Sick City

Jujo Flies A Kite

“Jujo get back here!”

It was too humid for kite flying but you don’t stop Jujo. He was a furious child, prone to shattering glasses and bruising schoolmates. His pets died young, and his teachers took every one of their holidays. His parents had given up any hope of controlling him; that task now belonged to the young Ms. Curby, Jujo's newest governess. She was sitting on the park bench with her legs crossed while Jujo’s kite hovered overhead.

“Jujo, please- don’t go beyond the oak tree!”

Jujo walked past the oak tree. It wasn’t his fault, really… the kite had led him there. He let out more slack on the line and the kite angled upward, testing its freedom. Fueled by the blustery wind the kite denied gravity, climbing upright. Its tail was whipping madly, taunting Jujo like a schoolmate with his tongue stuck out.

Ms. Curby had told him not to fly his kite today but Jujo flew his kite anyhow. He wanted to.

“Jujo, be a good boy and don’t go beyond the picnic bench!”

Jujo walked past the picnic bench. It wasn’t his fault… the kite was inviting him. Ms. Curby was distracted, searching her purse for a tampon or candy bar. She wasn’t going to be chasing him today.

“Don’t go beyond the water fountain!”

Jujo walked past the water fountain. It wasn’t his fault… his kite was showing him the way. The sky was growing darker, with monstrous clouds of purple amassed over the park. The breeze, defeated, gave way to gusting current.

Ms. Curby pulled her hair from her mouth. “Jujo it’s going to thunderstorm!”

“I don’t care!” Jujo said gleefully. No profanity… he must be in a good mood.

Thunder sounded a louder warning but Jujo was riding this high… he had never flown his kite to this height. The pull from above was so strong it was lifting his heels off the grass. It was a glorious feeling… the wind blowing summer leaves from the trees and stirring his emotion, his stomach untying ten knots. He felt freedom for the first time… his heart losing its meter.

A louder punch of thunder scolded from above. The menacing heavens grew sinister… sickening.

Jujo’s kite climbed even higher, deeper into the darkness, wider inside the sky… The booming thunder made Jujo jump, and startled the dazing Ms. Curby.

“JUJO! You listen to me now!”

Jujo was hypnotized by the kite, now soaring on its own authority. He did not hear his governess' warning. He did not fear the sky's promise to storm.

Jujo did not see the fuck-crazy rapist emerge from the bushes and put a steak knife to Ms. Curby's throat, and he did not hear the rapist whisper in her ear.

The desperate criminal promised Ms. Curby that he would kill her, but only after the rape and mutilation.

Ms. Curby could feel the knife's teeth, and the rapist's stubbled beard, and she could feel her heart bumping against the walls of her chest. She reluctantly agreed to return with the rapist to the bushes, for the inevitable, but as she walked off she called out to Jujo.

“Be a good boy, Jujo, and put the kite away now.”

Jujo raised his hand over his shoulder, flipping Ms. Curby the bird without even looking back.

.

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Menstruation At Snake Lake

Don’t ever ask me to come “out to the woods” again. I don’t want any guy pitching a tent for me. I don’t want to “rough it” in “the great outdoors” or use any phrase that requires “quotation marks.” Why? Because every time I go camping I get my period. It’s a rule- a guarantee. I even got it twice during two separate camping trips in May of ‘09. Thank you God for the double-yolked egg.

Is this a coincidence? A practical joke? My body must sense when I’m in the mountains because next thing I know I’m a river of blood. (Did you see those elevators in “The Shining”?) Camping is bad enough anyway… straining coffee through the French press, bugs in my hair and say goodbye to open-toed shoes. Plus the sun is murder on my skin… I won’t go out without three coats of SPF 90. But when my period starts it’s the perfect storm.

I’m in the bushes, squatting to pee or make turtles, and my boyfriend usually finds this a good time to pretend to “hunt” me with his finger gun. It’s hard to fake-laugh with poison sumac up your ass. Last time he asked me if I was laying eggs and I seriously considered shooting him with the rifle and calling it a hunting accident. And then comes the bleeding. Some girls have a really light flow but I’m like the Hoover Dam on a Tuesday morning. Ever use a pine cone as a tampon? It’s a great way to start a hike.

And the cramping? Big. Frigg. Imagine someone pummeling your pelvic region wearing brass knuckles and oven mitts. And not to be too grody but my nipples feel like they’ve been driving nails through drywall all day. I usually get my headache just before my boyfriend pulls out his acoustic guitar for some “campfire singalongs.” I spend the time calculating the temperature at which his skull would melt. And my body just feels…Blecchghh. It’s not poetry but there it is.

The last camping trip I brought along a pair of steel-toed boots so I had the option of crushing my boyfriend’s testicles if he decided to get funny again. I went through a whole roll of TP just spotting and he had to wipe with pages from his car manual! I admit it- I get a little cranky when I’m on the rag but he has this way of telling stories without a beginning, middle or end. He asked if I wanted s’mores and I slapped him so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He managed to swallow the marshmallows without me.

I agreed to go camping this weekend- one last time- but it’s only because my period isn’t due for another two weeks. We’re going with two other couples and there’s some talk of a hoe-down and/or square dance. They’re obviously kidding, right? We are gonna play some volleyball which is awesome because I kick- hold on a second. There’s something dripping down my leg… oh no… oh God… it can’t be…

Big frigg.