by B S Steele
There were even a few times she’d taken us to homeschool night at the local roller rink. Those were the happy times. She wanted to be happy, I knew she did, and I had to believe that. But she wasn’t strong enough to conquer her demons, and the happiness never lasted. It was never long until she slept farther into the day, sometimes right up until my stepdad got home from work. Some days I’d go into her bedroom and watch her sleep. Her brow would be creased, her body wrapped tightly in a swath of blankets. Her hair was thinning in some spots, usually dull and unwashed.
She was disappearing, one day at a time, and there was nothing I could do to save her. Often Emma and I took care of our youngest brother Robbie. He was just a baby, born right before Christmas.
I’d heard mutters about “post-partum depression,” from family members. Some even dared to say she’d been too old at thirty-eight to give birth. It hurt that my Mother didn’t have the joy that a new baby usually brings. At sixteen years old, there was still so much I didn’t understand.
Robbie was a bright eyed, pale little boy with the bluest eyes you could ever imagine. He was the one light in our home, and I knew many nights my Mother was up rocking him to sleep in her private moments.
She liked privacy. She liked the dark, and the quiet. Some nights I woke up, hearing her footsteps creaking on the stairs and I’d pretend to be asleep when she’d kiss my cheek, and trace the symbol of the cross on my forehead. I’d etch that little ounce of love she showed me into my heart, the only salvation where I could find forgiveness for the day’s sins.
Chapter 18: A White Christmas
Christmas was just days away, and we’d spent the last week playing outside building igloos and digging tunnels through the piles of snow my stepdad had plowed from the driveway. Mom always seemed a little off around the Holidays, the pressure of gifts and celebration often making her uneasy and anxious.
Some years we didn’t celebrate, like the year Mom was convinced that the materialistic Santa was going to carry out the Devil’s evil plan to take over Christmas. Thankfully, this year we had already cut down and decorated a beautiful Douglas Pine, which twinkled cheerfully from our front window. We didn’t really talk about Santa Claus, but secretly, I would stay up on Christmas Eve hoping to hear his sleigh bells jingling overhead.
While I knew that Santa didn’t really leave physical gifts, I still believed that his spirit left gifts of joy for everyone. There was a certain magic about Christmas that I treasured every year. The lights, the cups of warm cocoa, the Christmas caroling, and parades of Poinsettias and Elves warmed my heart even on the bleakest of Christmas mornings.
This year, my siblings and I had convinced our stepdad to buy our Mom a new wedding ring. Her original wedding ring was pretty, with its small solitaire diamond and gold band, but we thought that maybe a renewed declaration of love from our stepdad might be the key to breaking her long and heavy depression.
We longed to see her smile, for her to know that she was loved and to feel something bigger than the grey cloud that had settled over her for the last year.
“Do you think that it’s going to be huge?” Emma whispered, her large blue eyes standing out against her freckles.
“I certainly hope so,” I said, smiling back at her.
This year our parents allowed us to set out cookies and milk for Santa, and afterwards our stepdad would read aloud from the Bible, telling us the Christmas story of the Baby Jesus. Our church was putting on a midnight Christmas service and I’d been selected to play the part of Mary, Mother of Jesus.
Mom was busily getting ready, and we were all excited to finally have her with us at a church service. I was nervous to have her watch me perform, but I yearned to see her face in the crowd, rather than the usual empty chair next to my Stepfather. The service was beautiful, full of old-time hymns and I sang with my best voice, straining to hear my Mother’s soft notes next to me. She was a terrible singer, but I loved my Mother’s voice, no matter how awful it might be.
When it was time to head to the little room beside the stage, I felt my heart quicken as I put on the blue robe that would transform me into Mary. I wasn’t a very good actress, as my quiet voice never seemed to quite carry the words out to the crowd. Thankfully, we’d thrown in a little comic relief to make the play more bearable. When I entered the stage, I looked back and saw my Mother sitting there, wearing lipstick and a pretty dress. She was smiling at me, and suddenly everything was perfect. The lights dimmed, and I forgot all about the outside world, focusing only on the joy of the newborn Savior.
