Post by jeannerené on Jun 15, 2009 22:44:30 GMT -8
Please read Part 1 before continuing ... thanks
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3076
Note: The double negatives are intentional, as is the slight colloquial tone.
Synopsis: ... a family story of tragic consequence
Slight revision 7/2009
Part 2 -- Second Step Down from the Porch continued....
Evelyn Jane was tired. She had tossed and turned last night in an empty bed. Once up, she had felt queasy all morning, and spent a good deal of time in the bathroom. damn ... damn, the 30 year-old former beauty queen sighed, examining the stranger in the mirror and touching the shallow crow's feet radiating out from the corner of each eye. At least she had managed to get Callie off to school without letting her daughter see her sickness. God, if she could just climb back into bed.
Evelyn forced herself to trudge back up the stairs. Hands on the rail and eyes closed, she took step after heavy step up to Kenny's room. Kenny had been fitful when he woke, earlier than usual. There'd be no nap taking, not with Kenny so colicky.
She could feel the dread rising up in her as she bent over the play-pen to pick up her red-headed toddler. He wailed again on cue, and try as she might, she couldn’t please him. He was her baby boy, but she didn’t know how to play with him. He seemed odd to her, like this foreign thing in a child’s body that left her cold and unresponsive. Callie had been so much easier and Evelyn had played with her baby girl day and night. Nowadays she missed Callie while she was at school, felt frightened even, at the nine year-old's absence. Mornings were long and tedious while Callie was away, and Evelyn’s nerves were on end until the girl jumped off the bus, came threw the front and set her pack back down on the kitchen table. She’d give her school girl a big hug and kiss, and breathe a sigh of relief.
And so Tuesday morning had passed with the weight of a slow laboring tick-tock of a wind up clock. The yellow bus had come down the road and delivered her daughter. Nearly mid-afternoon, and almost time to start dinner, Evelyn wandered over to the living room’s big bay window to take a peek outside. She had called the forth-grader in to do homework several times already and had gotten no response. Callie was pretty, just as story-book pretty as her mother had been when she was little. Pretty or no, a mother's instincts were usual right and there was something different, like her son, about Callie. Mrs. Greenwood, the third grade teacher had called Callie “very precocious,” and the girl was about to get a scolding, until Evelyn had had the good sense to look up the definition of precocious. Evelyn knew her daughter was smart, but figured very precocious must be why she sat on the step, looking down the road, calmly expecting her dad … no matter 'bout the fights or the sometime drinking.
Callie was faithful, but the anxious mother didn’t look to or down the road, not anymore. She hadn’t waited this afternoon, at the window or on the porch, as the winds had started to come up ahead of the pickups. She’d just kept looking outside at her daughter trying to understand, calling her to take care of homework simply to fill the void. She swallowed on a knot of unexpected jealousy, longing to be able to it force down her throat.
Waiting on the second step, Callie was steadfast, over and over again pushing back strands of tangled tresses going crazy-wild with the increasing gusts. Finally, she dug a rubber band out of the pocket of her lavender jeans and pulled her hair back into a pony tail. She sat down again, patiently looking at the distant horizon of parched fields, lost in her expectations, even as Mama called her name one more time, insisting she ought to tend to her homework.
“Ain’t got no homework, Evelyn,” Callie yelled back.
Evelyn pushed open the screen door and stepped down onto the porch, “Callie Macfarlane, you think ‘cuz you turned nine years old, and ‘cuz I just bought you a pink lipstick you can call me what you want?”
Callie thought better than to argue her independence, “No, Mama.” Looking back over her shoulder she gave her mom a grin, "Thank you for the lipstick, but its not pink, it’s bubble gum."
“Still looks plain pink to me. You don’t have no school work?”
“No, Mama, not today.”
Evelyn started to go into the house, but stopped, and with her back to her daughter, asked, “Callie, why do you put yourself through this every day, baby? Why do you wait on him? You waited for nothing yesterday. When he comes, he’s most likely to be in a mean way. He was real mad leaving Monday morning.”
“Because, mama, today. . . today could've been a good day. You wait and see, he’ll be happy today. He don‘t mean the things he does, Mama. He don‘t mean them, I know he don‘t.” Callie wanted to add, he's not mean to me, Mama, but thought better of it.
“You hope for us, honey, that he don‘t,” Evelyn wearily surrendered, and left her daughter to her waiting and her innocence. “Maybe, you're right Callie. Maybe today will be a good day. Your daddy loves you.”
“I know, mama,” Callie smiled, happy to hear her mother say so.
Evelyn didn’t share her daughter’s faith, nor did she share with her the whole ugly truth. "Truth is not for those you love" had been a favorite saying of Evelyn’s own mother, who had been an overly sensitive and self-deprecating woman. So it wasn’t in Evelyn to even try to explain to Callie, a child who loved everything pink and violet, how sometimes two people can just be plain nasty to each other, out of habit, out of spite… out of boredom…. and there was likely nothing going to change it.
She wished she could pull Callie aside and wrap her in a mother and daughter hug of spirited reassurance to set the day right, but it wasn’t in her to do so. It was only guilt she felt each morning as she made breakfast for Callie before school, because she knew she'd live another day of overwhelming emptiness, dreading each lifeless, exhausting moment. Still she loved her daughter and it was Callie’s hope … Callie’s belief that tomorrow would be better, that kept the last little bit of faith inside of Evelyn alive. She desperately needed her daughter's strength. Needed it to turn around and step back up into this old house. Needed it to pick up Kenny, Callie’s two-year-old brother, and allow herself to kiss him. She needed it now to stop these crazy thoughts that this new baby she was carrying would somehow just up and die inside of her before she would be forced to tell her husband.
