The Devil Made Me
Page 13
“Marnie, what are the seven continents?”
“Ummm, United States . . .” and we’d laugh our heads off.
Since Marnie and I were once friends, I had interesting stories to add to her torment; stories I believed would impress my new friends. “She pees the bed every night,” I confided. “She has to wear a diaper!” We gave her ‘duh’ looks all the time, and snubbed her by walking away whenever she approached us. We were horrible!
In grade nine she bloomed. And not in a good way. She matured early, and she was a big girl, uncomfortable in her body. She wore her hair in a nerdy page-boy, and her face was covered in acne. Marnie wasn’t terribly bright either. A perfect target for us.
Then, because she had big boobs, (and sex was uppermost in our minds) we decided she must be sexually active. We passed notes saying things like, “Do you think Marnie is a virgin?” and later, “I heard she fucked Rob.” It grew to where we had everyone calling her a slut. Erin, ever the dare-devil, wrote it in lipstick on the bathroom mirrors. “Marnie is a fat slut.”
But Marnie was a trooper. She kept coming to school and trying to befriend us. We three “butterflies” were the popular girls and she knew it. And once I had been her friend. Did she know that we were at the root of all the bullying? Her brother, Sean, did. And Marnie wasn’t so thick that she didn’t feel anguish over the treatment she got at school. It must have been really bad for her because that spring, in grade eleven, even before school ended, her family moved. Her brother, Sean, was a star on the foot-ball team. Handsome and athletic, a good student, he was popular and happy in Rockydale. He was not happy about having to move away. He may also have had some idea as to what we were doing to his sister because he cornered us one day in the school-yard as we were walking home, laughing, I remember, about some stupid thing Marnie had said in class. Maybe he heard us.
He grabbed my jacket from behind. “Hey,” he yelled. “Is it you?” I turned around. His face was twisted, nostrils flaring, lips curled.
My heart raced. I wanted to run away, but the three of us stood there, gawking at him.
His eyes bored into us as he looked from one to another. He radiated disgust. “It’s you, isn’t it, that makes my sister cry every night.”
We didn’t answer. All three of us stared, dumbfounded, at him. Finally, Erin spoke. “We didn’t do anything to your sister. If she cries every night that’s her problem.”
He just glared, his blue eyes cold and flinty. “You’ll pay for this,” he said. And he walked away.
NOW IN MY CLASSROOM, I stand and gather my purse, books and jacket, my heart heavy. Where is Marnie now? I remember secretly feeling sorry for her, but did I do anything to help her? No, I sniggered and laughed when others did. I spread rumors about her. I started the cruelest gossip. Did I ever speak up? No. I nodded and agreed. Where was my back-bone? Any sense of loyalty.?
I head out the door, sticking my head in Angela’s classroom as I go. “See you tomorrow! Don’t stay too late.”
As I walk through the school doors by the playground I see Sean and Corrie. He’s pushing her on the swing. I hesitate, then wave. They wave back, and look at me with friendly faces. Should I go say hello? Yes, Jen. Grab some balls.
I wander over. “Nice day to play in the park,” I say.
“Hi, Mrs. Cox!’ Corrie chirps, her head tilted back as she soars through the air, brown curls flying. “Come swing with us!”
I smile. What a gregarious, happy child. “You’re going high in the sky!” I say to her. And she laughs merrily.
Sean stops pushing and turns to me. “I want to thank you,” he says, his blue eyes friendly. “Corrie is so happy at school. She loves you. You’ve really helped her at a difficult time in her life.” Maybe he’s forgiven me.
I look at him inquiringly. “Difficult? Is she okay?”
He twists to push Corrie who chirps, “Higher, Daddy! Higher!”
Turning back, he looks at me. Sadness clouds his features. “Oh, I thought you knew. Her mother died last summer. Cancer.”
“I’m so sorry,” I gasp. “Corrie’s so well-adjusted. I didn’t know.”
He gives me a half-smile. “She’s done pretty well. Maybe too young to fully understand. Hell.” He half chuckles. A wry gesture. “I don’t fully understand. How do we understand death?”
