Lorraine was about to begin a month of swing shift, and she was returning me to Marge and Leo’s care. Jeanette and I had not been getting along, and in the interest of a peaceful ride, Trudy had left her with the nuns. Lorraine had made sandwiches, and we stopped at a park along the way.
After we ate, Lorraine told me to go and play, that she and Trudy wanted to talk. I made a production of heading for the swings, then circled back to the bushes behind their bench. I lay down among the roots and dead leaves, picking red berries from the thorny branches and squeezing out the seeds. The women spoke without looking at one another.
“How’s your Jeanette?”
“Off and on. Good day one day, pure hellion the next. Had one of her spells last night. Had to change her sheets at two in the mornin’.”
“You could of brought her.”
“Would of drove us all nuts.”
“I’d of made Teddie tow the line.”
“Ain’t all your’s. Mine’s just as bad or worse. Cranky all day after one of her night spells. Needed a little break from each other. Needed to get her out of the house and let the stink blow off her.”
“You could of brought her.”
“Thought it’d give us time to ‘hear ourselves think’.” Trudy looked at Lorraine and smiled.
“She likes it at the sisters’—once you get her there. Little kids to play with.” Trudy tapped the side of her head. “‘Bout the same age upstairs. Does her good, makes her feel part of somethin’.”
Trudy laughed, slapped her hands on her thighs.
“Enough Jeanette talk, Lorraine,” she said. “Sometimes I got that kid up to my eyebrows.”
“My Teddie’s been a handful ever since his dad come over and raised hell that night. Just gettin’ the kid settled down, and now I got to go back on swing.”
“Thought you said he does good over at Marge and Leo’s.”
“He does. Him and me was settlin’ into each other, is all. Him and me could use some time around each other when things ain’t going to hell in a handbasket. Seems like ever’ time I get him lately, the shit’s-been hitting the fan over one thing or another. Prob’ly drivin’ the poor kid half nuts.”
“Enough kid talk, Lorraine. Tell me how it’s goin’ with you. You doin’ okay after Teddie’s dad coming over and all?”
“I’ll live.”
“We’ll all live. How you doing?”
Lorraine sat with her legs crossed under her skirt, the toe of her black flats winking out from under the hem as she kicked her leg back and forth. She brushed at the lace curling down the front of her blouse, adjusted the waist of her skirt.
Trudy sat close to her on the bench and moved tentatively closer. She dug the heels of her wingtips into the grass and flung an arm across the top of the bench behind Lorraine, careful not to touch.
Lorraine took her cigarettes out of her purse and fished for her matches. Trudy removed her lighter from her watch pocket and struck it in front of Lorraine’s cigarette. Lorraine leaned forward and took the light, still not meeting Trudy’s eyes.
“Think I’m pregnant,” she said, blowing a cloud of blue smoke.
“Think?”
“Missed a couple periods.”
“A couple?”
“Two.”
“That don’t mean …”
“I never miss. Been heavin’ my guts every mornin’ for a week.”
Trudy leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped in front of her. “Shit, Lorraine.”
“Shit and Shinola,” Lorraine said.
Trudy rose from the bench, put her hands in her pockets, and paced slowly back and forth, then stopped in front of Lorraine.
“What we gonna do about it?”
“What you mean ‘we’? You got a rock in your pocket?”
“Cut the mouth. You keepin’ it?”
Lorraine sat back and looked at Trudy for the first time.
“I’m Catholic, Trudy. For Christ’s sake.”
“I ain’t never seen you go.”
“Catholic is Catholic.”
“Jesus.”
“Mary and Joseph.”
Trudy paced for awhile, then sat down next to Lorraine, this time close enough for their thighs to touch. She threw an arm around Lorraine’s shoulders.
“Lorraine.”
Lorraine looked straight ahead.
“Look at me, Lorraine.” She put her strong, work-stained fingers to Lorraine’s cheek and gently turned her face toward her. “I care for you. Whatever you figure is right, is okay by me. You don’t got to go it alone. You know that, don’t you?”
