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Poet deVine

Administrator

Member Seraphic

since 1999-05-26

Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley

0 posted 2001-04-15 10:29 PM

*Note: Please note this is a work of fiction. It is based on a real incident in someone else's life. I has been totally reworked into fiction.

*****

1962

It was the age of innocence but I didn’t fully realize it or appreciate it until much later when I was in college. Life was so simple. I lived in a small town in the Midwest. My dad joked it was the kind of town where you didn’t have to use a turning signal when you drove because everyone knew where you were going anyway!

My parents never watched the TV news if we were in the room and my brother and I weren’t interested in reading the local weekly newspaper. We were sheltered from all the bad things that happened around us.

But this was also the summer I began to see the ‘other side’ of innocence And it was the year I “became a woman”. I was eleven.

My mother was going full speed ahead with her afternoon ‘ladies’ clubs and that left little time for her to supervise me. Not that I minded, it was the first taste of freedom I ever had. It was the first year she didn’t hire a baby-sitter to take care of me every time she left the house for more than 15 minutes. She took my little brother Jeff with her since he was only 6, but I had long glorious afternoons alone.

I had no friends so I spent my time reading, or sitting in my treehouse writing in my diary. I had momentous entries that summer. I’d been feeling sick for almost a week when suddenly, I got the shock of my life. I realized that my ‘monthly friend’ (as my mother called it) had transported me from childhood to womanhood. Without any benefits that I could see though. I learned right away that being a woman wasn’t what I’d been led to expect.

The one thing I wanted all summer was to get a crew cut like my brother. My hair was long and thin and so stringy it wouldn’t even stay in pigtails. My mother said ‘that’s not a hair cut for young girls.’ She permed my hair until it was nothing but a ragged frizz. I felt like a poodle!

My mother was perfect. Her hair was neatly combed and styled and she always dressed in crisply ironed dresses with tiny flowers on them. Even around the house on Saturday, she wore those dresses. I asked her why she did it, I must have been nine at the time, and said ‘when you’re a woman, you’ll understand’.

Well, here I was, a week into my womanhood and I still didn’t understand! I kept waiting to get that flash of insight that would shock my body, I’d get a blank look on my face and suddenly, I’d understand the ‘secret of the flowered dresses’. It never happened!

Another reason I hated those dresses was because my mother thought I should be wearing them too. ME? A dress? No way! All that summer I was 11, I only wore a dress to church (the rest of the time I lived in shorts or dungarees). But every Sunday morning, my mother would come into my room, pick out a dress for me from my closet and lay it on the bed while I pretended to sleep.

“This yellow one is lovely!” she would say smoothly. Then she’d leave the room. And though she wasn’t forceful, I knew the yellow dress had better be on my body when I went downstairs or my mother would give me that ‘look’. I wondered if that look came with womanhood – so far I hadn’t been able to come close to making that face (though I spent a lot of time ‘looking’ in the mirror at myself). Maybe the ‘look’ came after you had a kid. That thought made me sick. I hated kids. My little brother was OK, but all his friends were horrid. They laughed when I walked into the room and acted like they knew what my body was doing to me that year!

Dressed in the yellow flowered dress, I went to church with my brother and parents. Except for the dress my mother wore, she looked like every other mother there. The hat, the gloves, the purse and the shoes (white before Labor Day). The sermons were long and boring so I perfected the ‘interested look’ while secretly writing stories of shipwrecked pirates and cowboys in saloon fistfights in my mind. I was considered ‘quiet’ and ‘shy’ by all the other parents and ‘weird’ by all the other kids. Which is why I didn’t have any friends.

That Sunday when we got home from church, my brother rushed into the house and up stairs to change into play clothes. I knew it was my turn to help set the table so I wanted to finish that before I changed. I walked into the house behind my parents so they didn’t notice me for a few minutes.

Aunt Tabbie, Tabitha my mother’s sister, sat on the couch in our living room. She held a cloth to her face and I could see that her lip was swollen and bleeding. Her hair was messed up and her clothes looked like she’d slept in them.

