Scags at 7

by Deborah Emin

  The phone rings. He doesn’t answer it. I go to pick it up, and he says, No don’t, let it ring. I say, It could be Mama. He says, Yes. I say, Mama needs to be here. Pops rubs his face with the back of his hand. I like that and I do it too. My face doesn’t make a noise like a woolen sweater all full of electricity because I don’t have a beard. I look at Pops and then at me. We’re standing exactly the same way, one leg crossed in front of the other. We both like our coffee with lots of milk.

  I say, Pops, make some coffee for the three of us. He says, Okay and pulls the pot off the counter and measures out the grounds and the water and puts it on the stove. Now I know Mama will come home soon and I can go back to bed. The phone rings again. It rings for a long time and then stops. Pops walks to the phone and takes it off the hook and we wait for the coffee, holding hands and wiping the tears from our eyes.

  We wait a long time for the coffee and when Pops pours it into my cup it is so black it looks like asphalt. He puts the pot back on the stove and then goes to the refrigerator and takes out the milk and pours lots of it into his cup and then mine. He sets the bottle down on the counter and I have to say, Pops, put the milk away. I say, Pops I like my coffee just the way you do. He says, But of course, and puts a big spoonful of sugar in mine, stirs it up and I can see that he is trying to smile and we both wipe the last of the tears from our eyes. He says, Careful now, as I walk to the table with my coffee.

  I sit down and sip little sips of coffee. Pops says, Like your coffee that way do you Scags? He comes to the table and sits in Mama’s place and runs his finger around the rim of the cup. The coffee is warm and sweet. I keep thinking I’ll hear Mama in the garage soon. He says, If this were a wine glass I could make music. I tell him, Go get a wine glass, go ahead Pops, get a wine glass and make music. He jumps from the table, knocking the edge of it and my coffee sways back and forth looking like melted ice cream.

  Pops goes into the dining room where the wine glasses are kept and opens the buffet and pulls out a blue glass with a very thin rim. I follow Pops around as he holds the glass up and then goes back to the kitchen. At the sink he fills the glass with water almost to the top. He takes a sip of the water and then a bigger sip and then empties the glass and sets it in the dish drainer.

  Hey Pops, I say what about making music? Making music, he says, and bends down and says, Stand on my shoes. I like this game, I say, but what about the glass? He says, Penny ante stuff, this is the big time. Hold onto me. I wrap my arm around his waist and he begins to hum when the red red robin comes bob bob bobbing along, tapping on my head and dancing, dancing, dancing, as if we were taking giant steps in the snow. We are dancing no matter how tired we are. If only my Pops could be this way all the time, happy, and singing and dancing I would never again ask for a puppy and I would keep my room neat and eat all my peas and as soon as I say this to myself—no puppies, make bed, eat peas—I hear him laughing, laughing, laughing and the room begins to spin and he picks me up and twirls me around and around like a rope, I start to giggle but then I get scared. I am frightened that he is going to swing me so fast that I’ll turn into butter and will turn into a spot on the floor for Odessa to clean up.

  Pops, I say, sort of crying, please stop. He’s laughing and laughing and then he stops suddenly both the twirling and the laughing and sets me down. I fall to my knees on the floor. Pops walks away. I am dizzy but I get up and follow him. There is some light in the living room where he has gone. I have to touch the wall to walk without falling down. It seems like a long walk from the kitchen to the living room.

  He sits in his chair and lights up a cigar. The living room is kind of dark, but I see Mama’s cigarettes on the table next to the couch. I light one and sit there in the dark with Pops, choking but smoking.

  Mama comes home to find me and Pops sitting there, smoke filling the air. She says, Nate, are you crazy letting her smoke? What do you think you’re doing? Scags, she says, Give me that cigarette. I get off the couch and hand it to her and she immediately takes a puff.

  The front door opens again and there is Aunt Money looking like she’s been up for hours too and could use some coffee. But before I can offer her any, Aunt Money comes over to me and says, Honey, let’s go upstairs and let your folks talk. She takes my hand and we go up the stairs to my bedroom where she tells me to lie down, she covers me up, and we turn on the radio and listen to the morning news.