Lorraine sighed and looked away.
“You been good to me and Teddie, Trudy, but I figured I made it plain I ain’t that way.”
“You don’t got to be any way but the way you want to be. All I’m saying is, you don’t got to go it alone. Not unless that’s how you want it.”
Lorraine took the last drag from her cigarette and slowly crushed the butt on the bench. She pulled Trudy’s arm around her neck and began to cry.
I crawled out of the bushes and ran for the playground. I climbed onto a swing, and, standing on the seat, began to pump. There was a boy sitting a few swings down, redheaded, lanky, a head taller. He wasn’t swinging, but had a handful of small rocks and was throwing them out into the grass.
He watched me for a while, then stopped throwing.
“Hey!” he yelled. “You ain’t from here! Get off there!”
I ignored him and pumped higher.
“You don’t belong here,” he said, walking in front of my swing.
“Ain’t your’s.” I pumped higher, kicking one of my feet in the direction of his head.
“You ain’t from here!” He stepped back.
“You ain’t my boss!”
The boy threw the rest of his rocks at me in a single handful, but missed badly. I laughed as he stumped away, scowling.
I continued to pump the swing as high as it would go, intending to jump and land on my feet far out onto the sandy pit, but I landed poorly, skidding onto my hands and knees, rolling up onto my shoulder.
Lorraine stood and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Knock it off, Teddie! You want to break your damn neck?”
I caught the swing and got back on, pumping and jumping again.
“Don’t make me come over there!” Lorraine shouted.
I climbed on again, bent on taking the swing to its highest point and leaping out past the sand to the edge of the grass. As I prepared to jump, a large rock whistled past my head. Startled, my foot slipped and I spilled onto the ground, landing hard on my belly, gasping as the air rushed from my lungs.
The redhead walked up and stood over me, grinning.
“Shithead,” he said. “You ain’t from here.”
Lorraine and Trudy ran toward me, and, when the boy saw them coming, he ran in the opposite direction.
Lorraine knelt down at my side, while Trudy ran in the direction the boy had gone.
“For Christ’s sake.” Lorraine brushed the sand from my clothes. “Where you hurt?”
When my breath came back, I began to cry. Lorraine carried me back to the picnic table, stood me up beside her on the bench, and inspected for damage.
“You break anything?”
I nodded.
She passed her hands over the length of my body, squeezing hard, testing every bone from head to toes.
“Nothing broke,” she sighed. “Just knocked out your wind, is all.” She licked her thumb and wiped the sand from my lips. “Scared the Jesus out of me, Teddie. I ought to light your little butt on fire.”
Trudy walked up with the redhead in tow.
“Didn’t do nothing,” he said, struggling in Trudy’s grip. Trudy spun him around and sat him down on the bench, but kept one hand on his shoulder.
“Lucky you didn’t split Teddie’s head,” Trudy said. “Or poke his eye out with that rock.”
“
What’d you do that to Teddie for?” Lorraine asked. “He didn’t do nothing to you.”
“Didn’t do nothing,” the boy answered.
“I had my eye on the both of you. Teddie wasn’t doing nothing but mindin’ his business. You come around chunkin’ rocks. I ought to take you home to your mamma. Have her blister your behind. Where you live?”
“Didn’t do nothing.” He looked at Trudy and rubbed his arm. “She hurt my arm.”
Trudy moved closer.
“Do more’n hurt your arm, you little pip-squeak.”
“Leave him be,” Lorraine said. “He’s just a kid, for Christ’s sake.”
“Up to now, I ain’t laid a hand on him. I figure we ought to let these two settle it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Give Teddie a minute to catch his breath and then let’em have at it. Red’s got a couple pounds on Teddie, but I’m bettin’ our Mr. Teddie’ll knock his block off. What do you think, Teddie?”
“Okay,” I said, sniffing.
“Gertrude Connie Givens,” Lorraine laughed. “Have you just lost what sense God gave you?”
“I figure Teddie owes this kid a punch in the nose.”
Lorraine stared up at Trudy, mouth open, squinting as if she had not heard her plainly.
