MICHELLE
“I still don’t understand why I need to know this damn stuff, Miss Springer.” Maddie is twirling her curly brown hair with the ends of her pencil as she chomps down on a piece of gum she won from my purse. She looks up at me, totally uninterested, “It’s just a bunch of dead guys.”
“Yeah, it’s a bunch of dead guys -- a bunch of dead guys who fought for our country.” I hold out my hand in front of her mouth. It’s our signal. The new rule is that for every time she curses, I get to take away the gum. Go five minutes without a bad word uttered, I give her another piece. I even have my phone’s timer set up for it.
“Oh come on, Miss Springer! It’s just ‘damn.’ I’ve said much worse than that!” She throws her arms around her chest in a dramatic pout.
I know she’s heard worse. I have no doubt that the expressive vocabulary that she uses is all inherited from her surroundings. Looking around the kitchen with the black garbage bags and plywood boards covering the windows and the floor tiles literally peeling up at its edges, this place is a breeding ground for low class.
But still, this is Maddie’s home. And in the few weeks I’ve been stopping by to help tutor her, I have seen her more at ease than ever. As much as I hate it, she’s comfortable here. She even feels safe here regardless of the gunfire, strange women, and men carrying around knives and drugs.
I reach out my hand towards her mouth, still insisting she follow my rule. She looks at me, rolls her eyes, and spits it into the palm of my hand. She returns to her books for a brief second before being interrupted by one of the club members passing through for a beer.
He tussles Maddie’s hair as he says, “How’s it going Maddie? Where’ your dad at?”
I’m asking myself the same question. Since I turned Cal down, I haven’t seen him or heard from him. He hasn’t stopped by to see me tutor Maddie. He hasn’t even made it into the classroom to talk about her progress despite my notes and letters. But, secretly, I’m grateful. The less I see him, the less I think of him and his body pressed against mine. Without him around, I can actually be the professional teacher I know I can be.
“Ah, he’s on a run somewhere. I think it’s to Chris’ repair shop or something. He took Ryan, Isaac, Blue Eye, and Softie with him a couple hours ago. I thought he was supposed to be back by now, though.”
I clear my throat as I turn to the man at the refrigerator, “What’s a ‘run’?” I shouldn’t ask. I know better. Getting myself involved in this motorcycle club stuff feels like a death sentence. The more I know, the deeper I get in, but any insight into Maddie’s world is becoming more and more important to me as I become attached to her.
The man pulls back the tab on the gold can of his beer, sending the frothy liquid down his hand. He eyes me as he licks the remains off. And then, he smiles widely. “You’re a curious one, aren’t ya? Most girls around here are an ‘ask no questions’ type.”
I turn back to Maddie who is laughing, too. Both are in on this joke that I’m clearly not getting. Maddie fist pumps the guy as he walks past her back into the living room where I can hear the other men hollering and crying out over their never ending card game.
“What was that about? What was he talking about?”
“Oh, Miss Springer,” She puts her hand on mine as if she were the teacher in this situation, “He’s saying that the dumb broads that come over here aren’t here because they’re interested in being in a motorcycle club. They don’t give a shit what’s going on.”
“Maddie, come on…” I press the reset on the timer again as she sighs, clearly annoyed with me.
“Look, Miss Springer. All I’m saying is those whores in the living room are good for one thing and one thing only…if you know what I mean.”
“Maddie, do you know what you mean?” I’m absolutely disgusted, but I know I’ve got to hide it. This here is nature versus nurture, and I’m coming up against an entire culture shock. But, boy, is it shocking.
“Sex. It’s like the girls my dad brings home. I never see them again unless they’re some club skank who gets around. There’s been a couple of them. One of them had breakfast with me once. That was nice. But he usually uses them and then kicks them to the curb before I go to school.”
Maddie returns her focus to her textbook, using one of my highlighters to circle a passage. But I’m too shocked to move. I had a suspicion. Well, more than a suspicion. I could have guessed at all this if I was being honest with myself. I knew I wasn’t Cal’s only girl. The way he bedded me was all the proof I needed that he wasn’t going home alone most nights. But the fact that Maddie knew was something entirely beyond me.
