Call Me Tuesday (17 page)

37

The next day, Mama sent me to my room when I got in from school. She brought me a plate of food for supper and sat it on the floor right inside the door. She was silent, and her movements were drone-like.

Again that night, she and Daddy stayed in the living room and talked, but in calmer, more contained voices than the night before. I tried to listen in on their conversation, but they kept their talking low. I could only tell by their tone that they were not arguing.

Friday, when I got home, the house was clean and orderly, and I could smell freshly percolated coffee. Mama was dressed in black slacks and a crisp white blouse, and she had put on silvery frosted lipstick. Her hair was in a neat up-do, and she had even colored her roots.

Daddy sat in the living room, solemn-faced, sipping a cup of coffee. The two youngest boys, Jimmy D. and Ryan, were cleaned up and seated beside him. Nick didn’t appear to be home. When Mama saw me, she didn’t say anything; she pointed in the direction of my room, and I knew what to do.

Before too long a knock rattled the front storm door. When I heard Mama invite Mrs. Blackburn in, I slipped out of my room into the hallway so I could hear what they were saying. The knob was missing from the door leading into the living room, and there was a small round hole, the perfect size for me to peek through without being seen.

After a brief introduction, Mrs. Blackburn sat in the Queen Anne chair by the front door, and Mama and Daddy sat directly across from her on the sofa. Mama held Ryan in her lap, and Jimmy D. stayed beside Daddy. They were all stiff, like they were posing for a family portrait.

Mama got up and disappeared into the kitchen to make more coffee, leaving Daddy to suffer through those first few awkward minutes alone with Mrs. Blackburn.

As Mama was coming back into the living room with the coffee, Mrs. Blackburn complimented the furniture and Mama’s taste in decorating, and everyone loosened up as they chatted about it. Then they made idle talk about the house, the boys, and the coffee that continued for what seemed like a long time.

Crouched in the hallway, I was getting impatient; after all, the meeting was supposed to be about me. Finally Mrs. Blackburn sat her cup of coffee down on the marble-top table and opened the black notebook she had in her lap. It was her signal that it was time it get down to business. “As I told you on the phone, I came here to ask you some questions about your daughter, Tuesday.”

Like she had done before when she talked to me in the principal’s office, she put on the cat-eye glasses. As if they transformed her, she shed her friendly, conversational voice, and assumed the same perfunctory attitude and tone she had with me a few days earlier. “As you already know, Tuesday ran away from home last week and went to a friend’s house. Can either one of you tell me why you think she did this?”

“We think it was because she wanted to spend the night with her friend, Katherine, and we wouldn’t let her,” Daddy said, acting as if he knew who Kat was.

Mama added, “Tuesday’s grades haven’t been very good this year, and she’s been getting low marks in behavior too, so she’s been grounded from spending the night with any of her friends until she improves her schoolwork.”

“I’m sure if you check with the school, they’d be glad to provide you with information about her grades to back this up,” Daddy said.

“And you’ve discussed this with her?” asked Mrs. Blackburn.

“Oh, many times,” he said.

“Well, Mr. Storm, I had a talk with your daughter a few days ago, and she had a different story to tell,” Mrs. Blackburn explained. “She told me some disturbing things about the way she has been treated here. If what she said is true, then she is the victim of serious physical and emotional abuse.”

My pulse quickened.
At last we’re getting somewhere.

Daddy put his coffee down. “I don’t know what she told you, but I can assure you there is no form of abuse going on in this household,” he said with conviction, and then kissed Ryan on the top of the head for effect. “We have four children, Mrs. Blackburn; we love all of them dearly, and we try our best to treat them equally. We love Tuesday, but she
is
our most difficult child.”

His words shot through my heart.

Daddy paused briefly, reaching for Mama’s hand. “She’s our only daughter, besides one who passed away. And because she’s the only girl, I believe she sometimes feels left out. She starves for attention, and in order to get it, she concocts these wild stories about being mistreated. She’s done it before, but we have noticed it has gotten worse since Ryan came along. The more children we have, the less attention we are able to give her, so this is how she reacts.”

I was sickened by what Daddy had said. I had long ago accepted his submissiveness to Mama, and I had even abandoned my delusions of him doing anything proactive to help my situation. But I never thought he would go to such extremes to hurt me, never thought he would disregard my welfare, and fabricate such a story to cover his own ass. He had never appeared weaker in my eyes than he did at that moment.

Mrs. Blackburn glanced down at her notes. “But the information Tuesday gave me was detailed, things the average eleven-year-old couldn’t possibly make up.”

Daddy gave a throaty chuckle. “But that’s just it. Our daughter is not average; that’s something else you might want to ask the school about. Tuesday is probably the most creative writer they’ve ever had. She’s a good artist too, but the stories she comes up with in her writing are amazing.”

“She is an exceptionally smart girl,” Mama chimed in.

Mrs. Blackburn then turned her attention to Mama, directing the next question to her. “Mrs. Storm, for some reason Tuesday focused more on you during our conversation. You are the one she feels is mistreating her the most. Why do you think that is?”

