Soul's Road: A Fiction Collection (12 page)

They put That Girl on a bed with wheels and took her down long hallways, making turn after turn after turn. Finally, they parked her in a white empty room, alone. Where was Mommy? She’d promised to be with That Girl. What if they started stabbing her with needles again? But a woman in a white dress had given her a shot that made her feel funny, and she didn’t ask where Mommy was. Another woman draped in blue came and took her into another room. She put a mask on That Girl’s face and told her to breathe deep.

Does it smell nice?

That Girl nodded and went to sleep.

When she woke, That Girl’s throat hurt really, really, really bad. She whimpered then threw up dark red blood into a silver kidney-shaped dish.

Do you want some ice cream?

That Girl moaned and shook her head. She tried some the next day, but it hurt too bad. So, she decided not to eat again.

At home, she got to lay in Mommy and Daddy’s big bed. Mommy was worried because That Girl wouldn’t eat. When she woke on Saturday, she said, Mommy, I’m hungry. Can I have some bacon?

I don’t know. Mommy worried that might be hard to eat, but that’s what That Girl wanted, and that’s what she got. It tasted so good.

Later that day, something amazing happened. She was told to get up out of bed. Daddy had something for That Girl in the living room. Because she’d been good and gone to the big white hospital to have her tonsils out, he’d gotten her a bicycle. It was so beautiful—shiny and dark green with a white banana seat and tall handlebars. That Girl didn’t know what to say. Daddy helped her sit on it while Mommy took pictures with the instamatic camera, but brother looked sad. It was his birthday, but Mommy and Daddy forgot. Mommy went to the hardware store and bought him a radio, but he was still sad because it wasn’t as nice as That Girl’s bicycle and they forgot.

Things got better after the poison tonsils came out. That Girl didn’t have any more asthma, and the allergies just caused hives now. She started school, but That Girl would rather have stayed home with Mommy. Still Mommy said she had to go. Had to go.

Teacher was a little, dark-haired mean woman who never smiled. She told Mommy That Girl wasn’t right, that she had something wrong with her. She treated That Girl like she was slow. She made That Girl cry.

Every morning, getting That Girl to go to school was an ordeal. She’d cry and beg and cry and beg. Please don’t make me go. Please don’t make me go. But she had to go. After she got to school, That Girl threw up every morning in the floor of her classroom because she was so scared, and the mean Teacher would paddle her. That Girl hid in the bathroom, but the mean Teacher would come drag her out. Her first grade picture was of a girl with messy hair, red eyes and a sad smile.

The mean Teacher had a system in her classroom. Those who made A’s sat in the A row. There was a B row, a C row, a D row, and a Dummy row. Teacher moved That Girl down a row every day. When she got to the back of the C row, she knew by the end of the next day, she’d be in the D row. She so did not want to be a dummy in the Dummy row.

When she told her Mommy this, Mommy got very, very angry. The next day, Mommy went into the classroom and spoke with that mean Teacher. Mommy was still mad when she shared her words with the Teacher, but like a miracle, by the end of that day, That Girl got moved from the D row to the B row. Thank heavens she wasn’t going to be a dummy. Maybe she wasn’t Mongoloid either, like mean Teacher had said.

That Girl didn’t make a lot of friends because Mommy still protected her. Even though she was so much better and finally gaining weight, she still couldn’t go do things other kids did, like play outside because of the allergies. Sometimes, she could spend the night, but not very often. So That Girl turned in more and more. She’d play with her Barbie and make up stories for her, worlds for her to live in with adventures and fun like That Girl dreamed of having. Make believe was escape from no playtime with others.

No television at night because daddy watched what he wanted. He watched police and murder and bad guys doing bad things to people that scared. Daddy smoked, too, and That Girl was allergic, so That Girl spent more time alone in her room. She could only go to church and to school, so she had to make space for happy somehow in those places.

