Ashton

by Naomi Telushkin

Ashton had curled herself up in a little half moon. She had frozen herself.

Ashton had frozen herself in many small moments, a little moment and suddenly, a frozen girl. Every time Mr. Allenby said, “And the liver functions, Ashton, what do you think?” When Julia said, “I kissed Aaron in the parking lot,” or her mother touched her forehead and said, “You don’t look well Ashton.” Mr. Allenby reappeared in her fantasies, dancing around her dreams, clutching on to her breasts. “Ashton,” he had breathed, and had placed two cold fingers into her pants, left her jeans unbuttoned, her jeans which were slightly too tight. He said “you’ve got to breathe now. Breath.” She imagined things he had never said, memories that had not occurred. “You’re very beautiful. Ashton darling, you’re very beautiful.” She was waiting for the black and white movie star moment, the “Ashton darling,” in a Cary Grant plot. “Ashton darling,” he would say, at the bottom of a sweeping staircase, herself in a long black dress.
…..It would be romance.
…..He only said, “Yes Ashton?” in class, and joked with the boys about his drinking days at college, reminding sternly “never to do it,” but clearly as a joke. He told them about beer and whiskey and they loved it, telling him that they knew how to hold their drinks, about their older brothers in college, in fraternities.
…..Ashton laughed at his stories. The boys noticed Ashton laughing, her delicate shoulders shook, her dark eyes were half-shut, slim lips open. Ashton approached Mr. Allenby after class, said, “Mr. Allenby?” as the last student filed out, and the silence hung thick and heavy, like curtain drapes. He said, “Not now, Ashton, not now.”
…..She was waiting for him to say, “Ashton, darling,” she lay awake at night and fantasized about becoming Mr. Allenby’s child, about him tucking her into bed, brushing her teeth. She wanted to be kissed, held, she wanted to acquiesce her strength to Mr. Allenby. Julia said, “Aaron put my hand on his penis. We were in the boy’s locker room. Have you ever done that before?”
…..When Ashton had sex for the second time it was late in high school, the boy was two years older. She had learned to stay frozen, how to become an ice figurine—all the words boys used—cold, frigid, an ice queen…
…..“You just lie there,” one boy told her. “You don’t move. You just lie there and tell me no.”
…..Ashton said, shy, “I can be more wild.”

The girl was Ashton, fourteen years old. Part Indian. Her mother was from Hyderabad.
…..She had met Ashton’s father at New York University. She married him and they moved to Connecticut. Ashton was fourteen but tall, clear skinned, already beautiful. Mr. Allenby had asked her to meet with him after class. She hadn’t been doing well. She talked to her friend Julia most of class and had failed the last two quizzes.
…..“What’s going on, Ashton?” he asked, amicably.
…..Ashton said, “I don’t know Mr. Allenby.” She fidgeted with her watch, heavy pink plastic.
…..He said, “What happened on the second quiz? It was on everything we had just reviewed.”
…..“I forgot about water conservation.” Ashton was nervous. “I don’t remember that stuff easily.”
…..“You need help?” he asked. “A tutor or something?”
…..“No.” Ashton was quiet. “Are you going to tell my parents?”
…..“Your parents?”
…..“They’re going to be really mad.”
…..“They care about your grades?”
…..“A lot.”
…..“Well Ashton—“
…..“Please.” Ashton’s voice was ragged.
…..“Please,” she said.
…..Mr. Allenby said, careful: “Ashton you said it, not me.”
…..“Said what?”
…..Mr. Allenby said, “Do you know that there was a British officer named Allenby who took over Jerusalem? There is a street named after him in Israel.”
…..“No,” Ashton said.
…..“He was a very important man.”
…..Ashton said—“He was?”
…..“Jerusalem is an important city,” Mr. Allenby said. “Everyone fights over Jerusalem.”
…..He said, after a pause, “Close the door, Ashton.”
…..She closed it.

“You have issues with intimacy,” she read. Books and more books as she grew older, secret piles, bookshelves with self help, magazine publications, the stark white walls and red sofa of a therapist’s office. Issues with intimacy, body issues, “You don’t think you’re pretty, you don’t think you are beautiful, you are like so many adolescent girls, it’s perfectly normal, you are perfectly normal, the average American teenage girl is on a diet by age ten. Relax. You can bet that if he is hot to trot, it’s you he is hot for! Trust him. Trust yourself. Oh my god, he’s so cute. Have you ever done something kinky? A Cosmopolitan woman isn’t afraid of taking control. Seventy-two ways to blow his mind (and his body) Put your fingers on his testicles. Blow. Don’t forget the testicles.” The therapist with porcelain skin, her soft smile. “And what makes you so, as you yourself put it, so stiff, Ashton?
…..One boy said, “You need to relax. How can I help you relax?”
…..She said, stunned, “I don’t know.”
…..He said, “Spread your legs.” He put his mouth between her. “Let me help you,” he said. She inhaled. “Yes,” he said. He said, “Yes. Breathe.”
…..Breathe. That’s what Mr. Allenby had said. He had said, “I want you to breathe Ashton. Can you do that for me?”

