by Nesly Clerge
“Forget what been, Katherine. We got us a fresh start.”
I followed Mama outside the terminal. She beamed at the blue sky dotted with clouds and said, “Whatever happen before this very second be forgotten.”
I don’t know whose memory I inherited, but it wasn’t hers.
CHAPTER 11
“My name Sally Barnes. This my daughter. Katherine Eris Barnes. She eleven now. Smart, too. You test her. See if she ain’t one of the smartest in this school. That lady out there don’t believe me. Said I had to take it up with you.”
The principal looked from my mother to me. I gave him an extra-bright smile. Because it was the first time Mama had ever bragged about me.
He shifted his stern expression to one of infinite patience. “Please, both of you, have a seat. Your daughter belongs in the fifth grade, Mrs. Barnes.”
“She say she bored in them classes.”
He fixed his eyes on me over his wire-frame glasses. “Katherine, is that how you feel?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir.”
“And you believe that if we test you, we’ll discover a reason to advance you to a higher grade? You believe your intelligence is high enough?”
“Plato said we all begin in ignorance. That we don’t know what we don’t know. Then we move into opinion, which is where some people get stuck, whether that’s in the right opinion or the wrong one. If people can move past opinion, they enter into reason. Through preparation they move, or can move, into intelligence.”
The principal stared at me but said nothing, so I kept going, believing he needed more convincing. “He also said there’s no guarantee about this. That we have to achieve this fourth level on our own, what he called the level of heightened understanding. He didn’t specifically label it wisdom, but that’s what I’d call that state of mind and being. I’m not saying I’m wise, but one day I want to be.”
Mama smiled at me then nodded once at him, and said, “Unh-huh. What’d I say?”
The principal’s mouth hung open about a half inch as he stared at me from behind lenses that needed cleaning. He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. I’ll arrange for a variety of tests. Can you be here on Saturday?”
I looked at Mama.
“She be here. We both be here.”
And that’s how I ended up in an eighth grade class, with kids looking more grown up, because they were. There was one Native American kid in my class, but aside from him and me, everyone’s faces were shades of white. Plus, I was the only kid whose clothes, though clean and neat, hadn’t caught up with the latest fashions. So much for blending in.
Life was good for a while, calmer. My classes kept me interested. Classmates were polite, but not overly friendly. I think that’s because I was more an anomaly than anything else. An unknown, for the most part, and they weren’t as curious about me as I was about them.
Mama found us a furnished one-bedroom garage apartment to rent, about a half mile from my school and almost a mile from the resort where she got a job in housekeeping. The school bus picked me up, but Mama had to walk to work. That is, until the bus driver found out and let Mama ride in the front seat. In the afternoon, I’d get on the bus with the rest of the kids, but would be the last to get off. That’s because he’d then drive to the resort to pick Mama up after her shift was over. Mama would sit in the first seat on the right side of the bus so they could look at each other and talk. And laugh. And flirt.
His name was Karl. Mama’s boyfriend number one in the new place.
Karl didn’t only like women his age. He liked them my age too.
Fists on hips, Mama said, “You a little liar. Karl got no interest in a little thing like you. Why you want to mess things up for me like that?”
“You’re the one who left me alone with him while you walked to the store. Besides, you obviously don’t know him all that well.”
“Been with him a month. Long enough to know enough.”
“You’ve known me longer.”
“What you want me to do?”
“Get rid of him.”
“He drive you to school and keep me from walkin’ to work and back. What you want me to do about that?”
“You still have a lot of Buster’s money left, don’t you?”
“Hangin’ onto it. Case somethin’ come up.”
“Something has come up, Mama. You’ll walk to work and I’ll walk to school, until you find a used car.” I thought about what I’d said. “Do you drive?”
“Been awhile. Gonna have to get me a Idaho license.” She glanced out the window. “Seem it be easier to do that, and drive, here than the city.”
“I didn’t know.”
Mama sniffed. “Lot you don’t know ‘bout me.”
“Maybe I know more than I should.” I hung my head when she glared at me. We both knew what I meant.
“I still say you lyin’ ‘bout Karl.”
“Either he goes or I get myself placed in a foster home again. But this time, I’ll ask that they make it forever. And far away.”
Mama dropped onto the sofa in our small living room. “Always somethin’. Life ever gonna treat me right?”
I sat in the chair next to the sofa and watched Mama think things through. The fact is, I didn’t want to leave her. She needed me as much as I needed her. But I needed her to take care of me better than she had before, especially as she seemed about to repeat her same mistakes all over again.
“We’re all we have, Mama. You see that, don’t you?”
“We need a man with us. Keep us safe.”
“That hasn’t worked out so far.”
“Just have to find a good man. That’s all.”
I shook my head. “No, we don’t.”
“I got needs. You don’t understand. You too young.”
“In case you forgot, my education about that is way ahead of most kids my age.”
“Don’t you sass me. I don’t need yo’ backtalk on top of all this.”
“And I don’t need Karl taking up where Buster left off.”
Mama leaned forward, elbows on knees, her face in her hands. “Don’t know what to tell him.”
“Tell him you’re sick down there or something.”
