Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

by Lisa Ann Porter

  Lorna sat unmoving in her chair; her father was looking at her too, with a look that said you had better keep your mouth shut. She did her best not to squirm under their gaze.

  “Nothing, nothing is on my mind…I guess I’m not too hungry.” She started to rise to leave the dinner table when her mother stopped her by slapping her palm with an angry thump onto the table. Lorna jumped, startled. Harry, tasting his cornbread, commented to no one in particular that it was good.

  “Well if there’s nothing on your mind, I want you to finish your dinner. I don’t slave all day to cook you a nice meal for nothing.” Sneering, she hit the table again. “In this house,” leaning forward in her chair toward Lorna, “we appreciate every bit…” she paused emphasizing each word with a hand to the table, “…and piece of meat the good Lord provides…and it will not be wasted!” she said, pausing again to catch her breath.

  Sitting back into her chair, picking up her fork, she took a bite of her food. Looking back at Lorna, “Now…sit…down,” she said with finality, her voice harsh, frightening, menacing. Cold.

  Lorna frozen in fear did not move a muscle. She was astounded. She glanced at her father; he was eating as if the whole conversation he just heard didn’t happen. He ignored the fact that his wife tends to overreact more now than ever, irrationally, and getting worse every day.

  “Did you hear me?” shouting, the fork between her fingers vibrating from the unleashed anger rushing through her body; Jean did not notice it falling to her plate.

  “Yes…yes, Mother…I heard you,” she said in a whisper as she sat down to eat the greasy catfish, white rice, and buttery cornbread. Lorna silently prayed with all her heart that she would not get sick. Lord, help me, she silently pleaded. Help me.

  After another false ideal picture-perfect family dinner, Lorna went to her bedroom to do her homework. She also needed to think after running out of the church earlier today. What was Rev. Thomas thinking? She wondered while hoping he would not mention their brief meeting to her parents.

  Chapter 8

  Six o-clock a.m. the next morning…

  “Oh my goodness!” Jumping out of bed, Lorna rushed to the bathroom. Putting her head in the toilet, she vomited violently. Lorna felt awful, just awful. After the vomiting stop, trying to control her breathing, she sat on the floor hugging her knees to herself, and then she heard her bedroom door opening. Her body tensed. Her mind raced for cover, somewhere to hide.

  Without looking up, she knew who it was; she had felt those cold fingers of deprivation on her body many times. As the memories flooded her mind, she hugged herself tightly. Rocking back and forth, her body so tense, her mind did not register the pain her fingernails inflicted upon her flesh. Lorna heard screams echoing in her mind. Fear caused her not to move her lips. It was her father.

  Stepping into the bathroom, “Rev. Thomas called last night, Lorna,” Harry said softly, glancing around noting the tidiness; no doubt, Jean had already inspected the bathroom. Giving her a piercing look, “He said you came by to see him,” pausing to see if she reacted. “Seems to think you’re upset about something.”

  Again, he paused awaiting a reaction, “There’s nothing wrong, is there Lorna?” He asked warningly. Her father’s body language spoke of unleashed raged. Lorna was terrified. Getting up from the bathroom floor, she went to sit on the edge of her bed. Harry followed her.

  “Yes, I went to see him.” Rubbing her hands down her pants legs, “I had some questions about the sermon,” she lied. She could not look at him.

  “Now…” he said as he sat down beside her, seeing she was going to move away from him, he grabbed her arm, “…what type of questions would you be having, girlie?” His direct gaze told her he had no fear of anyone. Not Rev. Thomas, not his wife. He knew the real reason that she went to see the reverend, and he was furious.

  Snatching her arms from his grasp, she stood up and swayed slightly; her father did not budge. She felt like a cornered animal.

  “Well,” she will not look at him, she thought. “I…wanted to know…where I could do some more reading on a subject.” Turning toward the window, “Momma is always telling me how I need to be more knowledgeable about God…” her voice became a quiet whisper, “…and I wanted some answers…”

  She did not hear him move. Turning her toward him, he backhand slapped her viciously across the face. She fell to the floor. He stood over her preparing to hit her again. SOMEBODY HELP ME! A voice in her head screamed in terror.