The next day was Christmas morning. With a shout from my brother Ben, we were all startled awake. He was eleven now, and in full gift wrap gobbler mode. We raced down the stairs, our night clothes flying behind us.
Gifts were stacked everywhere, much more than any of us had expected. There were huge boxes longer than I was tall, and one of them had my name on it. Our parents heard the commotion and came out to greet us, smiling despite their rude awakening.
“I get to open mine first!” Ben yelled.
“No, I’m first!” Eric teased.
“Whoa! Kids! Calm down,” my Mom laughed.
“We will eat breakfast first, and then open our gifts.”
We all groaned in protest but obediently went to the kitchen, ready to help make pancakes. Our chickens were still providing us with plump, fresh eggs and we had cured bacon left from last year’s hog. Breakfast at our house was a tradition my stepdad followed every Saturday morning.
“Hey Emma, let’s ask Dad if he will give Mom her gift after breakfast!” I whispered excitedly to my sister as we pulled out plates from the cupboard.
She nodded enthusiastically, both of us obviously stealing glances at our stepdad.
“Yes?” He said suspiciously.
“Dad! How could you forget?” I asked pointedly.
He looked very confused.
“The present for Mom?” I insisted, widening my eyes.
He looked vague and replied flatly, “Oh, yeah.”
I looked at Emma, confused. We’d been waiting for this moment for weeks.
My Mom was oddly quiet during breakfast and seemed content in her own world. I couldn’t wait for her to open her gift. I tapped my feet impatiently, as I sat staring at my stepdad.
Finally, after all the dishes were washed, he walked back into his bedroom, and came out with a tiny, dark blue box. All four of us crowded around our Mom, our faces beaming, while baby Robbie sat looking perplexed in his highchair.
My Mother looked shocked as she realized what was happening. She looked at the box, with its small gold foil decorations, and then up at my Dad, her eyes soft and vulnerable.
He had better not have fucked this up. I thought, immediately apologizing to the Lord for my foul language.
She slowly opened the lid, and we all leaned in, eager to see the special gift. He stood a few feet away, staring at the ground.
Maybe he’s nervous she won’t like it. . . I thought.
My Mother was smiling, her delight and surprise very apparent. She didn’t own very many pieces of jewelry.
There it was, for all of us to see. A white-gold band, shining under the kitchen light. My face fell, confused. Maybe it had turned around in the box. Perhaps the beautiful diamond had been too heavy, and it had slipped underneath the plush cushion inside.
Mom lifted it out of its pretty container and held it up for a better look. She was still smiling, but her smile had faded from delight to a dull, cardboard grimace. There was no diamond at all. It was a plain, horrible little ring, even uglier than the one she already owned. I looked at my brothers and sister. They had been standing on tip toes to see into the box, faces aglow. Now, they rocked back on their heel looking confused. We looked at him with questions in our eyes.
Mom slid the ring on and thanked my stepdad, reaching up to him for a hug. The little ones gathered around them, hugging their legs. I stood back, refusing to let it go. Grief and anger searing like a
hot dagger through my stomach.
How could he do this? What did she do to deserve this? It’s probably some stupid excuse about money. It’s always about the money with him! One Christmas, and he couldn’t even muster up enough love for this woman who has given everything she has, to make her feel special.
In one moment, my brothers had learned how to disappoint the woman they were supposed to love, and my sister and I had learned how to expect to be treated. I was more than angry, I felt like I hated him. I felt like I was finally seeing him for what he truly was: a weak, twisted, shrew of a man who would rather get in a little revenge than show an ounce of love to his very vulnerable and hurting wife.
No one deserved to be given false hope at a time when hope was all they had. How could a man call himself a Christian, reading from the very book that personified the greatest sacrifice ever made, and turn around and show absolute hardness of heart?
