The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls Page B
Authors: Jeannette Walls
Tags: United States, Literary, General, Biography & Autobiography, Biography, Case studies, Problem families, Dysfunctional families, West Virginia, Poor, Homeless Persons - New York (State) - New York - Family Relationships, Walls; Jeannette, Poor - West Virginia - Welch, Problem Families - West Virginia - Welch, Welch, Problem Families - United States, Homeless Persons, Children of Alcoholics - West Virginia - Welch, Children of Alcoholics - United States, Children of Alcoholics
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me as she reached inside her bra and pulled out her other sock, knotted in the middle and bulging at the toe. "Hide it where no one can get it, because you know how scarce socks can get in our house."
"Goddammit, Rose Mary," Dad snapped. "Do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"
"What?" Mom asked, throwing her arms up in the air. "Am I not allowed to give my daughter a sock?" She winked at me again, just in case I didn't get it.
Back in Battle Mountain, Dad insisted we go to the Owl Club to celebrate payday, and ordered steaks for all of us. They tasted so good we forgot we were eating a week's worth of groceries. "Hey, Mountain Goat," Dad said at the end of the dinner, while Mom was putting our table scraps in her purse. "Why don't you let me borrow that sock for a second?"
I looked around the table. No one met my eye except Dad, who was grinning like an alligator. I handed over the sock. Mom gave a dramatic sigh of defeat and let her head drop down on the table. To show who was in charge, Dad left the waitress a ten-dollar tip, but on the way out, Mom slipped it into her purse.
* * *
Soon we were out of money again. When Dad dropped Brian and me off at school, he noticed that we weren't carrying lunch bags.
"Where are your lunches?" Dad asked us.
We looked at each other and shrugged.
"There's no food in the house," Brian said.
When Dad heard that, he acted outraged, as though he'd learned for the first time that his children were going hungry.
"Dammit, that Rose Mary keeps spending money on art supplies!" he muttered, pretending to be talking to himself. Then he declared more loudly. "No child of mine has to go hungry!" After he dropped us off, he called after us. "Don't you kids worry about a thing."
At lunch Brian and I sat together in the cafeteria. I was pretending to help him with his homework so that no one would ask us why we weren't eating when Dad appeared in the doorway, carrying a big grocery bag. I saw him scanning the room, looking for us. "My young 'uns forgot to take their lunch to school today," he announced to the teacher on cafeteria duty as he walked toward us. He set the bag on the table in front of Brian and me and took out a loaf of bread, a whole package of bologna, a jar of mayonnaise, a half-gallon jug of orange juice, two apples, a jar of pickles, and two candy bars.
"Have I ever let you down?" he asked Brian and me and then turned and walked away.
In a voice so low that Dad didn't hear him, Brian said. "Yes."
* * *
"Dad has to start carrying his weight," Lori said as she stared into the empty refrigerator.
"He does!" I said. "He brings in money from odd jobs."
"He spends more than he earns on booze," Brian said. He was whittling, the shavings falling to the floor right outside the kitchen where we were standing. Brian had taken to carrying a pocketknife with him at all times, and he often whittled pieces of scrap wood when he was working something out in his head.
"It's not all for booze," I said. "Most of it's for research on cyanide leaching."
"Dad doesn't need to do research on leaching," Brian said. "He's an expert." He and Lori cracked up. I glared at them. I knew more about Dad's situation than they did because he talked to me more than anyone else in the family. We'd still go Demon Hunting in the desert together, for old time's sake, since by then I was seven and too grown up to believe in demons. Dad told me about all his plans and showed me his pages of graphs and calculations and geological charts, depicting the layers of sediment where the gold was buried.
He told me I was his favorite child, but he made me promise not to tell Lori or Brian or Maureen. It was our secret. "I swear, honey, there are times when I think you're the only one around who still has faith in me," he said. "I don't know what I'd do if you ever lost it." I told him that I would never lose faith in him. And I promised myself I never would.
* * *
A few months after Mom had started working as a
"Goddammit, Rose Mary," Dad snapped. "Do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"
"What?" Mom asked, throwing her arms up in the air. "Am I not allowed to give my daughter a sock?" She winked at me again, just in case I didn't get it.
Back in Battle Mountain, Dad insisted we go to the Owl Club to celebrate payday, and ordered steaks for all of us. They tasted so good we forgot we were eating a week's worth of groceries. "Hey, Mountain Goat," Dad said at the end of the dinner, while Mom was putting our table scraps in her purse. "Why don't you let me borrow that sock for a second?"
I looked around the table. No one met my eye except Dad, who was grinning like an alligator. I handed over the sock. Mom gave a dramatic sigh of defeat and let her head drop down on the table. To show who was in charge, Dad left the waitress a ten-dollar tip, but on the way out, Mom slipped it into her purse.
* * *
Soon we were out of money again. When Dad dropped Brian and me off at school, he noticed that we weren't carrying lunch bags.
"Where are your lunches?" Dad asked us.
We looked at each other and shrugged.
"There's no food in the house," Brian said.
When Dad heard that, he acted outraged, as though he'd learned for the first time that his children were going hungry.
"Dammit, that Rose Mary keeps spending money on art supplies!" he muttered, pretending to be talking to himself. Then he declared more loudly. "No child of mine has to go hungry!" After he dropped us off, he called after us. "Don't you kids worry about a thing."
At lunch Brian and I sat together in the cafeteria. I was pretending to help him with his homework so that no one would ask us why we weren't eating when Dad appeared in the doorway, carrying a big grocery bag. I saw him scanning the room, looking for us. "My young 'uns forgot to take their lunch to school today," he announced to the teacher on cafeteria duty as he walked toward us. He set the bag on the table in front of Brian and me and took out a loaf of bread, a whole package of bologna, a jar of mayonnaise, a half-gallon jug of orange juice, two apples, a jar of pickles, and two candy bars.
"Have I ever let you down?" he asked Brian and me and then turned and walked away.
In a voice so low that Dad didn't hear him, Brian said. "Yes."
* * *
"Dad has to start carrying his weight," Lori said as she stared into the empty refrigerator.
"He does!" I said. "He brings in money from odd jobs."
"He spends more than he earns on booze," Brian said. He was whittling, the shavings falling to the floor right outside the kitchen where we were standing. Brian had taken to carrying a pocketknife with him at all times, and he often whittled pieces of scrap wood when he was working something out in his head.
"It's not all for booze," I said. "Most of it's for research on cyanide leaching."
"Dad doesn't need to do research on leaching," Brian said. "He's an expert." He and Lori cracked up. I glared at them. I knew more about Dad's situation than they did because he talked to me more than anyone else in the family. We'd still go Demon Hunting in the desert together, for old time's sake, since by then I was seven and too grown up to believe in demons. Dad told me about all his plans and showed me his pages of graphs and calculations and geological charts, depicting the layers of sediment where the gold was buried.
He told me I was his favorite child, but he made me promise not to tell Lori or Brian or Maureen. It was our secret. "I swear, honey, there are times when I think you're the only one around who still has faith in me," he said. "I don't know what I'd do if you ever lost it." I told him that I would never lose faith in him. And I promised myself I never would.
* * *
A few months after Mom had started working as a
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