Charlene had two scars, one on the inside of each foot. They were only visible in the cold, when they darkened. They were made by her shoes on the day of her first wedding. The scars were all she had to remind her of that marriage. They were two more reminders than she'd wanted.
The scars weren't dark enough for Charlene to need scar cream. Still, she considered its shiny plastic tube as she stood in the pharmacy with her plastic shopping basket. It looked so reassuring, so neat and clinical. Every scar cream she ever bought led to the same thing.
"You can't even see them!" Marcus would say, his speech hampered by the toothbrush paused in the corner of his mouth. She would sit on the edge of the bed and ignore him, working the salve into her skin. Sometimes even she couldn't see the scars, but when they were discernible, Charlene scrub at the last physical traces of her life with Solomon as if they were plague sores.
Charlene had heard once that a woman who picks a bad man and loses him will always pick another bad man to take his place, but Marcus wasn't a bad man. Solomon wasn't so much a bad man as he was a bad husband. Charlene was very young and very fragile when they married, and this delighted him. He used it to his advantage when they were alone, and he made sport of it in front of their friends, which were really just his friends.
"Miss Charlene," Old Jerry would say, usually as she'd circle the porch making sure the men never saw the bottoms of their glasses. "Miss Charlene, how do you stay so sweet married to such a filthy son of a bitch?" There was never enough time for her to come up with a clever response.
"Oh she's as dirty as they come," Solomon would say, leaning back in his chair and scraping even more paint from the floor. "But she turns into a virgin in the morning. Then I have to start all over again." He'd grin at Old Jerry and Mike and Lou and God knows what other creatures he'd bring home from God knows where. Then he'd grin at Charlene, and when she wouldn't grin back, which was all the time, he'd grab her rear end and say, "Come on, baby. You like it." Just once, she would have liked to answer Old Jerry for herself. Just once before Solomon left and with him, the entire ritual.
The scars weren't dark enough for Charlene to need scar cream. Still, she considered its shiny plastic tube as she stood in the pharmacy with her plastic shopping basket. It looked so reassuring, so neat and clinical. Every scar cream she ever bought led to the same thing.
"You can't even see them!" Marcus would say, his speech hampered by the toothbrush paused in the corner of his mouth. She would sit on the edge of the bed and ignore him, working the salve into her skin. Sometimes even she couldn't see the scars, but when they were discernible, Charlene scrub at the last physical traces of her life with Solomon as if they were plague sores.
Charlene had heard once that a woman who picks a bad man and loses him will always pick another bad man to take his place, but Marcus wasn't a bad man. Solomon wasn't so much a bad man as he was a bad husband. Charlene was very young and very fragile when they married, and this delighted him. He used it to his advantage when they were alone, and he made sport of it in front of their friends, which were really just his friends.
"Miss Charlene," Old Jerry would say, usually as she'd circle the porch making sure the men never saw the bottoms of their glasses. "Miss Charlene, how do you stay so sweet married to such a filthy son of a bitch?" There was never enough time for her to come up with a clever response.
"Oh she's as dirty as they come," Solomon would say, leaning back in his chair and scraping even more paint from the floor. "But she turns into a virgin in the morning. Then I have to start all over again." He'd grin at Old Jerry and Mike and Lou and God knows what other creatures he'd bring home from God knows where. Then he'd grin at Charlene, and when she wouldn't grin back, which was all the time, he'd grab her rear end and say, "Come on, baby. You like it." Just once, she would have liked to answer Old Jerry for herself. Just once before Solomon left and with him, the entire ritual.
