Apron Strings (34 page)

I tiptoed downstairs so as not to wake the dead, and then quietly opened the front door. I slipped outside, leaving my sister and brother under the table. I glanced toward Helen who had stopped crying and was rocking back and forth on her pillow watching
McHale’s Navy
with Gordy. The laugh track mocked me as I went out into the rainy night.

My errand, as dire as it was, was strangely mitigated by the horror of being outside at night alone for the first time; as if it were possible to be more terrified. The wind whipped the leaves around in the trees. They cast eerier shadows on the wet street as their branches swayed menacingly under the streetlights. The fallen leaves mashed into a slippery paste on the street and made traction dodgy. I repeated a prayer of thanks that Judy only lived a few blocks away, and in the opposite direction from the Dabneys’ house. I knew the neighborhood well enough in the daytime. I could get to her house in less than ten minutes if I cut through backyards. I mapped out the route in my head as I ran down the street. My heart felt like it was going to explode. As my lungs sucked in air, my chest burned. Hot desperate tears ran down my cheeks along with the cold rain.

When I got to my first shortcut, I stopped dead. The alley was as dark as death. The path I had chosen gave me no choice—I either had to go through the alley and the yard beyond it or lose a tremendous amount of time doubling back to follow the road and the streetlights. For what seemed like an hour, but was no more than a few seconds, I stood unable to move. After screwing up my courage, I crept into the darkness just the tiniest bit and then froze again. With my eyes squeezed
tightly shut to prevent myself from seeing the imagined terrors awaiting me, I trembled on the edge of the darkness. My imagination proved to be far worse than the reality that faced me, for when I finally opened my eyes, they had already begun to grow accustomed to the inky light. Holding my breath as if I were about to dive into a pool, I leaped into the darkness. I ran so fast I was barely able to breathe. As my legs pumped, my side ached, and my head throbbed. I kept my eyes straight ahead. The gate into the next yard was just ahead. I could just barely make it out in the murky light. Yard after yard blazed by; my attention was focused on the street beyond.

Finally, out on the sidewalk in the safe glow of the streetlight, I doubled over. I panted as I put my head down and my hands on my knees to try to alleviate the cramping in my side. I attempted to calm myself by picturing Judy’s house and estimating how much farther I had to go. A car drove by, startling me. Despite the stitch in my side, I ran down the sidewalk, ducking under the low hanging branches that added such charm to the street during the day. A fresh panic set in when I didn’t readily recognize Judy’s house. An orange front door distinguished her house during the daylight, but at night all the front doors had the same ghoulish gray cast. I noticed a front porch light on farther down the street, much farther than I thought Judy’s house was. I heard Stuart’s voice. Sopping wet and chilled to the bone, I dashed up to my sister and dissolved into a torrent of sobs and gasps. “Ethel’s dead. She fell down while she was on the phone. She was really, really loaded.” The words spilled out like floodwater over a bank.

“What?” she asked with a confused gasp. “Oh my God. What? Oh my God, Ethel’s dead? What are you talking about?”

Judy disappeared into the house and returned with her parents. Mrs. Jenkins said that she and Judy would stay there with me while her husband and Stuart went back to our house. I insisted, between gasps for air and sobs, that I wanted to go home. “Please don’t leave me, Stuart,” I pleaded.

She put her arm around me. “You’re coming with us, don’t worry,” Stuart said.

The two of us held on to each other in the back seat of Judy’s father’s car. For the first time that night, the idea that Ethel was really dead
began to take root in my mind. Stuart kept whispering. “She can’t be dead. Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s gonna be all right.”

As we drove into the driveway, we saw Big Early’s truck parked by the kitchen steps.

“Poor old fellow,” Judy’s father said with a shake of his head. “That’s a tough thing to have to come upon. You girls stay here.” He got out of the car.

“I can’t,” Stuart protested. “Gordy and Helen are in there and I’m supposed to be babysitting.” She reached over and opened the back door.

Judy’s father raised an eyebrow, but he seemed to think better about saying anything. “Well, come on then. But you get the children and take them upstairs. I’ll take care of Ethel.”

We walked into the front hall. Helen and Gordy were sitting wide-eyed under the dining room table. The television was still droning on. They didn’t make a move to come to us. In the back hall, Bertha knelt over Ethel’s body with Big Early who looked like he was pretty mad. They were engaged in a vain attempt to heave Ethel off the floor. “Was a matter, honey, did ya slip?” asked Bertha as she busied herself arranging Ethel’s disheveled uniform.

