by Angela White
I hurried to the last place we had been and was able to follow Angie’s tracks, thanks to the ash on them and the rocks she had used to cross the muddy water instead of splashing through. I tracked her to the clubhouse area that we’d chosen, and found her sifting through the small pile of boards and branches that we’d collected so far.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded without turning around. “Just sad.”
I knew how she felt. It was almost as if it had been a family member. When you fought for someone’s life, even vainly, it connected you to them. I knelt down by her and carefully slid my arm around her hunched shoulders. I didn’t realize Angie was already crying until she buried her head against my chest and let the sobs flow.
I’d never held a girl while she cried. Other than my whiny sister, I’d never even been around a girl who was crying. The awkwardness was there, but her pain was heavy and I patted her arm as I tried to comfort us both. As I rocked, I realized how softhearted she was to fall apart this way over strangers. It made me worried that I had to leave her so soon and I held on far longer than was appropriate. Comforting, giving, for no reason other than caring, was a blessing that I was wise enough to recognize and be grateful for. If I ever felt like I needed an emotional release, she would be there for me.
Despite the situation, that knowledge was powerful and wonderful. It gave me the hope to tease her out of her misery and get us back on our clubhouse plans. As we worked and chatted about anything except what had happened, I promised myself that we would be extra careful with our campfire. I didn’t like how it felt to have accidents happen to strangers. I didn’t ever want to know what it felt like to have it happen to someone I loved.
Still young, I didn’t question loving Angie. In fact, it sometimes seemed like the only thing in my strange life that did make sense.
When we parted that evening, we didn’t know it was for the next five months. I didn’t get to see her again until after my birthday, and like usual, I didn’t get to say goodbye.
Angie
It was another long hard summer and fall without Marc, where I tried to survive on the fringes of everyone else’s life. I did have a few bright spots over the year, and they allowed me a few moments of joy that countered some of the hell. One of those was Dean Combs being suspended and put into Hillcrest, a behavioral school for troublemakers. I didn’t know what he’d done, but it had to be bad. Everyone was glad he was gone.
Another high point for me was Patty and her shop. Through her, I gradually learned about the power I had. Not enough to understand what I was or why I was like this, but enough to help me control it better when I got mad. I loved the hours we spent digging through fragile papers and relics of our heritage.
Patty never mentioned my abuses. We both knew our limits there. She had enough trouble trying to keep her shop open. With the Brady’s pushing out all the old ways, Patty’s store had few customers in 1990. The guilt was overwhelming because I was a part of the family that was treating her so badly. I was a Brady and I wished all of them would disappear the way Dean had. They were awful! Rodney and Scot, who pulled their man parts out and touched me with them. Tracy, who was always pinching me or tripping me. The dozens of aunts and uncles who viewed me like shit on their shoes just because Mother Brady told them to. And then, there was the ruler of our sprawling family, the spider with her bible and her glasses, always ranting about how uncivilized the gypsies were and how embarrassing that was. Her cruel glances scanned me with contempt anytime we were in the same room. I was worse than just a gypsy. I was the tainted offspring of a gypsy whore.
All of the Brady’s were like that–uncaring, harsh, selfish people who only cared for themselves. Except Marc. I was never the breed or the freaky kid with him. His mind was missing the ugliness that his family shared and I was drawn to him with a need so strong that there was never a choice of resisting. Because of that obsession, the months we were apart felt more like years.
I waited for the Christmas gathering in anxious longing, and when it finally came, I was disappointed again with how little time we were given. It seemed to be the story of my life.
Marc
I hated it that I’d been born in the same month as Christmas. Most kids liked the idea of two holidays together, but mine was used as an excuse to proclaim our religion. Our family was required to host my birthday whenever my mother didn’t feel like it and this year, Uncle Georgie had volunteered. Whoever hosted it had to provide a cake and presents, along with the expected decorations and refreshments. Bible hymns were acceptable music. It sucked.
In 1990, Georgie hosted the party at his restaurant. I didn’t care, but mother was furious. I didn’t know what she had expected him to do, but he lived in a trailer that wouldn’t hold half of our family.
Georgie took the public scolding better than I’d thought he would and then the cake had been brought out. It broke the tension and drew focus away from Mary’s displeasure. I thought Georgie would pay for timing it that way.
The party lasted three hours and I didn’t see Angie at all. I had hoped for a few minutes alone with her, but it wasn’t until we were leaving that I got an answer as to where she was. I’d been afraid that asking would draw too much attention. The family ignored her and that meant I had to also.
As we advanced into the chilly December darkness, I saw a small figure in the rear of the restaurant, bent over a deep sink.
The rear of the restaurant was actually two buildings that had been connected by plastic panels to form the cooking area. It took longer to walk orders out to the large main floor, but it also kept things cleaner and there was less chance of a patron mistaking it for a bathroom and causing trouble. Georgie had bright lights, a karaoke machine, and a jukebox. There were arcades in the lobby and a small glass case of souvenirs. It took him and Frona a lot of work to run the place and as Angie got older, she had to be here more.