  “Don’t you lie to me! You told him, didn’t you? Didn’t you!” He was enraged. He stood over her with fists balled, ready to strike her again. She had never seen such loathing in his eyes before; it was always lust…just lust, but now…she saw hate and pure evil, she was petrified.

  Shrinking away, putting an arm up to hold off his next assault. “No! I swear I didn’t say anything!” He boxed her in the head. The force of it left her dizzy; she curled into a tight ball. Pain radiated through her body rapidly and intensely. She wanted to die. Please God, she thought, let me die. Blood was trickling from her lips.

  Glazing up in time to see his fist coming at her again, she lifted her hands to defend herself. He was going to kill her, she thought, and then her mother’s voice called from downstairs.

  “Lorna! Harry! Breakfast is ready.” Jean was yelling as if she was calling them from a far distance instead of downstairs, a few feet away. Then Jean was silent, as if waiting.

  Harry’s fist halted in midair at the sound of his wife’s voice. “If you say one word to anyone, girlie, I’ll kill you, do you understand?” The anger had gone out of him, but she could still see the evil lurking in his eyes. He meant it. He would kill her. “Do you understand?” He said softly. He was calm now, eerily calm, and she knew that he meant what he said.

  “Yes. I won’t tell… I swear,” she whispered, her lips were starting to swell, and talking caused more pain. She hurt all over.

  “Get yourself cleaned up,” looking at her as if he was just seeing her, “you look a mess,” he said quietly. He turned toward her bedroom door, and then stopped, slowly turning toward her again as if considering something. What she saw in his eyes struck more terror in her heart; he was excited by the violence.

  His tongue traced slowly over his lips much like it did when he ate the cornbread at dinner the night before, then his eyes closed as if he was experiencing ecstasy. His body visibly shuddered.

  He opened his eyes and they shined with horrifying excitement as one hand held the door knob, the other caressed the front of him, he moaned out loud, throwing his head back, rubbing himself harder.

  Then he stopped, giving her a look of promise. Turning, he walked out of her room lightly closing the door behind him.

  Lorna sat on the floor in stark silence for several moments, rocking herself like a wounded animal. If her mother were not home, he would have taken her right there on the floor. She hurt all over; moving made her wince from the pain. Finally standing to her feet, walking into the bathroom, legs weakening, she shrunk down against the tub.

  His eyes, she thought and shook with terror, spoke of promises to come…she had to leave this house or she would die. Yes, she prayed for death, but not at the hands of her father. Her mother would never be able to live with that. She loved him.

  Looking at her bathroom door…her mother did not know, Lorna thought, holding her head in her hands, continuing to rock back and forth—wounded, in pain, alone. When she went downstairs, her father had already left for work.

  “Lorna! What took you so long?” Lorna did not get a chance to answer. “I declare, girl, you don’t realize how much I do for you!” Turning her around in circles, eyeing her dress with distaste, Jean did not like what she saw.

  “Why is your dress so short?” Again, she did not get a chance to answer. “You will not leave this house like that, and do something with your hair—you look like a harlot.” Her mother’s eyes were full of rage, such as Lorna had never seen before.
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  “I will not have anyone thinking this family is not a good family. Do you hear! Now go upstairs and dress properly!” She eyed Lorna, daring her to say a word. Her hands were fitted on both hips. Body tensed, waiting to unleash the anger eating at her soul, Jean glared at her daughter, daring her to speak.

  Lorna achingly closed her eyes, bent her head and obeyed her mother. She unhurriedly went up the stairs, taking each step as if it were death itself. It did not bother her that she had to change clothes, she was used to that; her mother had never been satisfied with the way she looked. The pain coursing through the innermost depth of her already aching heart was that her mother looked right in her face and did not ask why her lips were swollen and how did her face get bruised.

  Jean looked right at her and as always saw what she wanted. Tears swelled in Lorna’s eyes and fell to her cheeks. She could not stop them if she tried; she was hurt, in more ways than one. She had to leave this house, or she would die.

