Paint Me a Monster, page 2
“Why doesn’t she make dinner?”
“Because that’s what Emmy is for,” she answers again. “Verna takes care of us in the day, and Emmy takes care of us when Verna goes home.”
“Who takes care of Verna and Emmy?”
“We do. We make sure they have someone to love.”
“Do we take care of Mimi, too?”
“Yes, and we’ve done a good job, because when Mommy has a baby, Mimi always comes back to us.”
I think of Mommy waking up so late. Now I know why she is beautiful.
VACANCY
I am four years old. My mother holds my hand. Her white cotton glove covers my fingers. Lizzie is on her other side.
We are in a roomful of people waiting to see someone who is important. He’s a friend of Daddy’s, and he teaches football for Ohio State University. His name is Woody Hayes. We have gray and red party ribbons in our hair.
“Are the girls twins?” I hear people ask.
“Almost,” Mommy answers.
Lizzie and I are dressed in our pink organdy dresses. Starched crinolines hold the skirts of the dresses out like open umbrellas. I am admiring the freckles on my arms and legs and how small and round they are. The only things I can see are legs and shoes. I practice balancing on one foot by putting one black patent shoe on top of the other.
Mommy bends and whispers fast and hard, “I don’t want to tell you again. Stop twitching. Be still like Liz.”
“I’m prettier than Liz, aren’t I?” I whisper back and suck my top lip inside my mouth.
“No. Pretty is what’s inside you. Pretty girls listen to their mommies.”
What does that mean? Can Mommy see inside me? I didn’t listen. Mommy must think I’m ugly. I suck harder.
Liz is on the right side of my mother, and I am on the left.
GAGA
When Gaga’s big red car stops in the driveway, we hear the brakes and watch her head poke forward and back and forward again like a chicken’s. Pop Pop says her head moves that way because, “My wife’s just too damn short to be driving a Ford Fairlane.”
The first thing I see when Gaga gets out of the car are her galoshes. “Everyone needs galoshes,” she says, but I don’t have any. I have boots. Before Gaga rings the doorbell, I whoosh open the door and yell extra loud, “Gaga’s here!” so Lizzie will come downstairs.
“Lizzie and Margo what good hugs you give!” she says and hugs us back.
“It’s Rinnie. Rinnie like Rin Tin Tin,” I say, frowning.
“So it’s still Rinnie is it? Then Rinnie it will be.” Gaga’s mouth pushes her cheeks and eyebrows up. “Well, I’m glad to see you, Rinnie.”
“Yay, Gaga’s here,” Lizzie and I jump in circles around her. Croquette barks and joins the jumping. Gaga bends, to kiss us and leaves the smell of baby powder and red lipstick marks on our cheeks. Croquette gets pats on the head.
“Evan’s taking a nap,” I say.
“Well, I have something special for you two, darlings,” Gaga says.
Magic words! We hold our breath. We know “I have something special” means we’re going on an adventure.
Verna comes from the kitchen. “Can I take your coat, Mrs. Samuels? You just missed your daughter. She’s at the beauty parlor and won’t be back for who knows.”
“Thank you, Verna. I dropped by to see my grandchildren.”
Gaga places her coat and cap across Verna’s arms. I don’t know why one side of Verna’s hands are so much lighter than the other side. Maybe it’s because she’s tall and there isn’t enough brown to cover all of her.
Gaga moves to the steps, sits next to us, and reaches into her shiny red purse. Out come pieces of paper the same size as her thumbs.
“Tickets!” she says very fast. “We’re going to the Paragon to see a movie, Swiss Family Robinson. It’s about resourceful children like you.”
The hurry in Gaga’s voice makes resourceful sound like a good thing.
The Paragon! The Paragon! We’ve never been to the Paragon or anywhere to see a movie.
“Is Mommy coming?” Lizzie asks.
Gaga shakes her fluffy hair side to side. When it flies around it looks like one color, but when it stops, her hair is the color of a chipmunk married to a squirrel.
“Will Daddy and Pop Pop come?” Lizzie asks.
“Nooooo,” Gaga stretches her arms around us. “Just us. It’s the perfect outing for grandchildren and their grandmother on an autumn afternoon.”
“Yippeee,” we shout. “When, when, when do we get to go?”