...... to be continued
poetichorizons.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=story&action=display&thread=3076
Note: The double negatives are intentional, as is the slight colloquial tone.
Synopsis: ... a family story of tragic consequence
Slight revision 7/2009
Part 2 -- Second Step Down from the Porch continued....
~~~~
Evelyn Jane was tired. She had tossed and turned last night in an empty bed. Once up, she had felt queasy all morning, and spent a good deal of time in the bathroom. damn ... damn, the 30 year-old former beauty queen sighed, examining the stranger in the mirror and touching the shallow crow's feet radiating out from the corner of each eye. At least she had managed to get Callie off to school without letting her daughter see her sickness. God, if she could just climb back into bed.
Evelyn forced herself to trudge back up the stairs. Hands on the rail and eyes closed, she took step after heavy step up to Kenny's room. Kenny had been fitful when he woke, earlier than usual. There'd be no nap taking, not with Kenny so colicky.
She could feel the dread rising up in her as she bent over the play-pen to pick up her red-headed toddler. He wailed again on cue, and try as she might, she couldn’t please him. He was her baby boy, but she didn’t know how to play with him. He seemed odd to her, like this foreign thing in a child’s body that left her cold and unresponsive. Callie had been so much easier and Evelyn had played with her baby girl day and night. Nowadays she missed Callie while she was at school, felt frightened even, at the nine year-old's absence. Mornings were long and tedious while Callie was away, and Evelyn’s nerves were on end until the girl jumped off the bus, came threw the front and set her pack back down on the kitchen table. She’d give her school girl a big hug and kiss, and breathe a sigh of relief.
~~~~
And so Tuesday morning had passed with the weight of a slow laboring tick-tock of a wind up clock. The yellow bus had come down the road and delivered her daughter. Nearly mid-afternoon, and almost time to start dinner, Evelyn wandered over to the living room’s big bay window to take a peek outside. She had called the forth-grader in to do homework several times already and had gotten no response. Callie was pretty, just as story-book pretty as her mother had been when she was little. Pretty or no, a mother's instincts were usual right and there was something different, like her son, about Callie. Mrs. Greenwood, the third grade teacher had called Callie “very precocious,” and the girl was about to get a scolding, until Evelyn had had the good sense to look up the definition of precocious. Evelyn knew her daughter was smart, but figured very precocious must be why she sat on the step, looking down the road, calmly expecting her dad … no matter 'bout the fights or the sometime drinking.
Callie was faithful, but the anxious mother didn’t look to or down the road, not anymore. She hadn’t waited this afternoon, at the window or on the porch, as the winds had started to come up ahead of the pickups. She’d just kept looking outside at her daughter trying to understand, calling her to take care of homework simply to fill the void. She swallowed on a knot of unexpected jealousy, longing to be able to it force down her throat.
Waiting on the second step, Callie was steadfast, over and over again pushing back strands of tangled tresses going crazy-wild with the increasing gusts. Finally, she dug a rubber band out of the pocket of her lavender jeans and pulled her hair back into a pony tail. She sat down again, patiently looking at the distant horizon of parched fields, lost in her expectations, even as Mama called her name one more time, insisting she ought to tend to her homework.
“Ain’t got no homework, Evelyn,” Callie yelled back.
Evelyn pushed open the screen door and stepped down onto the porch, “Callie Macfarlane, you think ‘cuz you turned nine years old, and ‘cuz I just bought you a pink lipstick you can call me what you want?”
Callie thought better than to argue her independence, “No, Mama.” Looking back over her shoulder she gave her mom a grin, "Thank you for the lipstick, but its not pink, it’s bubble gum."
“Still looks plain pink to me. You don’t have no school work?”
“No, Mama, not today.”
Evelyn started to go into the house, but stopped, and with her back to her daughter, asked, “Callie, why do you put yourself through this every day, baby? Why do you wait on him? You waited for nothing yesterday. When he comes, he’s most likely to be in a mean way. He was real mad leaving Monday morning.”
“Because, mama, today. . . today could've been a good day. You wait and see, he’ll be happy today. He don‘t mean the things he does, Mama. He don‘t mean them, I know he don‘t.” Callie wanted to add, he's not mean to me, Mama, but thought better of it.
“You hope for us, honey, that he don‘t,” Evelyn wearily surrendered, and left her daughter to her waiting and her innocence. “Maybe, you're right Callie. Maybe today will be a good day. Your daddy loves you.”
“I know, mama,” Callie smiled, happy to hear her mother say so.
Evelyn didn’t share her daughter’s faith, nor did she share with her the whole ugly truth. "Truth is not for those you love" had been a favorite saying of Evelyn’s own mother, who had been an overly sensitive and self-deprecating woman. So it wasn’t in Evelyn to even try to explain to Callie, a child who loved everything pink and violet, how sometimes two people can just be plain nasty to each other, out of habit, out of spite… out of boredom…. and there was likely nothing going to change it.
She wished she could pull Callie aside and wrap her in a mother and daughter hug of spirited reassurance to set the day right, but it wasn’t in her to do so. It was only guilt she felt each morning as she made breakfast for Callie before school, because she knew she'd live another day of overwhelming emptiness, dreading each lifeless, exhausting moment. Still she loved her daughter and it was Callie’s hope … Callie’s belief that tomorrow would be better, that kept the last little bit of faith inside of Evelyn alive. She desperately needed her daughter's strength. Needed it to turn around and step back up into this old house. Needed it to pick up Kenny, Callie’s two-year-old brother, and allow herself to kiss him. She needed it now to stop these crazy thoughts that this new baby she was carrying would somehow just up and die inside of her before she would be forced to tell her husband.
...... to be continued
