by CeeCee James
My hand flew to my mouth to bite a nail, before I remembered. “No Mama. I know the rules.”
I followed the rules, because the punishments were changing.
Chapter 13
~Birthday Gifts~
Mama called to me as I walked through the door after school. Throwing my books on the floor, I ran upstairs. Mama was holding my stepdad’s thick leather belt.
“I found a sock on your floor. I’m sick of telling you to keep your room clean. Go to your room.”
I was shaking as I stumbled back down the stairs, my hand barely able to hold onto the railing. She walked down ten minutes later, each of her footsteps making me shake harder. With a sarcastic smile on her face, she tapped the belt against her hand, waving it in my direction to indicate she wanted me undressed. She brought down the belt, and her smile got bigger at the sound of the smacks. Ten times, twenty. When I couldn’t stand the pain any longer I tried to crawl away, sobbing out, “Please Mama! Stop! I’m sorry!”
She laughed. “Where do you think you are going, little girl? Do we need to start this all over again?” She brought the belt down again, and it wrapped itself around my face. The belt fell again and again. I screamed until my throat burned. Finally, my bladder let go.
“Disgusting,” she sneered, and left me huddled on the floor, still trying to shield my face. Her voice came down the stairs, “You better keep your room picked up. Or I’ll be back.”
Raised red welts covered my back and legs, and a bruised triangle imprint of the belt swelled on my cheek.
The next morning I was stiff and sore as I rolled out of bed. I almost cried when I looked into the mirror, embarrassed to go to school with the mark on my face.
I walked into class with my cheek cupped in my hand, hoping to hide it. Mrs. Langley, my English teacher, asked what happened.
“Oh my gosh,” I cleared my throat and gave her my biggest cheesy grin, “I’m such a dork! Last night I slept walked and fell into my dresser. That will teach me not to eat pizza before I go to sleep.”
She smiled at me. “Pizza gives me bad dreams too.”
The whippings came more frequently and were always for minor things. Eventually, when Mama told me to go downstairs she’d say, “Make sure you go pee first, you big baby!”
After the snow melted, Adam built me a playhouse made out of corrugated metal. It was sturdy enough to withstand the rain and the snow and became my sanctuary. I stayed inside listening to the rain drum on the metal roof and daydreamed that I belonged to another family. My pretend family had caring parents, a sister and two brothers who helped me do my chores. I’d sit still for hours in the playhouse with my eyes shut, while in my daydream my imaginary siblings and I climbed trees, played in grassy fields and picked apples. I rode pretend horses, ate imaginary meals, and never felt hungry. My imaginary parents hugged me often and told me I was a good girl. I’d sit in there smiling until my cheeks hurt.
On this day, when I finally opened my eyes I prayed, “Oh God, when I grow up, can I please have two little boys and two little girls? I would be so happy!”
I didn’t want to leave my imaginary world, but when dusk came, I had to go inside. Dinner was a small plate of food at a table by myself, while I listened to my parents laugh and talk at a separate table in the other room. I tried to eat quietly so I could hear what they were saying; smiling when they said something funny as though they were sharing the joke with me.
When I went into my room that night I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and clapped my hands together as loud as I could. I know I can get used to this! Quit being a scaredy-pants! I had recently begun flinching at loud noises that the boys made at school, especially when they made abrupt movements with their hands. Some of the boys had noticed my nervous response and worked to get a reaction out of me. Every time I reacted, I yelled at myself. Stop doing that! You’re making it worse!
I carried a pink spiral binder to every class, filling the pages with random thoughts and drawings. I thought about death a lot, not so much my own, but of famous people, soldiers, and the Holocaust. I wondered if there was peace for them after they died.
One day, we skipped our math class and watched a movie on the Heimlich maneuver. I doodled along the borders of my notebook, only looking up when everyone laughed at the dramatic choking man.
