Raven

  I wanted to open the door and scream, "How dare you do this to me?"

  I actually did open it, but when I looked out at the quiet house, I suddenly became even more terrified. If he would do this, who knew what else he would do? Instead, I made my way to the bathroom and tried putting a warm, damp towel on my battered thighs and rear.

  It didn't help much. I returned to my room, moving cautiously and slowly through the house. I could hear Uncle Reuben yelling upstairs and Aunt Clara's muffled sobs. I barely had enough strength to undress, and when I finally did lie down, the throbbing grew worse. It kept me awake most of the night. I think I passed out rather than fell asleep sometime just before morning.

  A cold shock woke me, and I realized I was drenched in ice water. I cried out and sat up to face Uncle Reuben, who stood there with the emptied pail in his hands. The water quickly soaked right through the blanket, but I kept it close to my half-naked body.

  "You get yourself up and get out there to help Clara do the weekly cleaning," he demanded. "You won't sleep late here because you carried on like a tramp, hear? I'll teach you what it means to misbehave while living with me," he threatened, speaking through clenched teeth. "I'm not your mother. None of this goes here. Now, get up!"

  "I will. Leave me alone," I moaned.

  He started to throw more water on me.

  "Reuben, stop!" Aunt Clara cried from the hallway.

  He glared at me and then nodded and left the room, pausing at the doorway to speak to Aunt Clara.

  "Don't baby her, Clara. She needs strict discipline. She's no more than a wild animal."

  He walked off.

  When I began to move, the pain from my beaten body shot up my spine and made me cry out.

  "What is it?" Aunt Clara said, coming in. "What's wrong, Raven?"

  "He beat me, Aunt Clara. He beat me with a belt last night."

  She shook her head in denial, but I turned on my side and lifted the blanket from my legs and rear. Then she gasped and stepped back. "Oh, dear, dear."

  "Is it bad?"

  "It's inflamed, welts," she cried. "Reuben, how could you do such a thing?" she asked, but far from loudly enough for him to hear. It was more as if she was asking herself how her husband could have turned into such a monster. There were other questions to ask, but this was hardly the time to suggest them, I thought.

  "I'll get some balm," she said. "Just stay there, Raven. Oh, dear, dear," she muttered, and hurried out.

  I collapsed back onto the pillow, my head pounding. What tortured me was not the beating I had been unfairly given as much as the realization that there was no one I could depend on now that Mama had gotten herself into even deeper trouble. Aunt Clara was too weak. I had no other relatives to run to for help. I was in a strange town in a school where I was still so new that I hadn't had time to make close friends. I was truly trapped.

  "Here, dear. Let me see what I can do," Aunt Clara said, hurrying back.

  I turned over to let her apply the medicine. It did bring some cool relief.

  "I can't believe he did this," she muttered. "But he was so upset. He has such a temper."

  "I didn't make Jennifer drink the vodka, Aunt Clara. Those kids are all her friends, not mine"

  "I know, dear. I know."

  "He won't believe anything bad about her," I said, turning when she was finished. She stared at me. "It's not fair, and it's not right," I continued.

  "I'll speak to him," she promised, nodding.

  "It won't matter, Aunt Clara. He has a bad opinion of me and my mother, and he hates me for being alive and a problem for you. I should just leave."

  "Of course not. Where would you go? Don't even think of such a thing, Raven. He'll cairn down. Everything will be all right," she insisted, just as someone living in Never-Never Land would.

  "It won't be all right. He'll never cairn down," I said. "He's an ogre. He's more than that. I know why he favors Jennifer so much, too," I added, more under my breath. Aunt Clara either didn't hear me or pretended not to. She quickly turned away.

  "I'll make us some hot breakfast, and we'll all feel better. You take your time, dear. Take your time," she said, and left before I could add a word.

  I sat there fuming. All I wanted to do was get my hands on Jennifer and wring her neck until she confessed the truth. I wasn't going to let her get away with this, I thought. I took the beating that should have been meant for her.

  I stepped out cautiously, hating even the thought of facing Uncle Reuben now. I heard no voices, just the clanking of dishes and the sounds of Aunt Clara moving about the kitchen. When I peered in, I saw William alone at the table. Jennifer was permitted to sleep off the effects of last night, but not me.

  Anger raged up in me like milk simmering too long in a pot. I felt the heat rise into my face. Without hesitation, I turned and started up the stairs. If I had to drag her down these steps and throw her at her father's feet, babbling the truth, I would do it, I thought.

  As I turned at the landing, I saw that her bedroom door was slightly ajar. I started for it and stopped when I heard the distinct sound of

  whimpering. Then I heard Jennifer's voice, tiny and pathetic, sounding more like a girl half her age than her usual cocky self. I drew closer, curious and confused.

  "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't want to do it, but Raven and the other girls started to make fun of me. They said I was immature, a baby, and I shouldn't be at parties yet."

  "Don't you let them say those things about you, princess. Don't you even think it," I heard Uncle Reuben say.

  If only he knew the whole truth, I thought, then what would he think of his little princess?

  A moment later, Aunt Clara called for me. "Raven? Are you upstairs?" Uncle Reuben heard her call me and appeared in Jennifer's doorway.

