Ace of Spades

by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

I checked your messages when you were asleep, that’s how I knew about computer 17. I’m sorry, I just wanted to help.—T It’s okay. I’m not sure if it is okay, I’m not sure if I trust him anymore or if that excuse is even real, but I’m too tired to be angry at him. Besides, he’s my only real friend right now. Sorry again.—T The memory of us in the middle school playground replays over and over in my mind, then the memory of us kissing, how nice it felt. Terrell holding my face, kissing me like kissing me was a good thing … Followed by blinding pain my brain won’t even allow me to remember in full. But I see their fists, I hear them shout. And I know in that moment that kissing me is bad, very bad. I feel dirty. They made me feel so fucking dirty. And then I’m on the beach, the sand getting in my sneakers, the waves calling out to me. The water crashing violently, with its arms wide open. The sea is so perfect to me, it makes me feel at peace—but it’s nothing like that, not in the slightest. It’s chaotic, it swallows lives and people. The waves scream, hit, beat the sand down, like the sand is an abomination. And even though the sea is this monster, I’m drawn to its chaos. I grew up on that shit. That chaotic shit. It’s all I recognize. My pa and his major fuckup, my ma and her fuckups—with her messy, abusive boyfriends who left us when her clothes would burst from her swollen belly—to me and my fuckups. My everyday fuckups. And so, I stepped into the sea, let it pull me in. ...