The Sometimes Daughter

by Sherri Wood Emmons

  “Why can’t he just be glad she got a bike?” Mama said. “God! I even told Derrick not to come! Why can’t they ever just do what we tell them to do?”

  “Is there a man in the world smart enough to do what a woman tells him?” Rhonda’s voice shook with laughter. “They’re just not that smart.”

  They erupted into giggles. I heard their glasses clink together.

  “Who wants another drink?”

  Daddy came home long after Rhonda and Amy had gone. Mama and I had cake and ice cream for dinner, and she let me sleep in her bed. I didn’t hear him come home, but he was there in the morning, sleeping on my left with Mama on my right.

  Life was good again.

  Over Mama’s protests, I started kindergarten that fall. Trembling, I held Daddy’s hand tight as we climbed the stone steps to Indianapolis Public School Number 57, a big brick building just a few blocks from our house. Daddy had insisted that he would take me on my first day. Mama would pick me up at the end of the morning.

  Standing in the doorway to the classroom, my heart pounded so hard I wondered if everyone could hear it. The room was full of children. Kids sat on the shiny wood floor working puzzles, or at tables pounding clay. A small group of girls clustered in one corner that had been decorated as a kitchen, complete with a wooden stove and refrigerator. I had never seen so many children.

  I’d been to concerts with Mama and to demonstrations. I’d been to parties and cookouts and even a pig roast. But I had never seen so many children.

  “Come on.” Daddy pulled me forward into the room. “It’s going to be fun.”

  A woman with white hair and an ample belly approached, stretching out her hand to me.

  “Hello,” she said, as I shrank away. “What’s your name?”

  “This is Judy,” Daddy said, pushing me toward her. “Judy Webster.”

  “Ah, yes.” The woman looked up at Daddy. “Just Judy, then?”

  “Yes, please.” Daddy smiled at her, shrugging. “It was the sixties, you know. And my wife ...”

  “No explanations.” She laughed. “Last year I had a Skybird and a Rainbow. Sweet Judy is fine.

  “My name”—she knelt in front of me—“is Mrs. Landon. I’m going to be your teacher.”

  She smiled.

  I clung to Daddy’s leg, trying desperately to disappear behind him.

  “She hasn’t been to preschool,” Daddy said, trying hard to disentangle himself from my clutch.

  “That’s fine,” Mrs. Landon said. “We’ll be fine. Good-bye now.”

  She nodded firmly at my father, who hesitated for just a second, then nodded back.

  “I’ll see you tonight, honey. Mama will pick you up after class.”

  With that, he was gone. I was alone in a sea of children.

  “Now, Judy.” Mrs. Landon took my hand and pulled me toward the girls in the kitchen corner. “This is Carol and Susan and Lee Ann. It’s their first day of school, too. Girls, this is Judy.”

  With that, she turned and left me alone, facing the three girls. They stared at me. I stared at them. Finally, one of them asked, “Do you like Barbies?”

  I nodded mutely. I had seen Barbie dolls on the television, although I’d never actually held one. Mama said they were fascist and paternalistic, designed to turn women into objects. But I thought it better not to mention what Mama thought of Barbie just then. For the first time in my life, I told a lie.

  “Sure,” I said. “I like Barbies.”

  And that was how I got my first friends.

  Carol, Susan, and Lee Ann had a multitude of Barbies at their houses. But since they couldn’t bring them to school, I was spared the humiliation of admitting that I didn’t have a single one.

  By the end of the morning, I was feeling comfortable enough to relax. Carol, Susan, and Lee Ann simply added me to their tribe, including me in their kitchen game, saving a seat for me at story time.

  “Excuse me? I’m here for my daughter.”

  Mama’s voice was anxious and loud. Every head in the classroom turned toward the door.

  Mrs. Landon walked toward her, smiling. “It’s five more minutes till the bell,” she said, her voice smooth and firm. “Why don’t you have a seat here, and you can wait.”

  Mama stood still, and for one awful moment I thought she was going to argue. I could see the entire scene play out in my head. Please, Mama, I pleaded silently. Please just sit down.

