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Back Thin Skin Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. Cast of Characters
  7. Part One
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Part Two
  28. Twenty
  29. Twenty-one
  30. Twenty-two
  31. Twenty-three
  32. Twenty-four
  33. Twenty-five
  34. Twenty-six
  35. Twenty-seven
  36. Twenty-eight
  37. Twenty-nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-one
  40. Thirty-two
  41. Thirty-three
  42. Thirty-four
  43. Thirty-five
  44. Thirty-six
  45. Thirty-seven
  46. Thirty-eight
  47. Thirty-nine
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-one
  50. Forty-two
  51. Forty-three
  52. Forty-four
  53. Forty-five
  54. Forty-six
  55. A note on the Author

“There was no man, Ruby. I don’t think that Sister Ann would appreciate that insult one little bit. She was watching you again last night. She said she had so enjoyed your conversation about religion the other day, she requested to watch you again. She said you slept sound as a baby. I must say, you are looking so much better than when you came in here. Look at your arms.”

She looked at her arms, as instructed, but there was nothing there to see. Skin, but nothing on the skin. Nothing etched on it or cut from it. The silver syringe had dug its national flag in an expanse of pure white.

Forty-five

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Flowers

The twins picked me up. Red twin cried and smothered my face with kisses. But yellow twin just shook her head and muttered, “You’re dumb,” as though I had tipped a rude waitress too much money. “Let’s get ice cream,” she added and red twin immediately dried her tears and perked up. “YEAH!” she honked. “Pistachio!”

“YEAH,” squawked yellow twin, “kids who have just tried to kill themselves should eat a lot of pistachio!”

“But I want macadamia,” I pleaded as I pulled my dress over my head.

“No,” snapped yellow, as she buckled my shoe, “that’s only for people recovering from accidents with kitchen utensils.”

Forty-six

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The start

The day I got out of hospital the Gay Pride Parade was slithering across the West Village like a bedazzled snake. As I swung through the revolving doors, “Some WHERE over the rainbow!” played from a sound system. I blocked my ears, because I’d just come back from there and it hadn’t been at all as I’d expected.

The magic slippers were a half-size too small. The lollipops the little people handed me tasted of oral sex with a pervert. Halfway down the yellow brick road a cop pulled out from nowhere and ticketed me for speeding. I kept running into tiny actresses with huge eyes and bigger voices, hooked on speed, begetting other actresses with huge eyes and bigger voices hooked on speed, like a Golden Age of Hollywood hall of mirrors. And the only wicked witch I ever got to throw water on was myself. Flying monkeys—lovers stalked and spurned—cackled as I melted into a waxy green puddle on the floor. But by then I was too tired to care. I decided it was okay to melt if it meant that I didn’t have to be the villain anymore.