Connecting Dots

by Sharon Jennings

  Strangers came back after the funeral and got very drunk. Some really old women came in a group and sat wailing. It gave me the creeps, and I stayed in my room.

  Life got better. Even though her husband was dead, Mabel was less dreary. She bought Carnation Milk for our porridge and sometimes she even bought Alpha-Bits cereal! She let me cook sometimes and was a bit chattier, telling me stories about growing up with Hazel and Shirley.

  I found out she and Hazel were about twenty years old when Shirley was born. Home was Hilltown, County Down, Northern Ireland. (Coontie Doone, she said.)

  “There were four of us, but our brother died young.”

  Another great uncle? “What was his name?”

  Mabel laughed, except laughing for her was such an unusual thing, I don’t think she knew how. She kinda wheezed, as if she’d run a race and couldn’t breathe properly. Her lips curled up a bit, that’s how I knew.

  “Mother sent us off a day after to register the birth. Alfred Joseph his name was. But Hazel swore it was Joseph Alfred. They were fed up with us arguing and registered him alphabetically. Alfred Joseph. Hazel never forgave me for getting my own way.”

  She wheezed out another chuckle and wiped her eyes. “But then Alfie ups and dies so it didn’t matter a-tall. Shirley came along years later when mother should have known better.”

  Mabel and Hazel left Ireland for Toronto hardly knowing Shirley, my grandmother. They took her in when she came over and then she met Anton Jovanovich and got married. Mabel and Hazel looked to be heading for “old-maidhood,” but then they met Fred and Ernie at a dance and got married and had Liz and Lana a couple of years before Rita was born. I stuck in a few questions about my mother, but that always made Mabel seem to notice me and stop talking.

  In May she told me to sit down. She had something to say.

  “I’m selling the house,” she said. “I’m moving back to Ireland. I’ve got cousins there and I’ve a fancy to see the old country again.”

  Ireland! I jumped up and did a jig.

  “When do we go? Will I finish second grade?” I was already thinking about how I’d tell the kids at school.

  Her body stiffened, and in a split second, all the traces of kindness and the little hope I had for my future were gone.

  “You? You’re not going, you dimwitted girl. No one is interested in having anything to do with the likes of you. There’s enough shame and trouble there already without importing some of it back.”

  How stupid of me. I don’t know how I finished the school year. I don’t know how I slept or ate or played with the other kids.

  Because in August, I was going to live with Hazel and Ernie.

  «««

  Leanna put down the last sheet of paper. She looked up at me, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Not what you expected, huh?”

  She shook her head. “No. No it isn’t.” She reached for my hand. “You don’t have to keep going. You don’t. I’m sorry I made you do it.”

  “You didn’t make me. You suggested it. And the truth is, I don’t mind. It’s not pretty stuff, but I don’t mind. I don’t. I actually kinda like it. It feels like…sort of like…”

  “Catharsis! That’s the word you want! Catharsis means…a release. An emotional release and you feel better because you let go of something painful. You can look it up in the dictionary.”

  “I don’t have to, now.” I grabbed a pillow and hit Leanna over the head. Again and again. She found her pillow and hit me back. And we were yelling and knocking things over and Mary knocked on my door.

  “All right in there?” she called.

  I smiled. “Yup! Everything’s groovy,” I yelled, as I sat on Leanna and tried to suffocate her. She pushed me off and managed to grab my foot and tickle, which wasn’t fair because she knows I have terrible ticklish feet.

  Then it was over and we lay panting on my bed and I told her, “Christmas brought it all back. I remembered so much, and I remembered how I felt, and I had to write it.”

  “Will you keep going? I mean, now I know that novels about orphans and…and such…make it seem glamorous and fun, and it’s not. So you don’t have to keep writing.”

  I shrugged. “We’ll see. I’m pretty busy right now. I’ve got a lot of lines to memorize. We have Kids for Kids practice twice a week until the show. And I have my Speech Arts exam too. At the Royal Conservatory. I have to recite bits from two plays and a poem. Want to hear?”

