RANA
MINDEN, LA
SEPTEMBER 1986
I don’t really know my mother.
It don’t bother me. She ain’t one to me.
Me and Daddy, we are best friends. I guess cuz’ we believe we can fight against our demons ourselves. Me and him, we the last kind of people to ever ask anyone for help. We simply don’t want to be a bother. That’s exactly how we is, and there’s no shame in it.
I remember my Grandma Joyce describing us as two stubborn peas in a pod. She’s warned my mother plenty that I’ve taken up after Daddy’s rebellious nature, starting when I was four years old. With me bein’ the oldest of eight in our family, how the hell could I afford to be molded and shaped like clay? Not when you got seven younger kids to take care of. Especially when you just a kid yourself. Everything my siblings do or say, they always fall upon me. If they forget their books or leave their coat behind on the bus, I take the fall for it. If one of them gets hurt on the playground, I be the one cleaning their wounds. If they wake up screaming in the middle in the night because of a bad dream, I’m the one who is supposed to comfort them.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my three sisters and five brothers. They all still babies to me. I love them to pieces. But how you supposed to keep loving when you never get any yourself? My mother always was easy on them. With me, she’d take a sharp eye. Ain’t nothing I do seem right for her.
* * * * * *
When I was ten years old, the world ended.
It was 1973. The world would end multiple times if I came home with a failing test grade, ripped a hole my stockings after getting in a fight with one of my classmates, or missing the bus so she’d have to take me to school.
“You suppose to set an example, Rana Eleanor Brunswick,” she snapped one time after I came home with a bloodied nose and a torn book bag. I was in the fifth grade. There was this kid named Hubert—said that whenever I got on the bus, it would cause the suspension to break, so we couldn’t go nowhere. Hubert was in the sixth grade, but I wasn’t scared of no middle schooler. So I gave him a good thrashin’ that had him crying like a girl. His tears had me grinnin’ for hours, but I dared not smile around my mother. She was fuming, marching back and forth across the kitchen. I ain’t never see her this mad before.
And frankly, I didn’t care.
“I just got off the phone with your teacher,” my mother snapped. “Don’t you realize that you’re suspended for a week? This is the third time this year, for goodness sake!”
”Hubert started it,” I snapped.
My mother’s gray eyes flashed. They were large and round, like mine. It’s the only thing that I had inherited from her, yet I hate it the most. She is a natural beauty, small and slim and dainty. I was going through a bad growth-spurt, and was about as tall as her. I hated being the tallest girl in my class. It sucked.
“I don’t care who started it. I won’t have you fighting at school. You know better than that.”
“They keep pickin’ on me,” I mumbled under my breath. I would tell her more, but I see no point in it. So I grab a cookie from the kitchen table and turn to head upstairs, but my mother’s stern voice caused me to stop.
“Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you. You watch your tone, because I’m about of patience with you. Tomorrow, you and I are going to pay Hubert’s mother a visit. And you are going to apologize to her, him, and your teacher. Do you understand, young lady?”
I glared at her, before taking a bite.
“Let me tell you something, Rana,” my mother said, taking a couple steps forward. “You tend to blame others for your problems. But I will not have you deny responsibility for yourself. Oh no ma’am, I won’t.” She pursed her lips together. “You and I have been over this plenty of times. You know what the doctor said about your weight, correct? You can’t be having these things on your diet. So hand it over.” She gestured to the cookie. “Now.”
My cheeks burned. With one swift motion, I dumped it directly in the trash can and stormed to my room, which I shared with my three younger sisters. Fortunately, neither of them had arrived home yet. My mother called my name, but I slammed the door and locked it, before throwing myself on my bed and placing the pillow over my head. It’s best that no one sees you cry. So I do what I must.
It’s dark outside when I woke up hours later. I changed into my pink pajamas and go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, when I peeked out of our window. Daddy’s pick up truck is parked in the driveway, and he’s carrying a cardboard box in his arms. Without thinking, I rushed downstairs and down the porch steps, past where everyone’s having supper. He’d already climbed out of the driver’s seat when a smile falls upon his tired face. His arms are open wide, and I rush into them. I bury my face into his broad shoulder. I am so tired.
”Princess!” he exclaimed. “How’s it going?”
I sniffed, and Daddy’s smile melted away. He clicked his teeth and scooped me sideways in his arms, before sitting on the driver’s seat. The smell of whiskey and cigarette clings onto him, and the fuzz on his beard is itchy against my chin. We sit in silence for a moment, before he drums his finger against the steering wheel. I already know what’s coming, and I can’t help but squirm.
“Your mama told me what happened today.”
I focused on a crack on the windshield. “Do we have to talk about it?”
