Early Spring 01 Broken Flower (6 page)

Grandmother Emma surprised me by looking in on me. I was alone in the study, where we had an entertainment center. Grandmother Emma was never very interested in watching television with us because her bedroom had an entirely separate area with settees and chairs and a big television set that my grandfather Blake had bought for himself two years before he had died.
Instantly. I lowered the volume on the television set because I anticipated her complaining. She looked at me, at the set, and shook her head.
"Now that school is over for you, I imagine you'll waste all your time in here watching nonsense," she said.
"I have lots of books to read, books my teacher told us to read," I said in my defense.
She looked skeptical. "Stand up," she ordered suddenly.
I did, my heart starting to race. I glanced back at the sofa. Did I do something to mess it up? She stepped farther into the room, and then with her eyes still fixed on me, started to circle me.
"You're growing quickly," she said. "Just as quickly as my sister did."
Grandmother Emma never, ever mentioned her sister, Francis Wilkins, to us. If her name came up in a conversation with Daddy, she quickly skated over it and went on to another topic. All I really knew about my great-aunt Francis was she lived alone on a failed farm my grandparents had bought a long, long time ago, primarily, it seemed, to give Francis a home. She had never married and had no children.
I once came across a picture of her when she was about twenty and I thought she was far prettier than Grandmother Emma. She had a wonderful, soft, childlike smile of delight. Her oval face with its high cheekbones was framed in rich, wavy light brown hair snipped smartly just at the base of her neck and brushed so it fell an inch or so below her jawbone. She was wearing what looked like a riding outfit and I could see she had a firm, shapely figure. I imagined the picture had been taken on the farm, but what struck me most about it was she was alone and looked like she had been surprised by the photographer. How could someone so pretty be unmarried and alone her whole life?
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask questions about her.
"Growing quickly is not an advantage, believe me," Grandmother Emma said. "It simply hastens life's little problems and drops them on your doorstep before you're ready for them. Francis is living proof of that," she added, and I held my breath. Would she say more, tell me more? Did she know about my problem? Had Great-aunt Francis suffered the same problem?
When she was silent again. I dared ask, "Why doesn't she ever visit us. Grandmother, or why don't we ever visit her on her farm?"
"It's not her farm. Never mind her," she snapped. "Your mother has to buy you more appropriate dresses. The one you're wearing is ridiculously too short now. I swear, sometimes it seems I'm the only one who realizes anything around here," she added.
She looked at me even closer and I wondered if she had noticed the buds on my chest.
"It's simply stupid to not have you mixing with young people your age in a camp or summer school. Loitering about here is out of the question," she said.
I thought she was going to tell me that we were to go to the cabin for the summer, but she concluded, turned, and left me confused. She was upset with me, but yet she seemed truly to care about my looks and welfare. Was that the way her mother treated her? Or her grandmother? Did she care for my benefit or for her own, afraid I would somehow embarrass her in front of her important friends?
All of a sudden. I wanted to know much more about Grandmother Emma, but I was afraid to ask anyone, especially Mama, who might think I wasn't on her side. I made up my mind that one of these days I would sneak into Grandmother Emma's room and look at her picture albums and other family
memorabilia that I knew she kept locked in closets, buried in boxes and drawers.
Would I, like Pandora, unleash more pain and suffering than I could imagine? When Mama had told me the story. I had read it myself. Pandora opened the box because she was curious, but also because she heard whispers coming from it. Didn't I hear whispers in this house, whispers on the stairs, whispers in the shadows, whispers from the empty rooms and from the closets? They were drawing me to them just the way they drew Pandora to the box.
After she had opened it and released all the pain and suffering, sadness and disease, her husband. Epimetheus, and Pandora, who had been stung by the brown moths of sadness and illness, heard another voice urging them to let it out. They opened the box again, and hope emerged. Evil had entered the world, but hope followed closely on its footsteps, to help us.
Couldn't I let hope out? Or would I just unleash the evil that crouched in the darkness, waiting to spring into our lives?
Like Pandora,
I
was destined to find out.

Everything that had happened during the day made me tired much earlier than I had expected I would be. I turned off the set and went upstairs. I paused in the hallway and listened to see if Mama was crying again, but it was just very, very quiet. I closed my bedroom door and got undressed quickly.