Mama peeked at me from between her fingers then sat up straight and sighed. “Good as anything else, I suppose.”
CHAPTER 12
Mama got rid of Karl that day, an Idaho license the next day, and a small used car within the week. She bought it from someone on staff at the resort. Late afternoons, when the weather was good, she drove us to one of the local beaches. Only, it wasn’t a beach like Lake Michigan back in Chicago, just the sandy shore of one of the many lakes there, but way smaller.
The first time we got into the water, I said, “Does it feel any different to you to be 2,180 feet above sea level? It makes the bottom of my feet tingle whenever I think about being that high above other places.”
Mama looked at me funny and shook her head. “The things you come up with.”
“Does it?”
“Only thing feel different is all these trees everywhere. Lake where we come from, nothin’ block the view.”
“I like the forests surrounding us here. It’s like being a baby bird in a huge nest, only green instead of brown.”
“Leave it to you. C’mon. We gotta go to the store before we go home.”
“Can’t we stay a little longer?”
“Maybe next time.”
I wrapped my towel around my waist the same as Mama did hers. We pulled into the parking space in front of the store. Mama started to get out. I said, “Don’t you want to put your shirt back on?”
“Not till my suit dry.”
“But—”
“People used to it here.”
We were in the store about five minutes when I realized why Mama had left her shirt off. His name was Anthony.
Tall, attractive, I suppose. And stacking fruit into bins, retrieved from cardboard boxes on a wheelie cart.
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Mama straightened her posture and smiled at him. “How you doin’ today, Anthony?”
“Well, well, Sally. Nice to see you again. Who’s this with you?”
Mama introduced me. I bit my lower lip and stood halfway behind her.
“She shy,” Mama said.
Anthony made that sound people make when trying to suck something loose that’s stuck between teeth. “Nothin’ wrong with shy. Looks good on a woman.”
Only Anthony wasn’t looking at me or Mama’s “shy.” His attention was fixated on her breasts. I must have been looking elsewhere when she’d pulled her suit lower in the front. Another half inch and her nipples would be all the way out.
He picked up two honeydew melons, weighed them in his hands, talked to Mama’s breasts. “I’d say these about right. Yes, ma’am. Nice and ripe.” He raised his eyes to hers. “Sweet and juicy, too, from what I can see.”
Mama giggled. I rolled my eyes so hard they hurt.
Anthony put the melons back in the box and shifted his attention from Mama’s bosom to me. “You like hamburgers, Katherine?”
I shrugged. First time I’d had one was after we’d moved here. Mama would get the restaurant at the resort to make them up, along with fries, for our dinner. She alternated burgers and fries with grilled cheese and fries. Until she learned how to make spaghetti with meatballs, and until Karl had brought fried chicken home so often, we got sick of it. I could go a couple of years without wanting any again.
“What about hot fudge sundaes?” Anthony asked.
I looked at Mama. I couldn’t remember ever having one, so didn’t know if I liked them or not.
“Tell you what,” he said, “how about I pick you lovely ladies up at six? I’ll take you to this place where people on roller skates deliver your burgers to your car. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Mama answered for me. “She would. That’s real nice of you, Anthony. Isn’t that nice, Katherine?”
I shrugged then nodded since Mama was glaring at me.
Here we go again.
CHAPTER 13
One month later, I started sleeping on the sofa every night because Anthony took my spot in Mama’s bed. At least he closed the door when they were alone in the bedroom. It almost didn’t matter, considering how loud they got when they were at it.
Seconds after the bedroom door closed, and even in the middle of the night when they went at it again, I’d climb down the stairs and walk out far enough in the yard, until I couldn’t hear them anymore. Then I’d sit and wait for them to get it over with. This wasn’t a problem as long as the weather was nice. When it wasn’t, it was fingers in my ears, pillows over my head, for usually an hour or more. I had bags under my eyes from lack of sleep.
How they carried on was annoying, but at least he left me alone. Plus, Mama went to bed smiling and woke up the same way every morning. It was such a change in her face and personality from when we’d lived in Chicago, I didn’t want to complain. Okay, I wanted to, but I clamped my mouth shut whenever I thought about doing it.
Anthony was nice enough. He brought groceries home all the time. Even taught Mama how to cook. Sometimes I wondered if he stole them from the store because he brought so many. I didn’t know how much they paid a person to stack fruit and vegetables, but my days of eating mostly sandwiches were over.
He also put an end to Mama’s slovenly housekeeping. Before he moved in, if I didn’t tidy and clean the apartment, it didn’t get done. Mama said cleaning was all she did all day at work, so didn’t have the energy for it at home. Anthony made it clear from the start that clean and orderly was the only way he’d stay.
One Saturday morning, after he’d been with us two months, Mama was mopping the floor. Anthony grabbed the mop from her and said, “This is the way I like it done.” He demonstrated his technique for about twenty seconds then shoved the mop at Mama. “Do it the way I like it.”
I’d stopped, polishing cloth in hand, to watch this exchange. Mama’s expression was a mystery to me, but obviously not to Anthony.
He pulled Mama to him. “Do it right and I’ll …” He whispered something in her ear.
