“See you on the flip side, Daddy,” she said softly, saying her final farewell to her deceased lover.
July 9, 1959
The pitch sky was particularly dark and misty that night. The full moon emanated an eerie glow, which seemed to celebrate the figurative fire brewing in the Maryland middle-class suburb beneath it. This house could have easily been compared to the Cleaver home in the Leave it to Beaver television show, with one distinct exception. There was no aggression or hostility in the Cleaver residence.
Richard and Shirley sat at their dinner table, with their disgrace of a daughter seated directly across from them. The rubber tree plant sat in the corner of the tacky, lemon pattern wallpapered kitchen. Linda was only 17, and getting ready to have her baby out of wedlock. 1959 was a retro period in America where tradition was still everything, and casual sex was actually frowned upon. Love was an unacceptable excuse, because even if loyalty was an element in the relationship, if it was premarital, it was wrong; no exceptions. Linda had done something unforgivable, at least in her parents’ eyes, for being knocked up and not first being married. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, the fact that she had chosen to sleep with a tribal Indian, was miles beyond what her parents could or would handle.
“Have you considered giving it up for adoption yet?” Shirley asked, in the calmest voice that she could manage to speak.
“It’s not an it, Mom,” Linda replied in disgusted disparage and defamation.
“Don’t you dare disrespect your mother at my table!” her belligerent father bellowed out, glaring at her with a somber stare.
“Oh, so I can disrespect her away from the table?” Linda asked her impertinent question in flagrant sarcasm and derision.
You could almost see the hot steam come out of Dick’s ears. “It’s not her fault that she had a whore!” he said. “I’m not to blame either for my daughter having a bastard!”
“Honey,” the deferential Shirley whispered, with her courteous head bowed and her eyes focused on her partially empty plate. “Please try not to raise your voice.” The well-trained wife rubbed her feet together like a nervous cricket, wearing her favorite Satin Slippers that were the same shade of red as her dominant husband’s cotton slacks.
“Bastard?” Linda said back. “Seriously, Dad? What a horrible word to use about your grandchild. How can you speak that way about my baby?” she asked, now in tears.
“Sweetheart, we just don’t understand,” her crestfallen mother replied on her angry husband’s behalf. “This was not how we brought you up. You were raised to honor the written Word of God, and to respect the sacred institution of marriage.”
“Mom,” Linda said. “No offense, but there is nothing sacred about marriage. Look at what it’s done for you. You and Dad don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore. You have separate rooms. Besides, I’ve encountered kids at school, whose parents are getting divorced, just because one of them has lost interest in the other or was caught cheating. Marriage has become a joke, and I want no part of that.”
“Now that’s quite enough!” Richard screamed. “I will not have this insolence in my house! I am an American soldier, goddammit! I deserve your respect!”
“You weren’t even good enough to go to Vietnam,” Linda said spontaneously without thinking about the consequences.
Her father got real quiet and paused for several minutes, while his face blushed with shame and chagrin. “I was supposed to go,” he said in a hushed tone. “I couldn’t, because of my injury. You know that. Would you have rather seen me gone and be killed in combat? Is that what you want? Is that what you’re trying to do? Kill me? Kill your father?”
“Baby,” Shirley began again, still making every effort to speak gently and meekly. “He’s not even white.”
“I fought at Pearl Harbor,” Richard muttered under his heavy breath. “But I suppose that means nothing to a spoiled cunt like my own sperm.”
“Mom,” Linda responded with a dirty look while disregarding her father’s crude slander, “he’s a minister.”
“Are you planning on marrying this boy?” her mother said, still in denial that he was considerably older than Linda and doing her best to push the brainwashing seed of marriage, hoping to get her wayward daughter to give in and comply. “Are you even committed to him? Can you be faithful? Are you planning on staying with him?”
“Of course I’m committed,” the licentious Linda lied through her cum-washed teeth. “Why would I hurt him? I love him. He’s the man of my dreams.”
