Eye of the Storm

  "Daddy loves me more than he loves you."

  She did a little spin again and drew closer to

  me. My eyes felt locked, unable to turn an iota to the

  right or to the left. Her face was mesmerizing. When

  she spoke, she spoke in a little girl's voice.

  "Daddy carried me up to bed. I had just finished

  my cup of hot milk and he said I should go to sleep

  now. I didn't want to. I wanted to stay up longer, but

  he said I had to go to sleep or Mother would be angry.

  She had left it up to him to take care of us tonight

  while she was at her charity ball meeting and he had

  better do it, he said, or he would get put in the

  doghouse.

  "'Do you want me to sleep in the doghouse?' he

  asked me.

  "Of course. I shook my head, my face frill of

  terror at just the thought of my getting him into

  trouble, and he laughed and looked at me with the

  softest face I have ever seen him have, even softer

  than when he looks at you. Yes, much softer," she

  happily concluded with firm nods.

  I couldn't speak. Her face was so close to mine

  now that she frightened me and I was afraid of

  interrupting. I could see the tiny freckles under her

  eyelids and a light, small birthmark otherwise hidden

  under a corner of her nostril.

  "Come along." he said and he reached out for

  me. His hand is so big, isn't it? My hand looked

  swallowed up when he closed his around it. I couldn't

  see my fingers.

  "'I can't see my fingers. Daddy,' I said and he

  laughed and said. 'Let's see if they're still there.' "He opened his hand and touched my palm with

  his long, thick left finger and said. 'There they are.' "I laughed and Daddy smiled at me and then he

  surprised me by pulling me closer and lifting me up as

  if I was made of air.

  ''Here you go.' he said. 'Upstairs to bed and

  don't go near Megan. She's got the measles and you

  will certainly catch them,' he warned,

  "He carried me all the way up to my room and

  lowered me to my bed and then he caressed my face

  and ran his hand over my shoulders and down my

  chest to my stomach where he tickled me and made

  me laugh,

  "Daddy never did that to me before. I know he

  did it to you, but never to me.

  "Then he said. 'I bet you're catching up to

  Megan, aren't you? You're twelve. Girls catch up

  when they're twelve. Let's see.' he said and lifted my

  nightie to see below, 'Yes, you are.' he said. 'I've got

  two big girls now.'

  "He made me feel good and kissed me on the

  cheek and his face was so red and hot that it almost

  burned mine when mine touched his.

  "So he loves me." she concluded and did

  another little turn. "Daddy loves me too."

  She stopped and looked at me. I had no idea

  what she was going to do next, but she lifted her hand

  slowly toward me and touched my face.

  "Cool," she said. "but not cool enough even

  though your skin looks better today. Why, you almost look half alive, although you've lost weight, haven't

  you? All your boyfriends will be upset, won't they?" She wiped her fingers on the bed as if she had

  touched something slimy.

  "I'm very sick." I whispered. "very sick." "I know, You feel terrible. It makes you feel

  terrible, but you'll get better," she said, her eyes small.

  ''And then you'll be the pretty one again and Daddy

  won't look at me as much."

  She knelt beside my bed. Her smile became

  vacuous, her eyes losing their light, flickering and

  going pale and distant.

  "I watch him when he's with you. I heard him

  say you were so lovely you could bring love to

  anything. I see the pleasure in his eves, the pride he

  has, the pride of an artist who created something so

  beautiful all the world would congratulate him." She paused and then looked at me angrily. "Why don't you stay sick a while longer? You

  won't have to go to school and worry about tests and

  homework. You'll continue to be waited on hand and

  foot, just as you like it. Huh?"

  I shook my head.

  "I know what. I'll help you stay sick," she said. "Water," I pleaded in a whisper. I'm so thirsty.

  Please get me some water."

  Her eyes brightened.

  "Water? You want a drink of water? That's

  good. I'll get you a drink of water."

  She rose and went into the bathroom. I waited

  to hear the faucet running. Just the sound of water

  would give me pleasure, I thought, but I didn't hear

  that. Instead, I heard the toilet seat go up and then I

  heard her dip a glass in it and return.

  "Here you go," she said. "Just drink this." I

  shook my head.

  "Please," I muttered through my dried lips. It

  was painful just to separate them.

  "You said you were thirsty, didn't you?" she

  nearly barked, her voice so gruff. "Drink some of this

  water." She smiled, "Maybe it will keep you sick a

  little longer," she said. "Drink it," she commanded. I shook my head and then she leaned over and

  brought the glass to my mouth. I kept it closed as she

  poured the toilet bowl water over it, letting it run

  down the side of my chin and onto the bed and my

  neck. She squeezed my jaw, my mouth opened a little

  and some of the water got in. I coughed and spit. She

  watched me a moment and then got up and returned

  the glass to the bathroom.

  I started to dry heave and did it so many times,

  my stomach ached.

