Riding Standing Up

by Sparrow Spaulding

  Within a few days Frank called and Mom told him the news. I eavesdropped on the conversation and Mom cried and then said, “No, Frank, you can’t do that!”

  When the call was over Mom told us that Frank was coming back to New England to kill his father. I thought it was a brilliant idea and was willing to volunteer my services. I could drive the getaway car, or help dig a hole, though I didn’t know how to drive and my digging skills weren’t all that great. I’d find a way to help if he needed me. I knew Frank was serious because once Mom left him he felt like he had nothing left to live for, and he spent some time in jail. He used to send me things like hand-stitched leather purses Mom said he made “in the clink.” When Mom and Frank were married he used to keep brass knuckles in his nightstand just in case and even though he was sweet to us kids I knew he could do some damage if he was pissed.

  I felt vindicated because finally someone was going to pay for hurting a child. Maybe cold-blooded murder was a bit excessive, but truthfully I didn’t think so. I was just glad my little sister would get justice and never have to worry about being hurt again. Unfortunately, that feeling was short-lived.

  I’m not sure what happened but Frank never showed. He probably drank himself into oblivion after the news had sunk in. That’s what I pictured in my head, anyway. Maybe he talked to Lorraine and she cried and talked him out of it. In any event I felt defeated, however at least we could keep little Punky safe from now on.

  Less than a few months went by when out of the blue Mom said Arthur and Lorraine were coming to pick up Punky for the weekend.

  “What? Are you nuts? She can’t go with them!” My heart started racing and my breathing shallowed. The room was closing in.

  “She’ll be okay,” Mom said, dragging hard on her cigarette. She had graduated to Marlborough Lights by now and I was happy that we smoked the same brand. “I’ll tell her to stick close to Lorraine.”

  “Mom, that’s not possible! It happened when Lorraine was in the bathroom!”

  “Sparrow,” Mom said, disgusted with me. “They are buying her summer clothes. They help out a lot. I need them and she’s going!” Mom wouldn’t look me in the eye because she knew she was a sellout. She knew it and I knew it and she knew that I knew. What happened to the Mom who was angry and wanted to protect her child? How could she pretend what happened was no big deal?

  I was split halfway down the middle between terrified and furious. I realized that the weakest link in our family was Mom. It was Mom who married those losers, including my kidnapping father. It was Mom who couldn’t be bothered to cook and clean for us, help us with school, make sure we were presentable. It was Mom who kept having children just to ignore them and let them run wild. It was Mom who gave our money away to Jim-Fucking-Bakker. It was Mom who failed to protect me not once but twice from sick perverts. And now it’s Mom throwing Punky to the wolves for some cheap Kmart clothes.

  I walked away and headed back to my room for a good cry and to strategize. Not for plotting to kill Mom but to ensure little Punky’s safety. I was a teenager and even though I lost the dirt ring I was still scrappy. Despite living in the sticks I had become street smart and I was determined to keep my sister safe. At all costs.

  Not long after that conversation Mom informed me that Arthur and Lorraine were on the way and would be coming to pick up my sister. She was going to be running errands and left me at the house in charge. I didn’t argue but decided to implement my plan. I had spent weeks searching the house to find fool-proof hiding spots. Punky was tiny and could crawl into very tight spaces if need be. I had to find the perfect spot, however, because if someone found her and sent her off with that monster then it would be all my fault. Some things in life are okay to fail at. This was not one of those things.

  After much searching I found the spot at the very back of her closet. Her closet was narrow and deep and filled with so much junk that no one ever went in it. There were old broken toys, clothes that didn’t even fit Doodie anymore, paper, boxes and trash. From the entrance it looked like Fred Sanford’s closet on a bad day and no one would suspect she could make her way back there. I was nervous there were spiders, mice and who knew what else in the closet with no light but we had to take our chances. She could easily live through a spider bite or two.

