. . . . “I don’t think its working correctly anymore,” she said, her voice soft, low sounding over the continued commotion in the bathroom.
”What do you mean, Simone? You don’t think its working correctly anymore? Just fix it. It’s the strap piece that goes around the back.” Simone looked again at the pulled strap that flapped over the shoulder.
The young girl’s hands pulled again the back shoulder piece, pressing the back, and shoulder pieces together. The shoulder cover that came from the front of the dress came open, the dress falling around the waist of her mother.
“Simone!” The women in the bathroom seemed to not notice as her mother stood with her dress around her waist. Simone covered her face from the sharp blow that struck her across her head. The back of her head hit the wall of the bathroom. So many people around, but no one there to understand. Her mother, in her anger, went to hit her again, realizing that people were in the bathroom with them.
The women in the bathroom still seeming to not notice, continued in their vanities.
“Did you break my dress? Did you break my dress? Answer me!” Simone’s mother screaming. Simone covered her face again from her mother’s screaming. “I don’t care where we are, Simone. You do not disrespect me!”
Her mother’s anger continued. Simone wanted to cry, but not in public, not around people.
“Do you think that this is funny, Simone?” directing the attention of her daughter to the disfigure of her dress.
“No, you think its funny. That’s it, you just think its funny,” the young girl still covering her face with her hands. Her mother took a step back to look at her child, realizing that she had hit her in the head.
“I do not feel sorry for you. You are a child. Child, Simone. Do you know what it is to be me? To do what I do? To go through what I have to go through? Do you? Answer me,” raising her hand again.
A couple of women began to leave the bathroom, taking her mother’s attention away from her only child.
“There are hundreds of people out there. How do you think I’m going to look or suppose to leave, looking like this, with my dress like this? Another unanswered question, Simone,” her mother’s voice calming, turning to the women in the bathroom.
“I am so sorry. Sometimes my daughter doesn’t listen, like this is her world,” turning her attention again to Simone.
“What are you doing?” The voice came from behind the bathroom wall entrance. It was her father. “I can hear you from outside on the hall floor. Did you fix your dress? Is Simone with you?”
“Hold on a second, I’m coming. Your daughter, and I have a little situation in here.”
“Do I need to come in there?”
“Just hold on,” raising her voice again over everything. Frustration, and anger, and she knew it would only get worse.
Water could be heard against the now silence of the bathroom pour from the faucet, splashing the floor. A small puddle had begun to develop as the last of the women in the bathroom began to leave, the music from the hall growing louder.
The faucet water continued to pour as Simone finally put her hands to her side, looking at her mother.
“Simone, my dress is still not correct,” in a calm voice. “I don’t want to be made to look like a fool among all these people that know us. I told you this was my night, and not yours.”
Turning her back again, “Just put the back around the strap, and let me take a look at what it will look like.”
Her hands trembled around her mother’s waist, and the back piece that turned into the strap. Putting the two pieces together, the puddle of water forming on the floor had begun to surface the entire bathroom. Her shoes were getting wet.
As her mother pulled up the last piece from the front of her shoulders, she held the strap of her breast with her hands. Letting the strap go, the dress covered perfect.
Are you holding the dress?” Simone let the back, and shoulder piece go as the back of the dress smothered her arms.
“No.”
Turning, and walking to the bathroom mirror, her shoes soaked through the muddle of water. “Perfect,” her mother smiled, looking at her daughter. “Simone, someone left the faucet sink running,” looking at the small layer of water forming around her. She grabbed her daughter’s hand, walking from the bathroom.
“Are you still out here?” looking for her husband.
He stood at the entrance of the women’s bathroom, looking into the emptiness of the hallway, and loud music.
“What took you so long, and what’s wrong with Simone?” seeing the pain in his daughter’s face. “And what happened to her shoes?” the water from the faucet coming with her out the bathroom. Simone could hear the water continue in its splash from within the bathroom as they entered into the hallway to the large hall. The music still played loud down the bathroom hallway.
