by Dan Dillard
Chapter 5
“Momma! Daddy!” she shouted before she even got out of bed.
It was 6:30am. She bounced onto the floor, shaking the whole house with a thud, more a testament to the house’s old bones than her weight which couldn’t have been more than forty-five pounds. With a dozen or so footsteps, she was outside their door shouting again.
“Momma! Daddy!” she shouted as she threw open their door.
Her yammering caused rolling and grumbling, but it wasn't until she jumped into the bed with them that they realized the full gravity of the situation. Their baby had a whole new year under her belt all of a sudden and she was eager to take it for a spin. By that point, Danny and I were standing in the doorway rubbing our eyes and yawning.
It took our father thirty seconds to wade through the sleep murk and alcohol-flavored grogginess so he could gather his bearings, but then he grabbed her and wrapped her in the blanket for a class A tickling. Once the belly laughs began to roll, mom joined in. Danny and I continued to watch from the doorway. It was one of the few bright moments I remember from childhood. I guess even when you’re a drunken bastard, or a woman beaten down by your own life choices…giving a kid their first bike is always a good thing.
“Happy Birthday, Robin,” I said.
She was too busy giggling to notice and started to squeal.
“Daddy, stop or I'm gonna pee!”
John laughed out loud and let Robin calm down before she wet the bed. She kissed both parents and then rolled to the floor and hugged Danny and me. The big surprise was waiting in the living room. Mom got up and put on her robe and dad wore pajama pants and a white t-shirt. We followed as the whole family descended the staircase. When we reached the living room and Robin saw the pink bike with the white basket and the giant yellow ribbon, she squealed again!
Mom went straight to the kitchen and flicked on the power to the coffee pot, already detached from the scene. Before long, I heard the bubbling of the Mr. Coffee and smelled the heavenly aroma of Folgers brewing. It would still be a few years before I drank the stuff, but I always loved the scent.
The first thing out of her mouth was a squeal that sounded more like a tea kettle blowing its top than a child. I didn’t know a human voice could make that sound. Then her shoulders dropped.
“Training wheels?” she sighed.
“Just for a few days. You’ll be up and riding like a pro in no time. I promise,” John said.
“Yeah, it’s easy,” Danny added.
Robin’s frown couldn’t win the battle with her smile and she shrugged, then she climbed on and sat on the bright pink seat.
“Can I ride it? Can I?” Robin asked.
She had placed her favorite teddy bear in the basket.
“No, not right now, it's still dark outside. Right after school, today, you can ride it until bedtime if you want. But you'll probably want some cake too,” my father said.
He’d always had a soft spot for Robin. I often wondered how far that attention might go had things been different. I’d pondered quite often what I would do if he ever hurt her, or hurt mom while I was watching. Other than the arguments, they kept that business quiet, but I saw her bruises just like she saw mine—an unspoken pact between prisoners of war. I saw the way she had changed from bright and energetic when I was five or six, to the slow moving, slow talking, withdrawn woman she was that weekend. That was all John’s fault.
“Mmm, cake!” Robin said, with Danny smiling in kind, then, batting her eyes, she said, “You sure I can't ride it?”
“Go on and get dressed for school and I'll get breakfast started. All of you!” mom said, holding her cup of black coffee.
She shooed us.
Upstairs we pulled on socks and pants and little shirts. We tied shoes and buttoned buttons. Then we grabbed our backpacks for school and stumbled down the steps. When we got back to the kitchen, we ate cereal. I guess it was all the strength our mother could muster on Robin’s birthday. Three bowls waited for us and we spooned the contents of each greedily into our mouths, milk dribbling down our chins.
“I get to wear the birthday hat all day today. Then we get to have cookies at quiet time right before the bus comes. Everybody's birthday is the same that way,” Robin said.
“Sounds like fun,” I said.
“I want a cookie,” Danny said absently.
“I’ll try to sneak you one,” Robin said.
Danny stared off into space. He looked tired and had a similar blank expression to Robin’s from Saturday and Sunday. There might have also been a little jealousy that it was her birthday and not his, but he never said anything about it. Even though it all seemed like a blur—the hazy afterimage caused by a bad dream—I couldn't shake the feeling that something more than strange had taken place Friday night. Something was on the horizon, waiting. It swam around in my gut with the cereal, heavy and wet.
“You okay?” Danny asked.
I shook my head to clear it. When I looked at him, he was staring at me, concern on his tiny brow. It didn’t suit him and made him look much older than ten.
“I'm fine. Just tired,” I said.
I guess I must’ve had the same look on my face. Rest, I thought. We all needed some rest. School would take our minds off of Nataliya Koslov and her wicked laugh and constricted pupils, I thought, and time would let her fade away like the ghost she was.
“Thank you for the bicycle, daddy!” Robin said.
He gave her a big hug and another one of those kisses that made me queasy. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother in the doorway to the kitchen. She watched the display with a disgusted look on her face. I wondered when the last time was that he kissed her like that. I’d have bet Robin’s new bicycle mom was thinking the same thing.
It was time for the bus. We grabbed our book bags and headed out the door to the bus stop to find Matt waiting there. His face was blank and sleepy, but he gave me his usual grin. Every morning prior to that one, he’d ignored my siblings—they were just pests, but that day, he smiled at both of them. There was a new bond between us all, and they were included. We didn’t talk about the ghost as promised, but it was on his face. I’ll bet it was never far from his mind either.