“True,” I say. “Especially with a younger person. It’s hard to grasp.” And I gently touch his arm.
He nods. “Anyway, having you as her teacher has helped a lot. She comes home excited, ‘Mrs. Cox said this. Mrs. Cox did that.” And we both laugh. I feel light as air. Happy.
Chapter 12 ~Jen
Saturday, May 5
Saturday afternoon we have some rare down-time. I watch Darren and Logan on the drive-way practicing basketball moves. My husband is still a pretty good athlete and he’s enthusiastically showing Logan some tricks.
“Like this, Dad?” Logan drops the ball into the net, lifting his fingers. The ball rolls around the rim, dropping through.
“Wow! Perfect, son!!” They high-five. “You’re a super-star!” Darren’s eyes are bright; thrilled. My heart bursts with love as I watch.
It’s house-cleaning day. Lillia is tidying her room but she gets distracted easily, and as I walk by her open door I see her on her computer. She minimizes the page, turning to me. “Hi, Mom.”
“You know your room needs to be clean before you do anything else, now, Lil,” I tell her. But I remember well how easily distracted I became while cleaning at her age. Heck. I still do! I dump Lillia’s hamper onto the floor, gathering her dirty clothes in a basket and carry them to the laundry room to sort. I hear her humming as I walk down the hall past her room. Busy as they are, I enjoy Saturday afternoons at home. In our bedroom, I fish the clothes from our hamper, and search the pockets for discarded Kleenex or pens. I pluck a piece of paper from Darren’s shirt pocket and unfold it. It’s a receipt from Flowers by Fae. ‘One rose,’ it says. I stare at it for a moment, feeling a fluttering in my stomach. Did he buy flowers for Kim? Just one? No. He wouldn’t. Maybe for a client? I’ll wait to ask. I don’t want to spoil a lovely day. I don’t want to even think about it. I stuff it in my lingerie drawer.
“Ta da!” Lillia steps into the hallway, brandishing an arm toward her room. It amazes me how quickly she can clean it when she’s motivated. “I’m meeting Tia at the mall, okay?” she calls as she struts down the hall,
“Be home for dinner around six!” I holler, and she’s out the back door.
“See ya later, Mom!” She jumps on her bike and leaves.
I wander into her bedroom, watching her from the window. My beautiful little girl, growing so fast. I feel a sense of pride and immense love as I watch her slim, tanned legs peddle down the street, her athletic body erect, blonde hair streaming behind her.
Glancing down at her desk I notice she’s left her computer on in her rush. Facebook. My body jerks as I look again. I gasp, feeling my gut clench. There, on the screen I see what is obviously a very young girl clothed only in a scanty, see-through negligee. She is draped around a beam. It looks like a foundation beam in a basement. Her eyes are half-closed, her mouth seductively open. What IS this?! I grab Lillia’s mouse. My heart is pounding and I can hardly breathe. Scrolling through, I see one picture after another of the same girl. Lying on her side with just a little nighty draped over her body. Another of her face, her mouth pursed in an exaggerated kiss. The caption written by someone called ‘Funkid’ says, ‘What a slut! yeah?’.
Under the pictures are several comments saying things like: ‘OMFG, devil emojis, fire emojis, What a hoe! fat whore, biggest slut ever. . .’ I scroll through frantically. Lillia can’t have posted this! But with sinking heart I realize she has. It’s her post. She is Funkid. She’s posted pictures of this girl on Facebook for all to see. One-hundred forty-seven likes. Fifty-five comments. I’m filled with revulsion. I grab her waste-basket, my stomach churning. And I vomit. Like mother like daughter.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I head out the back door, across the yard and through the gate. I can hear Logan and Darren calling to each other, playing happily in the front of the house. Good. I don’t want Darren to know.
I run towards the mall, my head spinning. The people, trees, houses, cars . . . that I pass are a blur. I’m on a mission, and I don’t even know what it is. When I get to the mall I stop for a moment and gather myself together. Taking a deep breath, exhaling heavily, I wait for the automatic door and sail in. The mall is a-buzz with shoppers, and now I need to look carefully. I follow the signs to the food court. Maybe she and her friends are gathered there.