“They had some man using the women’s bathroom, and there was a big commotion amongst the women. Just walked right out, and in front of Simone, too. Can you believe the disrespect of people?”
“Did he hurt you, Simone?”
“Did he hurt you, Simone?” her mother repeating her husband’s words. “Did he hurt you, Simone? Why did you ask her that? Did he hurt your wife is what you should be asking. It is not about Simone. I have told you that. I am your wife, and you act like you don’t believe it. And look at my dress. How your daughter practically destroyed it. Now we have to leave early, and what will the people say?” Her father breathed in heavy, looking at the lights that gave way to the drinking cups. The music began to dim down as the lights from the stage dimmed.
“The people are not going to say anything. That we are just leaving.”
Simone slowed in her walk, distancing her steps from the awkward of her parent’s conversation. She had never seen her parents argue, and fight, and knew that all frustration between the two would indirectly be directed toward her.
Simone’s mother slowed down as they began to make their way from the center crowd of the hall to the entrance that led to their car.
Slowing down completely, “How does my dress look?” She began to smile again as her husband looked on.
“I don’t really see what the problem is, and was. It looks like when you first brought it.” They both smiled as they continued in their exit to the front doors. From where she walked behind her parents, Simone could begin to see the bright lights reflect the darkness of the cars in the parking lot.
“There you are child,” the old woman smiling. “These are your parents?” Simone nodded her head quickly. “How are you doing?” not waiting for a reply. “I introduced your daughter to the cups, and she was just so lovely.”
The old woman was losing her balance, now standing up against the young girl. That sure was some good wine,” pressing heavy on Simone’s neck, her hands pushing against the back of her head.
Simone let out a slight gasp from the pain of her head bruise. The old woman heard the groan, and the slow breath of air. “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Simone stared at her mother as the old woman began to look at her head.
“I’m sorry, she is just tired. We were in the process of leaving,” her father pulling his daughter to his side. The old woman stumbled from the abrupt pull, falling face way onto Simone’s mother. As her mother went to catch the old woman, the strap from the front of her dress pulled opened, sliding down onto her arms.
Simone’s mother struggled to keep the old woman from falling, and keeping her dress from pulling down. Finally pushing his daughter to the side, Simone’s father grabbed the old woman, putting her arms around his shoulders.
“Take Simone, and go to the car, and I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
Her mother’s face had become flustered as people began to look in their direction, and at the commotion of the drunken woman. She grabbed Simone’s shoulders, placing her daughter between her, and the few people that looked in their direction.
Her father waved to the crowd for someone to help. The old woman’s feet fell beneath her weight, Simone’s father now totally holding her up. A couple of people walked up to help as Simone’s father waved to his wife to go to the car.
Both mother, and daughter backed up slowly to the entrance of the building; Simone, from the pull of her mother, and her mother from embarrassment, and ridicule.
Chapter 3
The water dripped from the bathroom faucet as Simone stared in the swirl of what it created. Turning the hot water knob, the water began to pour against her hands, the black from her skin going into the faucet’s pour. She could see the hot black water drain into the bottom of the sink.
The back of her head ache, and that had moved down, and up around her neck. Her, and her mother had sat in the car for what seemed like forever waiting for her father.
“That turned out to be really good,” her mother smiling at her daughter through the car mirror. “I thought I was going to lose it for a second there with that old woman. Both mother, and daughter laughed within the darkened silence of the car.
“She didn’t give you any alcohol did she?” Simone shook her head. “Really good night,” she repeated again as her husband finally walked up on the back of the car, grabbing to open the driver door.
“Why are you two women sitting in the car with all the windows up?” the cool air running through the inside as he opened the door. Both women breathed in the night air, but inside, Simone could barely breathe.
The water continued against the rub of her hands. The heat beginning to become unbearable as the black of her skin continued to pour, forming at the sink’s bottom.
