Mom was ecstatic when she found out I was also a girl. Her pregnancy was uneventful but she told me over and over how she almost died giving birth to me because she hemorrhaged. Mom was small-framed and still tiny at nine months pregnant. Her labor was excruciating and long and she is still traumatized by it even though she had three more children after me. A few years back when I told her I wanted to have kids someday her advice was to have a C-section. “Don’t rough up your muff, Sparrow. Trust me, you’ll be sorry.” I often don’t know what to make of Mom’s advice.
Mom was in love with me from the moment she laid eyes on me. I have a stack of memories of her always being there and loving me to pieces. Mom threw me the most lavish birthday parties with lots of decorations and presents. My favorite gift was a baby doll I named Kiki. She was almost as big as me, but I carried her around everywhere. I drew on her face and gave her a crew cut but I just thought it made her more beautiful. I loved her unconditionally, just like Mom loved me.
When Mom decided to leave Dad her parents became outraged. There was no such thing as divorce in our family. All they could ask was how could Mom break up her family for a long-haired hippie veteran? Everyone knows how Vietnam vets were treated when they came home from the war, and it wasn’t good. My grandparents certainly weren’t grateful that he defended our nation. And his unemployed ass was no match for my father’s three-piece suits with that long hair, the motorcycle boots, and the t-shirt he wore of a dog sticking up his middle paw finger with a caption that read Fetch this.
Mom shared a story about how she and Frank went to her parents’ house to try to talk with them and my grandfather came out waving a rifle. “Get the hell out of here!” he threatened. “I’ll kill you both!” At first it seemed unbelievable that my grandfather could have such contempt, but then I remembered how he used to put rubber snakes in his front yard to scare away his two grandsons, my cousins Carlo and Pauly, who lived around the corner. Both were deemed “slow” and my grandfather wanted nothing to do with them. He would complain that they’d come over and eat all the Entenmann’s so he scared them off with fake reptiles. I recall them being in their teens and still afraid of those stupid things. Last I heard they never left home though both are in their forties now. They never married or even dated but Pauly has been arrested a few times for visiting happy ending massage parlors. The poor guy can’t even get a hand job without drama.
Chapter 4
Dad decided to take my brother and me to Alabama. We were in hiding but Dad knew the warrant for his arrest was only for the state of New York and no one was going to look for us in swampland. We moved in with Dad’s older brother Dan who was married with four kids and a vicious attack Chihuahua named Tippy.
Tippy was old, mean, smelly and always growling. He had a huge tumor on his stomach that dragged on the floor when he walked. I think the extra weight was what labored his breathing—that and the incessant barking. It perpetually sounded like he was taking his last breath. Not to mention no one had cut the dog’s claws…ever. They were so long they turned into curlicues that pointed up in the air and reminded me of the ribbon you curl when you’re wrapping a birthday present. The worst part about Tippy was you never knew where he was hiding. You could be headed to the bathroom and turn a corner to find an angry, snarling dog just waiting to eat you alive. That was pretty much a daily occurrence. I lived in constant fear of that dog.
In my new unkempt home I lived with four older cousins. Three of them were sweet but cousin Darla had it in for me. She was five years older than me and was the baby of the family. Darla wasn’t happy that she suddenly she had to share her room and toys with me, her three-year-old cousin she barely knew. I’m sure that would be tough for any kid. She had lots of toys and I came with nothing, not even my Kiki doll.
Darla never really hit or abused me; it wasn’t her style. She was crafty and tried to get me when no one was looking. Most of it I could handle, like the time she fed me ex-lax or when she would pop the heads off my dolls (her old ones) when I wasn’t looking and hide them. More than once I carried around a baby doll all swaddled up so no one would notice her head was missing. Not even me.
The one thing I couldn’t handle was sleeping with her. Darla peed the bed. Every. Single. Night. Though she was around eight years old, she had some condition that made her unable to control her bladder. At least that’s what everyone said. She also sucked her thumb at night. She did both of these things until she was about fourteen.