Judy’s father started to laugh. He laughed a big ol’ rich, deep laugh. Big Early, who I was shocked to discover wasn’t much taller than Gordy and Bertha, looked at him as if he were insane. Judy’s father laughed and laughed. While still chuckling, he went over and helped them get Ethel upright, which appeared to be an engineering feat. Once righted, it took more massive effort to get her shoe back on her foot.

Ethel didn’t come back to work for a good week or two. As far as I know, there was never a word said about the experience. Sure, there was a lot of tittering about it, but I don’t believe my mother ever said a thing to Ethel about the incident, and I know I never did. I suspect that my mother couldn’t say much considering she was not much better off herself.

A few nights after Ethel’s last episode, I was lying in bed listening to Helen’s soft breathing and wishing I was asleep. I heard a noise I couldn’t place. Light was shining in under the door, so I knew my mother was still up. I listened at the door—nothing. I was about to dismiss it as just my
imagination, then I heard it again: shuffling and a tinkling, then a small knock. I knew I had heard that tinkling somewhere before, but there was that small knock, then more shuffling like the noise Lance used to make when he tried to get up off a wooden floor. I carefully opened the door and peered out in the hall—nobody. But, there was that sound again. I looked over the banister and saw my mother crawling up the stairs with her drink on the step above.

Her unfocused eyes were half lidded; I doubt she could have seen me had I been tap dancing at the top of the stairs. I slipped back into my room and quietly shut the door.

In our backyard a week or so later, Helen said, “I sure do wish Ethel would come back. It seems like forever since she’s been here.” Helen pumped her sturdy little legs for all they were worth, almost as if she was trying to swing herself away: away from the yelling and drinking and complaining; but most of all from the sadness that had enveloped our lives in the past year.

Ever ready to make a correction, Gordy pointed out that Ethel had only been away for a week and a half. “She was here Saturday night, because
Wild Wild West
was on and today is only Wednesday. I heard Mama say she was going to get someone else to work for her. She was talking to Miz Chambers on the phone. She said she was damned tired of all of Ethel’s hijinks. She said it was bad enough that Ethel has been getting drunk, but getting drunk and passing out on the phone, that took the cake.” Gordy’s swing fell out of time with ours. He leapt off the swing and turned to face us with his hand on his hip, and his elbow jutting into the air dramatically. He turned his nose up and began shaking it back and forth, imitating our mother in a high, tinny voice: “Imagine screaming at my children and telling them what they can and cannot say.”

Helen giggled at Gordy’s imitation of our mother.

“Why do you suppose Mama is being so mean to Ethel?” I asked.

Gordy got back in his swing. “Or us. I don’t know, but she actually told Miz Chambers, ‘You’d have thought
Ethel
lost a baby.’” I grimaced, knowing that Helen could go off in a second at the mention of Dennis,
but Gordy pressed on. “Then she said the worst thing of all: she said maybe it was Ethel’s fault.”

Helen and I stopped swinging. “What? What did she mean, Ethel’s fault? She is crazy. Ethel wouldn’t hurt anybody, most of all a baby!” I said this with all of the indignation I could muster.

Helen’s face blanched. “What are we going to do?” she asked. “We can’t let Mama fire Ethel. We got to do something. If Ethel doesn’t come back, I don’t want to live here anymore.”

“Well, that is just plain dumb,” Gordy said. “Where would you live?”

“With Daddy,” she said plainly. “Stuart got to.”

“Judge already said—” Gordy started to say.

“I don’t care what any old dumb judge says,” Helen interrupted. “If Ethel isn’t going to be around, then I don’t want to live here. And I know if I tell Daddy I want to live with him, he’ll let me.”

“Not if the judge says ya can’t,” Gordy said like he knew. “Judges get to say, and they would put you in jail if you go against a judge.”

“I’m just a kid. They don’t put kids in jail. ‘Sides, Stuart got to,” she insisted.

“Stuart is older, and when you get to be fifteen you get to decide where you live. I can go live with Daddy in three more years.” Gordy puffed up like a big old frog ready to croak.

My mother appeared on the back porch with an apron wrapped around her waist and a drink in her hand. She took a sip then yelled, “Gordy, Sallee, Helen.” Then she took another sip. “Dinner. Now.”