At that moment, he embodied everything Christmas was not, and I’d have given every gift back if I could take back that moment of pain and disappointment from my Mother.
As we opened our own gifts, it was clear that everyone’s mood had shifted. There was a heaviness that had gathered over the bright packages and pretty bows. My brothers and sister seemed to recover a bit more quickly, but I had to force myself to smile, pretending to be excited for her sake, knowing that she had been the one who had selected the gifts. As little as my Mother seemed to know about me, I saw that each gift had the undeniable signature of a Mother’s love.
The giant boxes held beds for my me and my sister, complete with colored butterfly lights and pretty comforter sets. There were colorful socks and candy for everyone, and trucks and toy soldiers for my brothers. The most ironic gift was a pedestal mirror, long and oval shaped with carved wooden feet. I looked at my reflection for a long moment after I’d unwrapped it.
Mirrors have a way of telling you about yourself if you look long enough. I wanted more than anything to glue it to my Stepfather’s forehead. I learned a lot that Christmas, and vowed to never let any man, or any person for that matter, break me the way my Stepfather had just broken my Mother.
I built a wall around my heart that day. A wall so thick, no one would ever be able tear it down.
Chapter 19: The Rod and Staff
“So, does anyone want to start?” Pastor Pharris asked in a bright tone. I looked down at my hands, which were folded in my lap. I had to be careful what I said, because even though we were safe right now with the Pastor here, in just a few short hours he would go back to the comfort of his own home and I’d be here alone with my Mother. I’d have to answer for every single word I’d spoken.
I looked at my stepdad, who looked like he was re-thinking the purpose of this visit. Pastor Pharris had already spoken with him, and together they’d decided to try an in-home counseling session in hopes that my Mother might be helped, and in turn, we all might begin to heal.
Pastor Pharris started to look a bit nervous and mopped at his brow.
“That’s okay,” he said a little too loudly. “It’s normal to be nervous. This is a pretty tough issue you all have been dealing with,” he said, looking at each of us. His watery eyes bugged out from behind his glasses. “Let’s begin with a word of prayer,” he said, closing his eyes.
“Lord, we come before You today, humbled by Your Grace, humbled by Your very presence. We know You are here with us, because as it says in Your word, where two or three are gathered in Your name, there You are in the midst of them. . .”
I watched him through my lowered eye lashes, listening to his prayer. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my back. It was too large to be my sister’s, and everyone else I could see had their hands folded in front of them. It was my Mother. I opened my eyes and looked up at her which immediately earned me a dirty look for disrespecting the prayer.
Everyone sensed her presence, and Pastor Pharris fumbled for an appropriate, yet quick ending to his oration. When he finally ended with a solid, “Amen,” No one agreed louder than my Mother, who stood towering over my right shoulder with her hand still on my back.
She smiled sweetly at Pastor Pharris, placing hand on her stomach, as if she were ill.
“How nice of you to stop by, Pastor.” She said, looking at each one of her children, but ignoring her husband.
“My pleasure Mrs. Kane. I’m here to talk about what Anna tells me is a pretty serious situation,” he said, trying to regain his obvious loss of control of the room.
She smiled again, not embarrassed in the least that she hadn’t yet brushed her teeth. She turned her grin towards me, and I halfheartedly returned it, knowing full well I was dead meat.
The tension in the room rose to a particularly uncomfortable level, while we all waited for her to seat herself.
She didn’t sit down, but instead, looked around the kitchen, and exclaimed: “What a nice surprise! You kids cleaned up the house!”
It took everything I had not to roll my eyes. We cleaned the house every day. There wasn’t one of us who didn’t have a hefty chore list to complete. The real surprise was that my Mother was awake before four o’clock in the afternoon.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the restroom,” she cooed in her sickly-sweet voice.
“Yes, of course. By all means,” Pastor Pharris replied politely.
