An Addiction to Hands and Feet (2016)

Based on the song "Dance Anthem of the 80's" by Regina Spektor

There was a time when summers were hot and the air stuck to our skin the way we stuck to each other until the street lights came on and we all ran like hell so that our mamas wouldn’t take wooden spoons to our bums. It was the time of licking melted ice cream off our fingers and having the faint taste of lightning bug guts sting our tongues and not care. It was in those days of hanging out at the meat market, licking sweat off our noses and watching each other suck down slices of ham that our lives began.    

Tommy’s dad owned the meat market on Third Street and our gang spent every summer afternoon munching on the scraps Mr. Owens threw to us before jumping back onto our ten-speeds and wreaking havoc all over town.  

The summer of 1967 was sandwiched between sixth and seventh grade and it tasted different and sweet on that first June morning as Tommy, Theo, Angelina and I rode our bikes through the dirt roads, singing “Happy Together” and breathing in the thick breeze as it brushed across our cheeks. It was only just after noon and the sun was pounding down on our already flaking scalps; my dark ponytail sucking in the rays when we passed Mr. Jeffers, a local farmer selling blueberries and strawberries for a quarter a carton. The four of us stopped our bikes. We quickly rock-paper-scissored to see who would buy for the first time that summer. Theo lost and begrudgingly pulled two quarters out of his pocket, handed them to Mr. Jeffers, and placed the berries in the baskets of our bikes. Back on our ten-speeds, we pedaled around one last bend in the road and came to the lake. The boys threw their cycles down carelessly, tore off their shirts and dove right in, splashing and spitting on one another as they came up for air. Angelina and I gently placed our bicycles against a tree and pulled off our tank tops and shorts. As we neatly folded them and turned to face the boys, I felt Theo’s eyes on me. I blushed but I didn’t know why. I’d known Theo since I was born. He’d seen me in a bathing suit a thousand times, but for some reason, it felt different this time. His eyes darted down to the water and I went diving right into the safety and warmth of the familiar pond, allowing the water to cover my newly formed breasts. 

I allowed myself to sink to the bottom, grabbing clumps of mud with my fists. And I felt the rush of summer claw at my lungs as I paddled back to the surface. We spent that first afternoon swimming, eating berries, talking, and riding bikes. It was the same as every summer before, but something had changed, and it wasn’t just our bodies.  

A few weeks into that summer, the four of us sat on the curb outside of the meat market eating chicken legs as Tommy told a story about his older brother, Ben, who was away at college. Theo laughed and for the first time, I realized how great a laugh he had. I didn’t realize why I liked it so much at the time but looking back it was because you could hear the youth and intensity in his chortles. He was happy just to be living, the way everyone feels at twelve before life eats away at you and leaves you jaded. I smiled and watched as he took a big bite of the chicken leg. As I watched him chew, I suddenly thought about what he’d look like all tucked into bed, asleep and vulnerable. I longed to see him that way. 

The street lights switched on and Angelina and I stood quickly, dusting dirt and gravel off our shorts. As I began to hop onto my bike, I yelled goodnight. Theo grabbed his as well.  

“Jenny, wait up!” He called as he walked his bike over to me. “I’ll walk you home.”  

In all the years I’d known Theo, he’d never once made a point of walking me home. He just always did. He lived right next door, so it only seemed fitting. But this announcement seemed filled with intent that I didn’t understand.  

We walked the first few blocks in silence, but I could taste on the humid air that he wanted to say something to me. As we walked up my porch, I turned to him.  

“Goodnight, Theo.” 

“Goodnight, Jenny.” He turned to walk away but paused on the top step. He bunched his hands into fists and gave a tight nod at no one. An internal pep-talk. He turned back around. “Actually, Jenny?” 

“Yeah?” 

He sat down on my porch swing and sighed. I awkwardly sat down next to him and looked at him. He laughed in the silence of the sticky night and I felt my stomach flip over.  

“I was wondering if, uh, maybe you’d want to go to the movies on Saturday?” He stuttered. 