“I can’t stay until your mother gets home, so I’ll call her tonight, and we’ll decide,” says Gaga. “Now I have to get to the groceries. It’s Thursday night, and Pop Pop expects fish for dinner.”
She stands and gets her coat behind the mirrored closet doors. Gaga’s head doesn’t reach the shelf above the coats. She has to stand on the footstool we keep in the closet, in order to reach her cap.
“Help me balance while I put my galoshes on,” Gaga says.
A key clicks in the front door and Emmy shivers in. Raindrops pitter-patter from her short coat.
“Seemed like an extra-long walk from the bus stop today. The temperature dropped! Hello, Mrs. Samuels,” she looks at Gaga. “Are you stayin’ for dinner? I can always find something to add.”
“No, Emmy, whatever you’re cooking for the family tonight will be just for them. Is it four o’clock already? I’ve got to be scooting.” Gaga looks outside. “The leaves are blowing inside out. That means more rain tomorrow. Maybe Verna needs a ride to the bus. . . .”
“I hear you, Mrs. S. I can be ready in two shakes. I appreciate the ride.”
Daddy calls four o’clock the “Changing of the Guard.” The bus drops Emmy off and picks up Verna. After dinner, when the dishes are washed and put away, the bus comes back for Emmy, and tomorrow the bus will return Verna. It’s like Verna says, “Good things always comin’ and goin’.”
KINDERGARTEN
The kindergarten room is big. It has tables and chairs, a rug, and a huge wooden jungle gym. Along the walls are pictures of balloons with signs that say things like RED, BLUE, GREEN. I can read them. A brown paper tree with cut-out orange and red leaves stuck to it is glued to the window. “Fall” is written in yellow letters under the tree. A calendar almost as big as me leans on the wall under “Fall.” In the corner is a fuzzy rug jumbled with dolls. Two girls and a boy play house and laugh.
Mrs. Grayson is my teacher. She is tall. Her voice is tall also, and her face is pretty. I like her very much. She pats my head, smiles, and tells me to come inside the room. I play with everyone and climb on the jungle gym. It is my favorite thing to do. One day, Mrs. Grayson tells us to sit in a big circle so we can play a game. I sit with my back to the door. When I look up, I see Mrs. Grayson’s happy face across from me. It has a big smile that makes little holes in her cheeks.
“Someone is going to hide a toy in their lap. We will guess who it is. Cover your eyes with your hands,” she says.
While our eyes are closed, she hands a plastic doll to someone in the circle. I spread my fingers the tiniest bit so I can see what is going on.
“Rinnie, you’re peeking,” Mrs. Grayson says. “That’s not how we play. You are cheating.”
I don’t know what cheating is, but I can tell it is bad. Mrs. Grayson’s happy face isn’t in her tall voice anymore. I am ashamed of cheating. I scrunch the shame into a little ball and stuff it way down inside me, so no one will ever know I am a cheater—maybe not even me.
ENCOURAGEMENT
“Mrs. Grayson tells me you need a little encouragement following directions,” Mommy says, knocking ashes from her cigarette into a tiny china bowl. “It’s important to do what you’re told in school. No one likes a troublemaker.”
“OK, Mommy.”
THE BASEMENT
Mommy yells, “OK, kids, get in the car. We’re going to Gaga’s. Emmy, plan to serve dinner about thirty minutes later than usual. Mr. Gardener is working late.”
The butterscotch candy in my mouth lasts all the way to Gaga’s house. When we arrive, Lizzie and I peel out of the car and race to ring the doorbell. Evan’s chubby legs totter side to side as he tries to keep up with us. Gaga smears our cheeks with red lipstick.
“I put fresh nuts in the candy dish in the living room,” she says and heads toward the reading room with Mommy.
We push each other out of the way to get to the nuts. Gaga hates that we pick out the cashews and salty walnuts. She hates that we leave the long nuts that look like cocoons and the little round ones that taste like they’re rotten in the crystal dish.
“Next stop, the basement.” I dash to the door near the front entrance. Lizzie takes a shortcut to a second set of stairs that leads to the basement and beats Evan and me.