She pulled her hands from the hot black water, placing the towel cloth against the bruise of the back of her head. It had not been a hard bump, but looking at the towel, there was blood. And she could feel a slight cut underneath the curl of her hair.
Staring down again at her hands, she could see the hallway light underneath the dark entrance of the door to the bathroom, seeming far away from where she was standing, from any type of something to make sense.
Her mother began to make some kind of noise from downstairs as the young girl turned the water off. Walking to the bathroom door, she breathed in heavy. The hallway light showed directly to her bedroom, the cold of the wood floor easing the pain of her head. The noise from downstairs continued. She didn’t know where her father was, looking at the door to her bedroom. She would have to remember to keep her bedroom door closed for a little while until her head felt better. But in amongst the confines of her bedroom, the noise continued.
“Simone, I need your help,” her mother called from downstairs.
Simone climbed over the small couch that sat next to her bed. The light from her bedroom stretched through the bedroom window out across the street to the other side of where she would catch the school bus.
She inhaled deeply, blowing out the moisture from her mouth. She could tell the headache would be with her for a couple of days.
Laying back on the couch, the bruise of the back of her head cushioned on the arm of the pillow. She began to follow the noise the outside made to the noise coming from downstairs.
“She never listens to nothing I say,” her mother talking to herself over the clutter of pans, and rags just on the inside of the oven. “And it’s almost time to start dinner,” looking at the clock that positioned on the wall next to the kitchen.
Simone’s mother walked to the backstairs that led upstairs. The darkness of the stairway detailed the darkness of the house. “Simone, you hear me calling you?”
Lifting her head from the pillow, she could feel that the back of her head was swollen. Simone walked to the bedroom door, opening it quietly. She thought she had heard her mother calling her. And she had just come into her bedroom. Maybe it was just the noise from downstairs, but she was tired of her mother. To be around her now, would be unbearable, stepping outside her bedroom into the hallway.
“Simone!” her mother walking up the first couple of stairs.
Simone breathed in heavy, blowing out the moisture in her mouth. “I’m coming.”
“I need your help. Put your shoes on..” Simone walked back into her bedroom, sitting down in her desk chair. Looking around for her shoes, the window began to show visible the the rain from outside. “Simone, hurry up.”
She could hear her mother calling her name again. Easing up from the chair, Simone grabbed her sneakers from under the pile of clothes. The sneakers laced over one another, tangled. Her toes ached, rubbing up against the inside fronts of her sneakers. She began to feel unnatural.
Walking out of her bedroom, she closed the door, walking to the backstairs that led down into the kitchen.
“There you are,” her mother pulling her head from inside the oven. “How many times do I have to call you for you to know that I am calling you? Every time we have to go through this. When was the last time we actually had a conversation that didn’t have me arguing or frustrated with you, and your behavior? Every time, Simone, I’m having to tell you something.”
Simone backed up the refrigerator counter, directly in front of her mother’s attention.
“And now it’s raining. I needed you to take these oven bags to the trash, and I needed you to go to the store. Do we still have bandages from the last time?”
Simone shook her head, “No.”
She wanted to cry. She was just a child, and this was her mother.
“How many times have you brought bandages from the small grocery around the corner?”
“Two times.”
She could feel the tears begin to swell in her eyes.
“And don’t take all day in the store, Simone. Just bandages, and that’s all,” her father’s voice stern over the noise of the cars in the street, handing her the ten dollar bill. Simone jumped out the car, walking into the small grocery that was just around the corner from their house.
“Hey, young lady,” the store clerk said over the counter. She would have smiled, waving quietly, but the image she saw of her father in the car was serious.
Walking down the potato chip aisle, Simone walked up to the medical supplies. There was rubbing alcohol, medicated lotion, toothache pain reliever, and packs of bandages. Looking at the bandages container, the large bandages were empty.