When she was old enough, she asserted a small bit of her independence by choosing to be in band, but Mommy and daddy could not afford to buy an instrument. So That Girl played the drums because Brother had a drum, but she didn’t like that, so she played a French Horn the band lent her, but she didn’t like that either. Then That Girl found a flute in a cabinet at school. It was in bad shape. All the keys didn’t work, but she learned to play it anyway. She’d play it in her room. That Girl loved how it sounded. So sweet and happy. She loved music and sang, too. Not as good as Brother, but not even the angels sang as well as him. Still, she was pretty good at playing the broken flute.

When high school came, she joined the marching band. Mommy wasn’t too sure about these choices, but That Girl went on ahead. Daddy surprised her by taking her to the music store and buying her a brand new shiny flute. All the keys worked and she found she could play all the notes. It was a big sacrifice and Daddy made payments on it for months. That Girl was so careful with her prize. She was sure the angels in heaven couldn’t make near as beautiful music as her when they played. She marched and played and wore an ugly, itchy uniform, but mostly That Girl just liked to play.

The first performance on the football field, the circle was off and she was too close to that guy playing the trumpet when the horn flash came where they turned from inside to out. The bell of his trumpet clipped the top of her flute, and when she brought it down in front of her face, she saw the dent. Her dark eyes widened and she cried. What would daddy say? What would he say? Would he be mad? Would he make her quit?

Mommy? What should I do?

Well, it wasn’t your fault. We won’t say a word.

So, That Girl hid her flute, making sure daddy didn’t see.

That Girl did well in school. All A’s and B’s, except for math. She became more independent in her choices. Brother’s new wife was all shiny with dyed blonde hair and lots of make-up like Dolly Parton. She sang like an angel just like brother and she’d also been a world champion baton twirler. That Girl begged the new sister to teach her, and she did. So, That Girl became a majorette because sister had been a cheerleader, and since That Girl couldn’t turn a cartwheel, she’d twirl. The costumes didn’t cover enough and daddy didn’t like that, but Mommy talked to him. Still, he didn’t like it, so he didn’t come to see That Girl twirl at the football games.

That Girl got a bad case of the flu right before the Christmas parade. She hurt so bad, and the fever was high. But on the day of the parade, she felt better, got out of bed and declared she would not miss it. Mommy had a fit, but That Girl was independent now. She knew Mommy would not put her foot down like daddy did. So they went. Mommy followed along beside That Girl the entire parade route with That Girl’s warm velvet cape, afraid she would pass out. But That Girl didn’t because That Girl was strong. That Girl was determined.

But inside, That Girl was still afraid. She didn’t fit in. She wasn’t normal. People and stories occupied her mind. She was serious and good, always doing what her parents said. She didn’t know how to act around teenagers because she’d grown up spending all her time with adults. And then there were her vampire teeth and no money to fix them with braces. Plus daddy was a preacher now, and that made everyone, including That Girl, uncomfortable. She wanted people to like her, but she didn’t know how it was that some girls were popular and some, like her, were weird.

That Girl stayed home a lot. She did not date. She did not have many friends, and the ones she had for no reason at all would shut her out for months at a time. She couldn’t go do things other kids did; not because she was sick, but because of daddy’s church work. She couldn’t even go to get pizza because they served beer there. She must always worry what people would think if she were seen with that person or in that place or doing that thing. Something about That Girl must not be right or good enough. Church and school where she must always be good. Band was her only break, but the majorette thing hadn’t worked out. Everyone in school said they were a joke because the other majorettes were so bad, and always so serious, That Girl did not like to be teased, so she quit. She didn’t want to march in the band anymore either. What if she tore her flute up? Daddy would never buy her another.

That Girl didn’t watch television. She didn’t read either. Reading took too long and her mind always wandered. She only had her flute and the movies in her head. Too big for dolls now, she’d lie in bed, close her eyes and let the stories play across the screen of her mind. She’d lie for hours and hours, watching the movies in her head. Mommy thought she was napping, but she wasn’t. She never wrote the stories down.

