by Lierre Keith
(first 10 pages)
She screams for one hour and twenty-seven minutes because Nola left her sneakers in the living room.
"Nola, get your ass in here," she starts. Me and Jenny have to watch. You want to disappear but you can't. There's nowhere to go. She hasn't even taken her raincoat off. She's carrying an umbrella, a brown umbrella that's broken on one side. I think she hates it.
I hate it. Everything's always broken and brown, but why does she have to yell at Nola? Nola's only six and she doesn't understand. She makes herself even smaller when Mom commands her like a dog or something, "Get your stupid ass in here." Nola's as small as she can get, her pants are too short and she's wearing that purple crochet vest Grandma made for me originally. Why is everything so ugly? Everyone tries so hard and it's all so ugly.
She expects us to eat while she's still screaming. We eat. Nola's spoon makes the smallest arc. Plate to mouth. Mouth to plate. Her little mouth barely moves. Mom keeps screaming. There's sweat on her forehead, like she's wringing herself out. We can't leave until she's finished. We can't move until she does. We're shadows cast by her rage.
"1 hour and 27 minutes," I write in my notebook hours later, when everything's finally quiet. The sneakers are gone.
"5:24," I write, "until 6:51." I slip the notebook back under the mattress. The numbers wouldn't mean anything to anyone else. Who am I writing it for? Me? The future. The future Catharine. When you're broken from the past there is no future. I am writing it down so there will be a future.
In the morning when I wake her, she cries. I tell her it'll be okay if she'll just drink her coffee. I don't know why I think that, but I keep saying it. She sleeps with the blinds down so it's so dark in her room. There's that picture on the wall of me holding Nola when she was a baby but looking at it makes me want to cry even more.
"Here, drink your coffee, Mom, it'll be okay."
"Oh, Cat," she sobs. Everything about her is so big, big and sloppy, but she's so scared in the morning. She doesn't care if she makes me late. She can't. She's drowning in tears and coffee and all that matters is getting air.
When she finally lets me go, I don't have much time. I leave by the back door, then slip behind the garbage cans. It's a brown day and I'm supposed to wear a skirt. I change into my jeans. I don't think anybody can see anything except old Mrs. Falcone, if she was looking. A wall of brick is all that separates us. I hear her vacuum all the time. She must hear everything: Every word. Now she can see everything, too. It's all over in about fifteen seconds but maybe she's not looking. Maybe there's one tiny privacy left. Maybe.
Then I walk as fast as I can, until I'm around the comer and out of sight. If I'm early to school I wait in the stairwell, up where it's quiet, past the third floor. It must go up to the roof from there. I haven't tried.
In algebra Judy Vernon finally notices me. I have been as quiet as I could. They seat us alphabetically in every class, and in every class Vilnius comes after Vernon. I have French when I think she's got Spanish. Otherwise, there we sit.
"Why do you always sit behind me?" she says. "Why don't you go sit somewhere else?"
Like I have a choice.
All her friends crack up. Mark Rich says, "Why are we stuck with the fat, ugly chick?"
I just keep doing my math problems. The trick is to show absolutely nothing.
In ancient Greece people were kind to travelers because the Gods often disguised themselves as travelers. I am not Catharine Vilnius, ugly and fat, in ridiculous clothes. I'm the daughter of a Goddess who mated with a bird. And tonight ,while you sleep, my tormentors, I'll come to your windows, all beak and claws. Your all too human hearts will have no protection. I almost smile.
"Hey, girl, where did you get those jeans?" this girl Alicia says. She has blond hair she can almost sit on it's so long. I hate her. I want to be her. They all laugh again.
My face gets hot but I don't flinch. I remember the twenty dollars hidden in my dresser. Dad's new girlfriend Pam gave it to me for my birthday. I'll have to buy a pair of jeans. There's no choice now. As long as Dad doesn't mention the money.
"Hey," Alicia says. "Hey, girl."
But I keep doing my math. Like Madame LeFarge at her knitting. I'm recording your names, you torturers, you traitors. One by one, in these numbers. Your day will come.
