What I Remember Most (17 page)

One month later she had morning sickness and found out she was pregnant. “I cried for a week I was so happy.”

She had no idea who Mike was, didn’t know how to contact him, didn’t want to contact him, and was tested for all sexually transmitted diseases. “That was the asinine part. No condoms. What am I? Fifteen? Nah. I was hopeful.” She tested negative and delighted in vomiting into her toilet in the mornings because she knew she had a baby.

“Cleo’s my gift.” She wiped her eyes. “I love that kid.”

“I can see why. She’s hilarious.”

“I also love, from afar, like a lovesick mini-cow, a man named Leonard.”

“Leonard?”

“Yes.” She picked up a quilting magazine next to her and started to fan herself as another hot flash hit. “He owns a construction company. He has blond hair. He has eyes that I want to dive into. If I could get him knocked up, I would.”

“You would like to get him pregnant?”

“That’d be my dream.” She winked.

“Why do you love him from afar?”

“Because he doesn’t know I’m alive. I sound like I’m in junior high. I try to run into him. I try to chat with him on my brave days. I want him to ask me out.”

We talked about her “aching heart” and her sex drive, which was “shooting up sky high because of menopause,” then she asked, “Tell me what work you did before you came here.”

“I’m an artist, but I’m taking a break. I’m working for The Spirited Owl.”

“I know. I heard you’re fun. Word is you can make a tall pyramid out of shot glasses and make a taste-bud-blazing Singapore Sling. Hang on, I’m having a hormonal rush.”

“What’s that?”

“It means it feels like my hormones are rushing to the surface and I want to cry for no reason.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’ll end.” She burst into tears and I put my arm around her. “Men. O. Pause.” She laughed, wiped her tears. “As if I would ever pause on men, especially not Leonard. Tell me about your art.”

I did, and she had a host of questions, being a quilt artist. It was a most excellent art conversation.

“Husband? Boyfriend?” she asked.

“Soon-to-be-ex-husband. I wish he’d fall into a hot geyser and burn.”

“I can see that serenity surrounds that relationship.” We talked about twisty, sneaky men who tangle with your mind-health. “Where are you staying, Grenady?”

Cleo bebopped into their big, red barn to visit Liddy and horse talk with her while Rozlyn unlocked a door on the side. In the small entry were two saddles mounted on sawhorses. One was ornamented with silver, and the other looked like it was about a hundred years old. To the right were stairs to the second story, above the barn. The stairs looked new.

I was expecting to see a people barn at the top of the stairs. As in, rough wood, maybe a stall-like feel. Stray hay. Dusty. One window. We were, after all, above horse stables.

“I had this built five years ago for my mother,” Rozlyn said.

“I wanted her to have some place nice to stay when she visited us. She died last year. You know where she died? Paris. Seventy-five years old. She said she could die as well in Paris as anywhere, and that’s what she did. She went to Paris, by herself, for three months. She died the last day of her trip.

“You know who called the ambulance?” She teared up, then laughed. “An eighty-year-old Frenchman. It was one o’clock in the morning. He was fluent in English, had attended college here. Told me she was ‘the woman of his soul’ and he would see her again soon. Apparently he had a heart problem, so he didn’t think he’d be here long.” She wiped the tears. “I think it was a gift. A last fling for both of them.”

“I’m sorry she died, Rozlyn, but I’m glad she had that time. Romance and Paris. I can only hope for the same for myself.”

“Me too. A Frenchman in my twilight years right before I die. Happy bang bang in bed. I’m glad for my mom. We loved having her here. She would visit, then jet off on another trip somewhere in the world. She was a teacher for thirty-five years and always wanted to explore, so after she retired, she took off.”

“Good for her.”

Rozlyn unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, and we stepped into a room flooded with light. “I had French doors installed front and back and added a couple of skylights so we could get the sunshine in. My mother loved sunshine.”

“The sunshine is sure in,” I said. “Wow.”

