A Veritable Household Pet, page 18
No. I knew how that story ended, and I refused to let that story rule my life. Otherwise, I’d end up like Father and Mother—dead in a dingy garage, huffing noxious fumes, or covered in my own pill-speckled vomit, stinking of booze, cigarettes, and shame.
I sat up straight on my bed and wiped my face on the hem of my blouse. It was time to face up to the hard truths. I was so close to getting out of there; I couldn’t fall to pieces yet—or maybe ever.
So, I thought, I’m headed to UVA in a few months. What I didn’t want to tell Mrs. Knowles was that even if I didn’t have a scholarship, I had a decent nest egg from the sale of our old house. It would be enough, and if it wasn’t, I’d work to pay for it myself. A useless job wouldn’t be useless if it helped me obliterate the version of my life where I became my mother.
That’s how I decided to make the best of things, just as I’d done with everything else in my sick, sad life.]
1977
“My mom told me Ellen got into UVA,” Jeremiah said while we were walking, holding my hand too tight.
“Okay,” I said.
Jeremiah squeezed my fingers. “Well? Is it true?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to pull my hand away. He squeezed harder, keeping me in place by his side.
He grumbled something, but I didn’t hear him.
“Darla? Did you hear me?” he asked.
“What?” I said.
We neared the end of the block and turned around. He tugged me harder than usual.
“I said UVA isn’t that great of a school,” he said.
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed quiet.
“I mean, good for Ellen and all that, but a big state school like that can’t offer the same level of individual attention that a smaller school can,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
“I mean, Jansmore College may not have all those pretty buildings, but the education is solid. And there’s no Greek life to distract people from studying.”
“Okay,” I said again.
“Seriously, Darla, I’m better off than someone like Ellen, honestly. Just wait. You’ll see.”
“Okay,” I said for the third time. I felt like a rag doll with a string you pull to repeat the same word over and over.
When we got to Mrs. Knowles’s house, Jeremiah yanked me closer for the kiss I’d come to dread. All wet lips, sweaty hair, hot stinking breath. When it was over, Jeremiah squeezed both of my hands again, pushing my bones together. “I’m going places,” he said. “Just you wait, Darla. Jansmore is just the beginning of the rest of our lives.”
I didn’t know how Jansmore would in any way affect my life, but I was tired and didn’t want to talk anymore. He hugged me and finally left me alone.
[Scribe’s note: It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Jeremiah Fannin was jealous of me. Jesus Christ, Jansmore? That school had—and probably still has—a nearly 100% acceptance rate. They’re practically begging people to attend. I can’t think of one single person who has made anything worthwhile of themselves who graduated from Jansmore. Can you? Why don’t you stop and go Google it. I doubt you’ll find anything.
At the time, I didn’t know much about Jeremiah’s college plans, and I didn’t much care, either. He was, and I can say this now with zero remorse, a limpdick piece of shit. But, at least he was a limpdick piece of shit who kept my sister company so I didn’t have to.]
It was getting hotter again, and Ellie and Jeremiah graduated, but not from the same school. Their graduations were on the same day, and Mrs. Knowles took me to see Ellie walk across a big stage. Everybody was clapping, so I started doing it, too, but Mrs. Knowles put a hand on my shoulder and told me to stop. [Scribe’s note: It was sweet of Darla to clap for me, but the issue was that she didn’t stop clapping. Even during the name announcements that had nothing to do with me. It was embarrassing, and I’m glad Mrs. Knowles put a stop to it.]
Afterward, we found Ellie in the gym, where there were tables with cake and soda.
“Ellen, dear, I’m so proud of you,” Mrs. Knowles said, grabbing Ellie in a hug. I didn’t think Ellie liked it.
“Thank you,” she said. “And thanks for coming. And… for bringing Darla.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world. Right, Darla?”
I smiled.