“Then why are you putting us through this nightmare?” her indignant father asked, as tactfully as he could, while subconsciously grinding his teeth and clinching his cloth napkin in his fists under the table. “He’s good enough to fuck, but not marry? Is that it?” he added, while struggling to maintain a sensitive and non-threatening volume.
“Are you trying to get me to runaway?” Linda asked her parents. “Would you both prefer that? Would that make you happy, to see your daughter and grandchild alone and lost?”
“I’m sure you have places you could go,” her father bluntly remarked. “Your mother and I have overheard your phone calls. We see how you’re dressed when you come home from school. A different boy picks you up every other week. You’re seventeen and pregnant, for God’s sake. If Mingan won’t take you in, I’m sure you could easily shack up with one of your other regulars,” he spoke to her, as if she were a common prostitute.
“Well, fine then,” Linda said back, while her chin quivered. “If that’s the way you feel, I’ll go and I won’t ever come back.”
“Go ahead,” her father invited. “I dare you. I don’t expect you’ll get too far though. I doubt you have a quarter for a gallon of gas. Oh wait, I forgot, you don’t even own a car. Yeah, that’s right, you’re seventeen and still my dependent. I know you’re not considering stealing mine. You touch my Crown Victoria, and you’ll regret it,” he warned her, very proud and protective of his pink and white 1955 Ford.
“Dad,” she said, this time using a tone that was more proper and less curt, “I don’t understand why we necessarily have to be married in order to be a family?”
“Because that’s how it’s done!” he immediately answered her, once again losing control of his already ill temper. “That’s how things are done, Linda! You’re born, you go to school, you go to college, you get a job, you get married, and then you have babies! That’s the right order to live your life! Any other way is inappropriate and intolerable!”
“Your father’s right, honey,” Shirley contributed, once again being humble and subservient. “You’re only seventeen. This bastard will ruin your life. What will your baby’s last name be, if you’re not legally married to the father? Bane or Moon? Have you thought about that?”
“You know,” Linda said chuckling and shaking her head, “I am getting really fucking tired of you both referring to my unborn baby as a bastard.”
Richard tugged on his cream-colored Jockey undershirt, and pondered the idea of disowning his only daughter, and putting her out into the streets where he felt she belonged anyway. The only thing that kept him from acting on this callous temptation was the prospect of his grandchild. Though he didn’t approve of how he would be a grandfather, there was a hidden part of him buried deep down, which yearned to know his unborn grandchild. Richard made eye contact with his loose daughter, as he drooled his toxic saliva like a mad dog.
“The USSR is beating us in our race to the moon,” Richard said, after letting out one last sigh of contempt. “If you’re not careful, I’m going to beat you,” he told his pregnant daughter, without hesitation or second thought.
This hypocritical habitation was as vain as they were Bane. Richard had the country’s updated flag waving from a planted iron pole, in the front yard, to illustrate their pride for Dick having been in the US military. All forty-nine stars waved back and forth, on windy days, as if to brag to the neighborhood of Mr. Bane’s bigoted patriotism.
November 20, 1968
Dawn stared at the lime green, rotary dial telephone that sat on the two tier end table, while she lounged on the orange Henredon curved sofa. She felt subdued, as she had been coerced into temporarily staying at the next-door neighbor’s, while waiting for her mother to get out of jail.
Linda had been arrested for leading and organizing a Vietnam War protest in DC. She had packed some friends in a graffiti decorated 1963 Volkswagen bus, and shuttled off to the nation’s capital. They gathered at Dupont Circle, and planned to march to Pennsylvania Ave and have a nonviolent sit-in. Officials told them that they were obstructing a state highway, and were threatened with police intervention. Nevertheless, the protesters marched down Main Street and stopped traffic. Once they reached the White House, they all sat in a circle and chained themselves together. When the police arrived at the scene, the local authorities and civil defense squad surrounded Linda and her fellow hippies. The peaceful protestors were mercilessly beaten with nightsticks until they finally handed over the key to unlock their heavy chains and railroad ties they had brought with them.