The room was not large, nowhere near the width of the barn, but it was plenty large for me. The floors were wood, the walls were white, and the recessed lighting added even more light when Rozlyn flipped the switch.

In front of the entry was the kitchen. It was small, shaped in a V, and charming. The cabinets were white with black cowboy hat handles. There was a large window over the white apron sink. The appliances were stainless steel, and a black granite countertop separated the kitchen from the family room.

A skylight opened up the space in the small family room. A beige couch lay along one wall with a cushy, pink flowered chair next to it. The fabrics were dated, but they looked soft and comfortable and clean. There was a circular kitchen table and two chairs.

Across from the couch was a gas fireplace. My freezing hands felt better already! I almost clicked my heels at the thought of being warm. No more snuggling into my blankets and sleeping bag with a hat pulled low like a bank robber.

The French doors opened to a small deck, wide enough for a couple of chairs and a table. I saw Cleo walking around, Liddy following her like she was Cleo’s dog.

To the right of the kitchen was the bathroom with a claw-foot tub.

I made a gaspy sort of sound and covered my mouth.

“That tub okay for you? My mother had a thing for baths, so I bought her a deep one. She said she liked to give her bones a break. Baths settle my mood swings.”

“Me too.” My bones felt better already! No more showering at work or washing down in McDonald’s! The window was low enough so that I could look outside while lying in bubbles. There was a shower, too, and a pedestal sink. And a toilet, of course. My bladder felt better!

On the other side of the bathroom was my bedroom, small but dee-lightful. It fit a queen-sized bed, with a skylight straight above it, a wood nightstand, a dresser, and a chair in front of the French doors. My back felt better now, too!

A second deck overlooked Rozlyn’s farmland.

My whole world was better.

“You can watch the sun come up on one side of the apartment and go down on the other. We get some beautiful sunsets, too. Skies on fire. On hot days I want to take off all my clothes and dance out there. I’ve done it before. Three times. I dared myself. I do that. Dare myself to do crazy things. Might as well. Only live each day once, right?” She handed me the key and grinned. “I’m glad you’re staying with us. I like your vibe.”

“I like your vibe, too.” We fist-bumped, then laughed. I felt like doing an odd jig. Tra-la-la. But with my clothes on. “It’s charming, and perfect and warm. Thank you so much.”

When Rozlyn had asked me at lunch where I was staying in town, I had hemmed and hawed. Rozlyn seemed puzzled, so I dove quick into my “I’m looking around at apartments” speech, even mentioned Talia’s B and B, and Rozlyn said, “You can stay above the barn.”

I said, immediately, “Great. Thank you.” I think it surprised Rozlyn that I agreed lickety-split to live above a barn, as she had not yet explained to me that the barn had an apartment above it. I had simply, instantly, thought of a plain bedroom above the barn with a roof, and was grateful for the roof.

“How much would you like per month?”

She leaned back in her chair, then named a sum.

My mouth fell open. Holy moly.

“Too high?” she asked.

“Oh, no, not at all. I’ll take it.”

“That includes utilities, of course, all one bill to me. There’s Internet, too. My mother wanted to keep up with all her friends and, I think, a few men friends. The intimate type of man friend.”

I grabbed for my purse. “I’ll get you the first and last month’s rent. How much do you want for the security deposit?”

“I’ll take first month’s rent only, Grenady. I trust you.”

I felt guilty when she said that. She didn’t know what I was running from. She didn’t know I’d been arrested and had sanity smashing accusations leveled at me and people who thought I’d lost them their life’s savings. But I was, selfishly, once again, thinking of myself and getting out of my car before snowstorms hit like a steamroller over a rabbit.

“I know when you leave, you’ll let us know beforehand, and you’ll clean before you go.”

“Yes, of course.” I handed her the rent money, in cash.

“Thank you.” My eyes burned, but I didn’t cry or I’d look like a loon.

