Family Kleenex ®
A Short Story by Briandaniel Oglesby
- 14 went to runny noses.
- 17 went to bloody noses.
- 5 went to wiping soap and grime from around the ceramic abalone dish full of tiny shell-shaped guest soaps.
- 22 went to blood not from bloody noses.
- 8 went into pockets in case of the sniffles.
- 7 went to pus from Ming Cooper’s acne. She detonated her zits in the downstairs bathroom when the upstairs one was occupied.
- 6 went to Ming’s astringent when the cottonballs ran out. After she detonated the zits, she rubbed Johnson & Johnson Clean & Clear® on the spot, as if it would make her heal faster. She was by no means the only seventh-grade girl in the world to have this hope.
- 3 went to her brother Pepin’s semen. Their mother, Su, used the Kleenex to wipe it off the door handle.
- 14 went to shit— eight were improvised toilet paper when the roll ran out and the shitter did not know to look under the sink for another; six were used when Pepin Cooper had had an accident and Su didn’t think to clean it with the toilet paper right away.
- 3 went to Su’s tears the time she locked herself in the bathroom to cry when she couldn’t make it upstairs in time.
- 11 went to Pepin’s twin brother, Coco, to wipe semen from those four nights over Thanksgiving when Grandma visited and she stayed in his room and he had to stay downstairs. He liked the feeling of the lotion.
- 2 poked into Coco Cooper’s front suit pocket after he looked at himself in the mirror and thought his black funeral coat needed something, a little white, a little kerchief in the front pocket like in the movies.
Kitchen— Family-size, purple, with a swirl pattern, AntiViral with a specially treater layer: 90 have been used.
- 29 “died.” They became ghosts when Su covered lollipops with the white tissue for Halloween. She wrapped rubber bands around the base of candy to affix the tissue to the lollipops. The ghosts looked like sperms wearing wedding dresses, Coco and Ming joked. Su pursed her lips and chose not to laugh. They should act more mature. She handed the bridal sperms to Ming and Coco, who drew spooky faces on them with black Sharpies.
- 14 clotted mucus from runny noses. Mostly Coco's, though sometimes his sister Ming or their father, Harry.
- 25 went to the noses that ran when Su the mother made her spicy Kung Pao Tofu or when Harry the father cut and fried onions in red pepper sauce. Anyone downstairs would start sneezing. It couldn’t be avoided.
- 12 furnished Ming’s diorama for English. She made a scene in a shoebox for Othello: "What Happens After." Tissues became sheets and curtains on a tiny canopy bed and covered the last of the cotton balls—the tiny bodies of Desdemona and Othello. The paramedics had hidden the dead couple, said it was an accident, an accident, those stupid, stupid paramedics— and had then gone to attend Emilia, who survives in Ming’s diorama.
- 3 scooped up bits of vegetables and tofu that spilled from the cutting board and then spat from the pan when Su concocted the Kung Pao Tofu while The Baby screamed.
- 6 were forgotten and left in pockets to become drier lint. When Coco had allergies and was going to school, Pepin had tucked a couple into Coco’s jacket like he’d seen his mother do so many times last year.
- 1 picked up the piece of The Baby’s skull from under the fridge door – Grandma picked it up. She knew what it was, pink and curled like a corn chip. She threw it away and didn’t tell anyone.
Ming’s Room— Hummingbird pattern with pink background; 147 have been used.
- 12 picked up crumpled bugs, dead insects. Ming pinched silverfish between her fingers. With her black flip-flops she never wore, she slapped flies and spiders. She smashed a black spider into her white wall and couldn’t scrub away the dime-sized blotch. She stared at that stain that night, right next to her bed. She felt deep shame for having killed the spider. It had moved. Nothing more. Pepin would do that. And then she felt guilty for feeling shame for being like her brother. But that went away.
- 37 went to make-up she used to cover her acne. It hid the acne, at least, but also made it worse.
- 13 absorbed her first menstrual blood discharge. She knew what the blood was, but she didn’t want to believe it. She pretended she had cut herself. She pretended to worry that people would think she wasn’t a virgin. Puberty made Pepin touch himself in public. Made the outbursts violent. No longer her adorable simple older brother, but a monster-tard, a difficult problem-child-thing that made her parents fight.