The next day the teacher sat on a stool in the front of the room, and read Tom Sawyer. I played with a round piece of laminated cardboard that came from the end of my pencil sharpener. I was trying to hold it against my lips with suction, and in the next second it was pulled down my throat. I reached in to grab it, but only pushed the slippery circle further down with my fingers. My heart beat fast as I sat there for a moment, not knowing what to do.
Slowly, I stood up from my desk. Mrs. Langley had been looking through the bottom of her glasses at the book, and lifted her head to examine me. Her eyes appeared large through the lens. She put the book down.
“CeeCee! What are you doing? CeeCee??” Her book slid off the stand and fell to the floor. “Sit down! Oh my gosh! Someone get the nurse!”
With my brain buzzing and dark, I slowly staggered up to the teacher. She jumped up from her stool and laid her hand on my back. The pain of not being able to breathe was fading as she reached around me to do the Heimlich-Maneuver. My body crumpled forward in slow motion. She tried to hold me up at the same time as she drove her fists into my diaphragm. My vision grayed and then tunneled into black stars. All the echoes melted away.
It was peaceful, the first embrace of peace I had in a long time. I surrendered to its arms.
Whoosh! The cardboard shot out of me and air rushed in. I burst into tears, and Mrs. Langley hung on to my arm for support as she shook like a leaf.
It was four days before my eleventh birthday. I knew God had spared me. Up until movie day, Mrs. Langley had not known the Heimlich maneuver. That night, after I crawled into bed, I whispered to God, “Thank you for my birthday present,” and blew him a kiss.
For the next few days I was a celebrity at the school. The girls were nicer and came up to tell me that they were sorry if they had ever been mean to me.
The boys elbowed each other, “Did you see how purple her face was? That thing flew way over here and almost hit me!” I made them tell the story again and again to keep it fresh in their minds.
When Mama found out she was embarrassed. “How could you have been so stupid? Do I need to slap your face again like I did when you were little, because you can’t keep crap out of your mouth?”
“No, Mama. I learned my lesson.”
She rolled her eyes and found a note card in her desk to thank my teacher.
From then on when I came home from school I had to go upstairs and tell Mama if I behaved myself during the day. She warned me, “You know, I’m in constant contact with your teachers. They tell me things.” I never knew what my teachers told her.
Mama would then go over the list of rules I had broken during the day. On this day she said, “Well, Fifth Wheel, you had too many clothes in the laundry.” I eased my weight from one foot to the other as I waited for her to finish the lecture and dole out the discipline. It could be one of many things; take my meals away, extra chores, or the belt. “I want you to clean my bathroom to help you remember to only put two pants a week in the laundry.” The punishment was light this time, and I held in my sigh of relief.
There was no time to go outside today. After I cleaned her bathroom it was time for dinner, and then kitchen chores.
After dinner Mama allowed a half hour of television time to watch The Cosby Show. My spot in the living room was on a bench near the kitchen. I told myself, Mama and Adam love you, they want you here, and tried to scrounge up the same cozy feelings that my day-dreamed family gave me. The daughter on the T.V. show said something cute, and the dad praised her. I hoped Mama didn’t see, but she did. From the other side of the living room she snorted.
“Too bad you aren’t more like her.”
I stared at the T.V. antennae trying to swallow, while the laugh track went on in the background.
After the show, I grabbed my pajamas and tiptoed up the stairs for the upstairs bathroom. It was Wednesday, the night I could take a bath. As I walked past Mama on the couch, she arched an eyebrow at me.
“Remember, I’m listening.”
I nodded and closed the bathroom door behind me. I stared at the door knob for a moment, wishing I was permitted to lock it, and then turned on the water for the bath. My heartbeat increased as the water rose, and when it reached three inches I wondered if I dared add any more. Loud slaps against the door made me jump.
“I’m coming in there to measure that water,” Mama threatened through the door.
I hurried to turn the water off and huddled under my towel, praying that she didn’t burst in with the belt. After a few minutes, when I didn’t hear anything more, I climbed into the water to take my bath.
I hated bath day.
Two days later, Mama walked into the kitchen while I made a sandwich at the counter. She regarded my hair with sharp scrutiny.
