Handbook for an Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata and My Crazy Mother, and Still Came Out Smiling (with Great Hair)

by Perez, Rosie

  Well, at least that’s what I told myself. I had to tell myself that, or else I’d be just like the majority of the kids in the Home who seemed to have given up or to never think about wanting much more than what was presented—and that was unacceptable.

  I shook my helmet head no, slumped down, folded my arms, and stared straight ahead at the wall.

  • • •

  I was back at Group One. The crutches were off, so was the helmet, and so was my cheeriness. Even Tia noticed when she came to visit or when I went to visit her.

  It was winter and very cold, which made the pain from my accident worse. I had to take a little blue pill to help me sleep. Well, that was if demonic Sister Renata gave me one. I literally had to beg her for a pill and succumb to her heartless antics. Every single night we went through this frustrating dance. One night I hit my boiling point.

  “Sister Renata, my knees hurt, really bad. I need a pill, please.”

  “No, you don’t. Go back to bed.”

  “Please. It really, really hurts.”

  “No, it doesn’t! It’s all in your head. Now go back to bed.”

  “Nooo! I need a pill!!!!”

  Smack—across my face! I banged my fist on the wall in a rage. Smack! The bitch hit me again! “I fucking hate you!” Bad move. She went to grab me, and to my surprise, I smacked the mess out of her face—hard!

  Why the hell did I do that?!

  I ran … well, hobbled … like hell. She caught me, spun me around, and cracked me across the face again, and again. After the third or fourth slap, I smacked that witch again!

  I know! Stupid!

  With one swipe of her muscle-bound arm, she scooped me up and carried me to my bed as I kicked and screamed. She ripped my nightgown up, pinned me down, and proceeded to beat the crap out of my butt and the back of my thighs with the paddle. I finally couldn’t take it anymore, and my body went limp. My butt and thighs were welting up, with blood seeping out of the cracks. She finally stopped. “Don’t you ever even think about hitting me again or I’ll beat the living daylights out of you! I’m bigger and stronger. Don’t you ever forget that!”

  I remember those words to this very day.

  All night long I stared into the darkness of the dormitory feeling my hatred for Sister Renata grow.

  The next morning I began a full-blown, intentional, and tactical silent war. This was way different from my previous silent treatments. I literally would not speak to anyone, especially Sister Renata. I took my punishment of restriction from everything like a pro, without uttering a single word. This went on for several days.

  I was sent to Dr. Tisby, the Home’s psychiatrist, a short, fat, roly-poly man with a ridiculous bushy mustache, who smoked an old-fashioned pipe all of the time. Dag. This was a real threat, and I was scared. Everyone knew that if you were ordered to Dr. Tisby’s office, a file would begin on you, and after several visits you could be sent to Graceland, a “hospital” where they would put you on “meds” and you would come back walking like a zombie. This was a fact, not some Home legend. Seriously. I remember seeing one of the girls come back all drugged out. “What’s the matter with her?” I asked one of the older girls. “She was at Graceland. She’s on meds.” Scared the crap outta me.

  His small office was painted beige, no, yellow, I think, with a big desk and chair, another chair in front, and a smaller child’s play table to the side of the room. First we played checkers. Then he casually asked me about simple things, writing every single word I said down on a yellow notepad. Then the questions got a little bit heavier. Did I get along with the other kids? Did I feel like I fit in at “outside” school? How did I feel about my mother, my father, my other siblings? And blah, blah, blah.

  Then he finally got down to the real business at hand.

  “Why do you think you hit Sister Renata?”

  I was about to tell him the truth about the physical abuse, but thought if I did, he would send me away quick fast.

  “Because I lost my temper. I know it was wrong.”

  He nodded as he wrote again. My leg was swinging back and forth like crazy. He finally put his pen down and looked at me.

  “It’s good to hear that you feel that way. So, do you think you should apologize to Sister Renata and end all of this meshugaas?”

  “I know that word!” I said in a hushed excitement. “It means ‘crazy’! Right?”