“Not until you’re ready to,” Daddy said. He cleared his throat. “I ain’t putting words in your throat now. You tell me what you want to speak on.”
”I hate school,” I mumble.
“Aw, Princess, you just gotta give things a chance.” To my surprise, he’s gently wiping away tears that I didn’t know were still pouring down my face with the back of his knuckles. “Even when they don’t turn out the way that you want them to, it don’t hurt but to try. I know it’s hard. But you gotta still try.”
I sniff. “I wish I could go to work like you.”
An amused look crossed Daddy’s face. He had more wrinkles than I expected. “I would give an arm and a leg to switch places with you. You want to be up by sunrise, have bills to pay? A family to take care of?”
“If I could avoid having to say sorry to Hubert Gaines, then yes,” I mutter under my breath. “I can’t stand that brat.”
”There’s people on my job who I can’t stand either,” Daddy replied, “but I can’t beat them up. Otherwise, how would we be able to eat? You think having to give an apology is bad enough. Just imagine losing everything you had in flash, in a simple moment of anger. A moment that you can never take back. It ruins people’s lives, Princess.”
”But he—”
”I ain’t excusing what that boy did. But it ain’t right to fight fire with fire. It won’t fix nothin’. Just swallow your pride and admit your wrongdoing. The rest will take care of itself.”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
I pick at a mosquito bite on my arm. “I don’t have to be sorry, do I? Cuz I ain’t.”
Daddy shrugged. “Well…you can be a little bit sorry. Sort of sorry. Not all of the way sorry.”
It’s hard to fight back a giggle. “Daddy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You gotta promise me no more fighting, okay? Do it for me. And mind your brothers and sisters.” He grinned. “Although I shouldn’t have to say that. They are absolutely crazy about you.”
I nod. “I promise.”
He patted his stomach. “I’m hungry, aren’t you? Let’s go and have some supper.”
My smile faded. I hated this part—not being able to have him all myself. But to hide my disappointment, I nod as he set me down on the asphalt, which is warm against my bare feet. Daddy stretched his back and picked up the cardboard box. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pajamas. I didn’t want to go back into that house.
“Your birthday is coming up.”
I shrugged. It would be a pair of stockings, shoes, or a dress. A doll was too expensive.
Daddy exhaled. “You know that money’s been tight this year. And your mother, she’s been getting on me about our budget.” He smiled and lowered the cardboard box in my hands. “I know it’s kind of too early, but you’ve shown to me how responsible you’ve been with the family.” He chuckled. “You’ve been a big help, so why don’t you take a peek inside.”
Confused, I slowly lift up the lid of the cardboard box, which is poked with holes. Something wet and rough brushed my hand, startling me with a yelp. There is a soft bark, and I slowly lift the squealing puppy out, unable to hold back a laugh. I’m grinning so hard the corners of my mouth hurts as the animal continues to lick my face raw.
“Daddy!” I exclaim. “You didn’t!”
He placed a finger over his lips. “He was found running around in the lumberyard by my boss. I believe he’s a stray. Hold back from telling your mother for a couple of days, alright? You leave that to me.” He paused, stunned by my silence. “I know it ain’t exactly what you want this year, but I figured that—”
He didn’t even get to finish his sentence, because I hugged him so hard that he was nearly knocked off his feet. I never wanted to let go, not ever. And I knew he would stay.
* * * * * * * * *
My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I pull up at the driveway of my parents’ house. Daddy’s pickup truck ain’t there, so I’m guessing he’s either at work or the gas station. I tug at the white band around my wrist—I had only been discharged from the hospital a few hours ago. Once I turn off the engine, I glance at my duffel bag, before zipping it up fully all the way. The white plastic caps of my medication bottles make my head spin. I forgot the fancy terminology that the doctor had used, when writing on his notepad, his thick rimmed glasses barely visible over the ledge. I remember running my fingers over the thick scars on my wrists, talking to a lady in a room with only two chairs. She kept asking me these questions.
Bipolar. Manic Depressive. What was manic about me? I don’t know what that word means. The last thing I remember was being in the woman’s bathroom at work, standing over the sink. The faucet was running, the water first clear, then red. I remember nearly drowning in that sink, in the thoughts that settled into my mind like a thick cloak:
You’re fat, stupid, ugly. Nobody cares for you, why are you here? What is the point of being here? You’re a complete waste of—
The screen door bangs against the porch.
I glance up and sigh. My mother, wearing a bright blue dress and slippers, stands in the threshold. Her dark gray eyes scan the yard, before revealing the disappointment that I know will be there. After shoving my wallet into my pocket, I unlock the door on my car and get out, my sneakers crunching against the gravel. Despite the sweltering heat, I’m in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, more so to cover up the multiple scars on my arms. I don’t care if she sees them. I want her to. It’s Daddy who I’m hiding them from.
