by Tiffany King
Tomorrow we would see if she was right.
***
Kevin was waiting for me on the top step when I finally staggered to the trailer.
“What are you doing out here?” I asked.
“They’re fighting,” he said, not needing to elaborate.
“Ugh, are you sure?” I asked, seeing our chance of a decent dinner slowly slipping away.
“Yeah, they were quiet at first, but they’ve gotten louder.”
“Well, crap,” I muttered, trying to come up with a game plan. “Why don’t you go sit in the car since it’s chilly out here? I’ll go see how bad it is.”
He nodded, heading to the car. We both hated when Lucinda fought with whomever she was hooked up with because the fights always seemed to turn volatile. Kevin hated the fights because the yelling hurt his ears. I hated them because most times they turned physical, and I hated having to step in. Getting hit was not my idea of a fun time, but more often than not I always got caught in the crossfire. It was one thing to suffer Lucinda’s wrath if I pissed her off, but it really sucked to get caught in a fight that had nothing to do with me.
I could hear the yelling before I even opened the door. They were still in their room which was a good sign for me. Rushing to the kitchen, I threw the groceries in the cupboards and fridge as the yelling escalated. I hastily pulled out the peanut butter and jelly and hurriedly assembled a couple sandwiches each for Kevin and me. Once they were made, I snatched up sandwich bags and two of the packages of Top Ramen soup. Stowing it all in one of the now-empty grocery bags, I linked my wrist through the handle of the bag leaving my hands free to pour a tall glass of milk for us to share. With dinner in hand, I quietly made my way to my room to grab the blanket off my bed and the book I had laid out earlier. My plans for lying in my own bed reading would have to wait.
I scurried back down the hall with my arms full, almost home free when their fight spilled out of their room. Jim knocked into me as he rushed toward the front door, making me spill milk everywhere. “Your mother's a fuck'n psycho,” he yelled on his way out the door. I groaned silently. He would pay for that comment.
Sure enough, not a moment after he slammed the door, Lucinda flew out of her room like a bat out of hell. “PSYCHO?” she screamed at the closed door as she rushed to get by me. I knew I was in for it the moment she saw the spilt milk on the floor. “And what the hell are you doing?” She screeched, swinging out at me. The blow landed before I could think of something that would pacify her. My head jerked back from the impact across my left cheek.
“It was an accident,” I said, keeping my voice even as I cupped my stinging cheek with my now free hand.
“Well, clean it up and stop standing there like a moron!” she screamed, turning her rage toward me.
“Okay, Lucin…uh, Mom,” I said correcting myself, hoping she wouldn’t notice my slip.
I mopped up the milk with toilet paper I had grabbed from the bathroom since we didn’t have any paper towels. In my haste to clean up the mess quickly, the toilet paper became a soggy mess. I knew logically I should have grabbed an empty grocery bag, but my head was still fuzzy from the hit. I didn’t realize my mistake until I was carrying the soggy toilet paper to the kitchen trash, leaving little droplets of milk that slipped between my cupped hands splattering onto the linoleum floor.
“KATELYN, you stupid ass, you’re dripping milk all over the damn place!” Lucinda screamed at me as I dropped to my knees to clean up the drops of milk. Lucinda’s rage hit the optimal level as she pelted me over and over again with her closed fist. The blows fell heavy on my back and head. I curled up in a ball, waiting for the storm to pass. I knew it would be over soon and that when it passed her rage would be gone. That was the way it always played out, Lucinda hit until she was done being mad.
After a few moments, she finally left me on the floor as she stormed out of the trailer. I waited several moments to make sure she wasn’t coming back before uncurling my aching body. My head pounded in agony and my back tried to boycott my movements, but after a moment, I was finally able to rise.
I looked up and saw Kevin standing in the hallway with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“It’s okay, champ,” I said, grimacing in pain as I tried to smile to reassure him it was okay.
“I could've stopped her,” he said, looking at me defiantly.