  “Yes, well, ‘craziness,’ ” he chuckled. “How do you know this word?”

  “From Doña Betsy and Doña Rosie! They’re Hasids. That means they’re Jews.”

  He smiled. I smiled back. Then I got nervous again.

  “Are you upset about something, Rosie?”

  “No.”

  “You appear to be upset.”

  I had to think fast. I didn’t want him to think there was anything wrong with me.

  “I’m just nervous ’cause you keep writing everything I say down, ’cause you’re trying to see if I’m crazy, right? So I don’t want to say anything, if you don’t mind, please.”

  As soon as those words came out of my mouth, I regretted it. I looked back down at my feet swinging back and forth. He chuckled and took a pull from his stinky pipe.

  “That’s very perceptive of you.”

  “What does ‘perceptive’ mean?”

  “It means you’re observant and insightful. That you understand what’s going on. You can go back to the dorm now.”

  My mind was racing. I hoped I wouldn’t get sent up to Graceland. I hoped I did well. I hoped he liked me. I made the long walk back to Group One. No one was there, everyone was outside playing. I found Crazy Cindy drawing out a skelly court with white chalk.

  “They gonna send you to Graceland?” she excitedly asked.

  I shrugged.

  “Did Dr. Tisby make you play Go Fish and checkers and write down everything you said?”

  I nodded my head yes.

  “Did you tell the truth?”

  I shook my head no.

  “That’s good. ’Cause you gotta play it right or they win. He’s so fat, right, right?”

  “Yeah.” I laughed. “And his stinky pipe made me want to vomit!”

  “Oh snap! You talking now?”

  I was required to see Dr. Tisby once a week. I knew that eyes were watching me, especially Sister Renata’s. It was game on for her.

  CHAPTER 12

  A GIFT came by way of Miss Connie. I was informed that she had become my full-time Volunteer (nowadays called a Big Sister), which meant that I would have weekend sleepovers at her house, and she was coming to pick me up the next day. Some of the other kids at the Home would get a Volunteer as well—some didn’t. I never knew why that was—it seemed so unfair too. I had packed my little suitcase over and over, not knowing what to bring, even though I only had maybe a couple of clothing items. She and her husband, Bill, picked me up in their car. Bill was fine as hell.

  I think their home was just outside of Peekskill, north of the Home. The house was so charming, right out of a Leave It to Beaver episode. I completely loved it. It was like I had stepped into my daydreams of a normal “TV” life. Everything was in its place, intentionally designed and warm and cozy. Bill was quiet and seemed uneasy. He didn’t know how to relate to me or to the whole situation and was walking around on eggshells. It became clear to me that this was not a joint decision, and it made me feel awkward.

  Miss Connie told me to bring my little plaid suitcase up with her to my room. My room? I was to have my own room! Oh joy! Actually, it was their guest room, but I didn’t know that at the time and thought she had the room made just for me. I sat on the bed and looked around. You can’t imagine how special and lucky I felt. “Oh my goodness,” I exclaimed, “this bedspread is so fluffy and soft.”

  “It’s a goose-down comforter.”

  “What?! It’s made of a goose?”

  She cracked up. “Just its feathers. Like it?”

  I nodded yes, smiling emphatically.
>
  “After you unpack, come downstairs.”

  The two of them were sitting on stools in their small kitchen. Miss Connie was eating some chips or something like that. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “No, Miss Connie.… Well, yes, I am, please,” I timidly answered.

  Miss Connie laughed. “You’re not at the Home. Sister Renata’s not here, you can relax. And please stop calling me Miss Connie! It’s just Connie, okay?”

  She then handed me some of her chips. Bill shook his head. “Oh, shut up, Bill. Pay him no mind. He just thinks I’m too fat, and he doesn’t want me to make you fatter.” That pissed Bill off.

  “Let me fix you a drink, dear. You need one,” Connie sarcastically said. She filled a short crystal-looking glass with ice cubes, then poured some brown stuff from a tall bottle that I had never seen before. Wait! Yes, I had! That was what the wives on TV made their white husbands when they came home from work. Ooh, I loved this suburban experience! Wait. “Fatter”? What the hell do you mean, “fatter”? I beg your pardon, “Connie.” I guess the look on my face was intense because Connie cracked up, pointing her finger at me.

