Embracing Darkness

by Christopher D. Roe

  Ellen nodded and anxiously waited for the woman to continue what she was going to say.

  “You were a twin,” said Nurse Ross. “That is, you were born along with another baby from your mamma’s belly. Two of you came out.”

  At the moment, however, this fact didn’t concern Ellen. She was hoping that Nurse Ross would be able to tell her something that meant a great deal more to her.

  “What was her name?” asked Ellen eagerly. “Can you tell me that?”

  But Nurse Ross couldn’t. No one could.

  As Ellen lay in bed that night, all she could think about was her mother and what her own name might be besides “____ F.” Her blanket served as the only link between her and her mother. In addition, there were the paint strokes on her wall that resembled a woman wearing a hat. Unfortunately for Ellen, that image was beginning to fade, and it now began to look like a hairy spider missing two legs. She drifted off to sleep quite easily, as the room was completely silent except for the distant shouting of the other girls outside who were tying each other up and saying, “How tight does the rope have to be before her eyes bulge?”

  Ellen woke up feeling cold. She quickly realized the afghan was gone. At first Ellen assumed she had shaken it off in her sleep. However, upon not finding it under the covers, she lunged up and flung her head over the side of the bed. Nothing there either. Then she heard the clamor of distant voices, which sounded as though they were chanting, “EARN IT!”

  She hastily made her way downstairs and went into the common room, where all members of the “Exeter Elite” were assembled in a semicircle in front of the fireplace where the flames reached so high that they licked the mantle. During winter all the fireplaces in the orphanage were actively used, and so at first Ellen didn’t think a roaring fire in the common room was out of the ordinary, save for its size.

  “What’s going on?” Ellen asked, having temporarily forgotten about her blanket.

  She couldn’t see what was going on beyond the circle’s perimeter, since the girls were lined up in tight formation. Ellen, however, managed to force her way through the ranks. What she saw next was nothing less than the worst thing she could have imagined. Amanda Bosworth was holding the afghan over the fireplace, and the other girls were chanting, “BURN IT! BURN IT! BURN IT!”

  The leader of the “Exeter Elite” danced in place as she dangled Ellen’s blanket near the flames. In fact, the afghan was already beginning to get singed at the bottom corner where “BY THE HAND OF ___ F.” was inscribed. Ellen lunged forward in an attempt to prevent any further damage to the blanket.

  Jumping onto Amanda, she screamed, “NO! MOMMY! MY MAMMA’S BLANKET!”

  Amanda, taken by surprise, dropped the afghan as Ellen locked her arms around her tormentor’s neck and her legs around Amanda’s hips. The two fell with a loud thud onto the parquet floor. Instantly the surrounding girls became quiet. Not a sound could be heard except for the crackling fire. Everyone had turned their attention to the blanket, which was now engulfed in flames and giving off black smoke.

  As the acrid fumes began to permeate the room, a few girls began to choke, holding their hands up to their faces to cover their noses and mouths. One sensible girl, Anita Rogers, shouted, “QUICK! LET’S GET OUTTA HERE BEFORE WE ALL CHOKE TO DEATH!”

  Ellen stood up while Amanda Bosworth was still lying on her back at Ellen’s feet. Ellen realized that Amanda was unconscious. She became briefly hypnotized by the fire as the sole reminder of her mother was now destroyed. At first she ignored the awful stench of burning yarn and thought only of her mother. Meanwhile Amanda Bosworth, still unconscious, was beginning to choke. All of a sudden Ellen began to feel lightheaded. She closed her eyes and began to sway back and forth as a sense of indifference swept over her. In spite of the loss of her blanket, she felt good.

  By this point Amanda was already struggling to breathe. As the black smoke filled the room, Ellen finally began to feel its effects. She squatted down on the floor where the air was a bit clearer. Though she wouldn’t admit this to herself until later, Ellen, strangely enough, wasn’t as overwhelmed by the fumes as Amanda, who was inhaling a considerable lesser amount of toxin.

  Ellen pushed Amanda closer to the fireplace as she whispered in her ear, “You should burn like my blanket.” Then, still crouched down at her ear, Ellen screamed to Amanda, “Wake up!” and slapped her across the face before placing the ends of Amanda’s long hair on the hearth and running out.

