Confessions from the Principal's Chair (4 page)

I was standing beside a window near the cash register, and I moved the white curtain to see our van. There it was, doors closed just the way we had left them. Then I remembered! The pad had been in my lap when we stopped. I had taken it off my lap and laid it back on the floor or somewhere before I opened the door to get out, hadn't I?

The man came slowly toward us. "Hello, Barney." It was the woman in the kitchen, and her voice came from a window behind the cash register.

"I've asked you to quit calling me that, Judy. My name is Clyde," said the man. "You ought not be calling me any first name, let alone one that is meant to poke fun at me. I am the sheriff, and I think I deserve a little respect."

"Don't get your panties in a wad," said the voice. "I mean, hello, Sheriff Walters. Just settle yourself someplace. I'll get that piece of coconut meringue pie I saved you from earlier."

"Can't," the sheriff said real sharp and quick. "I'm here on official business." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman come out of the kitchen, but mostly I was watching the sheriff, who was walking straight toward us.

The dark-haired gum chewer behind the cash register quit moving her hand with our money toward the drawer. The sheriff stopped right in front of us. "You two get out of that blue van?" He used his head to motion back toward where our car stood outside.

"Yes, officer," said my mother, "we did. Is there a problem?"

The sheriff started to draw his gun, but it seemed to be stuck in the holster. When he moved his left hand to pull at the holster, the yellow pad fell to the floor near my feet. I looked down to read my message, "PLEASE HELP ME! I AM BEING KIDNAPPED!"

By the time I looked up, Barney, or whatever his name was, had his gun out and it was pointed directly at my mother. "You are under arrest for kidnapping," he said. One of the older women screamed. "Hush, Aunt Margaret," said the sheriff, and he started to pull at the pair of handcuffs he had attached to his belt. He launched into his speech about my mother's rights too, all the time pulling at the handcuffs. Rendi tried to say something, but he waved his gun at her. "You let me have my say," he told her, and he went back to the beginning of his speech and started over with "You have the right . . ."

I wanted to laugh, but I didn't think the sheriff or Rendi would see the humor in what was happening. I opened my mouth to explain that I wasn't being kidnapped, but the sheriff started talking to the waitress. "Angie," he said, "you come over here and get these handcuffs loose and put them on this low-life woman."

"Now wait a minute, Barney," said the woman named Judy who was now beside us in her apron and smelling like fried chicken. "Tell me what's going on here."

The sheriff stomped his foot. "You be careful, Judy Richardson, or I'll haul you in for disrespect to an officer of the law. We've got a desperate woman right here m Prairie Dog Town. I can only thank the good Lord I intercepted her before she got totally away with this poor child."

Angie had the handcuffs off of the sheriff's belt by then, and she was moving toward Rendi. "Hold your hands out, woman." He waved his gun, and Rendi put out her hands. "Be careful, Angie, this woman is violent."

I made up my mind then to tell the truth. I mean, I was mad at Rendi, but low-life and violent were going a bit too far. "Sheriff, sir," I said. "This is my mother. I wrote all that stuff about being kidnapped because I was mad at her."

The sheriff gave me a long look and made a sort of snorting kind of doubtful grunt. "You poor little thing. You've started siding with your captor. Not uncommon in kidnapping cases. In the law business, we call it the Stocking syndrome. I just saw a special about it on TV."

"Stockholm," said Judy. "It's Stockholm syndrome, Clyde, named for a city in Sweden where a famous kidnapping took place. I saw that same special."

The sheriff sighed. "Don't make no real difference what you call it, now does it, Judy? The point is that this pitiful little girl has been kidnapped and got her mind taken over by the scum that done it."

"Bird," said my mother, "tell this man the truth."

I looked at my mother for a long minute, and I started to wonder what they did with kids who had been kidnapped. "Sheriff," I said. "Will you send me back to Denver? I don't know what happened to my mother, but I've got a friend there named Katie Morford, and I am pretty sure her parents would take me in if you explain that my mother can't be found."

"Bird!" Rendi yelled, but just about that time Angie snapped the cuffs around her wrists.