“Sure, what time so I can tell Tommy and Angelina?” He looked a bit uncomfortable when I said this. 

“Well, uh, I kind of meant just you and me. Sort of like a…date.”  

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. I stared down at my feet and then quickly glanced at his. He was wearing a pair of beaten up old Chuck Taylors. We were wearing the same pair.  

“A…date?” He nodded slowly and I nodded back. “Okay. Okay.”  

He whispered a rushed “thank you” and sprinted off my porch straight into his house. He didn’t even realize he’d left his bike resting against the wooden panels of my porch.  

That night, I lay in bed replaying the sound of his laugh and wondering what he was dreaming of as he slept in the bedroom right across from mine.  

That Saturday, I dressed in a short white sundress with a pink cardigan. I had shorts on underneath because we were riding our bikes there. I felt like I’d swallowed a peach pit as I waited by the door. I almost threw up on myself as I heard his fist beat against the wood. My mom patted my back and make drink some Pepto, afraid that soda and popcorn would only increase my stress-induced nausea. My father opened the door and Theo stood on the porch in khakis and a button down. His hair was slicked back. He looked more mature than I could ever recall, but we were still wearing the same Chucks.

We didn’t talk much on the ride there or even so much as we pulled up at the drive-in and he bought the tickets and the popcorn. We sat down on a bench as Thoroughly Modern Millie started. The first twenty minutes of the movie, we sat in utter silence, eating handful after handful of popcorn, subconsciously bobbing our heads to the songs. Finally, I guess it got to be too much for Theo because he turned to me and said, “I really like you, Jenny. Like like you, I mean. I have all year.”  

I looked down at my lap and then quietly whispered, “Me too…I mean, I like you, too.”  

He smiled and his dimples intensified. I once again felt my stomach turning and I thought I might barf up the popcorn all over him. I didn’t, thanks to the Pepto, but he leaned in and kissed me. It was salty and gentle and my eyes went soft.

When he pulled away, he smiled. “So…do you wanna be my girlfriend then?” I nodded dumbly and he leaned back in. The kisses were sloppy, wet, uncomfortable. The way first kisses always are, but I never again felt as beautiful as I did that first night being Theo’s girl.  

Word spread quickly throughout the town that Theo and I were a couple. We started spending less and less time with Tommy and Angelina and more time just the two of us. Every evening, we would head down to the lake to watch the sunset.  

It was one night in late August, just two weeks before school was to start again, when it happened. We’d just left the meat market. We had had dinner with Tommy and Angelina before we headed to the lake to talk and make out like we always did. Theo laid a blanket down in the grass and we lay down looking at the stars. I felt his hand start wandering up my thigh, careening under my shorts, and slip right under my undies. I grew nervous and excited. I was afraid but intrigued.  

Soon, he was pulling off my shirt, tugging off his pants. His lips against mine. Then against my neck. My chest. Going lower and lower. Everything turned to blurs as he fumbled with my bra, kissing me all the while. I felt sick. But I didn’t want to stop. Soon he was inside me, and I tried to remember back to health class. It hurt. A lot. There was blood and it stained the blanket we were laying on. He didn’t speak. I didn’t speak. He just moved within me, took my breath away. And I thought of what this could possibly mean for us. Forever bonded. And yet soon I watched us disintegrate.  

Just as would be expected from two twelve year olds having sex, Theo and I broke up shortly afterwards. We didn’t speak for the rest of middle school or high school. We grew apart. We grew up. Too soon. 

Down on the streets of Manhattan, where I’ve lived for the past twelve years, I tried to hail a cab, but as usual, I seemed to be invisible in the midst of the real New Yorkers. It occurred to me no matter how long I lived in this city, the taxis were never going to stop for me even though I had long since left behind that small Ohio town and felt like a true New Yorker. Maybe that was just it, I always felt like I belonged somewhere but I didn’t.  