A few minutes tick away as I fall into a deep, dark hole of thoughts. What else does Maddie know? What has she seen? How could this be normal for her when the rest of her friends at school are going home to moms and dads who put dinner on the table and talk about their jobs in offices and cubicles?
More to the point, what exactly am I supposed to do about this? There are just so many things that both Maddie and Cal have said to me that have crossed the line – hell, they’ve crossed multiple lines, every line imaginable. They were so far into that gray area that I spent most nights after my tutoring sessions contemplating if what Maddie said put me in legal risk if I didn’t report Cal to child protective services. Does sleeping around with strange women count? How about sleeping with me?
My stomach is tied up in knots as I try to work this out. Luckily, Maddie has hit the five-minute mark of no cursing. I pull out a stick of gum from the inside of my purse and toss it to her. She dances in her chair as she chows down. I ask her quietly, “Are you hungry, Maddie?”
She answers so nonchalantly, as if I should be able to read the situation more clearly, “Yeah, duh. I don’t get to eat until my dad comes home, and who knows when that’s going to be!”
I look up at the clock. It’s nearly 7pm. Some students in my class would have been getting ready to go to bed at this point, not be waiting for dad to throw a frozen dinner on the table. I stand up and head towards the refrigerator. Inside are stacks and stacks of cans. It’s an endless supply of beer and liquor.
“Where’s the food, Maddie?”
“Dad brings home dinner most nights. It’s Friday, so he usually stops at this chicken place, Mr. Clucky’s. It’s good, but I always get a stomachache afterwards…”
I interrupt her, “Does he ever cook for you? Like, does he make you anything homemade?”
“Besides putting a frozen waffle in the toaster sometimes, no? But why would he? He gets the food for free. It’s all people on his routes.”
“Maddie, I really want to understand it here. What are routes and what is your dad doing tonight? Can you explain to me like I have no idea what your dad does?”
She sighs heavily and shuts her book. I sit next to her again and listen as she lowers her voice, “Miss Springer, my dad is on a run. It’s when he goes and checks on the people that work for the club. He makes sure they’re doing what they’re supposed to be doing. Like a boss!”
“Like a boss? But what are they supposed to be doing, and what do you mean by they work for the club?”
“They sell stuff for the club. Jager, the president, he gets his crew and my dad to go out on routes. My dad’s route is at that repair shop today. He goes with the other club members and collects money from the blow sales.”
Woah. Maddie just gave me way too much information. I don’t want to go any further, but I feel like I’m obligated to. As a teacher, as an adult, I have to know what she knows. I lower my voice to a whisper, as I ask her. “Blow? What’s blow, Maddie?”
“It’s that stuff those girls stick up their noses before they go and have sex with the guys. My dad doesn’t do it, and he won’t let me go near it. But everyone else does it. He says it makes them go crazy, and it’s only for stupid people without a brain.” Maddie looks back down at her hands nervously. She can tell that this isn’t a topic she’s supposed to be discussing with anyone but her father.
I put my hand on her shoulder and reassure her, “Your dad is right. That stuff is for people who aren’t as smart as you are.” I pause, trying to think if I should push this any further. But from the tired look on her face, I know it’s time to stop it right here. “Speaking of smart, you’re not going to ace this history exam unless we get back to studying. Open up your book and read to me about General Washington and his spies, okay?”
Another hour passes as both of us get back into the groove. Maddie’s really starting to pick up concepts and vocab words. And her cursing is improving with each new piece of gum I’m supplying her. Still, I remain in my chair, quiet and somber. I interject every so often to give Maddie corrections or to ask her questions from my teacher’s version of the textbook.
But every part of my mind is focused on a completely different project. I am turning over my words, rehearsing each line. I need to know exactly what I am going to say to Maddie’s father when he walks through those doors. And I need all the courage to confront him on how he is raising his child in this hell hole of a den.