for a very long time that Jack...has not been at...his best, shall we say, for some time now. What is it—a year? Two?”

  Mom didn’t answer immediately. Then, faintly: “About that long, Pat. Would you like to come in?”

  “Sure.”

  I had expected Johnny to be with him, but he wasn’t.

  When the door closed, Pat stood there silently. He looked up at me and a quick flash of shock passed his face when he saw my bruises, but he hid it well. “Johnny would love to see you, Catty. If...your mom...allows it...that is.”

  Mom looked up at me. “Let me and Patricio talk first, OK, sweetie?”

  I nodded.

  They went to the sitting room. I was far away so I couldn’t hear it all, but I heard enough.

  “... an affair ... recreational ... we were just kids ... started drinking ... in his forties! ... enough, just enough!” She wept at this point. “... was the last straw ... a divorce ... so sorry, Pat ... so ashamed ...” More weeping.

  I went to my room and texted Johnny. I luv u, babe. I’ll c you soon, OK? Plz b patient.

  Maybe I can help

  Plz b patient, J.

  When?

  Soon, I promise.

  After Pat left, mom asked me if I wanted to see Johnny. That was the euphemistic way of letting me know, Are you willing for your boyfriend to know what happened in this house?

  I decided that I was.

  Pat would talk to Johnny first so he wouldn’t get hot-headed when he saw me.

  But it didn’t help.

  Johnny had been apprised of everything by the time I let him see me.

  And when he did...he flipped.

  -4-

  “I’ll kill him. Ill fuckin kill him!”

  “Johnny, please don’t talk like that.”

  He raised a hand to the glow of my eye and cheek. “The fucking bastard. Boy, is he lucky he’s not here!”

  “Johnny, please, leave it! I just want to...move on! I can’t...I can’t deal with all this hate and people fighting and violence! Please, if you love me—”

  “I do love you!”

  “—then let it go!”

  I fell onto my bed. The only reason I didn’t cry is because my tear ducts were empty.

  “I won’t go to Portugal for the summer,” he said. “I’ll stay. I’ll... I don’t know.”

  “It was just this one time, Johnny. He’s never hit me before—”

  “But he’s hit your mother.”

  “He’s getting help.”

  “I’m not going. I can’t...I can’t leave you alone here.”

  “He’s not here, Johnny.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “Johnny, baby, please.” I sat up, stretched out my hand to him. “Please go, please have a good time.”

  He took my hand and sat next to me. I felt the hate seething off him like hot fire.

  I pressed my lips against his, trying to cool him down. I rubbed my hand against his leg.

  And I could feel his rage ease.

  I pecked him once on the lips, rubbed his cheeks with my palms. “I’m so glad you’re here. Now, will you let this go?”

  He looked me deep in the eyes. His own eyes, so light and bright usually, seemed almost black with hate—and they were narrowed to sharp slits. “I’ll let it go, Cat. Just this once. Once!” He held up a finger. “But if he ever lays a fucking hand on you again—I’ll fucking kill him.”

  I turned my head and faced my door.

  I couldn’t get him off this kick, I couldn’t.

  I could only hope—pray!—that it wouldn’t happen again.

  But prayers are not always answered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ~ Touch ~

  -1-

  The night before Johnny left for Portugal, I let him touch me more than he’d ever done before.

  We’d been dating for some months already (second time around), but that had nothing to do with it, because I’d known Johnny my whole life. What it had to do with, was the same reason I would let him make love to me the following year.

  I needed him.

  And I’d come to need him more than I needed my family.

  Johnny was my family.

  He snuck into my room late at night, and was kissing me on my bed. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, or the first time we’d made out in secret. But it was the first time I grabbed his hand, moved it down over my stomach. And then lower.

  He lifted it off my pants, shocked. “Cat.” His eyes were white with uncertainty. “I don’t... I mean, I’d love to but... You don’t need—”

  “I do. I really do.”

  I touched his cheek, kissed his lips. When his hand didn’t move below, I moved it for him. When it caressed me over my jeans, I gave out a low moan, and felt the warmth seep out of me.

  I lay back, my eyes half closing.

  I undid the snap of my jeans. As my zipper went down, Johnny licked his lips. “You’re sure,” he said.

  I kept pulling my zip down. “So sure.”

  The zip was at the bottom.

  I waited, lying there, watching him. He did nothing. “Johnny,” I prompted, “I’m starting to feel...a little self-conscious.”

  “I don’t want this to ruin anything between us, Cat. I pushed you away once before, and I don’t want to do it again.”

  “You’re talking too much.”

  “I need to talk. I need to. I can’t lose you.”

  “Shh,” I whispered.

  “I need to talk,” he said softly. “You don’t need to do this for me. If I have to choose between kissing your lips and getting a cheap feel of your breasts over your shirt only, but keeping you; or this...and then losing you...well, there’s simply no choice, Cat.”

  “I’m not doing this for you, Johnny. I want this. Eu amo-te.” I never said it quite like he did, but his eyes flashed with humility when I uttered the words.

  He smiled softly, closed his eyes. He looked down to between my legs, where pink underwear now lay behind the upturned flaps of my jeans.

  I grabbed his hand, intertwined my fingers in his. And then I laid those fingers gently over my underwear.

  He leaned toward my face, kept his fingers above the cotton, and pressed. My eyes fluttered back, his lips touched mine. He kept his eyes open, staring at me, never unlocking his gaze from mine. His touch was soft and easy, electrifying. My legs writhed. A scream formed inside my chest but I held it back. I kicked my head back, swallowed heaving breaths, wondered if my mother heard the earthy moan.

  Johnny kissed my neck, my chin, my ear.

 
And just when it hit me, just when that freight train rocked through me and I saw stars and my body burst into a million pieces of glitter, he whispered in my ear, “Eu amo-te, meu amor, minha vida, minha alma.”

  And then he put his other hand behind my neck, squeezed me to him while I shattered, and I growled like thunder into his shoulder.

  Johnny left the next day. I’ve never cried so much and so painfully as during that summer.

  It hurt worse than anything I’d ever experienced before in my life.

  While he was gone, his words played over and over in my mind, the words he’d uttered while I’d shattered into bits under his hand.

  I love you, my love, my life, my soul.

  -2-

  Mom thought I didn’t notice the late nights, the dressing up, the make-up. I knew she was seeing someone.

  We didn’t talk about it, we didn’t mention it. It just was. I guess I was “an adult” now, seventeen (in over ten years Johnny still hadn’t spent a single birthday with me, my birthday being in August when he was always in Portugal with his family!)

  My parents had their own lives now, it appeared: My dad, out in Manhattan, living in a furnished apartment and going for group therapy or counseling or getting his meds or whatever the fuck he was doing! And my mom now, “hooking up,” while I sat at home watching SNL or some soppy Hallmark movie.

  Mostly I read.

  Mostly I wrote in my diary.

  -3-

  I miss your touch, I miss our talks.

  I miss your lust, I miss our walks.

  I miss your lips, your gentle kiss.

  I miss your hands as they round my hips.

  I miss your eyes, your ears, your head.

  I miss the way you held me in bed.

  I miss your smile, your laugh, your cry.

  I weep when I think of our goodbye.

  I miss your strength, your cool, your power.

  I miss the texts you wrote me each hour.

  Have fun, my love, my life, my soul.

  Without you, I’m only part whole.

  Dream of me, I’ll dream of you.

  Let’s meet in those dreams, just us two.

  You’ll be a prince or a knight or a king.