by Abbi Glines
It took every ounce of strength I had to turn the familiar pink diary over in my hand and read the cover. It was silver although time had dulled the shine some. Most of the glitter had worn off leaving only the shiny material the cover was made from. It was some kind of plastic. Without opening it I knew the pages were all 5x7 and had pink lines with a silver star at the top of each one. The color of the paper was a pale purple. It had been wrapped in a small box that Christmas with red wrapping paper from Macy’s and a green bow. The man I called father had bought it there and had them wrap it. As he did all my gifts that year.
They were all supposed to have been from Santa, but they said “Macy’s” on the gold sticker that also held the gift card. “To: Scarlet” was all it said. Written in a stranger’s handwriting. Probably some college girl wrapping gifts during the holidays. Or a retired grandmother taking on an extra job to buy her grandkid’s presents.
Whoever it was, it hadn’t been Santa. Or my parents. My mother had barely stayed awake while I opened my three gifts. The next year she’d left before I finished opening my gifts. Then the next year he didn’t come home, but had my gifts shipped to me. They came in the mail a week before Christmas. A Gucci purse, a silver charm bracelet, and teddy bear with a tee shirt on that said “Boston.”
Every Christmas and birthday from then on was the same. I would take the presents and place them under the tree that I always had Dixie help me put up. Then on Christmas morning I’d open them. Alone. I’d make cinnamon toast and watch a Christmas movie and pray she never came out of her bedroom. And that she was alone.
March 28, 2006
Sparkle Rose,
There is a new one now. He comes in my room when he gets here. I don’t want him to. But Momma tells me to shut up and hits me in the face if I cry or run from him. She said it’s the least I can do for ruining her life. I don’t want to cry but I don’t like when he touches me. It feels bad and I get sick at my stomach. So I cry.
Scarlet North
Nine Years Old
* * *
November 23, 2006
Sparkle Rose,
It’s Thanksgiving today. I made spaghetti and grill cheese sandwiches. Mom wasn’t here. She went to visit friends in Colorado she said. I called Dad. He didn’t answer. But the house is quiet and I like it this way. No one is here to make me unlock the doors. I watched the Thanksgiving Day parade on the television. Then I made popcorn and watched Miracle on 34th Street. I wish she stayed gone all the time. Maybe she will be gone on Christmas too.
Scarlet North
Nine Years Old
* * *
June 1, 2007
I know he’s not my father. I don’t have one. His being gone all the time is because he wants away from her. I do too. We have that in common. I wish he’d just take me with him.
Scarlet ?
* * *
December 3 2008
I punched the new one. Right in the balls. He screamed and hit me across the face. Called me a little bitch. But I didn’t care. Not even when mom started hitting me with the belt she got out of father’s closet. Still didn’t care. Because it was all worth it. He left. He didn’t touch me anywhere but my thigh this time. I stopped him.
Scarlet ?
* * *
October 2009
It happened. Father came home unexpected. Mother’s new friend hadn’t come in my room yet. I knew he would. He would hold me down while she tied my hands together. I’d started closing my eyes and thinking about other things. If I try really hard I can completely zone out. Leave the room almost.
I don’t know how he knew but he did. My father that is. He called me out of my room. I heard loud voices and yelling. I didn’t want to go out there but I went. He was never home. Maybe this time he was taking me away. Even if he wasn’t my real father.
He asked me if that man had ever been in my room. I didn’t even look at my mom. I knew her threats. That I’d go to jail. But I was older now. I’d looked it up online and I knew that wasn’t true. When I had told her as much she’d pulled a gun out of a drawer and asked me if I wanted to be shot. Sometimes I thought being shot might not be so bad. Then I’d be dead.
I told him yes and that he touched me and I hadn’t been able to say more. Admitting it made me feel as if the dirty was all over me. That it was there on me so he could see it.
The man started to run for the door when father stepped in his way. He told him that he didn’t want this out. That if the man promised to never come back he’d let him go. But returning would be a one way ticket to prison. I didn’t know you need tickets for prison. But I guess you do.
When it was just the three of us he told me to go back to my room. I don’t know what they talked about. Or for how long. But it’s been two weeks now and he’s not been here but neither has any of the men.
Scarlet
* * *
August 23, 2010
Today I started junior high. Mom didn’t come out of her room to see me off to school but if she had I’d have thought she was taking some kind of drug again. Her brief stint with happy pills father put her on last year only lasted two months. She packed my lunches those days and did the laundry. A couple nights she cooked dinner. But she also gained twenty pounds and refused to take them anymore. Within a week she was back to drinking too much, sleeping with men who never came near my door anymore. I even had a new lock installed. The men were young now though. Like they could be in college.
The best thing was I think I made a new friend. She’s quiet and sweet. I’ve seen her around before but she doesn’t talk much. When that bitch Emily James took her lunch tray and dumped it in the garbage I walked over and shoved Emily into the garbage cans too. I told her she threw the wrong trash away. Then I sat beside Dixie, that’s my new friend’s name, and offered to share my lunch tray.