"Silence, woman!" said the sheriff. "I demand silence." He turned to me. "Don't you have a daddy, child?"

"He left us when I was just a baby, and he didn't want to pay child support, so we don't know where he is. My mother didn't try to find him because she said she could take care of me by herself, and she did until I was kidnapped." I looked down at my feet. Rendi
had
always taken care of me by herself. I never went without anything I needed and most of what I wanted. I was beginning to feel a little bit bad about what was happening with my mother. The woman who used to be my mother would have been able to laugh about it and enjoy telling the story when itwas all over, but I wasn't so sure about the Rendi Miller who stood there in handcuffs. She was giving me looks that would scare most eighth-graders, but in some ways I am braver than most girls my age.

"Officer," said Rendi, and I could tell she was working at controlling her voice when she really wanted to scream. "I have this child's birth certificate in my van. Her name is Robin Diane Miller. I am her mother, Rendi. No, wait a minute, Renee Dee Miller is my real name, but I go by Rendi."

"So you have an alias, do you?" The sheriff nodded his head.

"No, I am a sculptor who works under the name Rendi. I have a small piece in the van. Just look."

The sheriff was studying my mother's face. "It appears to me that you would have mentioned this name Renee something right off if it was your real name, instead of saying Randy whatever you said. You got any relatives around here that could vouch for you?" He turned to me. "You got a grandmama or granddaddy anywhere, honey?"

My mother's eyes were burning into me, and I told the truth. "My grandparents live in Tulsa."

"That's right officer, my parents. My father's name is Horace Miller and they live on East Eighty-third Street in Tulsa. I can give you their phone number. Just call them."

The sheriff opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue a little, then made a sort of sucking noise. "Judy," he said, "get me a toothpick, please. I got a piece of salad stuck in my teeth from what I ate in here earlier. I can't think with something wedged in my teeth that way."

The woman smiled, and I was pretty sure she wanted to say that the sheriff couldn't think anyway, but she didn't and instead just took a little jar full of toothpicks from beside the cash register and held it out to him.

The sheriff was still holding the gun, but he shoved it out toward the woman. "You guard her, Judy," he said. "I got to get that lettuce. Now, don't take your eye off her, you hear me?"

"She won't escape from me," said the woman, and I thought she was about to laugh.

The three older ladies were getting up from their booth and moving toward the door. "We'll pay you next time, Judy," one of them called.

"Yes," said one of the others. "You seem to be busy apprehending dangerous criminals right now."

Sheriff Walters whirled around toward them. "Hold your horses," he yelled. "Nobody goes anywhere till I say so. I might need statements from you."

"For Pete's sake, Clyde Walters. Can't you see that this girl looks exactly like her mother? Call the grandparents if you have to, but we aren't staying," said one of them. They all three walked out.

"Ought to haul them all in," the sheriff muttered, then turned to Rendi. "Look here, lady," he said, "seems to me if you got married and had this little girl here that you claim is named Sparrow Miller, your parents wouldn't have the name Miller." He gave his head a satisfied nod to emphasize how smart he was to be finding a hole in Rendi's story.

"Robin. Her name is Robin, not Sparrow. After my husband deserted us, I had his parental rights terminated, and I had both of our names changed to Miller, my maiden name. I had her birth certificate amended too. The information is certainly on file. She was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma."

"Got it," the sheriff said, and I thought for a minute he meant he understood what Rendi was saying, but then he pulled out the toothpick with a piece of something green on it. He handed the toothpick to the waitress. "Throw this away for me, Angie," he said, and he took the gun away from the woman named Judy.

"Sheriff," said my mother, "will you please call my parents?"

He sighed again. "You say his name is Horse Miller? Horse, is that his real name or is he some kind of hippie artist that goes around writing a made-up name on things too?"

"My father's name is Horace," said Rendi, "not Horse, and I can assure you that he is neither a hippie nor an artist. He is a bank president, First National Bank of Tulsa."

"Uh-huh," said Sheriff Walters, but there was doubt dripping from his voice. "Well, let's just take a little ride down to the station and see if we can get this all straightened out." He used his gun to motion toward the door. I started to worry that he might shoot Rendi accidentally. Wow! Wouldn't I feel guilty then?