“Least a punch in the nose,” Trudy said. “Could of put his eye out.”
Lorraine stood and shook her head. “Come on, let’s get our stuff and get out of here. We’re runnin’ late for Marge and Leo’s.”
“If you won’t let’em fight, let me hold the little bugger so’s Teddie can punch him one.”
Lorraine put me down from the bench and began clearing the remains of our lunch from the picnic table.
“Just one good one right on the end of the nose,” Trudy said, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the boy. “Teddie hits pretty good for a little guy. We ought to let him rare back and put a big ol’ bump right on the end of this kid’s …”
The redhead let out a yowl.
“Didn’t do nothing!” he whined. His voice began to crack. “You ain’t going to!” He started from the bench, but Trudy sat him back down.
“Trudy,” Lorraine said. “Get your hands off that kid.”
Trudy put her hands on her hips and looked down at the boy.
“Red, I’m going to start countin’. You ain’t out of my sight by the time I hit five, I’m going to tan your britches. You hear me?”
The boy stopped sniveling and nodded.
“Five!” Trudy shouted.
With a yelp, the redhead leaped from the bench and ran, elbows flying, tiny butt snapping. He did not look back until he reached the street across from the park. He shouted something in our direction, gave us the finger, then disappeared between the houses.
“You see that kid run?” Lorraine asked.
“Hell, I purty near busted a kidney catching him.”
“You wasn’t really going to let Teddie punch him.”
Trudy shrugged and walked toward the car.
Lorraine laughed halfway to Marge and Leo’s. She moved to the middle of Trudy’s front seat and sat with one arm thrown over the back, behind Trudy’s shoulders; she reached up at intervals and pinched small tufts of hair on Trudy’s neck.
“Come on, Trudy. Tell me you wasn’t going to, really.”
Trudy wouldn’t answer, but she would look at Lorraine over the tops of her sunglasses and tap Lorraine on the end of her nose. This would set Lorraine shrieking with laughter.
It is rare, now, to hear Lorraine laugh like this. From way down in her guts. She never laughs that particular go-to-hell, give-life-the-finger laugh that once cleared our fogs like the winds blowing in from the lake would chase the mill stinks to someone else’s yard. For long years, there has only been Lorraine’s angry smile, a slapping wave of her hand—and even these gestures come less and less often.
The first I recall of this qualitative change in Lorraine was the day Trudy and I picked her up from the hospital. It was winter, a few weeks after the Blue Horizon. The sun had turned the snowy streets to cinders and soot-blackened slush, and I stood on the back seat of Trudy’s car, chin dug into her shoulder, watching the county grader plow the street ahead of us. I made engine noises beside Trudy’s ear as the grader’s exhaust billowed black plumes of diesel, and then giant scraping noises as the machine sent spumes of slush raining upon the cars parked along the streets. Trudy had rolled down her window so that I could better hear the sounds of the engine, that I might get a better look at the curling waves of slush flying from the blade.
“You like that dump truck Aunt Trudy give you?”
“Yep. It’s red.”
“You took it outside yet? Hauled anything in it?”
“Grandma says down in the basement ‘til the snow’s gone.”
“Good idea. Won’t rust her up.”
“Yeah.”
“You know your mom ain’t feeling too good, Teddie. She comes home, you got to go easy. Take care of her.”
“I know.”
“Can’t be tearing around like some crazy man.”
“I know.”
Trudy studied my face in the rearview mirror. “I mean it,” she said.
“Okay!” I stuck my head out the window, screaming engine noises between my teeth.
When we arrived at the hospital, Lorraine was waiting for us, fully dressed, sitting on the edge of her bed. She was looking down at the shiny tiled floor, smoothing the light blue bedspread with the flat of her hand. The last time I had seen her, she had been fat with my sister; now, she had the lean, sallow look of an unhealthy she-hound. She had refused to go to the doctor with her broken wrist and had carried her arm in a dishtowel sling safety-pinned at the back of her neck; now, the sling was gone, and in its place was a cast which enclosed her hand and forearm. The cast lay upon her lap, shining bright and white beneath the light of the large globes hanging overhead.
