by Torey Hayden
‘I got it for you to read,’ she said. ‘So you’ll have something to do when you’re here all day with Mama. I looked for the thickest book I could find so that it’d last a long time for you.’
I smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Meggie. That really was thoughtful of you.’
Once my father and sister had gone, I cast around the house morosely. I washed up the dishes from breakfast, swept the floor in the kitchen, went upstairs and made all the beds. Housework had developed a magnetic attraction for me since I’d been staying home. It was the only available activity that sufficiently absorbed the long hours.
By ten I had everything done, including having ripped Megan’s bed entirely apart and remade it from scratch because she could never do it right. I’d even dusted over the tops of the curtains.
Mama remained asleep on the couch. Quietly, I walked in to check on her. On her side, one arm extended over the edge of the couch, she slept deeply, the sound of her breathing filling the room.
I watched her.
‘Mama?’
She slept on.
‘It’s my birthday, Mama.’
She wouldn’t remember. She never remembered how old I was. There were more important things on her mind.
There always had been. But I had it better than Megan. At least she remembered I was around. Half the time she acted as if she was genuinely surprised to find Megan there, as if she were some little stranger whom we’d accidentally picked up somewhere.
‘Mama, why don’t you wake up?’
She slept in her clothes, her long hair partly hiding her face. She could have been one of those sleeping princesses from fairy tales, her sleep was so deep, her face so ageless and still. There might as well have been a wall of thorns protecting her.
‘I’m eighteen. I’m an adult today, Mama. You hear that? I’m grown up now.’
She never stirred. I did not even ripple the surface. She caused us all that trouble and then could sleep like a baby.
Despondent, I turned and went upstairs. Alone in my room I picked up the book Megan had bought me. Sitting down on the bed, I paged through it. The loneliness would not go away.
A short time later the doorbell rang. I went downstairs with a certain amount of hesitation, still afraid I would find Toby Waterman there.
Miss Harrich stood on the front porch.
‘Hello, Lesley.’
I smiled and nodded.
She had a yellow legal pad and some files in her arms. ‘I was out and I thought I would stop by to see how you are. You’ve been absent quite a while now.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But my dad’s been calling the attendance office every day.’
‘I just thought I’d—’
‘I’m not skipping, Miss Harrich. My father’s called and told them each morning. See, my mother’s ill. I have to stay home with her.’
‘How is your mother?’
I shrugged. ‘All right.’
‘Is she improving?’
‘Yeah. Sort of.’
Then there was a pause. I didn’t know what she wanted or what she thought might be wrong with Mama. I prayed she wouldn’t ask any specific questions that would force me to lie.
‘I do hope she’s feeling better,’ Miss Harrich said.
What occurred to me as we stood in the doorway talking was that Miss Harrich was probably about the same age as my mother. It was a bizarre thought. I could never imagine my mama dressed in a tweed suit, standing on someone’s doorstep, passing the time of day. By the same token I couldn’t picture Miss Harrich in the war, although I realized that she must have in some way experienced the war too.
‘Well,’ said Miss Harrich after a while, ‘I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I don’t want you to miss too much school, not with graduation and everything.’
‘I won’t.’
‘All right then. Goodbye, Lesley,’ she said. She turned and started down the sidewalk.
‘Miss Harrich?’
She paused and looked back.
I regarded her, my tongue tied.
‘Have a nice day, Lesley.’ She began to turn away again.
‘Miss Harrich, it’s my birthday today. I’m eighteen.’
She smiled. ‘Happy birthday, Lesley.’
Afterward I sat on my bed in my room and read Megan’s novel. It wasn’t such a horrible book. It had a fantastic amount of passionate sex and really dirty talk in it, so if you were sufficiently bored, it was almost interesting. At least the sexy parts were. About 12.30 I heard the shower running. I stuck a pencil in the book to mark the place and went downstairs to make something to eat.
‘Mama, did you know it’s my birthday today?’ I asked at lunch.
She smiled. ‘Happy birthday, baby.’