  I jumped off the bed and took a deep breath. “That’s diaphragm breathing. Actors have to learn how.” Then I began with “The Highwayman.”

  The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.

  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.

  “You sound funny,” Leanna said.

  “Because I’m enunciating. You can’t mumble or drop your consonants, or they won’t hear you in the back row.” I did the rest. Then I did Joan of Arc from The Lark and then Frankie from The Member of the Wedding. When I finished, Leanna was glowing.

  “You’re wonderful! You sounded so aristocratic and then just like someone from the south. Just like in Gone With the Wind! My gosh!”

  I grabbed her hands. “Really? You really think so? You’re not just saying that?”

  “No. I mean it. Boy oh boy! Man oh man! That’s a neat line. I’m going to use it, sometimes.”

  “I like your hair,” I told her. Her bangs were growing out and her hair was shorter and she wore a headband and her hair curled around it. And she had new glasses, too. “You look pretty, Leanna.”

  She blushed. “Ever since my mom got a job at Simpson’s she lets me use her discount and shop by myself. She even let me get TK Cords! And she doesn’t bother with me like she used to. She’s busy now and gives me an allowance and jobs to do in the apartment.”

  “That’s what it’s like here, too. Peter and Mary teach sociology at the University of Toronto. That’s the study of how human society works. Our institutions and such.But Mary and Peter say our institutions don’t work. They complain about the establishment and say anti-establishment and status quo, whatever that means. But they give me money every week, and I do stuff around the house.

  “And there’s always people invited over. Students and other professors. And they argue about everything. I don’t know what they’re talking about. War. Peace. Vietnam. Rights. Civil rights. Women’s rights. I try to listen because they keep asking me what I think. I get a headache. Everyone used to tell me to shut up and mind my own business. Peter and Mary ask me what my opinion is. I try to pay attention so I can sound smart.”

  Leanna hugged me. “I’m so happy for you Cassandra. It’s all worked out, hasn’t it?”

  She sounded so wistful. She wanted so badly to think I was finally happy. Well, I wasn’t unhappy, just, still, a bit…unconvinced this could last. Mary might change her mind and off I’d go again. Hey kiddo! Here’s some new clothes, and go get your suitcase!

  Speaking of which, I showed Leanna the new clothes Mary and Peter got me for Christmas – a mini-skirt and a mock turtleneck sweater and heavy tights and desert boots. Then I showed her my new prized possession.

  “A transistor radio?! Really? You lucky, lucky girl!”

  Yeah. That’s me. A lucky, lucky girl.

  Peter came home with a pizza and we watched The Ed Sullivan Show. We fell asleep with the transistor on and the batteries wore out and the last song I heard was “The Sound of Silence.”

  Hello darkness my old friend….

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hazel and Ernie didn’t want me. Mabel and Fred hadn’t wanted me either, but this was different. Mabel and Fred took me on as some sort of Christian duty, or so they said many times. They made it clear there was something wrong with me because of Rita, and I wasn’t happy living there, but I wasn’t afraid either.


  I don’t know when I became afraid at Hazel’s. I didn’t have my own bedroom. I slept on a couch in Hazel’s sewing room and I had to put away my blanket and pillow before I left for school. I kept my belongings in my suitcase and I covered it with a throw from Mabel’s. But sometimes when I came home from school, I knew one of them had looked through it. It gave me the creeps.

  I asked Lana to keep my brush set. I didn’t trust Hazel.

  Sometimes I’d look up and see Ernie watching me. I felt sick. I didn’t know why. I’d see Hazel watching Ernie and then she’d flick her glance over to me – a glance filled with suspicion. My stomach knotted and I couldn’t swallow.

  At school one day I got into a fight with John Rait. He was reading The Hardy Boys. I knew they solved mysteries like Nancy Drew. I asked if I could read it after him.

  “No. You can’t. You’re a girl. Girls can’t read The Hardy Boys. You’re only allowed Nancy Drew.”

