Don't Call Me Mother (4 page)

A week after I start kindergarten, Vera makes good her promise. I go to kindergarten in the morning. The school is a few blocks from the house. Crayons, chalk, and books are cheerful smells to me. The kids are nice and the teacher is patient, showing us how to write and draw. Vera told me to come home right after school, so I obey, shuffling along, kicking leaves, watching a squirrel scamper up a tree. The scent of fresh grass and earth make me feel pretty good compared to what I find at Vera’s. Vera stands sentry by the back door. As soon as she sees me, she shouts, “What took you so long? Do you know what time it is?”

Her eyes are fiery and her teeth seem sharp and pointy. Vera drags me into the kitchen and points to the clock. “See. What took you so long? What did you do all this time?”

“I was just walking.” I stare at the clock hands, confused. I don’t know how to tell time yet.

“It doesn’t take anyone that long to walk home. Where did you go? What were you doing?”

What’s wrong? I was just enjoying my walk with the squirrels, the crackly leaves, the autumn day. I just look at her, not knowing what to say.

“Get in here.” She yanks me by the arm to the closet. She takes out a ping-pong paddle. I catch my breath. “I didn’t do anything, honest. I just walked home.”

“You’re a liar. Now pull down your pants.”

I don’t move. She can’t mean it, it doesn’t make any sense.

“Mind me! I told you to pull down your pants.”

I can’t fight her. The other night on the porch I learned that she’ll always win. My body throbs with shame as I slip down my underpants. She bends me over and at first hits me lightly. The sound of slaps on bare skin echo in the room. I figure that I should muster up a cry so she’ll stop. By the end of the spanking, my tears are real, and I hate myself for giving in and crying. She stands me upright. My tears make the room and Vera’s face look blurry. I am burning from the pain and from embarrassment. No one has ever humiliated me like that.

“That’ll teach you to come home on time and not lie to me. I can tell, you know, when kids lie.” She waves the paddle. “This is what you’ll get for it every time.”

Triumphant, she turns her attention to pie making. Betsy peeks out from behind the dining room door and giggles.

A bare light bulb hangs over the kitchen table. Charlie is at work; the boys are having a food fight. Vera is in another room with Betsy. Bacon and eggs wait on a platter for me. Gram never made me eat eggs once she found out that I was allergic to them. Just looking at the runny whites makes me feel like throwing up. Vera comes in and tells me to eat the eggs. I ask for cereal instead, and even say please. Furious, she stands over me. “What do I have to do to get you to eat your eggs—pound it into you?” She taps my head with her fists.

I realize that, again, she has to win. I dip a small piece of toast into the eggs. The boys turn their curious eyes toward me. I stop chewing in mid-bite, feeling sick. Vera leaves the room again. Terry and Bruce come over to pound their fists on my head, chanting, “Bacon and eggs, bacon and eggs, you’ve got to eat your bacon and eggs.” I sink down, trying to escape, but they keep it up, cackling and making fun of me. I manage to keep from crying.

When she comes back, Vera tells them to sit down. “Get busy and eat those eggs. We can sit here all day.” She spoons the eggs in front of me.

“Open your mouth. Hurry up.”

She sticks the spoon in my mouth. My throat closes and I start to gag.

“Don’t you dare throw that up! I’ll whale you a good one.”

I think of Gram’s face, her smile, how she called me “Sugar Pie.” Somehow the food goes down.

At school a few weeks later, the room swims in a cottony fog. I blink to clear the fog, trying to stay upright. Suddenly the teacher’s face is a few inches away, and she insists that I come with her to the nurse’s office to take my temperature. The office seems far away in a mist. The nurse takes my temperature, tells me I have a fever and have to go home. If I go home early, Vera will kill me. I’d be ruining her routine. These smiling ladies would never believe what goes on in that house, or that my “mother” would be angry at me for being sick. I decide that if I walk very slowly, I’ll get home close to the time that school gets out, and she’ll never know I left early. The nice teacher and nurse put a stop to my fantasy of making it work out for myself by offering me a ride. I keep saying no, but they rush me into my coat and send me out to the car.

Each step brings me closer to Vera and her rage. She does not like outsiders. I know these ladies are trying to be nice, but they have no idea how much trouble they are getting me into. The nurse knocks on the door. Vera acts nice and friendly, smiles her thanks. No one would ever guess what she’s really like.

When the car’s gone, she hisses. “So, you managed to come home early, did you? I had a little surprise planned for you and Betsy—riding sleds and making a snowman, but no, you have to get sick. Go to your room and stay there. You won’t be coming with us.” She looks triumphant for some reason, with a glint of pleasure in her eyes.