This year just might not be so bad after all.
Scarlet
Bray
I COULDN’T SIT down. Standing at the window looking out over the hospital parking lot I pressed Scarlet’s number again. The tenth time since six this morning and still no answer.
“Fuck!” I growled as I stuffed the phone back in my pocket with more force than necessary. Why wouldn’t she answer? I had left a note on my pillow. When she woke up and turned to look for me she’d see it there. I’d called to make sure she woke up in time for work. Then I tried again before she should have arrived at work. No answer.
Pulling out my phone I searched for the diner’s number. Pressing it on Google the shit service I had in here stalled and I waited before it finally went through. I should have just woken her up when I got the call. But when you get a call at five in the morning telling you your baby brother has taken a fall from a motherfucking wild mustang he had no business getting on, and he’s got internal bleeding, possible spinal cord injury, fractured skull, had to be revived three times in the ambulance and is going into emergency surgery . . . you don’t think. You react. I grabbed clothes, put them on, quickly scribbled “Dallas is hurt. Bad. Call me” left it on my pillow, then ran for my truck. No time to wake her and explain anything. I had to get to Moulton.
“Bright Eyes Diner,” a woman answered with little enthusiasm.
“Can I speak with Scarlet North please?” I asked, anxious to hear her voice. I needed to explain why she had woken up to just a note.
“She ain’t in today. Taking a day off,” the lady said, then the call ended. No explanation. Not even a goodbye. I held the phone in front of my face and stared at it. A day off? She’d called in? Was she sick? Fuck!
I dialed the number again.
“Bright Eyes Diner,” the same woman said.
“This is Bray Sutton. I just called asking for Scarlet.”
“And I told ya she wasn’t here—“
“I know! Don’t hang up. I have a question. Is she sick?” I asked.
“No she ain’t sick. Just tired I reckon.”
I opened my mouth to ask if she’d called
in and who she had spoken to, but the woman hung up on me again. What the hell? Was this a joke? Who did that?
I tried calling Scarlet’s cell phone again and got no answer.
“Still in surgery, but the assisting doctor came out to let us know there is no internal bleeding,” Asher said as he came to stand beside me.
I wanted to be relieved but how the fuck could I? They had revived him. Brought him back to life, three times. One was bad enough. The fact he may be in a coma or paralyzed terrified me, but what if it’s worse? What if he doesn’t make it?
I glanced back in the waiting room. “How’s Momma?” I asked. In all my years, I had never seen my momma cry like I’d seen today.
“He’s her baby, Bray,” was all Asher said. He didn’t have to say more. That was enough. She wasn’t handling it. She was falling apart every minute they had him in surgery.
“Do you know if Dixie had any luck getting Scarlet on the phone?” I asked him.
He shook his head, frowning. “No. She’s still not answered you? Did you try her work?”
“Twice and the damn old woman answering the phone gives me one word answers and hangs up. She’s not at work today. Taking a day off. I’m about to call again and ask when they spoke with her. Maybe she’s headed here. But why won’t he answer?”
Asher was stoic as he stared straight ahead. “I’m sure she’s okay. Probably phone issues.”
I dialed the diner again.
“Bright Eye’s Diner,” the woman said. Jesus! Could no one else answer the motherfucking phone?
“At what time did Scarlet call into work and who did she speak with?” I asked firmly.
The woman sighed like I was the annoying one. “Can someone please answer all these damn questions! I got cornbread to make!” she yelled loudly and the phone sounded as if she’d dropped it on the bar or a table.
I waited, hoping someone with some fucking sense picked up.
“Can I help you?” Ethel asked. Thank God.
“It’s Bray Sutton. Scarlet’s friend,” I said quickly. “I can’t get Scarlet on the phone and I was wondering if you could tell me when she called in sick and who spoke with her?”
“Well now, I called her. Several times before I woke her up. It was after eight I reckon. She was apologizing and I told her not to worry. I knew y’all must have had a night full of adventure. Told her not to come in. To take a day off. Now why ain’t you with her? Don’t tell me you ran off again because boy I got myself a gun and I know how to use it.”
She’d overslept. She was okay. Why wasn’t she answering?
“I got a call at five this morning. My baby brother took a fall from a wild mustang. He’s in critical condition and in surgery. I had no time to explain I had to get here. I’ve called her a million times and get no answer. I’m worried about her, but I’m four hours away.”
“Oh good Lord! Why on earth would the boy get on a wild mustang?” she asked.
I didn’t have time to get into this with Ethel. I just needed her to find Scarlet for me.
“Don’t know ma’am. Can you check on Scarlet?” I repeated.
“Sure. I’ll head on over there right now. But I imagine she’s sleeping. The girl don’t get enough rest. I should probably take her some food. I doubt she’s eaten a bite. And when I tell her about what’s happened with your brother she’s gonna want to head that way. She’ll need some food. You go on now and be with your family. Is your parent’s alive son?”
Why did older people want to talk so much? She was wasting time. “My momma is ma’am.”