The first time it happened I woke up in the middle of the night feeling wet and cold. Darla was still fast asleep and I couldn’t wake her—not that she would have gotten up anyway. I trudged down to the living room where my dad slept.
“Dad,” I called as I saw my father sleeping soundly on the sofa. “Dad, wake up.” I gently touched his shoulder.
“Huh? What is it?”
“Dad, Darla peed the bed. I’m all wet.”
“Go back to sleep.” Dad closed his eyes.
“But Dad, I’m all wet.”
Dad opened his eyes and looked straight at me.
“Go back to bed!” He turned onto his other side to face the wall so he couldn’t see me. I stood there, paralyzed. The worst feeling engulfed me. It made me dizzy and hot and my whole body tingled. I didn’t recognize it at the time but now I can identify it as the first time I ever felt worthless.
I stood there for a moment longer, then did what I was told. I marched back upstairs and climbed back into bed in my soggy PJs, next to my chubby brick of a cousin. I never asked for help again.
* * *
My half-life away from Mom was surreal. In one sense it felt like an extended vacation to visit family, except it is no vacation being pissed on nightly and terrorized by an attack Chihuahua. Mom’s parents came and visited once and it must have been around Easter because I had an Easter dress and bonnet on in the pictures my grandmother later gave me. It was good to see familiar faces, however it felt weird that everyone was there except Mom. When I asked about her they didn’t answer or quickly changed the subject.
Dad eventually got a job so Mikey and I started attending Miss Betty’s daycare. It was our first experience in a true daycare facility versus being cared for in someone’s home. Mom would occasionally have the neighbor watch my brother and me when she was working, but not very often since my grandmother usually took care of us.
Miss Betty’s face is forever burned in my brain. She had short, black hair parted to one side with those deep v sideburns and a round, black mole on her left cheek the size of a pencil eraser. She wore a ton of makeup including heavy eyeliner and painted on lips in various tones of red, fuchsia and coral. Now that I think of it she looked like an angry Liza Minelli—either that or Elvis in drag. It’s entirely possible that Miss Betty was a transvestite. When parents were around she had a high-pitched sickly sweet southern drawl, but when it was just us kids she sounded more like a hillbilly version of the Hulk, barking orders like, “Sparrow, go wipe so-and-so’s butt.”
Since I was responsible for my age and looked after Mikey so well Miss Betty thought I should be in charge of the kids just learning to use the potty. Sometimes I would have to take a break from playing to escort some of the kiddos to the potty room and wait for them to make so I could wipe their little asses and get them back out onto the playground. I didn’t mind so much but every once in a while I’d get a real stinker of a kid who probably had too much milk in his diet because the smell would be ungodly. The potty room was small and not at all ventilated. Eventually I learned how to just stop breathing in there but it’s a wonder I didn’t pass out either from the fumes or lack of oxygen.
The one thing I liked about going to Miss Betty’s was that once or twice a week we got to go to the local community pool. Besides the fun of swimming with the other kids the whole excursion broke up the day so it didn’t seem like I was spending the whole time with this scary excuse for a nanny.
One morning I was getting dressed and because
we were going to the pool that day I thought I would be clever and wear my bathing suit underneath my T-shirt and shorts. That way I would be ready to hit the pool and wouldn’t have to go through the whole changing process. Also, I didn’t like changing in front of everyone so how brilliant to kill two birds with one stone, right? Everything went seamlessly until we had to change back into our clothes and I discovered I had forgotten to pack underwear. My heart fell into my stomach, then my stomach hit the ground. I’m so busted, was all I could think to myself. I went into total panic mode.
Every day when we came back from the pool Miss Betty made all the kids get in line for the underwear check. One by one we walked up to her and she peeked down our shorts to make sure we were wearing our skivvies. I never knew what happened to the kids who weren’t wearing theirs because she had them go into another room. The room of shame. I wondered if they got whipped because it seemed like lots of kids I knew in those parts got whipped with the belt. I stood in line with the other kids and let her check to see if I had purple hearts or pink flowers on that day. (Keep in mind I’m referring to Miss Betty as a she but I’m still not certain.)
