by B S Steele
She never had the heart to tell me that I’d never realize those dreams. I’d been born with feet so flat my Mother had special shoes fitted just so I could learn to walk. Grandma and I always went to the rink when after dark, the ice lit up by bright floodlights.
Grandma was an Earth child just like me. We preferred the solitude of the stars to the company of people. I’d watch her as she skated gracefully across the ice doing figure eights, and laughing joyously as I’d stumble around, desperately trying to follow her lead.
Now, I stood here in the damp, florescent hockey ring with my family, sulking because I wanted to be anywhere but here. All the church kids had come, and Darren was speed skating in circles trying to impress me. His neck stuck out like a Thanksgiving turkey.
I sat down on a bench trying to re-lace my skates. They were a crappy pair of rentals that smelled like moldy leather and foot spray.
“Here, let me help,” my stepdad offered, bending down to tighten my laces.
His hands were strong, and he managed to pull them tight enough to hold my wobbly ankles straight.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, pushing up off the bench and trying the ice again.
This time it was much easier to navigate the bumps and grooves. I smiled at my stepdad despite myself. Maybe I’d make the best of it. I was here with my family, and God knew we never did things like this.
As usual, my Mother was not here, but my brothers and sister were happily chasing each other, playing like kids were supposed to. My stepdad was trying, and that was really what mattered. A few hours later, the ice master made an announcement that the rink would be closing open skate, as one of our local Hockey teams had arrived for practice.
I looked at the clock which was the only decoration on the high cement walls. It was nudging close to seven. Prom started at eight. My stepdad caught me looking at the clock and seemed annoyed. I smiled coyly and skated towards my siblings.
“C’mon Emma, let’s go turn in our skates,” I said to my sister.
She looked longingly at the ice. I felt bad for her, knowing that she was going home to go to bed, while I got to escape again.
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to sound convincing. “I’m sure we will come back again.”
She looked at me doubtfully, knowing I was just trying to make her feel better. We’d probably never see this ice rink a second time.
The drive home was irritating, each tedious country mile seeming to take longer than usual. I swore my stepdad was driving at a snail’s pace, compared to the usual race car stunts he pulled. When we finally turned down our driveway, he was driving so slowly I literally could feel the scattered apples from our apple tree crushing under the van tires. I rolled my eyes as far back in my head as they would go, seriously considering opening the van door and jumping out onto the grass.
Once we got inside, my Mom was waiting for us, doing her usual putzy walk around the kitchen, moving piles of junk from one place to the other. I never really understood her method of organization, and my own growing obsessive-compulsive disorder groaned inside whenever I watched her clean.
“Hey Mom,” I greeted hastily, making a dash for the stairs. I didn’t want to give her time to tell me to do some random chore. Both she and my stepdad knew that I needed to get ready for Prom. That was even more incentive for them to tell me to match the mountain of socks or clean out the microwave.
“Whoa, young lady!” She yelled after me.
I groaned out loud. “What? What can you possibly need me to do?”
I knew I was being snotty, but I’d already made sure my general chores were done before leaving the house. I was well versed in my Mother’s ability to make a person late for their own funeral.
“With that attitude, you won’t be going anywhere,” she said sternly.
“I don’t think she needs to go anyway,” my stepdad piped in.
I felt like I wanted to cry. I had done everything I could possibly do to make this happen. I’d done my chores, kept to myself, avoided fights with my Mother by consenting to her every demand with demure submission. I hadn’t asked for a dime of money, or even bothered them about a new dress.
Something in my Mom’s face changed. She looked at our clock, which was inching ever closer towards eight.
“What time is your friend going to be here?” She asked.
“Eight-thirty,” I said quietly.
“Well then, why don’t you go get ready?” She asked, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.
My eyes lit up, and I ran and hugged her.
“Thank you, Mom!” I said, burying my face into her shirt, feeling relieved.
I peered over at my stepdad, who was frowning. I didn’t let it bother me, I knew that when Mom made a up her mind, even he didn’t argue.