  "What are you doing up here?" he demanded. "I came up to see Jennifer," I said.

  "She's not,well this morning, as you should know," he said. "Just tend to your chores."

  "Daddy!" I heard her cry behind him.

  "Go on!" he shouted at me.

  I started down the stairs, turning to look up when I was almost halfway to the bottom. Jennifer's door was closed.

  "What is it, dear?" Aunt Clara said.

  I looked at her for a moment and thought about telling her about last night.

  "It's nothing, Aunt Clara. I'll be right down." I wasn't ready to stoop to Jennifer's level. Not yet, at least.

  Aunt Clara knew something was wrong, but she didn't press me for answers. I suppose she didn't want to know about Jennifer's behavior any more than she wanted to know about Uncle Reuben terrorizing William. Deep in her put-away heart, she couldn't be happy with the person Jennifer was becoming. She had to be aware of her deceitfulness, her laziness, and her meanness. I knew she was upset about the way William shut himself off from everyone, even her, and wanted the best for her son. So what about her daughter? What did she want for her?

  And then I would reconsider and stop hating her and start pitying her. I had been here only a short time. I had no idea what sort of horrible things she had endured before I arrived. It was easy to see she was afraid of Uncle Reuben, maybe even more afraid of him than I was. All he had to do was raise his voice, lift his eyebrows, hoist his shoulders, and she would stammer and slink off, pressing her hands to her bosom and lowering her head. There were times when she didn't know I was looking at her, and I saw the deep sadness in her face or even caught her wiping a tear or two from her cheeks. Often, with her work done, she would sit in her rocking chair and rock with her eyes wide open, staring at nothing. She wouldn't even realize I was around.

  I never doubted she loved her children, and maybe she once had loved Uncle Reuben, but she was someone who had been drained of her independence, her pride, and her strength, a hollow shadow of her former self who barely resembled the pretty young woman in the old pictures, a young woman with a face full of hope, whose future looked promising and wonderful, who had no reason to think that an
ything but roses and perfumed rain would fall around her.

  Some adults, I thought, fall apart, drink, go to drugs, become wild and loose like my mother did when they lose their dreams. Some die a quiet sort of death, one hardly noticed, and live in the echo of other voices, their own real voices and smiles carried away in the wind like ribbons, gone forever, out of sight, visible only for a second or two in the glimmering eyes or soft smiles that come with the memories.

  Late in the day, Jennifer emerged with that triumphant sneer on her face. I was dusting furniture after having vacuumed the living room. Uncle Reuben was taking a nap. William was in his room, and Aunt Clara had gone for groceries. Jennifer plopped on the sofa and put her feet up, shoes and all. I stopped and looked at her with disgust.

  "I'm so tired," she said. "Lucky we didn't have school today."

  "You got me in a lot of trouble," I said. "What stories did you spread around school about me? How could you tell so many filthy lies?"

  "Your reputation preceded you," she said with a laugh. "I didn't have to spread any stories?'

  "You're really pitiful, Jennifer. You could at least tell your father the truth?'

  "Yeah, right. Then I'd be in trouble," she said, and laughed. "You can keep cleaning. I won't be in your way. Just don't make too loud a noise."

  "You're disgusting," I said, my anger boiling. "And in more ways than one."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, making her eyes bigger. "You never drank too much, I suppose. In your house, it was probably a daily occurrence."

  "For your information, it wasn't, at least for me." I stared at her a moment, debating whether or not I had the courage to say it. Finally, I did. "How could you let Brad do that to you? Don't you have any pride?"

  She gazed at me, barely blinking "What are you talking about now, Raven? What sort of lie are you trying to use to get out of trouble?" she asked.

  "You know what I'm talking about, and you know it's not a lie," I said firmly.

  Her expression didn't change. Then she looked away for a second before turning back to shake her head. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, "and I'm warning you not to say anything that will make Daddy angry."

  "He already got angry," I said. I put down the dust rag and undid my pants, lowering them and my panties. I turned to show her my welts.

  "Ugh," she said, grimacing.

  "He enjoyed doing it to me," I said, closing my pants. "He's a sadist, and he's perverted."

  "Stop it!" She jumped off the sofa. "He's my father, and if he had to punish you, it was because you did something wrong. He's really kind, and he cares about me."

  "You're just afraid of him. And you should be. If he knew how you really behaved, you'd get a far worse beating than I got," I said, drawing closer and staring into her face.

  "Stop it!" she whispered. "He could hear you."

  She stamped her foot on the floor. "What the hell's going on down there?" Uncle Reuben shouted from his bedroom.

  Jennifer hesitated, staring at me with wide, scared eyes.

  "Should I tell him?" I asked. "Should I tell him what really happened last night?"

  She seemed to think, and then bet against me facing Uncle Reuben.

  "Nothing, Daddy," she called back.

  "Well, keep your voices down. I'm trying to get some rest. I didn't get much last night thanks to someone in this house," he added.

  "Okay, Daddy. Raven's sorry," she said.

  "You're sicker than he is," I said, shaking my head.