“Oh Tabbie!” my mother cried as she sat holding my aunt’s hand. “What happened?”

“Was it Jack?” my father asked?

Aunt Tabbie looked up with her one good eye and nodded her head.

“I’m going to go call him right now,” my father said as he walked into the kitchen. He didn’t see me standing there in the hallway so I stayed, listening.

“I can’t do it anymore Penny. I just can’t take this anymore!” Tabbie cried softly.

“Was he drinking?” my mother asked.

Aunt Tabbie nodded.

I was stunned. From what I was hearing, Uncle Jack, funny, lively Uncle Jack had hit my Aunt Tabbie! And it seemed it wasn’t the first time either.

My father came back into the living room and announced “Jacks coming over”.

“NO!” Aunt Tabbie cried, “I don’t want to see him!”

“Nonsense Tabbie, you two have to talk about this. Jack said he was drinking too much and didn’t even know you were gone much less remember that he may have pushed you.” My father’s voice had never sounded colder. I looked at him and wondered why he was acting like this!

“Tabbie, at least hear him out!” my mother pleaded.

Suddenly, Aunt Tabbie looked up and saw me standing there. Our eyes locked for an interminable time. In that instant I saw fear and resignation. I realized that my ‘quiet’ Aunt Tabbie wasn’t so much quiet as beaten down. My chest hurt and I felt like I was going to cry so I slipped down the hall and upstairs to my room.

I didn’t hear everything that happened when Uncle Jack came over, I just heard him crying and swearing it would never happen again. Later, after Uncle Jack had taken Aunt Tabbie home, I overheard my parents as they came upstairs to change out of their Sunday clothes.

“I don’t know what makes Jack do that!” my mother cried.

“He’s got a lot of problems at work and he’s drinking way too much.” My father said.

“I almost wish she’d leave him,” my mother sighed. “There’s never been a divorce in our family, this would just kill momma!”

They closed the door to their room and I didn’t hear the rest. I ran downstairs and quickly set the table then ran out to the back yard and climbed the tree to my treehouse.

It was the coolest place in the world. My dad was a contractor so my treehouse was more than just a few boards nailed to a tree. I had a ladder that you used to climb up to the ‘porch’ and then a door to the house itself (I kept it locked with a combination lock so my brother and his horrid friends wouldn’t get in.) I knew eventually that my brother would be given rights to play here, but for now, no one had told me to vacate. So it was my sanctuary. And that Sunday, for the first time, I realized that I needed one.

I wrote about the events of the day in my diary then sat for a long time staring at the words. I don’t know why I thought my parents were wrong to send Aunt Tabbie home with Uncle Jack, I only knew that I wouldn’t have done it.

“Laura! Dinner’s ready.” My mother called from the ground below me. It was an unspoken rule that no one was allowed to climb the tree without permission. Oddly, even my brother followed that rule. Today, I was grateful because I didn’t want to take the chance of letting my mother see my diary. I locked it and wrapped it in some oilcloth and hid it in my special hiding place. Then I climbed down and went in to eat.

I watched both my parents for the rest of the day seeking some sign that they had changed. But they were the same as they always were. My father making jokes, my mother watching us for signs that we were low on bread or milk or something. It was a normal Sunday afternoon. And yet, I felt different. Maybe they hadn’t changed, but I knew I had.

The next day, when mother went to her Monday afternoon bridge game, I hopped on my bike and rode over to Aunt Tabbie’s house. It wasn’t far, only a few blocks, but now I remembered that I didn’t often go there. Aunt Tabbie and Uncle Jack didn’t have any kids, no cousins for me to play with, so they always came to our house since it was easier for them to get out.

I stood on the porch for a long time, unsure of why I was even there and too timid to knock. The sound of glass breaking somewhere in the back of the house caused me to jump off the porch and run around the house to the back yard. Aunt Tabbie, still dressed in her robe and slippers, was tossing bottles into a big tin trashcan.

