“School’s fun. You’ll like it,” Sheila told Tommy, when he was about to start kindergarten.
“Don’t want to go!” he yelled whenever she said it, and pounded his head against their bedroom wall.
At dinner the night of his first day, Mama told Daddy that the school room smelled like one hundred years of chalk dust, and tall, skinny Miss Travis wore her steely hair peeled back in a bun.
Daddy reached over and grabbed Mama’s hand.
“He hung onto me like a monkey while I tried to comfort him.” She sniffed. “Miss Travis ordered me to leave. His cries followed me all the way down the hall. A few hours later, when I came back to get him, I walked in and she stood tapping a ruler, hair flying around her head like spider webs, glasses lopped to one side. Before I could get a word out, she said that Thomas ‘wreaked havoc’ on her class, there were so many ‘misbehaviors’ that she couldn’t ‘enumerate’ them, and that he ran in the cloak hall and climbed onto the six-foot-high windowsill. Her ‘spectacles’ dropped to the floor and he tromped on them jumping from the ledge. For the first time in over thirty years, she needed to call the school secretary ‘to supervise’ Thomas while she attended to the rest of the children.” Mama took a deep breath.
Sheila stared at her parents, big-eyed. She’d never heard her mother go on for such a long time.
“I apologized and carried him to the principal’s office.” She paused. “He’s been put in the other class for a fresh start.”
Daddy got up from his kitchen chair. “It’s been horrible for you. This will help.” He poured a big glassful of Mama’s medicine.
That night Sheila couldn’t eat her dinner of spaghetti, usually a favorite. She was too upset about Tommy. He cleaned up his plate, slurping noodles with a swishy sound and spreading red sauce all over his face. For once, Daddy didn’t order him to “Mind your manners!” And Mama scurried to get Tommy another plateful when he demanded seconds.
After that, he mimicked Miss Travis, walking around like a scarecrow, arms held straight out, legs stiff. “Thomas! You’re wreaking havoc,” he’d say. The more Sheila laughed, the more he did it.
About this time, Sheila’s grandmother won a doll from the Rebekah Lodge’s raffle. She was sixteen inches tall, with wavy, dark brown hair, blinking blue eyes, and moveable arms and legs. Accompanying the doll came a varnished, wooden, two-section latched wardrobe case with a handle on top. Inside, shoes and boots and purses were stored in drawers. A hanging area on one side of the case held outfits. The Rebekah Lodge was the sister organization to the Odd Fellows, where Sheila’s long-gone, saintly grandfather used to belong. One of these Odd Fellows crafted the doll’s special case. It held a wedding gown with little white satin slippers and a billowing veil; a brown and gold Annie Oakley cowgirl costume with pistols, hat, and boots; as well as a turquoise and white crocheted set, figure skates, and beret topped by a pom-pom. There were at least twenty-five costumes in all.
Grandma acted excited as a little girl. In the Catholic orphanage where she had grown up, there was a complete absence of toys. “It held down jealousy,” she said.
Naturally, being her favorite person in all the world, Sheila expected Grandma to give the doll to her, but Mama said that Grandma wanted to keep her at the yellow house in Chambers so Sheila would have something to play with on visits. Even at that young age, Sheila knew that Grandma’s life had been much harder than her own, and that the doll represented something very important—the only time Grandma ever won a prize. Plus, if the doll came to live in the apartment, Tommy would surely wreck her.
Some of the Rebekahs complained, “Why should an old lady, without any children at home, win the doll?”
Grandma, perched on her chair at the dining room table, mimicked their voices and shook her head. “I told them, ‘I have a granddaughter. She can play with my doll.’” She pushed herself up from the chair and huffed off to the kitchen after more mashed potatoes and gravy.
When they visited Chambers, Sheila ran free through the quiet town. At the apartment buildings in the big city of Minneapolis she had to stay in the yard, taking care of Tommy. During inside times at Grandma’s house she played with the doll, who she named Victoria, whispering her secrets and plans. The picture over the bed in this special bedroom showed an old-time girl on a chair embroidering. She reminded Sheila of girls at different schools who took piano lessons and dance lessons and maybe even had a horse and slept in their own bedrooms. With Victoria’s urging, she narrowed her eyes, took a hat pin from Grandma’s cushion and pretended to stick it into soft spots on the old-time girl’s body.