Simone grabbed the empty container looking up past the rubbing alcohol; bandages for small cuts.
Putting the empty bandage container back, she walked to the small bandages. Too small, she thought, walking to the front counter.
Young lady, your hands are empty. We don’t have what you want?”
Simone stood up on the tips of her toes, talking over the counter.
“Do you have the big size bandages that wrap around?” The store clerk thought for a second, looking behind the counter.
“No. No, we don’t. I had to order some. It will be a couple of days before they come in.
Simone smiled at the store clerk, waving, but inside, she smiled that the tell of her misery would be visible not understood for a little bit longer.
Walking out the small grocery doors, she climbed back into the backseat of her father’s car. Simone handed her father back the ten dollars.
“They said they wouldn’t have any bandages until later on this week.” Her father looked at his only child, his daughter, through the rear view mirror. He was upset.
“Damn, Simone. Your mother is going to be upset if we don’t come back with something to cover you up. We are supposed to have some friends for dinner, and we wanted you to be there.”
She didn’t know, and she didn’t care.
“How many times have we been to the store by the park?”
Simone thought about the grocery by the park. Always crowded with a lot of people who always seemed angry or hated something.
“We haven’t been there since your induction.”
He thought about his business induction from work he did a couple of months ago.
“Ok. We good then. Buckle up,” cutting on the car, pulling out into the street through the traffic. Simone could see her happiness fade.
“And when you put these oven bags in the trash can, you have to make sure that this part of the bag stays on the side with this part of the bag toward the outside or the bag will come apart, and I don’t want to hear no complaints from the trash pickup people.
Simone grabbed the oven bags with both hands, walking to the backdoor of the house. From the kitchen windows, she could see the rain pickup in a heavy downpour. The rain would hide her tears better.
“And here is ten dollars for the bandages. It’s raining, Simone, so be careful, and don’t get lost.”
Simone walked through the backdoor entrance onto the porch, dropping the oven bags to the floor. Grabbing her rain jacket from the chair, and picking up the oven bags again, the young girl walked through the screen doors into the yell of wind, and water.
“Simone, I don’t have all day for you to be in the store looking for nothing. Just get the bandages, and come right back to the car. Are you sure we’ve only been here one time?” She shook her head.
“Here’s ten dollars. Just bandages, Simone. And make sure they are the big ones. Not the little ones that don’t cover you up.”
The young girl was already out the car, shutting the door, walking to the front entrance of the grocery around the corner from their house.
“All day, Simone,” she heard her mother scream over the noise of the cars from the street as she walked into the store.
“Hey, little lady,” the store clerk spoke from behind the counter. Simone smiled, waving quietly. She really liked him, walking down the potato chip aisle to the medical supplies. Rubbing alcohol, medicated lotion, tooth ache pain reliever, bandages.
The small fingers grabbed hold of the bandages, shaking the paper package. She needed the abuse to stop, blowing out heavy.
Walking to the front store counter, the store clerk was smiling. “You found the large bandages. Just give me two dollars,” ringing the price up on the cash register. Simone handed the store clerk the ten dollars.
“You don’t have anything smaller?”
She shook her head no.
Still smiling, “Just keep the bandages, compliments of the neighborhood grocery. And take these with you,” handing her a bag of salted potato chips, and a chocolate candy bar.
Simone smiled saying thank you. The clerk turned back to the television playing from behind the counter.
Walking slowly to the front doors of the grocery, she could see her mother’s car from the inside of the store through the door windows. Stopping at the front door entrance, the television sounded throughout the store.
“Pizza. Cheese, beef, chicken, onions, all sizes, all toppings. One price, $12.99. That’s right, $12.99.”
She could just leave. They would understand why she left, looking at her mother in the car. Her mother didn’t care. Her father didn’t care. She could leave, and never come back, and the abuse would stop. She wouldn’t have to suffer.
