Missi Rasmussen: You're Not Dick

Fall '13 TOC


He used to tell her that he had a twin. The twin's name was Dick, and he was always in the house. He wasn't allowed to come outside, and he wasn't allowed to go to school. "Why can't he go to school?" the little girl would ask him, but the little boy never had a very good answer.

"I want to meet him," she told him once. They were sitting in his clubhouse built out of old pieces of discarded wood and carpet fragments. It leaned to one side against his family's yellow house at the end of the dead-end street. It was so low to the ground, the two of them had to crawl to get into it; they had to sit while inside.

"I will tell him to come outside. But first you have to do something for me."

"What?" she asked, already hesitant. The last time he had asked her to do something, it was to keep an eye on his lemonade stand while he went inside for a moment. While sitting on a paint can, monitoring the coin purse of change and the pitcher of yellow Kool-Aid, a bird flew over her and dropped runny white liquid on her head, which dripped down onto her cheek and onto her clean, blue dress; she knew better than to do things for him anymore.

"I want you to do this," he said, revealing a magazine from under a pile of leaves. It was opened to a page inside, the cover folded back, the page dog-eared. It was of a man and a woman without any clothes on. The man was standing, his penis was long, and the woman was sitting on her knees with the man's penis close to her mouth.

"No! Ew! I'm not going to do that! Get out of here!" She swatted the magazine away from her.

"Ok. Fine," he said, putting the magazine back under the leaves and covering it up completely. "Then just take off your shirt."


"So I can examine you. I want to be a doctor when I grow up."

The girl thought for a minute. Then she quickly removed her white tank top and placed it, bunched up, in her lap. The boy looked at her bare chest for just a moment, the pale peach color of her skin, the resemblance to his own chest made hers unremarkable.

"Ok," he said. "I'll go get my brother." He squeezed past her and crawled out of the clubhouse. She followed him.

"You stay here," he told her. "I will tell him to come here." He disappeared to the other side of the house. She put her shirt back on and waited until a bike rattled around the house and skidded to a stop next to her. The boy on the bike was identical to the boy she knew, except he wasn't wearing his shirt.

"Hey. I'm Dick," he said, panting. Sweat glistened on his tanned shoulders.

"No you're not. You're still Adam." She was not impressed.

"No I'm not. Adam's my brother. We're twins."

"Adam! You're not funny!" the girl contested, and she punched him in the shoulder, moving him a bit, but he stayed steady on his bike.


"I'm going home, Adam," she said and started toward the road.

"My name's not Adam! It's Dick!" he shouted as she marched through the grass. He rode the red bike up and down along the road as she continued to march all the way to her family's house, which was at the start of the road.

"Leave me alone!" she finally announced to him, moving onto her own property. The boy rode the bike home and never mentioned Dick again.



Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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