Cat (4 page)

chin and shut my eyes and squeeze my legs against
my stomach and wait for sleep to open a door into a
happy place, someplace where I could just drift, float
on warm clouds and forget and forget and forget. But another part of me wanted to come out, to
leave the room and be in the real world again. How
would I ever get back to the real world if I just ran
home?
"No," I said. "I want to keep trying." "You sure, honey?" she asked.
I looked at my face in the mirror. It was still a
mask. I was tired of looking at it. It was time to tear it
off and take a chance on what I would find. Would I
find a little girl again? Had all that had happened
stopped me from growing up? How silly that would
be, a little girl's face on a body as mature as mine Or would I simply find a shattered face, cracked like some piece of thin china, the lines running down from my eyes where tears had streaked over my cheeks and chin. How long would it take to mend that face? Would it ever be mended so that the cracks would disappear and not look like scars of
sadness?
Was I pretty? Could I ever be pretty? Did I
have a face that someone could love under this mask?
Could I ever want to be kissed and touched? Could I
dream and fantasize like Misty just had and find
myself in a romantic place?
Daddy used to tell me so. He would cup my
face in his hands and kiss the tip of my nose and say I
was blossoming and soon all of my mirrors would
reflect my beauty. When he spoke to me like that, I
felt I was in a fairy tale and maybe I could be
someone's princess. For a long time, he made me feel
like I was his special princess, but because of that had
my ability to love someone been crushed like a small
flower, smashed into the earth, fading, fading, dying
away like some distant star given a moment to twinkle
before it fell back into the darkness forever and ever? No, I didn't want to go home again. I had to
keep trying.
"I'll go back," I insisted.
"Okay," Doctor Marlowe said, "but if you
change your mind or have any problems, please don't
hesitate to stop and ask to go home. I don't want to
lose all the progress we've made to date. That can
happen if things are rushed sometimes," she said. "Rushed?" I laughed and the sound of that
laughter seemed strange even to me. I knew it was
strange and worrisome because Doctor Marlowe
didn't smile but grimaced instead.
"Rushed? You know what it's like to look out
the car window and see girls my age and younger
walking on the sidewalk with their friends and
boyfriends, their faces full of joy, their lives full of
promises? I feel like an animal in a cage. I didn't put
myself into that cage, either. It's not fair. I want to get
out, Doctor Marlowe."
"I know, honey, and I'm going to help you do
just that."
I gazed at the bathroom door.
"They all had bad times, too, but they looked so
shocked and afraid back there."
She nodded.
"One or two of them might not want to stay, but
somehow, I think you'll all get through it," she said.
She squeezed my hand and I took a deep breath and
smiled. "Ready?"
"Yes. Take me back. I want to focus on all the
bad things just like you told me to do, and I want to
put all my anger and strength into smashing them to
bits forever and ever. Will I ever be able to do that?" She smiled.
"I know you will," she said firmly enough to
make me feel confident.
I walked out and returned to the office. I could
see they had been talking incessantly about me. The
expressions on their faces were so different, the
hardness gone from Star, the smugness gone from
Jade, and the innocence gone from Misty. We were
doing what Doctor Marlowe had intended: we were
changing each other as we changed ourselves. Like
sisters related not through blood but through adversity
and turmoil, we gathered around each other and
warmed each other with our mutual pain and fear. Together, we would help each other kill the
demons. I was anxious to go on.

Their eyes were full of many new questions now, questions I was still answering myself. How could all that have happened to me and right under my mother's eyes, too? How is a garden prepared and cultivated to grow black flowers full of thorns and poison? That was where I had found myself planted.

They waited patiently for me to sit and gather my thoughts. I took a small breath and began.
"When I was very little nothing seemed as important to my mother as my being able to care for myself. I was only three when she insisted I dress myself. She taught me how to run my own bath and I was given the responsibility to undress, clean and dress myself without her help. She would put out the clothes I was to wear, but she didn't stand around to help me put them on. If I didn't put something on correctly, she sent me back to my room to do it right.