Then class starts and they have to leave me alone.
I am in exile. I have no people. I am not a monster, said the Elephant Man. Banish rhymes with vanish. What do I rhyme with? Cat rhymes with fat. I sit in the empty stairwell, as far from the crowded cafeteria as I can get. I count the minutes. I don't want to die.
In English I sit by the window and there are trees. If I don't look down, but only up and away, then I don't see the houses. Just trees and sky. There are places like that. Are there horses? I want a horse. I want a sword. I am ridiculous.
"What does star-crossed mean?" Mr. Barton wants to know, but I don't raise my hand.
I walk home. I get a head start but eventually the bus catches up. I hear it behind me, louder than the cars. If it’s slow as it passes I can hear someone's radio, and all their voices. I know they see me. A bus full of kids who hate me. I stare straight ahead. I keep walking in my useless jeans. Then the bus is gone and the rest of the way home is mine.
"What the hell have you kids been doing to my furniture?" Mom yells the moment she's inside. She takes off her raincoat. There's a rip in the hem and I want to tell her so she won't be humiliated, but I also don't want to.
Jenny stands totally still. Her and Nola had put the cushions on the floor because they wanted to try sitting in a yoga position. How does Mom know?
"Nothing," Jenny says.
"Don't you lie to me, you little bitch. Why is the zipper showing on that cushion?" We both turn our heads too fast. The zipper is a long, hard line of truth across the front of the couch.
"What have you been up to?" she yells.
The door is still wide open.
The whole neighborhood can hear.
"We," is all Jenny can say.
"You what?" Mom yells. "What?"
"Nola couldn't find one of her stickers, okay?" I say. "We were all looking for it. I'm sorry we touched your precious couch."
"Don't talk to me in that tone of voice, young lady. Don't you dare," she switches to me.
I shut my mouth and stare at her. You can't say anything or she hits you so you have to say it with your eyes.
"And you can wipe that expression off your face before I wipe it off for you," she says.
I turn toward the kitchen and she starts screaming. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"I have to check on the peas. I don't want the house to burn down, okay?" I say. I don't turn around.
When you get hit from the back you don't know it's coming. So at least I didn't flinch or throw my arms up. I hate showing her fear.
"Don't you smart mouth me," she screams in slow motion. One word for each hit.
"Now apologize."
The front door is still wide open. Jenny is standing on one foot with her hands behind her back. I think, she must hate her pants, too.
"I'm sorry," I say. But she didn't win. We all know I don't mean it. Couldn't possibly mean it. As long as she couldn't see that I was afraid.
She keeps picking on us over dinner. The chicken is bad and Jenny didn't gut the butter out and all the usual things that stupid us can never do right. But then she decides that everything is going to be normal now, so she starts asking how school was today. Nobody says a word. Nola's trying not to cry and Jenny's just staring and pretending to eat. Mom starts getting mad again. She thinks were trying to hurt her by not talking to her.
"Nola?" she asks. "How was school?"
"Okay," says Nola, trying to eat and not move at the same time. "Do you like your teacher?"
"Yes," she says, and I hope it's true. I can't stand anybody being mean to Nola.
Mom sighs and gets angrier.
"Jenny?"
"We have to have uniforms for gym class," she says in this little voice. She tries to smile. I cari't believe she's bringing it up now. There's no way she's going to get anything from Mom.
"What do you mean?"
Jenny fidgets, realizing she blew it.
"It's the rule. I have to buy a uniform. You can get them at Strawbridges," she adds like that'll help.
"What the hell is wrong with gym shorts?" For a second, Mom's on the verge of tears. She looks to me for an answer, but how am I supposed to know? The littlest thing defeats her. We are all overwhelmed by her sadness.
"I'm not getting another paycheck until the end of the month," she says, angry again.
"But I have to have it by Thursday," Jenny whines. I hate myself for hating her. I want to kick her to get her to shut up.
"The teacher said."
"Well, I'm sorry your teacher doesn't understand that some of us have to work from nine to five and we can't just drop everything to buy a gym uniform. You'll just have to wait."
