Paper Stones

by Laurie Ray Hill

  They phone me at work Monday morning. Tell me I can have the job.

  I get up. Walk into Ken’s office. Shut the door. Say I’m quitting. I don’t want no more bullshit out of him or I’m telling the police and they’re going to charge his ass with sexual harassment in the workplace. I tell him what that is and that he could go to jail for it. I’m talking to every other girl here, too, and telling them what to do if he tries it with any of them. So he better watch himself from now on.

  I walk back to my desk and the phone rings again. It’s Josie telling me the colour of the lake behind the church is changed. The sun’s bust through, she says. The water’s shining like a field of diamonds.

  I sit there and I’ve got a few tears. I’m telling you, it’s sunnier right here.

  I tell Josie. I lower my voice but I tell her, over the phone, right there from my desk, the Ken story.

  “So that’s it!” she says.

  She’s been scared I was going to die in a German restaurant because she daydreamed I was choking on a bratwurst sausage.

  “Must’ve been just his sausage! It’s about time he found out that harass is one word.”

  Feels strange to be sitting at that desk, laughing. I gab on. I tell her me and Dave have just painted our kitchen blue. Paint’s on the dark side, but we like it with the white trim. Red tea towels and cookie jar to set it off. Looks smart.

  Josie says Dave’s going to be the builder for our hotel.

  “Got promoted up from handyman, did he?”

  “He’s earned it,” she says.

  I says, “This looking for a new job was Dave’s idea. But I’m the one did it. He never done it for me. I don’t get why Meredith thinks I’m trying to get rescued by Dave.”

  “Ah, she’s just landed in the dark,” Josie says. “Dave’s nice to have around, like what my dog here is, but you’re rescuing yourself.” She lets on that there ain’t nobody in the world better to have around than her hound, which was a philosopher in another life.

  I ask her how come he got busted down from thinker to beagle mix. Taking my time, having a personal conversation instead of trying to sell hall and two frigging rooms carpet cleaning.

  She says her dog thinks about the universe. Lays on the floor with his ears out flat and wonders why things is so weird.

  On the way home, I know what other stepping stones I want to make.

  I get out four sheets of paper, sunny bright orange and yellow, and I write, I’m good with people, I’m reliable, I work hard, and I don’t panic. All my golden Human Value stuff that I said on the phone to McIlveen’s Plumbing.

  Nobody’s looking so I put them down on the floor and stand on them one at a time. I’d recommend that to yous. Feels great.

  12.

  “WHAT ARE SOME of the good things about you?” I says to Jenny the next day she was over. I was thinking I’d let her try that thing with the stepping stones, teach her about the solid gold of her Human Value.

  She says, “I’ve got a tight pussy.”

  A voice that don’t sound like me says to her, “Is Ian back living with you and mommy?”

  She says, “No.”

  “But does he come over sometimes?”

  She nods.

  “Does mommy leave you with him?”

  “So she can have some peace and quiet.”

  “And does he tell you that about yourself?” I’m breathing between everything I say. Holy jumping, I’m mad! But I don’t want her to think that it’s her I’m mad at.

  I say, “Okay. What are some other things you like about being you?”

  I’m going to settle with my sister! If she can’t see this child is looked after right! God dammit.

  Jenny says she likes being pretty.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. I thought this with Ian was at least over and done with! I say, “Okay. And what about some things you like to do?”

  “I like cooking with you and Dave, Ann Toes. I like when Dave tells me the name of the ducks. I like talking to Timothy (that’s her stuffed rabbit). I like Ashley in my class. She can count over fifty-five.”

  “Wow,” I says, “that’s pretty high counting.” I’m going to fucking kill my sister.

  “So,” I says, “do you want to see a game I learned? We make like stepping stones out of paper here, and we take and write things on them that you’re good at. And we pretend we’re crossing a big, fast, dark river, standing on our Human Value, going over to a sunny shore.” I’m going to get you to a better place, Jenny.

