CW: Childhood Sexual Abuse

It was a series of folds and turns.

A series of folds and turns and it was… a boat.

A boat, a lemonade, and a sun that burns.

A sun that burns and a hum from the Earth’s very throat.

That’s to say it was a Tuesday;

the day both Ami and Api worked.

Tuesdays were perfect in that way,

no one to be bothered or worried or irked.

Soursweet citrus perfection,

a shade just near the stream,

David’s day off, quiet, pause,

not one chastising scream.

And although it was not his intention,

under the hottest sunbeam,

David picked up, his cold, just-sweet-enough drink,

just to get one more sip

of the nectar so softstinging clean.

But one more sip there was not.

Poor David on his day off —

how had he run out of luck?

The smell hung in the air sweet, sharp, and soft.

Poor David tried to pretend

as if he’d already forgot.

Finally, came the deciding,

how could he sail away his boat

rippling, floating, and gliding

if his mouth was dry and pleading?

Maybe he’d even grab a bite

and water too, that’d be just right —

oh, how David started dreaming.

It was a series of crossing and turning,

crossing and turning, and then he was there,

at the shop,

not too far to fulfill his heart’s yearnings.

And then his heart came to a stop.

Crossing, turning, folding,

crossing, turning, folding,

and then he was on top.

The cold glass he was holding…

David focused not to drop.

Don’t drop it, don’t drop it,

he’d get a scolding from his pop.

One hand constrained,

one press against,

his lower half,

where it began.

One event unexplained,

his muscles tensed,

the weight of something hard,

almost the shape of a can.

David stared at the refrigerated drinks.

Only the sound of the door opening managed to make him blink.

The weight was gone,

the next moment long,

but immediately he knew

they were no longer alone.

The smell of salt,

the taste of copper,

sound of steps restrained and proper.

A clearing throat before he talked,

a forced, uneven bit of laughter,

“You’re always a peeper, never a shopper”

Always a peeper, never a shopper

what made you decide to come into the store?

“I finished my drink and wanted more.”

He smiled,

presented teeth gone rotten,

“Grab it, it’s yours, right by the door.”

“Thank you,” David smiled,

pretending he had forgotten,

he could also play his role.

Except once he stepped out,

his character seemed to unfold.

Tears came and came,

and a hot day suddenly felt cold.

But when the other customer stepped out,

an officer on patrol,

David could not,

would not,

be the one victim who told.

Turning and crossing,

turning and crossing,

the sweetsour citrusy smell now smelled like rotting.