. . . . Her mother held the knife in her hand, the strain in her face saying that she refused to put it down. Simone backed up slowly as the blood dropped on the counter. The blood splattered over the uncooked food on the counter top, splattering her mother’s shirt. She looked for some place to hide her.
Her mother smiled quietly, looking at the blood on her shirt. “If you put some type liquid directly on the stain,” turning her back, walking toward the sink, “the stain can be easily cleaned away.”
Simone backed up to the counter next to the backstairs that led upstairs to the bedrooms. Her hands trembled, squeezing tight across the open cut, scared to look at what had happened. Her mother still held the knife in her hand. Cutting the faucet water on, she turned around.
“How many times have we brought bandages this month?” Simone began to cry as her mother walked up on her with the knife. “Don’t cry, Simone. It was just an accident. Don’t cry. We just have to get you cleaned up. How about ice cream for your dinner? I’ll do something else for your father so he won’t even know.”
She could feel her mother’s heart beat up against her chest through their hug. She was crying for help, for her mother to stop.
“Simone, how many bandages did we buy this month?” Her eyes were full of tears, confusing what had happened, and what her mother was asking her. The knife banged against the kitchen counter as her mother pulled her hands from around her daughter, the calm in her mother’s voice changing into a demand. “Stop crying, and answer me.”
Simone looked up from the tears in her eyes. She noticed that her mother had not done her hair, her hair kind of going in all directions. The water continued in its run from the faucet.
“Four times.”
“To the same store?”
“No.”
“Ok,” putting the knife on the counter behind her daughter, hugging her again against the cut of her hand. “I need you to go upstairs, and clean yourself up. Don’t let it get infected. Are you ok?” She began to cry again in her mother’s arms, not saying anything.
“Ok.” Simone’s mother pulled away from her only child as Simone stared at her though the tears. A big stain of blood smeared the front of her shirt. Looking at her daughter, she looked down at the blood on her shirt. She looked at Simone again, smiling.
“Go ahead, and don’t worry about it.” Simone turned to the backstairs entrance, running over the first couple of stairs. She could hear her mother’s voice follow her up the stairs.
“How much ice cream do you want?” She didn’t know. She didn’t care.
“Can I have the big bowl?” listening for her mother’s voice over the climb of stairs. She wasn’t going back downstairs.
Simone’s mother turned, picking the knife up from the counter, staring at the stain of blood on her shirt. Putting the knife in the sink under the running water, she began to add sauce to the food she was preparing for dinner. The pour of sauce slowly covered the small splatter of blood on the food. Putting the food in the oven, she called again to her daughter. “How much ice cream do you want?”
Simone walked into the bathroom, closing the bathroom door. Hearing the voice of her mother from downstairs, she paused in thought. “The big bowl.”
To take away the pain, physically, spiritually. To take away what her future would be around family that did not care. What she knew would come. To just be by herself where she would not be noticed, understanding that there was no help coming.
Walking to the bathroom sink, Simone fumbled the hot, and cold handles, turning on the cold water. The cut was a deep slit that hid under the skin. Opening the cabinet mirror above the sink, she looked at the package of bandages. Shaking the package, only two left, she thought, pulling the large bandage out of the wrapper, placing it over her cut.
Chapter 2
“Simone, stop laughing. I don’t think he said that to be funny.” It was hard to stop. It was funny how he said it, how it happened.
“She fell off a curve?” she repeated, smiling in between her sentence. He was smiling too.
“I thought you would understand, young lady. Terrible, isn’t it. How does someone fall from a curve, and die? But she did, and I really was in love with her.” Simone’s father walked up on the conversation with a plate of food, and some type drink.
“Did they let you look at her?”
“Yeah, it was her, but it was horrible how she looked. I couldn’t really look at her without getting sick to my stomach. They made me stand there, too. It was horrible.” He smiled again, looking at Simone, “How does one fall off a curve?” finally laughing together. But Simone could tell the whole story had seemed to make her mother upset. She looked worried, and distraught.