She dropped her hand from my shoulder and shuffled to the bathroom. I could only imagine her planning which way she was going to get back at me for what she would consider an act of humiliating disloyalty.
I tried to shake my anxiety and listen as the Pastor began asking my stepdad a series of questions.
“When do you think your wife’s depression started?” He began.
About halfway into the session, my Mother finally reappeared, looking more put together. She’d washed her face and made herself quite presentable. I felt her eyes on me from the moment she stepped back into the kitchen. She was ready for battle, and she was out for blood.
“Pastor Pharris,” she interrupted loudly, scraping a chair across the floor and pushing it heavily right next to mine. I swallowed hard, my shoulders tensing. She had done this many times before. It was a clever intimidation tactic that frankly worked very well.
“So glad you could join us,” he said curtly.
I felt a bit relieved, maybe he wasn’t going to end up the spineless fish I’d been suspecting him to be. Most people caved quickly around my Mother. She could go from charming and delightful to nightmare as quick as you could blink, if all else failed, she would become a sobbing mess. By that point, it would have taken a seasoned professional to peel back the layers of my Mother’s charade to even begin to see a shred of the truth.
“Of course, you do understand how sick I’ve been with baby Robbie’s traumatic birth?” She began.
Oh my God, I thought, he doesn’t have a chance in Hell.
“Well, yes, I did hear about that. I’m so sorry,” he said quickly interrupting her. “I do see now that Robbie looks quite the healthy little boy.”
Her face darkened for a moment, and she whipped around to face me. Her hand flew up and I flinched, pulling away from her. She drilled into my lower back with her fingers.
“Sit up straight, young lady!” She hissed.
I made my back ramrod straight, and kept my eyes glued to the Pastor, begging him to see this horrid game she was playing. His eyes were wide with shock, but he quickly regained his composure, licking his fingers and searching through the thin pages of his Bible.
“Okay, let’s begin by reading from the book of Ephesians.” He looked up over his glasses at me, cleared his throat, and began reading: “Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. Honor your Father and Mother. . .”
Hot tears began to sting the back of my eyes, as I fought to keep my composure. I felt my Mother’s hand reach for me again, this time softly patting my back, a satisfied smile resting on her lips. Not only had my Mother known that Pastor Pharris was coming, she’
d known exactly how to get rid of him.
I felt myself melting into my chair, kicking myself for being so stupid. I’d fallen into another one of her traps and done everything just how she had planned it. She’d taken out the one support I had, and now I was utterly and totally under her complete control and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
After the Pastor left, I sat at the table, my Mother glaring at me.
“You rebellious little shit,” she glowered. “You have always been the one who has caused me problems, never knowing when to keep your mouth shut, and show some loyalty.”
“Mom, I-I didn’t mean. . .” I stammered.
“Shut up! I don’t want to hear it. You’re an ungrateful sneak and you think it’s okay to just throw our business out there for the whole world.” She sneered, screwing her face into a grimace. “I don’t know how you got so far up that high horse you’re on, but you’re lucky poor Robbie lived. I could have lost him because of your rebellion and lack of respect. It’s always you. . . you think you’re the Savior, do you? Well I’ll tell you something you little Bitch. . .”
“Will you just shut the fuck up?” I yelled, feeling my face heat up with rage. I was so sick of everything we’d been enduring under the pressure of her depression. “I hate you! I hate this place! I can’t stand one more minute here! I’m leaving!” I screamed, getting up from the table, flinging my chair away from me.
“SIT DOWN YOUNG LADY!” My Mother screamed back, shocked to the point that she started laughing.
I’d never cursed at her before. I felt humiliated that she was laughing at me, obviously entertained by my distress.
“I’m serious Mom, I’m calling my real Dad, and I’m staying with him.”
I didn’t even know if this was possible, since me and Emma’s biological Father didn’t have custody of us. My Mother laughed harder and then became serious, saying,