"Personal hygiene, being in charge of my own body, was the most important thing to her. It was more important than anything else, school, manners, anything.
"It was hard when I got sick. I remember times when I threw up and she made me undress myself, bathe and dress myself even though I was nauseous and had cramps. I cried out for her, but she would stand outside the door and give me directions, insisting that I learn to guard and protect myself. To be naked in front of anyone, even my parents, was to be avoided at all costs."
"That's sick," Jade said. "Why would she make her own child ashamed of herself?"
"My mother doesn't think of it that way," I explained "She thinks you should be ashamed only if someone else looks upon you. Your body is holy, precious, very private."
"No wonder your parents rarely had sex," Star muttered."
"My mother doesn't even go to the doctor because of the way she thinks," I revealed. "She's never had a gynecologist examine her and she hates taking me to any doctors. Whenever I was sick, she would try all her old-fashioned remedies first and take me only if they failed."
"Not getting herself regular checkups is so stupid," Jade said. "She could get cancer or something she might have prevented."
"What does she do when she's so sick that her remedies don't help?" Misty asked.
"I don't remember her ever being very sick. She's had colds, but she's in good health, I guess, although lately, she occasionally loses her breath and has to sit for a while almost immediately after she begins to clean. She says it's because of all that's happened and in time, it will pass.
"Anyway, I grew up with her ideas rolling around in my head like marbles pounding every time someone saw an uncovered part of me. It was especially hard in physical education class, dressing in the locker room. I never ever took a shower in school, not even in parochial school where we had individual showers."
"What did you expect would happen if someone saw you naked?" Star asked.
"I don't know. It just . . . sent a chill through me when it happened. I even imagined my mother standing there looking upset."
"You're going to grow up like her, a weirdo," Star threatened.
"No, she won't," Doctor Marlowe insisted. She turned to Star. "None of you will be weird."
"You mean weirder, don't you?" Jade said. "It's already too late to stop weird."
They all laughed. I felt a little better, stronger. I can do this, I chanted, trying to encourage myself. I can. I must face the demons and destroy them or Star will be right.
I paused, looked down, thought about how I would continue and then looked up at them.
"My father didn't have the same ideas about it all," I said, "although he behaved in the same way he did with everything else, which means he didn't argue with my mother about it. Right from the beginning, he pretended it was going to be our little secret, our special secret."
"What was?" Misty said almost before the words were out of my mouth. She grimaced with confusion.
"Give her a chance," Jade chastised.
"Yeah, stop rushing her," Star ordered.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
It struck me funny how they were all becoming as protective as Doctor Marlowe.
"It's all right. I know it's hard to understand," I said, offering Misty a small smile. "I already told you that my father didn't have much to do with raising me. I rarely went anywhere with him without my mother along. He almost never attended any program at school that I participated in. He always went to bed early because he was up for the stock market so early. We didn't spend all that much time together in the evening. By the time we finished dinner and I did my homework, he was often on his way to bed. That was the routine year round."
"Didn't you ever go on a family trip or a vacation?" Jade asked.
"No, not really. A day's travel was it. My mother doesn't like to sleep in a strange bed. She says hotel rooms are never cleaned well enough and you're always sleeping in someone else's dirt.
"I recall a few times when my father went somewhere by himself, but my mother didn't seem to mind that. Then, there was a time when he took me," I said.
They all looked like they were holding their breath, but I wasn't ready to talk about that yet. I closed my eyes. It looked like red webs were spun on the underside of my eyelids.
"When I was little and left on my own to bathe and dress myself, my father would sometimes appear. That was the secret. He made it clear that I shouldn't tell my mother. We both knew she wouldn't like it and my father said we shouldn't make her unhappy. She works too hard for both of us, he explained.
"She didn't see him go into your room?" Misty asked.