Once again, I went into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn't help but think of the things Ian had told me and tried to tell me. Little eggs were floating around inside me. If a boy put his tadpoles into me.
I
could have a baby grow in my stomach. The whole idea of it frightened me, but it also made me more curious about myself and what was happening now.

The feelings I had when
I
touched myself were so different from feelings I had before all this had begun. It made my head spin. My stomach bubbled and gurgled and even ached a bit. Was that because the eggs were bouncing around, waiting for the tadpoles? I did want to learn more and I was sorry now that I had been so angry and mean to Ian. After I got into my pajamas and brushed my teeth. I went out and knocked on his door.

"Who is it?" he called.
"Me. Can I come in?"
"Come in," he said. He was sitting at his desk,

"I don't want to wait to know about the tadpoles," I said, and he
"Call it sperm, Jordan. I just said tadpoles because they look like that under a microscope. Males have reproductive organs, too, of course, and when they reach puberty, they can manufacture the sperm."
"Once a month, too?"
"No, all the time, instantly when aroused," he said.
"What's aroused?"
"Stimulated, excited. When they get hard and bigger like you heard. Blood rushes down there and makes it that way and then, at a certain point, the sperm shoots out. Okay? Now remember, don't go telling Mother
I
told you all this," he added. "She might not like me doing it. If she tells you, pretend to be hearing it for the first time. Otherwise, she'll be angry at me and I'll never be able to tell you anything again."
"Does it shoot out of you yet?" I asked.
He stared at me for a long moment. "I think you know enough for right now," he said. Then he thought again and stood up. His eyes grew narrow and intense like Dr. DellAcquars were and he stepped up to me. "This is interesting,'" he said. "I wonder if it's instinctive for you to have these thoughts now."
"You mean like the birds coming back?"
"Yes, something like that." He looked back at the door I had left open and then he went to it and closed it softly. "Did you just start thinking about boys?" he asked. "I mean after this thing started happening to you, this precocious puberty?"
I shook my head, but not with conviction. I wasn't sure what he meant. I certainly thought about boys in my class, how this one was cute or that one was ugly. Some were so childish and silly. None looked like they would become as intelligent as Ian.
He started to talk like a teacher again, making a speech as if there were many people in his room and not just me.
"Our reproductive urges are built into us. It's not something we have to learn. I mean, we can learn more about it, understand what happens to us, but we don't have to be taught how to do it, just like we don't have to be taught how to go to the bathroom or eat or sleep. Our bodies need us to do it. The species needs us to do it."
"Needs us to do what?"
"Forget about that for a moment," he said with some irritation. Then he narrowed his eyes again. "Let's try one experiment," he said. "But don't ever tell anyone," he warned. "Remember," he reminded me, "how we swore in your bathroom to keep my research and investigation our secret, okay?"
"Yes."
He was spending so much time with me. I didn't want to upset him again. He reached out and carefully unbuttoned my pajama top. He opened it and looked at my buds. Had they grown bigger already? I stood there waiting to see what he had discovered when he surprised me by touching my nipple, only he didn't just touch it and pull away. He kept his finger there, moving it slightly.
"It doesn't just tickle, does it?" he asked.
It didn't. It was different, very different.
I shook my head and said, "No." but it came out like a whisper.
"You're actually getting stiffer. Holy schmoly," he said, and then, as if he realized what he was doing was not right, jerked his finger away,
"What's that mean, stiffer?"
"Button up," he said without answering me, and returned to his desk.
I waited. His fact was flushed.
I
thought he was upset at me again for some reason. He wrote something in his journal and then he looked up.
"Ok-ay,' he said. "That's enough for now. I'll teach you more and more, but let's go slowly so you don't get confused and frightened. You should never be frightened of knowledge anyway," he added. "Remember, don't tell anyone, especially Mother, or I'll never tell you anything again," he warned.
"I won't tell," I said.
"You'd better go to sleep," he said. "Go on," he nearly shouted.
I hurried out, looking back once at him before I closed his door. He looked different, still flushed. I knew he wasn't alloy at me, but what was confusing was he looked like he was angry at himself.
I closed the door and went to my room. Not long after. Mama came to my room to see if I had gone to bed. She was in her nightgown already and I could see that she had been crying. Her eyes were still bloodshot.
"Grandmother Emma came to see me downstairs,"
I
told her. "I was watching television and she came into the room and asked me to stand up."