Angie’s mom was next to her, and I realized Georgie had made them work the party instead of attending it. I was willing to bet that had been my mother’s idea.
“Thank you for coming, Mother Brady,” Georgie said, escorting us through the snow to the car.
“It would have been nice if you had sent someone out to warm this beast,” Mary complained as she slid onto the cold seat. I was holding the door open as I’d been trained.
“Sorry, Mother Brady,” Georgie echoed. He spotted my quick glance toward the two laboring females and grinned.
“Gotta keep your women in line, Marcie. Don’t forget that.”
“Yes, sir,” I relied politely. I climbed into the passenger seat, trying not to shiver or look again. Once was simple curiosity. Glancing twice was interest and my mother could scent that like a dog.
Mary shifted the car into drive, but it didn’t move. “I don’t…”
She hit the gas harder and the car rocked, engine rumbling unhappily, but we still didn’t go forward.
“Oh, what now?!” Mary snapped angrily. “Get out and see.”
I climbed into the cold air and spotted the problem right away. “We’re stuck in the ice.”
Mother joined me and I could feel her trying to control the urge to shout. She didn’t like losing her cool in public.
I said,” I can ask Uncle Georgie if he has a shovel…”
Mary snorted, stomping through the snow toward the restaurant. “Your uncle will drive us home. Bring my things inside while I sober him up.”
Once she was out of sight, I jogged to the rear door of the restaurant. As I slipped inside, Angie came from the sink to greet me.
I didn’t think to check if her mom was still in here with her. I just opened my arms. I’d been waiting for this for five long months.
Angie was tight against me an instant later and the world shifted into the place that I craved. The hug lasted longer than it should have, but she didn’t let go and I didn’t want to. In Angie’s little arms, I wasn’t hated by the town or an outcast on the farm. I wasn’t m
other’s spy or her workhorse. I was just Marc.
Footsteps brought us back to reality and Angie shoved a slip of paper into my hand and then returned to the sink.
I eased out the door and hurried to the car for mother’s things. As I bent over to get the large purse and extra wrap, I used the light to read Angie’s note.
I’ll be at the cornfield tomorrow, after church. I may be late. It’s okay if you can’t come.
Feeling like a secret agent, I wadded the slip of paper up and ate it.
Grimacing at the taste, I carried the stuff inside, trying to plan it so that I would be free all day. My aunt’s farm was fun for me now that I was used to it and the cousins knew to leave me alone. Over the summer I’d finally used the threat of my mother to get some peace. I would be going back soon, but spending minutes alone with Angie was better than watching Daniel on his bike or listening to the uncles for hours. Being with Angie topped everything.
2
The early afternoon shadows were rising when I spotted Angie coming through the woods the next day. She had a small bag in one hand and a book in the other. Reading as she walked, her steps took her across weeds and foliage that should have tripped her.
“Hi!”
“Oh!” Angie flinched, dropping the book.
I sighed. “Sorry.”
Her face was red as she picked up the novel and slid it into a pocket. It was big enough to make her skirt sag and I wondered what it was. Had to be something good to be worth carrying that weight.
“I had extra chores,” Angie stated.
She didn’t say what they were, and I didn’t ask, but I was a little curious as to how she spent her time.
Angie came toward me and I expected a hug, but she held out a small box instead. I opened the gift with a polite expression, ready to be happy with whatever she’d thought I might want. When I saw the matchbox car, my jaw dropped. I was missing this one from the set in my bedroom.
“How did you know?”
She’d never been in my room and I didn’t usually think about collecting cars while we were together.
“Mother Brady was talking about it with Georgie. You’ll have to say you bought it.”
“I will,” I promised. Pocketing the treasure, I gave her the hug I could feel her hoping for. I made my first mental note to get her something for her birthday from now on. Because she was born in October, I wouldn’t be here to give it to her on time, so I would get it ready each July. And then a reason occurred to me why she had given me a gift at all–a side of my mother showing through–and I wasn’t wise enough to keep it to myself.
“You don’t have to buy me,” I whispered.
She didn’t speak until I gently stepped away. I was always scared we’d be spotted if we lingered in these moments.
“I want you to have things and be happy,” she said, shoulders stiff. “Let’s swing.”
Unaware that I had offended her, I kept up a steady stream of chatter while she got the tire. We kept it tied to the trees on the flat ground. If we let it go, it was hard to reach with sticks and branches.
Angie didn’t need help with the tire. She was very strong for her size. She lugged it to the flat ground that we used for a starting point and then leapt onto it with a wild shout that made me laugh. She floated out over the drop, giggling, and the sound wrapped me in stars of awareness.
We took turns for an hour before she was tired and settled in the grass nearby. The wind had begun to blow harder while we’d been here, bringing another deep chill that said we wouldn’t be able to do this again until spring.
I took a few more swings, and Angie watched me intently, eyes bright with emotions. At moments like this, I could almost accept the future my mother had planned if it meant I got to stay.
When I’d had my fill, I joined Angie in the grass, thinking that by the next time we got to hang out, I would have the hand code finished. I’d been working on it steadily, but I kept forgetting what motion meant which letter.