I wander through the shopping centre, hoping I don’t see anyone I know. But in a town this size it’s inevitable. Maybe it’s a good thing. I’m forced out of my panic in order to greet the parents of a former student, a friend of a friend and the pharmacist we deal with. “Hi! You haven’t seen my daughter, Lillia, have you?” No one has. I search the mall. No Lillia.
Finally, I leave through the back door to a park with rolling green hills, a playground nestled amongst them. It’s a beautiful spring day but even the trilling sound of children playing, the fresh spring air, and the warmth of the sun fail to cheer me. I feel a profound heaviness in my chest. I can’t think of any explanation for what I saw. There is no undoing what my daughter has done. And I don’t see her here.
I can no longer pretend. I can’t face anyone. My body feels leaden, and I collapse to the ground, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. I find myself sobbing. How can we fix this? What should I do? I can’t turn my own daughter in . . .
Through watery eyes I see a shadow behind me. It looms large and dark. Then it bends, and I feel a sturdy hand on my shoulder.
“Jen?” I look up. The sun is in my eyes, and I feel disoriented for a moment. “What’s wrong?” It’s Sean. Still, I can’t speak.
“We were playing at the park and Corrie recognized you here.” He squats to look me in the eye. I stare at his brilliant blue eyes, too stunned to say a word. I don’t know how long we stay like this. Him looking into my face. Me, mouth hanging open, tears streaming down my cheeks. Numb. Then, suddenly his burly arms enfold me, and my head digs into his chest. The sobs come full-bore and he rocks me back and forth. It’s a comforting, safe feeling. I cry and cry.
Finally, I straighten and can speak. “I’m sorry,” I blubber. And I tell him what I’ve found. I tell him about the pictures and the comments; the Funkid post. He’s sitting cross-legged on the grass now, just listening. Overcome with guilt, I finally say what I’ve been wanting to say to him ever since he came into the school that first day. “Sean, I’m so sorry about Marnie too. It seems my daughter is like me.” And the tears erupt again.
He sits, perfectly still, but a hard glint has come into his eye. I am not forgiven; not completely, I think. And I don’t blame him. He stands, bending to pat my shoulder. “I hope you can work it out, Jen,” he says, and he turns to walk back to the playground from where Corrie is calling him.
Chapter 13 ~ Jen
Saturday, May 5
I watch Sean pushing Corrie on the swing. Controlled, powerful pushes. Her laughter shrills through the spring air, her brown curls blowing. I remember fondly when Lillia was that age. So innocent. So sweet. It seems such a short time ago.
I thought she was still innocent and sweet. What happened? And what will happen now? I hear Angela’s voice in my mind. “The police are taking it very seriously.” What does that mean? Will they incarcerate her? Will we face crippling legal charges and expenses? Darren would disown her. This whole thing could devastate our family.
I watch through dull eyes as Sean picks Corrie up from the swing. He turns to wave at me, and she jumps from his arms and runs over to where I sit on the grass.
“Mrs. Cox! Hi!” she calls. “What you doin’?”
I manage a smile, and scramble to my knees to give her a hug as she flies into my arms. “Hi, Corrie! Are you having fun here at the park?”
“Yes! I love the park!”
Her smile is infectious, and I feel a little better. “You’re a lucky girl to have a daddy that takes you to the park.” I look up at Sean who stands a few feet away looking warmly down on us.
“Daddy made a picnic! Can you come with us?” She looks at me with sunny blue eyes.
“You’re double lucky!” I tell her. “I can’t come today, but you have fun on your picnic.”
She bounces away as I stand, waving.
“Maybe next time Mrs. Cox will come,” Sean says, his eyes twinkling. And he smiles at me before turning to walk hand-in-hand with his daughter, Corrie jabbering at him a mile a minute, her upturned face glowing.
I sigh as I watch them walk away, then turn back to head into the mall. I must find Lillia.
And there she is, just as she said she would be. She and a group of young teens – two boys, three girls – stand around a tall table in the food court, laughing, poking one another, kicking at each other . . . They’re full of life and merriment. I stand back and watch them a moment. They all wear tight, ripped jeans, Nike runners, hoodies. Their faces glow with youth and optimism. Can these be kids that post sexy pictures of their peers?