  And she did sit down, waving to me and smiling brightly at Mrs. Landon and Carol, Susan, and Lee Ann.

  When the bell rang, some of the children lined up to board the school bus. Others waited in the room for mothers or siblings to walk them home. Mama took my hand and we fairly danced our way home. She wanted every detail, every nuance. What was my favorite part of the day? Were the other girls nice? Did the teacher try to squelch me? Did I want to go back tomorrow?

  “Because, you know,” she said as she pulled the house key from her purse, “you don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. I can teach you at home.”

  “It’s okay, Mama,” I said, climbing the stairs to our apartment. “I like it at school.”

  She smiled as she unlocked the apartment door, but her eyes didn’t smile. So I knew I had answered wrong.

  5

  So a new part of my life began—the lying part. At school, I lied to my friends about what I did at home. At home, I lied to Mama about what I did at school.

  The lying at school came easily and at once. I knew somehow that I shouldn’t mention dancing naked in the rain, or Mama’s psychedelic punch, or Derrick. Nobody had to tell me. I just knew.

  The lying at home I learned gradually, by making mistakes.

  At dinner after my first week, Daddy asked me what I had learned that day. I recited the Pledge of Allegiance. Mama exploded into a tirade about American imperialism and the fascist indoctrination of children in public schools.

  A few days later, I mentioned that Lee Ann’s daddy had been to Vietnam. I guess I thought that might please Mama, since she talked about Vietnam so often. Mama stared at me, aghast. Then she told me to go to my room, and then I heard her yelling at Daddy about sending me to school with warmongers and racists.

  When Carol told me that her parents were sad because people were being mean to Richard Nixon, who was the president, Mama looked as if she might cry. More yelling after I went to bed that night about the warmongers and fascists.

  By Veterans Day, when Lee Ann’s daddy came to talk to our class about being a soldier, I had learned to withhold such news with Mama.

  In December, Mrs. Landon told us we were going to be part of the school Christmas program. My class was to sing “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” and some kids were chosen to hold up cardboard props. I was given the five golden rings. Susan got the partridge in the pear tree, but Lee Ann told me the golden rings were even better, because we sang that part longer.

  I could hardly wait to tell Mama as we walked home from school.

  “A Christmas program?” she said. “How can a public school put on a Christmas program? That’s obscene!”

  She was walking faster now, pulling me along by the hand.

  “I cannot believe that in 1974 a public school would put on a Christmas program! Haven’t they ever heard of the separation of church and state? No, of course not! This is Indiana ... goddamned redneck Indiana. What else should we expect?”

  I kept my head down and my mouth shut and let her drag me along toward home. When we got there, I ran to my room and closed the door. But I couldn’t block out the noise as she banged around the apartment.

  “Damned rednecks ... unbelievable, just fucking unbelievable. I can’t stand this place!”

  By the time Daddy got home, she had calmed down enough to put dinner on the table.

  “Tell your daddy what your school is doing.” She glared at me as if it were my fault the school had decided on a Christmas program.

  I hung my head, afraid to speak.

  “
They’re putting on a Christmas pageant!”

  Mama waited for her words to sink in, waited for Daddy to explode in anger at the sheer injustice of it.

  Instead, he looked to me and said, “That sounds like fun. Don’t you think it will be fun, Judy?”

  Mama stared at him in silence. I kept my head down and concentrated on my plate, pushing lentils and rice around with my fork.

  “Judy?” Daddy’s voice was soft. “Are you excited about the program?”

  “Of course she’s not excited!” Mama snapped. “And of course she is not participating! I told her how wrong it is. What are they thinking, celebrating a Christian holiday in a public school? What about the Jewish kids? And the Buddhists? What about anyone who isn’t a Christian?”

  Daddy looked at her for a long minute, and then he laughed.

  “I sincerely doubt there are any Buddhists at School 57.”

  “That’s not the point and you know it! It’s the principle, Kirk. What about ...”