  The other girls had scurried back to their room, though one had called for Mrs. Robinson to come quickly. The headmistress entered the common room to see one of her “Exeter Elite” dancing wildly in the thick smoke. It was Amanda Bosworth, and her hair had caught fire. The girl was crying and desperately trying to extinguish the flames above her head.

  Grimalda Robinson grabbed Amanda by the back of her shirt, and the two frantically ran outside. Once there she threw the girl head first into a snow bank. Then she took Amanda by her collar, pulled her up, and shoved her face deep into the snow. A subtle hiss, like that of a lit match thrown into water, ensued.

  That night, when it came time to explain what had happened, none of the girls confessed. Each was afraid of reprisals from the other girls, so they all kept silent. Mrs. Robinson then summoned Ellen to her office. Nurse Ross brought her in, and the two sat down in front of the headmistress’s desk. Robinson, looking frazzled, her braided hair having tumbled completely out of its ornate circle, spoke first.

  “I know that it was your blanket that was burned up in the fire, Ellen. I’d like to know how it got there.”

  Ellen kept her head down. Nurse Ross put her arm over Ellen’s shoulder and gently squeezed.

  “Come on, Ellen,” began Nurse Ross. “We want to help you, but you have to help us. We know how much that blanket meant to you. You always said how you believed it had been made by your mother.”

  Completely ignoring Mrs. Robinson, Ellen sank her face into Nurse Ross’s side. She pressed her nose hard up against the woman’s cardigan and absorbed its scent through her nostrils. It was as much a fragrance of home and safety and love as Ellen had ever known.

  Although Ellen had been furious with the girls for what they had done, she relented in seeking any further revenge. Nothing was going to bring back her lost blanket. All that was left was the memory of what it looked, felt, and smelled like.

  In the end Amanda Bosworth received her comeuppance with her bald and scorched head. As for the other girls, Ellen was sure they would never bother her again for fear that she might set their heads on fire as well. Being a practical person, however, Ellen did fear retribution from the other girls if she said that they had stolen her blanket.

  “When I went downstairs,” said Ellen, “I saw the girls sitting by the fire and keeping warm. I went over to join them. We started telling ghost stories. When it was my turn, I decided to go up in front of the fireplace and act mine out.”

  She suddenly remembered the smell the burning blanket had given off, the smell of burning yarn, toxic though it was. She liked it. No, she loved it! The memory made her slightly euphoric and excited.

  Ellen continued, more animated now. “I put my blanket over my head and pretended to be a ghost. I suppose I was standing too close to the fire, because all I remember next was Anita Rogers screaming, ‘ELLEN! YOU’RE ON FIRE!’ All the girls jumped back.” Ellen even rose from her chair and acted out the pantomime. “Then suddenly, and without thinking, I flung off the blanket, which landed in the fire. As it did, I sprang forward but didn’t see who was in front of me. It was Amanda Bosworth. I knocked into her, and we both fell down, with me on top of her. All the girls ran out because the blanket started to stink in the fire. I got up and ran out after them. I figured that Amanda would have gotten up as well. I guess she didn’t.”

  Ellen sat back down in her chair and faked a yawn. “Can I
go to bed now?” she asked. “I’m real tired.”

  Neither Grimalda Robinson or Nurse Ross believed Ellen’s indifference to the tragedy that had befallen her afghan.

  Mrs. Robinson commented, “Ellen, that blanket was everything to you. Do you mean to tell me… .”

  Nurse Ross then interrupted. “Uhm, I think you’ve had a long and eventful day. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  The headmistress turned toward Ellen. “Alright, Ellen. Go to bed. I’m glad you’re okay.”

  Ellen hopped up energetically from the chair and made her way to the door. She turned back to the two women, smiled, and said cheerfully, “I’m so glad Amanda’s going to be alright too. Good night.”

  As she shut the door behind her, Ellen heard Mrs. Robinson say to Nurse Ross, “I should’ve thrown that goddamn blanket out when she came to us!”