Dawn sat impatiently in silence, while the slutty teenage daughter hosted a party in her neglectful parents’ absence, right there in the living room. Dawn went ignored, as the co-ed students played naughty games of Twister on the floor, raided the off-limits liquor cabinet, and made out with each other, while they groped and danced to the LP songs of popular bands like Creedence Clearwater Revival and Steppenwolf.
After hours of nobody noticing Dawn’s presence, Allison finally acknowledged the little girl. Dawn was crying, softly but heavily. The irresponsible and inebriated host plopped down beside her young houseguest, and inquired about her reasons for being so sullen and disconsolate.
“What’s the matter, baby girl?” Allison asked, with her eyes barely able to stay open. “Are you okay?” she asked the scared Grade-schooler, pretending to care.
“I want my Mommy,” Dawn said, feeling isolated and frightened without her mother.
“Honey, your Mommy is behind bars, and your Daddy is off in Haiti or some shit, doing missionary work,” Allison reminded her. “You’ll be okay. We’ll take care of you,” she promised Dawn, as if authentically concerned, yet clearly insensitive.
After several minutes, Allison eventually began to recognize Dawn’s critical state. Dawn was legitimately terrified and worried about her absent mother. Allison, though not clearheaded, stepped up to the plate and took this matter seriously, for Dawn’s sake.
“Your grandparents never understood about your mother being a free spirit,” she told Dawn. “They told her that you being born would ruin her life. They were wrong. You are her life.”
Dawn looked up at Allison, as if to say with her eyes that she doubted what she was saying, though simultaneously and desperately needing to believe that she somehow knew what she was talking about.
“Your Mommy talks to my Mom, Dawn. They’re friends. My Mom tells me things that your Mommy says, when she and I spend quality time. Linda adores you, sweetie. You must know that.”
Dawn cracked a partial smile, while tears continued to stream and roll down her young cheeks.
“I know it hurts, baby,” she said to the nine-year-old. “Your Mommy will be back. Yeah, she’s in jail right now, but she won’t be for very long. She’s just guilty of protesting. It’s not like she’s some hardcore criminal or mass murderer. They won’t be able to detain her for much longer. You’ll see, she’ll be home before you know it,” she told Dawn, nudging her shoulder with her own, trying to cheer her up and lift her spirits. “Do you like any boys at school?” She asked Dawn, desperately trying to change the subject and get her mind off her activist mother. “What grade are you in now? Fourth?”
“Yeah,” Dawn said softly, while she shrugged her shoulders.
“Well, tell me,” Allison imposed on her privacy. “What’s his name?”
“Jeffrey,” Dawn answered, while keeping her head bowed to hide the flow of her tears.
“Well, does he live around here?” Allison intruded again. “Maybe I can have someone go pick him up and bring him over here, if his parents give me permission? Would you like that? So you could have somebody to play with, while I socialize with my friends?”
“He’s moving away,” Dawn confided.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Well, I’m sure he’s going to miss you. How could he not miss a cute little girl like you? He must be heartbroken.”
“No,” Dawn corrected her. “He told me after school, yesterday, that he was happy to be rid of me. He never really cared about me at all.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” Allison sympathized. “Unfortunately, you’re learning this now, at such a fragile age. I want you to listen to me, honey, and remember what I tell you today. Boys are scum. They’re all jerks. All they want us for is our bodies, and then they throw us away like we’re trash. I’m sorry that you’re feeling this way, Dawn. You have a tender heart and I’m very sad to see it butchered, but time will heal your wounds. Trust me. It will get easier to blow it off and let go. That’s probably the most important advice I can give you as a woman. You need to learn to let go of the people who leave you. They don’t care about you, so you shouldn’t care about them. Trust me, they’re not worth it.”
“If that’s true, then why did Mommy marry Daddy?” Dawn asked, showing even then that she was special and perceptive. “If you feel that way, why do you have boys at your party? Why not just girls?”