“I don’t think that’s funny, and your wife, if she was still here, would not think it was funny or that you were laughing at her death. Simone, it’s not funny. Stop laughing.” Her father, at first smiling, changed his face to that of concern.
“Are you going to be ok?” talking to his wife. “He was just talking about what had happened to his wife.”
“I know. I just don’t think it was funny. That’s horrible to die like that.” The entirety of the dinner hall seemed to draw away from the hysteria of her mother.
“This is your daughter?” the younger man, who had lost his wife, turning to Simone’s father.
“Yes, our only baby,” her mother answered, wiping the side of her daughter’s face with her hand.
“Would you allow me to get you some more cake, young lady?”
“Can I have some more cake?” she asked, both her parents nodding in agreement. “A big piece of chocolate, and some strawberries.”
“At your service,” as Simone watched the younger black man walk across the floor to the dessert table. They had tables full of all types of cakes; four feet cakes, cakes to hard to eat, cakes to complicated to pronounce, cakes to beautiful to cut. She watched as the young man approached the chocolate cake to begin again in conversation with some woman. He looked the young girl’s way, holding up his hands, smiling. He’s going to be awhile, she thought, sucking her teeth at the chocolate cake that sat right in front of where he was talking.
Her father’s voice broke through the silence. “This turned out to be pretty fun. I didn’t expect so many people that I wouldn’t know to be here. I feel almost like a stranger amongst all this food,” swallowing down some type meat sandwich with potato chips. “Simone, when you get a chance, you should try some sour cream cottage cheese with the garlic cheese onion rings.” Her stomach turned to the thought of cottage cheese, sour cream, and garlic, eyeing the chocolate cake table again. The black man was now in conversation with a group of women, raising his hand again at the look of the young girl.
“What is cottage cheese?” Simone asked her mother.
“How do I suppose to know, Simone. I hate that type foolishness.” Her mother still seemed to be upset about something. Everyone was having a good time, but her.
“There’s my school teacher,” raising her hand, waving in the direction of the tall dark man with a bald head. He smiled, waving back across the dinner hall, in the direction of Simone, and her parents.
Walking their way, she noticed that he was in the same direction as the chocolate cake, the young man still in conversation. A small crowd had gathered around him.
“Some cake,” she yelled across the hall of people, pointing to the chocolate cake table to her school teacher, “chocolate,” she continued.
Her mother cut through the excitement, “Simone, that was so rude. You are a young woman. That is your school teacher, and we are in public.” She didn’t care as she watched the four feet cake stand on the table.
Her school teacher seemed confused at first, realizing that she had said chocolate, turning to the cake table. She began to smile as the tall black man began in motion with the slicing of the cake. He had cut a big piece, too. She also noticed that the conversation of the younger gentleman had come to an end, and he, too, was at the chocolate cake, cutting the cake. It was a big piece, smiling in thought. This was a good night; two more pieces of chocolate cake.
Her school teacher walked up on her, and her mother, and father, handing Simone the cake, “How is everyone doing?” shaking her father’s hand. “This turned out to be pretty nice,” looking around the entirety of the building hall. “So many people that I don’t know are here.”
“I was just telling my wife the same thing,” finishing up the last of his sandwich.
“Where did you get that sandwich, and those potato chips,” eyeing the empty plate of Simone’s father.
“I had to go toward the front of the building where they have the cooks. Tell them you want something cooked, and they’ll bring it to you.”
Simone dug her teeth into the thick chocolate cream that lay in layers on top, licking her lips to the sweet taste. Her mother grabbed around her husband’s arms. Straining her face, “How is Simone doing in school?”
Simone scooped a thick layer of chocolate with her fingers, sucking the chocolate into her mouth. Her school teacher looked at her, smiling.
“Simone is top of the class. Probably my best student; grades, and behavior. Sometimes she seems as if she is in pain, distracted, when we are just sitting around doing nothing, but she always says she is ok. I just think the level of the class is not the level that she is on, intelligence wise, but I wouldn’t advise moving her up.”