I’d rather play and have fun, but the world is fuzzy and I’m so tired. I look out my bedroom window to see Vera and Betsy playing in the snow. My breath frosts the window glass. Gram would have made me soup and tucked me into bed. Where are the people who care for me? Do they remember me?

Everyone plays the happy-face game when company comes for parties. Being with other people in a normal way cheers me up. One family has a sixteen-year-old boy named Freddie. He’s always paying attention to me, reading and playing games. He’s nicer than the boys I live with. After hamburgers, when the adults are playing card games, he kneels down and says, “Hey, show me the ping-pong table in the basement. Let’s go!”

He’s big and leads me protectively into the murky basement. He tells me that we’re going to play the tickle game, and that I should get on the bed. I am not sure about this, but I lie down and he lies beside me. He says to close my eyes. I feel his fingers moving along my ribs, and I break into a giggle. Then I feel a brush of air on my leg. I open my eyes and yank down my dress.

“This game is about the alphabet letters on your underpants.” He grins as he pulls up my dress again. “This is part of the game; it won’t hurt. Just let me see them. Oh, they’re cute. Here’s a red ‘B’ and a yellow ‘A’. Do you know your letters?”

Of course I do. Does he think I’m stupid? I try to squirm away from him and sit up.

“It’s okay, just lie back.” He keeps playing the lift-up-my-dress game. Part of my mind watches us, another part is thinking about Vera. If she sees this, she’ll beat me for sure. Freddie wedges me against the wall and unfastens his pants, releasing a pink thing. I don’t see it clearly because I squeeze my eyes shut. I know this is all very bad.

“Do you want to touch it?” he whispers.

I shake my head. I think fast—how can I get him up without making him mad? Vera might find us at any moment.

“I won’t hurt you.” He climbs on top of me. “Just let me put it between your legs.” He’s breathing hard. He pulls at my underpants, but I push against him. I have to get away. Now.

I start babbling, “Freddie, I have to go to the bathroom bad, really. Please let me get up. Pretty please.”

Freddie blinks and gets off me. I dart up the stairs and he follows, fastening his pants.

“You won’t tell anyone?” he whispers.

I shake my head no, but I’m terrified that Vera will see inside my brain and know anyway.

When we burst through the door into the bright lights of the kitchen, I have a smile plastered on my face to cover up any other feelings that might be there. The others ask us what we were doing. “Playing.” I feel dirty and confused, terrified that Vera will read my mind about Freddie in the basement, but she doesn’t seem to sense anything about it.

Vera accuses me of sneaking food between meals. I am always hungry, and mealtimes are so unpleasant that I can’t eat much for fear of being teased. It’s true that I did take some sugar bread, but how does she know? Vera’s eyes are even smaller than usual. She’ll spank me whether I tell the truth or lie, but the truth is worse. I shake my head. She grabs me by the arm and drags me to the closet for the paddle.

“Pull down your pants,” she yells. I wonder how I can stall her, get her to change her mind.

“Pull them down, I tell you!” She yanks down my pants and bends me over, spanking me hard, screaming, “You no-good liar. How dare you? You’re nothing.”

I cry in spite of myself. I hate myself for breaking down, giving her that power over me. She points at me, her face twisted. “Look at you, you’re a mess. No wonder your mother and father…” She starts hitting me again. “Repeat after me, my mother doesn’t love me, my father doesn’t love me, only you love me, Vera.”

They don’t love me? She is voicing my worst fear—that they have forgotten me, that they don’t really love me. If they did, why would they leave me here? My stomach sinks in misery and dread. Inside my head I try to fight what she says: no, they do love me, they must love me.

“Come on—repeat after me.” Her glittering eyes bore into my brain, my very soul. Her terrible words bang around in my head. For a long time, I cry, refusing to say the awful words that seem too true. Finally I have to give in because she won’t stop unless I do. I say the terrible words; darkness falls inside me. I feel like a piece of lint on the floor, to be swept away. I must be a terrible, bad person just as Vera says. I drag myself to my room, my mind flying around frantically, trying to reassemble the pieces.

One day Vera announces that Mommy is coming to visit. I try to remember my mother—her face, her wavy dark hair falling to her shoulders. I want to remember her soft voice and her touch, but now there’s just a blurry picture. At the train station in Wheatland, Mother steps out of the mist in all her loveliness. She bends down to kiss my face, and I put my arms around her, inhaling her musky, sweet scent. I want to tell her everything, but Vera stands behind me like a sentry. I know that if I tell Mother, she’ll have to take me away now or Vera will make everything much worse.