I ran and gave him a quick hug, which was always much stiffer than the hugs I gave anyone else. He was sort of like hugging a tall pine tree or a fence post.
“Thank you,” I said again, taking the stairs two at a time to my bedroom.
I’d laid out all the makeup I’d planned to use the night before. Mostly stuff given to me by my Mother. Samples of products left over from her former consulting days. I’d recently discovered eyeliner, which was something my Mom never used. I loved the way it made my eyes stand out and somehow making them appear bluer than they were.
Shawn was going to be here in twenty minutes and my hair was still damp and flat from ice-skating. I didn’t have time to be frustrated about my hair, even though I knew that most of the girls in my class had probably spent the whole day getting pampered at expensive salons. Covering themselves in glitter hair spray and gaudy rhinestone jewelry.
I would have to make the best of it and hope that no one took too many pictures of me. I plugged in my set of secondhand curlers and smoothed foundation on my skin. After I finished my eye make-up, I considered not wearing my glasses. My eyesight wasn’t horrible and since I didn’t have a driver’s license, I wouldn’t be driving anyway.
No one at school had ever seen me without glasses, so maybe that would distract from my plain-Jane hairstyle. I slipped my glasses into their carrying case, stuffing it into a small gold clutch I’d found at my Grandmother’s house. My prom dress had been carefully hidden underneath a hideous, high collared polka dot monstrosity I’d had since fourth grade. I pulled it out from underneath it’s guise, admiring the way it glittered in the light of my bedroom. I slipped into a pair of pantyhose and a camisole for underneath the dress.
I found it mortifying that some of the girls in my class claimed they wouldn’t be wearing anything at all underneath their dresses. At least the haughty, uptight Mrs. Swanson had taught me one thing: that it was a terrible fashion faux pas to see through a person’s clothes.
My hair tumbled out of the curlers in soft waves. I nearly always wore my hair like this, but today, I pulled it halfway back, securing it with a few hair pins. I didn’t own any perfume, but I’d found some lotion in our bathroom that was lightly scented. I heard a knock on the door and jumped, startled. Time had slipped away from me, and it was now or never. I did not want to give my parents time to make Shawn change his mind, so with one last spritz of hair spray, I grabbed my clutch and slipped into a pair of heels Faith had lent me.
It was just like the movies, walking down one step at a time, hoping with every hope that I didn’t fall flat on my face. Shawn and my parents waited at the bottom. My stepdad stood with his arms crossed, staring Shawn down like an anxious watchdog. My Mom looked up at me, her face filling with masked shock.
“Where on Earth did you get that dress?!” She exclaimed.
I smiled at her, ignoring the question, and looked at Shawn. He looked cleaner than usual. His dark brown hair was combed neatly, and he was wearing a dress shirt and tie.
Not bad for a farm boy. I thought, raising one eyebrow.
“Hey, Shawn.” I said, greeting him shyly. “We better get going, it’s already getting late.”
He nodded, looking at me curiously. Shawn and I really were just friends, and the way he was looking at me made me want to bust out laughing. I think he finally realized I was a girl.
“S-sure.” He said nervously.
I rolled my eyes at him. “Let’s go then,” I laughed.
My stepdad was eyeing my dress and not looking pleased. I think he was in as much shock as Shawn.
“You two be safe,” he said in an oddly deep voice. “And she needs to be home no later than eleven.”
“Yes sir,” Shawn said, sticking out his hand, for a quick shake.
He was much shorter than my stepdad. Not quite yet a man, but he was burlier than most seventeen-year-old boys, which seemed to be common around our area. The boys in this town had to grow up fast and take on a lot of responsibility for their family’s livelihood.
Shawn’s truck was caked with thick mud, its tires lifted high off the ground making it extremely awkward for me to climb into. Gold glitter dusted his seat from my efforts.
“Sorry about the glitter,” I laughed.
He had a girlfriend from another city, and I was sure he’d have to explain that one later.