  "Good,I'll let everyone know you're sicker,'

  she said gleefully.

  "Once again, it will just be me at the dinner

  table with Daddy. Well have tea and toast brought up

  to you. I'll bring it myself. okay?"

  She paused and tilted her head as she scowled, "I don't know why I'm so nice to you. You're

  never this nice to me. You always avoid me in school

  and act as if we're not related."

  Then she smiled again.

  "But, I'm not angry. I'm not and at all. Daddy

  loves me, too."

  She walked slowly toward the door, gazed back

  to wave and then closed the door behind her. My eyelids slammed shut almost

  simultaneously and I fell into a deep sleep, perhaps as

  a way of escaping a living nightmare.

  There are times when we all want to rush back

  to our Good dreams. My poor troubled brain was

  willing to turn itself inside out if it had to in order to

  take me away from my own painful, aching body.

  Happier memories blossomed like bright flowers in a

  dark garden, forcing back the cloak of dread and

  sadness and retrieving smiles and laughter. I was a little girl again in that innocent time

  before I would be introduced to prejudice and hate,

  violence and poverty. I did not vet understand who I

  was, where I was and what storms and turmoil raged

  and awaited me just outside my precious world of

  lollipop fantasies and candy cotton promises. That

  would all come soon: that would all come soon

  enough, but for no
w. I could still feel safe. What a

  time that was.

  One memory vividly returned. I could smell

  Mama's good cooking and hear her humming and

  singing in the kitchen. Beneatha and I were in our

  room playing with some dolls Mama had gotten from

  the lost-and-found in the supermarket. We heard Roy

  come into the house. slamming the door too hard as

  usual.

  "How many times I tell you not to slam that

  door. Roy Arnold?' Mama chastised.

  "All Mama. I wasn't thinking about it." he said. "Well, you should. You'll break it off the hinges

  and then where will we be?"

  "In an apartment without a door," Roy said. "What?"

  We held our breath, waiting for her to raise her voice even more when suddenly she just laughed and laughed. We heard Roy laugh too and when I looked out the door, she was hugging him and running her hand through his hair. When he saw me looking at

  them. he pulled away quickly. embarrassed. "Aw Mama," he moaned and hurried to his

  room.

  "Whatcha lookin' at Sugar?" Mama asked me. "Nothing, Mama. Is Roy all right?"

  "Oh, he's fine. He just has to learn to be more of

  a gentleman. I'm just afraid he's not going to learn it

  here though," she muttered.

  "Why not. Mama?"

  "This ain't exactly the place for ladies and

  gentlemen," she said. Then she smiled at me. "But

  don't you worry about it. Rain. You're going

  somewhere good someday, somewhere special. I'm

  sure."

  "Where, Mama?" I asked, wide-eyed with

  expectation. What secrets about my future did Mama

  know?

  "I don't know right off," she said. "but I know it

  will be a wonderful place where people are dressed

  fancy and live in big mansions and have beautiful

  things like pianos and gardens and nice cars." "Bentatha's going too, isn't she. Mama?" I

  asked looking back at my sister squatting on the floor

  by the dollhouse. She wasn't really listening. "I hope so," Mama said. "I hope you're all

  going."

  "What about you. Mama?"

  "I'll be there, too." she promised. "Just leave the

  door open."

  "What's that mean. Mama? Leave the door

  open?"

  She laughed.

  "I'm just funning with you, child. Come here,"

  she said and held out her arms for me to run to. She

  held me close and kissed my forehead and stroked my

  hair.

  "You're the coolness after the hot, burning sun.

  Rain. You're the hope."

  She let me go and turned back to the

  preparations for dinner. When I looked toward Roy's

  room. I saw him peering out at me, his face locked in

  a soft smile.

  Why was I so special? I wondered. In my house

  I felt like a star. Mama and Roy made me believe I

  could sparkle when I walked and talked. They made

  me think I was blessed and protected.

  No wonder even the smallest cut, the tiniest

  bruise, the most inconsequential ache seemed so

  shocking. Gradually, with every passing day. I had to

  let go of the fantasy. Someone opened the door and let

  me see the world as it was around us and I knew that

  even Mama and Roy couldn't keep the pain away. But

  they tried, oh, how they tried.

  Recalling all this. I know I was lying there with

  a cool, happy smile on my face even though my skin

  was so hot with fever I was practically radiating from

  the bed. The headache dulled. I breathed a little better

  and I slept on through the better memories, wrapping

  them around me like a cocoon in which I could safely

  and comfortably snuggle to wait for the burst of

  sunshine around me again.

  Nat long after. I heard Aunt 'Victoria coming

  up the stairs and waited, praying she had regained her

  senses and would realize that if she didn't do

  something for me soon. I might die and she would be

  blamed. Now dressed in a blouse and one of her

  familiar ankle-length skirts, she stepped through the

  doorway carrying a tray.

  "Here you go," she said. "your tea and toast.