Luckily, Grandma never noticed scratches on the picture’s glass
Once when Sheila was about ten, living in another apartment with another shared bedroom in shambles, a Camp Fire Girl group she’d begged to join planned a program. Each member was supposed to bring a favorite doll or stuffed animal to put on exhibit. All Sheila’s toys had been demolished by Tommy and found their way to trash bins when packing for the next move—all except Teddy Bear and Rubber Baby. She brought them out to the kitchen, her cheeks red with humiliation.
“I can’t bring one of these!”
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “I’ll write your grandmother and ask if you can have the doll for this special occasion.”
Dad drove them to Chambers, stopping along the way at the pony ring. Sheila’s legs were getting too long for riding the Shetlands, so this was the last time. Tommy never minded, but Sheila often thought of their maple syrup smell and dusty coats.
After this visit to Grandma’s ended with Sheila for the first time ever excited to return to their apartment, she cradled Victoria in her lap. The wardrobe case was put in the trunk of Dad’s green Chevrolet.
“You’ll get a beating like never before if you hurt your grandmother’s doll,” he said to Tommy after they drove away from Grandma’s house.
“I won’t,” Tommy said.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise. I promise. I really, really promise.”
Tommy tried extra hard, and for once, Sheila temporarily owned something perfect. Victoria and her paraphernalia made the best display at the Camp Fire Girl program, and Sheila won the blue ribbon.
A few weeks later, they brought Victoria back to the yellow house in Chambers, and more than ever before, Sheila wished she could stay.
In third grade, Tommy’s teacher discovered that he couldn’t read. That summer, Sheila went with him on a city bus to the University of Minnesota for tutoring sessions with David, a grad student.
“David says you should sound out words and not move your lips like you’re doing,” Tommy told Sheila when he rejoined her in the waiting room.
“You’re showing me how to read? You’re over eight years old and just able to understand one of these little kid books.” Sheila held up a tattered copy pinched in her fingers like a dirty rag. As a big sixth grader, she again had won a prize for the most book reports.
When Tommy’s sessions with David came to an end, he stumbled around, reminding her of the old, battered teddy bear, and making Sheila feel sorry for her taunts.
“He was like a big brother to me,” Tommy said. “We played fun games.”
“We could read together?” Sheila did this and tried to build something with his broken Lincoln Logs, but Tommy still talked all the time about how much he missed David.
His best friend at another apartment building they moved to was a boy from Georgia who, with his family of eight, lived in the upper part of an asphalt-shingled duplex down the alley. At ten, Butchy Turner was a year older than Tommy, with the round face and chubby body of an easygoing, good-natured kid. The other boys on the block made fun of Butchy’s speech and called him “nigger” and, “sissy girl” because he couldn’t play hoops.
Tommy fought with them, often bloodying someone’s nose.
It
was summertime. Sheila would hang out nearby with her soon-to-be seventh-grade girlfriends, talking about movie stars and Elvis and boys at school. Jacks and jump ropes had been replaced with lipstick and velvet bows stuck haphazardly in teased hair. Almost every day she’d hear hollering and slugs.
“He’s fighting again!” She’d tell her friends and run to break up the scuffle, then yank Tommy by his arm back to their bedroom.
Mom would get up from her chair where she had been dozing with a half-empty glass of whisky and the television blaring. She’d tell Tommy to stay put until Dad got home. Once her mother fell back to sleep, Sheila turned the television off and sat at the kitchen table trying to do homework. Periodically, Tommy came out of the bedroom and Sheila had to walk him back to it. At last, she’d gather her books and papers and post herself on the floor outside its closed door until Dad got home.
After Carl heard reports of the infraction, he’d take off his belt. “One of these days, if you don’t stop this fighting, you’re going to really hurt someone. You’re getting the licking of your life.” By now, it was on Tommy’s bare butt.