Jenny goes back to staring. She just kinda pokes at her food. She never eats.
"How much does 'a uniform' cost?" Mom says all sarcastic.
"Nineteen dollars," Jenny offers, trying again to smile.
"Nineteen dollars?" Mom explodes, throwing down her fork. Peas go flying like they're trying to escape. "Nineteen dollars?" Like if she says it loud enough and long enough someone will have an answer.
We're all watching her. Nola's eyes are huge and her mouth is small. Future Catharine, now would be a good moment to travel through time and give me some money. Enough for an apartment. Just two rooms, even. Jenny and Nola could share the bedroom, and I could sleep on the floor in the other. I know how to cook. I wouldn't get them junk for breakfast, just Special K or eggs. I could fix them eggs. Jenny could make everybody's lunch like she does now and I could make dinner. They wouldn't have to eat anything they didn't want to. We could have macaroni and cheese and hamburgers or chicken, just like we do now. Or fish sticks. Then I'd do the dishes while they did
homework and then we'd all go out to the park. I'd play with Nola, Frisbee or jump rope, or her and Jenny could play the pony game like they used to. Or we could ride bikes. Then they'd brush their teeth and I'd tuck them into their bed and read a chapter from the Narnia books, and then sing them a song. There'd be a flower on the windowsill that Nola picked. Or a little bunch of dandelions. They'd go to sleep and I'd sit and watch them, to make sure they were breathing. Maybe I'd sleep there on the floor beside them, so I could hear them. Then if they got scared I'd be there. We could sleep with a night light on. I'd get them a night light. Future Catharine, can you hear me?
"There's no way on God's green earth that I am spending nineteen dollars on a gym uniform," Mom pronounces.
"But I have to have it,” Jenny wails. The fear is grabbing hold, squeezing the air out of her. Even if I could kick her, she's past help.
"No, you don't. I'll write the teacher a note."
"No!" Jenny howls, bursting into tears.
"Stop it!" Mom commands but it's way too late. Jenny's seen the future and fallen into it head first.
"Stop your blubbering!" Mom's blue eyes are wild with rage. She's half out of her chair and she grabs Jenny by the shoulders and shakes her and shakes her and shakes her. Nola's crying now too, her little mouth all twisted up.
"Stop it!" I'm yelling, jumping out of my chair. It's orange plastic and it falls down behind me. "Leave her alone! Just stop it!"
For just a second I'm taller than her. Her eyes are surprised, her anger like something she misplaced and it confuses her. But she finds it. And she stands up and I try to get ready for what's next.
"Pick on someone your own size" I'm screaming because I'm so afraid.
"You little," she starts, puffing up like a balloon. But she doesn't carry through, she kind of collapses instead.
"Why are you doing this to me?" she sobs. "I work so hard to make sure you have enough to eat and a decent place to live, why do you do this to me?" Those big sloppy tears come dripping down her face. She's in pain, awful pain, and someone, probably me, is supposed to comfort her. But I can't. She shoots me this terrible wounded look and I make myself hard as stone.
"I'm going upstairs to lie down," she says, fitting the words between little sobs. And she does, leaving us in the wreckage.
Later, I know what I have to do. Nola and Jenny are watching TV. I tell Jenny I have to talk to her.
"No," she replies. "I'm watching Dr. Who."
"Jenny, it's stupid. I have to tell you something. Come upstairs."
"No!" she repeats.
"Yes," I say. I grab her arm and yank her up.
"Ow! Let me go!" she shouts. She never thinks about Mom until it's too late. I drop her arm.
"Shut up," I demand, listening for her footsteps. But she stays in her room. "Fine," I shrug, "I won't help you."
Jenny ignores me. Her eyes are begging the television for something.
In a few minutes Jenny comes up to my room. She shuts the door and sits on the bed. She folds her hands in her lap. Her eyes are so hopeful they're almost desperate. "Okay," I whisper, "Pam gave me twenty dollars for my birthday. I was gonna buy a pair of jeans but you should get a gym uniform. Okay?"
Her mouth opens but no words happen. We both know what a fortune twenty dollars is.