“You’re welcome. We owe you. You probably . . .” Rozlyn choked up, too, but not for the same reason I had. She took a swipe at her teary eyes, then fanned her face, both hands. “You probably saved Cleo’s life. Liddy was running so fast, then I saw her buck, not once but twice. I don’t even know how she held on. You stood in front of a charging horse, calmed it down, got it to stop bucking, and my daughter’s safe. I can’t thank you enough. I will never be able to thank you enough. ”

She gave me a hug, and I hugged her back. It was the strangest thing, but I felt close to her. I do not feel close to women easily at all. I don’t trust women. I hardly trust anyone. But Rozlyn? I liked her.

“Thank you, again, Grenady.”

“Oh, thank you, Rozlyn, thank you so much. I am so happy to be here.”

“We’re happy you’re here, too. I think it’s karma we’re together now. I do.”

We chatted some more. Cleo bounded up and told me that she was going to make wings for herself so she could be a flying squirrel after she took Liddy for a walk. She gave me a hug before she jumped down the stairs singing, “I’m a wolf, wolf, wolf, and I’ll eat you up!”

I growled at her. She growled back.

I could not believe my new home. I touched the shelves in the closet in my bedroom. I pulled out the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, which were filled with pans, bowls, and utensils, obviously for the late mother who loved to cook. There was even a coffeemaker and a blender.

I stood on both decks and admired the view of the snow-tipped mountains and meadows, then lay down on the couch and on my bed and looked up through the skylights. I sat on the toilet even though I didn’t need to go. I climbed into the tub and imagined my bath tonight after work. I washed my face and hands in my own sink. I peered in the mirror and saw my smile. First smile in a mirror in weeks.

I imagined washing my clothes in my own small washer and dryer tucked into the closet by the door. I imagined putting my clothes away, stocking cupboards and my fridge, and getting covers for the couch and chair and a bedspread for my bed.

My new home was small but immaculate. It felt new. There were no broken windows. It was heated. It was dry. The door locked. I felt this bloom of happiness, and I didn’t let go of it. I knew what was behind the bloom: cold fear and the danger of being locked up like an animal for years, but I was taking this moment, yes, I was.

I practically skipped out to my car I was so excited. I brought my bags and boxes up and did a load of laundry. I threw out my pee cup. I put my food in the cupboards, then lined up my art supplies on the table, and then underneath it when I ran out of room.

I had missed having my paints and brushes, pastels and colored pencils, jars and boxes of buttons, beads, Scrabble letters, ribbons, patterned scrapbook paper, folded fabrics, old and sepia photographs, peacock feathers, vintage stationery, modern flowered stationery, Victorian gift cards, fortune-telling cards, my art and nature books, and two puzzles all out so I could see them. I put my sewing machine on the table, too.

I could do my art again. I am not myself without my art. I could now escape into my canvases and collages.

I could paint lilies while wearing my lily bracelet and calm down. I could make dragonflies out of beads and netting. I could make birds’ nests out of tiny sticks. I could draw the outline of a woman reading against a tree, then photocopy pages of classics and cut them into leaves. I could use my charcoal pencil to push my past back anytime I needed to.

I decided to have two baths today. No law against it.

I sighed as I sunk into the hot water, relieved beyond relief.

CIRCUIT COURT OF THE STATE OF OREGON

FOR THE COUNTY OF MULTNOMAH

THE STATE OF OREGON,

Plaintiff,

V

ADELLY BERLINSKY and TOM BERLINSKY,

Defendants

Case No. 11-9658

March 28, 1985

JUDGE EMILY CARRADONE

GRENADINE SCOTCH WILD, having first been sworn, testified as follows:

SABRINA SILVERS: It’s nice to see you again, Grenadine. You and I have met before, haven’t we?

GRENADINE SCOTCH WILD: Yes.

Q: And for the record, who am I?

A: You’re Sabrina Silvers and you’re the attorney who is going to put the Berlinskys’ butts in jail. Yeah, you. You two fat people who put me in a kennel like a dog. Quit smiling, Mrs. Berlinsky, you weasel fart face. It isn’t funny.