“Don’t you care how you look? Your hair is greasy, you look like a slob.”
I blinked, there was no safe answer.
She tapped her fingers nails on the counter. Tick. Tick.Tick.
“Did you finish your homework?”
Holding the peanut buttered knife in the air, I wondered; what homework do I have left? She slapped my face with the back of her hand.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
My nose burned like fire, the pain made me feel like I smelled pepper.
“Sorry Mama.” I tried to subtly turn my back towards her to finish my sandwich.
My grandparents were due for a visit that month. My grandfather was charmed by the little playhouse. “CeeCee, show me your new house.”
We walked inside, and he sat in the red chair.
“It’s nice.” His eyes glittered as he looked at me. “You’re my favorite grandkid. Let’s play a game.”
I tried to avoid the clubhouse every time he visited, but it didn’t matter. He always found me.
Adam’s mom and dad, aunt and uncle also planned to visit that summer. I was excited to see them and counted down the days on a pocket calendar for when they were to arrive. Whenever we had company, there was more food available, and Mama didn’t watch for ways to punish me because the guests took her attention.
They arrived in a huge bustle of activity. The luggage was piled into the front room, while everyone interrupted one another with details of their trip. My step-grandparents slept in my happy bedroom upstairs, while my stepdad’s old aunt and uncle squished together on my twin bed in the basement.
Adam took them all downstairs and showed them the book shelf and desk he had made. They complimented him on doing a good job, and he beamed with pride. My step-grandma tugged down her flower-print shirt and turned to me. “So how do you like school, CeeCee?” she asked.
I smiled. “Oh, it’s good. I’m getting great grades in all my classes.” Mama arched her eyebrow at me. I excused myself and ran outside.
The next day, my step-grandma said at breakfast, “Come with me to the drug store. You do have one around here, don’t you?”
I laughed and answered, “Yep, right in town.”
“Oh good, I want to get you a little something since you just had your birthday. Does that sound like fun?”
We drove to the drugstore, and she huffed a little when she pulled her stout body out of the car. “Wooowee, the elevation here is taking its toll.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t know what she meant. She took my hand and led me into the store. I squeezed her hand tight, never wanting to let go.
“Go ahead and look,” she said, “Find something you want.”
I skipped up and down the aisles with excitement. Anything I wanted! After scanning the toy aisle I pointed to some wash-off nail polish.
“This right here?” She grabbed it off the shelf, and I nodded with a big smile. “Oh, this is cute,” she smiled back at me and put it in her cart.
When we returned home, Mama demanded I show her what was in the bag. She pulled out the pink bottle and sighed.
“What a sneaky little girl CeeCee is. She knows she isn’t allowed to wear nail polish.”
My step-grandma wrinkled her brow and said, “Oh, but this kind washes off with water.”
Mama shook her head. “Not even the play kind. She’ll just make a mess.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” My step-grandma’s eyes flitted towards me, and then cut away. She was someone else who now saw me as a bad girl.
I tried to say that I was sorry too, but it didn’t matter. The family stayed for two more weeks and I was scared for them to leave. Mama would hit me once they were gone. Mama was angry with me, and there was no escape from her anger.
Chapter 14
~Sixth Grade~
Next to our house was a neighbor’s corral that ran along the property line. The fenced area was occupied by a single horse. I suppose once he was pure white, but his coat looked gray because the corral was thick with mud. He watched for me over the top of the splintered wooden rail with his ears pointed and flared his nostrils whenever he saw that I had noticed him.
One afternoon I brought my old hair brush with me and climbed up the fence to sit. Carefully, I situated myself to avoid the roughest parts of the rail. He whinnied and ambled over.
“Good boy, nice pony.” I put my arm around his neck, chuckling when he nuzzled the top of my head. He blinked his dark eyes with long white eyelashes, and his muzzle prickled my hand searching for an apple core that I sometimes saved for him. As I patted his back the dust flew up in clouds. I swept down his sides with the old brush, trying to clean the dirt off. He didn’t move when I stretched from the top rail to reach what I could on his other side. When I stopped to clean out the brush he nudged me with his nose. The loose hair floated up and away in a thick, gray cloud.