  “For God’s sake, Cassie, it’s a Christmas pageant. It’s not a fascist plot to overthrow democracy. Honestly, honey, you need to put it in perspective.”

  Mama glared at him.

  “Now, Judy, what are you doing in the program?”

  “I’m holding the five golden rings,” I whispered, glancing from him to Mama.

  “That’s terrific, honey! The five golden rings ... that’s a big part! I’m proud of you.” Daddy beamed. I smiled at him and then looked at Mama, afraid she’d seen me.

  She was watching Daddy, her eyes wide, her mouth set in a thin line.

  Finally, she looked at me and her lips smiled. “So, you want to be in the program, Sweet Judy?”

  I knew the answer she wanted. I knew I could make her happy if I said no, I did not want to be in the program. I knew if I only said that, her eyes would smile and everything would be all right.

  Then I thought of those five cardboard rings painted gold. I thought about standing at the front of the class, holding those rings aloft. I remembered what Lee Ann had said about the rings being even better than the partridge in the pear tree.

  “Yes, Mama,” I whispered. “I want to be in the program.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well ... that’s fine, then. That’s ... fine.”

  She picked up her fork and began eating. Daddy patted my arm and smiled, then began talking about a case his class in law school was discussing, about a man who was being prosecuted for burning an American flag. He looked at Mama now and then, but even that case didn’t draw her interest. She ate in silence.

  That night there was no yelling, only Daddy pleading.

  “Cassie, honey, it’s a kindergarten play. She’s five years old and it’s Christmas. Let her enjoy it. Don’t make such a big deal about it.”

  No response.

  “She’s not rejecting you, Cass. She just wants to be like the other kids. Can’t you understand that?”

  The front door slammed, and I heard Daddy sigh.

  6

  “Please, Mama? Please, can I go?”

  “I’ve already said no,” she said, her voice cross. She didn’t look up from the tarot cards on the table before her.

  “But why?”

  “Because I said so, that’s why!”

  I stared at her a long moment, then turned on my heel and stomped into my room, slamming the door behind me. I threw myself onto the bed and began sobbing, big, gulping sobs. Why was she being so mean? Why couldn’t I go to Lee Ann’s birthday party? Every girl in our class was going ... everyone but me.

  I stared sadly at the invitation. What would I tell Lee Ann? What would they think of me at school?

  Mama turned on the stereo in the living room and began singing along with Mick Jagger about not getting any satisfaction. I harrumphed and turned my back to the door.

  When Daddy came home and called me to dinner, I emerged from my room with the invitation clutched tight in my hand. Before Mama could say a word, I put the invitation in Daddy’s hand and said, “Lee Ann is having a birthday party on Saturday. Can I go?”

  Daddy looked at the invitation and smiled, but before he could say a word, Mama snatched the card away.

  “You go to your room, young lady!”

  She grabbed my shoulder and pulled me toward the bedroom.

  “Cassie! What are you doing?” Daddy stared at her, his eyes wide. Mama hardly ever yelled at me, and she had never grabbed me like that before.

  “You stay out of this.” She glared at him. “I have already told Judy she is not going to that party.”

  She let go of my shoulder when we reached my room and stood still a moment, just staring at me, an expression on her face I’d never seen there before.

  “And you, missy ... you can just stay in your room until you’re ready to apologize.”

  She slammed my bedroom door behind her, leaving me shaking, red marks on my shoulder where she’d grabbed me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Daddy’s voice was angry.

  “Nothing is wrong with me!” Mama spat at him. “I told Judy she couldn’t go to that party, and then she turns around and asks you. That’s what’s wrong.”

  I heard pans slamming in the kitchen, then Daddy’s voice, much quieter than before.

  “Okay, look,” he said, “I get why you’re mad. She shouldn’t have asked me after you said no. But, Cassie, there’s no reason to go ballistic. She’s only five. She just wants to go to a party.”

  Mama said nothing. I heard the chairs scraping on the floor and a spoon against the serving bowl. She had made fried rice, and it smelled heavenly. My stomach growled.