I felt the adrenaline surge as I was getting closer and closer in line. I broke into a full body sweat—the type of sweat where you get damp in places you didn’t know you had sweat glands. I should have told Miss Betty that I forgot my underwear that day but I was too scared to form words. Almost there. Two kids ahead of me. This is gonna be bad. I wonder if I’ll die. Those were the thoughts racing through my head as I stood in the line of terror. Miss Betty looked down my shorts and seemed shocked that Little Miss Perfect wasn’t wearing any underwear. She stopped for a moment, then said, “You’ll be fine” and shooed me away.
I’m lucky I’ve never been the type to piss or shit myself when I’m nervous because that day it would have run right down my leg without any Hello Kitty barrier. What? I’ll be fine? The biggest wave of relief washed over me. After that was nap time and as I lay on my little mat I was careful to keep my legs closed so no one could see up my shorts. I was too amped to fall asleep but I was happy to be alive so I was okay lying there, perfectly still, for thirty minutes.
Chapter 5
Out of the blue one day Grandpa Johnny showed up at Uncle Dan’s house and said he was taking me to Disney World. He had driven all the way from New York in his Smurf blue AMC Pacer. I loved that little two-door hatchback with the white vinyl interior. Grandpa said he would save it for me so I could have it when I got my driver’s license. That seemed eons away but I could picture myself driving it with the windows down and my hair blowing in the breeze. By then I was four and the only reason I know this is because I somehow ended up with a picture of myself blowing out four candles on a Snow White and the Seven Dwarves birthday cake. My uncle’s living room is in the background and chubby cousin Darla, sporting a pink party hat, is right next to me eyeing the cake. I received a white plastic tea set that came in a cardboard box with a see-through cellophane front. My hair was long and straight in the picture and I was wearing a grey plaid dress with pleats and pockets in the front. Everything in the picture looked normal.
Grandpa and I drove down the road playing various highway games that involved counting cars and checking license plates. He told me where Mississippi was and how to spell it. He loved spending time with me. He was always patient, kind and very loving toward me. I know he was never like that with his own children so I’m not sure what changed in him. Perhaps it was age that softened him. Or maybe it was because I was the first granddaughter. Whatever the case I ate it up at the time and enjoyed every minute with Grandpa Johnny.
We weren’t very far down the road when Grandpa turned to look at me and said,
“I have a surprise for you.”
“What is it, Grandpa?” I replied feeling the excitement build in my chest.
“We can go to Disney World or we can go see your mother. It’s up to you.”
“What? Mom’s alive?!” I was shocked. I really thought she was dead, even though I didn’t fully know what that meant. Dad said that she was gone and never coming back so perhaps I concluded she was in heaven with Jesus and the angels. For a long time after I was taken I looked at every woman’s face I came across thinking Are you my mother much like that baby bird from the book. Eventually I gave up because no one even came close to looking like Mom.
“Of course she’s alive,” he said. “Would you like to go and see her?”
“Yes!” was all I could utter at first. I forgot about Disney World immediately even though I was excited to see Cinderella’s castle and meet Mickey and Minnie. My heart was beating out of my chest. My mother. My mother was alive and I was going to get to see her, hug her, and smell her hair. I would once again curl up in her lap and she would read me my favorite books. I was over the moon.
My face hurt from smiling so much the whole trip from Alabama to New Jersey. We played games as we drove and stopped at a Howard Johnson’s halfway in between. Grandpa got me several Happy Meals from McDonald’s along the way, though I couldn’t tell you what the toys were.
Grandpa told me we were meeting Mom at Uncle Sal’s house. Sal was my grandfather’s older brother and the patriarch of our family. He and his wife Gina lived in New Jersey and had a great life with their adopted son, also named Sal. They had a reputation for being the kindest, most well-adjusted people in our family. Sal was my mother’s godfather and they had a special bond. I later found out she had gone to him and told him what had happened and that she thought her parents were involved in our kidnapping. Mom said Sal told his brother if he did not return us that he was excommunicated from the family permanently. So Grandpa decided, against Grandma’s wishes, to return Mikey and me to Mom.