“No, you couldn’t, and you know that,” I told him sternly. I had drilled it into his head repeatedly, never to interfere. As a rule, Lucinda never really hit him and I didn’t want her to get any ideas. I could take the punishment, but there was no way Kevin was going to.
“Are you okay?” Kevin asked, accepting my rules once again.
“Sure, it barely hurts at all. She could hardly get a good angle with me hunched on the floor like that,” I lied easily.
Kevin wiped the tears off his cheeks and looked relieved at my words.
“I made us sandwiches,” I said, picking up the now crushed bag on the floor. “Why don’t you get us more milk while I use the bathroom, and then we'll eat in my room like a slumber party, okay?”
Kevin smiled at my words, “Okay,” he said, scurrying off to the kitchen to get our milk.
I gingerly picked up the rest of the stuff off the floor and lugged it back to my room before heading to the bathroom. I closed the bathroom door firmly behind me and turned the water on full blast as the shakes completely consumed me. I did not cry since I had a strict rule to never let Kevin see me cry. I’d learned to shut most of my emotions away, but at times like this, my emotional wall would crumble slightly. I wrapped my arms around my midsection as I sank down on the closed toilet seat. Getting the shakes after one of Lucinda’s meltdowns was the only reaction I couldn’t seem to control. Once they took hold, it was all I could do to remain upright. The pain from the multiple blows was insignificant versus the fear that always raced through me during one of her rages. I loathed admitting that Lucinda scared me. I was terrified that one day her rage would not be pacified and she would hit until there was nothing left, leaving Kevin behind, alone.
After a few moments, I finally pulled myself together, knowing that Kevin would start to worry. I stood on shaky legs in front of the sink and studied my reflection in the mirror. My left cheek looked like I had gone way overboard with the blush, making it resemble half of a clown's face. I touched it gingerly and grimaced in pain. It was tender, but looked like it wouldn’t bruise, which was a relief. I turned and lifted my shirt to see if I could get a glimpse of the damage to my back. I could only see a small section, but saw several bruises were already starting to form. Ugh, it would be painful to sit in a desk chair all day tomorrow. I would have to make sure I was careful not to lean back, or it would only make the bruises worse.
Turning back around, I cupped cool water in my hands and splashed it on my face. The temperature stung my sensitive skin, but I knew that the coldness would help the mark on my cheek that would only upset Kevin further. After several more soakings, the puffiness around my cheek seemed to dissipate somewhat, and I didn’t look quite as scary. Using the towel off the rack, I dried up all the water off the laminate counter and straightened up the bathroom before I headed back to my room.
“What took so long?” Kevin asked worriedly as I closed the pocket door behind me.
“Hey, just girl stuff,” I said, trying to ease his mind.
Wise beyond his years, he studied me critically before answering. “You sure?” he finally asked.
“I’m sure, punk,” I said affectionately, sliding back on my bed so I could prop myself up gingerly against the headboard. “Let’s eat. I’m famished,” I said once I was as comfortable as I was going to get.
Kevin smiled, crawling up next to me. He opened the bag and distributed the now flattened sandwiches as I crunched up our dry soup and poured it into clear sandwich bags. I tore the corner of the seasoning packet open with my mouth and dumped the contents in the bag. Sealing it up tightly, I handed
it over to Kevin so he could shake it up. I made quick work out of the second soup package, and we were soon eating.
Glancing at my watch, I was dismayed to see that it was already past eight. Nothing like waiting twelve hours to eat, I thought wryly as Kevin wolfed his meal down with gusto. We polished off the milk and threw all our trash in the empty grocery bag and settled back on my bed. Within seconds, Kevin’s eyes became heavy and he drifted off to sleep. I fought to keep mine open, but the turmoil of the evening had taken its toll on me and they slowly started to drift closed.
My eyes jerked open several hours later when I heard my bedroom door being slid open. I watched as Lucinda tiptoed in quietly. The storm had passed and I could see the remorse on her face.