He never cried.
Next, Dad would pour another drink for Mom and get one for himself.
Across the street from this apartment building lived Mr. Kruger in a big white house. He led the Cub Scouts. His son Frank, who’d earned many badges, wasn’t a friend of Tommy’s, but learning of Tommy’s problems, Mr. Kruger urged Lily to sign him up for the troop.
“A real man doesn’t do this,” Carl sneered.
“Cub Scouts might help him behave better,” Lily said, stirring a pot of stew.
Assembling displays of their collections was the pack’s current project. Just like Sheila, who hadn’t owned a presentable doll or stuffed animal, Tommy didn’t have anything to make into a collection. His own possessions were in worse shape than hers.
“Have him do matchbook covers,” Mr. Kruger suggested because Carl was a chain-smoker.
Begrudgingly, Carl helped Tommy with his project one night after work.
Sheila knew she could have done a much better job, but Mom said, “Tommy needs to do something with his father.”
On a Wednesday evening after dinner, the family walked to the school gymnasium, where none of them said a word. They studied immaculate presentations of stamps and coins and butterflies. Tommy’s multicolored matchbook covers, mounted crookedly on a poster board, had started to come unglued. Several were scattered on the table in front of his display.
The family didn’t stay, but rather hurried back to the apartment.
Mom gave Tommy an extra bowl of ice cream with chocolate syrup, and when he said, “I don’t want to be a Cub Scout anymore,” she told him that would be okay.
Dad sat sullenly, black eyebrows slanting downward, eating his ice cream with whisky poured over the top.
Mom skipped the ice cream, saying, “I don’t need the calories.” She poured herself another full glass of whisky instead.
CHAPTER 11
Teenagers
IT HAD BEEN A LOVELY WEEKEND WITH THE KLEVENS. SHEILA AND JANE BAKED SUGAR cookies and a chocolate cake and an apple pie. The kitchen smelled like a bakery.
“We have to fatten you up before Jim gets home.” Jane took off her apron, done for the time being.
He was going to be pleasantly surprised to see how accomplished Sheila had become in the kitchen, and not so pleasantly surprised to note her weight loss since he’d been gone. Despite all the high-calorie food Jane forced upon her, Sheila’s clothes kept getting more baggy. On Jane’s scale she was down to ninety-five pounds. She wasn’t hungry on the nights spent alone in the apartment. A piece of toast and peanut butter, along with a Coca-Cola, filled her up.
As usual, she and Bradley played music during the weekend. Mostly, Mary Beth stayed in her bedroom reading a romance novel, even though Bradley said, “You could come out and sing with us.” She ignored him. When not in the kitchen or practicing their songs, Sheila sat on the patio with Jane, enjoying the garden, sipping iced tea, nibbling at their efforts.
Back in the apartment, she prepared care packages full of treats for Mr. Grey and the Potters.
Mr. Grey said things like, “My wife used to bake.” This made Sheila feel sad for him and glad that she could give him something special.
The Potters said things like, “We’re going to make our famous strudel for you.” This made Sheila smile because they never did. It must have been famous back in Kansas.
At the end of this visit to the Klevens, Bradley offered to drive her back to the apartment with the bounty. He’d never done this before, and it brought on an uneasy feeling. But what could she say? No! I want Jane to drive me. Grow up! she told herself. It’s just a ride.
As he pulled into the alley, Bradley said, “We’re having a protest next weekend. Can you go?”
“With you?” Sheila frowned. How could she do that? What would Jim think? Still, I am against this horrible war! She wanted him home, but to actually go to a demonstration?
“I’m playing my guitar and singing. It’d be great to have you by my side.” Bradley’s face set in an unfamiliar beseeching expression, as if he were asking for a date and didn’t expect her to accept.
She put her hand on the door handle. “I don’t know.” This makes me feel sick.
“You’re anti-Vietnam. This is a way you can do something. We all have to speak out. How’s the government going to change policy if we sit back and let it happen?”
