LAURA
It wasn’t just the heat of the stove that caused the sweat to pool under my arms and at the back of my legs. My father marched up and down the line that he had made my siblings and I form. The bottom of my blue dress brushed against my legs, irritating the skin, but I didn’t attempt to reach down and scratch. My mind focused as my father slapped the wooden spoon against his hand, not hard but with a force that drove each word he spoke home. The crack that ran the full length of the spoon was a reminder of another horrible day that was to come.
“This is the last time. One of you...” he stopped at me, staring hoping I would break. His grey bushy eyebrows always made his eyes look heavier, angrier then a normal man’s might look. I glanced to my mother, who stood obediently, letting this madness go on. She didn’t look at me; she kept her eyes trained on the ground. The red top she wore matched her lipstick and nail polish. She looked like a woman ready to go to church, not to witness a punishment.
“Stole from your mother. Be a good Christian, step forward and own up.” None of us moved. My sister, who was older than me, shifted.
“Put out your hands.” Eight hands appeared in a line, our brothers lower than us. Mary was at the front of the line. My father held the wooden spoon over her hand. “Was it you?” he asked.
“No, father.” He moved the wooden spoon over her other hand. “Tell me the truth.”
“I swear, father, I didn’t take the nail polish.” My throat felt dry.
“How about you, Thomas?”
“No, sir.” My brother, always the obedient follower. His voice didn’t shake like the rest of us. I think, even if he had taken it, my father would never punish him. Right now, my father’s eyes shone with pride, but the pride fled as he turned to the oldest of us, my sister Violet. I didn’t look at her, but I could picture the fire in her eyes, the want to tell him she did it. But she hadn’t taken the nail polish I had, to impress a boy at school. Was it worth it? No, he hadn’t even noticed. I had scrubbed off the nail polish before returning home, but I never got to put the polish back. My mother had discovered it missing, and that’s why we all stood here now, in a line, awaiting our punishment.
He smacked Violet’s hand first, before asking her if she was responsible. The sound had my hands stinging. “Put your hands out!” I glanced at Violet, she held her head high and put her hands back out, but I saw the shake before he struck her again. I flinched at the impact.
“It was me.” Mary stepped forward. She was ten, and she was so brave. My heart skipped a beat. My mother finally looked up. She didn’t look at Mary, but me. Did she know it was me? My father moved to Mary, his hand tightening around the wooden spoon.
“It was me!” I stepped forward, stopping him in his tracks. He didn’t move; he looked at me. I swallowed, fear telling me to step back. Mary shivered, and that’s what kept me in place.
“Laura and Mary off to bed.” I looked at my mother in confusion before staring at my father. Mary left the room quickly, head bowed, her bravery gone. Violet stood straighter now. “It was me.” I repeated.
“Thomas,” my father said, and Thomas left the room, also. Violet looked at me and mouthed the word go. Tears burned my eyes.
“Father.” I pleaded, my mother answered my call by approaching me. The sting of her hand burned my face. She didn’t just hit me once, but several times, each one harder than the one before. I held up my arms, trying to protect my face. Her nails cut into my arms; the assault stopped as my father pulled her away. “Jesus Christ, Maureen,” he dragged her away from me as Violet immediately held me. I was in shock; my mother had never put her hands on any of us before.
My father let her go once she calmed down. She straightened her clothes before standing up straight. She didn’t say a word or look at us. There was a calm in the room, a silence that sacred me and I started to cry, tears dripping off my chin.
“Why are you crying?” my father spoke while taking a step towards me. His words were harsh.
“I don’t know,” I was terrified as he stood over me. “Go to your room.” This time, I didn’t contradict him, I did the worst thing I could have ever done. I left Violet to be punished for my crime. I was such a coward. I didn’t look at her as I left the room, closing the door behind me. I raced up the stairs but stopped on the third step from the landing as I heard the door open. Looking through the banister, I watched as my father opened the basement door. Violet stood behind him. Before she followed him she glanced up at me, and smiled. Her smile was for me, telling me it was going to be okay. That she would protect me. But I wasn’t a child anymore; I could see it in her eyes. The fear. The uncertainty.