  Dinner that night was eerily unusual. Normally, Jean would be talking about all the good work going on at the church, while Lorna and her dad listened and commented appropriately. But on this night, Lorna’s mother was abnormally quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” Harry asked while biting into a piece of chicken, as if he had not eaten all day. The grease from the chicken dripped from his lips onto his chin, a drop made it to his shirt.

  Wiping his chin with the back of his sleeve, he gave his wife his full attention. “Usually you’re running your mouth about one thing or another about the church.” Belching impolitely, rubbing his stomach, grinning at her, he let out another loud burp and continued eating his meal.

  Jean, narrowing her eyes at him for not using the napkins she placed on the table and for rudely burping aloud, said in soft whisper, “Oh nothing, just a little tired that’s all.”

  Picking up her glass, she daintily sipped the cool lemonade as if it were choice wine, then gently placed the glass on a coaster to protect the clean white tablecloth.

  Harry, pausing from his gluttonous display for the meal he ravenously devoured, glanced sideways at Lorna; she had come to recognize that look of things to come. Pushing her chair away from the table, starting to rise as if in slow motion, the dining room fell away from her vision, blurring. She wanted to be alone.

  “No!” Jean’s eyes were riveting on her. “You will eat this meal, young lady, or so help me…” her voice trailing off like distant thunder. The silence in the dining room made the tiny coo-coo clock sound like a booming foghorn.

  Shaking her knife at Lorna, her voice barely above a whisper, “How many times do I have to tell you to be thankful?” Jean said, stabbing the chicken on her plate so hard, it slid from the plate onto the table, staining the white tablecloth that she was always so ever careful to keep clean. Jean did not notice it; she continued, “I declare, Lorna, you are too ungrateful.”

  Jean spoke with so much venom; Lorna thought that perhaps she had imagined it. But the look in her mother’s eyes told her that she was not imagining her mother’s hatred for her. The chicken was still on the table, the grease from it slowly staining the cloth from white to canary yellow.

  Voice quivering, “But I’m not hungry,” Lorna quietly said, not moving a muscle out of fear.

  “I…don’t…care.” Spacing the words as if speaking to a deaf mute, insultingly pointing to Lorna’s plate, “Eat.” Saying with finality, her voice trembling with pent-up anger, Jean finally stabbed the chicken with the knife in her hands, slamming it back onto her plate.

  Lorna felt nausea swimming around in her stomach like a shark in search of food. Shortly gagging, her hands covering her mouth with trembling fingers, she knew she had to get away from the table or she would vomit.

  Leaning on the dinner table as if it was a lifeline, taking a few deep breaths, she silently prayed through trembling lips, “Please…please God…don’t let me be sick, not here.”

  “Oh for Pete’s sake, Jean, let the girl alone; she’ll eat it later, won’t you Lorna?” taking a big gulp of his lemonade. Harry set his glass down, and then burped again, louder than the last, grinning at his wife who did not think it was funny.

  It was a statement rather than a question. Lorna, looking at her father, felt terror skipping through her body. Jean, giving a grunt of disapproval, said, “Very well.” Glaring at Harry, “You are way too lenient with her.”

  Turning toward Lorna, “you’ll have it for breakfast; we do not waste food in this house.” Jean then picked up her piece of chicken and starting eating it as if the last few minutes had not happened.

  Lorna glanced at her mother, then her dad. They both ignored her. It was as if she did not exist. Quickly turning, Lorna left the dinner table and went upstairs. Turning the lock on her bedroom door, she prepared for bed, hoping she misread the look in her father’s eyes; it was her last thought before sleep overtook her.

  Something felt strange. Lorna’s head tossed from side to side; this had to be a dream, she thought. But it was not, her father had not only come into her room, but he was also now doing something he had never done before, he was using his tongue on her. She tried to jerk up, but he was holding her down.

  His body lay across one of her legs, while one of his legs lay across her other leg, she was spread wide open with no defense.

  Lifting a knife to her throat, “Quiet, girlie, if you just be still…I’ll be finished in a minute,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

  As he continued his sadistic assault on her body, she screamed mentally repeatedly, head thrashing from side to side. She felt the heat of his hot breath again her thighs. He violated her private parts vilely and she wanted to die.