Mama responded without hesitation, in the sweetest voice I’d ever heard her use. “I’m not sure, but I would have to say it’s because I’m the one she wants the attention from most. Like Nick mentioned before, I had another daughter who died…”

Sympathy brushed across Mrs. Blackburn’s face. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Thank you. There’s nothing worse than losing a child,” Mama continued, now weeping. “What I wanted to say was that my other daughter, Audrey, contracted the polio virus when she was a baby, and was almost totally paralyzed for the remainder of her life. She required a lot of special care, and I had no other choice but to direct most of my attention—maybe too much—toward her. It’s probably my fault.”

“That must have been a difficult situation for you,” Mrs. Blackburn said. Her face had softened, but I could tell she was still not convinced. “When I spoke with Tuesday, she became upset during our discussion and began to cry. What do you think was so painful to her?”

Daddy took over again. “She’s not getting the attention she so desperately needs, and that is very painful to a young child. We didn’t know how serious it had become until she ran away. Rose and I have talked about it, and we’ve since decided to make a conscious effort to give her more attention, and also to get her some counseling to help her deal with her problems.”

“I think that’s probably a good idea. She seems like such a sweet child; I hate to see her in so much pain.”

“We were hoping you could recommend someone,” Mama was clever to say.

“As a matter of fact, I do have access to some excellent counselors, and I’d be happy to put you in touch with one of them.” Mrs. Blackburn jotted something down on a piece of paper in her notebook.

“That would be so helpful,” Mama said.

Mrs. Blackburn tore the piece of paper out of her book, stood, and handed it to Daddy. “I won’t take up any more of your time today, but I’ll let you know if I have any more questions. In the meanwhile make her an appointment to meet with a counselor. Any one of those I wrote down would be a good choice.”

Mama and Daddy both walked Mrs. Blackburn to the door. “Thank you so much,” Daddy said. “We appreciate your concern, and we know you’re just doing your job.”

As Mrs. Blackburn turned to leave, I had a sudden urge to run after her, but from what had just happened I knew it was useless. Now, with both my parents against me, I didn’t have a chance to be rescued.

While they were still standing in the living room foyer, Mama and Daddy embraced, pleased with the outcome of the meeting. Then they kissed full on the mouth, and Daddy slid his hands down to Mama’s behind, and patted it affectionately.

Hearing my parents lie, and seeing how easily Mrs. Blackburn had dismissed my situation—dismissed me—left me poisoned with despondency. That day marked the lowest point of my life so far. I was left with no expectations for my future, nothing to look forward to, and with the nearsightedness of a child, the life I had known for the past three years—a life of loneliness and suffering—was all I could see in front of me. I went back to my room, got into bed, and cried for the rest of the day.

38

After what happened with Social Services, I expected Mama to be furious with me, and for my life at home to get even worse. I readied myself for the rough ride ahead. It never occurred to me that she might have to put on a front in case the people from Social Services were keeping a watchful eye on her.

To be safe, she slacked off on her physical abuse of me, and my face-to-the wall days were over at last. She couldn’t bring herself to allow me to wander about the house freely, though, or to interact with the rest of the family. She had me spend most of my time in my room, out of her sight, so she wouldn’t be tempted to fall back into any of her old habits.

The space between Daddy and me had grown broader than ever before. He no longer made an effort to interact with me in any way. If by accident we passed one another in the house, he turned his head, careful not to let his eyes meet mine. It was as if he was trying to pretend I did not exist, the same way he was pretending the problem with Mama didn’t exist.

As he had promised Mrs. Blackburn, he arranged for me to start seeing a counselor once a week, for half an hour after school. The counselor, Mr. Jacobs, was one of Daddy’s old friends from his teaching days who owed him a favor.

Mr. Jacobs had disheveled, gray hair, and he always wore white dress shirts with perspiration stains under the arms. He was a chubby, pleasant-looking, man with an endearing childlike quality about him that I liked. He wore whimsical ties with cartoon characters on them, and he kept a collection of beanbag animals scattered around his office. For some reason I never understood, he threw one of them to me each week as soon as I walked in. Our conversations went something like this:

“How was school today, Tuesday?”

“Fine.”

“Are you getting those grades up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Staying out of trouble?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, good. Hey, is your older brother still playing football?

“Yes, sir.”

“Tackle, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

We talked this way for a few minutes, about how I was doing in school, or what a great man my father was, and then he did paperwork the rest of the time, while I did my homework or watched television. These visits lasted only a couple of months, long enough to appease Social Services.

Kat and I remained friends throughout the rest of sixth grade, but things were never the same between us. Neither of us mentioned the night I ran away from home again. Although she never said it, I got the impression that her mom didn’t want her to hang around me anymore. When the investigation from Social Services fell through, it appeared to everyone that I had concocted the whole story about Mama mistreating me, which made it seem like I was disturbed mentally. And the sad truth was I didn’t care what anyone thought. I was filled with such hopelessness, I couldn’t find the will to defend myself, even to Kat.

She started hanging out with other girls, normal girls, with whom she could have a social life outside of school. Over time I watched her grow farther and farther away from me, until our friendship was reduced to waving to one another as we passed in the halls.