  That's all you're permitted to have for now:' She set the tray down on the night stand by the

  bed and stepped back.

  "We're having a beautiful honey-baked ham

  and those little potatoes you love so much. I bet you

  can smell it up here, can't you? Does it make your

  stomach chum?"

  "You're going to be blamed," I whispered. "Excuse me? Are you trying to say something,

  Megan?"

  I closed my eyes and struggled to speak. She

  drew closer.

  "What was that? You're sorry about how you've

  been treating me at school? It's too late for apologies.

  What's done is done, but not buried. It will always be

  here," she said pointing to her temple.

  "You're going to be blamed," I said. louder. She

  heard one word at least.

  "Blamed?" She laughed, "Me? What can I be

  blamed for? I've never been in trouble, never been

  sent to the principal, never had a dissatisfactory

  checked on my report card, never disobeyed my

  mother or father, never came home after I was

  supposed to or failed to call if I was going to be late.

  Who would blame me?

  "Drink your tea and eat your toast. If you're

  good, I'll bring you one of your silly movie magazines or beauty magazines. One of those I haven't thrown in

  the garbage, that is."

  I shook my head.

  "Stop," I muttered. "Call the doctor."

  "Time for honey-baked ham," she sang and

  turned away. We both heard the sound of a doorbell

  and she stopped midway to the door. It rang again.

  She spun around and glared at me.

  "Who's coming to see you? When I'm sick, no

  one ever comes to see me. You called one of your

  boyfriends, didn't you? Or are they all coming?" Again, the doorbell sounded. It's Austin, I told

  myself. Thankfully, it's Austin. He's come for me, just

  as he had promised he would,

  "Well, no one's going to answer it," she

  decided, "Whoever it is away if we just pretend no

  one is at home. It's dark enough downstairs and I

  won't make a sound."

  "No," I moaned.

  She walked out and closed the door gently. I

  heard the doorbell again and I waited and then I didn't

  hear it anymore. My heart shriveled with

  disappointment. It was as if someone had brought the

  blanket up and over my head. I closed my eyes and

  when I opened them again, it was so dark in the room. I thought I really was under a blanket. Overcast skies kept the stars and moon from shining any light through the windows. I had no idea about time, of

  course. so I didn't know how late it might be. My fever hadn't broken. It lingered and drained

  me. My mind kept wandering. Images of different

  people flashed before me. I saw Randall Glenn in

  England smiling at me from his bed. I heard laughter

  and saw Catherine and Leslie. my French girlfriends

  at the School of Performing Arts. giggling.

  Then I heard something on my right and when I

  looked. I saw my Great-aunt Le
onora rocking in a

  chair in her bedroom, holding a large doll in her arms.

  Her shy maid. Mary Margaret, stood beside her, her

  head down and then looked up at me, tears streaming

  down her cheeks.

  Off to my right. Mama began to sing. I called to her and then, everyone popped like

  bubbles and left me in darkness.

  Moments later. I heard the door open and saw

  my Great-aunt and Great-uncle's horrid butler Boggs

  approaching me.

  "You overslept," he accused. "Get up and get to

  your chores. Get up orI'll turn your bed over with

  you in it. Get up!'"

  He reached out and I screamed and screamed. "Stop it!" I heard Aunt Victoria snap. She

  turned on the lamp on the nightstand. "Why are you

  shouting? Now you want to get out of this room? Who

  brought you up here? Not me. I leave for a little while

  and you turn this house upside down. What a mess

  and I have no maid hired yet to keep after it and clean

  up after you.

  "Oh my God," she cried looking down at the

  stale towel by the bed. "This place is disgusting and

  you stink. Where's your mother while all this is going

  on. huh? She's off at some Mediterranean resort

  basking in the sunshine, drinking cocktails, listening

  to music and dancing with Grant while I'm left here

  looking after you."

  She turned on more lights. At least she's back to

  being Aunt Victoria again. I thought even though that

  was like being grateful that the devil was only Hitler. "Well, what am I supposed to do with you

  now? I can't carry you downstairs, you know. I don't

  even want to touch you, you smell so bad."

  She stared at me.

  "What are you smiling about?" she asked. Was

  I smiling.

  "You think this is funny? You think you're hurting me? Ridiculous girl. First, you go and scrape yourself up on the driveway and I have to deal with that, and now, you get yourself up here and into my

  mother's bed and mess and I have to handle that. too." She shook her head.

  "Even I have limitations,"' She sighed. "All

  right. I'll do my best. I'll fill a tub and help you into it

  and then we'll see about getting you out of here." "Get... me... to the hospital." I pleaded. "Don't tell me what to do. You think I would

  allow anyone into the house the way you've messed

  it? First things. first."

  She went into the bathroom and began to run

  the water in the tub. I shook my head.

  "All right," she said returning. "I'll drag you in

  there, but you'd better help me. I can't do it all. I'm not