“Hi!” I said loudly.

Aunt Tabbie turned quickly, one hand holding a bottle above her head. Her face was purple where yesterday it had been swollen. I noticed her eyes. Funny, but I never noticed them before yesterday and now, two days in a row, our eyes connected for the longest time although I knew it was only a split second.

“Laura?” she asked (it was like she didn’t recognize me).

“I just came over to see if you were feeling better.” God! What a lame excuse I thought.

“I’m fine honey, just fine.” She lowered the bottle and dropped it into the can. This time there wasn’t the sound of breaking glass, just a dull thud as the bottle hit the rest of the trash. “Want some lemonade?” She asked.

“Sure.”

She led me into the kitchen where I sat down as she got out a glass, some ice and a pitcher of lemonade. Her kitchen was spotless and smelled slightly of pine.

I don’t remember what we talked about. It was chatter really. To cover her embarrassment and my confusion. I only stayed about 20 minutes and when I left I did the dumbest thing. I put my hand on her arm and said, “I don’t understand.”

And she replied, “I think you do, Laura, I think you do.” Aunt Tabbie tried to smile, but her swollen lip didn’t work right and all I got was a lopsided smirk.

I spent the few days cleaning my treehouse and preparing it for Friday night. I had pleaded with my parents to let me sleep in the treehouse and Friday night was the night! I took several cans of Spam, some crackers; some cans of fruit and a can opener and dragged an old sleeping bag and some pillows up there. I was so excited

Jeff threw a big fit about me getting to sleep in the treehouse that Mom and Dad told him they would take him to a movie. It was an early show, my Dad got off at noon that Friday and the three of them left the house at five. They were seeing a movie then stopping afterwards for hamburgers and shakes. I envied Jeff the burger and shake, but I was also happy that I’d be on my own. It seemed I’d done a lot of thinking in the last few days and wanted to spend time tonight writing in my diary.

I had just taken the last of my three flashlights up to the treehouse (I may have become a woman but I still had a ‘thing’ about being in total darkness), when I heard something on the side of the house. My first thought was to run in and call someone. Then I figured it was just the neighbor’s cat going after the tuna cans Mom threw out earlier. I ignored it.
A few minutes later, I heard it again. This time I grabbed my bat and tiptoed to the side of the house. I saw her crouched there by the trash, her face almost unrecognizable. But I knew her eyes….it was Aunt Tabbie.

“Pll…..ee…z..” she whispered.

I dropped the bat and reached for her. My first thought was to take her into the house and call Mom and Dad at the theater. Then I realized they would probably call Uncle Jack. So I took Aunt Tabbie through the yard to my tree.

“Can you climb up there?” I asked.

“No!” she said breathlessly. Then she doubled over and threw up at the foot of the ladder.

Somehow, we me pulling and Aunt Tabbie climbing one rung at a time, I got her into the treehouse.

“Stay here.” I cautioned her. I ran down and quickly hosed down the vomit, erasing all traces of it. I searched around the trashcan and found one of Aunt Tabbies shoes. With it tucked into my jeans, I ran into the house. For the next few minutes I gathered supplies: aspirin, a jug of water, some antiseptic and gauze, some ice and an old flannel nightgown from the bottom of my mother’s dresser.

Aunt Tabbie’s eyes were swollen shut when I got back to her, so I put some ice in a cloth and held them to her face. She seemed to fall asleep so I quickly wiped the blood off her face. There was a knot on her head that had a deep gash in it…it bled for a long time. I lost all track of time until I realized it was getting dark. I turned on two of my flashlights, placing them on the ledge so they shone onto my aunt’s face.

“Laura” she whispered. “Help me.”

It took only a heartbeat for me to tell her that I would. I hadn’t thought of not helping her. I moved with an instinct that I didn’t know I had. Maybe it was the ‘woman’ thing.

I heard my parents come home and quickly turned out the flashlights. My father came out to the tree and whispered my name. ‘Just checking’, he said. I peeked out and told him I was ok, that I had slept for a time. He went back into the house.

