Courage
© 2004 by Dallas Coleman
 

Her middle name is Courage. Hannah whispers the word to me over and over in thin morning hours as I roost in a ruby metallic-flake dentist's chair, held together by shiny dark tape. The untaped edges of the chair poke through the cloth of my bluejeans and my fingers unconsciously delve into the open crevices. Hannah leans in close to me, checking to make sure the store owner doesn’t notice that’s she’s slipped under the counter and into what he so charmingly called “the forbidden garden.”

When we first came in, about two hours ago, my nose was hammered with a mix of disinfectant, petroleum jelly and men's deodorant that blossoms in backstreet tattoo parlors; but now the night air pouring through the broken window is crisp, brushing my skin and carrying Hannah’s hop-tinged breath across my face. Her soft, refined cheek touches mine for a moment and I take a second’s comfort before she slips back underneath the counter.

Hannah rests her arms against the linoleum, crinkling the yellowing sheets of laughing, dripping skulls and crimson roses. She is a fairy princess who has lighted upon this reality at her whim, a delicate body encapsulating an Amazon spirit. Hannah peers at my face, my hands, my feet, looking for signs for flight. She is at once amused, intent and concerned. I hear the bell above the door jangle and I start. The chair heaves, threatening to unseat me as I sit up. The floor, a dizzying mix of ebony and bone squares, seems to raise up around Hannah’s head, and I feel the urge to laugh.

The wind tapped sharply against the picture window in the front room as I ran my bath water. Goosebumps raced across my arms and down my legs and I wanted to check, one more time, that I was alone. I turned off the water and tied my robe snugly around my thin waist. I wandered throughout the apartment, checking locks on doors and windows.I peeked into Katherine’s room, and hundreds of glass eyes looked to see who was disturbing them. She had pulled the comforter up around her ears again, so I smoothed it down over her tiny feet. Her fair hair was tangled and damp on the pillow and I could see shadows of adulthood upon her five-year old face. I placed her favorite, ratty stuffed kitten beside her before I continued. On my way back into the bathroom, I pulled a bottle of beaujolais off the wine rack to share a bath with me.

The bathwater sent steam dancing up the slate tiles around the tub, frosting them with heat. I lit the candles arranged around the room, tapers and votives, columns and tealights and the room began to glow. I poured myself a glass of wine and hung my satin robe on its hook. As I sank into the warm, scented water, I whispered a prayer to the goddess Brigit to give me courage.

The Jerry Garcia look-alike lumbers in from his twenty-minute cigarette break, looking at me with raised eyebrows. I try to grin, but my face is stiff. Hannah takes his arm and explains again what I need, and he smiles. They discuss the price and she pays him with bills from my purse. I close my eyes and picture a candle, burning before a mirror. Janis Joplin wails from the speakers and the autoclave purrs and hiccups.

Damon begins to wash his hands and Hannah motions at me to proceed. I slowly take off my blouse, silently begging my hands not to tremble. The silver buttons fight with the denim buttonholes before sliding through. I toss my shirt to Hannah, with forced nonchalance, and she misses it. The shirt lands clinking on the floor and I slip off my bra as Damon bends over to retrieve it with his soapy hands.

One night, Hannah and I went to a Wiccan celebration with our friend, Kaitlin, to celebrate women and goddesses and magic and the moon. Women gathered in clutches, hugging and laughing. The sun was fading and Kaitlin’s white dress seemed to give off a light of its own. I could see Hannah's nervousness, her peridot eyes darted back and forth, taking in these powerful women moving through their element, singing and drumming and praying. Kaitlin grabbed me by the hand and the three of us joined the circle of women gathered inside the flaming torches. A tall, dark woman stood in the middle of us, hands outstretched. Her voice was thrown up into the sky, calling for ancient goddesses to join us. As she sang, the air became heavy and thick. The drums brought in the darkness and the moon slid up into the sky, pregnant. The priestess told us to envision what we would like to be rid of. As I held Hannah’s hand, I whispered, “Fear.”

As the moon grew brighter, women began to move through this sacred space. We circled together, dozens of women, and we sang. Moving slowly to the rhythmic drumbeats, we whirled around, chanting. "Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna," over and over, voices rising and falling. I felt Hannah next to me, holding my hand. Her long, dark hair caught the breeze and sailed beside her.

Damon plops down hard in a vinyl stool, one of those that doctors scoot around an examination room in before they put your heels into the icy metal stirrups and snap on their plastic gloves. His long hair is caught up in a leather thong, like the one I wore before I cut my hair off. I want to study this man who is a paid participant in my moment, but Hannah clears her throat and I raise my eyes to her. The back of the chair slowly lowers until I am horizontal and Hannah’s faces floats above me. It occurs to me that if she cried, I could drink her tears.Damon moves my necklace away from my neck and looks at me. When my blush reaches my neck, he takes a folded piece of gauze dipped into iodine and rubs the monkey’s blood into my nipples, making them appear huge and pregnant. After this cleanser is removed with a spray of icy water from a grimy bottle, his squat, rough stranger’s hands rub the nubbled flesh dry with a dishcloth.

