“How about you, Kerry? Do you like to scare them, first?” Corazon said. She had her gun out straight, both hands on the stock. She had him in her sights. It would be easy, the big dumb mother just standing there.
“You know,” Kerry said. When he was talking he had been unstrung, words jerky, shoulders hunched. Something about seeing the gun in her hand seemed to calm him down. Which, by the way, how messed up did you have to be to get relaxed when someone was gonna put a bullet through your chest. I’ll relax you, you son of a bitch, Corazon thought. Remembering Vic.
“Maybe you thought Vic was a loser, but he was okay, you know? He was trying to be an artist. And he was good to me. And people miss him every day, every day, Kerry. His crazy mother calls me and says, ‘Have you heard from Victor?’ and I have to lie to her because I know he’s not going to come through that door. That he’s not going to call her.”
“Put the gun down, Corazon,” Kerry said.
“Oh, yeah, now it’s not so fun, is it?” She didn’t want her voice to tremble, but it was shaking and shaking. “Not so good to be on the other end, is it?”
“Cor—
“You deserve to die.” She had wanted him to plead, but the moment he tried to say something, fury filled her again and she couldn’t let him talk. She wanted to hurt him before she killed him. “You’re nothing. You’re a waste of a bullet. Someone should have put you out of your misery a long time ago, you sick son of a bitch.”
He held his hands away from his sides to show her he was unarmed. “Yeah. Maybe. But not you.”
“Why not?” she insisted. “Why not me?”
“You’re not a killer, Corazon.”
God damn it, she was starting to cry.
He reached out and she let him take the gun from her and click the hammer back into place. “That’s right. You’re a nice girl,” he said.
“For Christ’s sake,” she shouted, “I am not a nice girl, you moron. I’m not a girl at all.”
He blinked, not getting it.
God. The idiot really hadn’t figured it out. She dropped her voice, let it go back to being her natural voice. “I’m a boy, asshole.” He gaped at her. Idiot redneck. “Are you going to shoot me now?” she asked.
“Cor…I mean…what?”
“A boy.” She spelled it out. “I was born a boy. I’m a Pre-op transsexual. It’s not a secret, Kerry.”
He just couldn’t get it.
She wanted to slap him. If she’d had the gun now she would have shot him.
“I…a guy?” he managed.
“Yes. B – O – Y.” He just stood there. And then she was exhausted. Shooting this moron wouldn’t bring Victor back. It wasn’t going to help at all. “Oh, jesus: just get out of here. I’m calling the cops. You’re going to jail. You’re going to hell.”
He gently put the gun on the side table and left. And because she was stupid and weak and crying and the world was full of shit she said, “I’m sorry about your sister,” as he walked out the door.
She sat down on the couch, collapsed really, and dissolved in tears. The cat leapt up next to her and burrowed against her leg, as if hungry for her warmth.