I lay down next to Aunt Tabbie and drifted off.

Aunt Tabbie’s moans woke me an hour later. I gave her some water and a couple of aspirin. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had. And then I heard the voices.

Uncle Jack was in the house talking to my parents. He was loudly accusing them of hiding his wife. My father tried to calm him down but he kept getting louder and louder. My mother sounded angry when she told him to ‘sleep it off’ on the couch. I crept down from the treehouse and stood at the back door. My mother was in the kitchen making coffee and tried to shoo me outside.

“Go on back up there Laura. This is no business of yours.”

“What’s wrong, why is Uncle Jack here?”

My father entered the kitchen and started talking before he realized I was there. “Where on earth would she go Penny? Jack is mad with worry about her!”

“We’ll find her.” My mother assured him. “She’s probably over at momma’s right now, asleep.” With a wave of her hand, my mother dismissed me. But I lingered around the side of the house listening.

I heard my parents talking about going to Grandma’s house in the morning and bringing Tabitha home. Phrases like “if only she wouldn’t make him mad when he’s drinking” and “if my ladies club hears about this, I’ll be so embarrassed”. My heart sank. My parents would take Aunt Tabbie back to Uncle Jack if they found her. And I was determined they wouldn’t.

The next morning, I came down from my hiding place and tried to act like nothing was wrong. Mom spent the morning on the phone with Grandma. Both of them were worried that Aunt Tabitha hadn’t tried to contact them. My Grandmother said she’d contact the police but Mom talked her out of it. “Let’s keep this a family matter!”

At 11:30, Mom took Jeff with her to the ladies club. I scurried up to the treehouse to find Aunt Tabbie awake.

“Come on,” I urged. “We only have a few hours before Mom comes home.”

“What are you going to do?” Aunt Tabbie asked.

“You need a bath and something hot to eat. While you get cleaned up, I’ll open a can of soup.” I smiled. And so did she.

That was our routine for the next few days. I would wake up in my own room and rush around doing my chores until Mom left at noon for one of her meetings… or clubs..or shopping. Then I would fix a hot meal for Aunt Tabbie and help her down from the tree to take a bath or wash her hair. By Thursday, she seemed stronger. And then she told me.

“I’m leaving, Laura. And you have to swear you won’t tell anyone, not even your Mom. I’ll wait a few weeks and send them a letter to tell them I’m ok. But I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“But..” I protested.

“No.” she said calmly. “No, it’s time for ME to take care of me now. But Laura, I want you to know that I will never forget what you did for me. If it hadn’t been for you…I don’t know what I’d have done.”

“I didn’t….”

“Yes, honey you did. You are the only one who understood. Now, go find something for me to wear. I’ll need shoes and a purse.”

After Aunt Tabbie took a bath and dressed in a pair of my mother’s old dungarees, she asked me to walk with her for a bit. We snuck out the back of the yard and down the alley. Keeping her face shaded from the passing cars, Aunt Tabbie was silent as we walked. We ended up in the alley behind her house. I reached up to open the gate, but she motioned me to the end of the fence. There, under a brick was a lunch box. When Aunt Tabbie opened it, I saw a stack of money!

“My nest egg.” She said. And for the first time that I could remember, Aunt Tabbie smiled broadly.

We walked along alleys and back streets until we got to the bus station. I waited outside while my aunt went inside to buy a ticket. She told me she was going to Chicago. And from there, well, she would decide later.

Her bus was ready to leave and suddenly I felt like I was going to throw up! She hugged me and tucked something in the pocket of my jeans.

“Thank you.” She said as tears ran down her cheeks.

“I love you.” I whispered.

“And I love you, Laura.” She cupped my face with her hands. “You’re a wonderful young woman.” And then she turned and boarded the bus.