"Get off your bus tomorrow at whatever stop is closer to town. You can walk to Strawbridges and get it, but I guess you'll have to walk home. Don't tell Nola until you're on the bus tomorrow morning."
Suddenly I have this terrible vision of Nola, walking home alone the four blocks from where the school bus stops. She forgets to look and steps out in front of a car. There's a terrible sound and then there she is, lying on the ground, her little hands clutching at nothing and then she's dead. People are crying and a cop car comes screaming down the street, calling me out of the house. I run, I run, I run as fast as I can but it's not fast enough to save her. "Nola!" I sob, the only word in the whole world, "Nola!" It's so real there's tears in my eyes.
"Tell Nola I'll be waiting for her at the bus stop, okay?"
"What about my chores?" Jenny whispers back.
"If you're not home by 4:30, I'll do them."
She smiles that same smile that she always does for Mom, like she's trying so hard. But I don't want it.
"Your teeth are crooked," I say, even though mine are way worse. Her eyes get all sad now. She wants to know what she did wrong, and it makes me want to hurt her more. I go to my dresser and dig for the envelope hidden in the bottom drawer. "Because you're thirteen," says the curly pink script. It's like the paper version of a bakery birthday cake, with that icing no one can eat because it’s so sweet. Twenty dollars.
"Here," I say, handing it to her. "I'll keep changing out by the garbage."
I'm sitting on my bed when she comes bursting in. She doesn't knock. She never knocks. She's huge above me, huge and sudden and hungry.
"Did you lay out your clothes?" she demands.
I stare up at her. I stare and stare in my hate. There is no privacy but the quiet. Silence is the only speech I have. I hold out as long as I can.
"Well?" she says, on the edge of yelling. She can see the clothes laid out. They're waiting in a neat pile on the dresser: underwear, socks, pants. The blouse hangs from the drawer knob. She follows me all day with the clothes she shrouds us in. My scarlet letter, my winding sheet.
"Answer me!" she screams in her glory and when she raises her arm to call it all down on my head, my mouth cracks open and one word spills out.
"Yes," I say.
Her hand wavers, wonders. She can't decide. The pleasure of contact, her flesh against mine. We were one, once. Is that what she wants? We both tremble, waiting. Then her hand slowly sinks while I sit, still as winter, cold with fear.
"What about your sisters?" she asks.
"What?" I say.
She takes one hard, fast breath.
"Catharine, if you don't start answering me I'm going to make you sorry you were born. Have your sisters laid out their clothes?"
"I. Don't. Know."
"Did you tell them what tomorrow's color is?"
"No," I say. I know what's coming.
"Well, why not?" she explodes.
"Because Jenny hates blue days!" I yell back, because its true, because I don 't know what else to say, because I want to divert her to someone else, someone smaller, someone I should protect. There's no way out of this, as she stands in my tiny room, screaming.
"Well, that's just too bad! Honestly, Catharine, you and Jenny insisted on picking out your own clothes! And I agreed to let you! But if you can't be responsible enough to even tell them what tomorrow's color is, then it's not a privilege you deserve! I'll have to start doing it again! Is that what you want? Is it?" she screams and she'll keep screaming until I answer.
"No," I wail but really I don't care. There's nothing left to care.
"If you don't start acting responsibly, that's what is going to happen! Am I making myself clear?"
"Yes."
She leaves then but she doesn't close the door. She never knocks and she never closes the door.
"Have you laid out your clothes?" she yells at Jenny and Nola.
"No," Jenny says, meek and miserable. She does hate blue days, but I can't help it. My pants are corduroy. They're almost normal.
"Your sister Catharine has decided that tomorrow is a blue day. And I don't want to hear any complaints from you! Is that understood?"
"Yes," says Jenny automatically.
I hear Mom breathing. She's not satisfied, she's just worn out. She stomps back to her room and slams the door. I'm still sitting in bed but I hate it. I don't want to wear pajamas. I don't want to sit in a soft place, where eyes get closed and bodies curl. I don't want a door that opens. I don't want little sisters. I don't want anything except for it all to be over. I don't want anything.