  Over the radio I hear shouting, it’s Mama and then the silence of Pops. I say to Aunt Money, Why did Mama leave me? Is she going to stay home now?

  Aunt Money says, Yes, she will. I say, She is so angry at my Pops that maybe she’ll leave us. Aunt Money sits straight up on the bed next to me and looks me right in the eye and says, I think your Mama and Pops want to live with you, all three of you together.

  It gets quiet. Mama comes upstairs. She stands in the doorway and asks Aunt Money if she would mind taking me home with her for the day while she and Pops try to iron things out. No one asks me anything. Aunt Money says, Yes, that would be nice to spend the day together, just the two of us girls. Where is Pops and what is he doing? I ask Mama. But she turns her face to me, says nothing, and I can see how tired she is and that she has been crying too. Mama? I ask, and she says, Scags, we’ll talk later, just go into the city with Aunt Money and have some fun.

  I get out of my bed and open the dresser drawer where my underwear is and put on clean underpants and an undershirt. Mama silently goes to the closet and pulls out my pink shirt and shorts and I get dressed. Mama says, Don’t forget to brush your teeth and comb your hair. When I come back from the bathroom, Aunt Money helps me buckle my shoes and then we go downstairs and out the front door.

  It is light now and the grass is all wet. Aunt Money’s blue Buick sits in the driveway, her windshield is all wet too. I climb in the back seat and Aunt Money pulls out of the driveway into the street. The drapes are closed in the living room and everyone on the block is asleep.

  38

  Makeup

  A unt Money drives fast, like Pops, and as we drive downtown to her apartment the Lake is so shiny and speckled in the early morning light. I ask Aunt Money did Boomer and Goldie ever act like my Pops and Mama? I ask her that as we turn onto her street and she looks for a parking space. She says nothing until we are parked and entering her apartment. Then she says, Grownups fight but then it’s over and they makeup. When she turns the key in the lock she looks at me, she seems so much taller than me and I’m hanging onto her skirt and the door opens and I smell Mama everywhere.

  You know, Scags, everyone starts out with a pretty decent sort of parents, your Mama and Pops are just having some problems they need to fix, Aunt Money says as I wander around the room taking in Mama’s smell. Mama was here, I say, and I see all the glasses and ashtrays sitting around as if there had been a party. Her green couch has three sections and I lie down on the first one and see that I only reach from head to foot the first section. I ask again, Did this ever happen to you?

  Yes, Aunt Money says, as she goes around the room, picking up the glasses and ashtrays and going into her tiny kitchen and then she comes to me on the couch with a big glass of orange juice. These things happen all the time, Aunt Money says.

  Mama was here a long time, I say, as she hands me the juice. I say, I can’t drink all of this, and she says, I’ll share it with you. Are you hungry? Yes, I say. Would you like some toast with your juice? she asks me and I get up and go to her little dining room table and sit down like Mama would tell me to do. The chairs are big and heavy and have the same seat covers as the couch. I sit up very straight and fold my hands in my lap and say to Aunt Money, I like my toast to have lots of butter on it. She walks by me, tickles the top of my head, and goes into the kitchen. She says, It’s amazing how much of your hair has grown back already. I know she is just saying that to cheer me up. But Aunt Money, I ask, what if Mama is still angry at Pops for cutting it?

&
nbsp; Oh, oh, oh, I see what you mean, Aunt Money says as she puts the toast in the toaster. Her kitchen is all white except for the floor which is black. When you stand at the stove and do nothing more than turn around you are at the sink. Aunt Money says, Hair grows back. Don’t worry. She opens her refrigerator and says, If you want eggs, no can do, but you could have some liverwurst on your toast.

  For breakfast, I ask, don’t you have any cereal and bananas? She looks at me and says, No, no cereal, no bananas, there probably isn’t any milk but I do have a soup or two.

  Gosh, Aunt Money, I say, what do you eat for breakfast? Aunt Money shakes her head and says, Well I don’t really eat breakfast and when I do whatever happens to be here. So how about some soup? Okay, I say, and connect the dots of red stains on the white table cloth with my finger.