- 21 for nosebleeds, a special kind of Oopsie, common and unique to Ming. Pepin rarely scratched or bit his sister, but her large hawkish nose often attracted his fists, more than any other nose in the family. If she surprised him, his fat elbow would fly into her nose. And the blood would come every time, opening what she thought was a cut inside her that would never heal. Shit. It couldn’t even scar.
- 5 to nonbleeding nose mucus. When she picked at it, the brackish crusts would flake into the Kleenex. She wondered why she’d been born. She didn’t want to commit suicide. She told herself to justify this line of thought and not allow it to become melodramatic or angst-filled. She wanted to know, objectively, scientifically, why she had been born. Why didn’t her parents look at Pepin, born the other side of midnight as Coco, and realize how much work it would be? They should have known Pepin would be abnormal by the time they conceived her; why add more work with more children? Why hadn’t her parents learned their lesson? Why were they so stupid and selfish? Goddammit.
- 26 took the pus from the zits. She imagined that one day her face would erupt like a geyser and it would be painful, but cleansing pain.
- 25 filled her bra when Coco’s friend Alex James came over. Ming folded the tissues, slid them between the Mickey Mouse print cloth and the pimply skin of her unformed breasts. She had seen Alex James staring at her mother's lactating breasts. She had noticed how distracted he became when Su poked her teat out and The Baby fed from her body. This was when The Baby was alive.
So when Alex James came over, Ming filled her bra with the 2-ply Kleenex. She could hear The Baby crying again as she went to the bathroom to adjust herself in a mirror that was partially blocked by old immature pictures of horses— God, what a stupid phase— and pictures of beautiful women she cut from style magazines. And she hated it. She tore off her top, her bra, and ran to her room, bare-chested, passing Alex James in the hall. He noticed her this time.
- 8 dabbed and discarded her tears when Pepin killed The Baby. She wasn’t surprised. Why would she be surprised? She was angry. Why hadn’t her parents shipped him away? How could they be so fucking selfish, so motherfucking stupid? For a moment, she felt a strong sense of righteousness and satisfaction in the anger. —Fucking Mom and Dad, fucking should have listened. Then she was overcome by an enormous sense of guilt because she should be sad. She took another Kleenex, blew into it, hard, hard enough for another nosebleed. She let her nose bleed and bleed, doing nothing to stop it.
Coco’s Room -- blue Flamestitch; 134 have been used.
- 33 caught the phlegm he expelled those days he was sick and the days he thought he was sick and the days he knew he wasn’t sick, but had allergies that appeared to be sickness.
- 38 went to his allergies themselves, the goop that dribbled from his eyes and nose.
- 5 had gone to make-up for Halloween. He and Ming had worked together on costumes. He had just gotten being sick and wanted to Trick or Treat just to get out of the house. Yes, a 15-year-old Trick-or-Treating with his sister.
Ming brought her make-up cases into his room, along with her costume— a Renaissance Faire dress she’d borrowed. —Black so she could be Lady Macbeth from The Scottish Play. Coco played with her black veil until Ming snatched it away.
"That’s mine," she said.
It’s to hide your ugly face, Coco almost said, but stopped himself. Instead, he said he just wanted to hide, alright, and laughed. Ming grimaced.
Ming asked, "What am I doing for you?"
"I want to be a pirate," he said. He pointed to a white button-shirt and black slacks he’d folded on his bed as if that explained it.
Ming laughed and opened a pink case and withdrew two enormous gold hoop earrings, clip-ons. "I was going to wear these, but they’ll go better with you," she said and clipped one onto his bottom lip.
He waggled it, snatched it from his lip, examined it, attached it to his earlobe. Ming opened her make-up case and took out a black eyeliner pencil. She was about to draw the outline of a scar across his forehead, but saw the pimples lined above his eye like a word of Braille, and she saw the "Oopsie" scar on his cheek, and she thought better of it. She lied, I’ll make you look rough and a little evil. She sat Coco down on his bed. She checked the point on the pencil, took the plastic sheath off, began to outline his eyes. He let her. She slid the black pencil through her big brother’s eyebrows, too. He flinched, and so she cupped his cheek in her hand, and held him as she laced mascara through his eyelashes. She took foundation, applied it, powder, lipstick or gloss— he didn’t know what it was, maybe both. He stayed perfectly still.