Mrs. Knowles kept talking to Ellie, and I kept looking over at that cake. It was cut into little squares and each square had its own plate, with a fork. Other people were taking plates, so I went over there and took one, too. I don’t know if it was all the excitement, or all the people, or all the newness, but I couldn’t make myself focus on eating the way I’d been practicing. Bits of chewed cake kept falling out of my mouth, but it was so good, and I didn’t want to stop.
[Scribe’s note: I was pleased that Mrs. Knowles brought Darla, I really was, but I was also anxious. Darla hadn’t been in a situation like that before, with so many people, and, frankly, so many expectations. Church was different—you just had to sit, and the congregation was much smaller than my graduating class of four hundred and five. I spent the entire ceremony digging my nails into my palms, girding myself for the inevitable scene Darla would cause. My only solace was that after that day, I never had to set foot in that horrid school again, never had to face those brutish kids with their taunts and jeers and dirty pranks.
I was so relieved when the ceremony was over and we all met in the gym. I thought the hard part was over, but then Darla wandered away while Mrs. Knowles was blabbing on about the significance of that day and how my parents would have been so proud of me (yeah, right). By the time we noticed Darla wasn’t with us anymore, we started hearing the laughter from the table with the cake.
There was no kidding myself. I knew exactly who everybody was laughing at. I ran to the table and found Darla standing in front of the punch bowl, a plate of cake in her hands, globs of spitty frosting dribbling down her chin. There were smears of blue on her cheeks, even on her nose, and her dress was ruined, smudged with chocolate crumbs and more of that heinous, ultramarine frosting. Carla Romano was whispering to Gina Fletcher, but it was the sort of stage whisper everyone within earshot could hear. They were both pointing at Darla and laughing.
“Take a look at that spaz,” Carla said. “I think she needs a bib!”
Gina laughed, and then Trudy Winthrop joined them. “Guess Smelly Ellie’s sister is just as dorky as her!”
More laughter.
I grabbed Darla by the arm. “What are you doing?” I said into her ear.
“I don’t know,” Darla said, mouth full of cake. More of it dribbled out and fell onto her paper plate with a wet smack. I could hear Gina Fletcher heehawing like a donkey.
“Come with me,” I said, pulling her back toward Mrs. Knowles.
“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Knowles said when she caught sight of Darla. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Together, we brought Darla to the bathroom and wiped her down as best we could. The dress would need special laundering, and her teeth were stained blue, but there wasn’t much more we could do.
“These things happen,” Mrs. Knowles said as we exited the bathroom. “Ellen, dear, would you like to go back to your party?”
I would have rather swallowed a whole bottle of Valium like Mother than walk back into that gym. “No, thank you. I’d like to go home now, please.”
Mrs. Knowles sighed. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to your friends?”
I almost laughed at her lack of awareness. Had she not realized over the past few years that I had no use for friends?
“No, I’m alright,” I said. “Let’s go.”
When we got back to Mrs. Knowles’s house, I went straight to my room. I stuffed my graduation cap and gown into the back of my closet, then spent the rest of the afternoon filling out the paperwork for UVA enrollment.
After dinner, Mrs. Knowles presented me with a cherry pie. I wasn’t hungry, but I didn’t want to make her feel bad, so I took a few bites of my slice. It was overly sweet and the crust was undercooked, which surprised me. Normally, Mrs. Knowles’s baking was nothing short of excellent.
Darla didn’t care. She ate her piece so fast she nearly choked. At least the food all stayed inside of her mouth that time.]
“I looked for you at graduation, but I didn’t see you,” Jeremiah said to me the next day. We were in the backyard, and his foot was touching mine.
“I was with Mrs. Knowles,” I said.
“Were you near the back?” he asked.
“I was in the middle,” I said.
“I would have seen you, then,” he said. “You would have been close to where my parents and sister were sitting.”
“No, I wasn’t with them,” I said.
He was getting angry. He jabbed my foot with his big toe. “Then where were you, Darla?”
“At Ellie’s school,” I said.
