by Angela White
August to December
Marc
Now that I was living on the farm, I took a different bus to the same school. I went through my classes with longing for the afternoon, like the other kids that I served time with. I didn’t like comparing Jr high school to a jail when Angie asked, but it was hard not to. Being a male didn’t make it any easier. I ended up in fights to prove my manhood to people who didn’t even understand the definition of the word. I argued with teachers who thought kids should be seen and not heard unless they were in advanced placement classes. I tolerated my friends and wished my brother had already graduated so that I didn’t have to deal with him. I hadn’t liked it when my brothers lived at home. We weren’t the same type of sons. My older brothers were ‘yes men’ to my mother’s face and utterly useless. I didn’t know what part of the family business they were responsible for, but I was willing to bet it wasn’t doing well.
Thanksgiving came and went with a nice breakfast feast on the farm and an afternoon of wonderfully cool swimming at the hole, but no call from my mother or a visit, which meant no way to sneak to town to the cornfield or clubhouse.
For months, we baled hay to be ready for the winter. I grew lean and hard under those conditions, something I was proud of. When I had to run in gym class, it wasn’t a problem anymore. Pushups? No sweat. Chin up bar? Kiss my ass, I’ve got it beat. The other kids I hung around with at school hated that.
As winter arrived and there was no call from mother, I realized the farm was truly my home now. Mother probably liked not having me underfoot, but it was a crushing blow to the part of my heart that still wanted her love and approval, even after so many years.
I tried to be happy on the farm and there were many ways for a teenage boy to find an outlet there, but it never really felt like the bedroom I had at the Brady house. The rest of that big mausoleum hadn’t been home to me, but I missed my room and the cleanliness that I’d kept it in. The kids on the farm were a lot like the pigs we helped the neighbors care for.
My birthday that December was held right there on the farm, and Georgie didn’t attend. Neither did my mother, but that was a blessing. It turned out to be one of the strangest birthdays I ever had.
My aunt Judy was an odd woman. She had long, black hair streaked with gray and a pear-shaped body that swayed as she walked. She wore overalls and men’s shirts and I’d never noticed makeup on her. She ruled the farm, assigning chores and destinations for the boys who left, but my uncle Larry handled the training. They didn’t discuss the jobs with each other that I was aware of. They didn’t even seem to like each other. I often wondered why they stayed together and the day began with me discovering that answer by accident.
I had come down the stairs early, hoping for extra time listening to the uncles, but as I neared the door, voices froze me. Coming from the kitchen, the argument sounded ugly.
“It is tradition, woman! I can’t change that. Nothing can be changed in this damn family, including our marriage.”
“He’s a boy.”
“He’s fourteen. It’s past time he became a man.”
“I don’t thin–”
Slap!
I knew that sound too well and when it came a second time, I reluctantly walked toward the kitchen. I knew what I would see and I didn’t want to. Mother wouldn’t be happy if I got involved.
“Apologize.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’ll send him like we planned.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Get the food done. I have people waiting for me.”
I quickly ducked behind the tall coat rack that mother had given Judy for a past holiday and Larry stormed by without noticing me. In the kitchen, Judy wasn’t crying or muttering. I didn’t hear anything and I went to check on her.
She was sitting at the table when I came in and she didn’t glance up. I was glad. I didn’t want to see Larry’s handprint on her cheeks.
“Can I do anything for you?”
Judy wiped away the light tears with the scarf she donned to fight the cold as she trekked out for wood each morning. “No.”
“Can my mother?” I inquired evenly. I didn’t know if I had enough leverage to get my parent to interfere or not, but I would try.
Judy snorted. “No, boy. She’s the reason for all this. We’d both go if we could, but we can’t.”
I was confused and I didn’t want to anger her by asking more questions. Instead, I went to the stove to flip the corncakes so they didn’t burn. While I did it, I realized she meant my mother wouldn’t let them get a divorce. That didn’t surprise me. Mother hated change, of almost any kind.
I layered the thin corncakes onto the huge platter, aware of the temperature in the steamy room rising even further.
Judy was staring at me and it was beginning to draw a reaction from my body. I’d always thought she was pretty, and she’d been in one or two of my private fantasy moments over the years since I’d learned what pleasure was. Today, I felt connected to her in ways that were terrifying.
“You should get out of this family, Marc. Before it destroys you, too.”
Since I already had that plan, I ignored the advice to ask, “What’s happening with me tonight?”
“A family tradition,” Judy sneered, lighting a cigarette. It was the first time that she’d done it in the house since I’d been here.
“They’ll take you hunting, probably get you drunk and maybe even take you town to visit the Reading Rainbow.”
“Reading Rainbow?” I repeated, thinking the rest of it sounded good.
“A bawdy house, boy,” Judy stated, studying me in ways I wasn’t comfortable with yet. I studied the food.
“You have a girlfriend?”
I nodded.
“Your mother pick her out?”
“Yes.”
“Figures. Don’t let your uncles spoil you, Marc. My boys are already worthless. Don’t follow their example. Be your own man.”
She stood up and took the spatula from me. “Get out of here.”