Mr. Allenby?”
…..“Sit down closer,” he said. “I can’t hear you.”
…..He touched her shoulder. Her shoulders were darker than her legs, her calves in cropped jeans, her lavender shirt was sleeveless. Her mother had made her put a sweater over it this morning but she took it off.
…..Mr. Allenby said, “You’ve got a nice tan Ashton.”
…..She said, “My mother took me on vacation to Goa this summer.”
…..“Where’s Goa?”
…..“It’s a place in India—“
…..“I’m just joking,” Mr. Allenby said. “I’ve been to India. I used to work for Goldman Sachs.”
…..“What’s Goldman Sachs?”
…..“A business.”
…..“Oh.”
…..“I’ve been to Goa,” he said. “For business.”
…..“Did you like it?”
…..“Lots of tourists, Ashton.” He stroked her shoulder. “Lots of tourists and it’s overpriced. “
…..He kissed her.
…..She was stiff. She didn’t kiss him back.
…..He kissed her again.
…..“Mr. Allenby,” she said.
…..“What, you don’t like me, Ashton?”
…..“That was my first kiss,” she said.
…..He took her neck in his hands, kissed her again.
…..“Your third kiss. Do you like it?”
…..“My mother won’t let me kiss anyone until I’m at least sixteen.”
…..“What if you do?”
…..“She’s going to take away my phone.”
…..He said, “Don’t tell your mother then.”

In college, the therapist said, “You need to relax.” That’s what everyone said. “You need to relax.” The therapist said, “You need to breathe.” She went to yoga classes where they focused on breath, cat and cow pose. Breathe as you arch your back, curl it over, flex your feet. Breathe through the difficulty in the pose. Breathe through downward dog, as you go into plank pose. Breath as you twist, go up, do pigeon pose, do crow pose. She breathed. Breathe in. Breathe out. She breathed. He lay on top of her, the boy that had said, “Breathe,” going in, going out, she inhaled, exhaled. Someone somewhere had said, “Grab his hair as he thrusts, touch yourself if you’re on top, kiss him while he’s in you, tell him how great he is,” but that someone somewhere was not there, and rigid, she lay.
…..He finished, her favorite time. He whispered, “Hey Ashton.”
…..She lay. A song lyric from the radio yesterday. You’re as cold as ice. Another boy had said: don’t be a bitch.
She lay. Immobile, unmoving. In yoga they called this shavasana. Corpse pose.

Mr. Allenby, the man with the faded red hair, the middle aged chin, he was turning into a ten dimensional figure. Mr. Allenby laughing at her on the tops of ceilings, reflected in the glasses he had taken off and left by the windowsill. Mr. Allenby had put her on his lap, like a child after a long day, and she wanted to belong to someone like that again.

The yoga teacher dimmed the lights. “Lay your arms by your side, palms up. Keep your eyes closed. Inhale. Focus on the breath. Exhale. “
…..She closed her eyes.

Mr. Allenby took her hand. “Do you ever paint your hands with henna?”
…..“For my cousin’s wedding I did.”
…..“Women in India always had that.”
…..“I think it looks ugly.”
…..“Do you think you’re ugly?”
…..“Yes.”
…..“You’re not, Ashton.” He kissed her, pulled her on his lap. “You’re very beautiful and sophisticated looking. Like a model.”
…..She fidgeted.
…..“Are you uncomfortable?”
…..“I don’t know.”
…..Mr. Allenby said,” I used to be really good looking.”
…..“You’re good looking, Mr. Allenby.”
…..“I’ve got a beer belly now.” He put her hand on his stomach. “See?”
…..She said, “I have to go home.”
…..He said, “Don’t be a bitch about my belly, Ashton.”
…..She said, “I have to go home.”