  “What is that look about, missy?”

  “I’m not fat. I’m pleasantly plump, thank you.”

  She laughed.

  “Oh, Rosie. You are so funny. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you fat. I’m just obsessed with my own weight problem.”

  “Weight problem”? Hmm, first time I heard that phrase.

  Bill went into the den with his drink, swirling the ice cubes around in it, saying he’d be back for dinner. Ooh! They had a den, just like Darrin’s den in Bewitched—don’t you just love it! Connie reached into a jar of pills and popped one in her mouth.

  “What are those?” I asked.

  “My diet pills. Don’t tell Bill I took one. He hates that I’m fat, but it’s not my fault. It’s my genes.”

  “Your jeans make you fat? That’s ridiculous!”

  “No,” she laughed. “Not my ‘jeans,’ but my ‘genes,’ g-e-n-e-s, meaning what my body inherited from my family. Like you have dimples, and so does your sister and two of your brothers. You probably inherited them from your mother or father or someone in your family. Understand?”

  I did. I just loved how she spoke to me, like I mattered and I could be part of the conversation. She then pulled out one of her Virginia Slims cigarettes. And of course, yours truly was right on cue singing out with the appropriate commercial jingle and strut to boot!

  You’ve come a long way, baby, to get where you got to today!

  Connie fell out laughing! “Oh my, you are the most, Rosie! I swear to God you just kill me!” I gasped with my hand over my mouth. “You’re not supposed to swear to God. That’s a sin!” This only cracked her up more.

  At bedtime Connie came in to tuck me in. I didn’t know how to feel about it—it was so intimate. I tensed up with this weird half-grin of anxiety and happiness. Weirdo. I think I made her feel uneasy because she quickly left the room after just a touch to my cheek with her hand. Dag it! I wanted that good-night kiss so badly, even though I didn’t want it. She shut all the lights off! In the Home, there was always a little light on. I was scared for a quick moment, but then sank deeper into that plush pillow and fluffy comforter. I swore to myself that all of my beds, in my amazing apartment—like Marlo Thomas’s apartment in That Girl—would have goose-down comforters.

  We spent the next morning at the International House of Pancakes. Bill pulled out Connie’s chair, and she expected him to without asking—like in the movies! She put a napkin on her lap. I did the same. I watched her daintily pick up her coffee cup and sip tiny sips. I took in everything and mimicked her to the tee, making a concerted effort not to look too obvious.

  We spent the rest of the day at the house of her best friend Miss Jan, I mean Jan, near Mahopac Lake. Jan was skinny, white, blonde, and strong and always wore jeans. She lived with her kids, five or six dogs, and a couple of horses. When she opened the door, the dogs came charging out and toppled me with kisses. I fell in love with each one of them instantly. The immediate connection was natural. They followed me around the same way I would follow Tia room to room during a home visit. I knew that they knew I understood them and would love them back the same way they loved me. Jan took me to her stable next to the house. The connection with those big, beautiful creatures was just as intense, but I had to work for their respect. They were very wary of a newcomer. I stayed there brushing and petting them for hours, earning each ounce of it.

  By the end of our fantasy weekend, I was filled with melancholy. Although I knew I would come back from time to time, I didn’t want to go back to the Home. Who the hell would? I wasn’t able to fully enjoy the last day. I don’t think Connie knew how to handle my mood. She was quiet and cautious, which made me feel worse.

  CHAPTER 13

  I WAS told that I was going on a home visit to my mother’s house! I didn’t believe it. Why would I? I was seven or eight, I think, and had never been (since the whistle incident that I had blocked out). Why now after so much time? Plus, even though she would visit us at the Home—rarely, I might add—she would also stand us up a lot of the time.

