Where No Gods Came

Faina Stew

Faina Stew M At night, Cammy disappears to her job waiting tables at the Starlight Lanes. “We need the money,” she tells me. “We can’t depend on Lenore.” While she gets ready, I lounge on the ›oor, watch as she scrunches the pantyhose together at the toe, inches them slowly up over each leg, bends at the knees to yank them up over her hips. The elastic top cuts into her ›at white stomach. Then she sits half-naked in front of the make-up mirror, the round white bulbs turning her bare skin blue. She spits on the end of her eyeliner brush, rubs it over a little black cake, draws thick lines around her eyes. “Highlights,” she says, opening them wide to dry. “Now they’re almost as dark as yours.” I stay by her side, ›ip the record albums, light her cigarettes, help her unwind hot rollers from her hair. Now that she’s gone for long hours, I miss her. “Are you sure you have to work?” I ask her. “The cash will come in handy,” she says. “You wait and see. My mother’s loaded, but it won’t trickle down to us. Besides, I’m buying you a con‹rmation dress with my tips; we’ll go shopping at Sears on Lake Street.” She nods toward the giant plastic beer bottle already heavy with silver. “Anyway, you’ve got your Jimmy. That virginal boy from Cathedral. Can’t he keep you company at night?” “But Lenore and I are lonely when you leave.” “You’re starting to sound like my mother.” Before she leaves, she sprays musk perfume over her body, under the pink waitress dress, between the top of her uniform and her bra, behind the back of her neck. I hold my breath when she bends down to kiss me. “Good-bye, little sister,” she says, her lips sweet with Close-up toothpaste and watermelon gloss. “Don’t wait up for me.” 120 M But I do. Ever since her ‹rst night, I’ve set my alarm so I’m awake when Cammy comes home. I watch for her out our bedroom window, the parking lot dreary and deserted, the garage lights shining on the snow. I watch while the strange cars bring her home, idle outside in the cold, exhaust clouding out of their tailpipes, windshields fogged over with breath and ice. Sometimes the driver roars the engine, and a loud muf›er explodes into the silence. Other than that, nothing happens, so I close my eyes and wait for the sound of her footsteps stumbling up the back stairs. When she comes into our room, I pretend to be asleep. I open my eyes just a little so she doesn’t know I’m watching her kick off her spongy white waitress shoes, pull her uniform over her head. Then she peels off her pantyhose and stands in the city light that streams through our window, and lets the shadows fall over her beautiful body. Cammy. Cammy smoking to get to sleep. Cammy playing “Stairway to Heaven,” over and over, her husky night voice singing along with the song. Cammy climbing into our bed ‹nally, her skin cold against me, her full breasts pressed into my back, her leg looped, as always, over my hip. In the morning when I leave for school, Cammy’s still asleep face down in her pillow, her long blonde hair spilling over her bare shoulders , pooling in the small curve of her back. Now it’s me, again, who brings Lenore coffee, it’s me who helps her hobble to the bathroom, it’s me who delivers dry toast and a juice glass of vodka. “Don’t mention this to Cammy,” Lenore tells me. “I just need a little sip to get going.” “You shouldn’t drink in the morning,” I say to her. “I know,” she says. “But someday you’ll understand. It’s this damn cough. A drink is the only thing that helps.” Ever since Cammy’s come back, Lenore seems weaker, hacking all the time, her voice faint and scratchy like she has laryngitis. “I wish Cammy wouldn’t work,” she says. “I worry so when she goes away.” I look at Lenore’s spindly arms poking out of her covers, her thin ‹ngers nothing more than knobby bones. “Cammy is home with you all day.” 121 N Where No Gods Came [3.131.110.169] Project MUSE (2024...