  En route to the dormitory, Ellen was intercepted by two of the girls, Constance and Gertrude Sawyer. No relation to one another, they had been given the same last name by Mrs. Robinson because they arrived at the orphanage as infants on the same day. Mrs. Robinson was responsible for the names of most girls in her orphanage, and she wasn’t very good at it. Four girls had the surname of Miller, Grimalda’s maiden name, and six bore the last name of Smith. The only children she did not have the privilege of naming were the few who were orphaned not as infants but as older children, who already had their own identity through records or simply through their own memory.

  “What are you two doing here?” Ellen snapped.

  Constance abruptly put her index finger to her mouth. “Quiet! We don’t want them to know we were listening in on your conversation.”

  The two twelve-year-old girls may not have been related, but they were the best of friends, and it showed. They braided their blond hair the same way into pigtails and then brought the ends up into a loop on either side.

  “We need to keep our stories straight,” Gertrude interjected.

  “So that when Robinson asks us we can say you were telling the truth,” added Constance.

  The two girls broke off from Ellen at the stairs, and while they went upstairs Ellen just stood there. Finally there was quiet in the orphanage.

  Bald Amanda had been sent to the hospital and would eventually be adopted by the doctor in charge of burn patients, who took an instant liking to her feistiness. He actually admired her impudence. She won adoptability with the first words she uttered when the doctor directed the mirror strapped to his head at her: “Get that goddamn light outta my eye, you asshole!” Years later Ellen would reflect back on Amanda’s good fortune, stating simply, “Incredible how lucky some bitches get.”

  Standing at the foot of the stairs, Ellen could detect the sweet smell of the burned blanket, its strong odor still emanating from the common room. She walked over to the fireplace and stared into it, absorbing the residual toxins of the fire into her lungs. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. Only charred bits of her beloved afghan remained, but the smell persisted.

  Over the next few weeks Ellen tried desperately to replicate the odor of the burning blanket. She tried igniting cut-up pieces of her bedclothes, but the end result was hardly the same. What’s more, in her opinion, these gave off an offensive odor. She also tried burning stockings, but still the same outcome. Then she was caught trying to ignite a doll belonging to one of the newly arrived orphans. Nurse Ross was the one who saw what she was doing and put the fire out immediately. She thought only that Ellen was playing with matches, not noticing the doll lying in a pile of sticks.

  Ellen knew she’d need another means by which to get her high, and her reasons were that it was an instant release from the pain she’d felt from losing her blanket, and, besides, the smell of her blanket while on fire was her last memory of it. She needed the smell, or something like it, to hold on to that memory. For Ellen a toxic fume equaled the sheer joy she’d gotten from her afghan.

  One day, about a year after her attempt to get high by incinerating a doll, a workman was up on the second floor painting the recreation room, whose walls were in the worst shape imaginable, due to the fact that Macy Nugent and Evelyn Wild had busied themselves with tearing off long strips of dry paint for their “paint strips and chips collection.” The entire upstairs floor was filled with the smell of wet paint. The girls were told to stay out of the way of the workman who, on his ladder now, was busy painting the ceiling. He didn’t want girls coming through the hallway, fearing that they might bump into the ladder and send him flying six feet down onto his bottom.

  But Macy had still been busy in the closet, peeling off the paint in there. The game she and Evelyn had once played became a contest to see who could peel off the biggest and longest and prettiest pieces of dried paint. At lunch it was clear to Nurse Ross that Macy was the only one missing.

  Wanda Peterson snickered, “She’s kinda hard to miss in a room, isn’t she?”

  The other girls laughed. Nurse Ross clapped her hands twice for the girls to quiet down and eat.

  She then went over to Ellen and asked her tenderly, “Can you go upstairs and see what’s keeping Macy? But be sure to stay out of the way of Mr. Hobbs. He’s busy and doesn’t want any fooling around near his work.”

  Ellen made her way upstairs and passed the workman on the ladder. “Hi Mr. Hobbs,” Ellen said.

  He ignored her and resumed his work.

  “Macy!” Ellen shouted. After hearing no reply, she breathed in deeply to get enough lung power to call more loudly this time, but as she did so the sweet smell of wet paint, ever so slightly present before she came upstairs, was even stronger now. She noticed a bucket filled with white paint, which sat right under her nose.