  Aunt Money, I say, why don’t Boomer and Goldie fix things up? Aunt Money lets out a loud howl, long and free as if her girdle snapped open. What a question, she says, what a little observer you are, she says. Maybe when you’re older you’ll be able to understand that sometimes adults get into messes they don’t quite know how to clean up. It just takes time, she says, as she hands me my toast all crisp and buttery. I eat it quickly because I am hungry and I do want to be here with Aunt Money. I do.

  Aunt Money sits down at the table with me and picks up my toast and starts to eat it. Hey, I say, why can’t you make some toast for yourself? I don’t have anymore bread, Aunt Money says. I’ll just heat up your soup and then we can try to disguise that shiner. I put my finger on my eyelid. It feels soft and sore and puckered as if a raisin was in there.

  Aunt Money puts my soup in a bowl. It is hot and steamy. I am going to pretend it’s oatmeal in the winter time, that it’s cold outside and I need something warm in me to fortify myself, as Odessa says.

  Aunt Money sits at the table with me. I put my spoon in the white bowl and stir the pieces of chicken, letting the steam rise up in my face. Would you like to have me put some makeup on your eye Scags? We’ve got the whole day together and it would be nice to try and hide that big black eye. I could polish your nails. We could go shopping and find you a pretty dress with a big bow in the back and a pair of little patent leather shoes. What do you say? I think of sitting at her dressing table where all her potions and powders and magic wands are lined up in rows, level upon level in so many fancy cases but I really don’t want to put any of that stuff on my face.

  I start to cry, I don’t know why. Aunt Money pulls a tissue out of a big pocket and comes over to me and wipes my tears away and puts the tissue under my nose and says, Blow, blow harder. I can’t stop. She pulls my chair away from the table and picks me up and takes me into her bedroom where her enormous bed with the canopy over it sits in the center. She puts me down and takes off my sandals and pulls an afghan off the chair next to the bed and throws it over me. It is grey and blue and she once told me that Goldie and she took turns working on it when Aunt Money was a little girl. It settles down on me and it feels good, like a weight to keep me from floating into space.

  I say, Aunt Money, don’t go. She says, I’m not going anywhere. I guess we’re both tired and I’ll lie down with you. Sleep now, sleep will make everything better and you’ll see that your Mama and Pops are going to be fine. You will be fine too and there’s a whole lifetime ahead for dressing up, makeup, and it can wait.

  I push myself next to her, I hold her arm and I think of Pops twirling me in the air and Mama looking so sad and Aunt Money starts to snore. I close my eyes, and I am dizzy, I am small, and I need to pee. But I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to move away from Aunt Money. But I really have to pee. So I get up quietly and put the blanket back over Aunt Money and go to the bathroom.

  I sit down on the toilet with the door closed, staring at myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. I wonder what are Mama and Pops doing now? I could be in my own bed. I look hard at myself and don’t want to leave the bathroom. My red hair is going in every direction and as I stand up I see my bony knees and long arms. I look at my face and pucker up my lips and kiss myself and say everything is going to be keen-o in a minute, no an hour, and then Aunt Money and I can go to my house and we’ll eat real food and have a good time. Double keen-o. No funny money honey, I say to the mirror me and smile at me and go back to Aunt Money’s bed. I fall asleep without even thinking that this is what I should do.

  39

  Pops’ Closet

  I can hear most of what Boomer, Goldie, Aunt Money and Mama are saying as I lie on Mama’s bed. But I can’t hear Pops. I don’t know what he is trying to tell them all, trying to say, I guess, that everything will be all right now. He’ll be fine. No more fights. No more bowling at home. No more fires. And what didn’t I think of? How could I have forgotten, no more staying home. Pops will go back to work with a brand new attitude, that’s what Boomer says.

  Their bed is not made. Odessa must be letting it air out. The sheets feel like satin and are so smooth that I feel like I could float away if I close my eyes. I’m not allowed in the living room with all the grownups. And since I am the only child, I have to entertain myself. Someone is crying. Is it Pops? No, it’s me. I hear myself crying from a long ways away. Like a train in the distance before the gates go down. Pops too I think. Pops is probably crying because things have been so bad for so long now. So he’ll be fixed. So so so.