He hissed. He sounded like the neighbor’s cat. “I should have known,” he said.
I pulled my feet closer to me.
“Darla, when you love someone, you’re supposed to support them,” he said.
“Okay,” I said. I had. I’d been there for Ellie.
He stared at me. “Darla? Are you hearing me?”
“Yes,” I said. Sometimes he could be so confusing, I wanted to scream.
“I’m saying I love you, Darla,” he said.
“Okay,” I said.
He growled. “Aren’t you going to say it back?”
“I love you,” I said. Was this how relationships went? One person said one thing, then you had to say the same thing back? Did it matter if it was true or not?
He smiled. “Good,” he said. “But seriously, Darla… I mean, I knew I was going to have to teach you a bunch of stuff, but some of these things you should really figure out on your own. You went to Ellie’s graduation, but you didn’t go to mine?”
“It was the same day,” I said.
It was like he didn’t hear me. “So you’ll support your sister, but not the man you love. Okay, got it. Great.”
The smile was gone, and I was getting tired again.
“I want to take a nap,” I said.
Jeremiah threw up his hands. “I don’t understand you, Darla. We’re together, like together together, and you’re not supporting me? You’re not listening anymore?”
My eyes felt dry and heavy. Instead of answering him, I stood up. “I’m going inside,” I said.
Jeremiah stood up, too. “Good grief, Darla,” he said. “I see how it is.”
He huffed and then turned around and left the backyard. I was glad he could understand me now, could see how things were. He didn’t always have to make things so complicated.
[Scribe’s note: The more I learn about Jeremiah Fannin, the less I like him, even now, and I didn’t like him much back then (at least not since he chose Darla over me—but you know what, thank the baby Jesus I do not believe in). What a sniveling prick. I was thrilled he’d be going off to college, even if it was only Jansmore, which barely qualified as a place of higher education. It was two and a half hours away, far enough that Jeremiah wouldn’t be constantly hanging around Darla anymore. With any luck, he’d find a new girl to moon over. I think his repressed desire to be a sculptor seeped into his relationship. He wanted more than anything to have a girl who was a lump of undefined clay, someone he could mold into the perfect wife. Clearly, Darla had shown too much uncontrolled shape for him.
Good for her.]
Jeremiah came back the next day and told me he was going away for awhile.
“Okay,” I said.
He squinted at me, like he was having trouble seeing. “I’m sure you’ll miss me,” he said. “I’ll miss you.”
I didn’t think I would miss him. He made me tired, and then he got mad when I wanted to go sleep. That strange hunger I’d felt when I first saw him had been gone for awhile. Now, every time I saw him, I felt too full, like I was going to be sick, like how I felt the time I ate four slices of Mrs. Knowles’s pineapple upside down cake in one sitting, or the time, during my twelfth birthday, when I ate too much and threw up on the table.
When the quiet went on for too long, he got that mean, pinchy look on his face again and said, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll find somebody else while I’m gone.” Then he got up and left, and I was finally able to take a nap.
[Scribe’s note: I found out from Mrs. Knowles that Jeremiah’s parents were sending him to a remedial summer school on the other side of the state. Apparently, even Jansmore had its standards. One of the conditions of his acceptance was that he receive passing grades in algebra and in American history, which required summer classes. When Mrs. Knowles told me, in that hushed whisper she used when she was talking about other people, I laughed. She scolded me, as was the good Christian thing to do when someone laughed at another person’s misfortune, but I didn’t care. I also seriously doubted Jeremiah would find another girl out there—Mrs. Knowles also confided that the summer school he would be attending was boys only, so that everyone would have an easier time focusing on their studies.
Although, I must say, if Jeremiah had come back with a new love from that particular institution, I wouldn’t have been completely surprised.]
The summer was nice. Ellie was around more, even though she was usually in her room reading books. She wasn’t in high school anymore, and she hadn’t started college yet, but she still had her nose deep into those textbooks.
“Why are you reading that?” I asked her one afternoon.