Q: Grenadine, can you please look at me and answer my questions? This is not the right time to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Berlinsky.

A: Never is the right time to talk to them.

Q: Can you tell the jury how old are you?

A: Nine years and two months exactly.

Q: What school do you go to?

A: Fir Grove Elementary. Furry Grover is our mascot. It’s a dog.

Q: What are your favorite subjects?

A: Art. I don’t read good. The letters get all confused and flipped. They move around and make me dizzy. And my writing is bad, too. People can’t read it. I’m dumb in reading and writing.

Q: I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re dumb. What do you like to do?

A: I like to paint and make collages.

Q: Can you tell us why we’re here today, Grenadine?

A: Yes.

Q: Why?

A: Because Mr. and Mrs. Berlinsky kept me in a dog kennel and didn’t send me to school and hit me and didn’t feed me and no one helped.

MR. STANLEY OROKOFF: Objection!

JUDGE EMILY CARRADONE: What’s the objection?

MR. OROKOFF: She was not asked about her experience yet.

JUDGE CARRADONE: She’s nine. Overruled. Sit down.

MISS WILD: What is objection?

JUDGE CARRADONE: It means he objected to what you said; he felt that what you said wasn’t appropriate at this time.

MISS WILD: Well I don’t care what he thinks is . . . is . . . that other word you said.

MS. SILVERS: Grenadine, when did the Berlinskys put you in a dog kennel?

A: A few weeks after I got there. They said I was bad.

Q: Who said you were bad?

A: Mrs. Berlinsky said I was bad. Mr. Berlinsky said I was a pain in the ass because I kept asking where my parents were and he was sick of saying I don’t know, but he doesn’t know much, does he? Do you, monkey lips?

MR. OROKOFF: Objection. She cannot address my clients.

MISS WILD: There’s that objection word again. I told you I don’t care what you think of what I’m saying, so sit down.

JUDGE CARRADONE: There’s leeway here. She’s a child. Grenadine, talk to Ms. Silvers.

MS. SILVERS: Why did Mrs. Berlinsky say you were bad?

A: Because she said her husband paid too much attention to me.

Q: What do you think she meant by that?

A: Because he would look at me and play with my hair and he was always trying to adjust the buttons on my shirt but I told him I could get dressed myself, and sometimes he’d play spank me, and he wanted me to sit on his lap all the time but he smelled like cigarettes and farts so I didn’t want to. Yes, you did, fat man. You smelled like cigarettes and burps and farts. Mixed.

MR. OROKOFF: Objection. Again, she can’t talk to the Berlinskys.

JUDGE CARRADONE: Grenadine, please don’t address the Berlinskys.

MISS WILD: I don’t know what address means. You mean, like write their address down?

JUDGE CARRADONE: No, it means you can’t talk to them right now.

MISS WILD: I don’t ever want to talk to them, but he did smell, Judge, like cigarettes and farts and burps. Mixed. I’m telling you so that you know what kind of smelly person he is.

MR. OROKOFF: Objection.

MISS WILD: I objection to what you’re saying, too.

JUDGE CARRADONE: The jury will disregard Grenadine’s last statements.

MISS WILD: What do you mean when you say that, Judge?

JUDGE CARRADONE: I mean, they need to try to forget what you just said about Mr. Berlinsky and his burps and passing gas, and they can’t talk about it in the jury room.

MISS. WILD: Why not? It’s the truth. You’re supposed to talk about the truth here, right?

JUDGE CARRADONE: Yes, we want the truth.

MISS WILD: Then that’s the truth. When he made me sit on his lap and hugged me too tight to his chest and rubbed me against him, he stunk. Like vomit, too. I didn’t want to play the spank game, Judge; he made me. Or the weird daddy loves me game.

MS. SILVERS: Where did you sleep in their house, Grenadine?

A: The kennel.

Q: What do you mean, the kennel?

A: A kennel. A kennel like, for a dog. Why did I have to stay in a kennel? Do I look like a dog? No. Where’s the floppy ears and the tail? See my butt? There’s no tail. So why was I there?