My mother stares at me. She is still more beautiful than ever, like she hasn’t aged a day since I last saw her. And it pisses me off
My throat hurts when I swallow. It’s not like I really chose to be here. These things occur randomly, like the last couple of months. As for me, I just want to return to my college dorm in New Orleans. This drive alone wasn’t worth it, and the only reason why I decided to take the psychiatrist’s advice was because I knew that Daddy would be here. That is the only reason why I’m here. Now that he’s absent, I’m in even a worst predicament. The neighborhood is dead quiet, even though it’s only a Saturday afternoon.
I should’ve just gotten back into my car and left. Probably should’ve called my younger brother and asked for some money to stay at a hotel. But I’m not a quitter, and I don’t want to appear through one. So as I trudge through the grass in the front yard, I can feel my mother’s eyes on me. It’s not until I make it to the porch steps that she finally folds her arms and speaks. Nope, even her voice is the bloody same. It makes me want to pull my ears out.
“They told me what you did. The university.”
I pull my hood over my head.
“I’m talking to you, Rana.”
And I don’t have to answer. I’m twenty-two, for heaven’s sake, not twelve.
My mother grabs my arm. “If you don’t get yourself together, your scholarship is going to be taken away from you. You forget that me and your father are supporting you.”
Roughly, I yank myself free and storm into the house. Once I reach the guest room, I slam the door and lock it before she can get inside. She knocks a couple of times, yelling my name in the hallway, before finally leaving me alone. I toss my bag on a chair and sit on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. After blinking the water from my eyes, I pick up the phone and call Daddy’s number.
The line goes dead.
* * * * * * *
It is eleven thirty when I finally sneak out of the room. My stomach is rumbling, and since I don’t have any change on me to run to the nearest fast food joint, I am at the mercy of the kitchen. I tiptoe quietly, hoping the fuzzy socks that I received for free at the psychiatric hospital would not make too much noise.
I spy a box of mac and cheese in the cabinet. Once I get the water boiling and prepare to dump the pasta in, I grit my teeth when I hear my mother’s footsteps from upstairs. I don’t look up as I continue to stir my pasta. She might berate me for eating too late. Apparently, dinner is only supposed to happen at seven pm. It’s why I don’t come for Christmas or Thanksgiving. No leftovers.
My mother appears in the family room. Dark circles are under her eyes. She sits down on the couch and folds her arms in her lap, dressed in her fuzzy robe and slippers. She watches me dump my dinner into a bowl and sit down at the dining room table. I’m poking at it with a fork when she finally speaks.
“Your father come home yet?”
”No,” I mutter under my breath.
“You called him, didn’t you?”
I nod. This seems to be enough for her, because she leans her head back against the couch cushion and closes her eyes.
“I ain’t seen him since Thursday,” my mother continues. “I’ve called his job multiple times.”
My fork drops to the table with a clatter. “What?” As I immediately stand up, a pain shoots through my stomach. “Thursday?”
She glares at me. “It’s…he usually is gone for a couple days on a business trip. He told me he would be out for a while. Probably on the same day that you were comin’.” Her tone shifts. “And watch how you address me.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Are you stupid?”
Her mouth drops as I storm down the hallway and yank my sweatshirt over my head. She must’ve followed me down, because as I approach the front door she snaps at me.
“What has gotten into you? First you disrespect me, don’t even ask how I’m doing. You don’t offer to help out with the house or nothing, just barrel your way in like the elephant you are. You have an attitude problem, and you need to get in a check.”
”Daddy’s been missing for two whole days and you ain’t even call the cops?” I yell. “How come you ain’t call and tell me?”
“I did call you,” my mother fired back. Her pretty features are now distorted, and I can see that she is fighting tears back. “I call you everyday and you don’t even leave me a message. Nothing!”
”Why would I call you anyways?” I snarl, yanking the door open. A heavy wind blows in, causing the curtains nearby the couch to sway and flow. “You talk so much, never have anything to say. Sometimes…sometimes I wish it were only Daddy that I had. I’d been better of it was just him.”
My mother’s face goes extremely pale, and for a brief moment, just a moment, a pang of guilt washes over me. But I can’t stay in this house for one moment. Not another moment.
It is raining when I approach my car and slammed the door. With both fingers, I clear my hair out of my eyes. My head is spinning, my heart pounding in my chest. I can faintly hear her break down in the kitchen, but I shut it out. She had never been there for me in those moments, and I am glad that I won’t be hers. I turn my car on, reverse down the driveway and begin to speed down the road, pressing down upon the accelerator. I roll down my window, ignoring the water landing on my burning, hot cheeks. My eyes are wet.
When I see my face in the rearview mirror, I don’t recognize who is looking back at me.