grins, reaching for me.
I step back, into Jessica. She strokes my hair and I pull away. It is not worth getting close. It will all get whited out in the end, anyway. When I go to Canada. I think.
She sighs. “It’s hard being fourteen, isn’t it?”
I am not so sure about that. I am thinking that being four and hiding under the bed to escape my father’s boots was tougher than this. Five was bad, too, having to go off to kindergarten, leaving my mother alone with the Beast. Did I ever do anything to help her? No, I just hid like a little dork.
But six was the worst.When I got off the school bus, and the police cars and ambulance were in front of the apartment. And I knew it was my mother. I tried to push through all the people but they refused to budge. When they finally looked down at me, they all stepped back so I was in the middle of a big empty circle. Everyone went silent and they looked like they had just eaten something bad and felt sick. They were staring at me, alone in the spotlight. Finally, the guy I thought was Mr. Christ pulled off his funny hat and hobbled over to me and tried to kneel down next to me, but his knees cracked so much, he bent down instead. He smelled of mothballs and oranges. His cheeks shook and I saw the tears streaming down the wrinkles in his face, and I screamed because I knew my mother was in those tears.
The next thing I remember, a lady in a white uniform told me my mother had gone to heaven. I kept wondering why it was taking her so long to get back from that place. I wished she’d gone to Wal-Mart because it had everything you could possibly need. Then I wondered if she had to go grocery shopping, too. Sometimes the lines there took forever. She should have picked the IGA. It was quick and the checkout lady always gave me a lollipop.
I had heard about hell from my father. In fact, he told us to go there on numerous occasions. I knew it must be a bad place. But I never knew what heaven was. Grown-ups talked about it like it was special. After a while, I decided heaven must be a place like Disney World where people go on vacation. I was mad at my mother for going on all those rides and not taking me with her. Finally, I stomped my foot at some grown-up and asked her if she had any idea when my mother was due back from heaven. She said never.
When I got older I decided that heaven is really the same thing as hell. It just has more vowels.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I t is First Day again. For some reason, it seems to come around more often than Sunday. Jessica and the Blob go downstairs to First Day School and the play group afterward.
I grab a newsletter and sit down on a creaky metal chair. I am beginning to recognize some of the regulars in Meeting. Like Phyllis. Like the man who wanted to sing last week, Chuck. And the woman next to him. Laurie, I think. Their names are in the newsletter. They are always holding hands.
Sam sits next to me in the quiet Meeting room. He swallows. Loudly. I glare at him but his eyes are closed. It is amazing how noisy a swallow is in a silent room. And how much you feel the need to swallow, too, when you hear it.
I am focusing so hard on preventing copycat swallowing and keeping the saliva in my mouth that I think I might choke.
I look down and peruse the Quaker shoes around me. Old, peeling running shoes. Dirty boots. Sandals with socks. They go well with Sam’s cap.
I am still trying not to swallow, so I read an article in the newsletter I picked up in the hallway. It is more about the Peace Testimony and why war is not the answer. And there is a line from the George Fox song we sang last week. “You can’t kill the devil with a gun or a sword.” I want to show the article to Mr. Warhead. Or leave it on his desk when he is not around. Maybe if a Quaker came to school, if they do that, someone could disarm him. Or at least make him see the other side of the story.
I jump when a woman’s voice cracks through the air. “I’m sitting
I step back, into Jessica. She strokes my hair and I pull away. It is not worth getting close. It will all get whited out in the end, anyway. When I go to Canada. I think.
She sighs. “It’s hard being fourteen, isn’t it?”
I am not so sure about that. I am thinking that being four and hiding under the bed to escape my father’s boots was tougher than this. Five was bad, too, having to go off to kindergarten, leaving my mother alone with the Beast. Did I ever do anything to help her? No, I just hid like a little dork.
But six was the worst.When I got off the school bus, and the police cars and ambulance were in front of the apartment. And I knew it was my mother. I tried to push through all the people but they refused to budge. When they finally looked down at me, they all stepped back so I was in the middle of a big empty circle. Everyone went silent and they looked like they had just eaten something bad and felt sick. They were staring at me, alone in the spotlight. Finally, the guy I thought was Mr. Christ pulled off his funny hat and hobbled over to me and tried to kneel down next to me, but his knees cracked so much, he bent down instead. He smelled of mothballs and oranges. His cheeks shook and I saw the tears streaming down the wrinkles in his face, and I screamed because I knew my mother was in those tears.
The next thing I remember, a lady in a white uniform told me my mother had gone to heaven. I kept wondering why it was taking her so long to get back from that place. I wished she’d gone to Wal-Mart because it had everything you could possibly need. Then I wondered if she had to go grocery shopping, too. Sometimes the lines there took forever. She should have picked the IGA. It was quick and the checkout lady always gave me a lollipop.
I had heard about hell from my father. In fact, he told us to go there on numerous occasions. I knew it must be a bad place. But I never knew what heaven was. Grown-ups talked about it like it was special. After a while, I decided heaven must be a place like Disney World where people go on vacation. I was mad at my mother for going on all those rides and not taking me with her. Finally, I stomped my foot at some grown-up and asked her if she had any idea when my mother was due back from heaven. She said never.
When I got older I decided that heaven is really the same thing as hell. It just has more vowels.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I t is First Day again. For some reason, it seems to come around more often than Sunday. Jessica and the Blob go downstairs to First Day School and the play group afterward.
I grab a newsletter and sit down on a creaky metal chair. I am beginning to recognize some of the regulars in Meeting. Like Phyllis. Like the man who wanted to sing last week, Chuck. And the woman next to him. Laurie, I think. Their names are in the newsletter. They are always holding hands.
Sam sits next to me in the quiet Meeting room. He swallows. Loudly. I glare at him but his eyes are closed. It is amazing how noisy a swallow is in a silent room. And how much you feel the need to swallow, too, when you hear it.
I am focusing so hard on preventing copycat swallowing and keeping the saliva in my mouth that I think I might choke.
I look down and peruse the Quaker shoes around me. Old, peeling running shoes. Dirty boots. Sandals with socks. They go well with Sam’s cap.
I am still trying not to swallow, so I read an article in the newsletter I picked up in the hallway. It is more about the Peace Testimony and why war is not the answer. And there is a line from the George Fox song we sang last week. “You can’t kill the devil with a gun or a sword.” I want to show the article to Mr. Warhead. Or leave it on his desk when he is not around. Maybe if a Quaker came to school, if they do that, someone could disarm him. Or at least make him see the other side of the story.
I jump when a woman’s voice cracks through the air. “I’m sitting
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