“I got here first. I’m the soda man,” Lizzie says. She lifts a piece of the bar top and ducks under it. Behind the bar are glasses and clear bottles filled with stuff the color of maple syrup. We aren’t allowed to touch them. The stools in front of the bar are too high for Evan to crawl on, so the two of us stand next to each other on wood crates that Gaga brought home from the grocery store.
“I’d like a soda, please,” I say.
“What kind?” Lizzie asks.
“A big one please.”
“How about you?” Lizzie looks at Evan.
“I want one with a straw,” he says.
We drink our pretend sodas and jump on the sofa with the hole that Pop Pop swears “those rambunctious children made.” Because the paint on the legs of the sofa is scratched up and the seats fall in when we sit, I think the sofa is just old.
“I wish Pop Pop would let us turn the light on. It’s too shady in here,” I say.
“I wish he believed that we’d remember to turn it off,” Lizzie says.
Except for the bar, it’s kind of an unfriendly place. Before we give up making the basement fun, we turn all the knobs as far as they’ll go on the unplugged television and on the big radio next to the sofa. We talk into the drain on the floor and listen to how loud our voices sound.
Evan tugs the handle to the door under the stairs.
“Noooo, Evan!” Lizzie and I yell. “No!”
“That’s the stink room.” We hold our noses. “Get away. That’s where the suitcases are, and they’re stuffed with moth balls.”
“What’s a moth ball?” Evan asks.
“It’s white and you need a nose clip to get near it and gloves to touch it. Let’s get out of here,” Lizzie and I say.
“Next time, Evan,” I say. “We’ll explore where you can open all the doors.”
WOOD CHUCK HOLLOW
Gaga doesn’t have to tell us going to Wood Chuck Hollow is “another something special for her darlings.” We already know it.
“There used to be hundreds, maybe thousands of wood-chucks living here, but now there is only one family left, and it’s good luck if you see one,” Gaga says.
I don’t think we’ll see one today because the snow is too deep.
“Why are we here in winter?” Evan says. “There aren’t any animals in the cages. I want to see the skunks, garter snakes, rabbits, and foxes.”
“Me too. I want to walk on the trails and look for turtles and frogs in the pond,” I say.
Liz is rubbing her hands together. She left her gloves at home.
“Here, Lizzie, you can wrap my scarf around your hands and pretend they’re gloves.” I unwrap the scarf tied around my hood. It’s my favorite scarf. Mommy knit it, and it’s fuzzy and squishy.
“Thank you, Rinnie,” Lizzie says. “You’re a good sister.”
“Yes you are,” Gaga says, patting my purple hood. “Winter is a special time. Most people stay inside and miss the wonders of the cold. You can still find animal tracks—more easily, in fact. The tracks tell the story of where the animals live and how far they travel. Today, Evan, we will follow a trail. You can lead us. We’re going to the picnic tables under the big trees.”
Evan stomps ahead of us to the splintery post that marks the trail we’ve taken so many times and starts making footprints in the snow.
“We’re on a treasure hunt,” Gaga says. “Before we go home, let’s see if we can find a bird’s nest, rabbit tracks, deer tracks, and a hole an animal might have used for a home.”
“Look!” I say, holding out a pointy stick.
“Look at what?” Liz asks.
“My wand. Can’t you see? It’s part of my treasure collection. Abracadabra.” I circle the wand above my head and hit myself in the hood. “It’s not tamed,” I laugh. “I have to train it.”
“That’s a good idea,” Liz says, giggling.
“Tracks!” Evan says. “They’re little so they must be rabbit tracks.”
“Aha. Have you ever seen a rabbit with little feet?” Gaga asks. “Whose tracks could these be?”
“Deer tracks,” Liz says. “Deer are big but have small feet, like Bambi.”
Gaga pats her head with a gloved hand. “Good observation, Lizzie. That means you used your eyes and your memory well.”
“It’s easy to spot bird nests in winter,” I say, pointing to two nests on one tree.
“There’s another!” Evan shouts. “Across from the log with the big hole.”
“You found another part of the treasure,” Gaga says.
“Maybe a raccoon lives in the hole,” I say.
“Or a bear,” Evan says.
“We’ve found everything except rabbit tracks. Let’s stop at the picnic tables and measure how deep the snow is,” Gaga says. “Follow the wall of evergreens, Evan.”
“Can we dance on the tables like we do in the summer?” Lizzie asks when we get there. She sweeps snow from the table with my scarf and climbs onto its top.