  I had no idea what time they were showing up so I nestled Punky way back in the closet and told her she needed to wait until I came for her. Thank goodness she trusted me and I knew she would do exactly what I said. Once I got her settled in, making sure she could still breathe I went upstairs, locked all the doors and waited. I have no idea exactly how long I waited but it felt like hours. I was sitting on the couch in the family room which looked out over our circular dirt drive so I could see them coming. When I saw the car approaching my heart began pounding like crazy. I crawled onto the carpet and lay flat in front of the couch so they wouldn’t see me when they came to the back door.

  Within a few minutes the knocking began. I lay perfectly still as they knocked and knocked. My breathing was shallow and adrenaline surged through my body. For a moment I worried that Arthur would kick the door in but then they would only find me. They would have a much harder time finding little Punky.

  The knocking went on and on. I felt like I should do something but I couldn’t move without someone seeing me. Eventually I heard someone go through the door that led to the three-season porch because there were French doors to the family room there. Thank God I remembered to lock those doors too. I heard the handle jiggle a few times and knew it was Arthur trying his best to get into the house. That man was determined.

  When the knocking and jiggling stopped I was still too terrified to move. I hadn’t heard the car drive away but then I wondered if I had been too anxious and terrified to notice. I waited as long as I could and when I couldn’t take it anymore, I peeked out from the bottom of the couch and there was Arthur, standing at the French doors, looking straight at me. Oh my God he saw me! I snapped my head back but it was too late. He knew we were hiding from him. I fully expected the heinous child molester to kick the door in for sure now only he didn’t. After a few more minutes I heard the car start and drive away. I finally went to look and they were gone. I still didn’t feel we were off the hook so I made Punky stay in hiding until Mom got home.

  “What happened? Why is she still here?” Mom asked.

  “I told you, she is not going with them. Ever.”

  Chapter 16

  Just like any other girl I was looking forward to turning sixteen. I’m not sure why exactly, except that sixteen felt so much more adult than fifteen. I had a sense that people would take me more seriously and that I would have more privileges. I was also one year closer to freedom. I was ready to celebrate.

  The morning of my birthday I was up early getting ready for school. I had decided on a green and white palm-printed shirt and matching wide-leg pants, which were more like culottes since they hit just below the knee. The outfit was rayon so I had let it air dry when I washed it, which meant it had a few wrinkles. I don’t think we owned an iron and if we did it was probably at the bottom of Punky’s closet, dented, and with a broken cord so I decided to throw my birthday outfit in the dryer for a few minutes to soften out the creases. Our washer and dryer were in the unfinished part of our basement which meant I had to pass Mom’s room to get there.

  I tiptoed down the stairs, careful to be quiet. We didn’t have any rules about not using the dryer in the morning but I still tiptoed because mornings were much nicer when I didn’t have to deal with Mom or smell her cigarettes and coffee first thing. After I put the dryer on for ten minutes I tiptoed back up the stairs to finish getting ready. Less than two minutes later I heard someone stomping up the stairs. I figured it was probably Larry and didn’t think much of it until I met Mom in the hallway.

  “Did you just use the dryer?” she asked, looking and sounding like a wild woman.

  “Yes, I was getting some wrinkles out of my outfit.”

>   “You woke me up, Sparrow!” Mom spit-screamed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mom. I…I didn’t mean to.” Even I wasn’t on guard at six in the morning.

  “How dare you? Your birthday is canceled do you hear me? No cake, no presents, nothing!” I hadn’t seen Mom this furious in ages. She was in a total rage meltdown and I’m sure she woke everyone else in the house.

  I didn’t know what to say so I walked away. I was crushed. My excitement about turning sixteen was gone before it had even set in.

  Now it was just another school day.

  Mom continued to complain about me out loud as I was in the bathroom finishing my hair, saying things like, “You have no respect!” and “I’m so sick of your shit!” I decided to ignore it because I had spent a great deal of time applying my purple mascara and I didn’t want to ruin it with tears. It was still my birthday, after all, and I wanted to look my best.

  I was scared to go back downstairs and retrieve my outfit but I took my chances. It couldn’t get any worse than canceling my birthday, so what did I have to lose? After I got dressed I hurried out of there as quick as possible, even though I had to stand outside in the November cold to wait for the bus. It was better than the inferno inside my house.