“It’s okay,” he smiled over at me as he started up the truck. “You look really great by the way.”
“Thanks, now let’s go!” I said breathlessly.
I was ready to get to the dance and was secretly hoping someone had spiked the punch. The only alcohol I’d ever tasted was a stolen beer I’d drank with my brother Eric last summer. My Mom had casually left a stash in her trunk, thinking none of us would notice. After I’d recovered from my shock upon discovering it, I’d promptly snatched one and hid in my floor vent until late one night when Eric and I took turns chugging it in the dark.
The empty bottle had been there ever since, tucked into the floorboards, where no one would ever find it. Shawn cranked the starter, jiggling the shifter back and forth, mumbling something about engine blocks and a new steering column, whatever those things were. The truck roared to life, rumbling underneath my feet.
Off into the night we went. Leaving that old house behind felt like shedding a wet cloak after a long walk in the rain. I wasn’t sure who I’d dance with, or where the night would take me, but I was sure of one thing: my wings had sprouted, and one day, I’d fly away from this place for good.
When we walked into the prom, I was determined to make my night magical. Faith waived at me from a crowd of our schoolmates. Her make-up was much too bright, but she was glowing with excitement.
“Hey you love birds!” She said saucily, eyeing Shawn.
“Ew. . . no offense Shawn,” I said hastily.
“None taken,” He laughed. “I’ll go grab some punch.”
I nodded at him, turning back towards Faith.
“Wow, the school did a great job on the decorations!” I said, taking in the ‘Under the Sea,’ theme.
“Yeah, and the music is awesome, let’s dance!” She shouted, pulling me towards the dance floor.
“Dance?” I asked, not masking my uncertainty.
“Yeah, you know. Move those hips!” She laughed, pulling me harder.
“Okay,” I said, slowly catching her infectious energy.
It wasn’t long until I forgot about my troubles. Shawn was fun and sweet, and Faith was helping me bring out my inner wild child. I felt free and beautiful. I knew in that moment that there was so much more to me than the locked up, hidden away girl who was afraid of her own shadow. I wouldn’t waste one more moment. I was going to let myself be a teenager, let myself make mistakes, and more than anything, I was going to live.
Chapter 22: Hallelujah Books
“You little slut!” I heard my Mother snarl from behind me.
Startled, I dropped the books I’d been loading into my backpack.
Shit. I knew I should have changed in the bathroom at School.
She grabbed a hold of the pink thong string hanging out of the top of my jeans. Not only had my Mother caught me wearing jeans to school, she’d caught me wearing the thongs I’d bought with my babysitting money. I heard the thong tear a little as she gave me the wedgie of my life. I wrenched out of her grip, facing her.
“Mom! Stop!” I yelled.
“You thought you’d get away with this bullshit?!” She yelled. “You won’t be going back to that school! Nope, no more. I’m sick of you kids thinking that you can do whatever the fuck you want!”
I started to gather the rest of my books and shove them furiously into my bag.
“Yes, Mom. I am going back to ‘that school’! I like it there, and you know what? It’s illegal for you to keep me home,” I added sarcastically.
A lump of pure terror rose in my gut.
I can’t handle being trapped in this God-forsaken house. I’ll slit my wrists before I let her do that to me again.
Flashes of the year before sent me into a panic. I just couldn’t return to each day bleeding into the next. A prison sentence that stretched into what seemed like an eternity of isolation.
I looked at her, watching her continue to scream, her arms flailing, and I couldn’t hear a sound. Here was this woman, paled by weeks without the sun, who’d been wearing the same pajamas for the last three days. I wasn’t sure if it was my patience or my fear of her that was running on empty, but if it was a fight she wanted, I’d give it to her.
I picked up a stray can of hairspray and chucked it at her. It thudded next to her face, hitting the door jamb.
“GET OUT!” I screamed.
She stopped screaming out of pure shock. She looked hurt, and for a moment I almost felt sorry that I’d reacted so disrespectfully.
