A Veritable Household Pet, page 6
I got used to not seeing Ma. Ellie would bring me breakfast in the morning before she left for school, and I would spend the day in my room, walking back and forth, building up my strength. Ellie would cook me dinner when she came home, and we’d eat together in my room while she read me books. I don’t know how long we went on like this until things changed. [Scribe’s note: It was only a week. That’s how long it took to run out of food in the pantry. That’s when I knew I had to say something to Mother. I could do a lot, but I couldn’t get a real job. I couldn’t make the kind of money we needed to support ourselves. I hated to admit it, but we needed Mother, and I had to be the one to get her moving again.]
One day, Ma came and stood in my doorway. “Darla,” she said, and she stared at me for a bit, as though she didn’t recognize me. I think she’d been crying, because her face was puffy and there were big black pillows under her eyes. “Darla,” she said again. I sat in my bed, waiting for her to say something else. Finally, she took a step towards me and said, “Mama has to go to work now.” [Scribe’s note: The confrontation needed to get Mother to this point was excruciating. While Darla was still in bed, I’d knocked on Mother’s door and let myself in. She was, as usual, burrowed into her bed, sobbing into her sweat-stained pillow. She didn’t look up as I entered, only batted her arm at me in a gesture that clearly meant I should leave. I ignored it, and walked right up to the foot of her bed. Without any warning, I gripped the bottom of the quilt and ripped it off of her, leaving it to puddle in a dirty heap on the floor. Mother hissed, as if she’d become some subterranean creature unused to sunlight. Her previously white nightgown was yellowed with the cigarette smoke she was almost always exhaling. “Leave me alone!” she yelled, but again, I ignored her.
“Get up, Mother,” I said, moving to the side of the bed where she lay. “It’s time to get up.”
“No!” she wailed, and I began to find it difficult to ever remember a time when mother had been nurturing to me, when she was the responsible adult and I was the child in need of guidance and a firm hand.
“Yes,” I said, grabbing her arm. “I know you’re sad Father’s gone. But you can’t stay in here forever.”
“Why not?” Mother said, trying to push my arm away.
I sighed, doubling my efforts to pull her out of the bed when it was clear she wasn’t going to come willingly. “Be reasonable, Mother,” I said. “The fridge is empty. I have to go to school. We’re running low on everything.”
“I don’t care,” she said, pressing her face back into the stinking pillow.
My face grew hot with anger. “I can’t do this all on my own, Mother!” I yelled, and yanked her arm with as much strength as I could muster. It worked, and Mother crashed to the floor with a shaky rattle, like a bag full of buttons.
“Ow!” she cried, curling into a ball.
“Stop it!” I said. “Father is gone, Mother, and he’s never coming back! I’m already taking care of Darla. I can’t take care of you, too.”
At this, Mother finally looked me in the eye, as if seeing me for the first time. She took in my knobby knees, my gangly legs still throbbing with growing pains, my fuller hips, my thinner waist, the way my blouse stretched tight across my blossoming bosom. My skirt, hovering just above my knee, would barely pass the school dress code, but what was I to do? I had no time to sew an appropriate one, and no time to drive to the store to get a new one, much less any money of my own to purchase one.
I watched Mother process what she saw. At last, she uncurled herself and beckoned for me to help her up. I did, and she put her nicotine-stained hands on my shoulders. “My baby girl,” she said, and I wanted to slither out of her grasp. I had never felt less like a baby. “I’m so sorry.”
I prepared myself for the weeping to begin afresh, but Mother surprised me. She stayed composed, and when she still hadn’t let go of me after several minutes, I said, “Mother. I need you to go to work. Darla needs you to go to work. We can’t live like this anymore.”
She removed her hands, and I let loose an inconspicuous sigh of relief. “You’re right,” she said in a small voice.
When she didn’t move, I prodded, “Shouldn’t you get dressed?”
“Yes. Yes, of course.”