“I’m really sorry I hit you, Katelyn,” she said quietly, being careful not to wake Kevin.
“I know, Mom,” I whispered back.
“I just got so angry when I saw you had dumped milk all over the floor when we just barely got here.”
“I know, Mom,” I repeated, not bothering to tell her that Jim had bumped into me during their fight. By her passive behavior, I could tell they had made up, and it would do me no good to point a finger.
“You just have to be careful. We don’t know if the state will come check up on this place since they’re letting us stay here. Remember what happened in Texas.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I'll be more careful,” I said, not daring to point out that we had gotten kicked out of the housing in Texas when she designated herself the neighborhood animal rescuer, letting the entire house be overrun with strays she kept taking in.
“And I'll try not to let myself get so angry at your mistakes,” she said. “Do you want me to take him to his bed?” she asked as an afterthought, indicating Kevin.
“Nah, he’s okay. He can try his new room out tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Night,” I said, reaching over to switch on my travel alarm as she turned off the bedroom light on her way out.
“It wasn’t your fault the milk spilled,” Kevin whispered quietly in the dark.
“I know, but at least she’s happy again. She just feels bad that she hit me and needs it to be for a reason,” I said, trying to justify her actions.
“I hate her when she hits you.”
“No, you don’t. You just don’t like it,” I said, scolding him softly.
“Why do you defend her?”
“Because she’s our mom, if we don’t defend her, who will?”
“Well, I still don’t like her to hit you,” he added stubbornly.
“I know, but better me than you with your chicken arms,” I joked, reaching over to pinch his arm softly.
“Very funny, sis. One of these days I’m going to grow up, and then we'll see,” he mumbled, drifting back off to sleep.
“I hope so,” I said softly to his sleeping form, pulling the blanket up over us before I drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 3
My alarm startled me awake the next morning as I lay shivering under the thin blanket Kevin and I were sharing; I love the little guy, but man is he a bed hog, I thought, watching him curled up in a tight ball. Taking care not to wake him yet, I painfully climbed out of bed with my sore back protesting my every move.
Having no carpet and no heat made the cold linoleum floor feel like ice against my bare feet. With a clean shirt and my zip-up hoodie in hand, I headed to the bathroom for a shower. I cranked the knob to the hottest setting to let water heat up a bit before stepping inside. Every new bump and bruise throbbed as I slipped out of the t-shirt and jeans I wore to bed last night. After several moments under the soothing water, the chills I had been fighting began to subside. I allowed myself the luxury of a longer shower knowing the hot water would go a long way in easing the pain in my back.
I reluctantly shut off the water when the temperature began to cool and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. Wrapping the only towel I could find in the trailer around my midsection, I swiped my hand across the small medicine cabinet mirror and studied my reflection. The mark on my face had faded significantly, which was a relief. A little foundation would lighten it further.
The cooler air from the rest of the trailer began to seep into the bathroom, causing me to shiver slightly. I stepped back into my only pair of jeans and my clean shirt and hoodie. Finally somewhat warm, I was able to finish getting ready.
By the time I left the bathroom, Kevin and Mom were up, and I could hear them chatting in the kitchen.
“And a new backpack?” I heard Kevin ask.
“Yep, you would get a new backpack, too,” Mom said, looking much more mellowed than she had the day before.
“What’s going on?” I asked, pouring myself a glass of milk.
“Mom said we get to go to the thrift store to pick out school clothes, and she has a voucher so we can get school supplies from some bank.”
I looked at her questioningly.
“I guess one of the banks in Bozeman did a school supply drive this year and they still have stuff left,” she said, lighting up a cigarette. “They gave us a voucher for three hundred dollars for your school clothes and other stuff at some thrift store. If there’s any left, maybe you can get some books, too,” she said, offering an olive branch.