Evan finds a snow bank and steps in it. “It’s up to my knees,” he grins and splashes snow into the air and into his eyes.
Gaga sits on the bench, her arms out ready to catch Lizzie if she falls.
“Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day,” Lizzie shouts in her best singing voice. Her arms look like angel wings.
Gaga claps and stands up and claps some more.
“Lovely, Lizzie, just lovely.”
Liz hops a little and curtsies.
For my turn, I crawl on the table and say, “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” Gaga says.
“Ach,” I say.
“Ach who?”
“God Bless you!” I say, standing while Gaga claps for me.
“You three are the best treasure of all.”
FRANCHONS
The light turns green. “Hold hands, girls. It’s a busy street.” Mommy puts my gloved hand in hers, and I take Liz’s. It takes 37 steps to cross the street. The red fish on the bottom of my dress swim between my legs as the wind hurries them like a wave.
“F-R-A-N-C-H-O-N-S,” I spell.
Liz reads the black letters on the window, nods and adds, “Fine Clothing for Young Girls and Boys.” We open the door and shiny silver bells jingle above our heads.
“Good to see you again, girls. March is coming in like a lion,” the saleslady says. “Time to buy spring clothes, Mrs. Gardener?”
Mommy picks out what she likes. I hold a dress up to my chin.
“Oh look at the layers of gold and silver net. This is a queen’s dress! I love this dress!”
“It is a beautiful dress,” the saleslady says, “and the net is called Royal Woven Mesh. It’s from France. There have been many queens from France.”
A little skip happens in my chest. “Mommy, can I try on the Royal dress? Mommy, please can I try on this dress? It’s every good thing I can think of.”
Mommy touches her lips with her finger, hands clothes to the lady, and points Lizzie and me to a padded sign with the letters F-i-t-t-i-n-g R-o-o-m sewn in gold thread.
“Mommy, did you remember the Royal dress?” The silent swing of a curtain is my answer. In the corner, the huge pile of clothes reminds me of a fairy tale Daddy tells. “Look Lizzie, I’m the princess from the Princess and the Pea, except instead of mattresses, there are layers of puffy dresses.” I smoosh my body into the fluffy layers of clothes.
“Rinnie, you’re crushing the dresses. You’re going to get into trouble.”
I float my head up like a balloon filled with the smell of new clothes.
“Stop goofing around,” Liz says.
We model everything for Mommy and she says, “We’ll take the blue, green, and yellow cotton print dresses in both sizes, the dresses with the rhinestone belts, the blouses embroidered with parrots, and the polka-dot skirts I called about. Oh, and will you add six pairs of white socks for each of the girls.”
“You’ve selected lovely merchandise,” the saleslady says.
I watch as she folds our new span. Dress by dress is fed into a shopping bag. Dress by dress, the bags get fatter.
“What about the Royal dress?” I ask. “Please, Mommy. It’s so beautiful.”
“Not today, Rinnie. You have other pretty things.”
“But it’s the prettiest.”
“Not today.”
“Here you go,” says the saleslady. She hands each of us bags. Her smile is so big I can count the teeth in her mouth. She opens the door, and out we go. I don’t care about the other pretty new things. I want the Royal dress.
WHAT IS a WHILE?
“Today is once in a while,” Mommy says after we put our new clothes in the car. “Let’s go across the street and have lunch at the Windsor. Let’s make this a real day downtown.”
We wait for the light to change, and I watch a man talk on the phone in a telephone booth. The seat is too little for him, and he looks like he’s going to fall off.
The light changes and we hold hands to cross the street again. I love the Windsor, and the tall skinny windows with squares of colored glass, the dark high-backed booths with seats so slippery we have to sit on our knees to keep us from sliding onto the floor. Gaga calls it “an experience.” The best part of lunch is when we finish. On the counter next to the cash register is a silver tree. Instead of leaves, little see-through boxes hang from the branches. They’re filled with tiny treasures, no bigger than my fingernail. Across each box in curly letters are the words “World of Miniatures.” I reach for one that has a hammer, nails, wrench, and tape measure inside, like the ones on Daddy’s workbench. Then I take one filled with mommies, daddies, children, and a perfect doggie. They are so perfect I can hardly breathe.