She walked unsteadily to her vanity, and I checked my watch. I had to leave right then, otherwise I’d be late for school.
“Will you be alright?” I asked, and a flash of hatred sparked in my heart. There was no one around to ask me if I would be alright, if I would survive the nuclear wasteland our family had become.
“Sure,” Mother said, but I could tell neither of us was convinced.
There was nothing more to say, and no more time left to say it. I headed out, hoping Mother would sort herself out on her own and step back into her life, even though it was radically different from both the one she wanted and the one she used to have.]
I blinked, staring at Ma, standing in my doorway. She had never gone to work like Pa used to. She’d always been home. I guessed with Pa gone forever, Ma would have to do his job. I giggled at the idea of Ma putting on Pa’s pressed trousers and driving to work, trying to fit neatly into the hole he left. I didn’t mean anything by it, but Ma’s face went red. “We need the money,” she said, but she didn’t sound happy with me. “I’ll be back later.” She didn’t say anything else, or tell me where she was going, but I didn’t care. Since Pa died, she hadn’t done much for me, and I was used to being on my own. Maybe things would be even better without me having to worry about her coming into my room and making me rest.
I didn’t want to rest. I wanted to learn.
1972
One day, as I watched Ellie read a new book, something shifted. I stared at the book’s cover, and for the first time since the surgery, the letters didn’t dance away from me. They stayed where they were and let me read them. I must have squealed, because Ellie stopped reading and looked at me. “Everything okay?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” I said, trying to nod. My muscles were getting stronger, but my movements were still a bit herky-jerky.
Ellie put the book down and leaned closer to me. “Then why did you make that sound?”
“Go,” I said, and Ellie’s nose scrunched up.
“You want me to leave?” she said.
Still, I studied the book’s cover. “Ask,” I said, and I started breathing harder.
“Ask who? For what?” Ellie looked more confused than ever, and it made me want to laugh, but I had to finish.
I took a deep breath. “Alice,” I said, and I could tell I was smiling because my cheeks hurt.
“Who’s Alice?” Ellie said, but it didn’t take her long to understand me. Ellie was always the smart one. She gave me a big smile. “Oh my God, Darla, that’s right! Did you just read the cover?”
“I don’t know,” I said, but I was nodding, and Ellie knew what I meant.
“This is huge,” Ellie said, and she hopped off the bed and started pacing around the room. “Darla, do you know what this means?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“You’re starting to get better! Like, really better!” she said. “You might… “ She looked at me, and her nose scrunched up again. “You might get to be normal again.”
I was still smiling, and the serene pond of my mind felt the tiniest ripple.
Ellie rushed to my side and grabbed the book. “Read some more, Darla!”
She shoved the book into my hands and turned to the first page. “Read it!” she said again.
I looked down at the page, but something wasn’t right. I don’t know if the letters were too small, or too close together, or what it was, but I couldn’t make sense of the words. I opened my mouth and tried to say something, but saliva dripped out and fell onto the book.
“Goddamnit,” Ellie said, and ripped the book out of my hands. “This is a library book, Darla!”
Ellie picked up her book bag and left my room without saying goodbye.
[Scribe’s note: I could hardly believe it when Darla managed to read the book’s title. I had resigned myself to the idea that Darla would never be fully literate again, and hearing her sound out the words gave me the cruelest glimmer of hope. If Darla could read again, then maybe Darla could think clearly again, then maybe Darla could take care of herself again, then maybe Darla could… and on and on my mind raced through the possibilities. Without Darla to attend to, I could be free.
Seeing her drool onto the book lit a match to my newfound hopes. I didn’t want to feel anger towards Darla, but she looked, in that moment, exactly how Father had envisioned her: Stupid. Idiotic. Incapable.
A burden.
I couldn’t bear it. I left Darla’s room immediately and resorted to Mother’s chosen method of coping: I cried into my pillow until my eyes felt dry and my chest stopped heaving. It made me feel no better.]