As Trudy and I entered the ward, Lorraine looked up, her eyes expressionless, moving slowly over our faces as if trying to remember whether she had seen us before. I broke loose from Trudy’s grasp and jumped onto Lorraine’s lap.
“Get down, Teddie,” Trudy said, stopping at the door. “‘Member what we talked about in the car? You can’t be roughhousing your mom …”
Lorraine waved Trudy off with her good hand.
“It’s alright,” Lorraine said softly. “He’s alright.” She pushed me down in front of her and turned my face up to the light. “You behavin’ or misbehavin’?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” I answered, pulling away, jumping up and reaching for her cast.
“He’s been good,” Trudy said. “Him and Jeanette been gettin’ along fine.”
Lorraine grunted.
A tiny nun bustled in through the door, robes rustling, beads clacking. She paused for a moment, quickly looking Trudy up and down. The bottom half of the nun’s face was hidden behind a surgical mask, but her eyes were clear and alert, sparkling with a sense of mission. They darted over the three of us, measuring, then she pushed past Trudy, holding a bundle swathed in pink blankets tight to her breasts, as if she had decided that any one of us was capable of snatching it from her arms. There were eight beds in the ward, but only one, the one farthest from the door, was occupied. The nun walked straight to the grey screens which surrounded it, turned sideways, and disappeared through an invisible partition. There was a sudden murmur of low, delighted voices.
Lorraine followed the nun’s path with her eyes, staring at the screens even after the nun had disappeared. When she finally turned back to us, her eyes were hot and wet. She grunted and smiled angrily.
With her good hand, Lorraine patted the bed beside her, and I climbed up.
Trudy put her hands in her pockets, shifted her weight, and sighed.
Lorraine showed me the cast, and I ran my hand over its cool smoothness.
“Teddie, your sister ain’t coming home with us.”
I n
odded, not looking up from the cast. I dug my fingertips under the edges encircling her forearm.
“Jesus got her.”
“Yeah. She went to Jesus,” Lorraine said, her face still caught in her steely smile.
“How’s come?”
There was a long silence.
Then Trudy walked to the bed and stood looking down on Lorraine and me.
“Turned out she was a angel, Teddie,” Trudy said. “When ol’ Jesus saw how beautiful your sister was, He says, ‘We got to keep this little girl right here in heaven. She’s so beautiful, I got to see her ever’ day.’”
Lorraine nodded. “Yeah.”
Lorraine picked up a flat pink box tied with a matching pink ribbon which lay behind her on the bed.
“Nuns gimme it for Lucille Anne.” Lorraine handed it to Trudy. “Thought we’d keep it anyhow, maybe take it over to the union hall. Ought to be somebody get some use out of it.”
For long months after, Lorraine suffered both a physical and an emotional illness. She withdrew for great lengths of time, ate little, then vomited, would leave the apartment only for work. When she slept, she would chill and moan, soaking the sheets with sweat. When awake, she was alternately frantic and lethargic, impatient with my most insignificant misbehaviors, then uncaring of my worst.
Against everyone’s advice, Lorraine kept me with her. To keep her company, she said. To punish Marge for the part she played the night of the Blue Horizon. To distract her from the memory of the fall which the doctor said caused her cord to tear, her child to come too early, blue and unbreathing from the womb. But I was no cure for loneliness. My insistent requests to see Marge and Leo would inspire virulent monologues regarding the hatefulness of over-mothered husbands and ungrateful children. There followed long periods of withdrawal, when Lorraine would wrap herself in pillows and bedclothes and burrow into the couch. She would sleep for hours, night or day, then bolt upright and sit cross-legged, weeping, talking to herself. Mounds of dishes accumulated in grey sink water and overflowed the counters and stove top. Our clothes lay strewn in piles across the floor or straggled over the backs of chairs and the end of the bed. We washed each dish and each article of clothing in the bathtub as we needed it, ate puffed wheat and tuna on toast.
The Violent Child Page 11