Simone pulled the cake down slowly from her mouth having heard what her teacher had said to her mother, and her father heard it. She remembered that her mother had thrown the dresser cabinet on her back the night before, over something she had gotten mad at, and Simone had hid how bad the pain was. To just sit in those hard school chairs with nothing to do was horrible with the pain beyond what she could describe.
She thought she had broken something in her back. She had been scared, and she was alone. The pain had lasted for days, and each day she sat through it, and suffered it, but she had managed to hide it from everyone; including her parents.
She could see the agitation in her mother’s face overtake the subtlety of the conversation as if he was going to ask, “Are you abusing your daughter?”
Her mother looked at her. Simone slowly put the cake all the way down by her side. Cake night was over with, she thought. Her mother began to rub her face, “Are you abusing your daughter?”
“You said the front of the building, and ask the cooks?” Her father nodded in agreement. “I will be right back,” walking into the crowd, disappearing among the clutter of people. At the same time, the younger black man walked up.
“Young lady, it seems tonight is your night. A big piece of chocolate cake, and strawberries.” She paused, feeling the stare of her mother.
“Two pieces of cake, Simone? Are you going to be able to eat all of that?”
She didn’t know what to say, taking the cake, and strawberries in her free hand. Putting both plates together, she stood back from her mother, seeing her father standing directly behind.
“Answer me, Simone. Two pieces of cake?”
“Answer your mother, Simone.”
“Can I have both pieces?” She could see her school teacher walk up to where she sat in the classroom, asking her if she was ok, surrounded on all sides by a class full of young people. Having paid it no attention at first, she had blamed it on the chair, that her butt hurt. She hadn’t realized that she was still struggling with the pain in her back, that he noticed something might be wrong. Her mother turned from her stare at her daughter to the crowd of people all around.
There was no reply. It was awkward the silence in the conversation, and the young man could tell something was wrong.
“I’m sorry. Did I take too long? I met some people that said they wanted to help me with the situation with my wife, and I just got caught up in the moment.”
“No, no, no,” her father answered, finally smiling. “Simone’s school teacher was here. Just concerned for our daughter’s education.”
“Someone so beautiful already has a beautiful future ahead of them.” She liked how he had said that. “Listen, I been seeing people with sandwiches, and potato chips, but I haven’t seen it nowhere?”
“Go to the front, and ask for the cooks, and they’ll make what you want.” The younger man smiled, smiling at Simone, walking into the direction of the crowd. From a short distance, in the middle of the crowd, music began to play; kind of like disco, kind of like blues.
Simone began to look around for somewhere to sit, to forget the last couple of minutes where she could finish the eating of her cake.
“Would you like to dance?” her father asked her mother. Her mother really didn’t reply, still staring into the noise of the crowd. Her father, grabbing her mother’s hand, pulled her into the noise of the music.
Simone sat down next to the water, and juice container. The tension in her toes relaxed as she slid the fronts of her shoes from her feet. A group of old women sat crowded, noisy in their gossip over the music noise. They had drunk too much wine, and were confused where the bathrooms were.
Simone sat back in the cushion of the chair, breathing out from the pain in the back of her thigh. It was still bruised, and swollen, sitting on the side of her leg.
Making sure not to draw attention that she was in pain, she breathed out heavy. The stare of her parent’s had made her tired, looking down at the cake, and the fallen pieces of chocolate. It had lost its excitement, and beauty. Now it was just something that would probably have no taste.
She went to put the chocolate in her mouth, the smell of sugar mixed with strawberries covering her face. Simone began to smile again; the flavor of chocolate cake, and she had two big pieces. Eyeing the drinking fountain, she looked for where the cups were.
“Excuse me, where are the cups for the juice?” The group of old women turned to the young girl.
“Come on child,” taking her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Do you want a plastic cup or the big glass ones?” She didn’t know, sliding on the fronts of her shoes, her feet tangling over one another.