“That would be good,” I said, munching on a piece of toast. As a rule, I always accepted the olive branch Lucinda would hold out. Holding a grudge wasn’t in my nature, and each day brought its own set of challenges already, so holding onto past hurts would have only bogged me down.
“Okay, good. I’ll pick you guys up after school, but starting tomorrow you’ll be busing it,” she said.
“Yay, I get to ride the bus with Katelyn,” Kevin said, bouncing up in his chair.
“Oh joy,” I said, ruffling his hair on the way back to my room.
I made my bed, making a mental note to remember blankets when went to the thrift store later.
***
The drive to school was short and before I knew it, Lucinda was pulling our dumpy car in between two oversized SUVs that looked brand spanking new.
“Wow, this looks like something the president would ride in,” Kevin said, gawking at the large black Ford Expedition off to his right. I smiled. Kevin was obsessed with the President of the United States and referred often to him.
Walking around to his side of the car, I had to agree with him. The vehicle was very imposing with its jet-black paint job, chrome trim and wheels, and tinted windows.
“Sheesh, I wonder who drives that,” I said as we trailed behind Lucinda toward the front door of the school.
I sighed with pleasure when we stepped into the lobby where the heat enveloped us, warding off the chill from outside. Judging by our surroundings, I could tell right off the bat this was going to be unlike any school we’d ever attended. Gone were the industrial light blue walls, buzzing fluorescent lights and scarred laminate countertops I was used to. Soothing taupe-colored walls were broken up by rich maple chair rails that ran the perimeter of the oversized space. Granite countertops and hardwood floors completed the warm inviting look. Twelve large bulletin boards hung around the room and judging by the decorations on them, there was one for each grade level.
“May I help you?” A kind elderly woman asked Lucinda.
“Yeah, I need to sign my two kids up,” Lucinda said, nodding her head in our direction.
“That’s lovely, dear. I’m sure you two are going to love this school,” she said, addressing us.
“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Lucinda said, voicing my thoughts in her usual abrasive way.
The woman looked a little surprised at Lucinda’s tone, or maybe it was her comment.
“It’s a little odd keeping all these kids together in one school, don’t you think?” Lucinda asked, reaching in her bag for her pack of cigarettes.
I looked away embarrassed. Lucinda absolutely hated that people could tell her where she could and could
n’t smoke. Being one to buck the system at every opportunity available, she always tried to light up anywhere and everywhere.
“Oh, there’s no smoking in the building or on school property,” the woman said, all kindness disappearing from her voice as she looked at Lucinda reproachfully.
“Right, of course not,” Lucinda said sarcastically, dropping her cigarettes back into her bag.
I kept my eyes everywhere but on Lucinda and the woman who I knew was now probably judging us. This was nothing new to me.
The door behind us opened up letting in a gust of cold air. Relieved to finally have something to look at, I turned to see who had entered the room, and nearly groaned out loud when I saw it was the swoon-worthy-dimple boy, as I had come to think of him. OMG, could this get any worse? I couldn’t help thinking to myself.
Oblivious to my discomfort, he shot me the same dimpled smile from the night before as he walked around the granite countertop. “Hi, Mrs. Johnson, how are you doing this morning?” he said, grabbing a stack of papers off the counter in front of her. He sorted through them for a moment before distributing them in the appropriate cubbies.
“Great, Max, how about you?” she asked in a lighter tone.
“The same. School, work, school, slave labor, you know how it is,” he said, shooting her a smile.
“You tell your father to stop working you so hard, or I’ll have to stage some kind of grocery store boycott," she said, trying to sound stern.
“You know it won’t do any good, Mrs. Johnson. Anytime I even think about griping, I get to hear about how he had to walk through like ten feet of snow, ten miles each way to school every day,” Max said, laughing easily with her.
I knew I should look away, but there was something captivating about the way he laughed with such abandon. His laughter was so warm and contagious. I could feel the corners of my own mouth pulling up to smile in response. I looked down hastily so he wouldn’t get the wrong idea.