  When she thought that she could not take it anymore, it was over. She curled up into a ball, shivering…crying…shaking. Her mind went blank.

  “Well girlie, that was not bad, was it?” He stood at the edge of the bed now, pants still around his ankles. Looking down on her, “I mean…I’ve heard that women like that sort of thing, so I decided to give you a little treat. Did you like it? Oh, I know you did, women like that sort of thing.” He ran his fingers through strands of her hair several times in a loving manner, as one did to a pet.

  She squeezed her eyes shut saying nothing. She could not stop shivering, but it was not cold, it was the middle of a hot summer’s night. The house was hot; still she shivered, her teeth clacking in her mouth. She could hear the rustle of his shirt, as he got dressed and the scraping sound of the zipper on his pants, as he zipped up.

  The stillness in the room hummed with malicious intent. He stood staring down at her, again running his calloused fingers through her hair as if trying to decide on something. “I’ve always liked your hair, Lorna, don’t ever cut it,” he said pleasantly, straightening, he walked toward her door; she knew she locked it, how did he get in?

  “Remember what I said, girlie, don’t say nothing to no one, you hear?” There was silence. “I asked you…did you hear?” he didn’t sound so nice anymore. The anger was back.

  Somewhere in the dark room, a small voice said yes. Lorna was numb. Who answered him?

  “Don’t ever lock this door again,” he said calmly, as he closed the door behind him. Stretching his arm high above his head, he yawned. Scratching his stomach, Harry walked toward his bedroom; he was looking forward to a good night’s sleep.

  After Harry left her bedroom, Lorna lay on the floor for what seemed like hours. Her body ached. Her mind, refusing to process what was happening to her, made her curl tighter into a tiny ball, terrified of making a sound.

  Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes into hours, and hours into realization when the connecting doors to the bathroom she shared with her parents opened, and there stood her mother. Lorna was stunned.

  Starch realization slowly permeated her fragmented mind. “You know… you know.” She whispered in a soft hushed accusing voice as if it were a secret, and no one was supposed to tell.

  Jean said nothing. Walking into
the bathroom in a numb trance, Lorna stood face to face with her mother, “…all this time,” she was still whispering, afraid to speak aloud. “You said nothing…you did nothing…” her voice trailing off in childlike bewilderment, in awe.

  Her eyes slowly widened with staggering realization as the full understanding of it all began to hit her like a hard slap in the face. She began to shake violently as the fragmented pieces in her mind started coming together materializing a picture illustrating excruciating pain, unbearable shame, fierce anger, and shocking disbelief.

  “You knew all this time what he was doing to me…coming in here night after night…and you did nothing!” She was screaming at her mother, something she had never done before.

  “Don’t you raise your voice to me.” A hand slapped her. Her head snapping back from the blow, her face stinging from the vicious assault, Lorna’s body fell to the floor like a lone leaf falling from the branch of a tree. The picture in her mind completed itself; she was in hell.

  “You whore! How dare you!” Memories from her own past clawed through the layers of her disintegrating mind. Alarmed, Jean firmly closed the entrance of her conscious mind to them. Her mother looked every bit of a demented woman, her eyes wild, she ranted on and on about how it was all Lorna’s fault.

  She started pacing back and forth, hands wildly waving, saying how Lorna had taken the only man she would ever love from her from day one. How she remembered Lorna at four years old running and hugging Harry when he came home from work, and how she would give him kisses goodnight, that she enticed Harry from the start.

  Jean said, with a voice dripping with scorn, that she recognized the whore in Lorna at an early age and tried to drive it out of her, but nothing worked, and now look what had happened—her husband, she pointed a damning angry finger at Lorna, wanted another woman and it’s her!

  Lorna’s mouth gaped open; she was dumbfounded; her mother had lost her mind. Surely, she cannot believe what she was saying. “Do you think that I like having my daddy…my daddy…” trying to push the horrible words through her lips, she screamed “…rape me! Do you!” Lorna shook with fury. Her hands balled at her sides.