6: Not a Freak Page 103
"She said I was getting very tall, growing fast like her sister. Francis, and my clothes were inappropriate, my dress too short."
"Francis? That's interesting," she said. She thought a moment and then shook her head. "Did she ask you anything else? Did you tell her anything about going to the doctor?" she asked very quickly.
"No, Mama."
"Be sure you don't," she said. "We want to keep this from her as long as we can. I don't relish having her comment and complain or even offer advice." She fixed my blanket. "I intended to take you for new clothes. She's not wrong about that. We'll do it this weekend on your birthday. You need something nice for your birthday dinner. Your father promised to take us all out to your favorite restaurant, the Japanese place where they cook the food right in front of you."
"And then we're going to the cabin?" I asked before thinking.
"Yes," she said. "Maybe for longer this time."
I was happy she knew and it wasn't a secret kept from her. "It will do us all good to get away from here," she told me. I knew she really meant to get away from Grandmother Emma. "Are you all right?"
I nodded and she leaned down to kiss me. "You're just a little girl," she said. "This is so unfair. Your youth is being stolen from you."
I didn't speak even though I wondered what she meant. Who was stealing it? How can youth be stolen anyway? It wasn't like anything you kept in drawers and boxes. Tears were coming from her eyes now as she stroked my hair. She sucked in her breath and flicked off her tears quickly.
"You'll be all right," she said. "Why are you crying, Mama?"
"It's nothing. Don't mind me. I'm just not doing well tonight. I'll be better tomorrow. Good night," she said, and left me, closing the door softly.
I lay there with my eyes open and my hand on my stomach. Then slowly, I brought my fingers back to my nipple and touched it like Ian had done.
I saw from the expression on his face that what he learned about me had upset him. Did that mean something terrible was going to happen?
I curled up quickly like the caterpillar and filled my mind with hope.
It worked, not only because I fell asleep quickly, but because in the morning, after breakfast. Mama received a phone call from Dr. Dell'Acqua, who told her I had no tumor in my brain. My problem was a result of hormones, she said, and she was going to prescribe a medicine that she believed would stop the precocious puberty.
The news made Daddy happy, too. Suddenly, it was like a wind had come blowing through the grand house, pushing away the bad weather, the darkness and clouds. Grandmother Emma had obviously not complained to Daddy about Mama's yelling at her and banging the table either. They had no arguments about it.
In fact, Mama was smiling and she and Daddy were even laughing together. What's more, the school year ended and I left without any of my friends knowing anything about what was happening to me. I had been able to keep our secret locked up tightly.
It
all started to look perfect. Plans were definitely set for my birthday dinner. Grandmother Emma was invited, but she hated the Japanese restaurant and the idea of cooking going on right in front of her nose.
She surprised me that morning, however, by having my birthday present at breakfast on my chair, All the other times, she waited until my actual birthday dinner.
"You may open it now," she said, and I quickly did. Everyone waited and watched.
I took out a coral shade silk dress with a hot pink slip. There was an embroidered flower garden on the hem.
"That should be perfect for evenings at the lake." Grandmother Emma said. "And it's the correct length," she added, glancing at Mama.
There was a shoe box, too, with a pair of light pink leather buckle sandals.
It was the cutest, most fashionable dress she had ever bought for me. I loved it, but when I looked at Mama's face, she looked upset, worried.
"You can go try it on," Grandmother Emma said. "I'd like to be sure it all fits you well."
"Let her do it after breakfast.'" Mama interjected.
Grandmother Emma didn't look pleased, but said nothing. Breakfast was served. Daddy described some of the economic improvements he had made at the supermarket. He was having the storage area renovated to make more efficient use of it.
Grandmother Emma looked on him with approval in her eyes. She announced that in the fall she might hold one of her charity parties at the house just as she had during her Golden Age. It did sound exciting. Even Mama looked interested. Were all our troubles really dissolving?
Afterward.
I
went upstairs to put on the silk dress and the sandals. Mama came into my room with me.
"Oh. God,' she said. The bodice was snug so that my buds were clearly revealed, even prominent. She went to my closet.
"Put this undershirt on first," she told me, and handed the sleeveless undershirt to me.
It
at least subdued my nipples, but didn't flatten me entirely. "That will have to do," she said.
The sandals fit perfectly.
