Ivory

Here I am Grandy, as a 5-year-old would say, as Grandy was calling me. You get around here. Where are you? I’ve been hollering for you and what was you doing hiding? No, no, Grandy. I’m brushing the yard with your big broom. Give it here. You know it’s mine. Don’t tear it up. Why do you tear up everything? I’m only 5 or 6 years old, I was wanting to say, though I wouldn’t dare because she would have beat me. She, Grandy, that whips me for the least thing I would do so my words ran through my mind and stopped, not to let them even slip out of my mouth. Though I’m wondering what had I done that was so bad, when I was just brushing the yard at the side of the house. Though the broom was much taller than I, it was fun to use Grandy’s old sagebrush broom to sweep the yard, even though taking a chance on getting punished. Why did they punish me so much, I wondered. But maybe that’s what they are supposed to do. I’m only 5, almost 6 years old. My brothers slap me often. Are they supposed to? Every day dreading the slaps, pushes and always being blamed, daring not to ask, take it and go on. It won’t last long. The slap doesn’t hurt that long on the bottom or back, thinking to myself, but in the face that’s a different kind of slap. It stings a long time, like a blister, so thinking maybe when I get whipped again I will try to learn a way to turn so my face will not get hit. But as years passed, I found out they hit where they wanted to, even if they had to take the time to turn you in the directions they chose to hit you. I always looked out to the next house to see if Nancy was looking. Some times she was and wouldn’t turn away. As often as I was beaten, inside the house or outside, whenever anything happened I was punished even if it wasn’t my fault and some of the things that happened I didn’t know about, but I was blamed anyway. My biggest childhood thought was, am I doing all these things that I’m whipped 3 or 4 times a day for my fault? When a cup or glass was broken, if I was anywhere near whatever they broke, I was blamed knowing I hadn’t done any of those things. Ashes did it and I would just say nothing or then I would have gotten beat by one of the brothers or cousin, whoever was at fault. Sometimes, I would walk up to the adult and they would always say what did you do that for? And most of the time when I knew I hadn’t done a wrong thing, I would say I didn’t mean too, so they would not be so hard on me. But years later I surely found out that didn’t work. But the worse times for me were when the first cousins were there and I still was the one everyone hit on. One cousin asked one day what are you going to do when you are a grown-up lady. I said do you think I will ever live that long. She and I giggled, but things weren’t funny to me. She said, I really hope you do and can run so far away until these people will never see you again, and them I’m going to tell them. But it wasn’t any longer than 15 minutes until she was knocking me out of the swing. So was I born to be just a punching bag? I wonder that so many years, even after I became an adult, as adults always have leftover child brains that never quite mature, they just linger around in your head and tell you, I don’t feel like getting any more thoughts. I don’t want to be a big person. They treat children bad, so I don’t like grown up brains. Ashes remembers her child memories. While she was just a mere baby, herself, brother, aunts, uncles, cousins and neighbor children, Ashes never understands why the older brothers were ahead of her. She remembers the baby sister that was born behind her. It was so rainy and foggy and the aunt came and told me, you have to go to the neighbor’s house. Your mommy is very sick, and run on. I said what’s wrong with Mother. I said for you to go on and don’t ask questions. Oh, Ashes was frightened. No coat on and had gotten so cold and wet. The neighbor, Mo, was standing on their porch and when Ashes asked her, what’s wrong with my mother, did they tell you? Yes, but you don’t need to know. How evil she was. No one to help with my question. Our big wet dog, Duke, was on the steps and me hugging that wet dog helped me some but not like a people’s voice would have made me feel better. I became so weak and hungry, so sleepy. No one was out but me. I tried to pull the little dark green sweater tight around me. I was getting so cold forever seemed to go by, and when could I go home? I asked our dog, Duke, who was so wet and began to smell so bad. I started to cry so hard and the dog was licking my tears. No one would or could hear me but the dog. So as the big car pulled up in front of our house the doctor gets out and has this big old black bag. Walks down the hill into the house. What’s he doing? Everywhere was total silence. Duke, what’s the doctor doing at my house? Still licking my face and now it was tears. Again, the neighbors had children. Where were they? Their mama was making them stay in. Why can’t I go inside out of the wet foggy weather? So after a very long time, the mother came out and said it won’t be long and then you can go home. I asked, what’s the matter. You just wait, you will find out. Oh, I was so scared. I wanted to start screaming, but I knew not to or I would really get tore up. So finally, I saw a woman coming towards the house where I was setting. It took her so long, it seemed, to reach me, but then the neighbor’s mama came out and said, you see, I told you to set still and they would come and get you. So my aunt wouldn’t think that Mrs. Lane had treated me very bad. So when my aunt got there she said to Mrs. Lane, well it’s a girl, and the two stood and talked and was acting as though I wasn’t there. I was saying to my aunt, what do you mean it’s a girl. Oh, you’ll see soon enough. I thought what’s wrong. Oh, I didn’t like them at all. They said something to me so we, my aunt and I walked off the porch, and I started to cry again and she said don’t. You start that crying, you are so petted, and you are not the baby no more. There’s a brand new baby girl at the house now. Your mama had a new baby. What did I feel like thinking about it, now, how horrible that day out of Hell?