Q: Was there a blanket in the kennel?

A: Pink blanket. Had bugs on it. Like spiders and lice that make your head itch.

Q: What did you eat?

A: Me and Spikey ate the same food.

Q: Who is Spikey?

A: The dog. Mean dog.

Q: What kind of food did you eat?

A: Dog food. The type in the purple bag with the gold dog on the front.

Q: So you shared with Spikey?

A: Yeah, but he didn’t like to share. He bites. Bites hard.

Q: What did you drink?

A: The water in the blue dish. Not the red dish. They told me to pee in the red dish like a dog. They treated me worse than a bad dog.

MR. OROKOFF: Objection.

JUDGE CARRADONE: No reason to object. Sit down. Overruled.

MS. SILVERS: Your honor, opposing counsel is trying to intimidate my witness. She’s a child.

JUDGE CARRADONE: Counselor, sit down, and if there is one more unwarranted interruption, you will be removed from court and your assistant will carry on for you.

MISS WILD: He’s bad, too.

MS. SILVERS: Who’s bad?

A: That man the judge said to sit down. He told me when I first met him that I imagined what Mr. and Mrs. Berlinsky did to me.

He said I dreamed it. Or nightmared it. He said it didn’t happen. He said they’re nice people. They’re not nice people, you penis, Mr. Berlinsky. You spanked me. I want to spank you back with your belt like you did me.

JUDGE CARRADONE: Grenadine, please don’t yell in court, and you can’t use the word
penis
.

MISS WILD: I’m sorry.

JUDGE CARRADONE: It’s okay, but you need to be polite and answer the questions.

MISS WILD: But he is one. A penis. I didn’t dream it. I didn’t imagine it. That Orocoughy [spelled phonetically, as spoken] man said the Berlinskys didn’t put a leash around my neck, but they did. It happened. His face looks like a fat skull. I hate skulls.

MR. OROKOFF: Objection. Move to strike the comment about my face looking like a fat skull.

JUDGE CARRADONE: Jury, you will disregard that Grenadine said that Mr. Orokoff has a face that looks like a fat skull.

MS. SILVERS: Grenadine, please tell us what happened to you in the Berlinsky home.

A: I will, but you have to promise me that I’m not going to jail and I’m not going to have to live with them again and that Mrs. Berlinsky will never get the chance to cut off my toes.

Q: That’s correct. You are not going to jail, ever, for this. You did nothing wrong. You are not on trial, Grenadine, the Berlinskys are. You will never have to live with them again. Mrs. Berlinsky will never be able to cut off your toes. Do you want a tissue?

A: Yes. But I’m trying not to cry. Mrs. Berlinsky said she’d cut them off with a knife or pliers if I ever told what happened. The boys held me down one day, and she put the pliers on my toes and pulled. It hurt. But if you promise, I’ll tell you about living with them. You do promise? Okay. I was hungry all the time. I couldn’t stand up in the kennel. I had to sit or lay down.

Tom Jr. and Kevin pulled my hair and put a leash or a rope around my neck and took me for walks and they hit me with sticks if I couldn’t keep up with them and called me doggy and dog shit. Sorry to you, Judge, for the bad word,
shit,
that’s what they told me. They would take me out in my shorts and a T-shirt and it would be snowing and I’d get so cold I couldn’t breathe.

Q: Do you need a break, Grenadine, to get the tears under control?

A: No, I don’t need a break. I’m going to tell on Mr. and Mrs. Berlinsky so they can never have other kids in their house again. Mrs. Berlinsky used to put me outside even in the rain in the kennel to sleep on a rug and she also screamed at me.

Q: Were you afraid of her?

MR. OROKOFF: Objection. Leading the witness.

MISS WILD: Sit down, dirty penis.

