Repression
_______________________________
Nataya
Copyright pending
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my mother, Pamela. When I was a child, I’d go through my mother’s things to find out what she had been writing about. Knowing a piece of her that she didn’t verbally discuss with me made me secure in my own ways...made me feel relatable.
My mother kept a transparent folder of her writings under her mattress and to this day, I’m not sure what made me check that hiding spot…but I’m glad I did. When I told her that I wanted to be a writer, she told me that she had some things she had written back in the day and I responded with, “I know. I found them.” She told me to stay out of her shit and stop being nosy but also, I should write daily if that is what I truly wanted.
Mom, I write because of you. I express myself in this form of creation and even though no parent is perfect, you taught me how to save myself. You made me but you’ve also given me the ability to make myself.
That’s love.
Acknowledgement
I’d like to acknowledge a friend and old coworker of mine, Julia Hall. We became friends shortly after meeting one another and she was instantly nice to me. Julia was one of the many people who had been ready and excited to read this novel. She asked me could she be the editor and wanted to do it free of charge. I offered to at least take her to lunch to express my gratitude. It was the least I could do.
Being how Julia was supposed to be my editor and since she is no longer with us, this book is written as is. This is my very first novel and I can move differently next time but as of now, it doesn’t feel right allowing someone else do something I wanted my friend to do. This novel resembles each and every one of us: perfectly imperfect.
Julia, you will be missed by many. You fought hard and remained strong throughout your battle. You were so pleasant to others throughout your pain and I pray your soul is at peace.
Prologue
February 10, 2004
Dear Joyce,
I wanted to write to you because I knew this would be the only way you would listen to what I had to say. Things have gotten crazy over the last few months and I wish something different would’ve happen.
I wish I could hug you. All of the times I was rude or mean to you, I wish I could take them back and say nicer things instead. I wish I could’ve been more like you.
I’m…different now. You know where I am. These people here make you different. No one is happy and everyone walks around as if they are never leaving. We’re stuck. One girl tried to jump on me and when I stabbed her, they told me that I was a threat to everyone.
They make me take medicine. At first, I tried hiding it under my tongue because I knew what they were doing to me. But, one of the ladies caught on and they forced me to swallow the pills.
The medicine makes me feel like I’m spinning and unable to talk. Most of the time, I just go to sleep and hope that the feeling goes away when I wake up. I think everyone here must take medicine. It’s just weird. A lot of the people here shouldn’t really be here.
I know you probably don’t want to hear from me after the way I treated you but I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving this place. I’m getting out of here and I’m coming to be with you. I miss you more than I’ve ever missed anyone before.
Mom, I know you’re reading this. Give this to Joyce. It belongs to her.
I wish we could breathe in the mirror together just one last time. I’ve loved us since the belly. I’ll love us forever.
Love, Mary.
Chapter 1: Mary
June 25, 1999
"Mary! Mary!! I know you hear me calling you, child!"
That's mama. I know it's time to go in but dang, I wanted to keep playing! Why do mamas and papas always want to ruin fun just as soon as it starts getting good? What if I went in their room at night to ruin the nasty stuff they think we don't know about? I think I'll do that tonight if mama doesn't stop yelling my name like she's crazy!
"What mama?!? I'm down by the water feedin' these greedy ducks!" It seemed like the ducks had a way of understanding me. Whenever I was feeling sad, they would get closer to where I always sat near the water. Every day there were the same 4 hungry ones.
Rocksi was my favorite. She's black all over, has a pretty green patch around her eye and a cracked beak. Mama always says she can spot a hurt soul and Rocksi seems to have been hurt in some kind of cruel way. Must have had a hard life. Rocks are hard…so I named her Rocksi.
Spending time by the lake is a happy place for me. The first time mama let us sit down here, the smell made my stomach hurt. There's not much to do around here but since we started hanging with the ducks every day, it doesn’t smell too bad anymore. Mama will end up putting us to work with some chores if we hang around the house all day.
Taking a deep breath in and holding it for a few seconds, I close my eyes and imagine that I'm Rocksi. The water feels good and dripping off of my feathers. My friends are all here and we race for bread knowing that we'll all get fed. The sun is burning my beak. Inhale…exhale...inhale…and dive!
"Who you think you sassin' little girl?! Don't forget, I brought you in this world and I don't mind taking you out!” she says.
Even though I know she wouldn’t do it, this was her favorite line. She was sweet most of the time but would turn crazy if needed. Whenever she would get upset, it meant that the other person deserved it.
Lovette Anne Marks was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Her hair looked as if it were the perfect sunset with long tight burnt orange curls. The red freckles going across her face were the prettiest thing about her.
Mama is loved by so many people, so I figured each freckle represents how many people love her. One day, I took a red marker and tried to make me some freckles. Mama laughed, gave me this long talk about loving myself the way God made me and some other mess. Then, she made me wash my face.
My feet are dirty and my nail polish is chipping badly. I hate wearing shoes. Who wants their feet covered all day? These things need to breathe sometimes. The grass tickles my toes with every step I take closer to home. I’m not ready to go inside. I'll just walk a little slower.