1972
Ellie kept reading to me from the Alice book. Sometimes, she would gasp real loud. I supposed the story was surprising, but I couldn’t really understand why Anonymous’s life was so wrong. She used pills to feel better. How was that different from what the doctor had given me? [Scribe’s note: I asked myself that same question over and over as I read Go Ask Alice. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have been reading that book to Darla. She was only twelve, after all, and the subject matter was inarguably adult, despite its young protagonist. Drug abuse, sexual assault, homelessness, psychiatric breakdowns, suicide… it wasn’t the sort of light fare Darla was used to me reading.
I have to confess—besides my own interest in the book, I also wanted to keep reading it to see how Darla would react. Ever since her surgery, nothing got a rise out of her. She was placid, maybe smiling simply every now and then whether it was warranted or not. She was hollowed out, like a jack-o’-lantern. The light was on, the face was smiling, but there was no real life there. At least, that’s how she appeared to me.]
I found Anonymous fascinating. Here was a young girl, not so different from me, who had a rough start in life. And look what she’d done with herself! She’d escaped her home, she’d made new friends, she’d had new experiences, she’d fallen in love.
I wondered what that felt like.
[Scribe’s note: I wondered what that felt like, too. Darla was stuck in the house, sure, and she was certainly stuck in her own mind. But wasn’t I stuck, too? If I ever left Darla, who would take care of her? I spent so much time worrying about my sister, I didn’t have time for friends or new experiences. And what was love to me? The teenager in Go Ask Alice was so obsessed with boys, it made me feel sick. I wanted to reach through the pages and grab her shoulders, shake some sense into her, tell her those boys weren’t worth it, and she should focus her attention on something more productive and worthwhile.
Even as these thoughts skittered through my undamaged brain, I couldn’t help but feel a deep yearning for something, anything. At least Anonymous’s life was worth cataloguing in a diary. If I kept a diary, what could I possibly write? What would I want to record for posterity? I would certainly never want to reread my own thoughts and the monotonous, tragic drudgery of each day. There was nothing from this time in my life that I would want to remember. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t resent Darla for making me relive it as I write this.]
Every day she read to me, Ellie would try to get me to sound out a few words. Some days I could, some days I couldn’t. Without Ma around, Ellie decided she would teach me. I wanted to be able to read things for myself, so I was grateful. [Scribe’s note: Mother couldn’t have cared less about Darla’s education. She’d found a job as a waitress at a nearby bar, and she was gone most nights, not getting home until after Darla and I had gone to bed. She slept during the day, and weeks would go by where the only evidence I saw of her was a scantily restocked fridge. This was fine by me. What was not fine by me was her neglect of Darla. In her grief, Mother had slipped into Father’s way of thinking—that Darla was a lost cause, an eternal burden, a house pet.
I no longer wanted a house pet. I wanted a normal sister, someone who would eventually be able to live her own life. Someone whose presence wouldn’t follow me everywhere like a dark, sticky shadow. So, beyond feeding her and helping her bathe, I tried to teach her.]
One day, I was able to read a full sentence. Ellie clapped so hard for me I thought she was going to break her fingers. “Smile, Darla!” she said, and I did, but I could tell by the way she looked at me that she wasn’t happy. “Why can’t you be happy?” she asked, and I tried to smile harder. Ellie just dropped her eyes back to the book and told me to try another sentence. [Scribe’s note: Darla’s smile was that same vapid, soulless upturning of the lips that she’d had since the surgery. There was no light in her eyes, no joy. No recognition of the progress she was making, and that lack of recognition rendered her reading achievement essentially moot, in my opinion.]
Eventually, I could read a whole paragraph. As my muscles got stronger from pacing my room, my mind was coming back, too. I still needed Ellie’s help, but she seemed happy to give it. [Scribe’s note: Even though Darla was improving, my grades were suffering. Instead of doing my homework after school, I poured myself into teaching Darla. At night, I dreamt of Darla as she could have been—vibrant, competent, normal. But when I woke, I knew the dream was just that—fiction. Darla was never destined to be that girl. Sometimes, before the sun had risen and the reality of another day had hit me, I wondered if this version of Darla wasn’t better after all. I didn’t have friends, but at least I had someone to talk to, a captive audience to listen when no one else would, when no one else cared.]