"Your nails now," she said, and he lifted his hands. From the blue box she took a cherry red that matched his lipstick, more or less. She couldn’t let her brother clash. Both were quiet. Occasionally she murmured, "There you go" or, "All right." She blew the paint dry on his fingers. "You’re done," she said.
She almost said, Now it’s my turn, or worse yet, Now you’re a pirate.
She picked up her boxes and her Lady Macbeth dress and left before he could look in the mirror and say something that would ruin it.
Only after she had closed the door did Coco look at himself in the mirror. He willed himself not to think about it. He failed and he realized how much he’d enjoyed the past half hour. So he grabbed a clump of Kleenex and started smearing the make-up from his face.
- 4 tissues Grandma used to hold her dentures the second night she slept in Coco’s room. She liked that Coco’s room had a lock; she locked it in case Pepin got out while she was asleep— Su and Harry never locked Pepin in his room because he’d panic and hurt himself if he awoke and found himself trapped. Of course, he would, the little— nevermind.
And then she realized she’d left her denture kit in the bathroom, so she wrapped her teeth in tissue. Like Ming used to wrap her purple retainer in a napkin at previous Thanksgivings. Rude. She’d have to remember to brush them in the morning. Such a tragedy, they needed her to cook for them. Su wouldn’t even enter the kitchen. Yes, she would have to brush them in the morning before the funeral. But the kids always used the bathroom for so long (maybe they were crying), so maybe she’d have to use the one downstairs where Coco was sleeping, good boy to lend his room to his visiting grandmother.
- 31 became imaginary people and held Coco’s penis as he masturbated. He tried hard to imagine women every night. He figured— he hoped—it would fix things if he imagined women. And he’d do it every night. His family had enough problems, he’d fix his own. Alex James was always talking about Eleanor or Ginny, so he decided to imagine Eleanor or Ginny.
Even when he had to sleep downstairs, when Grandma was in his room, he would have to do it, imagine Ginny. Then the day they took Pepin, he watched An Affair to Remember again, starring Cary Grant, who looked so much like Alex James. And he went to his room and masturbated to Alex James into a Kleenex and didn’t even feel guilty about it.
- 18 went to Oopsies. Usually they happened fast; wham-bang. Pepin would dart his hand out and scratch with his nails. Or bite. Or throw something. Coco was used to the Oopsies, and so were his classmates. Even the teachers had stopped thinking Dad beats him.
- 5 had been used by his mother when she cried in his room. She’d come to discuss Pepin and the possibility they’d enter him into this special school for people like him. They’d been looking at it for a while. Well, no, they’d been thinking about it for a while, they’d only started looking for one recently— (since The Baby was born?)— but they’d find the best. Pepin is getting too big and even more violent, since, well, since, a couple years ago. Y
"ou’re so evil," Coco yelled back. "You just want to get rid of him ‘cause he’s not fucking perfect..." And he stomped out of his room and he went outside to sit on the swing next to his twin.
Alone in his room, Su sat on Coco’s bed and cried. She cried into the Kleenex and kicked the bedpost until her feet throbbed and she could let the pain ease and distract her. Then she heard The Baby cry— it wanted milk from her again.
Upstairs Bathroom— Extra-Large Family Pack, gray orchid pattern; 144 have been used:
- 42 for sneezing. Coco’s allergies, mostly. He still sneezes in the bathroom, no matter the season. There’s always mold in the bathroom. And a few tissues went to Pepin sneezing— a little allergic to the mold? Alex James used a few as well.
- 35 had turned red with the drippings from Ming’s nosebleeds. She preferred to flush the stains away there, watch them swirl and disappear, instead of leaving them to lurk in the garbage pail.