JUDGE CARRODONE: Grenadine, you can’t say that to Mr. Orokoff. And no yelling. Here’s a tissue. Dry your eyes, take a breath, we can take a break if you want—

MISS WILD: I’m not taking that word back, Judge, but I say sorry to you for my bad words. Mrs. Berlinsky, she told me no one wanted me, but I already know it. My parents did, but they’re gone, and they’ll come back and then my dad is going to beat you both up.

You called me ugly and weird, Mrs. Berlinsky, yes, you did. Don’t shake your head and smile that weird smile like you’re trying to be smart and I’m stupid. You hit me, too, on my face and on my head and on my back.

MS. SILVERS: What did she hit you with?

A: Her hand and a belt and a hammer three times when I snuck upstairs for food and the kids were allowed to hit me with their model airplanes on the head and in the face. They didn’t feed me. I’m a kid. Kids need food. How come they didn’t feed me? Pretty soon all I can do is lay down in the cage and not move and I’m so hungry my stomach is eating me and then I get sick because I got cold one night, and I told them I can’t breathe right, but they all laughed like it was funny when I was coughing and I was shaking like this—see how my body is moving? That’s what happened. And I got sicker and sicker and my hair starts to fall out on the pink blanket and I’m so thirsty but the dog drinks most of the water first and the boys come and say I’m ugly. I’m ugly? They’re ugly. You got ugly kids, Berlinsky butts.

MR. OROKOFF: Objection. Witness is not answering the question. She’s speech making.

JUDGE CARRADONE: Overruled.

MISS WILD: I don’t even know how to say a speech. You don’t like the answer because you want me to sit up here and say I dreamed the whole thing. Why don’t you suck in your stomach and sit down and shut up, fat skull face.

JUDGE CARRADONE: Grenadine, calm down. You can’t yell in here—

MISS WILD: And they took my lily bracelet and I only got it back after Dr. Chakrabarti told that woman from the department for kids that if she didn’t go and get my bracelet for me that he was going to file a report against her. That was from my mom for me, not for you, fat Mrs. Berlinsky, and you, smelly Mr. Berlinsky, and also they laughed at me. They always laughed at me and called me Bugs because of the bug bites and bugs in my hair and sometimes they called me Fleas because they were on me, too. And they called me scabies. Little Miss Scabies. Bug girl. Lice kid. How would you like to be called Lice Kid?

MS. SILVERS: Here’s another tissue, honey. Did you ever get a bath?

A: Sometimes they turned a hose on over my head outside in the backyard by the chickens, but that didn’t kill the bugs in my hair, and the fleas were on the blanket so I still itched and they ate my hair up and it fell out.

Q: Your hair looks nice now.

A: That’s because Dr. Chakrabarti and the nurses got rid of the bugs in my hair and in my ears and in my tummy and all the yucky junk between my toes. And I had worms inside of me, too. You ever have worms inside of you? The doctor had to give me worm killer medicine to get rid of them. They itched my butt. And that’s not all the doctors had to do, either. They had to give me other medicine and a needle up my arm to feed me more food. But when I was better I had all the food I could eat at the hospital. Plus milkshakes in the afternoons. Chocolate and vanilla. Two types. And Jell-O, green and red, and pizza.

Q: Were the Berlinskys ever nice to you?

A: Only when Mrs. Valencia came to visit. Then they would hose me off like I was Spikey and put something on my hair for the bugs and put me in a long-sleeved shirt or some weird dress with ruffles to hide the bruises and tell me to be good and smile a lot or they would use the hammer on my knees again and I didn’t want my knees hammered. That hurts. Have you ever had your knees hammered? Or they said they would put a black snake in the kennel. They even showed me a picture of the snake.

MR. OROKOFF: Objection.

MISS WILD: Oh, you sit down and shut up. All you want to do is lie and say the Berlinskys were good to me so they don’t get in trouble, but I told you what they did to me. I don’t care if you believe me or not because you are bad to protect those bad people who hurt me, a kid. I’m a kid. Why do you want to help mean people who hit kids and put them in a kennel and don’t give them food? You’re a jerk.