  “Honey?” Daddy’s voice was soft, cajoling. “Why can’t she go to the party?”

  Mama sighed loudly. “Because, Kirk, it’s on Saturday. We’re going downtown on Saturday for the protest. Don’t you remember?”

  Daddy laughed. “Oh, Cassie, for Christ’s sake,” he said. “Let her go to the birthday party. It will be a lot more fun for her than a protest.”

  Mama said nothing.

  “Honestly, honey, it’s time she started doing things with friends her own age. She’s five years old. She’s supposed to go to birthday parties and be in school plays. You can’t keep her all to yourself forever.”

  “But who’ll go with me on Saturday?” Mama’s voice was sad. “Will you come?”

  “I can’t this week. I have a mock trial. Maybe Rhonda or Amy will go. And if not, you can go by yourself. You’re a big girl.”

  Daddy’s voice was teasing now.

  “Kirk?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I don’t want her to go to that house.”

  “Why?”

  “Lee Ann’s father was in Vietnam! He’s probably a baby killer or a rapist or ...”

  “Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous. He was a soldier. Now he’s an insurance salesman. He seems like a good guy.”

  She sighed again.

  “She used to like going with me.”

  “She still likes going with you, Cassie. Look, she’s not rejecting you, okay? She just wants to go to a birthday party.”

  I sat by the bedroom door, listening intently, willing Mama to let me go.

  “Oh, all right,” she said finally. “Judy,” she called.

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “Come out and eat your supper.”

  Lee Ann’s party was glorious. We played pin the tail on the donkey and made fancy paper hats and ate cake and ice cream. We pushed dolls up and down the block in her stroller. We dressed Barbie dolls and brushed their hair.

  At four o’clock, Daddy arrived to take me home. Mama was still at the protest, so Daddy warmed leftovers for dinner. When it began to grow dark, Mama still wasn’t home. Daddy paced the apartment, lifting the curtain to look out the window now and then.

  He called Rhonda, then Amy. Neither of them had gone to the protest or knew where Mama was.

  “I’d go downtown to look for her,” he said into the phone
, “but she has the car. And I have Judy.”

  At nine, Daddy told me it was time for bed.

  “Mama’s not here,” I whined. “Where’s Mama?”

  “Mama will be home soon,” he said. “But now it’s time for bed.”

  I put on my pajamas and came back to the living room.

  “Who will tuck me in?” I asked.

  “I will.” He smiled. “I can tuck you in sometimes, can’t I?”

  We settled on the bed and he had just begun reading The Story About Ping when we heard footsteps on the stairs.

  “Thank God.” Daddy sighed. “There’s your mama.”

  I ran into the living room as the front door swung open, and there, indeed, was Mama. Her hair was mussed and her cheeks flushed. Her eyes were bright and glassy.

  Behind her stood a tall, thin man with a full beard and a long ponytail. He grinned at me.

  “Cassie, where have you been?” Daddy sounded cross.

  Mama giggled and waved her hand in the air.

  “You must be Kirk,” said the man with the ponytail. “I’m Glen.” He extended his hand to my father, who shook it briefly.

  “Cassie and I have been talking politics,” the man said. “And she invited me to crash here for a few days. Hope that’s cool with you.”

  Daddy stood still, staring at the man. Finally, he turned to Mama. “Cassie, can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

  “Oh, Kirk.” Mama sighed. “Don’t get bent out of shape. Glen’s in town for the protest. He helped organize it. God, it was amazing! I learned so much today. You need to listen to Glen. He knows so much about the war.”

  “I’m sure he does,” Daddy said softly. “But I would really like to talk to you in the kitchen.”

  He took Mama’s arm and guided her toward the kitchen. “Have a seat.” He nodded to Glen. “We’ll just be a minute. And Judy”—he turned to look at me—“you go on to bed now. I’ll finish your story tomorrow.”

  He and Mama disappeared into the kitchen, and I stood still in the living room, staring at the strange man.

  He dropped the duffel bag he’d carried on his shoulder and settled himself on the futon.

  “How old are you?” he asked.