- 4 blotted Su’s excess breastmilk. The Baby was asleep. Pepin was asleep, thankfully, napping in the middle of the day. She scrubbed the sink with steel wool and, looking in the mirror, noticed the wet spots on her blouse. She knew she would stop lactating very soon, too soon, and when she did, it would be the last time she fed a child from her body.
What kind of mother was she? Body drying— again!— before her child had weaned. Crying. Going to her son Coco to get him to help convince her husband to lock his brother away. What mother does that? Coco did so much already, and what kind of mother is relieved when her son stays home from school— she encouraged it! "Are you sick? Stay home," she would say. And she knew it was allergies, always allergies, mold in this damn house, something else she couldn’t control.
Then Su heard the door open downstairs and the voices of Ming, Coco, and Alex James back from school. No, no more crying today. She dabbed at the milk stains with the Kleenex. Dinner needed to be made. Kung Pao Tofu. Every Thursday.
- 13 brought to Ming’s face the pink, burning Johnson & Johnson Clean & Clear®, feels-like- acid, in those weeks when she had no cotton balls, when her mother kept forgetting to buy them. Goddammit, she should have asked Grandma when Grandma went grocery shopping for them on Thanksgiving. How cool, she’s weird-strong, Grandma.
- 50 went to Oopsies.
Pepin’s Room— frosted paisley, from the Expressions™ collection: 106 have been used.
- 3 swabbed spittle and crushed Goldfish crackers from the bedpost where Pepin spat them.
- 33 went to Oopsies incurred by various family members and Alex James, who grew his hair long enough to spike it upward like the crest from a cockatoo. He had a standing invitation to dinner.
The Baby was crying and Pepin wanted someone to play blocks. So Coco changed The Baby’s diaper before taking The Baby downstairs, and Alex James played blocks with Pepin.
Alex James usually only came when Harry made onions in pepper sauce, spicy and perfect on white rice, because if both Su and Harry were cooking together, which happened on those rare occasions, the house would be noisy. He liked noisy.
Not like his home— too quiet, no laughing. But he was there that Thursday because Thursday meant Su’s Kung Pao Tofu. He hoped Harry would get home early— that’s when the noise could start. Pepin, taller and heavier than Alex James, stacked the red plastic squares one by one on top of each other.
Alex James joked, "Building a tower?" And then he laughed. Pepin didn’t respond. The blocks were too involving. "What are you building, buddy?" Another laugh. Blocks. "Blocks, huh? Me, I’m building a bridge over troubled waters. That’s blocks!"
Pepin felled the small structure Alex James had built. Like a bridge— or London Bridge.
"C’mon sing with me." And Alex James began to chirp London Bridge is Falling Down, off-key in falsetto, chortling in the pauses. "THAT’S BLOCKS!"
Pepin’s hand darted and scratched a quick cut across Alex James’s arm. Alex James tumbled back, not in surprise, not in pain, but to avoid any more strikes from Pepin. He looked at his Oopsie, grabbed a few Kleenex, dabbed at it, saw that a small amount of blood had been liberated. He laughed.
"You got me there, Big P. That’s blocks. You got me good," he said. "I gotta get a Band-Aid." He knew the Band-Aids and iodine were on the second shelf in the bathroom holding the Kleenex over his cut. Ming ran past him, shrieking. She was topless.
- 2 went to saliva. Harry came to talk to Pepin that night. Pepin played with his blocks. Harry wanted to ask him, to explain to him, to pretend he could somehow obtain his permission. It would be symbolic, he knew, this conversation. He’d talk to him like a father to a son, as if Pepin, who outweighed him by 60 pounds, who was three inches taller than he was, as if Pepin could take it like a man. As if Pepin could love him and understand him— like he should, he should, Goddammit.
Pepin was stacking the blocks again, his enormous fingers able to hide the smaller pieces entirely. Pepin stuck a small red block into his mouth and Harry wondered very quickly if Pepin would choke— and would he give him the Heimlich? Pepin was only wearing a diaper right now, and Harry could tell the kid had filled it, the big fat baby, and he realized that Coco had probably undressed Pepin, getting him ready for bed.
Harry the father bent forward and pried the block from his son’s mouth. If his son was going to choke, it should have been yesterday. He sat on the stripped bed, still silent, and with a Kleenex wiped the saliva from the block. Pepin continued stacking the blocks one by one, higher. Higher.