  Maybe I can fix Pops. I get off their bed and go to Mama’s dressing table and sit down. It hurts to look in the mirror. I’m not at all myself, as Mama would say. I am all a fright, she would say. How can I fix myself, she would say.

  Here it is Friday afternoon. All my family is downstairs where I can’t go. When I look at myself, it hurts. When I think of Pops I want to run downstairs and hold onto him tight and we can do anything he wants like go to his office and he’ll show Boomer how he swings me around and how we love to dance together and my hair is red, not black like Pops’ and Mama’s hair. Mine is red, red, red, like the tip of a lit cigar, like the tip of my Pops’ lit cigar. I know my Pops could never go anywhere without his so white coffee and long, long cigars. He couldn’t go anywhere without me because I won’t let him.

  Maybe Pops needs to be reminded of how he used to be. Maybe he forgot. Keen-o. I know what to do. I look all over Mama’s table for something black, a black cream, but of course she doesn’t have any. Why do I need black cream? I think about that and go to Pops’ closet. I open the door. On the floor is his green jacket and yellow-and-green tie. The jacket is all wrinkled and dirty, as if Pops slept outside. It feels heavy like it wants to stay on the floor.

  I pick it up and search in his pockets. I pull out my rocks, the rocks from my collection. What are they doing in Pops’ pocket? Why did Pops steal my rocks? Shouldn’t Pops have asked me if he could have them? Why does Pops want them? I put them on the floor, there’s the one that Davy gave me, the one with the shiny layer of mica in the middle. Here’s my fool’s gold rock that I know isn’t really gold but I told myself it is, that it can buy me all the candy I could possibly want. I pick up the rocks and put them in Pops’ shoe and next to his shoes is the black cream I was looking for.

  I open it and it smells strong, like leather and sweat, it is almost gone but there is a liitle bit left on the sides of the round can. I stick my fingers into it, the fingers of both hands and rub the goopy cream into my hair. It gets weighted down and held in place like Pops’ hair. I put as much in my hair as there is in the can. Then I put on Pops’ jacket, pull his loafers out of the closet and look for his glasses. His black glasses. Where are they? Why can’t I find them? They’ve got to be here. Yes. Here they are under the bed. Why are they there?

  I pick up his glasses and put them on. I can’t see a thing. I look at myself in the mirror with Pops’ glasses on, with Pops’ jacket on, his shoes and his black hair. I can’t see a thing as I go down the stairs, slow, one step at a time, because everything is too big an
d I’m too little but I know when Pops sees me he’ll remember how he used to be and get up from his chair and pick me up and swirl me around and I will walk on the ceiling again which I haven’t done in the longest time and I make it down the stairs.

  I walk to the living room and no one is talking so I throw myself in front of them with a big ta da. Mama screams. Celia Harper Morgenstern—but Pops doesn’t even turn to look at me. I want to sit in Pops’ lap but everyone is yelling, except Pops. Mama keeps saying, Don’t touch anything, Pops sits in his robe staring down at something. Odessa appears and takes a look at me and says, Aw child, what have you done? She takes me up in her arms and I grab her neck. I wrap my arms around her neck. Pops’ shoes fall off my feet.

  Pops, I say, Pops, look at me, as Odessa carries me out of the room and he turns around in his chair and I hear Goldie say, Odessa get her cleaned up, and Aunt Money say, What have you done and Boomer say, Oh God what is wrong with that child? But Pops’ face is strange. He’s smiling, he’s laughing, but not at me.

  40

  Julia Is Home

  I ’m in my bedroom where Mama told me to go after breakfast. I’m being punished for making my hair black and getting polish all over the walls. It took Odessa all evening to wash it out of my hair. You are really too much today, Mama said to me. I started laughing when she said that, as I drank my orange juice. It flew out of my glass and all over the table. Mama told me to clean up the mess I made because Odessa had enough to do cleaning up after me. I turned to Pops. He hadn’t shaved again or put on his glasses. He drank his coffee black and said nothing while Mama was telling me what a bad girl I was. He didn’t say anything or look at me or say my name. No.