From across the open hall, the crowd of people gathered in conversation had grown enormous. The old woman continued in her pull of the young girl’s hand into the direction of what looked like a stage with dark lights coming from the entrance of the drinking fountain. From behind the lights, cups could be seen; glass cups, plastic cups, cups with designs, cups with tops, color cups. Simone smiled as she approached the glass cups with the entangled straws.
“This cup right here glows in the dark when you put something in it,” the old woman grabbing the glow in the dark cup, walking back to the wine table. Simone shook her head. To drink from something that glowed in the dark didn’t seemed good, the smell from the drinking fountain drowning out the noise from the music, the lights, and the crowd. She smelled the mixture of something that said pineapple, strawberry, and banana. She thought what pineapple juice would taste like.
Bumping into the table in anticipation of the taste, Simone eased her cup into the juice mixture. The cool of the liquid splashed against her hands as she inhaled the smell. Placing the top on the cup, the young girl inhaled deeply. The juice was cold, the straw twirling, and circling in a swirl the juice within its enclosure.
Pulling at her dress, she wanted to sit down, but the walk back to her chair had become crowded with more people enjoying the hectic of the evening.
Simone turned, looking for the old woman at the wine table. The woman had already sat back down, waving to the young girl to come, and join them. Simone began to walk toward the group of old women as her mother called her from behind a small gathering of people at the front walk to the dance floor.
“Simone, where is the bathroom? I need you to help me with my dress.” Simone pointed in the direction of a secluded hallway, both walking towards its entrance. She noticed that the dancing has not eased the discomfort of her mother. The noise of the crowd, and music continued.
“This was supposed to be a small gathering,” her mother mumbled in disgust down the hallway to the bathroom as her dress pulled down her back, and on her shoulders. “Your clumsy father kept pulling on the tail piece of the back, and pulled the strap,” adjusting the front piece that covered the length of the arms.
The bathroom separated from the crowd, and the hall, curving up onto steps that led into an opening from the hallway. Both woman, and young girl entered into the bathroom, walking into a crowd of women.
“That is a beautiful dress. That color is phenomenal.”
“Thank you,” her mother replied. It didn’t really cost anything. I had some one make it for me for my daughter’s birthday.” Simone stepped to the side as her mother continued in conversation. “Messing with my husband, the strap came loose.”
From behind the bathroom door of one of the toilets where Simone was standing, a man’s voice could be heard laughing. Simone’s mother paused in conversation. The man came frm behind the toilet door, looking at the confused faces of the women.
“Uhhh, the men’s bathroom was crowded,” leaving the women’s bathroom, turning the corner down into the hallway. Simone’s mother continued to stare as the other women continued in their nuances. Simone smiled. Now that was funny, she thought, a man using the bathroom with a bunch of women around.
“You see now, Simone? That’s why I am so hard on you because of the insanity of the people. If the men’s bathroom is crowded, it’s nobody’s fault. He should have just waited or let someone know the urgency of his situation.” Simone thought to say something, but decided it was not an appropriate time to talk back to her mother. Seeing the smile on her daughter’s face, she could tell that Simone had not understood.
Looking in her daughter’s face, “Did you have something you wanted to say to me? You know what’s going on, and I don’t? Children know, and parents don’t know? You will have to learn, Simone. You are going to have to learn.”
She could hear the hatred in her mother’s voice. She could feel the lonely desperation begin to grow within where she was, the entire bathroom now crowded with women.
One of the women in the bathroom began to speak. “And then he was a man in a women’s bathroom with all these women in here. These men no longer respect women or children,” looking at how young Simone was. “It could have been just little children in here, and we wonder why the world we live in is the way it is, and we are supposed to be civilized.”
Simone’s mother, pulling her hands to her back, responded, “And we are supposed to be the wealthy, and intelligent of society.” Simone’s hands fumbled over the strap button that fastened the bottom waist to the back shoulder . . . . . continue