by David Budbill
Grace lives in a trailer on the edge of town,
down along the river. She's got three kids.
She had a husband, but he split.
I saw a questionnaire once that she'd filled out
asking if they'd volunteer at school.
Here is what she said:
I'd like to but I got no time.
We get up at half past five, my husband and myself I mean
and he is out the door by 6:15.
Then I get up the kids and them and me all leave
together a little after seven.
I take Doreen to school, then drop the other two
to Mrs. Fairchild's and then I go to work myself.
When I get done I pick up the kids to Fairchild's
and we get home by six.
My husband, he gets home about an hour later.
By the time we get our supper there's no time left for nothin'.
We live like this six days a week, even Saturdays,
and Sundays we try to work around the place,
you know,
get in the wood or fix the goddamned car.
Since her husband left she's given up her full-time job
and things for Grace and for the kids have gone down hill,
which is no doubt one of the reasons she got into so much trouble . . .
but . . . Grace will speak for herself.
The hell I will.
Well, she can speak for herself.
You're goddamned right I can.
Will you? Please.
I got nothin' to say.
You do too.
Why do you want me to do this anyway?
It's your chance to have your say, to tell your side
and tell it like you want it told.
Why should I bother?
Nobody listens anyway.
I will.
Big fuckin' deal.
Thanks.
Are you going to tell your story?
Alright.
Alright, Mr. Poet, only
maybe you won't like it.
Maybe.
It ain't no Vermont picture postcard.
Good.
I suppose you want to hear about the time I had to go to court.
That'd be a good place to start.
Voyeur, ain't ya?
Yes. Just like everybody else.
True enough. Only everybody else don't write it down.
Where the hell do you get off, anyway, undressing all of us in public?
I've heard about those poems you write.
I've heard that's what you do.
I know how you do it. Fiction. Fiction, shit. I can barely read,
but I know fiction. Those people read your stuff really think
you made us up?
I made up you!
Bullshit to that! How could you?
I'm talkin' to you, ain't I?
Christ, you're stupider than I thought!
Are you going tell your story or stand around and dump on me?
Maybe I'll do both.
Fine!
You just want me to embarrass myself don't you?
No! I just want you to have your chance!
Alright. Alright. But nobody will listen.
Nobody around here ever listens. Everybody around here. . . .
You already said that.
Shut up! I'm talkin' ain't I?
Everybody around here already knows what they think of me.
They think I'm a beast or somethin'. They think
I'm not sorry for that time. Well, maybe I'm not. Huh?
Maybe I'm not sorry. How about that?
I didn't mean to hurt her. She's my baby, ain't she?
For Christ's sake, she came out of me.
All I wanted was some quiet. What's so wrong with that?
She was screaming, I mean screaming.
She'd been doing it for days.
You can only stand so much of that you know.
I stood as much as I could stand and then I hit her.
I hit her and I hit her and I hit her. I wanted to . . .
Do you understand?
No. No. You don't. Because you can't, because
you are always in control, you always got yourself together.
No. You couldn't understand. You could never understand.
I love my baby. I love her and
I wanted to break her face.
Both. Both. Both those things!
Not just one. Goddamnit, not just one.
That's what I told the judge, but he's just like you.
Anymore on that?
No.
What . . . what about the way they say you sleep around?
Gimme a break will you, David?
Who says that? Edith? Christ.
How could I? When? You know what my life is like.
I would if I could, if I ever got the chance.
Why not? You think I'm made of stone or somethin'?
You think I wouldn't like to have somebody I could be with,
share all my troubles with, do chores and keep this place
together with? You think I wouldn't like that?
To have somebody to sleep up next to, to hold on to?
You're goddamned right, Mister, because it's comfort.
It's warm and good, I mean, sometimes it can be.
Fun. Fun is what I mean. Some fun!
We could stay at home all day some day
in the middle of the week,
just him and me, and lounge around all morning,
have lunch together,
take a bath and get in bed and make love and stay in bed
together, naked, and watch TV all afternoon
until the kids come home from school.
You don't think I'd like that? By Jesus, you are a fool.
You and everybody else in this goddamned place.
I hate this place! I hate it. And I hate you.
I'd get out of here tomorrow if I could.
I'd go some place if there was some place I could go.
I'd take the kids and go. I mean it.
I don't care what people say. To hell with them,
and you, and this goddamned place too.
Vermont! Vermont. Fuck Vermont.
And fuck you too. I'm not sayin' any more.
from Judevine: Revised Edition
Chelsea Green Publishing Company, 1999