"She was usually downstairs preparing breakfast or dinner or cleaning up at the time. Mother has always been so precise about what she does. She keeps to her schedule no matter what," I explained. "I almost know to the minute where she'll be and what she'll be doing. Being organized makes her
comfortable.
"Even though it is so long ago, I can clearly remember the first time my daddy came into my bathroom. I was already in the tub. I didn't hear him enter the bedroom. I think he must have been practically tiptoeing. He gazed in at me and smiled and asked me if I was all right.
"I nodded and he felt the water, dipped his right forefinger in like a thermometer and wiggled it in the air, that birthmark bright.
"'Good,' he said with a big smile, 'it's not too hot.'
"He brushed his hand over my hair and then knelt beside the tub and asked me to show him how I washed myself.
"I was always eager for him to pay more attention to me. I wanted him to hold me and hug me and kiss me. He was my daddy and I looked to him often, anticipating some warm words, some gentle touch, some loving smile. That was all so rare in my house, so when he did this, I was very happy. I mean, that's why I wasn't afraid or . . ."
"You don't have to do that," Doctor Marlowe said softly. They all turned to her, but she didn't explain.
She didn't have to explain it to me. I knew what she meant. She wanted me to stop blaming myself, stop making excuses. I nodded. When I turned back to the girls, they looked even more intrigued.
"I know your mother has taught you how important it is to be clean all over,' he said. 'Go on. Let me see how you do it.'
"You can't imagine how excited I was to perform for him I scrubbed my elbows and my little legs. I washed my neck vigorously, especially behind my ears, and then I stood up and washed between my legs and behind.
"He laughed and clapped and then he left and I felt so happy about it, but when I saw him later, he looked at my mother and then back to me and winked. In front of her he tried not to act so interested in me. He practically ignored me. When I tried to cuddle up beside him on the sofa, he told me I should go to sleep and I remember feeling as if I had been slapped even though he merely lifted his eyes and shook his head. Then he went back to what he was reading.
"The only time he really showed interest in me, smiled and laughed and touched me lovingly was when he visited me-in the bathroom while I took my bath and that was only occasionally at best.
"Until . . ."
"What?" Misty practically jumped to ask.
"The bumps."
"Bumps?"
"She means until her breasts started to form;' Jade said with narrow, sharp eyes. She glanced at Star who nodded and then turned back to me. "Right?"
"Yes," I said. My eyes burned with tears that welled behind my lids. I swallowed back the small scream that wanted so much to come rushing out of my mouth. "Yes," I whispered, not even sure if I had said it.
"Oh," Misty said, her lips in a small circle, her eyes bright with understanding, but shock as well.
"I don't know how it was for the rest of you, but when it began to happen to me, I was frightened. I told my mother about it and she told me to stop talking nonsense.
"'It's not nonsense, Mother. It's really happening to me!' I protested one morning at breakfast.
"My father put down his paper and looked at me with surprise, too, but he didn't say anything to help me. He just looked a little interested and then he went back to his paper.
"'You're too young for such a thing,' my mother said throwing me a hard look. 'Girls today rush everything You're imagining it.'
"'No, I'm not,' I cried, tears now building in my eyes. 'I'll show you.'
"I started to unbutton my blouse and she screamed so loud and shrilly, I felt like she had sent a lightning bolt through my body. I remember I literally froze, terrified of even moving my fingers.
"'Take it easy, Geraldine,' my father said. 'She doesn't understand.'
"I guess she realized how dramatic and horrifying she was. She became calmer and lectured me softly.
"'We don't disrobe in any other room of the house but our bedrooms and our bathrooms,' she explained.
"'I'll go up to my bathroom to show you,' I offered.
"'This isn't the time for that. It's breakfast time and you're off to school. Put this nonsense out of your mind,' she insisted.
"I gazed at my father, hoping he would speak up again, but he just shook his head at me and went back to what he was reading.
"I tried to bring it up again with my mother when I returned from school, but again, she refused to listen.
She insisted it was all part of my confused imagination.