“How long until you have to leave again?” she asked quietly.
“Probably this week.”
Angie sighed unhappily, but said, “We shouldn’t waste it. Let’s start the clubhouse.”
I glanced around uneasily. “Here?”
She shrugged. “Wherever you think.”
“Well, we’ll need a lot more wood.”
She scanned the area around us, shoulders slumping. “We can’t cut down trees.”
“But we can gather more debris. Come on.”
She followed me without complaining and we spent the next hours scouring the woods and cornfield for anything we could use to build our shelter. We both refused to use the wood from the café fire, though I thought we could find other piles at the dump.
As the shadows of evening set in, we evaluated the small pile we’d gathered. It was under a pile of loose branches, but not hidden, and I wondered if it would still be here the next time we were able to make it.
“I’ll watch over it,” she said, catching my thought. “Maybe I can find some nails.”
I shoved my hands into my pockets against the chill. I didn’t want to leave yet, but it was cold and my mother would wonder where I was if I didn’t show up soon.
“I understand,” Angie stated too brightly. “I’ll see you at Christmas dinner.”
I thought of how my mother had hinted that she might invite my future girlfriend. I wasn’t looking forward to being introduced and having to dance with her.
Next to me, Angie growled.
I gaped in surprise and was further confused when a tear rolled down her small cheek.
“I won’t always be too little for you.”
Her emotions were upsetting and I started to comfort her with a lie, but she held up a hand.
“When I’m older, you’ll be mine and I’ll love you forever.”
She walked into the woods with her head held high and I couldn’t stop the fool’s grin that spread over my face. After that, there was a hollow ache in my gut whenever anyone mentioned the tire swing.
As I went home, I felt the first waves of true guilt. They became a constant companion over the years, but I couldn’t stay away. The best I could manage was to pretend that she didn’t exist unless we were alone. It was the only cover that I thought might succeed. As a result, I only got to see Angie twice more in December. One of those was the family gathering for the dinner where we stole a quick hello. The second time was the after Christmas bike ride that I’d helped organize. I intentionally put her name near the bottom of the list, as if I was taking pity on the little baby. It hurt me to treat her that way, to ignore her, but Angie was just happy to be included. She didn’t complain about bringing up the rear of the fifty-bike convoy. She stayed so far behind on the borrowed bike that we didn’t glimpse each other until the end, but she was willing to accept any place in my life that I could give her.
Because I’d spent my winter break mixing with the neighborhood kids, Mary punished me by sending me out of town again. I would now live on Judy’s farm. Mother shipped me out the same night she told me.
We were less than ten minutes from my aunt’s farm when my mother spoke.
“I know what you’ve been doing, Marcus.”
I jumped guiltily, mouth falling open, but I did manage to keep from saying anything.
“Mixing with those children, being nice to the whore’s offspring, ignoring my rules. I can’t have that.”
I heard the underlying rage in her tones and tried to think of something I could say or do to throw her off the scent. I said, “I got lonely. I’m sorry.”
“Too late for sorry!” Mary snorted. “All that riff-raff clogging the sidewalk. I had a hard time getting to the car! And then to find out that my own son had arranged it!”
I let her rant without interrupting, glad that she had overlooked my being nice to the whore’s offspring.
That’s one I can’t forgive her for, I thought. When I’m older, I won’t even pretend to.
As if she picked up the thought, Mary glared over at me. “Be very careful about the choices you make, Marcus. Don’t force me to be cruel.”
I didn’t understand the difference. “I’m sorry, mother.”
Not satisfied, but unwilling to have me crying upon arrival, she ended our conversation by saying, “If I thought for one instant that you still liked that little girl, I would be forced to send her away. Do you want that?”
Sensing the trap, I knew I had to be honest. “No. She’s nice.”
“You will stay away from her!” Mary snapped.
I quickly said, “I will.”
Maybe she didn’t like how fast I’d agreed or perhaps she didn’t believe me, because her free hand grabbed my arm in a claw-like grip of iron.
“Are you sick, like your father?”
“No!” I retorted, hating her in that moment. “I don’t run from my responsibilities!”
Satisfied she’d gotten through, Mary let go of my wrist and straighten herself behind the wheel. “Good. Enjoy your stay with Judy.”
“Yes, mother.” Except now, I wouldn’t and she knew it. I would spend the entire time worried about Angie and I wouldn’t know if she’d been sent away.
My mother knew how to be abusive without ever laying a finger on me.
1991
Chapter Six
Those Long Months
January to August
Angie
I waited eagerly for summer, hoping for at least a week of secret visits, but things got ugly in May. Judy needed Marc to stay and Mother Brady had agreed. I wouldn’t see him until the next big holiday gathering for Christmas, seven more months at the earliest. The joy fell from my life and a haze descended that I didn’t know how to fight. When I saw Marc again, a year would have passed.
To kill the time, I began to frequent Patty’s shop, despite knowing that I could be caught. I couldn’t help the wild streak. I was a gypsy. I did hope the need to avoid the heat would be a good excuse at least once, though. The loneliness was crushing. I had to take the chance.