‘Well, what I was thinking was that since it’s my birthday and I’m eighteen, you know that bond? That money Grandma O’Malley put in the bank for me? That bond matures today. I can cash it now. And I was thinking that what I might do is take the money out and use it to take us to Wales.’
Mama looked up sharply from her tuna fish.
‘You know. To Forest of Flowers. It’d only be for a vacation. There’s no way for us to live there or anything. But we could go visit. Would you like that?’
‘Your grandmother’s bond?’ Mama asked.
‘Yes, you remember? The one that she gave me when I was little.’
Mama guffawed into her sandwich. ‘She’d turn over in her grave if you spent that money on me. She’d turn right over.’
I ignored that comment, true as it probably was. ‘It’s a thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money, isn’t it? And we could have a nice long vacation. Just us. Just you and Daddy and me and Megs. Over at Forest of Flowers. Does that sound good? Would you like to do it, Mama?’
She turned her head and looked toward the kitchen window. She smiled. ‘There’d be rhododendrons in May,’ she said, her voice dreamy. ‘Did I ever tell you about the rhododendrons? They grow wild. All up the sides of the mountains. Everywhere, rhododendrons.’
‘We could go see them.’
‘I miss so much from there.’ She sighed. ‘This is a good country but it isn’t the same. I miss so much.’
I leaned forward to touch her hand. ‘I don’t really care what Grandma would think. It’s my money now and I can do as I want with it. And I want to take you to Wales.’
Paul phoned late in the afternoon. His brother Gary had come up unexpectedly from Garden City and they were going rat shooting together at the dump. So, he said apologetically, he wasn’t going to be over. It’s my birthday, I pointed out. Oh come on, he said, he didn’t get to see Gary very often. I didn’t really mind, did I? I did mind. Bored and restless anyway, the thought of being jilted for rats did not please me much. We had a few words, and I hung up angry.
By suppertime I was in a miserable mood. I had pinned my last hope for the day on Dad’s bringing home a birthday cake. It was a stupid thing to want. I didn’t even particularly like the cakes from the supermarket. But I got the desire for one into my head and couldn’t shake it.
Naturally, he came home without one. He hadn’t even bothered to stop and get something special for the meal. Instead we had some truly horrible stuff that comes out of a box and you mix hamburger with it. I helped Mama prepare supper, and all the while I kept hoping someone was going to mention going to get me a birthday cake. I hinted broadly that I wouldn’t mind one, that we didn’t have a thing in the house for dessert. At one point I thought perhaps my father actually had bought a cake and was planning to surprise me with it after we’d eaten. But there was no logical place to hide a cake where I hadn’t looked. I even took the keys to the car and checked the trunk. Nothing.
During the meal Megan occupied herself by making mountains and valleys out of her mashed potatoes and by kicking me under the table.
‘Megan, stop it,’ I said.
‘I’m not doing a
nything.’
‘You’re kicking me. Now stop it.’
‘I am not.’
‘You are too. Now cut it out.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Megan, you are kicking me in the legs. Now I know if you are or not and you are. So don’t deny it.’
‘Well then, move your dumb legs, Lesley. I got mine right here under my chair and yours are clear over where they don’t belong.’
‘Girls,’ Dad said, ‘be quiet and eat, please.’
Megan kicked my legs again. As she did it, her mouth widened into a smart-alecky little grin.
‘Cut it out, Megan.’
‘I’m not doing anything.’
‘You little snot, you are too. Now stop it. I meant it.’
‘Did you hear that, Mama? Lesley’s calling me names.’
Mama looked over.
‘Girls, mind your own business and eat,’ my father said without even bothering to look up from his plate. The garage had been overbooked, and he’d worked through his lunch hour. So he had come home very hungry. The tone of his voice warned that he was not up to any nonsense from us.
After a few moments Megan picked up a little itty-bitty wad of potatoes on her knife. She held it up so that I could tell what she was going to do with it. Quickly, she glanced to see if either Mama or Daddy was watching. Assured they weren’t, she flicked the knife at me. The potatoes hit my shirt.