All three of us leaped out of the swings. “You might not have to worry about where you are going to live,” I muttered, as we headed toward the house, noticing only then how dark it had become. “That sour cream and zucchini she makes so much could kill us before it really becomes a problem. Please, please,
please
don’t make it tonight.”

“Sallee, what were you doing out there without a coat? It’s cold.” She started in on me the minute I walked into the kitchen. I noticed that the gin bottle was out on the counter. Gin always made her mean; a fact with which the three of us were becoming painfully familiar on a daily basis. I looked over at my siblings and shared a knowing look. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady,” she said. “Set the table.”

“I didn’t…,” I started to say and then mumbled, “Never mind. I don’t feel well. I’m going to bed.” Before I could turn to leave, her hand connected with my face.

“Don’t you ever talk to me in that tone!” Stunned, I made my way to the cupboard where the plates were kept, trying hard to stem my tears. I didn’t want to give her another reason to hit me. My face stung. “Sit down and eat your dinner,” she directed the other two. Helen and Gordy had figured out that saying anything was a mistake. They helped me set the table and took their seats while our mother slapped food on our plates. I couldn’t look at them; I was too mortified. “Sit up at the table,” she snapped. All three of us sat bolt upright. She leaned against the counter and stared through us. The only sound in the kitchen was chewing and the tinkling of ice in her glass.

If dutifully obedient children were what she wanted, my mother had found the perfect solution. Gordy and Helen jumped up to clear the table after asking politely to be excused. A distracted wave was all they got. They sat back down for some time, trying to decide what, if anything, they should do.

“Can I be excused to start washing the pots and pans?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for her reply. She fixed herself another drink and left the room without a word. Gordy and Helen sprang into action, clearing the table and loading the dishwasher in record time before retreating upstairs out of harm’s way. I was grateful that dinner hadn’t required many pots. I scraped the leftovers into bowls and prepared to wash up. Did she want dinner? Surely she wouldn’t eat fish sticks and tater tots. Still I thought I’d better ask, even though I dreaded having to face her again that night. I walked as soundlessly as I could, looking in rooms along the way until I got to the living room where I found her alone, weeping. My question no longer seemed appropriate. I backed up unseen. Seething with anger and crying at the same time, I decided to run away.

It was important that I kept my decision to myself. Even if they meant well, I didn’t need Helen or Gordy trying to talk me out of it, or worse yet, telling someone. I was having enough trouble sticking to my
guns. As desperate as the situation felt, I thought I should give myself time to prepare, so I decided to leave on Saturday morning.

Once I had settled on running away, I discovered that the resolution buoyed me. The first two days I floated around the house in a kind of calm. I was nicer to Helen and Gordy than I had been in months. I found myself memorizing the details of my room and gazing on my home with renewed interest, as if it were a museum full of precious artifacts from my life up to now.

By the time I left for school on Friday morning, living at home almost seemed bearable again. And by Friday night with my departure fast approaching, a knot of anxiety began to form in my stomach. I was as irritable and melancholy as ever. All Gordy or Helen had to do was look at me funny and I would just about snap their heads off.

My plan was to leave the house like I was going to play outside as I almost always did. I would just do it a little earlier than usual so that I didn’t have Gordy nosing in, or Helen asking questions. I had already stashed some clothes in a backpack under the kitchen porch where I could get them when I was ready to go. I hadn’t gotten much further than that. Planning for the future proved to be far more complicated than I had anticipated. Where would I go? Daddy? I knew that wouldn’t work some dumb judge had made sure of that. Bertha came to mind, but that was dismissed because I knew she would tell Ethel, and Ethel would make me go home. Besides, the last person I wanted anything to do with was Ethel—she’d deserted us. Jilly, another possibility, was out of the question because Uncle James would drag me home by my hair. Finally, a plausible plan came to me. I could buy a bus ticket to the beach. I could live in the house and no one would think to look for me there. I spent two days checking for loose change in all the spots my mother would leave it. By Friday night, along with the contents of my piggy bank, I had more than fifty dollars. I snuck out after dinner and put the money in my pack under the porch. That last night was excruciatingly painful. I already missed Helen so much that I wanted to crawl in bed with her to soak in her smell so I wouldn’t forget her. And I couldn’t stop thinking of my terrifying trip to Judy’s house three long months ago. I longed to stay, but I couldn’t. I hated my mother. I hated Ethel, and I hated the life
we were stuck with. The next morning I was surprised to find that it was already seven-thirty when I awoke.