Suddenly, she curled her lip, hurling herself at me. I darted to the side, hugging the wall. She missed me, landing near my bed. Blind with rage, she grasped at whatever was closest to her to hit me with. She ripped down my clothes from the bar that served as a makeshift closet, throwing them at me.
“This is MY house you little bitch! You think that you are so big and bad that you can tell me to get out?!”
She stopped, her throat catching in a sob. “YOU GET OUT!”
She grabbed the pole, the remaining hangers sliding to the floor.
Oh my God. She’s lost her fucking mind again, I thought, ducking to miss the blows from the pole.
I tried to grab my book bag, as I heard my siblings scrambling for the bus, keeping their heads down as they tried to sneak past us.
“Get your asses out to the bus! Your sister won’t be joining you for school!” She screamed in their direction.
I started to cry as I heard the bus’s diesel engine idling. Help was so close, but I had no idea what she would do if I made a move for the door. There was a point I could push back, but there was also a point where it’d be suicide to try. I hated when she made me cry because she always looked so damned satisfied.
She looked back at me, dropping the pole on the floor.
“Clean up this fucking mess. I’m taking you out of school, and that’s it.” She said as she walked away, muttering something about telling my stepdad that she’d been right all along about public schools.
As soon as she was gone, I wasted no time shoving things into my bag.
I’ll be damned if she is going to take away my education, my friends, and my teachers! This is what she does, she takes away everything that means anything to me. I gotta get some help. Maybe the school counselor will listen, or the Pastor. She’s so damn good at lying. I never really win. Either way, I’m out of this house! I’m so sick of being treated like a dog.
Guilt crept up on me. I knew that if I left, my younger siblings would feel the brunt of my Mom’s anger. Just a few weeks ago she’d ripped out my earring in a fight, and I’d thrown a chair across the kitchen floor at her in response. All over carrots. She’d wanted the carrots cooked after the chicken, and I’d said it didn’t really make sense to do it that way, since the raw carrots would never be done in time to eat them along with the rest of the meal.
<
br /> But with her, it wasn’t about reason, it was about obeying. I wasn’t sure my siblings could handle her mind games. Being the oldest at home, I’d become their protector, often taking the worst of my Mother’s insults and berating. I’d tried talking to the Pastor once before, but Pastor Pharris had proven he was just short of a moron. He liked to pretend that his son wasn’t a pervert who messed with the little girls in the nursery. Sure, Darren was mentally disabled, but in my mind that was no reason his Dad should look the other way.
The Pastor and his wife were kind people, but desperate to keep our Church member’s paychecks from hauling ass over to the Baptist church down the road. I should have known he’d have little to say except that I needed to deal with my Mother’s tough love.
I listened carefully to see if I could hear my Mother. She was down in the basement, pretending to stoke the fire and smoking the Newport cigarettes she thought none of us knew about. I took the stairs lightly, skipping the squeaky step and took the phone into the side entryway. The ringing seemed to go on forever.
“Hello?” A high-pitched voice asked.
“Hey, it’s Anna Kane. Has Faith left for school yet?” I whispered into the phone.
“No, she hasn’t. Is everything okay?” Faith’s Mom asked, sounding concerned.
“Um, well, not really. My Mom and I had a bad fight. I can’t stay here anymore. I need to talk to someone at the school,” I replied.
I felt relief, finally being able to tell someone that I wasn’t alright. Someone who I knew was a good Mother.
“Oh, dear. Do you need a ride or something?” She asked.
“I can’t really stay on the phone, but I can wait outside. She’s coming upstairs. . .”
“Honey don’t worry. I’ll have the kids swing by and get you,” she replied.
“Okay, thank you.” I said, feeling relieved as I hung up the phone.
I’d found a way to escape my Mom’s control. It wasn’t really “swinging by” for Faith and her brother Gabe. They lived 15 miles away, and the country roads were slick with ice and snow. I hoped that Faith’s Mom would let me stay after school, but right now, I just needed to get down the driveway before another round of screaming ensued.