  I wrote, I can cook cookies, I know about ducks, and I’m a good friend. We talked about Timothy the rabbit, and we figured out that she likes to talk to him because she’s got more thoughts in her head and more love in her heart than she knows what to do with.

  “I say my extra self in his ears.”

  So I wrote for her, I think a lot and I have lots of love.

  I got out my own stepping stones too, and we made two paths, side by side there, across the kitchen floor. Then we stepped from stone to stone, holding hands.

  I’m squeezing that little soft hand, and I’m standing on the paper that says I’m reliable, and I’m thinking, I’m going to be reliable for this kid if it’s the last thing I do on earth. I’m going to haul her out of the frigging rockslide or I’m going to die trying.

  My sister come after dinner to pick Jenny up. Walks into my kitchen and tells me she don’t like the new colour. It’s too dark, she says.

  I says, “Sandra,” I says, “we got to talk.”

  We haven’t said a word beyond the stripped-down basics since me and Dave first called the Children’s Aid on that Ian piece of shit.

  Jenny’s watching a movie. I light into Sandra, whispering so Jenny don’t hear.

  “What the fuck’s going on with Ian?”

  “Oh,” she says, and she gets this little smile so I want to slug her, and she goes, “It’s working out good now.” She looks at her toe, wiggles it around.

  “There’s a court order against that creep. He is not supposed to be anyplace near Jenny.”

  “That’s all over with,” she says. “He’s apologized to me for all that. He treats me real good now. Guess what he bought me?” Sandra’s not talking in a whisper at all, but I still am.

  “We got to talk about Jenny.”

  Sandra gets this cold look on her. “What about Jenny?”

  “Shhh. She’ll hear you.”

  “So?”

  I whisper, “You have to keep him away from her. He’s been fooling with her again.”

  “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “He is.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Why would I? Even ask Jenny.”

  “The little slut! I’ll tan her good. Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you know? What did she say?”

  I told her.

  Sandra says, “Jenny!”

  My darling gets up from Barney and walks to the kitchen door and stands there. Barney’s still singing away. I’ve got the idea that Sandra’s going to do something good. She shouted “Jenny” awful loud, but I don’t get it. I think she’s just upset, same as I am myself.

  Jenny knows better. She freezes there, scared, in the doorway, with the happy kid song in the dark room behind her. She’s been laying on the couch. Her blonde hair is all messed up in a soft-looking way, standing out around her face. She’s holding Timothy the rabbit, who takes in the overflow of her thinking and love.

  Sandra grabs her little arm, jerks her into the kitchen so that Timothy goes flying, and backhands her—smack—across the face. “That’s for fooling with Ian, you slut! You stay away from him, you hear? Dirty sleaze!” Sandra whacks her head again before I can get to her. I can see that little head yet, the way it jerked sideways and back. Sandra w
renched her arm so I was scared she was going to dislocate the shoulder. Why was it taking me so long to get over there to Jenny?

  Jenny looks at me as her eyes fill and the red welt comes out on her face. I told on her. She thinks I told on her to get her into trouble. I finally make it to her, grab her to me. My body feels so slow. I heave it like a sand bag between her and Sandra. I tell her I didn’t mean to get her in trouble. I wrench Sandra’s hand off Jenny’s little arm.

  Sandra’s yelling at her that she’s got to the count of three to get her coat on. She’s not done with her, she says.

  “I’m going to whale you black and blue, you filthy little slut!”

  “You’re not taking her back there!” I scream at Sandra.

  Sandra makes a grab for Jenny. “She’s my kid. She’s my problem. You can keep your nose out of it.”

  “Sandra!” I’m hanging on to Jenny, hunching over her to try and keep her from getting hit. I yell, “Listen to me! It’s not her fault!”

  Sandra takes another swipe at her. Misses. Hits me instead. She’s hitting hard.

  “Whose fault is it supposed to be if she acts like a whore? My fault, I guess, eh? Everything’s the mother’s fault? You don’t know her. She’s a born whore!”