  I went through the school day in a bit of a daze. My friends all wished me a happy birthday which I appreciated. I didn’t tell anyone what had happened that morning and often didn’t spill things like that because I was not one for any kind of sympathy or pity. I did sometimes complain about my crazy parents to my closest friends but I did it in a humorous way and would usually have them all cracking up at the end. Wit and sarcasm were some of my greatest shields.

  When I got off the bus that afternoon I had no idea what to expect. I walked in the back door intent on making a bee-line to my bedroom, where I would plop down on my bed and escape with music and my journal, but as I turned the handle and opened the door Mom was there, waiting.

  “Happy Birthday, Puppy!” she cried, her eyes sparkling. She threw her arms around me and actually gave me a hug. “Look, here are your presents, and I even got you a lobster!” She pointed to a stack of gifts and a giant steamed lobster staring straight at me from the breakfast bar. There was even cake, too. I was nonplussed.

  “Uh...thanks, Mom,” was all I could muster as I looked around, wondering why I should trust this moment because it totally felt like a setup. Where were the cameras? I half-expected Larry to pop out of a closet with an ax and start chasing me, but that didn’t happen. Even though I should have been happy my body trembled and I wanted to get the hell out of there. Who were these freaks and why was I related to them?

  I went to the bathroom to collect myself. Both of my sisters were there and they wanted to celebrate my birthday. I could put on a smile for them and get through this. This wasn’t just about me, and if I didn’t act thrilled Mom would be mad and call me ungrateful and launch into another one of her crazy spells. I wasn’t going to risk that for anything.

  Normally I loved presents and cake and lobster but I was too shaken up to enjoy them. Mom must have felt guilty because she had gone to the nice mall and got me some really great clothes, but I just couldn’t get excited. I did a good job of pretending, though. It occurred to me that perhaps Mom’s medication needed to be adjusted but I was the last person who was going to tell her that, so I just went with it.

  After everyone went to bed I poured myself a little shot out of some old bottle of Drambuie I found underneath the kitchen sink, between the dishwasher soap and the Pine Sol. It tasted so bad I think the Pine Sol would have been the better choice but in any event I toasted my sixteenth birthday by myself, in peace.

  * * *

  Frank didn’t make it back for several years after Arthur molested Punky. I’m sure he went on the father of all binges after finding out his father was a level-five pedophile. He finally managed to swing a trip shortly after my sixteenth birthday. My birthday part was coincidental but I was happy to see him even though my heart hurt seeing him skinny as a rail and aged beyond his years from alcohol. Seeing him also brought back the memories of all the trips to the VA hospital and the disappointment of our family falling apart. Even though Frank wasn’t my father I loved him just as much. He was a good man, and if he had gotten it together we could have still been a family and I wouldn’t have been stuck with the step-monster of the century. It was a bittersweet reunion.

  Frank camped out on our couch, which was awkward. I was shocked by Larry’s graciousness in letting his wife’s ex-husband stay at the house. He agreed because he thought it would be good for Punky. On top of that he was nice to Frank, in fact nicer than I had ever seen him. Did the Grinch have a heart after all?

  I stayed up later than usual the night Frank got there just to be in his presence. When everyone went to bed, it was just the two of us left talking. I hadn’t seen him since I was eleven so it was uncomfortable at first. We talked music a lot. I told him I was into the Grateful Dead and he told me that he had come from the most amazing Pink Floyd concert. He even told me a bit about the joys of train-hopping and how there’s a freedom in it.

  “I have something for you,” Frank said as he got up from the couch and went over to his duffel bag. “Here.” He handed me an entire carton of Camel Lights. “Your mom told me you smoke now. Happy Birthday.”

  “Oh hey, thanks.” I took the carton, feeling the oddest mix of gratitude and embarrassment. I was embarrassed for Frank because even though he was no longer my step-dad he was and he shouldn’t have given me cancer sticks for my birthday. I should have been sneaking them like any good teenager, and he should have been lecturing me on how bad it was for me, like any good parent. I knew he meant well and was trying to connect, but I still felt like no matter where I turned I couldn’t escape the freak show.