That night, my father broke my sister. I had stayed locked up in my room, sleep had come and gone the whole night. It wasn’t until six in the morning that I left my room along with Mary and Thomas, our morning ritual. We all cast anxious looks at Violet’s door and when it opened my body sagged with relief. She looked at me, and it was like my shoes where filled with lead. “Violet,” I whispered, fighting the tears. She shook her head before moving past me and into the bathroom. I remember I stood there and cried, not just for what my father had done to her, but what I had done to her. I didn’t fight for her.
It was always there from my first memory, the fire in her eyes. My father called it madness. I called it life, and now it was gone. He had quenched her fire, for that, I would never forgive myself.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling with its brown stains around one of the light fittings. Sweat makes me feel itchy. I kick off the light sheet. I want to count the ceiling tiles over my cubicle, but each time I start, I get frustrated. The ones at the edges only make up half a tile, I could count them as full ones, but that would mean I am counting tiles from the cubicles either side, but not all. I get out of the bed and listen. Pulling open my curtain, I move to the corner of the room, not wasting a second as I count all 54 ceiling tiles. I smile with satisfaction. I climb back into the bed as Eleanor arrives.
“You have a visitor.” Eleanor speaks as she pulls back my curtain to let me see who it is. It’s Maria. “Hi.” She looks pretty today in a soft blue dress with long sleeves. It flows around her. Her blond hair is clipped up in a messy style but it’s nice. Seeing her face clean of makeup makes me realize that she’s pretty.
“Hi. Thanks for visiting.” I say, sitting up in bed. I count all the way to ten before she speaks again.
“I would have brought you something, but you know.” She shrugs now, and a smile tugs at my lips. “It’s really nice that you came.” She smiles a wide smile.
“Did you hear about Michelle?” Her eyes brighten and I shake my head only once until she starts talking again, only this time her voice is low. She glances at Eleanor so many times that she actually draws her attention.
“So Michelle attacked Craig while he was masturbating.” Heat burns my cheeks as an image materializes so clearly in my head.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious now.
“He’s a prick. I shouldn’t need to say more.” Maria starts biting her nails and spits the bitten parts off onto the floor. I pull my blanket higher up on myself. Disgusting.
“Anyway, it all started when he got Michael to make fun of her and I suppose she snapped.” Maria snaps her fingers loudly for emphasis and Eleanor looks at us again. I give her a soft smile that she doesn’t return. I did, after all, leave her with lipstick on her teeth, so I deserve that. “She went to his room, and there he was choking the turkey. She said the way he was going at it had her thinking that he was going to pull the thing off.” Maria laughs, before giggling into her hand. “He asked her to finish him off and she lost it. She tried to cut it off.” Her eyes grow round and wide.
“His penis?” I question.
“Yeah, and she should have. But she missed and got his leg. Anyway, if he reports her she’ll get removed.” And so she should. I thought to myself.
“She’s a bit…” Maria did a circular motion at her temple. “Mad. But aren’t we all?” Her giggles again have me forcing a smile. I find myself wondering again had I made the right choice by coming here. Did I really belong with these people. I reminded myself I was hiding. I had a choice, they didn’t
“I heard Craig came here to get all stitched up.” She pauses and waits for me to speak. I know she wants all the details, but for some reason, I want to protect Craig’s privacy. “I’m not sure Maria. I’ve been asleep.” I shrug apologetically, and she pats my feet. My toes curl under the blanket at the contact.
“Sorry I’m not more helpful.” I find myself mumbling, and Maria smiles while rotating her shoulders.
“Nah, I didn’t come here for information.” Her head dips forward so much that she has three chins. So, she had come here for information. She’s still shaking her head in denial of the accusation she made against herself.
“I know that.” I say, trying to ease her.
“Cool.” She meets my eyes slowly. “That’s cool.”