Next year, That Girl did something she knew daddy was not going to like. She tried out for the dance team at the new high school. Everybody said the sponsor was a slut, so it came as no surprise that she chose what Mommy and Daddy considered “inappropriate” uniforms. Off-the shoulder leotards with dark leggings. Sparkly silver. Scandalous! Everyone at school talked and said that the girls on the dance team were like the sponsor. But for the first time, That Girl didn’t care what anyone thought. She knew she was a good girl. Let people think what they would. The majorettes—who were supposed to be her friends—really didn’t like the dance team because they sparkled more than them. But still, That Girl danced not only that year, but the next one as well. She’d never taken dance lessons, but she was good and dancing made that girl happy except for when the sponsor told her she should lose weight, but That Girl figured a size ten was small enough for a tall girl like her. She didn’t eat at all the day before a performance.

When she was a senior, That Girl did something really crazy. Most girls who graduated from high school where she grew up got married and had babies, or they got a job at the big chemical company and hoped to soon get married and have babies. That Girl who’d never fit in didn’t want to get married. Ever. She didn’t want to have babies either. That Girl wanted to go to college. That was radical. No one in her family had gone to college and finished. None of her friends were going to college. A girl go to college? Everybody knew girls just went to college to find a rich husband, that’s why they said she wanted to go, but That Girl didn’t care what they thought. The joy of dancing had taught her how to not care what people said.

So, That Girl told Mommy and Daddy what she was going to do. Daddy said I don’t have money for you to go to college.

There’s something called financial aid. We can apply.

Well, do what you want. I’m not paying for you to go to college.

So, Mommy and That Girl did all the paperwork. An appointment was made at a small college that was interested in having That Girl as a student. The high school Latin Teacher, a pretty dark-haired lady with a soft smile and voice, had told That Girl about it. That college offered That Girl a lot of money to be a student there. That Girl’s eyes widened like they had when she was a little girl in front of that candy case at the store with her kind neighbor. The world opened up in front of her like an endless red carpet had been rolled out for her to walk into an adventure where anything would be possible.

And she went, That Girl, and lived on campus, her first time away from Mommy. Her first time of feeling normal and accepted, surrounded by so many people like her who enjoyed school and church. These people didn’t think she was weird, and they didn’t treat her like she was different. That Girl worried a lot about making good grades. The classes were so hard. She panicked and cried a lot, but phone calls to Mommy and bible verses helped get her through.

When That Girl was not studying half the night and working on the weekends, she had the time of her life. There were dances and ski trips and pajama parties and dorm raids. And boys started to pay attention to her. Started to think That Girl was pretty.

First, there was the boy at church. He was already out of college and so handsome and so popular. That Girl loved going out with him because he made her feel important, but she didn’t love him. He was for having fun and going to movies and eating French fries dipped in vanilla shakes. Next there was a senior at college. So dark and so handsome and so popular. He knew things she’d been sheltered from growing up and That Girl said naïve things that made him laugh, so it didn’t work out. There was this other guy who liked That Girl a lot, but he was her friend. She liked him and liked studying with him, but just wanted to be friends.

Sister fixed That Girl up with the perfect guy. He sang and played the piano and wrote hymns. He reminded her of That Girl’s brilliant and talented brother. She had daydreams of the two of them singing together in church. It was a sweet dream that turned into a nightmare. He wasn’t what he seemed. There was a darkness in him that caused him to lie and hurt himself. Sister threatened him because he told ugly lies about That Girl, but That Girl didn’t know. He broke up with her during exams. That Christmas was so sad. So sad. That girl didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why boys she liked treated her bad and the ones she didn’t like were so nice. She’d never treat them the way she’d been treated, but after this hurt, That Girl didn’t care anymore.

When That Girl went back to school, she knew her only dating option would be her friend who studied Latin with her. It was a small college, and everyone knew he liked That Girl. So, no other boy would ask her out. She told That Boy that she’d go out with him, but she also told him she’d had her heart broken and that she’d not yet recovered. That Boy didn’t care. He was just happy to be with That Girl.

So, they dated. That Boy liked everything about That Girl. He liked her just the way she was. He didn’t seem to want her to be someone different or to be his personal possession. He didn’t tell her what to do or how to think. A first for That Girl who could think for herself and make good decisions all on her own, thank you very much. She’d had enough of the smothered, sheltered, directed life. He loved her and she realized she loved him. So, they married.