"'They make sex such a big thing on television and in movies and books today that it infects children,' she orated. She could step up on a soapbox at a moment's notice and deliver a speech about the disgusting immorality alive in the world. She didn't accidentally use the word 'infects,' by the way. My mother thinks of it as a disease, almost something you can catch by breathing near promiscuous people. She had me thinking that way. I remember holding my breath or covering my mouth when classmates said or did things I knew my mother would disapprove of."
All three girls had their mouths slightly open, their eyes wide as they listened and gazed at me with astonishment.
"I know how stupid that sounds now, but that's the way I thought.
"Anyway, a few nights later, I heard Daddy enter my bedroom and come to the door of my bathroom while I was taking my bath. As I told you before, I was about nine years old at the time which was why I was nervous and confused. My body seemed to be racing ahead. Maybe I was freakish.
"'So what's this you've been trying to tell your mother?' he asked as he approached.
"I sat up to show him and he nodded. He studied me like a doctor for a moment and then he pressed my chest softly with those spider leg fingers.
"'Looks like you're right,' he said nodding and smiling. 'I'll speak to your mother about it. Don't be afraid,' he told me. 'It's earlier than most girls, but it's nothing bad, nothing to be afraid to see happening'
"He spoke so gently, so kindly, I felt relieved. Why couldn't my mother be this kind, this concerned and loving? I wondered.
"'I can tell you're going to be a very pretty girl, a special girl,' he continued. 'Daddy's special girl,' he added. He had never said that to me before. I was very happy about it. If this would make him love me even more, I thought, then it must be good.
"A little less than a week afterward, my mother came to my bedroom door while I was doing homework. She entered and closed it behind her.
"'All right,' she said stretching and tightening her lips until they were two pale red thin lines over her chin, let me see what you're talking about.'
"I just imagined my father had done what he had promised and spoken to her about it. No longer afraid or ashamed, I got up and unbuttoned my blouse to show her. She looked at me, but unlike my father, she looked disgusted by it. She had such an
unpleasant expression on her face, I thought there really was something wrong with me.
" 'Is it all right?' I asked her, my voice shaking with some panic.
"'No,' she said. 'It's far too soon. I don't like how it shows under your blouse either. I'll get something proper for you to wear tomorrow,' she promised, turned and left me standing there feeling hideous.
"The next day she bought me a sports bra, but my development continued at an accelerated pace. By the time the school year ended, I had a distinct bosom. I even had cleavage," I said.
"That's so unfair," Misty moaned. "My mother wants to buy me a Wonder Bra and here you had cleavage in the fifth grade!"
"Despite my development, my mother fought buying me a regular bra. I complained about the sports bra and she replaced it with a little bigger size, but it still pinched and squeezed. It was such a relief to get undressed every night.
"My mother wouldn't listen to any complaints. She told me to work on putting my mind off it. If I told her about a tingle or a feeling I could describe only as a tickle, she would turn crimson and scream at me for not keeping such thoughts buried in my mind. Once, she even slapped me because I mentioned it in front of my father. Then she pulled me aside and said, 'There are things decent women don't mention in front of men, ever. Hear?'
"Men? I thought. My father was a man, of course, but I didn't lump him in with other men. I remember feeling so strange about the way she had referred to him. Almost as if he were the enemy. We had to hide things from him, too, just because he was a man. What would happen if she knew my daddy's and my secret? I wondered. Daddy looked worried for a moment and then smiled when he realized I had kept it our little secret.
"Of course, I nodded after everything my mother told me and I tried to behave as she wanted me to behave, but I couldn't help overhearing classmates talking about sexual things from time to time. I had so many questions to ask, so many worries. I tried reading about it, but if my mother found any books or any pamphlets in the house, she would throw them in the garbage, even if they were library books and I had to pay for them. She declared they shouldn't be in a school library anyway, especially a parochial school.
"Once, I tried hiding a book from her. That was when I discovered my mother went through my room daily, searching everywhere for lascivious material, even under the mattress," I said.