POISON AND WINE; austin butler

f r e c k l e d

june 16th, 1967 - age fifteen

I TRIPPED OVER the green rusted gnome as I walked through the wet grass; revengeful, I kicked it in response, his head came clean off and landed further down the lawn– now what remained was his old hands holding up a "Tate Family" sign.

It was a junky gnome anyways.

For being as snooty as my mother was, I was always shocked about the three dollar gnome that rested between our brick steps and mailbox. It felt foolish there, unwanted. Like it should've been a golden statue of a lion instead.

When I questioned my mother about it she laughed at me; a grand old laugh straight from her gut. "It makes us more approachable Stevonna, don't be silly."

The sun had barely peaked above the hills as I stormed through the door, wind howling behind me. My muddied shoes were kicked off, hair undone, dress slipped away from my skin as I sunk into the comfort of my own bed. The thoughts from earlier spun in my head; three nights I had spent in another man's home, one who I had thought could be my prince charming as cliché as it sounded. His jet black hair flopped against his forehead with ease, and he had a peculiar nose compared to most boys I had encountered.

He smelled of wood shavings and late night parties, but I didn't mind it.

The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous he became. His looks right down to his stupid name.

His name was Thomas, Thomas the 7th.

Would that mean that our fucking kid would be Thomas the 8th?

I thought I'd stay for a few weeks, maybe even a month or so. Everything seemed to be going so good– his house was big, music taste was incredible, and he treated me like I was my own person.

I hated when boys treated me like some fucking property that they owned.

Late last night we were lying in bed, listening to records together when he pointed out the many freckles on my back and I lost it. I'm not sure why really, I'd like to blame it on the booze but it was probably just my temperament. But seriously what guy points out anything on your body unless it was a good thing; I called him an asshole, packed my stuff, and walked home.

Luckily, we didn't live too far apart.

He was one of the better boys I found myself in bed with. Sadly.

Now going back to my parents wasn't something I'd normally partake in, especially not at this point. I was far into the glamour of L.A. at the time and my parents had no part in that. But crashing in my childhood bed was the most satisfying, it's pink velvet sheets held first place over the scratchy hotel room white linens that had probably never seen a wash day before.

I heard shuffling in the hallway, the pointed one foot in front of the other type shuffling, and that could be from only one person.

"Mama, I already told you this isn't a permanent thing. I'll be back at the club tomorrow." I rubbed my eyes at the dark figure that emerged in my doorway.

"I know you will Stevonna, but why all this coming in at five am? Ain't working out with your little boyfriends?" Her nose scrunched at the word.

"I don't have boyfriends." I pushed myself up, the sheets rolling off of me and onto the floor. "Only vices."

She tilted her head. "Admirable."