  She liked the smell, but she didn’t love it until she began feeling lightheaded, just as she’d experienced that day in front of the fireplace. Ellen’s nose hovered just above the bucket. The intoxicating smell was reminiscent of her mother and her incinerated blanket.

  Ellen found Macy in one of the closets a few moments later and just shook her head in adult-like disapproval.

  Ellen had never really liked Macy before this. Some of it had to do with the prejudices she’d been brought up with in turn-of-the-century New England. Arrogance blended with narrow-mindedness comprised part of Ellen F.’s personality, along with spitefulness, selfishness, and aloofness. Ultimately, however, Ellen’s reason for disliking Macy Nugent was simply that she never liked anyone, except for Nurse Ross and the mother she’d never known. But now that Macy had inadvertently helped Ellen find a new path to toxic bliss, all would be different.

  “You’re not so bad, Nugent,” Ellen said. “You’re alright,” and she nodded her head slowly in approval of the Negro girl. Macy smiled back at her, then thumbed through her “paint strips and chips collection,” like they were pages in a book. She found a huge piece and offered it to Ellen.

  Ellen took the gift between the tips of her thumb and index finger and brought it up to her nose. She closed her eyes as she inhaled deeply. Nothing. Not even the faintest trace that would make her head go woozy. No sweet smell that would take her for a split second away from this place.

  “Hmm. Doesn’t smell like anything, does it?” said Ellen.

  She carelessly threw the paint strip back into the bucket, an action that made little Macy gasp. As Ellen opened the closet door, she gently elbowed Macy. “I guess that we both like paint,” she said. “It’s just I prefer mine wet.”

  A few weeks afterwards Ellen was asked by Grimalda Robinson to fetch Nurse Ross because a new baby had just been brought to the orphanage, and it was Nurse Ross’s job to verify that the child appeared healthy and free of disease or infection. Argyle Hobbs, who was still at work painting one of the spare rooms upstairs, grunted and shot an indifferent look at Ellen as she greeted him from the hallway.

  After knocking on Nurse Ross’s d
oor, Ellen heard muffled muttering from the other side. It sounded like a woman’s voice. With her ear pressed closely to the door, Ellen knocked again.

  “Yes?” a voice called from within.

  “Uh. Nurse Ross?” Ellen replied. “It’s Ellen. There’s a new baby here. Mrs. Robinson wants you to come downstairs right away.”

  There was silence for a few seconds before Ellen heard footsteps. She removed her ear and stood up straight. When Nurse Ross opened the door, a pleasant smell of freshly extinguished candles reached Ellen’s nose, though it was not as fragrant to her as the smell of wet paint and definitely not as satisfying.

  “What were you doing in your room with the candles?” Ellen asked in curiosity, poking her head between the door jamb and Nurse Ross’s left shoulder in order to get a peek.

  “I was praying, Ellen,” said Nurse Ross. “That’s all. Nothing more than that.”

  Ellen tilted her head slightly up to Nurse Ross. By now they were almost the same height. At eleven years old Ellen was nearly equal in height to five-foot-tall Nurse Ross.

  “May I see?” Ellen asked excitedly.

  Nurse Ross smiled, stepped aside, and let Ellen squeeze between her wide body and the door frame. This wasn’t the first time that Ellen had been in the nurse’s room. There had been many times when the child needed comforting. And here was a place with a door and a lock where the two could have their privacy away from judgmental eyes, yet caressing Ellen’s blond hair and gently stroking her cheeks were as far as the nurse would ever venture. Likewise, Ellen’s exploration of the nurse’s breast was limited to putting her hand inside Ross’s dress and feeling her hard nipple.

  The room was dark, since the window’s red curtain was drawn, and the lights had not been turned back on. There was enough light in the room, however, for Ellen to see the tall statue of a woman in blue and white robes that covered her head but not her face, a face that smiled serenely. Her hands were pointed downward, the palms facing outward. Under her naked feet was a snake, its mouth wide open as if in agonizing pain. Ellen walked over to the statue and examined it.