Lip Tapping Thoughts

The tapping gave it away. She sat at the table staring at the pepper shaker tapping her lips with her finger, the same finger she used to wipe an eyelash from the ball moments before. It was as if she were tapping out Morse code on her lips, but there was no one to decode the message, not that she was aware. Her inquisitor’s understanding was well hidden.

Madeline had become accustomed to being questioned. He mom was the first, giving her interrogations on what happened at school each day as though she were trying to wrench a confession of horrible deeds done to her by the double-chinned teacher who never sent home notes. She wasn’t a trusting woman. She seemed to believe that every child was regularly getting into some sort of mischief, and she wanted to know what it was that hers had her tiny hands so deep into that they came out cleanly on the other side.

Then it was her boyfriends. Insecure, all of them, they wanted to know what that guy had said to her. Was he flirting with her? Did she like it? The questions swirled in their narrow little heads as the butterflies swirled in their tight little bellies with the thought of her with another boy. Once they pictured her being penetrated by one, it was too late; she already had been; and the nausea came to fruition. She was good at keeping secrets right up until she wanted them divulged into the world and minds of her interrogators with the clarity of a windshield swept clean of heavy rain to reveal an impending crash.

Even girl friends displayed a jealousy that caused uncharacteristic action at times. One even tied up another girl and shaved her hair as a means to prevent Madeline from befriending the poor victim, for to be a friend of Madeline was to be sought after by the rest. There was no reason to share.

No matter what happened before, she always appeared at first to be unsullied to the next person in line to become overly possessive and wrought with anxiety. The reaction was symptomatic of the power she held. It was an ability that was palpable from the beginning of her self-awareness, but it became a game to her as the rest of life’s offerings became humdrum. Toying with psyche and emotion as though these were pieces of furniture to be moved about a room until it had just the right look, she maneuvered souls around the plan within her mind.

This reaction was telling; the tapping, a quick rap of the lips, displayed concern and intrigue. And it was real. The blue line in the small window made a statement of change and challenge. She picked up the directions to be sure she’d read it correctly, that she’d urinated accordingly, and that the result was complete. A difficult concept to grasp, to have a part of her unleashed upon herself, would pose a threat to her own self-image; but at least it wouldn’t be dull, not with what it could do to me.

Seeing this window into her mind elated me. I knew the spawn was also half from my seed, and I knew that she would stay. A father was the only other relationship she’d never experienced, and there was no way she would deprive this part of her the chance to control me. She was mine.

I left immediately.