Jesus, Please
THE TIGERLILY MOTEL
DAYTONA BEACH, FLORIDA
AUGUST 3, 1990 | 10:02 P.M.
Aimee finishes washing her face with water and switches off the bathroom light. She slips into bed beside Tyra, who has been reading American Psycho. The room smells of old cigarettes and Aimee's sweet perfume. A plastic Virgin Mary stands beneath the flickering lamp.
Tyra sets down her book and reaches for Aimee's hand beneath the thin blanket.
“I can’t wait to spend eternity with you,” she whispers. “We’ll own a great big ol’ house and get the hell out of this motel. I ain’t ever gon’ leave you.”
Aimee smiles and kisses her on the lips.
“There ain’t nothing I haven’t done for you. I’ve done things I could go to jail for. Things that could send me to the electric chair.”
Tyra laughs. Aimee doesn't. Tyra pulls back.
Aimee looks down at her hands. She inhales sharply, following a 30-second pause.
“I’ve been wantin’ to tell you somethin’, Tyra. I mean, I never thought I could do it. I never thought I was capable of killin’ nobody. But when my hands started gettin’ hot, and my heart started rancin’, I couldn't control myself. Next thing I know, blood started poolin’ ‘round his feet; foam frothin’ from his mouth and drippin’ down his neck. He was makin’ this awful sound, like a frog caught in his throat, croakin’ and gaspin’ for air. I remember the smell of iron. I remember his eyes. Wide open. Starin’ right at me. Like he couldn’t believe I was the one doin’ it.”
She pauses, whispering into Tyra's ear.
“I just laughed and laughed at him.”
Aimee looks up, her smile widening.
“And I did it 6 more times.”
For a moment, neither speaks. The bathroom faucet drips behind the closed door. Aimee waits for a response, but Tyra stares at her as if she’s looking at a complete stranger.
“Oh, Tyra, don't look at me like that. I didn't do it because I wanted to. Well, not at first. You gotta believe me. I was scared somebody was gonna take you from me.”
Aimee reaches for Tyra's cheek. “You remember what it was like before we had each other? How nobody gave a damn if we were alive or dead? How we used to pray for the days to end, not carin’ much if we'd be here for the next one? Well now I got a reason to stay. And so do you.”
Aimee looks at their joined hands.
“Jesus himself could come down from heaven and tell me I was wrong for lovin' you, and I'd look that man right in the eyes and tell him to forgive me, because I ain't never been sorry for you. Not once. Not ever.”
Her voice softens.
“I just want us to have a life. A real life. A house with two stories. Fancy restaurant dates so that we ain’t gotta go to McDonald's ever again. I wanna grow old with you. I wanna be eighty years old and still wake up next to you and tell you how beautiful you are…”
“Don't you want that, baby?”
Tyra swallows. She begins to nod.
Aimee smiles and starts jumping up and down.
“See? You understand. I'm your world, ain't I?”
Tyra closes her eyes.
“You're my world.”
“And you know I'd never let nobody hurt you, right Tyra.”
Tyra hesitates. She looks at the gold cross resting against Aimee's collarbone.
“Yes. I know you would never do anything to hurt me. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Aimee whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Aimee switches off the lamp. The Virgin Mary disappears into the darkness, leaving only the red numbers of the alarm clock and the light from the neon sign outside peeking through the fog-coated windows. Aimee wraps her arm around Tyra, pulling her closer.
Tyra lies awake, listening to the AC buzz. She thinks of seven men. She thinks of the two-story house, the fancy dinner dates, the eighty years Aimee has promised her.
She has never wanted anything so badly.
A tear slips into her pillow.
“Jesus, please,” she whispers.
She doesn't know if she's asking for forgiveness or permission.
Strike Out,
Written by: Ava Jane Bowie
Edited by: Francesca Jaques
Ava Jane Bowie is a writer for Strike Magazine GNV. She is an avid concert attendee and hopes to reach 100 concerts in the next 2 years. When she isn’t at Library West or on a nature walk, she can be found making pumpkin bread, watching music videos, or talking to her journal like an old friend. You can reach her on Instagram @avajanebowie, or by email avajane3000@gmail.com.
