Big Daddy sure do like to point that finger of his, he conduct life with it. The finger is our cockadoodledoo in the morning—“Wake up, lazy sons of bitches,” he say as he jab our side, it’s our have-a-nice-day, he twirl my hair until it hurt, it’s our goodnight kiss, “I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, you hear?” The finger switch the light off. One time I say, “Yeah, we hear ya, we ain’t deaf.” Sharp click. Fast light. Big Daddy shove his finger hard in my ear and he say, “Next time you says that you be deaf. You hear me, girl?” I don’t say nothin’.
Shit under his fingernail from lunchmeat and digging graves, he walk into the kitchen. He see the pink cake Fat Momma just made. He swipe icing on the finger and he suck it off. Sound like a pig in mud. He do a little dance step. “Damn that good,” he say. He point at Fat Momma, “You still got it, Fat Momma.” She start, “I’m tired of cooking and cleaning, let’s hop over to the IHOP so I could catch a break.” She clever that way. The finger don’t like what it hear. It point to my little brother, Loud, and he start breathing heavy. Big Momma’s time is up. She shut it, she obey the finger like it the hand of God, she walk over to the stove mumbling. Her apron say, “Feed The Animals.” Links of fat move around her apron strings. Big Daddy point at Loud and say, “Don’t you be touching your thing in front of me, boy.” The finger move up and down in time to Loud’s hand. Faster and faster. Big Daddy laughing. Loud get fussy. Feel real bad. He bark something that don’t make sense, sucking his thumb as he say it, his face get red. He run out. I hear him take a bat to the wall. Poor Loud.
It my turn now. The finger point at me. I don’t like the part of me it point at. He stick it in my stomach and he keep sticking it in until my belly swallow the finger. I can’t breathe. “Man,” he say, “my finger is drowning in there.” He take it out. I gasp for air. Big Daddy ask, “Do you want to end up like that?” He point to Fat Momma. When she feel hurt Fat Momma lower her head and close her eyes like she trying to disappear herself. I try to look pretty for Big Daddy tonight. I wear my pink sweater he got me for my birthday. Loud whack the wall again. I jump. Big Daddy look at my plate, then at me. He cut my cake in half with the finger and throw it on the floor. “Sorry,” he say, but he not sorry “it for you own good.” I feel fire in my head. My mind whisper, “Fuck you Big Daddy, fuck you, don’t you be pointing that finger at me.” Someday I grill his sausage finger on the BBQ and eat it. That way he be only able to point a nub. And nobody pay a nub no mind.
In school no one point at me. You can’t point at invisible. “Jenny Avrett?” teach say. “Here,” I whisper. “Jenny Avrett?” she say again. I don’t say anything. Absent is better than here.
I talk to Cicadas at night. The wolf howl at the moon, the Cicadas whisper secrets. I tell them everything. They always take my side and watch out for me in the night. In school I learn Cicadas spend their life underground in the dark. No sun. No hope. But they don’t give up. They keep digging an exit tunnel till one day they escape and they free. I put my ear to the screen window. They sound like electric shocks. They sound like they pinching the air. I listen close. “I don’t know,” I say. “Yes, I love Loud big,” I say. “I scared,” I say “Okay, I do it for Loud.” I breathe heavy. “Tonight?” I do what they say.
I creep into Big Daddy’s room. He sleep. Sour meat and sweat in the air. Fat Momma hug her pillow. Her toes is sticking out the blanket. “Dresser, dresser, dresser” the Cicadas say. They can’t help repeating themselves. “Okay,” I say. I open the top drawer so slow I don’t know if it moving. Ewww. Ugggh. I see Big Daddy’s underwear. I close my eyes so tight I afraid I never be able to open them again. I slip my hand under the underwear and I move my hand around until I feel the finger of the gun. I point it at Big Daddy’s stupid head. “You got a fat head,” I whisper. I point it at the hairs coming out of his nose. “Gross,” I whisper. “You gross, you know that?” I point it at the purple blood vessels in his cheeks. “You want to end up like the drunk next door,” I say. “Quiet, quiet, quiet,” say the Cicadas. I point the finger of the gun at his thing. “Fuck you, Big Daddy,” I say, “Fuck you and the finger.” “Enough, enough, enough,” they say. I try to block them out and I start to squeeze. “Enough! Enough! “Enough!” say the Cicadas. “Okay,” I say. I drop the gun in the drawer. It scream when I close it. Big Daddy snort. He stir. His eyes open. He look lost. I run into my room. I shake under my sheet. My legs feel like they running away. I pray I don’t hear the click of the light. Dear God, I pray the light don’t go on. I wait and wait and wait.
Next morning we stopped speeding to church. Good, I think, somebody going to give it to Big Daddy. He don’t open his window. The cop knock. Big Daddy make believe he don’t hear it. I see the cop’s belt. It got a club and a gun. Both would do. The knock get louder. In his own time, Big Daddy crank down the window. “Bad To The Bone,” spill out. The wet air flood the car. “You were going 60 in a 20 miles per hour zone,” the cop say. He sound like a black and white movie. I like his hat and jaw. When he look at me I look down at my feet. End of my toe nail curl up like the end of a sled. Fat Momma can’t cut them no more. I hear Big Daddy say something about God made him do it and then he laugh a stupid, dumb dumb laugh. I look up sneaky. Just the top of my eyes. The cop looking down at his pad. He look up at me and winks. I think about what if he touch my ta ta’s. Big Daddy point at the cop. He getting agitated. The finger is giving the cop lip. He poking the cop now. “That finger going to get you thrown in jail,” say my new boyfriend. Big Daddy can’t help himself, don’t know how to put it away, he don’t have a holster like boyfriend.
Fat Momma drive us home from the police station. I hear the ding of her unbuckled seatbelt. She rather die in a crash than die of embarrassment trying to put it on. She look like, no, I don’t want to say what she look like. She stop at Dunkin’ Donuts.
Home, I feel like I getting away with something. I got jelly in my mouth. It swallow itself. I feel angel wings inside me but then they fly away scared. Loud suck his thumb, poke himself. Fat Momma catch a break. She watch TV with us. She laugh at the same thing we do. We sleep in her bed. She fold us inside her. We her baby cubs. Her skin warm bread.
Morning, Fat Momma whisper “Pretty girl” in my ear. She keep saying it. “Pretty girl,” she say as she spray perfume that smell like flowers. She smooth my hair, make a comb with her fingers. Fat Momma take her necklace and put it over my head. She stand back. “Pretty girl,” she whisper to herself. She happy. She sad. Big Daddy come home soon.
Tonight I tell the Cicadas and they “Ha-ha, ha-ha, ha-ha” till dawn. But I don’t laugh.
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Photo credit: eyeweed / Foter / CC BY-NC-ND