“Thank you again,” walking through the front doors onto the sidewalk. Her mother wasn’t even paying attention as Simone looked up the street into the midst of the city nothingness. There were people, but there was nothing. Where would she go? She knew she was young. There was nothing.
“Simone. Simone, what are you doing? Get into this car, right now. Its cold out here, and you have me in this car waiting on you?”
Simone stood still, looking up the street, watching the cars turn into something new. “Simone, you hear me talking to you? Simone!”
The store clerk came to the front entrance of the grocery, looking out the window, finally opening the door, walking over to where the young girl stood. “Are you ok?”
Turning to the store clerk, “Yeah, that’s my mother. Thank you for the food,” walking to the car.
“And watch the cars when getting in the car.” The store clerk waved, walking back into the store. Simone closed the car door, moving in her seat to untangle the seat belt. She could feel her mother’s anger as the slap to the back of her head knocked the bag of potato chips, and bandages to the car floor. The candy bar held in her hand.
She wanted to cry as the tears swelled in her thoughts. No one was around. It was just her, and her mother.
Simone picked up the bandage package from the car floor. “I told you to come right back to the car. Right back to the car, Simone!” Simone handed her mother the ten dollar bill. “What’s this?” taking the money, putting it in the seat of the car.
“The store clerk said I could have the bandages, and he gave me these,” showing her mother the candy bar, and bag of potato chips. Her mother turned the car off, turning to her daughter.
“Did he ask you what you needed them for?” staring at her daughter.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“He just gave them to you, and nothing else?”
“Yes.” Her mother continued to stare at her daughter. “Simone, what happened to your face right up under your eye?” The young girl began to think about what happened to her face.
“Don’t, please don’t,” is what she wanted to say as her mother slapped her again, the ring on her mother’s hand cutting the young girl up under the eye; a slight scratch barely taking away the skin. Her mother stepped back, realizing that she had created a visible scar on her daughter. Taking the ring off, she put the ring in her pocket.
“Now your face is cut. How are we going to hide that? What are you going to tell them?” walking into the kitchen. The water from the kitchen sink began to pour out.
Simone looked around. The pizza boxes were still on the living room table. They had barely starting eating. Her mother walked back into the living room with the wet towel, placing the hot water on the face of her daughter, the heat from the water seeping into the sting of the cut.
“Keep this on your face for a second to get rid of the blood,” rubbing her daughter on the shoulder. “I’m no longer hungry. You can just eat the rest of the pizza, if you want. I don’t think your father is coming home any time soon. And I’m tired. I need to lay down for a second. When you finish, just leave everything, and I’ll clean it later.”
Her mother walked to the stairs, walking upstairs. Simone sat down with the towel on her face.
“I fell in the grass, in the front yard, going to catch the school bus. I was afraid I might miss the bus, and I just fell, and it created the small cut.” Her mother continued in her stare at her daughter.
“Are you sure you fell?” There was silence. Simone nodded her head, looking down at the gifts she had been given. She wanted to cry, feeling the swell of tears in her eyes.
“You fell, and cut your face in the grass.” Her mother started the car, looking into the direction of the traffic. The dark four door car pulled onto the street, turning the corner.
The rain poured down heavy as Simone looked back at the black, and white house that she stayed in. Turning the corner of her street, through the pour of rain, she could see the grocery lights. The rain felt good against her face, the sound the water made as it struck her jacket, easing her discomfort. There were very few cars on the street, and very few people on the sidewalk.
Walking past the street parking lot, into the lights of the grocery, the store clerk was at the front door, looking out into the rain.
“Hey, little lady,” looking at the rain. “Rain is good sometimes,” opening the door. “Did everything work out for you?” remembering the last time she had come to the store.
“Yes, sir. Sometimes, my mother has to work, and that creates a lot of confusion..”
She had lied, and he had helped her.