Mama laughed and went after that floor with more energy than I’d seen her use in a long time. For cleaning, anyway. I stayed outside for two hours that night.
Anthony got off work at five-thirty on weekdays. Mama got off at four. Every day, at four thirty on the dot, he’d call and tell Mama what he wanted for dinner. One day we were outside washing the car. We had the radio on and were singing loud and dancing hard, so didn’t hear the phone. Neither of us thought anything about missing his call.
“What you want for dinner?” she asked me.
“Spaghetti with meatballs.” One of my favorites, but not one Anthony had ever requested. Until Anthony, it was really the only thing Mama knew how to cook well. I guess I owed him for getting Mama cooking in the kitchen.
Five forty-five, Anthony came stomping up the stairs. He opened the door with enough force that the doorknob dented the wall. “When I call, you answer.”
“We were washing the car and didn’t hear it ring,” Mama said. “Dinner’s ready. Why don’t you wash up. I’ll get you a beer.”
Anthony stood in the doorway, nostrils flaring. He looked from Mama to me then stormed into the bathroom. I closed the only door in or out of our apartment and ran my fingers over the indention in the wall.
All through dinner, Anthony pouted like a baby. Didn’t open his jaws to talk, not until a speck of sauce from the spaghetti I slurped into my mouth landed on the table.
Anthony put his fork down. “Katherine, get the sponge and wipe up your mess.”
Mama cut into a meatball with her fork. “Let her finish eatin’. That sauce ain’t botherin’ nothin’.”
“Now, Katherine.”
I glanced at Mama, who tilted her head toward the kitchen. Sponge in hand, I wiped up the pinhead-size dot of sauce and sat down.
“Put the sponge back where it belongs.”
I sighed, grabbed the sponge, and marched into the kitchen.
“Be sure to wash it with soap, rinse it well, and wring it dry. Then you can come back and finish.”
Anthony watched me until I was back in my chair.
“Don’t ever cook this again,” he said. “Not until Katherine’s able to eat it without making a mess.”
Later that night, I lay in the dark, remembering something I’d read in my favorite book, which I’d forgotten under my mattress in Chicago:
Part of the beauty of a crystal is its mathematical order. Through the study of this structure, and other similar ones, we begin to grasp the cosmic order.
Anthony was all about order. And about giving them. I’d also read there’s order in chaos.
So far, in my experience, I haven’t seen a lot of beauty or order inside the chaos.
CHAPTER 14
I suppose Anthony saw us as too disorganized for his delicate sensibilities. He wrote up a task list and schedule for Mama and me, and taped it to the refrigerator.
I put my finger on the portion under my name, which he’d filled with tasks to be done between six and eight o’clock. “But I always do my homework at that time. Right after we eat. Chores when I get home, dinner, homework.”
“You’ll do it after your chores are done.”
“I’m supposed to be in bed by nine. Bath at eight thirty, bed by nine. At least until I’m thirteen. Adequate sleep is necessary for someone my age.” I didn’t bother informing him that he and Mama were already costing me enough sleep.
“You’ll do what’s on there, until I say different.”
He had Mama and me cleaning every day until he called at four thirty, and Mama had better answer that phone on the first ring. Not me. Mama. While she got dinner ready, I did all kinds of chores that had to be done just so, and completed by the time he walked in the door. He had more rules than I imagined could be thought up.
We woke when he wanted us to wake.
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We cleaned the way he wanted things cleaned.
Mama cooked the foods he wanted to eat, and how and when he wanted to eat them.
We went to the beach when he took us, and Mama had to wear a shirt buttoned almost to the top over the very breasts she’d used to entice him to begin with. He said they were for his eyes and only his.
Mama had to shower with him and scrub his back. That word, scrub, is a euphemism, of course, for what they really got up to. There was never any hot water left for me by the time they got out. Even with that, they still kept me up at night.
It didn’t take long before Mama stopped smiling.
Until that day.
When everything began to change again.
CHAPTER 15
My skin was hot. The sand was hotter. The water looked inviting. Not that I’d learned to swim yet, I just wanted to splash around a little and cool off. Plus, sitting with Grumpy was annoying me. “Mama, can I walk down the shore a ways.”
Mama looked over at Anthony. He nodded once.
“Come with me, Mama.”
She sought Anthony’s approval again and got it.
I held her hand as we walked. Sometimes skipping as she strolled on the other side of me. It took a while, but Mama finally relaxed some. She was sweating, so unbuttoned her shirt but didn’t take it off.
We were playing in the shallow water, splashing each other, and a bright yellow tennis ball landed between us. A furry red puppy wagged his tail as he caught the ball in his mouth. He stuck his rear in the air, wagging it and his tail in a fury, waiting for me to play with him. I grabbed the ball, still between his teeth, and let go as soon as he growled.
A deep voice said, “He won’t bite. That growl doesn’t mean a thing, except an invitation to play tug-of-war while the ball’s still in his mouth.”
Mama and I turned to face the man who’d spoken. He was friendly looking and wore a grin that made me grin right back, even though part of me didn’t want to encourage him.
He said, “Give her the ball, Irish.”
“That’s his name?” I asked.