  I gave Frank a hug and inhaled that familiar mix of good ol’ Colt 45 and stale cigarette smoke. It didn’t make me love him any less. After all those years I was certain he still loved me and I was certain he would always smell like that.

  * * *

  The beginning of junior year was exciting for a few reasons. I no longer felt invisible at school. I was officially an upperclassman, well, upperclasswoman, though I wore lots of ties and oxford shirts because that’s what girls were wearing in Cosmo and Seventeen. Even though I lived in the sticks I was determined not to look the part. I still had a pair of steel-toed shitkickers Larry bought me one Christmas so I could make my way to the shed and bring in firewood in the snow. I never wore them in public, however, even though lots of other girls at school did. One girl had her yearbook picture taken in a plaid flannel shirt and holding a rather large piglet. On top of that she had a terrible feathered haircut and giant, round glasses that engulfed her cute face. I desperately wanted to give her a makeover but she was less than interested. For a brief moment I wondered what it would be like to be that frumpy. Perhaps uncles and step-dads and pediatricians and random drunk boys at parties would leave you alone? Maybe they wouldn’t notice you at all. I dismissed the thought, knowing I was too boy crazy to go to school with so much as a chipped nail. I was already a goner.

  The other reason I was happy in eleventh grade was because one of my other big crushes, Chase Robertson, had returned to school. He was a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy two years ahead of me who had disappeared in my freshman year; rumor had it he had gone to juvie. I had only talked with him a few times but for some reason had developed an intense crush. It could have been how he combed his hair numerous times a day at school. It could have been his perfect smile, though he really didn’t smile often. Let’s face it, it was probably the brand new white Pontiac Firebird he was driving, a gift from his parents. In reality he wasn’t all that cute, and his face was so greasy Jess used to joke that she could fry an egg on it. Nevertheless, I was smitten.

  Chase was the only boy at school with his own apartment, which was fun to go to after school because in exchange for doing Egg Face’s homework I got to smoke cigaret
tes and enjoy a few shots of vodka. Even though my grades mostly sucked it was merely lack of effort, not a lack of brain cells. I could whip out an essay on almost anything and he was in some lower-level classes so it wasn’t tough. I used to lie and tell Mom I was getting extra help after school. She didn’t have a clue and as long as I was home early enough to do dishes or bring in wood it was alright on occasion.

  On one of those random days Egg Face and I had our usual make-out session on his couch but this time he stood up, grabbed my hand and led me to his bedroom. I was still a virgin, not for lack of trying. I had tried to have sex with a guy named Jake I had dated the summer before but we didn’t know he should have purchased the lubricated Trojans and there wasn’t even a chance of it happening so we played video games instead. My guess was that Egg Face knew what he was doing and I was right. He expertly lowered me onto his twin bed and unbuttoned my pink-and-white floral shirt, tossing it onto the floor. Next, he managed to slide my jeans off, one leg and then the other. I kind of faded out a little after that, fearing that staying in my body wasn’t the best idea since I didn’t know what to expect.

  I came back to the room the moment he entered me. Fuck, this hurts, was all I could think. I opened my eyes to scan the room, looking for something to fixate on in hopes of being able to manage the pain. That wasn’t a great idea, because there on his dresser to the left of the bed was an 8x10 picture of Egg Face and his ex-girlfriend, Andrea. My heart froze, and I had two choices: be devastated and cry because I was losing my virginity to a guy still in love with his ex, or go numb and just finish what I started. I chose the latter, though he was the only one who actually finished. Not that I knew much about finishing. I don’t recall a single conversation about the birds and the bees but I had read The Joy of Sex and the smut Grandma had lent me. I kind of knew what an orgasm was intellectually, I had just never had one. Mom had taken Grandma’s book from me before I could finish and though I still learned a few things it wasn’t really educational smut.