Bending down to swat a mosquito off of my leg, I sit. I lie down. My hair hugs the grass. The sun has decided to rest for the day and the clouds start to look upset. I’d be upset too if I had to be up there all day with nothing to do.
“Who are you mad at?” I know talking to the clouds sound silly but maybe she needs someone to talk to. There is a feeling that comes over her. The darker she becomes, it's clear the pain gets worse. She screams and I lie still. Tears from her face meet mine. I knew she was angry. Let me go before my mother comes after me.
Jumping up and running towards the house, I remember. This house has been in our family for so long. It's so old but still pretty. Mama said something like her grandparents lived here. Now, that has to be like super old!
The house is big and white with every shutter painted red. Cherry red. The door matched the pretty red. I loved the way mama would decorate the house during Christmas. Probably why she had the shutters painted red to match the holiday. Who knows? Seems like that would be one of her crazy reasons.
Stepping up the four steps and opening the door, the smell of peach cobbler rushes up my nose. My stomach starts talking. She tells me to follow the scent.
"Mary, I know you heard me calling you! We go through the same mess every day! If you can't learn to be here at this table on time, then you can forget about spending time down by the lake with those ducks!"
She made my stomach shut up quick with all that yelling. “Makes no sense how everyone can be in here on time but YOU!”
"So
rry, mama." That’s all it took. She forgives so easily. Next, she'll tell me to wash up before papa gets to the table.
"Now, go upstairs and clean up before your papa comes down.” I knew it. Papa was more than likely upstairs shaving. Daily. Not sure what kind of hair grows daily but he sure does a lot of shaving.
10 steps. The stairwell vanity. I’ve always thought that this was a weird place to have one of these but, of course, it’s another one of mama’s ideas. Running my right hand over its cherry wood glossy frame, I pause. Wiping the dust from my hands and onto my dress, I sit and stare. Moving my curls from my face, my right hand meets my reflection.
“Go get ready for dinner!” His voice booms and makes me jump. Hitting my knee on the table, I stand up in pain.
“I’m going!”
Joseph Marks, Sr. wasn’t the most handsome man, but I guess mama still loves him anyway. She always tells me that it isn’t about what someone looks like but what they have on the inside that makes them a good person. I kind of don’t understand because mama is so pretty and I just don’t think daddy would’ve wanted to marry an ugly woman. Doesn’t make sense to me but whatever. All I know is that when I finally get a husband, he has to be handsome.
Papa was a very tall and large man. He made the whole family seemed so small. Sometimes, people thought that mama was one of our sisters because of how short she was compared to daddy. People would always tell her that she didn’t look her age. Papa had the palest skin with hair that always looked like he put too much stuff in it. Not sure what stuff he uses but maybe he should stop because it doesn’t smell good either.
Ignoring the bathroom, I stop at one of the guest bedrooms. Joyce. She’s been sick for days and a part of me has been sick with her. My stomach aches sometimes during the day and I know she’s in pain. I’m not supposed to go in there but something in me just needs to see her right now. Touching the doorknob and pushing open the door, the creak is so loud.
“Mary, you’re not supposed to come in here! They’re gonna be upset. Just go!” Joyce struggles with the words in between holding her stomach. Seeing her like this always makes me feel sad. It hurts to know that she’s hurting and there’s nothing I can do.
“I won’t be long. Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I say. Sitting on the bed and hugging my sister, she smells weird.
“I’ve missed you down by the water today. You should’ve seen Rocksi being greedy as always. Do you feel any better yet?” She’s going to say she does, but I know she doesn’t. Anything to get me out of this room before we are caught.
“I do. Now, go before we both get in trouble.” The tears in her eyes lets me know that she doesn’t really want me to leave. One falls and she turns her head quickly as if she were ashamed for me to see her cry. When I leave this room, I feel like I’ll be leaving myself behind.
Closing the door, I run to the bathroom before one of them starts hollering again. Letting the water run a little longer to cover up the sounds of me crying, I wish hard that Joyce feels better tomorrow.
As soon as I get to the dinner table, Joey is already there with an upset look on his face. You’d think I’ve done something to him to make him hate me the way he does.
“We always have to wait on you. Why can’t you ever be on time so we can eat? You don’t even have any friends, so I don’t know what could be holdin’ you up every single day,” says Joey.
See. Another reason why I know he hates me. Every day he has to make it his business to say something mean to me. Not sure how everyone else’s big brothers treat them but I’m sure it’s not like this. If he keeps on, I’m gonna make sure mama knows what is under his bed. Our father hears all of this, says nothing but nods his head as if he agrees with Joey.
Sticking my tongue out, I reply, “You don’t know if I have friends or not, so shut the f…”
Out of nowhere, I feel something swing around from behind me and hit me right on the lips.
“Mary Marks, you better watch mouth before I wash it out with soap!”
“But mama…” My lips sting.
“Don’t but mama me. Mind your manners in this house. If you don’t have anything nice to say, keep it to yourself!” Of course, she would hear what I said and not what Joey had said to me first.