  Sandra’s pounding me. Out of control. Makes a dive at Jenny. Gets her by the hair. Shakes her.

  Screams at her, “Dirty bitch! Every time I take my eyes off you, you’re fooling with my man! He’s my man, do you hear me? My man, not yours!”

  I’m trying to undo my sister’s fists off Jenny’s hair.

  I cover Jenny as much as I can with my arms, yelling over her at her mother, “I’m learning whose fault things is!”

  “You don’t even have any kids. Trying to tell me what to do with mine!” Sandra’s red, panting.

  Jenny’s flailing like she’s in white water, going under, trying to grab on to me.

  I scream at Sandra, I can feel my lips hauled back off my teeth like a jungle animal. “You’re going to listen to me!”

  I must have said that so ferocious that she stops, drops Jenny, and shouts at me, “What bullshit have I got to listen to? Slut, get your boots on.”

  Jenny grabs me and stays bolted to me.

  I want to tell Sandra my whole thing about a rock beaning a caveman, screwing his head. And now this mental trouble, it’s built up power till it’s this free-for-all rockslide, roaring down the slippery slope of time, balling up dirt and more dirt, bashing thousands and thousands of people, so you can barely make out arms and legs and heads in the commotion. Jenny’s in there! It’s smacking her, twisting her, shoving her, rolling her head over heels. And it’s not her fault or Sandra’s or nobody’s but the fault of whoever pushed that first big rock. If anybody did. I want to tell Sandra she has to help me. We have to get Jenny out!

  How am I going to say all that to my sister who is so pissed off she can hardly get air?

  She’s jealous of that poor kid because jerk Ian likes her four-year-old tight box! My sister is so starving for a hug, any hug, she’ll fight her own child to get one.

  All I can think to do is I pry Jenny off me and put my arms out to her mother.

  Sandra don’t know what to make of this. Stands there and then sort of falls against me.

  I says, “Jenny, sweetheart. Hug Timothy. You’re this good, darling.” I wave my arms out wide around Sandra to show Jenny how good she is. “This good!”

  Sandra never offered to let go of me. Once she had my arms around her, she stuck like a bloodsucker. So I hug my poor sister, eh, and I do my best to tell her that one thing that it’s taking me so long to learn myself.

  “It’s not your fault!”

  Sandra starts to breathe a bit easier.

  “But it’s sure not Jenny’s neither and it’s not even all damned Ian’s fault.”

  I keep hugging her, kind of rocking back and forth. It’s the shape the human race is in. My friend Sally calls it “the sin of the world.” God knows. But it’s sure not Jenny’s fault.

  “You got to tell her that,” I says. I’m still holding Sandra. “It’s not Jenny’s fault. Tell Jenny it’s not her fault.”

  Alls Sandra can hear is about herself.

  “It’s not the mother’s fault?” she keeps saying, with her face to the floor, her forehead against my shoulder, and her arms around my back like a pair of vice grips.

  I pull away and try to get her to look me in the face. I says, “It’s not like you can sit back and do nothing. You got to make this kid safe.”

  Sandra says, “But it’s not my fault what happened?”

  “Why would it be your fault?” I says.

  Sandra whispers into the floor, “I thought she got it from me, being, you know, that kind.”

  I push Sandra out from me, try to get her to look at me.

  She’s thinking what I used to think. I’m that kind. Men pick on me because I’m that kind. No. No. I know better now.

  I say, “There is no that kind!”

  “Well, so why do I always end up with jerks?” Sandra moans to the floor.

  I says, “Because you’ve got no stepping stones to stand on. No gold hasn’t sunk into you yet. You don’t know your own Human Value.”

  Of course, Sandra don’t know what I’m talking about. Steps back. Gets mad again. Stamps across to the sink for water. Takes a gulp. Bangs the cup down. “So you do blame me!”

  Jenny is a slut, the way Sandra wants to see it. Needs to get taught a lesson. She’s going to fix it by whacking Jenny. She’s going to teach her not to be a slut.