The store clerk continued to look out at the rain coming down as Simone walked down the potato chip aisle. She breathed in heavy, blowing out the moisture of her mouth, and the rain from her face. Walking up to the medical supplies; rubbing alcohol, medicated lotion, bandages. Grabbing the package of bandages, she walked to the store counter. The store clerk walked from the front door entrance to behind the counter, “$2.00.”
Simone gave the clerk $2.00. “Thank you,” she said, walking to the front door of the store.
“Be careful in that rain.”
“Yes, sir. Sometimes rain is good,” both smiling as she walked out the store.
Chapter 4
She could do it, she thought. The swelling in her hand had gone down, but her fingers still clubbed together numb. She had not been to school for a couple of weeks. And it would probably be another couple of weeks before she could go. She had removed the last of the bandages from her hand, and now it was just the swelling that told of the abuse, studying the scar the kitchen oven had made. The writing pen fell clumsily through her fingers, falling on the floor.
Squeezing the fingers of her hand, there was almost no pain, but it had been painful. She grabbed the pen from the floor, the pen twirling around her thumb. She began to write her name in slow fashion.
“S-i-m-o-n-e.” Wasn’t quite perfect,but she could hold the pen without pain, breathing in, and out.
Her mother knocked on the bedroom door. “You want some more ice cream?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Do you want the big bowl?”
“Yes.”
She hadn’t been able to go to school. She couldn’t go outside. She really hadn’t been able to go nowhere. Only to the hospital at first, and then to see the doctor after a couple of days. So, she had just stayed in her bedroom, to stay away from her parents. She had figured that maybe she was just in the way; the anger, the abuse, the arguing. She was just in their way. The pen fell through her fingers, again falling to the floor.
“S-i-m-o-n-e.” A little bit better. More clear, and visible.
So, in the confines of her room, the serving of ice cream had been the conversation apology from her parents, but so much time, and so little ice cream. And she was just in their way.
“S-i-m-o-n,” her fingers swelling as the strain to hold the pen became unbearable. She began to understand that if she held her fingers, and squeezed the pen with her thumb, and the inside of her hand, that there would be no pain from the swelling. But if she tried to hold the pen as she normally did, the swelling would be pain in her hand, and arm.
“H-o-s-p-i-t-a-l.” The writing was perfect, not knowing if she had spelled it correctly.
There was only just the swelling, but no pain, walking over to grab hold of the dictionary. The book was heavy as the red from the bruise of her hand looked like the red texture of the front cover of the book. She had spelled it correctly.
The knock on the bedroom door was louder this time, and more than just a knock, but a command to open the door.
“Simone, open the door. I have something for you.” It was her father. She looked around the room for somewhere to hide; under the bed, under the covers of the bed, behind the couch or under her school desk. That was probably the best place. She could put herself behind the counter of the desk, and pull the chair to cover her legs.
Looking over the books, and clothes that covered the bedroom floor, Simone looked out the window. Her father knocked on the door again.
“Simone, are you in there? I have something for you.”
She could jump out the window into the backyard, and just run And when they were gone, she could come back.
“Simone?”
She could hear her mother walk up to the bedroom door, and the noise of her father.
“I thought you said she was in the bedroom?” Simone opened the door to both her parents.
“There you are. How are you feeling?” The young girl shook her head, eyeing the bowl of ice cream covered in chocolate.
“Look at what I found for you, and it’s your size, and everything.” Looking at the shirt, it was beautiful, and it was what she wanted; long sleeved, and thin with a small piece that covered her head.
Simone grabbed the shirt with her swollen hand, looking at the patterns of color that covered the bottom, and top parts of the sleeves, and hood. She smiled, looking at her father.
“You finally got it for me. I thought you said you didn’t like how it looked?”
“Yeah well, sometimes it doesn’t matter,” smiling at her daughter. Throwing the shirt over her shoulder, she grabbed the bowl of ice cream from her mother with both hands. The cold from the bowl cooled the pain in her thoughts. Just what she needed; ice cream, and lots of it . . . . continue