Judy must have been thinking the same thing about the danger because she followed us out. "Clyde," she said when we were on the sidewalk, "I'm afraid for you to try to hold that gun and fasten the prisoner in her seat at the same time. Let's just leave your patrol car here and walk to the station. It would be safer."

"Don't need you putting in telling me how to handle dangerous criminals. I've taken in many a felon in my time."

"Rendi," I said when we were outside, "shouldn't I get the birth certificate? Where is it?"

"See," the sheriff yelled. "There's my proof. Children don't go around calling their mothers by their first names."

"Maybe not in Prairie Dog Town, Oklahoma," I said, "but I've been calling her Rendi all my life."

"Don't get smart with me, bird girl." He shot me a dirty look.

Rendi told me to look in a small box marked "Papers," and she told me to get the key out of her jeans pocket.

The sheriff told Judy to keep a close eye on me. Next he turned to Rendi, "Get hoofing," he said, and he poked the gun up close to her ribs. I didn't want to watch, so I turned toward the van. Judy followed me.

I had the door open when she caught up with me and reached out to put her hand on my arm. "She really is your mother, isn't she?" I nodded. "Why did you write all that business about being kidnapped?"

My face turned red. "I told the truth about being mad," I said.

This time Judy nodded. "I was a teenage girl myself once. It was a long time ago, but I can still remember how it was, got mad at my mama a time or two myself."

I looked at the woman closely for the first time. She was older than my mother, quite a bit older. Her eyes were brown, and so was her lined face, and I thought that Judy must have spent a lot of time in the sun, something my mother was always worrying about me doing. Judy looked kind, though. "Could you come to the police station with us?" I asked, because I was getting worried that Rendi might really get locked up. I was mad at her, but not mad enough not to care too much if she spent time in jail.

"Sure, honey," she said. "Angie can run the place while I'm gone, does it all the time, but don't you worry. Clyde will finally believe you. If I have to, I'll promise to drive over to Ponca City with him on his day off and go to a movie to get him to let your mother go." She gave me a little smile. "We tease Clyde, call him Barney Fife, you know, the dumb deputy on the old
Andy Griffith Show.
You ever watch that one on Nick at Nite?" I shook my head, and she went on. "Well Barney was a character. Truth is Clyde does remind me of him, and see, Clyde was a deputy for ages, always taking orders until old Sheriff Ward died three months ago. Being the real sheriff and carrying the gun is going to his head. Sheriff never let him carry a gun. On that TV program, Barney got in lots of messes like Clyde arresting your mother. Still, Barney had a good heart, and Clyde does too. He's been sweet on me since we were in high school, outlived two other men I married, just waiting for me to pay attention to him. Sometimes I go out with him."

Judy and Clyde, romance at their age! I was amazed, but I didn't stop moving boxes around so I could read the labels on them. Finally I found two small boxes jammed between the second seat and the van wall. One of them was marked pictures, but the other one said "Papers." I pulled it out and rummaged through it until I came to my birth certificates. It seemed strange, looking at the first one and seeing my name as being Robin Diane Douglas and Rendi's written as Renee Dee Douglas. I knew that had been my last name, but I had never seen it written out that way. I didn't have time to think about it, though, because Sheriff Walters was marching my mother off to jail. I stepped over the boxes, climbed out of the van, and started after the sheriff and his prisoner.

After just a few feet, we turned a corner, and I saw a street I hadn't seen before. There were about six other buildings there, and one of them had a sign that read, "Sheriff's Office."

Inside, Sheriff Walters took the seat behind the desk. "I do my best thinking here in my sheriff chair," he said. I spread my birth certificates on the desk in front of him. Rendi told me to get her driver's license from the purse that hung on her shoulder. I got her billfold, took out the license, and several pictures to show Sheriff Walters. There I was, a curly-haired girl of about three sitting on Rendi's lap. Another picture was of us both when I was about seven, and there was my school picture from this year.

"See, Sheriff Walters, Rendi and I have always been together." He held up the pictures one by one, looking from the Rendi on paper to the Rendi standing in front of him with her hands in cuffs.