  "You're just jealous because you don't have a father," she spit at me, her eyes narrow and hateful but also filling with tears. "You never had a father. You have a mother who is a tramp and a drug addict, and now you don't even have her," she said, gloating.

  "No," I spit back at her, "but at least I still have some self-respect."

  I threw down the dust rag and marched past her, practically knocking her out of my way.

  "Who else would respect you?" she called after me. "You're worse than an orphan. You're nothing. You don't even have the right name! That's right, Daddy told me your mother was never even married, so don't go throwing stones. You're an illegitimate child!" she shouted.

  I slammed the door closed behind me.

  She was right, of course. Nothing she said wasn't true, but I'd rather be no one, I thought, than someone with a father like hers.

  "Didn't I tell you two to shut up down there?" I heard Uncle Reuben scream.

  "It's all right, Daddy. I'm taking a walk over to Paula's. If there's any more noise, it's not me making it," she shouted back. A moment later, I heard her leave the house, and it was all very quiet again.

  I took a deep breath and went to the window. It was still gray and dismal outside. Jennifer had guessed correctly. I wouldn't tell Uncle Reuben. Why would he believe me? I'd keep her little secret. For now.

  And then I saw someone on the corner standing under a sprawling maple tree. She wore a raincoat and a bandana over her hair just the way my mother often did.

  "Mama?" I called, my eyes filling with tears.

  The woman turned and disappeared down the next street.

  I shot out of the room and rushed to the door. Then I ran down the walk and up the street to the corner, but by the time I got there, there was no one in sight. I stood there looking. Had I imagined it?

  "Mama!" I screamed. My voice died in the wind, and no one appeared.

  But what if it had been Mama? I thought. In my heart of hearts, I wished it had been, just so I knew she was thinking about me, just so I knew she did care a little, even if she hadn't come back for me.

  Maybe, I thought, looking down the long, empty street with barely a car moving along it, maybe I wanted it so much that I simply imagined it.

  Just like everything good I wanted for myself, this was only to be a dream, an illusion, another hope tied to a bubble that would burst, leaving me as lost and as forgotten as ever.

  I turned and went back to the hell I had to call home.

  8 Innocence Lost

  The guidance counselor at my old school, Mr. Martin, once told me it's harder to look at yourself than it is to look at others. Some of my teachers had been complaining to him about me, and when I had my meeting with him and he read off the list of cornplaints, I had an excuse for everything. I was so good at dodging that he finally sat back, looked at me, and laughed.

  "You don't believe half of what you're telling me, Raven," he said, "and you realize that when you walk out of here, you will walk out of here knowing that I don't believe you, either. The truth is, you have been irresponsible, neglectful, wasteful, and to a large extent self-destructive. You want to know what I think?" he asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands on the desk.

  He had rust-colored hair and eyes as green as emeralds. Tiny freckles spilled from his forehead, down his temples to the crests of his cheeks. He always had a friendly hello for anyone. I never saw him lose his temper, but he had a way of making a troubled student feel bad about himself or herself. He spoke softly, sincerely, and acted as if he was everyone's big brother, taking each disappointment personally and asking questions that forced you to be honest.

  My heart seemed to cower in my chest as I waited for him to drop his bombshell. I had to look down. His eyes were too penetrating, his gaze too demanding.

  "No," I finally said, "but I guess you're going to tell me anyway."

  "Yes, I am, Raven. I think you're a very angry young woman, angry about your life, and you think you're going to hurt someone if you do poorly and behave poorly--However, the only one you're really hurting is you."

  I turned to look past him, to look out the office window, because I could feel the tears welling under my lids. Few people were ever able to penetrate the wall I had built around my true feelings, and whenever anyone did, I always felt a little naked and as helpless as a child.

  "Your mother doesn't respond to any of my calls or letters. She's never been available to meet with your te
achers."

  "I don't care if she comes here or not," I snapped.

  "Yes, you do," he said softly. He sat back again. "Sometimes, actually most of the time, we can't do much about the hand we've been dealt. We've got to make the most of it and get into the game. It doesn't do any good whining about it, right? You know that"

  "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Martin. I failed some tests, big deal. My teachers are always picking on me because I'm an easy target. Other kids talk and pass notes and forget their books and stuff and don't get into half as much trouble."

  Mr. Martin smiled. "When I was on the college basketball team and I gave my coach excuses like that, he would start to raise and lower his legs as if he were walking through a swamp," Mr. Martin said. "You know what I mean?"

  I felt my throat close up and just shifted my eyes down.

  "All right, Raven. I won't keep you any longer. You think over the things we discussed, and just know I'm here for you if you need to talk," he said.

  I got up quickly, practically fleeing from his eyes and his probing questions. After I left his office, I stopped in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red from the strain of holding back the tears. Mr. Martin was right: it was harder to look at myself, especially after he had held up a mirror of reality and truth.

  Thinking back to that, I realized how much harder, if not impossible, it was for Jennifer to look at herself in a mirror. Everyone in my uncle's home suffered from the same self-imposed blindness, especially Aunt Clara, who not only turned away and kept her eyes down but also pretended she didn't know anything was wrong.