  I punched him at recess. I caught him at the four-squares game and pushed him down and punched his head into the concrete.

  The principal called “home.”

  Ernie came. I don’t know why he was home in the afternoon, but he smelled funny – like Liz did on Christmas morning. I saw the principal sniff the air, but still, he sent me “home” early with Ernie.

  Ernie put me over his knee. He pulled up my dress and he pulled down my underpants. I struggled – horrified – and tried to pull my underpants back up. He slapped my hand. Then he hit me over and over. I bit my lip. I would not cry. I would not cry.

  “Come on, little miss. Cry or else. Cry or I’ll not be stopping.”

  Five more times he hit me.

  I cried. My teeth clenched, my lips tight, I sounded like an animal grunting.

  “Ah. There it ’tis. There it ’tis.” He left his hand on my bare bum. “I hope that learns you. No misbehaving in my house. Bide me now.” He pushed me off.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off his mouth – smiling. Thin lips pulled back from stained brown teeth. I couldn’t move.

  He gave me a quarter. “Best not say anything to your aunt. No need to upset her. No need for her to know about your misdeed at school. You’re a good lass. Run along now.”

  At supper I couldn’t sit.

  Hazel. “What’s the matter with you? Sit down!”

  Ernie watching. I said nothing. I pushed into the floor with my heels and kept my body an inch off the chair.

  One night Ernie didn’t come home. We ate supper and he still wasn’t home. I hoped he was dead like Fred. Smashed to bits in a ditch. Rats eating his brains.

  I saw him coming down the street, his balance off. He stumbled up the steps and crashed open the front door. The stupidest grin on his face.

  Hazel. “Where have you been? As if I didn’t know.”

  The grin was gone. Ernie staggered and fell. Got up. Looked into the kitchen. Saw the supper plate on the table. He frowned and tried to sit down.

  “What’s this? What’s this mess? Not fit for a dog.” He threw the plate at the wall. He pushed back his chair. It fell over, tangling him up, and he stumbled again.

  “Stupid. Stupid hag.” He threw his arm out and swiped the crockery off the kitchen counter. All of it broken on the floor. Sugar, flour, salt, coffee. All on the floor.

  He pushed past Hazel and he moved to the cellar stairs. I heard him go down. Fall and break your neck!

  I looked at Hazel and let out my breath. I didn’t know I’d been holding it.

  “Go on then. Stop staring and go to bed.”

  Ernie was late two more nights. Hazel didn’t leave any supper out. He stumbled in, looked around, and swore. Then he went downstairs.

  There was a couch in the cellar. Old and stained. I crept down to look one day when I got home and Hazel wasn’t around. The room stank – an unwashed blanket and dirty clothes. I saw an empty bottle of rye and I saw a puddle of something spilled. A toilet in the corner was almost overflowing with unflushed urine.

  I gagged and ran upstairs. I ran out of the house and down the street to the park. I swung and swung and wished to fly off into the clouds.

  I went to visit Michael. He lived around the bend and he was born with what everyone called a “condition.” His heart was outside his body. I didn’t believe this when Christine told me, but it was true. He had a bump on the outside of his chest. If his mother wasn’t around, he’d let us touch his heart for a dime. I cupped my hand over the bump and felt his heart beating like a baby bird’s. Michael was very pale and didn’t go to school. His mom and sisters taught him at home and a nurse came every day.

  Michael thought he was very special because he wasn’t going to live much longer.

  I envied him.

  On the fourth night, Ernie came home with flowers and a box of Lowney maraschino chocolates. He went down on one knee and begged Hazel to forgive him.

  “You’re a darlin’ and I don’t deserve you. If you’ll forgive me, my sweetheart, I’ll never touch a drop again. I swear on me dear mother’s grave.”

  Hit him. Take the frying pan and smash it over his head.

  Hazel. “Get up you silly fool!” Simper. “I know you’ll do your best. I know you didn’t mean it. It’s the rye, it is and not your fault a-tall.”