- 22 went to Pepin’s emissions— on the walls, the windowsill, the carpet, the doorknob, the plastic window glass, the bed sheets, the bed sheets, the bed sheets again, the closet, the toy chest, the stuffed bear. He was bored. Usually, Su wiped it with Kleenex, tossed it, pretended it hadn’t happened.
- 42 to Pepin’s shit.
- 4 to mucus. His nose was running. Ming told him to blow. She handed him a Kleenex, and he shredded it. She shook her head. Felt anger enter, exit— then took another Kleenex. She held it under his nose. "Blow," she said again. Coco and their parents usually did this, but Coco and her mother were taking Grandma to the airport— and her father, just like when they got back from the funeral Saturday— her father had locked himself in his room again.
Su and Harry’s Room— Upright, floral design, Ultra Soft; 64 gone.
- 3 to explanation. The Baby was moving, squirming, and crying for his mother’s breasts, and Su was chopping the vegetables, trying to do it quickly, fucking colic, for the Kung Pao Tofu, because Harry might be home early, not that he ever was, not even today.
Pepin hated the smell that made his eyes hurt, and he hated the noise, so he went to The Baby, lifted him. The Baby stopped crying in the warmth of his big brother, whose soft fatness cradled him, Pepin grabbed a leg in his meaty hand and threw The Baby.
Su described this to her husband deliberately. She didn’t cry. Maybe she’d cry at the funeral, that’s why she’d bought another box of Kleenex, but that would only be so people knew she hadn’t detached herself from reality. That she wasn’t heartless or— no, heartless was the word she wanted. She told her husband this as she used the Kleenex with cold cream to remove her makeup.
She wouldn’t cry again. It was too easy to cry. Screw easy.
- 36 went to Harry’s tears. He had never cried in his marriage, not when his father had died, not when his children were born, not any time since Pepin and Coco had been born. Men didn’t cry. His wife cried. All the time. Sometimes she’d mention putting Pepin into a Home, and he’d say No. A man’s family. And he started crying. He wished that Pepin and The Baby had traded places and he cried harder because he realized he really wished that. He cried because he was to blame, he had said No to his wife about the place, he hadn’t worn a condom because it had been so long and he thought condoms were less manly and if that was as often as he’d get it, then he wouldn’t wear one, and so creating The Baby was his fault, and he cried because he knew he secretly wanted to fuck the parking attendant lady at his work and he cried because his sons were weird and his daughter was ugly and The Baby was dead. Su left the room.
- 25 went to Harry’s masturbation.
The Baby’s Room— Upright, Electric Daisies; 14 have been used.
- 12 scooped away the pearls of baby vomit burped after meals until The Baby died.
- 2 went to departures. The day they took Pepin to the facility in Oroville, Coco went into The Baby’s room. He ran his fingers over the slats in the crib. The Baby’s pacifier was on the floor. He picked it up, rubbed the bulb shiny with his fingers. He sniffed it. It had been his, his sister’s, then The Baby’s. He wondered if The Baby would have been crying if it had had the pacifier. He wrapped it in a tissue so his keys wouldn’t scratch it and put it in his pocket.
He heard Pepin sneeze. He took a Kleenex, folded it. Action. Reaction. He’d tuck it into Pepin’s jacket. He left the box there, an incomplete box. Always in its place, ready to serve, ready to dispense, to give, to absorb the spills of life, the liquids, always a sentinel, always Kleenex®, proudly serving American families for more than 80 years.
This short story is reprinted from the latest issue of ZYZZYVA, the journal of west coast writers and artists, edited for by the legendary Howard Junker, who is leaving the journal this fall after twenty-five years. Thank you to the author for the reprint, and to Howard for his exquisite taste, moxie, and tenaciousness!
Author Briandaniel Oglesby lives in his hometown of Davis, California, and in Riverside. He attends the MFA program at UC-Riverside. His short fiction has appeared in ZYZZYVA and he is at work on a collection of short stories, a collection of short plays, and a novel. He can be reached by email here.