At the end of the school year, she had a slumber party at her house to kick off the summer. She knew I couldn’t attend, and her mom didn’t want me there, anyway, but she still gave me a token invitation.

The night of the party, I lay in bed remembering when I ran away and how much fun I’d had at Kat’s house. Our time spent together almost made it all worthwhile. I tried to imagine what it was like at her party. I could see the blue shag carpet and shabby white furniture in her room, and the squealing girls in pastel pajamas, dancing and singing, and jumping on the bed. I could hear the music they were playing. I could almost taste the cookies.

39

My grandmother on Mama’s side of the family called to invite us to her house for the Fourth of July. Mama didn’t want to go because she didn’t like such gatherings. But the boys did, and now, with Audrey gone, she no longer had a good excuse for not spending time with her family. So after some pressure from Aunt Barbara, she gave in and agreed to go.

Mama had a strange, superficial relationship with her mother. Since the accident she had distanced herself from both her and her younger sister, Barbara. She was all flattery and smiles to their faces, but when they weren’t around, she bad-mouthed them.

She had been close to her father, who died of a sudden heart attack not long after I was born. She often talked about how much she missed him. According to her, she had been his favorite, and claimed her mother and Aunt Barbara had always been jealous and resentful of her because of it.

Mama’s mother was nothing like Grandma Storm. She didn’t cook much, and she drank Catawba wine, and went on dates with men who dressed in brightly colored polyester suits. She was one of those grandmothers who didn’t want to be one, nor did she want to be called Grandma, or any form of the word. The grandkids all called her Mother, because that’s what Mama and Aunt Barbara called her.

As soon as we arrived at Mother’s house, Mama had me sit in a corner of the living room by myself, and told me not to move from the spot, or to talk to anyone. She told everyone there I was being punished for something bad I had done, and to leave me alone.

My cousins didn’t understand why I couldn’t play with them. They pleaded with Mama to let me get up, but she wouldn’t give in. “Go away and leave Tuesday alone,” she said to them, “She’s being punished for something—something dreadful.”

“What did she do?” my cousin Eva, who was two years younger than me, asked her.

“Oh, Eva, it’s so bad, I can’t even talk about it.” Mama said.

Eva sat on the floor beside me, and crossed her legs and arms in front of her, Indian style. She and I could have passed for sisters. When we were toddlers, we looked almost like twins, but now that we were older, you could tell us apart by our hair: she’d kept her cotton top, while mine had turned a dirty blonde.

She looked up at Mama defiantly. “My mom said I could sit here with Tuesday and talk for a while.”

“Oh, she did, did she? Well, if you want to give up your play time to sit with someone who’s being punished, that’s fine with me,” said Mama, and then she joined Mother and Aunt Barbara in the kitchen.

My cousin, Bruce, Eva’s older brother, who was my age, sat in the floor too, on the other side of me. I liked Bruce. He was sweet and shy, and although we barely talked to each other, I felt close to him. He was more concerned about Mama’s treatment of me than my own brothers were.

The three of us sat there for a while, without saying much, and then Eva moved closer to me. “What did you do wrong, Tuesday?” she whispered.

I didn’t want to go into the whole story about the bubblegum and Audrey’s death and Mama’s accident. “I don’t know,” I said.

She leaned in. “Don’t be embarrassed, you can tell me.”

“No, I mean it, I really don’t know. I’m always in trouble, and I’ve never been able to figure out why.”

“I know you are!” Bruce said. “Aunt Rose never lets you play with us, and you’ve always got to sit on the floor all by yourself. I asked my mom why, and she said she didn’t know either.”

“It’s been that way since I was eight. I guess I’m used to it.”

Bruce got up and went outside to join my brothers in a game of badminton.

Eva stayed with me. “What do you want to do?” she asked.

She looked up to me, probably because I was a few years older, and I knew she would do almost anything I asked her to. I took advantage of it. “They have any dessert in there?” I asked.

“My mom brought sugar cookies with icing—red, white, and blue stars! Want one?”

“Sure! But you’ll have to get it for me, remember I can’t get up,” I said. “And you’ll have to hide it from my mama too.

She doesn’t allow me to have sweets.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” Eva asked.

I knew exactly what to do. I’d become a master at sneaking around, and I had no problem giving her instructions. “Go into the kitchen and get a cookie for yourself. Then when nobody’s looking, stick another one under your shirt and bring it in here to me.”

Eva jumped up from the floor and ran off into the kitchen. A minute or two later, she came back, her shirt bulging in the front. She had the goods.

She brought me three cookies that day and stayed with me until we left. She even ate her meal right beside me on the floor, balancing her plate on her lap.

This aggravated Mama, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it, because she didn’t have any control over Eva’s actions. It delighted me to know she was not the boss of everybody.

My birthday came and went without a celebration, or a cake, or even a mention of the special occasion. The rest of the summer was better for me that year, because Mama was trying to put on appearances for Social Services. Mrs. Blackburn was still dropping by the house now and then to check on how everything was going with me. Sometimes she didn’t call first, so Mama had to make sure I was always cleaned up and fed, just in case. On the days she knew Mrs. Blackburn was coming, she let me play outside; the rest of the time I spent in my room.