  “It’s for her own good. So she don’t turn out like me.”

  “Jenny is just caught in this. She hasn’t got no power to do nothing about it! You’re trying to hold her responsible for things that are the adults’ responsibility.”

  “See it is my fault! That’s what you’re saying. You sound like a frigging shrink. You should see the way she’ll sidle up to a man!”

  There’s little Jenny in the corner, squeezing her rabbit, watching us with big eyes, taking in all this horse shit about herself from her mother. I picked Jenny up. She wrapped her arms and legs around me tight.

  “She’s looking for love, Sandra, same as what you are yourself. The two of yous are both mixed up.”

  “She’s not going to steal Ian.”

  “She’s a little kid!”

  “She wants it with my man!”

  Sandra made a dive at Jenny.

  I swung around to protect her, and we had another wrestle. Had to drop Jenny to grapple with Sandra.

  “These here are the choices, Sandra.” I wind up yelling at her, when I’ve got her pinned to the fridge. (Thank God I’m stronger than her!) My pictures and magnets and clippings are all getting knocked on the floor. Not on purpose, but her heel come down on a picture of Jenny with Santa.

  “You leave Jenny with me until you get that man out of the house, permanent. Or else I am taking her and I am going to the shelter, right now.”

  Sandra finally wrenched loose. Says she don’t want to take the filthy slut home with her anyhow.

  Jenny didn’t make no fuss about getting left behind.

  Dave’s on the stairs, coming back from his last hockey game of the season. He flattens his gear and himself up against the wall. Lets Sandra go sailing by.

  She’s a little bit of a thing, dark haired and tiny there in her dark green coat, running down the stairs with her arms wrapped around herself like that’s the only hug she can ever hope to get.

  “What’s eating her?” he says, hanging up his skates. “Ain’t she taking Jenny?”

  When I tell him, Dave goes up in a sheet of flames. Shouts that it’s high time this Ian piece of shit was took care of. Goes for the phone.

  I says, “Who you calling now?”

  “Children’s
Aid.”

  “What do you think they’ll do this time? They already got that order before and that didn’t work.”

  Jenny’s like welded to my ribs.

  “I don’t know,” Dave says. “Throw the prick in jail. Or they’ll take Somebody away from your sister.”

  I give him a watch it, she’s smart look. “Jesus,” I says. “Shouldn’t we take some time and think this through?”

  “There’s no more thinking to do,” he says. “There’s a goddamn limit!”

  Now, you see, I never even knew that. I never knew there was any particular limit. The way Dave explains it, he says you can let people do whatever they see fit to do, up to a goddamn limit.

  “There’s things you don’t let no one do. Especially to a little kid.”

  You should’ve felt the strength of that child’s grip, hanging on to me! Looking back, I know that was adrenaline. Right then, Jenny could’ve lifted a truck.

  I thought about Ken at work, how I’d finally told him where the limit was. I was slow but I was learning. And every single thing I could learn for myself, I could turn right around and use to help Jenny.

  So I tried to get this limit thing through my head quick.

  I walk around the apartment with Jenny in my arms, give Sandra time to get home. Then I says, “Will you go to Dave for a minute, honey?”

  “Is that okay?” he says to her. (He asks her.)

  Jenny goes to Dave, no problem. Sucking her thumb and squeezing her rabbit, she puts her face against Dave’s shirt.

  He holds her in an appropriate way. There’s ways for a decent grown man to hold a child, eh. And there’s the way my father will hold a child. The difference is plain as day, once you see it.

  I called my sister. Told her we had to call Children’s Aid again, report that Ian was back.

  Sandra was mad as hell. Said she was in love with Ian. They want to get married, she says. And I can keep my nose the fuck out of her life.

  “Married?” My voice come out like a fire alarm.

  Jenny and Dave were looking at a cartoon together.

  I tried to choke myself down to a whisper. “Are you crazy? You want to marry this guy who is screwing your daughter?! What kind of a man is that to pick out?”