Looking over, he has the biggest grin on his face. Papa had been sitting here the whole time and never said anything. He never says anything to help me. I’m starting to think he hates me too. Meanwhile, mama headed upstairs with a food tray for Joyce and we wait for her to return.
“Now, everyone bow your heads and let’s say grace.” In unison, “God is great, God is good…Amen.”
Chicken, peas and mashed potatoes. Again. Boy, am I tired of eating the same thing, but I know Mama will more than likely have my tail for complaining about food.
“When will Joyce be able to eat dinner with us again?” Papa looks up at mama and she looks at me.
“Eat your food. Joyce will be back at the table when she is feeling better,” says mama.
“If whatever she has isn’t contagious, I don’t see why she can’t sit at the table with us. It won’t hurt her. She’s up in that dark old room alone.” I felt like crying. It wasn’t fair to her.
“I know you’re concerned about your sister. It’s only right, baby. I’m concerned about her as well but she has to stay in bed in order for her to get better. She will feel better and before you know it, everything will be back to normal.” Although it wasn’t what I wanted to hear, mama’s words made me feel a little better.
“Papa,” Joey swallows his food and spit flies from his mouth as soon as he starts talking again.
“Can I spend the night with Tommy tomorrow? His parents said it’s okay with them if it’s okay with y’all.” The wet food lands on me. A clump of chewed up peas and mashed potatoes right on my wrist. Upset, I wipe it off and wait for them to respond to his question. Of course, they will let him to stay the night. He always gets his way.
“Yes, just make sure you’ve done your chores before you leave,” says papa.
Nobody tells Joey to stop talking and to finish his food. So many unfair things always happen but I know as soon as I try to say anything, I’ll be told to hush. He smirks at me and continues to eat his food.
He’s probably not even going to Tommy’s house. He’s probably going to hang out at that old shed to smoke cigarettes.
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One day last month, Joyce and Mary were riding their new bikes down the long dirt road beside the house. They had stopped dressing so much alike recently but that day, they both had decided to wear pink dresses to match the pink bicycles Lovette had gotten them. It was Joyce’s idea to add on purple hair ribbons with white polka dots and to wear white flip flops. Mary hadn’t been a fan of ribbons but the look on Joyce’s face of excitement was enough to make her wear it.
During the ride, Joyce started to complain. “Mary, how much longer before we get where we’re going? My legs hurt and I need a break!” This was who Joyce was. It wasn’t long before she’d keep asking about where they were headed.
“We’ll be there in just a few more minutes. Remember what I said. Keep quiet and do everything I do” said Mary. Even though she may have questioned some of the things Mary had asked her to do, Joyce was always willing to go along with everything.
Leading them into an open field, Mary spots the single old shed surrounded by neglected land. The windows were busted out and looked as if the wind was going to send it away at any given moment.
“Get off of your bike and follow me,” instructed Mary.
Dropping the bikes and whispering for her sister to keep quiet, Mary slowly walked up to the shed with Joyce following. The first step’s noise was loud enough to give away their presence. Placing her hand over Joyce’s mouth without looking at her, Mary could sense the terror she knew her sister had felt.
“Be quiet and be still,” she whispere
d. Joyce nodded her head with her eyes still wide. Her saliva coats Mary’s hand. Gross by its contact, she snatches her hand away and wipes it on her dress in disgust.
Waiting for him to come out hollering that he’s caught them spying, neither of them move. When enough time has passed, Mary leads Joyce over to the window. She finally is able to show her sister what she’s known for a while now.
It’s Joey. He’s standing up in a corner drinking out of a red cup. He was always filthy as if his parents didn’t have multiple bathrooms for him to shower in. Wearing an old raggedy t-shirt and ripped up jeans, he scratches the back of his head. Putting his drink down on the floor, he lights a cigarette and coughs. Another thing he managed to keep hidden from his parents. Mary and Joyce both wait for what Mary knows is about to happen next.
“Mary, why did you bring me here? I don’t want to spend all day looking at Joey do stupid boy stuff. Let’s go,” whispered Joyce.
Staring at her with a face that says, “Shut up and wait,” he walks to the middle of the room that has an old brown rug in place. Bending down to pull at the shaggy ends, Joey sits in a squatting position. Tossing his halfway smoked cigarette in the dirty corner, he moves the rug to the side and pulls up the floor door. When he walks down inside, Joyce gasps as they watch the door shut.
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“You hear me, girl? I think we need to get your ears checked because I’ve never had to repeat myself so much!” Looking up at mama, she continues.
“Go clean your plate and get ready for bed.”
I’m the he only one left sitting at the table, I get up and do what I’m told.
Chapter 2: Mary
July 8, 1999
There’s knocking at the door. Looking over to the window, the sun isn’t even awake yet. Staring back towards the ceiling and wrapping my blanket tighter around me, I wait for the sound of mama’s slippers to scurry downstairs. After a couple of minutes, there’s still no sound of slippers. There’s no sound of water running, so she can’t be in the shower. The knocking becomes louder, and then screaming begins.
Repression Page 1