“You’re a good boy,” I murmured and leaned across his broad back to give him a hug.
I always wondered what it would be like to ride him, but was too nervous to try it. I heard that horses bucked if they didn’t want a rider. I wouldn’t want to force him to do something he didn’t want to do.
Mama felt sorry for the horse. “Haven’t you fed that poor animal yet?” “Why are you reading when that poor horse needs grass?” “Why didn’t you brush him?” “Why are you reading a book when he’s suffering?” She’d shake her head in disgust. “So cruel. If I were your age I’d never pick you for a friend.”
I never knew how to answer the questions, so I’d nod. I’d take the black-handled scissors out to our field and cut laundry baskets full of grass. I cut grass until my hands became red with blisters. Mama had said that one basket was not enough.
A few weeks later, I was building a miniature village out of rocks behind the playhouse.
“Hey there!” a man’s voice rang out. I glanced around and saw a man leading the white horse by a rope up the road. “Found this bad boy running loose down our street. Have any idea where he belongs?” Excited to help, I jumped up to point out my neighbor’s house.
Mama stood at the living room window watching me. She wrenched open the screen door and in a low growl said, “Come here.”
I looked over at her with shock. I thought Mama would be happy that I had helped the man. Her hands shook with anger.
“That horse finally escaped, and you made him go back to the filthy living conditions he lives in. It’s your fault he has to live that way. You’ve ruined his life.” I lowered my head as she ranted, “You are such an uncaring, unloving person. You sicken me.” After she slammed the door closed I ran back to my rock village, my lip trembling, as I edged the miniature street with pebbles and flowers.
I was eleven years old when my body started to develop some womanly curves. Mama brought me to the doctor because she thought that there somethin
g was wrong with me. The doctor explained to the both of us that I was starting puberty. Mama cut my food portions even smaller, and my curves melted back into my bony frame.
When Grandpa came to visit, he was delighted with the changes he saw in me. “Come see Grandpa,” he said when I resisted. Mama continued to round up all the adults and leave for the day, abandoning me with him.
Mama still bought my food separate from theirs, three or four of the same generic items every week, even though they didn’t eat it themselves. “You can’t have adult food,” Mama explained. My days were filled looking for things to eat outside. Dandelion leaves were not my favorite, but they grew everywhere. I nibbled the jagged edges of the leaf, avoiding the veins- they were too bitter. Once I tried a dandelion flower because it smelled so sweet, but spit it out with disappointment. The yellow flower was dry and bitter and the petals choked me. I did like long grass though, and pulled apart the grass shoots to eat the tender, light green ends. I piled my lap with purple clover flower heads like a feast and plucked the petals off to bite the tiny bit of honey in the white ends of the petal tips.
Autumn was my favorite season. Dried rose hips were everywhere, and they were like seedy raisins. I picked the tiny red Kinnikinnick berries that hid in the low shrubs, celebrating if I had a small handful. They were fun to eat, the outsides crunched, but the inside had a melting, powdery-white center. I pulled apart pine cones looking for the seed pieces, bit along the lengths of pine needles for their tang, and nibbled on flower stems. I tried the gooey sap that hardened in spots on the tree bark, but it was gross and stuck to my teeth.
People at school asked me, “Why are you so thin?”
“I’m not skinny. I just play outside a lot.”
One afternoon, I came home from school and found Mama lying on the couch. She was softly moaning, so I ran over to check on her and discovered that she was really sick.
“Mama, do you want something?”
She lit a cigarette with shaky hands and answered sarcastically, “You’re just like my sister, such a selfish, sneaky liar.” She moaned and cuddled her heating pad, then took another drag off her cigarette. She blew out the smoke and said, “You know, your aunt used to torture me when I was little by pinning my legs over my head and holding them there knowing I couldn’t breathe. You act just like her, always arguing and rolling your eyes.”