I slipped out in confusion. She shouldn’t be so upset about my being given the birthday of a man. It was what I might have chosen for myself, if I’d ever been allowed to pick.
I joined the uncles in the rear of the farmhouse with more on my mind than usual, and I didn’t realize they were already drinking until I’d sat down and pulled my jacket tighter against the chill. I usually avoided drunken people, no matter who they were, and the uncles usually waited for the cover of nightfall. The change in behavior instantly made me nervous.
The uncles didn’t talk to me at all. They nodded when I said hello, but their conversation stayed centered on the coming trip out of town. A popular convention had been scheduled and it was slated to last months as it toured the east coast. It sounded amazing and I listened in longing to them discuss skylines, food, and plush hotel rooms. I’d only been taken to the towns close enough for us to return to the farm each night. I wondered if any of the trainees would be taken along.
A short while later, the breakfast bell rang and the uncles moved toward the house. As Larry stood up, he pointed at me, breath visible in the chill. “You’re with us tonight.”
I nodded, grinning. Whatever they had planned, I would handle it like an adult and then I would ask to go to the convention. Larry seemed to like me and there wasn’t anything holding me back, not even fear of my mother. I was fourteen, almost a man, and I wanted to be treated like one.
I woke up in the barn the next morning, freezing and spitting straw from my mouth. I couldn’t remember if I’d asked about the convention, but I did have a vague memory of Larry clamping me on the shoulder after I’d downed the third beer.
I belched–a nasty smelling expulsion that triggered my stomach and I leaned over to vomit. After the bar, we’d spent three hours in a pizza parlor, gorging on thick crust supreme pies. When we left there, I’d almost been sober again, but the uncles weren’t finished. We’d stopped in Covington next, at a strip club.
>
I hadn’t thought they would let me in, but Larry pressed money into the hand of the woman guarding the door and I was ushered into a booth that was out of sight of the main counter and stage. Things were hazy from there. I knew they’d bought me a lap dance and I had refused. I’d asked for more beer instead, drawing laughter, and that was all I remembered. I didn’t even know how I’d gotten into the barn.
“Did you have fun?”
I looked over to find Judy standing in the doorway, milking pail in hand.
I shook my head and it split open, sending pain rushing down my face and into my stomach.
I vomited again.
Judy left without saying anything else, but I felt her disappointment keenly. For some reason, her opinion mattered to me and I vowed not to earn that from her again. When I got drunk, it would be lightly or not at all, so that I still had control of myself. I also didn’t want to wake up like this again, with no memory of what I’d been doing. For a Marine, that was dangerous behavior and I would stop the habit right now. I was not my uncles.
On Christmas morning, mother finally called, but only to wish me a happy holiday and tell me the presents were also for my birthday. I hung up with her in such a bad state that my aunt Judy took me into the kitchen and held me while I cried. That was the last time I ever shed tears for the woman who called herself my mother. Over the years, I still had warm moments here and there, but the bitterness of not being wanted had finally sank in and festered. It’s when I began to hate her with an adult loathing that nothing would ever change.
With the end of the year came the family training. It wasn’t at all what I’d expected. The boys were gathered in a tent and taught the best ways to approach a potential customer. The Brady’s were involved with Amway and the amazing amount of products available was supposed to mean that we never took no for an answer. There was always something our customers needed. It was up to us to discover what that item was and then close the sale.
I excelled, though not for the reasons I was taught in the three tent lessons. I never lied to the people I was sent to. They liked that. It made it easy to drop by each week with a new catalog of products. My uncles were jealous, but when their income increased through me, no one protested.
Four days a week, the boys in training traveled with the uncles to meetings and nearby towns to do door-to-door presentations. I saw and heard things on those trips that shocked me and opened a different world–one that I was three and a half years from claiming. When I learned that mother had left me on the farm for an undetermined amount of time, my only regret was not being able to tell Angie in person. I had toughened up and wised up enough to accept that despite it not living up to my expectations, life with the aunt and uncles was infinitely better than life with my mother.
The year passed into 1992 quickly for me, but I didn’t forget the feeling of completeness that I’d experienced with Angie and I didn’t forget her words to me. I knew my mother hadn’t sent her away when no family gossip came and I took it for granted that she would be there when I returned. Angie was the only part of my home life that I missed now.
Angie
It was a long year where I counted the days until Christmas, assuming Marc would be home.
He was, but I didn’t get to see him. Georgie decided to keep the restaurant open for the holiday, and my mom and I labored the entire time.
As soon as I could get free, I ran to the cornfield and checked on our pile of supplies. I found a gift box on top of it. Marc hadn’t been able to wait for me, but he had shown up, and that meant more than any present.
I opened the box to find a small snapshot of him and a message on a tiny slip of paper.
Now you can see me, even when I’m not there.
I spent an hour crying, not sure if I was upset over missing him or shedding tears of happiness.
I hid the picture in an old coffee can with a lid, and buried it under our pile of wood and bricks. I couldn’t take it home where it might be found, but I could come here every day and stare at it until the pain became easier to handle. It was the perfect gift.