Returning us was complicated because it was too much for Grandpa to take my two-year-old brother to Disney World. He ended up double-crossing Dad because he had no intentions of taking me there in the first place. After he returned me he gave Mom the address where we were living and she got the police involved. Dad returned my brother peacefully in order to avoid being extradited back to New York and facing jail time for violating the custody order. The jig was up.
My legs were wobbly as I walked up the steps to Uncle Sal’s brownstone. I had been on an adrenaline rush for two days and it was starting to take a toll on me. Aunt Gina opened the door and greeted us warmly. We said our hellos and she motioned to the dining room where Mom was sitting in a chair. As soon as she saw me she cried and became a little bit hysterical. It reminded me of the time when I was two and had to get stitches in between my eyes because Mom had slammed on her breaks to avoid a car accident. I was in the back seat sitting on the arm rest and went flying to the front and hit the dash board with my face. Mom was frantic when she noticed blood squirting out of my face every time my heart beat so she pulled over to a gas station and they called an ambulance. Our eight-year-old neighbor Kimmy was with us and she rode in the ambulance with me. When we arrived at the hospital I was rushed into a room. I had nicked an important artery in my face and they needed to close it stat. Since there was no time for luxuries like Novocain I was crying and screaming and Mom was so overwhelmed they had to ask her to leave. Just when I needed her most. Luckily I had a great nurse who held my hand and talked to me the whole time I was being sewn up. But I still wanted my mommy.
Mom unraveled again the day she got me back. She had big tears streaming down her face and her mascara ended up running down her cheeks; it looked like she was crying black rivers. She still hadn’t gotten up which I thought was odd because I wanted her to scoop me up like the old days but she didn’t and so I just stood there looking at her. My head was happy but my heart was numb. Was this my mother? How could it be? I thought she was gone. All of a sudden I got the idea that maybe she wasn’t my real mom after all. She could be an imposter.
I don’t know how I knew about imposters at that age. The only thing that comes to mind is maybe I saw something in a cartoon or kids’ movie. But I
knew people could pretend to be other people so I did what I thought was the smart thing to do— I tried to pull her mask off. Mom asked what I was doing and I told her. “I want to see if you’re wearing a mask. How do I know it’s really you?” If I thought she had unraveled before I was wrong. At this point she totally lost it. She cried so hard I couldn’t understand her response. I was frozen. I so badly wanted to believe it was her but it was too risky. By this time I had walled off my heart well. It had been more than a year since the day I was taken and I had already redefined myself as motherless, just like the baby bird in the book. Now I was getting my happy ending just like that little bird but something wasn’t clicking. Don’t get me wrong, I was excited to see her. But I had stopped having emotional meltdowns a long time ago. I had stopped feeling. To be more accurate, my heart closed the day I was stolen.
When Mom calmed down she said she wanted to show me something. She had a bag and inside were some of my old toys. There was a wooden dog with wheels, a play telephone and a book. She brought my old copy of Are You My Mother. We tried to get me on her lap but it wasn’t as easy as it once was. She was larger. “I’m having a baby,” she explained. My mom, who could still be an imposter, was pregnant. I felt betrayed. I couldn’t articulate it but I felt slighted. Your kids are ripped away from you and instead of coming to find us you just decide to have more?
I knew all too well what it meant when Mom’s belly got big, then out popped a screaming baby that got all her attention. I’m told I was jealous of my brother when he was born and Mom couldn’t leave us alone in a room together. One time she did and came back to find me bashing in his little skull with a baseball I had grabbed from my toy bin. In time I grew to love him and when we were taken I became his stand-in mommy but this was different. I wanted Mom to myself for five minutes, even if she was some crazy imposter.
Riding Standing Up Page 2