‘Daddy!’ I cried. ‘Megan’s throwing food!’
‘Megan Mary,’ my father said and levelled a reptilian glare in her direction.
Wide-eyed innocence was all over Megan’s face.
‘Look, she hit me right on the front of my shirt. And I put this on special today because it’s my birthday. Now Megan’s wrecked it.’
Dad turned from Megan to me. My mother looked over too. Dad said, ‘Lesley, what is the matter with you tonight? All I’ve heard out of you since I’ve walked through the door is bellyaching.’ He looked back at Megan. ‘And you, young lady, don’t you dare let me catch you throwing food. Sit up straight and eat.’
Megan made a face. ‘I don’t like this very well.’
‘Just eat it.’ He reached past her for another slice of bread.
I seethed. It was unfair. It was my birthday, and no one seemed to care. No one did anything special. There should have been a good meal. Something I liked and not some ratty thing out of a box. There should have been something special about this day.
Megan stuck out her tongue at me.
‘Megan, just stop it, would you?’
Mama was watching us. I could tell we were right on the verge of giving her a spell. She had that sort of expression on her face. But honestly, at that point I couldn’t have cared less.
When Mama looked away, Megs picked up another little wad of potatoes. She checked to make sure the coast was clear and everyone’s attention was diverted except mine. She waved it on the end of her knife. I gave her my meanest look, meant to scare the hell out of her. She grinned.
Mama looked over. Megan lowered her knife quickly and pretended to eat. I think Mama knew something was going on. She watched Megan carefully for several seconds before turning around to get the coffeepot off the stove.
Whap! The wad of potatoes sailed across the table and hit me on the neck.
‘You little asshole!’ I shouted.
‘Lesley’s swearing!’ Megan sang out in delight.
That did it. I had had it with the entire rotten day. Reaching my foot out, I curled it around the rung of her chair and yanked. Hard. The chair toppled and Megan with it. She came crashing down, her chin hitting against the edge of the table. She screamed.
Confusion erupted, and both my parents were on their feet.
‘Well, it’s not my fault! The little snot’s there bugging me the whole lousy meal. Why don’t you ever make her mind! She’s throwing the goddamned potatoes, and you and Mama sit there like a couple of lumps on a log.’
‘You are excused to your room,’ my father said.
Mama was on the other side of the table, cuddling Megan against her breast. Megan’s lip was cut, and Mama knelt, cupping her hand to catch the blood. Resentful, I glared at her. I would have preferred to see her have a spell than hold Megan.
‘I said, you are excused.’ My father was standing beside me. We were very nearly the same height. If anything, I was slightly taller. But I could see I was better off obeying him.
I stomped up to my room. Once there I slammed the door shut. No one downstairs responded to the noise, so I opened it and slammed it again. As hard as I could. Still no response. So I stormed over to the bed and flopped down. Why did he get so mad at me? Megan was the one throwing the stupid potatoes. I examined the spot on my shirt where the first wad of potatoes had hit. The area was dry and crusty. If I scraped it off, it wasn’t going to show. That made me even angrier.
I thought I was going to explode. It was an actual physical sensation, pushing upward and outward through my torso. I looked around the room. Spying the novel lying open on the bedside table, I lunged at it and flung it across the room. There. See how I like your dim-witted gift? I raced after it, picked it up and threw it again. I kicked it. Then I kicked the wall. Hard. And again. Paint chipped off the woodwork.
I paused a moment, regarding the mopboard and feeling the heady rush of loosened anger. What I really wanted to do was destroy something of Megan’s. Roaring out of my room and into hers, I was confronted with her usual clutter of toys and clothes. Groping in the half-light, I found her tiger cat. Amidst the rest of the mess, it had been carefully tucked into her doll’s bed. I snatched it up. Stupid Megan, nearly ten years old and still sleeping with a stuffed animal.