Ashton went to a bar once, her sophomore year of college, a bar that was known exclusively for women. Ashton felt uncomfortable, she didn’t know why she had come. She had come alone. It was ten o’clock on a Thursday night. She ordered a Blue Moon. A woman approached her and said, “A beer?” Ashton said, “I’m not in the mood to get really, really drunk.” The woman said, “At least a glass of red wine then.” Ashton gave her a small smile. The woman ordered a glass of Pinot Noir. Ashton said, “I like that wine.” The woman gave it to her. Ashton took a sip and tried to hand it back. “No, no,” the woman said. She laughed. “It’s for you.” Ashton said, “Oh. Thank you.”
…..“So what’s your name?” the woman asked.
…..“Ashton.”
…..The woman told Ashton her name was Sarah, she had just graduated last year. She told Ashton that she was looking to break into fashion photography, that she was putting a portfolio together. She told Ashton that she had a very interesting look, she would love to photograph Ashton sometime. She assured Ashton that she wasn’t a creep or anything, it was just that sometimes, one got tired of that blonde look, and Ashton was just so interesting looking. Was she Egyptian?
…..“Indian.”
…..“How terrific,” Sarah said. “I’ve always wanted to go to India.”
…..Ashton said, “I went a few times, to visit family.”
…..“Where in India?” Sarah asked.
…..“We went to Bangalore, where my grandparents live. And Bombay for a wedding.”
…..Sarah laughed.
…..“What?”
…..“Isn’t it called Mumbai these days?”
…..“They still call it Bombay in India.”
…..“How interesting.”
…..“We also went to Goa.”
…..“I’ve heard Goa is very beautiful but touristy.”

…..Ashton was silent. The wine tasted flat. Sarah said nervously, “Isn’t it?” Ashton said, “I liked it.” Sarah said, “Oh okay.” Ashton was unsure how to proceed. Sarah seemed intent on staying. Her therapist had said, “Are you even attracted to men?” One boy had been drunk, had said, “Fucking dyke.” Ashton offered to be photographed. Sarah seemed relieved. They made a date for the following Thursday afternoon, at a photography studio. Sarah adjusted the lights, told Ashton to close her eyes. Ashton breathed. Sarah said, “Don’t be nervous. Everyone gets very nervous in front of a camera.” Ashton breathed. Sarah said, “You’re very beautiful Ashton.” She kissed her. Ashton felt her teeth click against hers. She didn’t kiss her back. Sarah said, “What?” Ashton said, quiet, “I thought you were going to photograph me.” Sarah said nothing. She took a picture of her. She remained silent. Ashton said, “Sorry.” Sarah said, “You’re a tease.” Ashton said, “Sorry.” Sarah said, “Look up into the distance. Wrap this scarf around your head.” Ashton did as she was told.

Mr. Allenby said, “Don’t tease me.”
…..She said, “Tease you?”
…..“Women who do that are a cocktease.”
…..“You think I’m a cocktease?”
…..“You know what that is?”
…..“No, Mr. Allenby,” Ashton said. She started to cry. “I don’t.”

Ashton took up running, she would run on the treadmill for forty-six minutes, fifty- seven. Mr. Allenby ran behind her it seemed. His belly swinging, his face sweaty. He got very close to her and breathed cigarette breath into her ears. Ashton pushed her speed up. 7.0. 7.5. 8.0. 8.5. She would be gasping by the end of it, and couldn’t help but hear Mr. Allenby. He was hearing her gasping, her inability to control her breath. He was smiling, to him it was an orgasm, desire.

Ashton took up running every week, she would go when it was still early, when it wasn’t fully light outside.

Ashton was crying. Mr. Allenby said softly, “Don’t cry, Ashton.”

Her therapist had asked at their first session, “What brings you here, Ashton?”
…..Ashton said nothing.
…..“Ashton?”
…..Ashton said, “I had sex for the first time.”
…..“Oh?”
…..Ashton said, “The boy was very angry with me.”

…..Ashton didn’t tell her what the boy had said. She didn’t tell her it was the second time she had sex. Ashton didn’t tell her that she was still waiting for Mr. Allenby to come and rescue her from these boys, these boys who said it all wrong. She was waiting for Mr. Allenby to come and love her, for him to say, “Ashton” at the bottom of a grand sweeping staircase. It would be a romance this time. She was older now, she was waiting Mr. Allenby to recognize that she had grown up.

Mr. Allenby brushed her cheek softly, carefully.
…..“Baby Ashton,” he said. “Don’t cry on me.”
…..He kissed her.
…..“Ashton.” His voice had changed. It was deeper.
…..Ashton said, “Yes Mr. Allenby?”
“Would you mind if I took off your shirt?”
…..Ashton said nothing.
…..Mr. Allenby said, “Would you mind if I took off your shirt?”
…..Ashton forgot about going home.
…..She said, “I’ll take it off, Mr. Allenby.”
…..“Baby Ashton,” he said. “You can’t.”

Sarah said, “Stand up. Put your elbows on the chair. Look into the camera. Seduce the camera.” Ashton was nervous.
…..“Try to seduce me,” Sarah said. “Make a move.”

Ashton curled herself up into a little half-moon. She had frozen herself.
…..
…..

→EMPRISE 22