"I don't know how she picked out ones that fit you. I had no idea she knew your sizes. I guess she really doesn't miss much," Mama said. This time it sounded more like a compliment than a complaint about her. "Give the devil her due," she added.
We went downstairs to model it all for Grandmother Emma, who was in the hallway, giving Nancy some orders about housecleaning. She was displeased with something so much that when she turned, she didn't look me over that carefully.
"Very nice," she said, concentrating on the hem most of all. "I'm taking her for clothes this afternoon," Mama told her.
"Good idea," Grandmother Emma said, and returned to what she had been saying to Nancy.
"For once I'm happy she's absorbed in only what really interests her," Mama muttered, and hurried me away.
We spent the day shopping. Saleswomen were happy to see my mother in the department stores and all inquired after her health, as if they believed she had been away recuperating or something, because they hadn't seen her shopping that often.
"Look how big she's gotten," one of the more familiar salesladies said, looking at me.
Mama forced a smile to her face as if she was happy about it, but she tried to find clothes that deemphasized my development--loose fitting blouses, athletic shirts. We bought new sneakers and sandals, but the most difficult thing to find was a new bathing suit. We finally discovered a rose petal two-piece skirted suit that had a bulky top and was very concealing. She bought mc another in a blue color, too.
All in all, as we drove home. I could see Mama was happy about my new summer wardrobe. Once again, she told me she was actually looking forward to spending most of the summer up at the lake.
"I'll get a lot of reading done. We'll have picnics and go for boat rides and I'll take you and Ian to the fun park and we'll go horseback riding. They have that art show up there every summer and we'll eat in the nice little restaurants when Daddy comes up on the weekends. Ian needs to be outdoors more, too." She laughed, which was good to hear, and added, "I'd even go on one of his nature hunts with him."
"Me, too," I said.
I had forgotten how wonderful my mother's smile could be, but once she flashed it at me, it filled me with pleasure and caterpillar hope.
We were both surprised to see Daddy's car in front of the house when we drove up. Usually, he spent all day at the supermarket office or meeting with people. He was never home this early. Maybe he was here because of my birthday. I thought. He was going to spend more time with me.
"I thought he had that meeting with the men renovating the storage area," she muttered when we parked. I could see the look of concern sinking into her face and darkening her eyes with worry.
The sunshine that had begun my birthday was being pushed away by bully clouds shoving the blue sky toward the horigon. I embraced some of my packages and bags and followed my mother into the house. The moment we entered. Daddy stepped out of the living room and glared at us, his face so red with irritation, he looked like he had broken out in a rash.
"My mother wants to speak to you," he told Mama.
"After I put Jordan's things away," she said.
"No. Caroline," he said. "Now. Just put all that on the bench there for the time being," he added, nodding at an antique bench in the entryway.
He was calling Mama "Caroline" instead of "Carol." No question about it. I thought, there was trouble.
No one seemed to take notice of me. I stood back while Mama did what Daddy had asked and walked to the living room. She didn't even tell me to go upstairs. She was that upset. I edged my way toward the living room and stood outside. Through the doorway I saw my mother standing and facing Grandmother Emma, who sat in her regal Victorian mahogany parlor chair, her arms on the chair arms, her back straight.
"What is it that couldn't possibly wait a few more minutes. Emma?" my mother demanded.
"I happened to have a conversation with Rene Dell'Acqua today," Grandmother Emma began.
I saw my mother's body stiffen, as if she had just been whipped across the back.
"A conversation that turned out to be more about Jordan than me."
"She has no right to discuss her patient's private medical information with anyone," my mother responded sharply, without wiating to hear another word.
"I'm not anyone, Caroline. I'm the girl's grandmother. I'm disappointed in both you and my son, keeping such a thing a secret from me."
"We live under your roof, but we do try to have our own lives. Emma," my mother said. She looked to Daddy to see if he would come to her aid, but he just stared at the floor, looking to me like a little boy who had been caught doing something naughty.
"Your lives, as you say, are not as separate from mine and from all this as you imagine or even would like, Caroline. Even though Bethlehem Steel is no more. I am still friends with the wives and families of former executives, not to mention many other influential people in this community. We are still on a stage, still looked up to, admired, the center of social attention. The March name follows you everywhere, and where you go, therefore. I go. Now," she said, waving her hand to chase away any further discussion about that, "who knows about this.. .this thing besides us?"