Where would my parents have been, I thought, if Megan had been born first and not me? What would Dad do with no one to take care of Mama for him all the time? No slave labour around the house?
Fiercely, I stalked out of the room, taking the tiger cat with me. I was going to hide it from her. I would hide it and never give it back. She could cry and cry and I wouldn’t tell her where I’d put it. Dropping the stuffed animal, I kicked it like a football. It hit the far wall and fell with a muffled thunk on to my dresser. I would flush it in the toilet. Ruin it for ever. I grabbed one stuffed leg and flung the animal against the door. I stepped on it, right in the belly. I would toss it on the roof. Then nobody could get it down because we didn’t have a long enough ladder. Then it’d be gone for good.
Bending down, I picked it up. Megan called it Big Cattie. Trust Megan to think up an original name like that. Big Cattie. I touched the fur. It was soft. Mama had bought it for Megan. It was made by Steiff and it’d cost a lot of money. Far more money than we could afford to spend on toys. But Mama bought it anyway, making us all eat hamburger for God knows how long. She’d had a Steiff rabbit in the same shape when she was a little girl, she explained. Mutti’s mother had sent it from Meissen one year for her birthday. Mama had named it Hansi. She didn’t know what had happened to it. Although she’d searched through the house when she and Daddy went back after the war, she’d never found it.
I stroked the fur. It was so soft. I hugged it. Smoothing back the big round ears, I examined it carefully. Its face was remarkably realistic. All Megan’s loving attention hadn’t harmed it yet.
Mama had bought it for her the year Megs was held back in school. I wasn’t allowed to say she flunked. Mama became furious with me when I said Megan had flunked. She hadn’t. Mama was adamant about that. Megan was just littler than most of the kids, Mama said, because her birthday was in August and that made her the baby in the class and didn’t give her a fair chance. Besides, we had just moved during that summer, and the school Megan had gone to in Washington wasn’t very good, Mama told me. So that was the reason the school people in North Platte thought Megan ought to go into first grade again instead of second. And Mama bought Megan Big Cattie because Megan was still crying about it in the night.
Gently, I held the animal against me,
rocking it a little, as Mama was doing downstairs with Megan, cradling her and wiping her bleeding lip.
Then my father walked in. He had not knocked.
I was feeling considerably less angry. My rage had fizzled like a small camp fire after a drenching. In its place was sheer, undiluted misery.
‘Just what is the matter with you, Lesley?’ my father asked. He shut the door firmly behind him.
I had sat down on the bed. I didn’t answer him.
‘What do you have to say for yourself?’
‘Didn’t you see Megan? She was throwing food at me.’
One eyebrow raised. ‘And so you think that gives you the right to half kill her? Honestly, Les, I don’t expect that kind of behaviour from you.’
I pressed the tiger against me, feeling its solid but inanimate weight.
‘Look at me when I’m talking to you.’
I lifted my head.
‘You’re a big girl, Lesley. I don’t expect you to act like a child. Megan’s half your age. But you, you’re growing up. You’re no child.’
I began to cry.
He sputtered. He was angry with me, and I think he had assumed I’d still be angry too. In a gesture of frustration he flapped his hands. Another baffled sputter followed.
‘What is the matter with you?’ he asked.
I couldn’t answer.
My father continued to stand over me. Folding his arms, he shook his head. I couldn’t stop crying, so he unfolded them again. There was another disgruntled flap of his hands, and then he sat down on the bed beside me.
‘It’s not all that bad, is it?’ he asked, his voice a little more gentle.
‘I wanted a birthday cake.’
‘A birthday cake? A birthday cake? All this is over a birthday cake, Lesley?’
‘Daddy, it is my birthday.’
‘Well, yes, of course it is, but—’
‘Daddy, I just wanted something special. I just wanted someone to do something special for me.’
‘Oh honey,’ he said and reached an arm around my shoulder. His sudden tenderness I found harder to bear than his anger. The tears intensified, and I kept the stuffed animal pressed against me like a nursing child.