We’d been apart for a year now, but my feelings for Marc had only grown stronger. I listened for details of his life from our relatives, even spending time around people who I didn’t like in hopes of gleaning any little trifle of information. I had been starved for news by the time Christmas came. With Marc on the farm, my stalking had been stopped and I was edgy, grouchy. I understood stalking hadn’t been good for me, though and I tried to adjust.
The other kids had games and television shows to occupy them. I still spent hours roaming the town and the land around it when I wasn’t with Patty. I already knew the trailer park as well as I could for my age and size, and I explored the alleys and creeks, the garbage dump, and the gated area that led to the old Fort property. No one was allowed in there, but the best night crawlers were in their grasses after a rain. Plenty of the older kids had been in trouble for climbing the fence to view what was on the other side. I didn’t. I was nervous about the ten-foot drop to the ground once I made it to the top. Climbing was easy. Falling was hard.
The snows put an end to my wandering as the year closed and I stayed in my room as much as I could. I kept my black and white tv down low and dreamed about what the future would be like. Every scenario included Marc. I imagined us swinging and bike riding, talking and laughing. He was the friend that I needed. I was the escape that he needed. Why couldn’t we be together?
It took me a long time to understand why mother Brady hated me so much. When we had to be in the same room, I could feel her dislike, her dark and dangerous thoughts. I avoided searching her mentally. I was scared that she would notice. Those hawk eyes behind wire frames saw so much! And she was mean. Mary didn’t like much of anything that wasn’t strictly Christian or progressive, a word that also took me a long time to understand. Mary didn’t want kids enjoying football games and bonfires, or trick or treating. She wanted us lined up single file, in matching clothes, never speaking or thinking for ourselves. It often shocked me how many adults felt that way, especially teachers. I hadn’t been in school long, but I had already learned to keep my mouth shut. Anything else earned me trouble and I already had enough of that.
I spent New Year’s Eve with Patty and had a wonderful evening. It was a great start to 1992. We read some of her old books, talked about the stories in them, and had hot chocolate while we watched the fireworks mother Brady had helped to fund. We could hear the crowd of people outside the shop, but we stayed in the back and it was as if we were in a different world–one that was better. What we didn’t do was get her crystal ball back out. She flatly refused to answer any questions about what had happened and I didn’t want to anger her by busting through her mental walls. Considering how great she was, it seemed like a small price to pay and I let it go.
Georgie and Frona had wanted to go out this year, but they had me to deal with. After slickly implying that old woman I worked for was also a babysitter, I had my first sleepover and Patty got to make $10 that I knew she needed. Georgie liked the fact that I had gotten a job. My mom didn’t, but only because Georgie liked to remind her that even at my age, I knew money was important and she still didn’t.
I stayed the night on Patty’s couch and waking up in a strange place was beyond great. We made toast and tea, and sat on her couch to watch the news, something I couldn’t do at home unless I wanted to draw attention to how mature I was for my age. I was fascinated by the news and often snuck Georgie’s newspapers in and out of the trash.
While Patty got ready to take me home, I finished the last article in her paper and flipped the page over, hoping for the funnies. I saw the picture of Marc right away. He was standing in front of the new Christian bookstore that had opened up directly across the street from Patty. In the article, it said Marc was volunteering on the town council’s youth involvement program. I didn’t know what it meant exactly, but I thought Marc was very unhappy in the photo. I wonde
red if mother Brady had noticed Marc’s glower and clenched fists under his jacket.
I ran a loving finger over the picture, wishing he would come home soon.
Patty came in and I quickly put the paper away on the shelf she used for storage. I normally threw it away for her and I hoped she didn’t notice the difference. I wanted to clip that picture.
Patty didn’t speak until we were in the car, buckling our belts.
“She won’t ever let it happen, girl.”
I knew what she meant. I could have pretended not to, but I desperately needed someone to talk to about this. “Why does she really hate me?”
Patty carefully eased out of the small driveway, and drove toward the main road. “She can’t control you the way she can other people.”
“Is that it?” I asked. “’Cause I can be better around her.”
“It’s deeper than that, but the basic problem is that you’ll control Marcus, not her. She can’t have that.”
I frowned darkly. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”
Patty chuckled. “It’s a part of life, sweetheart. Men want women. Women control men through their want. Mother Brady has to find him a meek wife who will do what she says. Then she’s still controlling him.”
I considered that for a minute and then asked, “What are the other reasons?”
Patty stopped the car near the entrance to the trailer park so that I could collect our mail from the community box.
“She’s jealous.”
“Of me?”
“Your mom actually, but she can’t punish that tired soul any more than she is already punishing herself. So, Mary takes it out on you.”
I ran to get the mail, using the key Georgie had given me yesterday while grabbing my butt and growling at me. I hated that! I didn’t understand it. Was I supposed to growl back? Why? And what would that lead to?
Distracted, I got in the car and didn’t speak.
As Patty pulled into the driveway that I had helped to shovel all winter, she looked at me in concern. “You won’t tell them, will you? Or ask them?”
I was horrified. “No.”
