Such a Nice Town — By Jamie Holland

artwork by Adam Straus

After your mom announces that she and her new fancy boyfriend are going away for the weekend and she needs you to water the just-planted birch trees It’s important for their roots to get established; after you finish your Friday shift at Baskin Robbins and scrub the sticky residue from your forearms and return home without hearing your mom’s favorite podcast blaring in the kitchen You deserve to be loved and respected; You are strong and powerful; after your one friend Haley comes over with a plastic bag of possible outfits for the party and you draw Amy Winehouse eyes on each other and sip from too-strong drinks; after Kevin Whittaker says Hey new girl with that cheek dimple and dark-rimmed eyes and offers you a red shot that he swears tastes like a strawberry Starburst and which you drink because who says no to candy; after you throw back a second one to privately celebrate that the hottest junior on the planet has noticed you and that for the next 48 hours you will not have to hear You are one decision away from a different life or Stop complaining and start loving yourself; after Kevin says, We’ve got a killer roof deck, wanna see it? and he takes your hand and at the top you peer over the edge and say, It’s not like I want to jump but sometimes I feel my feet moving toward the ledge, and he says, Yeah, I get that, and right then you know that he’s the type to hold you without telling you to stop crying, he’ll rush over the second you tell him you’re starting to sink into that dark hole again; after Haley comes up and announces that she has a curfew and you say, You have to stay and she says I shouldn’t leave you here alone and you say I’m totally fine because you are more than fine and Kevin says I’ll walk her home and Haley bites her lip and Kevin turns to you and says, It’s so cool you live here now and you say, Yeah, I guess and he says, We needed new blood in this town and you go Oh is that all I am? and he laughs and pretends to bite your neck like an actual vampire but then he does bite but like a baby with only gums and no teeth and his mouth is warm against your skin and once his lips find yours, he says, Here, let’s get comfy, and props a throw pillow under your head and you peer up at this specimen of beauty and strength, this Greek statue, this prince who has chosen you out of all the girls and your lips brush against each other’s in that nice slow, shared breath way that makes you think of all the possibilities with him, like kissing between classes and being voted “Most Romantic Couple” and saying “I love you” on Valentine’s Day, all the things the characters do in movies and why can’t you have that? well maybe you can You deserve to be loved and respected; after his hand trails up your just-shaved leg and his fingertips graze the light purple underwear you chose at Target because it reminded you of the color of your childhood comforter; after he slides the cotton to your ankle in one skilled but worrying swoop and his zipper goes vrrrp! and you try to wriggle out from under him You are strong and powerful but realize you’re trapped and he’s like a train picking up speed while also crushing your fifteen-pound-overweight-according-to-your-mother body and now you’re way past the kind of consent conversation people talk about, now all you can do is hope for superhuman strength to take over which also people say can happen in a stressful situation but your 9th grade never-been-past second-base strength is all you’ve got and you keep picturing those huge salami logs from the deli section that always look too hard and now it’s poking inside you, ramming as you whimper while his hot, sour breath erupts in your ear and the night sky drops down like a final curtain and you get home and sleep for what feels like days, drowning and gasping for air and drowning and gasping again until you wake to your mom shaking you I can’t believe you didn’t water those trees, now they’ll never get a good start.

Jamie Holland's fiction and non-fiction have appeared or are appearing in Antietam Review (Winner of the 1998 Literary Contest), Baltimore Review, Brain Child, Electric Grace: Still More Fiction by Washington Area Women, Flash Fiction Magazine (Pushcart-nominated story), Gargoyle, Literary Mama, Pithead Chapel, Potomac Review, Scoundrel Time, Under the Gum Tree and others. She lives in Washington, D.C.