I take a deep breath and approach them. “Hi, Mrs. Cox!” One of the boys sees me first. They stop their kibitzing and eye me guardedly. No doubt the look on my face has alarmed them.
Nodding at the others, a grim half-smile on my face, I pin a steely look on my daughter who stares at me wide-eyed. “Lillia, you need to come with me now.”
I watch her hesitate a moment, embarrassed and defiant over my behaviour in front of her friends. But every fibre of my body radiates the wrath and grit I feel; atypical for me.
She rolls her eyes towards her friends, ‘Mothers!’ and slinks out behind me.
I march toward home with Lillia following. My brain reels. Where should we go? I don’t want Darren or Logan to know about this. Spotting a bench in an empty park I lead her there and we sit, both staring straight ahead.
Finally, I speak, my voice weak and cracking. “I saw your Facebook post.”
Her forehead furrows. “What Facebook post?”
I look at her, trembling with fury. “The one where you posted half-nude pictures of a young girl and called her a slut.”
Her head jerks back a little and she gives me an incredulous stare. She closes her mouth tightly. We just gape at each other.
I am not letting her off the hook, and finally she lets out a harsh breath and tears spring to her eyes. “Well, she deserved it,” Lillia begins.
I control the urge to slap her. I need her to tell me. I need her trust now. “Why do you think she deserved it?” I ask, controlling my voice.
Lillia’s expression hardens. “She was spreading lies about Tia to a boy Tia likes and now he hates Tia. She was being a skag.”
“Where did you get those pictures?” I ask.
“At Tia’s pajama part last week-end. We were all fooling around posing and taking pictures . . .” Lillia hesitates.
“And . . .?”
“I posted them to pay her back.”
When I sit silently staring at her, she begins to cry. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think it was such a big deal.”
She’s sobbing now. I sit and watch her, letting her stew. Then, slowly, I reach out to hug her, rub her back, kiss her hair. “Lillia, it’s very serious. The girl has attempted suicide. The police are looking for the perpetrators.”
“It wasn’t just me. Taylor is
a computer expert. He set up the Facebook page, and they can’t trace it.” She looks at me through tear-filled eyes.
“Lillia, the girl tried to commit suicide over it!” I take her by the shoulders and peer into her eyes. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”
“I’m sorry! She was having fun posing. She liked it.”
I feel a shock go through my body. “Were you posing like that? Half-naked?”
“No,” she blubbers.
“Okay. You need to tell me in detail what happened.”
She picks at her nails, head down. “It was a couple of weeks ago when I stayed over at Tia’s. Her parents let a bunch of our friends sleep over. Tia asked Felicity, the girl in the pictures, to sleep over too.”
“Was it all planned? Did Tia invite her over to pay her back for talking to the guy Tia likes?”
Lillia nods, eyes downcast. She continues. “We were just posing a little bit and taking pictures like this.” She puts her hands behind her head, tilting her face and pursing her lips.
“Go on.” I sit poker-straight, my face impassive.
Lillia squeezes her eyes shut. Tears run down her face. “We told her how sexy she was, and suggested she pose in some sexy lingerie that Tia borrowed from her mom’s dresser.
“Borrowed?”
“Took.” She sniffles. “She seemed to get off on it, and we took pictures of her.”
“You encouraged her as she posed?” I ask.
“I guess so. We said how good she looked and stuff.”
“And then you posted those pictures on Facebook, calling her a slut.”
“Yes,” she squeaks. “Mom, please don’t tell Dad.”
What will I do? What should I do?
“For now, young lady, you’re grounded without your phone or computer.”
Lillia sits for a moment, stunned. I’ve cut off her life-line. Then she rises abruptly and stalks home. I follow way behind. I’m numb. I don’t know what to do.
When I arrive home there’s a note on the table. “Gone to show a client some houses,” Darren has written. Thank God! I go into Lillia’s bedroom and unceremoniously pick up her phone and computer from her desk. She is curled in a ball, facing the wall, ignoring me.