She didn’t look up at me. “I have to stay sharp,” she said. “I don’t want to lose my study habits right before I have to buckle down. That would be foolish.”
“Oh,” I said. “What are you studying?”
She bit her fingernail, chewed it, then spit something out onto her carpet. “Biology,” she said.
“Why?”
She sighed, like Mrs. Knowles did when I ‘regressed,’ as she called it. “Because I’m going to be a doctor.”
My heart started beating faster, and my head started to pound. “Are you going to…”
She looked up then, saw me, and closed her eyes. “Darla, I’m so sorry,” she said. It was like she could read my mind. “I’m not going to be like Dr. Hupman. I’m going to be better than him. I’m going to be the kind of doctor you should have had.”
We hadn’t ever really talked about the surgery; it was just a fact of my life, of my personality. Something like sadness washed over me, but it felt more like a thin blanket than a wool overcoat. I could feel it, barely, but it didn’t penetrate, didn’t envelop like it probably should have. “Okay,” I said, my voice squeaky.
Ellie put her book down on the bed and came over to where I was standing near her desk. Her eyes were glittery again. “Darla, I’m so sorry about what happened to you,” she said. “I want to be a doctor so I can make sure nobody has to go through that again.”
She hugged me, real quick, then went back to her bed. The glitter was gone from her eyes, like she’d taken all her sadness and zipped it away where it couldn’t hurt her. Was that better than not really feeling it at all, like me?
[Scribe’s note: Guilt crushed me in that moment, steamrolled me into a flat pancake. How could I ever forgive myself for what I hadn’t done? I hadn’t stopped the operation. I hadn’t fought for Darla before it was too late. I hadn’t intervened when it could still make a difference.
In that moment, when she looked at me, fear in her eyes, I broke. My acceptance of her situation, and the peace I’d found, disintegrated. My emotions got the better of me, and I’m ashamed for that. I never wanted Darla to see my weakness, only my strength. I had to be strong enough for the both of us.]
I left Ellie’s room and we didn’t talk much again for the rest of the summer. We’d pass by each other in the hall, on the way to the bathroom, talk a bit at dinner, but it wasn’t much. It wasn’t meaningful. But I understood—Ellie had other things to think about, now.
The day before she left for UVA, I got a piece of nice paper from Mrs. Knowles’s stationery set. I folded it in half so it looked like a card you got at the store. Her fancy pens were almost too heavy in my hands, and I had to fight to hold onto them.
It wasn’t perfect, but I wrote a few letters. ‘M,’ ‘I,’ ’S,’ ’S,’ ‘Y,’ ‘O,’ ‘U.’ Then I signed my name.
[Scribe’s note: I still have the note Darla wrote me, although ‘note’ is a strong word. Don’t get me wrong, she tried her best, but it was still barely legible. It made me sad, not the sentiment of it, but her persistent inability to do something she should be able to do—write. As with everything, I squeezed the sadness deep inside of me until it was a hard stone of anger, which was far easier for me to tolerate.
When she handed me the card after my last dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Mrs. Knowles made a big fuss about how far Darla had come. She had, it was true, but in a way, she hadn’t come far at all. She couldn’t live on her own. She wouldn’t be able to hold down a job. She wasn’t getting a legitimate education, and I mean that as no slight to Mrs. Knowles’s homeschooling.
Not for the first time, as I looked at the card again, I wondered what Darla would have been like today if she’d never had the surgery. Would she have burrowed deeper and deeper into her phobia, until we found her dead one day in her dirty nest, like a child’s hamster? Or would she have grown out of it, eventually rejoining the society we were raised in, becoming the sort of young woman our parents could have bragged about at the neighborhood barbecues?
The questions were a waste of time, because there was no way to ever glean the answers, and I wasn’t keen on torturing myself with fanciful imaginings of different versions of Darla. Just like I couldn’t restart my life and make different choices, there was no reset button for Darla’s brain.