“You hug her tight. Bless her. That’s a scary thing. Lost my Hugh when he was young. But we won’ talk about that. You go be strong for your momma and I’ll take care of Scarlet for you.”
“Thank you—” the phone call ended. I shook my head and stuck it in my pocket. The whole damn lot at that diner were nuts.
“You get some help this time?” Asher asked turning his head to study me.
“Yeah. Ethel. Her boss. She’s gone to check on her.”
He gave me a nod then inhaled deeply and turned back to the others. “If he . . . if he doesn’t make it,” Asher said the words low so no one else heard him. The hesitation held more emotion than any tear or expression. Asher was holding it together but not by much. “Momma won’t be able to live without him. I don’t think she can lose a child and survive.”
I wasn’t going to accept the possibility Dallas may not make it. Asher was the oldest. He’d taken over with the father figure stance since we were young. Once Dad was gone it was Asher who taught us to drive the tractor, use the saw, drive the truck, build a fence. The fact he felt like he needed to prepare for the worst because he may have to hold us all together wasn’t good.
Steel, Brent and I were grown. He didn’t have to take up the slack for us anymore. But in his head, he hadn’t let it go.
“He’s tough. A fighter. He will make it,” I said firmly. Then for Asher’s sake I said, “But if he doesn’t. This isn’t on your shoulders. We are grown men, Asher. Not little boys you have to herd and instruct. We will all be there for Momma.”
The emotion in his gaze broke free for the briefest second before his stoic mask returned. I’d seen his fear. We weren’t ready to bury a brother. We had buried our father. But this we shouldn’t have to do. Dallas was the youngest. He would be the one to bury us one day when we were all fucking old and wrinkled bald men.
Scarlet
WHEN I HAD closed the little pink diary full of a child’s monsters and nightmares, I picked up my keys, walked outside, and went directly to my car. I didn’t take my purse. I didn’t put on pants or shoes. None of this registered with me until I was one hour from Moulton. With no phone, no money, no shoes, no pants I realized I didn’t exactly know how I was going to get gas.
The light was on for my gas gauge but I didn’t know how long it had been on. I hadn’t looked. The words I read, the wounds it ripped open, the memories I’d managed to block out were back. The tightness in my throat and pounding of my heart weren’t from fear. I wasn’t scared. I’d been scared for too long. My childhood had been taken from me. No, I wasn’t falling apart.
I was mad. I was motherfucking furious. I had been a child and the one person on this planet that was meant to protect me, love me, had been a cruel, selfish, monster. She’d been as dark and twisted as the men she let into my room. My world had been molded by pure sickness. Disgusting terrible things had happened to me. And she had let it. For drugs. She wanted drugs that the man who I’d called my father wouldn’t give her money for. So she had used her child to get them from sick bastards.
As I passed the city limits my car began to jerk and sputter, then the power was gone and I coasted over to the side of the road. I was given this car by a man who could have kept me safe. If he’d been around. I might not have been his daughter but I was a kid who needed saving. He’d let it go on causing years and years of damage before he stopped it. Innocence I couldn’t get back.
Opening the car door, I took my pink diary of horror and left the keys in the car that had been given to me for appearances . . . I leaned over, opened the glove compartment and took the matches that said Bright Eyes Diner on them. That was it. All I needed from this car.
I began walking. Toward the prison I’d been raised in. The pretty white picket fence that had appeared normal and happy on the outside. While all the ugliness in the world was inside.
The diary was clasped tightly in my fist. I didn’t even want to look at it. The childish pink plastic coating with the silver lettering normally held memories girls cherished when they grew up. Dixie had diaries full of stories about ponies and Asher smiling at her. She had stories about baking cookies for Santa and the day her mom took her to get fitted for a bra the first time.
Not mine though. The only happy story in it was the last one. The day I shoved Emily James and made a best friend. Dixie had been bright and clean. No dirty secrets. She was like a perfect being. I had
once thought being close to her would help cleanse me in a way. But no. Nothing could replace the past.
My feet were getting filthy I noticed. Good. I was going to the most soiled, disgusting place I knew in this world. I should be as dirty on the outside as she’d made me on the inside. My hair was tangled. My makeup smeared from last night. None of that mattered. Why should it? Appearances meant nothing. I knew that all too well.
Turning on the street I’d walked down a million times. I spat on the ground. Fury began to simmer as my temple pounded in a rhythm. I noticed nothing. Paid no attention to my surroundings until I was standing in the front yard of the house I’d been raised in.
Every horrible second I spent in that house came back to me. After reading the diary, I had remembered the things I’d managed to block out. The moments I’d cried begging a God if there was one listening to me to take me. I didn’t want to live. What seven-year-old girl should even consider death an option? It was a sad world where this was even an issue. I didn’t want to think of another little girl or boy living through what I did.
If I was given one wish in this world that would be it—to save them. The kids being abused. Sexually and physically. Children shouldn’t be hurt. They should know security. Pain and fear comes later in life, but it shouldn’t be a part of childhood.
