The Black Donnellys drabble: catholics grating their guilt over in twos
untitled;
pops’ missing again, somewhere between main and the corner, next to the church and probably lookin’ for ma. ma, ma, sweetheart, where are ya? it gives her chills. fuck. fuck. fuck.
the black donnellys. jenny/tommy.
406 words
oh, come on. shut up. it’s one-thirty in the morning, i’m sleep-deprived and that kind of day. so resurrecting dead shows, here i am.
upstate! new york’s the pretty glossy postcard next to the register; pops’ missing again, somewhere between main and the corner, next to the church and probably lookin’ for ma. ma, ma, sweetheart, where are ya? it gives her chills. fuck. fuck. fuck.
from the pay phone across the street:
“miss ya, jen.” fuck you, he doesn’t say that. it’s more like a, “hey,” instead of shaky, hesitant dips into pink elephants or a “where were you?”
she drops the extra dime. jimmy’s yelling in the back, somethin’ about bullets and cocks, the slurs smell like whiskey even from here. she’s stayed, though, behind, yes, while they run and regroup or something fucking stupid; the neighborhood’s here and waiting as promised, ready to swallow and spit and fuck ‘em all.
she picks at her nail, “coming back?”
there’s a sigh “no” and a sigh “yes” and a sigh “no” and she’s sure that there’s sean and kevin and jimmy with the line of semantics. but tommy’s kinda strained and she’s heard about his ma, the fucking stupid move that dokey slammed himself into. she’s not really sure what this means, but as long as pops is back in, after dark, she’s fucking a-okay and at large, the good woman, the free woman.
“yeah,” there’s that harshness and she’s shifting, leaning closer to the glass of the booth, if they see her she’s fucked. fucked. but tommy’s voice, too less like this, still makes her goddamn toes curl, “ma’s gone, jen, ma’s fucking gone.”
she’s sighin’ silver bullets, panties low, and her cunt's kinda aching, kinda that way.
a whisper and a wail. there’s a horn, frankie and the siren pass and circle, looking for dad as jimmy says to sean, “i’m going to fuck before i think or think before i fuck,” he laughs and she images the extra line he’s probably snorting off his fist. but really, can you blame him? if jimmy ever had a reason to blow his brains out, it would be dokey putting a bullet in ma donnelly’s head or heart, story changes everyday.
pop’s isn’t home yet. the other line’s kind of grainy. there’s more than enough pie, grieving food and for leftovers. she’s got to tell him about samson rotting in the dumpster, missing like pops..
she rubs her forehead. pops. fuck pops. she just wanted him to get help - she would’ve helped in anyway and -
“i’ll be here,” she says then, instead. “i’ll be here.”
so it’s what she’s got, ya know?
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