“When?”
“Next Saturday morning.” He paused. “Besides, it’s a good way for you to get more people to hear your beautiful voice. You’ve said how much you miss singing solos in the choir.”
“What if we get arrested? Won’t there be guys burning draft cards?”
“I’m going to do that. If we get arrested, so be it. We’re standing up for our cause.”
Arrested? “I’ll let you know Saturday morning.”
In April of 1959, NASA introduced its first seven astronauts, and the space program was on its way. Meanwhile, even though Sheila felt mild interest at thirteen, makeup and hairdos and boyfriends had taken over her life.
This infuriated Carl Doty. Still, as she got older, Sheila broke every one of his rules about appearance. Blue eye shadow offended him the most. And then there were her friends. They looked “trampy,” even though they were class officers and cheerleaders. And the boys, even though they were all athletes, made him rage. She found herself grounded more often than set free, and found herself wishing she could be an astronaut and fly off anywhere to get away from her father … or to just have a flying dream once in a while. Most of her dreams were about being trapped in small places, like caves and tunnels and bird cages—all except the one at the top of a white house, all alone with her books and music. She still had it occasionally.
By the summer before Sheila went into ninth grade, her parents had saved enough money from her father’s job as an electrician, and the family moved to a house in a nice neighborhood where they could “live forever.” Lily, who was trying to stay away from alcohol, took a job at a meatpacking plant to help with expenses. Sheila had her own private bedroom, but no lock was allowed on the door, so too often Tommy and his problems intruded. Sadness over broken, discarded possessions got pushed to the back of her mind, only to be replaced with concerns over her little brother’s escalating school and social problems. But she still had plenty of time to herself in the new blue and white room, where she read books about girls and women, like Jane Eyre, who had escaped dismal circumstances. And always, she’d practice her music. “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” was one of her favorites.
Before Lily left for her first day of work, Carl insisted that Sheila get out of bed even though it was summertime.
“You need to take care of things around here,” he said.
“You’ll be fine now,
with that new bedroom of yours,” Lily said. “Tommy needs you. He’ll be at loose ends all day by himself.”
Carl glanced at Lily, seeming to assess her wellbeing. “Your mother can use all the help she can get.”
Tommy had sulked for weeks after the move to the new house, sometimes purposefully smashing Sheila’s records or tearing up her magazines. The only time he seemed happy was when she took him to the neighborhood swimming pool.
At first he’d be cooperative.
She would say, “Please hurry up and change into your trunks. I want to start swimming.”
“I’m coming.”
Sheila stood by the doorway to the boys’ changing room, and before long she’d hear hollering. “Hey, cut it out,” and “Leave me alone,” and “Back off, buster.” She’d wonder how to check on Tommy. Each time it happened, an older boy came along, saw that she was upset, and offered to get her brother. It didn’t occur to Sheila that they were attracted to her cute appearance in a yellow and white two-piece bathing suit.
Once Tommy jumped in the pool, dive bombing anyone in his way, he’d start to yell and splash other kids near him. The worst was when he dunked smaller children.
Many times Sheila said, “Leave that child alone, Tommy!”
Before long the lifeguard yelled something like, “Knock it off, kid!” And then, “This is your last warning.”
Inevitably he’d be kicked out for the rest of the day.
After three incidents like this, the lifeguard told Sheila. “You can come back, but that kid’s done for this summer.”
So she had to stay home, trying to keep him entertained and out of trouble all day.
Once school started, Tommy went to sixth grade. His clowning brought amused attention from the other kids, and the ire of another teacher. Several hours each afternoon, before her parents returned from work, Sheila was in charge at home. Because Tommy liked her new boyfriend, he never told their father that she let Jim Gallagher, two years older than herself and a football player, come inside the house when he didn’t have practice. She would have been grounded for the rest of her life if Carl found out. Jim and Tommy played catch and tackled each other in the basement recreation room while Sheila watched American Bandstand, wishing that she lived in Philadelphia and Dick Clark had chosen her for the program. Occasionally, she coaxed Jim to dance.
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