We kept reading, and I kept listening and learning. The Alice book made me feel excited, I guess, like maybe life wasn’t over for me at all, but just beginning. I tried to understand Anonymous’s feelings, and how they went up and down like a rollercoaster. I think I had been like that, once, and reading about Anonymous made me wish for that again. I was still that serene pond—my feelings were shallow, nothing went too deep. Any highs were just little bumps, and I could barely sense the lows. I knew from reading about Anonymous’s life that the lows could be horrible, but at least she was feeling something, really feeling it in her soul. The surgery had taken my lows away from me, but they’d also taken away my highs. I was starting to better understand how to react to things, what emotions might be proper for a situation, but I couldn’t access them like Anonymous could. Anonymous made me want things again.
[Scribe’s note: Anonymous made me want things, too. I could understand how someone could feel like they never measured up, like they wanted to be anyone but who they were. At the same time, I wanted to be completely different from Anonymous. I felt death would be preferable to being so pathetic, whiny, and self-indulgent. And the obsession with sex! It lurked around every corner of Go Ask Alice. What teenager wasn’t curious, I’ll admit that, but the single-minded focus was laughable. In my case, all it did was raise questions I couldn’t answer myself, nor could I ask Mother. Without a friend to talk to, I ended up spilling more of my soul to Darla. I let some of myself pour into her barren cup. As I became half-empty, she became half-full.]
When Anonymous started talking about dieting, and then about how she should just throw up after eating, I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Here was this thing I’d been so afraid of, the reason I was now the way I was, and it was an act that some people would do on purpose! How could something that people might do willingly be the very same thing that terrified me to the point of madness? I couldn’t stop giggling, and I could tell Ellie was bothered by it. She stopped reading and told me we could be done for the day. I didn’t want her to go, but I was too busy laughing to stop her. [Scribe’s note: I was concerned that the laughter signaled a sharp mental decline. We’d been making so much progress, and I didn’t want to push Darla to a breaking point by giving her too much, too soon. Hearing Darla’s recounting of that situation, I can better understand her reaction, although I don’t share it.]
Anonymous cared so much about finding love and being accepted. I felt that way before the surgery, but now I was different, and I still didn’t have that love. I still wasn’t accepted—I knew that, even then. I just didn’t care like I should have. I suspect it was better that way. [Scribe’s note: I cared enough for the both of us. I wanted that love for myself, even though it felt frivolous and stupid. After all, if Mother and Father, two grown adults, couldn’t find it, where was the proof to show it was even real?]
When Anonymous starting getting into drugs, I could tell Ellie was upset, but I was confused. Anonymous wanted to be like the other kids; she wanted to fit in. Ma and Pa put me on the Thorazine for the same reason—they wanted me to be normal. Why was Anonymous so bad for doing on her own what Ma and Pa asked a doctor to do to me? [Scribe’s note: Yet another question Darla and I shared. I could understand things better than Darla could, though. I knew Anonymous wanted escape just as much as she wanted to fit in, and I hated her for it. Even if I craved it, I couldn’t have indulged my drive for escape—otherwise, I would have ended up like Father. Too much depended on me… but, at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would choose escape if I could. Darla needed me, yes, but did her needs save me from oblivion, or damn me to it? I still don’t know the answer.
Maybe if someone had needed Anonymous like Darla needed me, she wouldn’t have spent so much time scribbling that angsty, puerile drivel into her silly little diary. She wrote about her shallow experiences because she didn’t have anything real to worry about. She could try drugs, run away from home, sell marijuana to school kids, have unprotected sex, and then just come back into the loving embrace of her family as though none of it happened. That was a level of security and privilege I couldn’t understand anymore.]