  Then Hazel, humming in the kitchen, making supper. Happy. Smiling.

  Ernie in the living room, calling for tea.

  “Go on, then. Take your uncle his tea.”

  I carried the mug. I stretched out my arm and placed it on the table beside him. I stepped away.

  He was too fast for me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto his lap. I squirmed and he held me tight.

  “Shhh. Shhh, now.” And he bounced me up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

  He pushed me off, suddenly. He reached into his pocket and gave me a quarter. He winked.

  One day I took Hazel’s dentures to school for show and tell. They sat in a glass of water every night, and she put them in when she woke up. But I had been watching Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd on TV. I made a puppet at school and thought Hazel’s dentures were the perfect final touch.

  I gave a great performance. Hazel was furious. She’d been all day without her teeth. Over supper, she told Ernie how bad I’d been.

  “There’s a wickedness in her, father. Wickedness. I know how she come by it, and I know how I’m going to flush it out.”

  That night she took me into the bathroom and closed the door. She pulled a box from under the sink and in it was a bit of hose with a ball at the end of it. She filled the ball with water and said, “On your knees with you.”

  She shoved me and pulled my shorts and underpants down. She pushed and poked and then the hose was in my bum. She kept one hand on my back, holding me down, and she squeezed the ball end until I felt hot water surging into my body.

  I let out a yelp and thought I was going to explode. I heard a funny gurgle and Hazel heaved me onto the toilet. The water and everything else surged out of my body in a rush of stink.

  She stood there, arms crossed, nodding. “Sit till you’re done. Then clean yourself up.”

  After that, whenever I misbehaved – no matter what – Hazel brought out the enema – that’s what the box called it.

  I lived there for all of grade three and into grade four, and every few weeks Ernie stumbled up the steps to the house.

  She always forgave him, blaming it on the awful men he worked with in the factory.

  One night I was asleep, and suddenly I wasn’t. My heart was pounding. Someone was in the room. Someone was inching closer. Then I smelled him. The terrible stench of him. Not down in the basement, sleeping off the drink. Here.

  He sat down on the couch and put his hand on my back. He rubbed me up and down. He tried to turn me over, but I went stiff and wouldn’t move.

  I did
n’t make a sound.

  He went away.

  I went to sleep every night after that clutching a pair of Hazel’s knitting needles. I lay there, listening for any sound…every sound. One day, I went to school, and we had a test, and I threw up on the sheet.

  Please don’t call home. Please don’t call home. “I’m fine. Really. I’m not sick.”

  Once we had a short day for some teacher meeting. I came home, and the door was unlocked. I knew Hazel was at a doctor’s appointment.

  I heard splashing. The bathroom door was open.

  He was naked. Lying in the tub. One leg splayed over the side. His eyes were closed and he was humming.

  I backed out. I could not make myself turn around. I backed all the way to the front door, and then ran to Christine’s house. Her mother was home and I begged to stay.

  “Well, really Cass, I’m getting supper ready and Christine has homework. You should go home.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t. I…I…” Inspiration struck. “I think there’s burglars. I think someone’s inside. The door was open, and my aunt’s not home, but I heard something and…”

  Christine’s mother picked up the phone and asked the operator for the police. She told them what I’d said. She gave them my address. Then we went outside to wait and watch.

  What had I done?

  The police came. They circled around the house. They went inside. I don’t think I breathed for five minutes.

  They came out and called me. Christine and her mother came, too. Ernie was in his housecoat, and he was mad.

  The police thought it was funny, but they told me to be more careful about wasting their time.

  Hazel arrived and couldn’t take it all in. I was home early and Ernie was home early and the police found Ernie in the bathtub. She glared at me and told Christine’s mother to go about her own business.

  “Well! I never!” Christine’s mother replied. But she dragged Christine away and I could hear her telling her to stay away from “our sort.”

  Our sort. As if.

  Then I was suddenly alone with Ernie.