Jules Archer: Cheap Tanya
He wrote my name in the stars. Connected the dots of the constellations until his index finger spelled out Tanya. It was romantic. A starlight billboard, backlit by black, splashed with my moniker. “Tanya,” he said, and I watched the way his mouth moistened, how he worked the word over with a fat, red tongue. James was honest like that. He said fancy things. Touched me in fancy places. I loved it.
The rain fell warm as bathwater, but the cement was even warmer. I rolled up onto the balls of my feet — not to get away from the heat; to embrace it. I got close to James’ mouth. His breath was like a sunset: juicy from orange Fanta and lazy with his south Texas drawl. He liked to pretend he was a cowboy. He had a motorcycle and a polished belt buckle with guns on it. Sometimes when we laid together, I liked to pretend we were one. I’d press my body to his, imprinting the cool steel from the buckle into a soft spot on my abdomen. I’d roll my bony hip over it, bursting blood vessels. James’ skin was like iron. I wanted it to brand me.
“If we go, we’ll have to live in cheap motels.”
“Good,” I said. “I can do cheap. I can do motels. Long as I have you.”
He stared at me. Ran a thumb across my sharp jaw. I felt the imprint of his nail — massive moon marks — as he pressed hard like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like I was Bonnie and he was Clyde. My heart beat like a pulpy drum inside my chest. I wanted him so badly to agree to take me with him.
I bit down on his bottom lip, fat like whale blubber. I felt the skin split. Blood and salt ran rivers into my mouth. James kissed me hard, then spat the muck we shared on the ground. It mixed with the mud and the rain until it looked like cold, mushy leftovers.
“I have to go.” His finger brushed feather-light against my cheek. “Mom wants me home for dinner.”
I watched him hop on his bike. Red taillights disappeared around a corner like jolly Christmas lights. I sank down into a squat. The soles of my feet were like two lonesome organs looking for an invitation to roam. Come and get me, I thought. I’ll be here. Ready and waiting to go.
*Cheap Tanya was previously published in Lunate
Jules Archer is the author of the chapbook, All the Ghosts We’ve Always Had (Thirty West Publishing, 2018) and the short story collection, Little Feasts (Thirty West Publishing, 2020). Her writing has appeared in various journals, including SmokeLong Quarterly, PANK, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. She lives in Arizona and looks for monsters in strange places.
Read this piece and more stories in Little Feasts, available 2-28-20