“Your Daddy is different. He’s a good man. He loves your Mommy, and he loves you. Your grandparents condemned your parents’ romance, because of the shade of his skin, which was terribly wrong. It was also hypocritical to show your Daddy such extreme prejudice, since your Daddy is what they call a Native American. From what I hear, your grandparents are smug Americans. So, your Daddy should have been someone they found easy to embrace, rather than quick to reject.”
Just then, the power went out, without a hint of warning. The record scratched on the subsequently affected player and the lights in the house went completely dark. Nobody could see the person in front of them, as it was well after nightfall. Once the sun had gone down that evening, the rain began to pour as if it would be Heaven’s last chance at storming wrath upon the earth. Once the electricity had failed, raging balls of hail began to loudly hit the roof above them, which only added to Dawn’s delicate condition.
“AAHH!” Dawn screamed in horror. “Mommy!”
This power outage quickly sobered up Allison, as she instinctively wrapped her protective arms around Dawn, with the intention of offering the little girl some solace and compassion. Dawn covered her eyes with her open hands, to avoid seeing what she couldn’t see.
“I’m scared, Allison!” Dawn said. “I’m scared of the darkness!”
October 31, 1977
Dawn knew that she would eventually be caught, and when that time came, she would either feel the end of a hot bullet, or face several consecutive lifetimes in prison. There was no turning back, as she had far surpassed the point of no return and took that final plunge of faith off the apex of Mount Everest. She had sealed her fateful destiny back at the ward. She decided that if she couldn’t get people to listen to the truth, she was going to take as many people down with her as possible. The refreshed Dawn had left the final trace of her sanity at the mental facility. She left the flowing creek, and climbed back up to the main road. Sticking her thumb out, she resorted to hitchhiking, beginning her new life as a crazed psychopath, as she heard the song Crazy On You, by Heart, playing exclusively and privately in her head.
As she walked by the side of the highway, a multitude of motor vehicles passed her by, even flicked her off, until finally, an emerald green 1972 Chevrolet Townsman Station Wagon pulled over. Before Dawn knew it, she was sitting in the back seat, in between two small, grade-school-aged children. The man driving was turning the dial on the car stereo, and just happened to stop on a radio station that was halfway through playing t
he same hit song, by the rock band Heart, that had just been stuck in her head. Dawn smiled, at the amusing coincidence. It was as if some mystical force was telling her that she was meant to get into this unsuspecting family automobile.
“I’m Starfire,” the driver introduced himself, “and this is my funky Yin, Moonbeam,” he said, referring to the woman who was riding shotgun.
“I suppose you could call me Wolfsbane,” Dawn said, keeping with their psychedelic mood.
“Wicked,” he said, approving of her hip name.
“Nice to meet you,” Moonbeam said, “Those are our kids, Meadow and Garcia.”
“Where you headed?” the mother asked.
“West,” Dawn said. “I’d appreciate it, however far you can take me.”
“Sure thing,” the father said. “We’re happy to oblige. We believe in karma, so we try to give whenever we can.”
“Dig it,” Moonbeam said, “Just don’t expect to get there fast. We’re taking a slow ride,” she stated, acting as if she were doped up on some kind of mood-altering substance.
The parents were dressed like unbathed flower children. The man had the tie-dye buttoned down shirt and bandanna, and the woman wore a gypsy gown, with a light brown suede fringe jacket draped over it. The father even had the heavy sideburns, long greasy hair, beaded necklace, circular eyeglass frames, and the bleached jean jacket with the oversized, floppy collar. The kids had bellbottoms on. The son wore a Pink Floyd The Dark Side of the Moon Tour T-shirt, and the daughter wore a solid pink T-shirt with a John Travolta Iron-On heat transfer in the center. There were still plenty hippies left, who continued to strive to keep the Movement alive, and Dawn just happened to be fortunate enough to encounter some on her getaway.
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