I walked down the street to a small bar that stood on the corner. I sat down and ordered a glass of chardonnay. My slip was showing a little and I thought I must look so drunk, even though I wasn’t. There was a man with a goatee sitting down at the counter. I watched as his eyes scanned over me and a smirk formed on his face. “Not yet, buddy,” I thought. “A few more chardonnays and then you can have me.”  

I lost my virginity at twelve years old to the boy who lived next door. Eighteen years I’ve been having sex. That’s the majority of my life. It’s been so long since the first time I was touched by a boy, and now my life seems to be a constant cycle of men’s hands grazing my semi-interested body, intent thick in their eyes, acceptance seeping out of mine.  

Every time I find myself in a stranger’s bed or car or kitchen table or wherever, I always think back to Theo and that first night. It was beautiful, I swear. The awkward fumbling in the August air, the flannel blanket scratching my back as he brushed the hair from my eyes. But that night will always be tainted, disgusting to me. That night changed the course of the rest of my life. At twelve, I’d already fucked up so much, it couldn’t be undone.  

Theo never knew because we stopped speaking before I even found out. I’d been waking up every day at five in the morning to vomit. After a few days in a row, my mother grew concerned and took me to the doctor. The doctor sent my mother out of the room and began to ask me questions about whether or not I was sexually active. I didn’t see what this had to do with a stomach bug. I just needed some rest and ginger ale. The doctor had me pee in a cup. 

A few days later, I got a call from the doctor asking me to come back into her office and that’s when I found out that I was pregnant. I cried. I was still a baby. How could I be having a baby? The doctor gave me pamphlets on adoption and urged me to speak to my mother and my priest about the issue. I explained that I couldn’t tell my mother. How could I look her in the eye at twelve years old and tell her that I was with child? I couldn’t. The doctor told me she’d sit down with us together, but I begged her not to say anything, to let me deal with it myself and that I promised I would tell her. She agreed, begrudgingly. I had no intentions of telling my mom, but if I didn’t do something soon, she’d find out. I couldn’t exactly stop my belly from expanding rapidly.  

I didn’t know much at all about abortion. This was before Roe v Wade and no one talked about it. But I knew that there was a ninth grader who had been in a similar situation the year before and had made herself unpregnant. She was in my lunch period. I asked her where to go. She wrote down an address. 

It was a Tuesday night and I found myself standing outside of Frankie Pescadero’s house, knocking on his back door telling myself that I had no other choice and honestly, I didn’t. Frankie Pescadero wasn’t a doctor. He was a mechanic at the local garage. Frankie was my last hope at salvation. He opened the door, a cigarette in his hand. He was smiling at first, but when he looked at me, his face fell.  

“My God, you’re so young,” He whispered and shook his head as if contemplating whether he should touch me.  

“Please.” I pleaded with him.  

He frowned and nodded slowly. I walked inside past him. He pointed to a hallway. As I started to walk away, he spoke again. 

“It’s two hundred bucks, you know that right?” 

I didn’t. I froze. 

“I…I don’t…have it.” 

For a second, I thought he’d throw me out, but his face softened and then he smirked.  

“I know another way you can pay me.” 

I smiled, “Thanks, Frankie.” 

He led me down a dark hallway that smelled of stale cigarettes and what I thought at the time was skunk. There were no photos displayed and it made me uneasy. I watched the way his boots scraped against the hardwood floors, squeaking as they went, dirt caked on the edge of the sole.

He pushed open the last door on the left and took me into a bedroom. He flicked on the lights and I winced as my eyes adjusted again. The walls were a deep red and there was a busted chest of drawers in the corner by the window which was coated in fingerprints and a filmy layer of dirt. The bed was an old twin covered in light yellow sheets. I suspected they used to be white. He told me to lie down and take off my jeans and underwear. I felt nervous and embarrassed, but I obliged. As I lay there in just my t-shirt, I wondered how he would have me pay him. Maybe mow his lawn? Bake him cookies? I had no idea what that night was going to entail for me.  

“So, should I pay you before or after?” I asked.  