I turned to leave and saw a woman staring at me. She seemed familiar, like she was one of my mother’s friends. So I turned back to the bus and waved stupidly. “Bye Miss Jenkins!! You will always be my favorite teacher!” The woman turned away. And I waved again, this time to my brave Aunt Tabbie. And then the bus was gone.

When I got home, I pulled a note out of my pocket. It read “to Laura, on becoming a woman” and it was pinned to a twenty-dollar bill.

The following Monday, we received a letter from Aunt Tabbie. It was postmarked Chicago, but she said she was only passing through. Relief and worry danced across my mother’s face. My Uncle Jack was shown the letter and he seemed to grow a lot quieter after that. That afternoon, I took my money to the barbershop and got a crew cut just like Jeff’s. I had to lie and tell the barber that I had lice. When I looked at myself in the mirror all I could see was my head…and just a little fuzz. It was the coolest thing! I smiled all the way home.

Of course, I got punished for that little act of rebellion. And it wasn’t the last time either.

1972

Laura’s End Note:

Today, I wear my hair short, but not so short that I look like a boy. Next month, I’m graduating from college with a degree in counseling. I’ve already got a job. Right now I work nights, at the local women’s shelter “Hannah’s Hands”, helping women find their way out of abusive relationships. We have our successes and failures, but each woman that finds the courage to move on brings me closer to Aunt Tabbie. Tonight, we’re getting a new guest so I spent the first hour at work making up a bed, getting a room ready.

Tabbie’s End Note:

Summer is a special time for me. It’s the time I remember my awakening. And I wonder if my niece Laura ever thinks of me. I divorced Jack a year after I left him, he tried to find me then, but I had a support system in place and eventually he gave up and left me alone.

Today, I own a chain of used furniture stores in the Southwest. And all of it is a front for what I really do. I run an underground for abused women who feel they have to run away and hide before they find the strength to cut the ties from an abusive relationship. Tonight, I am picking up another woman. I don’t know her name, nor do I need to know. I’ll keep her with me for a few hours, then drop her off at a shelter in another city. There’s a new one I’ve never used. It’s called “Hannah’s Hands”. I heard they have some wonderful counselors there.

*

[This message has been edited by Poet deVine (edited 04-15-2001).]

LoveBug

Moderator

Member Elite

since 2000-01-08

Posts 4697

1 posted 2001-04-15 11:21 PM

Oh gosh Sharon, this is such a touching story. It brought tears to my eyes. This story really outlines the strenth that some women are able to find. That strength should be praised and admired, and should also be something to strive for. Thank you for reminding us.

"Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel."-Machiavelli

serenity blaze
Member Empyrean

since 2000-02-02

Posts 27738

2 posted 2001-04-16 01:51 PM

I love this sharon...(but you knew I would) sometimes children see things so much more clearly--I love the "coming of age" theme underlying, I also loved the contrast of a nurturing instinct coming out of a young tomboy, instead of the so called "norm" of the appearance of womanliness. Very touching and thoughtful work here. Methinks there is more than a bit of "you" in this--and boy, did it translate!

Sven

Member Laureate

since 1999-11-23

Posts 14937
East Lansing, MI USA

3 posted 2001-04-16 07:38 PM

You have again spoken to me in ways that I can only begin to tell you. . .

I'm sharing this one. . . if you don't mind. . . thanks for this. . .

-----------------------------------------------------

To the world, you may only be one person. But to one person, you may be the world.

Marge Tindal

Member Empyrean

since 1999-11-06

Posts 42384
Florida's Foreverly Shores

4 posted 2001-04-17 01:18 AM

Sharon~
Something pulled me into this forum tonight-
I quickly found out what it was in this story from you.

This is a poignant story that should be shared with so many.

Excellently written, with good characterization ...
but then - aren't true 'fiction' stories that way ?

How compassionately you handled Tabbie's situation -
and how much compassion you gave Laura to be able
to 'grow' into her womanhood.

Perhaps 'Hannah's Hands' will be the renewal place
for their relationship to come full-circle.