The night my husband had his heart attack, my friends, women who loved me, gathered around, defying the sterile hospital, lending me strength. They brought me greasy hamburgers and spicy onion rings with ranch dressing. Marie took Katherine home with her to watch movies. Kaitlin brought me a sweater and a funny novel. Kaye talked to the people at the office and answered messages and e-mails.

At the end, when I would wake up with empty arms and wet cheeks, someone would move from her post on the futon and rock with me in my suddenly huge double bed. Kaitlin dealt with the funeral home; Marie did my hair. When it was finally over, Hannah held me, gave me a stiff vodka, and lit my cigarettes because my hands were shaking.

Hannah grins impishly at me and winks. "Relax, Chica. It'll be cool." Her eyes are cold and clear, limeades on the first day of July and they comfort me. Damon paints two tiny marks on either side of my nipple with a green Sharpie marker and asks, "Are they okay?"

I look to my best friend, my Courage, and she nods slowly. "Life her boobs up to make sure they'll hang right in a bra," she commands.Damon's sandpaper hands catch under my breasts, plumping and lifting them in a parody of desire. I pull away, distraught and confused. The floor draws my attention, draining full-color reality away into an optical illusion of black and white.

The needle mirrors the light with a flash.

I had never imagined a seven pound baby girl could suck so hard. The first time my Katherine drew me into her mouth, I felt like my chest would implode. Milk crashed into my nipple and fought desperately to be released. My chest was a furnace, throbbing and weeping. When Katherine would cry, unsatisfied, I would tense in fear and pain, holding back the milk with my will.

My mother came to me, with the words of generations of wise women. With that bustling manner of women who have raised a passel of babies, she cradled Katherine in one arm and cared for me with the other. She made salves from lard and comfrey to slather on my cracked nipples between feedings. Mother softened my breasts with cloths she baked in the oven, better comfort than chocolate chip cookies. She even defrosted my freezer and made me latkes on my single burner stove.

He asks, "Are you sure you're ready for this?" and I nod. Hannah reaches down and grabs my hand as Damon places a clamp upon my left nipple. I squeeze my eyes shut and begin slowly curling and uncurling my toes. When the needle slips in, I see a flash of light curl behind my eyelids and I feel heat.I open my eyes and glance at Hannah. She looks quietly at me, not talking. I see the reflection of the clamp in her eyes before it closes upon my right nipple.

Breathing slowly, I echo mantras in my head, trying to contain my fear and pain. I watch Damon pick up the second needle and time slows as he places it against my nipple. The thin metal pushes through until a thick drop of blood leaves a sanguine trail against my snowy flesh.

Jim Morrison posters and a collection of pewter dragons knocked against a battery -operated boom box and a stack of cassettes in a cardboard banana box. I placed my last laundry basket full of panties and pastel satin nightgowns on top of the box and carried them to my Lynx, baby-powder blue to match my eyes. I wore my new bluejeans and the cream poet's blouse that Aunt Dale had mailed me for graduation. I wandered into my room, looking at the untouched squares of wall where pictures of family, friends and the famous had lived. The top of the cherrywood dresser was empty, except for a single white ponytail holder. My single bed was made in a set of brand new pink flowered sheets and a white eyelet cover. I was looking at a guest room. My sister peered in the room and shook her head. "Lucky," she smiled, "I wish I could go too." She grinned at me through her braces and nodded knowingly. "You're going to get to do so much cool stuff." She winked at me and then placed her headphones more snugly around her ears and be-bopped down the hall.

Mother was sitting in a rocking chair, looking at an old photo I'd taken from my wall. I went to her and her eyes filled with tears. I knelt before her and rested my head in her lap, breathing in the smell that had always been with me. She held me fiercely for a moment, digging in with her long fingernails and then she let me go.

Every breath I take causes the needles in my nipples to vibrate, seesawing back and forth lightly on my breasts. Damon takes a gold ring and places the tip against the needle in my right breast. Slowly he pushes the ring in while slipping the needle out. The pain is exquisite and my eyes fill with tears. I hear Hannah's voice comforting me, reminding me that this rite of passage is almost over. I nod slightly and tell Damon to continue.

Damon touches the left nipple with the ring and begins the process of inserting one piece of metal while removing another. I breathe slowly and deeply, calming myself. The pain intensifies, becoming deeper and I hear Hannah's voice, worried. "What's wrong, why isn't it going in?" I slide on the keen edge of panic and my eyes fly open. "What's wrong?" I remind myself not to scream.

Damon sits back, "I'm sorry. I think I collapsed a milk duct. I'm going to have a pierce it again." I see the concern flood into Hannah's eyes, feel the fear pour into my groin. I remind myself why I am here, Courage is her middle name.