  We rode the Metro-North down to Grand Central Station by ourselves. I don’t think my two older half-brothers came along, I only remember Terry, Betsy, and Amy. I was carrying my little plaid suitcase, and I was nervous as hell because I had always gone with Tia.

  “This way. Come on, Rosie. Keep up!” Amy said in a way a big sister would.

  “Do you see her? I bet she’s not coming,” said Betsy, then adding, “Look at Rosie’s forehead. It’s so big and ugly, right?”

  “Don’t say that. That’s not nice,” Amy scolded.

  “But it is,” laughed Betsy.

  I looked away, swinging my suitcase back and forth, trying to act like it didn’t bother me.

  After a while—and I mean a long-ass while—Lydia was running toward us with her friend Lòpez, waving her hand up in the air. Everyone ran up to her and kissed her hello. I hesitated, too timid to be so free and forward as they were.

  “The fucking train was late,” my mother said. “Ay, my God, I’m fucking sweating!”

  She looked down at me and smiled. Whew! She likes me now. She extended her cheek, and I kissed it as I’d done before.

  “Let’s go,” she commanded. “The fucking train ride back is going to be so fucking crowded with the fucking rush hour.”

  This lady had a mouth on her like a truck driver. The entire subway ride was fucking this and fucking that. My mind was blown away by all of the profanity—it excited and scared the hell out of me.

  Lydia lived in a duplex apartment somewhere in Brooklyn. I don’t recall where exactly. We entered through the basement-level entrance. My mother had a fear of living above the second floor, in case of a fire. The front door was made of wood that had a pointed top. The staircase to the bedrooms was at the entrance. The decor was sparse and second-rate, with the predictable plastic-encased furniture. I didn’t care, I was too excited.

  A lot of people were already there, kids and adults. The adults were drinking hard, laughing and talking really loud, and the kids were running around like a bunch of crazy banshees, so excited to see my siblings when we walked in. From their casual reaction and similar looks, I assumed they were some type of family members. I later found out they were cousins. The two babies, Johnny and the baby girl Kathy, were there as well—I assumed that they’d gone back to live with Lydia, since I never saw them at the Home, but I found out later that they were in the system as well. They were transferred to foster care.

  Everyone was admiring Kathy’s new pierced ears. She had tiny little colored studs, with gold-plated posts. Lydia kept commenting on how she was such a good little girl because she didn’t cry when Lydia pierced them herself with a needle and an ice cube. I looked at my half-sisters’ ears—all pierced too. I remember touching my unpierced ears and looking at my mother’s
ears, which were pierced as well. My mother caught me staring at her. She then formally introduced me to everyone: “This is Rosie.” Rosie? Not “This is my daughter”? Great.

  I wandered off to the back room where the television was—of course. I sat on the floor off to the side, wanting to sit closer to everyone else. ABC’s Wide World of Sports was on. I believe this was the first time I really took in who Howard Cosell was—I loved him! Everyone was doing his or her best impersonation of him. I don’t remember who was boxing, but I remember the excitement coming from all of my cousins—young and old—and I was transfixed as well. The brutality would upset me and thrill me at the same time, yet I couldn’t turn away. Weird.

  Lydia came in with coffee and crackers. (I know, not appropriate for a girl under ten, but what can I say, we’re Puerto Rican.) The coffee was mostly milk—steamy, hot, with the color of a light smooth mocha. I dipped my cracker. That soaked wafer melted in my mouth, and I was in heaven. Oh! How I lived for that sweet java taste. I’d been doing so since I was four, when Tia gave me my first cup, which was mostly sweetened hot milk, so I could feel like a big girl.

  After a couple of hours of nonstop chatter on my part, from the caffeine high, my mother picked me up and sat me on the kitchen table. “Give me a brush and the Dippity-Do. I want her to look real pretty tonight.” Oh my goodness! My mother was going to do my hair! I was so excited, but took a deep breath, readying myself for the agony. “Whaa? Whaa happin? You okay?” she asked. “I’m just bracing myself for the pain.” She looked at me and cracked up. I laughed too, beaming inside that she got my sense of humor.