A tenderly written piece.
I do hope you take your own oft-quoted advice
and submit it for publishing.
~*Marge*~

~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~
noles1@totcon.com

Poet deVine

Administrator

Member Seraphic

since 1999-05-26

Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley

5 posted 2001-04-17 09:15 AM

Thank you ladies for you kind replies.

Marge, the implication of the last end notes meant that they definitely were going to meet. I wanted to leave it up to the readers imagination as to how.

I would submit it, but I'm not sure which magazine to send it to....if you have any ideas, please let me know!

Thank you all again!

kitkat
Senior Member

since 2000-01-11

Posts 878
Nova Scotia

6 posted 2001-04-18 12:22 PM

I have been visiting thisd forum lately. What a sad but awakening summer this young girl had. I am glad you wrote it and shared with us.

Marilyn
Member Elite

since 1999-09-26

Posts 2621
Ontario, Canada

7 posted 2001-04-22 04:00 PM

Powerful writing Sharon. There are far to many truths in the conversation Laura's parents had in the kitchen that night. Far to many people blame the beaten. Far to many people don't understand or turn a blind eye because they wish not to see. In the 21st century we have more knowledge with is wonderful but we still find this kind of thinking today.

Ecellent writing as per always my friend.

Marilyn

ccwryter
Junior Member

since 2001-04-22

Posts 16
TX USA

8 posted 2001-04-23 05:31 PM

MiLady, this is a well crafted piece, and worthy of publishing. There are minor punctuation issues, but not many.

As for where, I would recommend that you start with Redbook. They are one of the better paying markets, though they accept very few. This one could be one of the few, IMHO.

Mike

Shelby Olivia
Junior Member

since 2000-07-04

Posts 25

9 posted 2001-04-30 06:44 PM

From someone who works in an abuse shelter i would like to say thanks for talking about a subject that no one wants to hear about. I have printed it off so i may read it to staff in our next staff meeting to remind all of us why we do the kind of work we do. Again i enjoyed it very much.

Shelby

JLR
Senior Member

since 2001-02-04

Posts 1785

10 posted 2001-04-30 07:27 PM

Chills that are only partially explained by my own experience...you are an incedible writer.

Irish Rose
Member Patricius

since 2000-04-06

Posts 10263

11 posted 2001-04-30 09:58 PM

YOU should be a novelist, this is fabulous.

Poet deVine

Administrator

Member Seraphic

since 1999-05-26

Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley

12 posted 2001-04-30 11:07 PM

Thank you all!!! You made my day with your replies!

Sunshine

Administrator

Member Empyrean

since 1999-06-25

Posts 63354
Listening to every heart

13 posted 2001-05-01 09:19 AM

Very good! And have you submitted this yet?

Sweeetsuz
Senior Member

since 2000-07-23

Posts 770
Fresno CA.

14 posted 2001-05-09 10:21 PM

As always you are Devine, you have presented the problem as it is and some hope. Our society is designed to promote violence to women, allows rape and abuse and then victimizes the victims. Well done

Blessed be and merrily met with good thoughts and feelings to all

desperado
Member

since 1999-05-24

Posts 312
FT Hood,Tx

15 posted 2001-05-10 12:42 PM

Wonderful piece. I truely enjoyed it. Perhaps more than the story, the hints, allegations or things left unsaid about the past in this piece was the little victories at the end. Out of every challenge there comes a time where we can sit back and smile at what has happened and feel good at what we've accomplished. It's not whether you win or lose that really counts, but whether you learned from the experience something about who you are and what you are. It's from that, and that alone, that we find true happiness. And don't worry, a little rebellion every now and then is a good thing.

People demand freedom of speech to make up for the freedom of thought which they avoid. --Soren Kierkegaard

obscurity of cloud
Member

since 2001-05-11

Posts 294
....:::::******:::::....

16 posted 2001-05-13 12:57 PM

I really love the language you use; it's very real. This is so publishable!

"so when at times the mob is swayed to carry praise or blame too far, we may choose something like a star" --Frost

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