"Let's get it over with," I whisper.

He rented a cheap, tawdry hotel room with a fake I.D. and I told my parents we were going to a carnival. We stopped at a Safeway and bought cheese in a spraycan, crackers and red grapes. On our way downtown to the hotel, we didn't talk. I wasn't used to the garter belt I was wearing and I wriggled in the leather seat of his mother's white Lincoln.When we pulled into the hotel parking lot, he made me lay in the floorboard because he only had enough money to pay for one person. "In ten minutes," he explained, "get up and come to room 238." I crouched on the floor with the stale cheese puffs and old gasoline receipts until I heard loud, drunken voices coming close. I wrenched open the car door and bolted for the red door that Daniel had pointed out.We lay on the bed, after checking the blinds to assure ourselves that our parents couldn't possibly be outside taking photos of our first trek into the realm of adulthood. We rested motionless, two planks curing in the sun. When he reached over and brushed my leg, I jumped and shrieked, scaring us both into giggles.

The laughter became moans as his arm hugging my shoulder became his tongue upon my neck, his fingers upon my breasts, his hips upon my hips. We had been smoldering for some time, and bursting into flames was inevitable.

Our clothes lost themselves and we explored each others bodies, delving into secrets that our own bodies did not hold. I felt powerful and wise as I took him into my hand and drew him into me, and as he pushed through my boundaries, I became light and released.

I look at the needle Damon holds up and I smash my eyelids together. He sighs slowly and pushes the needle through a second time. I whistle through my teeth at the resurgence of white pain. When I open my eyes again, my breasts are weeping and I am reaching the edges of my control. As Damon picks up the ring, I grab his hand, "Try it once and if the fucking thing doesn't go in, then you stop. I'm done." He glances at me and nods. I close my eyes.

It is everything I can do to keep my hips from bucking off the chair as he inserts the ring. I hear a low groaning swirling around me and I know that I am nearing panic. I suddenly feel cold and wet.

"It's in," Hannah says and I force my eyes open. Damon places the beads in the rings and gently wipes off the trails of blood. I sit up and my breasts feel huge and hot, as if they have been slapped. The nipples are heated metal, dripping steam.

In my first ritual, I walked down a long, dark hallway led by the soft hand of my mother. I was warm and safe in this home-made womb. As I was led into the light, the high priestess faced me with eyes like agate. She placed her ceremonial sword gently against my chest and intoned, "it is better to fall upon this blade and perish, than to enter here with fear in your heart." The blade's point pressed into my newly forming breasts and I searched for my mother's face. My eyes lit upon her and I whispered, "I enter with perfect love and perfect trust." The blade dropped and soft, perfumed arms welcomed me into womanhood.That night, as I scrubbed my arms and legs in the bath, I felt a deepening within me. My wet skin shivered where it was exposed to the air. I stood up and unplugged the tub. As I watched the water spin down the drain, I noticed tiny drops of blood blossoming upon the water.

I slide into my shirt, gingerly covering my aching breasts. Hannah strokes my arm, "Let me see them." I open my shirt and she studies them quietly. "They look beautiful," she says. "You did so well. I'm very proud of you." I fasten the buttons of my shirt with my elbows akimbo to avoid brushing my nipples.

Hannah opens the door and I feel the cold air flow over me, cooling my cheeks and neck. She opens her car door and helps me with the seatbelt. As I hear the door slam shut, tears begin to flow down my cheeks, one drop tumbling after another. Hannah slides into her seat; she sees my tears. "Oh, don't cry, Hon. It'll be okay," she comforts. My pain and fear expends itself in liquid form and when my eyes begin to clear, Hannah starts the car.

On the way home she stops and buys me a lemon ice and a pack of cigarettes.

When we were little girls, perhaps four and nine, my sister and I would pretend that we were fairy princesses who had been enslaved by trolls and made to work as maids in a castle. I would wind our hair up into kerchiefs, hers dark and curly and mine blond and fine. I wore my mother's old skirts around my neck and Kathleen would wear something from my closet. We grabbed whatever free food we could find, dumping oranges and nickel candy and pickles and cans of coke into a macrame handbag. and then sneak out of the yard and down the road, making believe that someone would notice our departure.

We lived next to a railroad track and we would sneak down them, tiptoeing from rail to rail, until we made it to an opening in the tall grass. Sometimes, if we were feeling very brave, we would scare ourselves into believing the train was coming, fast on our heels, and we would run, sprinting over the dark wood and crumbling gravel, until we tumbled ourselves into the grass. We crouched there, listening for lumbering trolls and when we had caught our breath, we walked down the pathway in the grasses, uncovering our hair and becoming princesses again.

I walk up the stairs into my apartment and the faces of the women, my friends, turned towards me. Hannah smiles, hands around my shoulders.They clamor around me and I open my shirt to show them my wounds, my marks, my badges.

Hannah raises my fist and proclaims, "Her middle name is Courage."