“Oh sweetie, you’re going to pay me before.” He smirked and I watched as his nicotine stained fingers fumbled around his belt. Before I knew what was happening, he was on me. Touching me the way Theo had. Moving within me. I thought about objecting, but I realized that this is how I was paying to rid myself of the baby who was infinitely expanding inside. So I tried to relax and thought that this felt better than when Theo had touched me, but it felt wrong. He didn’t kiss me and he barely looked at me as he grunted and thrusted above me. It was over quickly.  

As he redressed, he spoke. “Right, now that you’re all paid up, time to get to business.” I watched the same disgusting fingers that had just grazed my hips reach for a guitar string. At least he broke away from the coat hanger cliché. He handed me a bottle of vodka.  

“Drink this so you don’t feel me cut you.”  

I drank it, but I could still feel him going about the business. I just kept thinking about whether or not my baby had hands and feet. Tiny, soft little hands and gentle, sweet feet that tip toe around inside of me, making waves within me. When do babies grow fingernails? Toenails? What color would they be? I thought so intently about this, I’m not even sure how he did it, but I know that when I left there that evening, I was no longer pregnant. I was also no longer whole.  

A few weeks later, I noticed that I still didn’t feel right, but I chose to ignore it. Then one day, as I was walking down the halls at school, I saw Theo talking to another girl at her locker. He kissed her, the way he had once kissed me and I collapsed.  

Someone got the nurse and she called an ambulance. I woke up a few hours later in a hospital with my mother and father standing over me, crying. I listened as the doctor began to explain. It was a botched abortion. I had an infection in my uterus. I would never be able to have children. At twelve, my future was decided. I could never be a mother. 

My parents left the room and I sobbed all night long. My parents never looked at me the same again. They stopped loving me after that. I was just too big of a fuck up.  

I told Angelina everything and word quickly got out that I couldn’t get pregnant. Guys flocked to me and I never said no. Why would I? It was all I was good for now, after all. I never made them wear condoms. Again, why would I? I couldn’t get pregnant again.  

I was always so aware of their hands. Gripping my ass, grazing my hips, squeezing my thigh. Some had clean hands with perfectly trimmed fingernails. Most were stained by nicotine like Frankie’s. Some were caked with motor oil, others extremely hairy. I paid attention to who wore socks when they came to bed and whose toes curled under when they filled me up. I paid attention to their hands and feet and I never looked them in the eye. 

I thought about all of this as the man’s goatee scratched me as his tongue moved inside of me. I couldn’t tell you what color eyes he had, but he had blonde hair covering his knuckles and a paper cut on his left pinky. He didn’t wear socks and probably hadn’t clipped his toenails in a month or so. But it didn’t matter. It never did. None of it did. 

The doctors say I have stage 3 Syphilis. Not really much of a surprise considering in the past eighteen years I’ve slept with more than a few hundred men. The problem is, that just like Mary Todd Lincoln, it’s reached my brain and soon I’ll be “going crazy.” The doctors say I already am. But I don’t think it’s fair to blame that on syphilis. I lost my mind the night I lost the ability to have babies. I lost it the night I lost my innocence to Theo and again with Frankie. I lost it when I lost my baby.  

And here I am, 30 years old and dying because of a decision I made when I was twelve. Well, okay, I didn’t contract syphilis when I was twelve, but the only reason I fuck every guy I meet is because it doesn’t matter and it hasn’t since that night. It’s funny how life does that. Fucks you over, I mean.  

It’s amazing knowing that in my life, I’ve never accomplished anything. My greatest contribution to the world was a few thousand blow jobs. My epitaph will read “Jennifer Montgomery; Hundreds Came When She Lived But No One Came When She Died.” Most of them didn’t know my first name. If they visit my grave, maybe they’ll just jack off over me. Instead of piles of flowers, my grave will be blessed with a hundred men’s semen. No one will shed a tear for me, but I guess that’s what I deserve. I am Jennifer Montgomery. And I am no longer haunted by the hands and feet.