THE WISH
“I’d always thought you’d do more; be more, Joe.” Her words her only weapon against his heavy drunken fists. So far, Ella was safe.
“I coulda BEEN Ella, if you hadn’t taken everything out of me. I’ve given it all to you. For what?” He slammed another drink down his throat. His eyes squinting with disdain as he glared at her.
“No Joe. You’ve LEFT it all…for me to do: the house, the money, the kid…”
Days like this were rare: Ella was feeling brave and Joe was feeling only slightly buzzed. He began to slam cupboards.
“Where is it?” he barked, causing her to jump. Her footing was slipping. This was going to go bad.
“I didn’t know there was any left after your last celebration.” Her tone was snide and filled with contempt.
“El-I’m in no mood.” The warning was clear.
The young girl got up quickly and slipped from the house. Jeannie did not want to witness another “Battle Royale” or be included. She’d just gotten her cast removed from her last “fall” and the black, angry bruise across her chest was rainbowing nicely: almost green and gone. She picked up her pace and headed for the sanctuary. At the edge of their failing farm stood an old sycamore tree; beneath it, the well. Since it provided nothing anymore, it had been left behind, forgotten and neglected. Jeannie could relate. Often her parents reminded her of her uselessness. She relished the afternoons when she was invisible to them both and could spend the day under the tree, wishing for better days by the gaping hole in the ground; tossing in twigs and rocks, her hopes and dreams. She figured she must have almost filled it up by now.
Back home, he closed the gap between them, slapping his meaty arms on either side of her thin, bruised frame. He snorted like a bull, stinging her nostrils. She looked down and held her breath.
“I’ll ask once more. WHERE-IS-IT?”
Ella’s bravery drained on to the floor. She pulled her brittle arms in to protect herself. She could hear his teeth grit and the rubbing of his thick fingers on the counter promised anguish if she didn’t cough it up.
“Drawer.” Her head jerked.
He snatched her by the shoulder and high stepped her across the room.
“Get it.” He sneered.
With shaking hands she handed him the money: for rent, for food, for escape.
In a flash it was swallowed by his pocket. He pulled away smirking. “Atta girl” he clucked; side- swiping her head with his open palm. It almost sent her to the floor.
“I hate you.” She mumbled, rubbing the growing red spot. “Someday, I’ll fix you” she promised.
His parting shot was to clear the counter of all its contents in a sweeping motion. All the canisters dumped, glasses chipped and yelped into pieces. What a mess.
“Clean up this sty before I get back.” He threatened. The door punctuated his slurred sentence with “Or ELSE” as it slammed shut behind him.
And so it went: another day, another argument…and another and another. Jeannie heard the last half of the fight from the gnarled, strong arms of her tree. Closing her green eyes tightly, she wished Joe would go away. She wished her life wasn’t as much of a mess as her mom’s. She wished Joe would stop pawing at her; leering and hungry. She kissed the small stone in her hand and tossed it into the well. She heard his footsteps in the grass. Her skin turned cold as he began to whistle and hum. It was sickening.
“Make a wish.” She whispered and waited. Jeannie suffered. As he grunted and drooled, she gazed up into the arms of the tree. She wished and wished. Her mind screamed for help. The tree cried in the howling wind. When it was finally over, she sat numb and ashamed in its strong branches trying to soothe her wounded spirit and abused body. Never again. She and the tree swore; never again. The day fell away. Darkness carried a new threat.
“JEAAAAANIEEEEEE” came the battle cry.
Now it was her turn. Ella couldn’t beat Joe, but she could take on her daughter. Pocketing the last of her wishing stones, she plopped down to the ground. Jeannie felt the gnawing in the pit of her stomach. She discovered her mom had visited her own stash. She could smell the stink of sour gin from the porch. Ella was tearing through the house yelling at the furniture.
“Clean this UP!” she screeched into the young girl’s face. “It’s YOUR fault. If you were never born, I’d be a WHOLE lot happier. So would he. He’d love ME. NOT YOU. Clean this shit up. NOW! You’re useless. You’re a pig. I’m not gonna do this anymore. You take everything I have: my money, my looks and even my husband!” Ella was panting now, sloshing her tumbler as she pointed and accused her daughter.
Jeannie, hustled trying to pick up and stay ahead of Ella. “Good God! What happened here?” She thought, trying to understand all the chaos. Pictures were smashed. The canisters were upended on the floor, glasses were broken. Ella had even emptied the pantry; dumping cereal, noodles and thrown can goods all over. There were dents in the walls from what looked like a baseball game. Ella’s face was puffy and turning purple.
The broom smudged and smeared. As Jeannie stooped to scoop the filth into the trash her mother pounced. Ella growled like a dog as she flung herself upon the little girl. Her fists thumped against her sides. Her knees and feet kicked. Jeannie curled up and began to cry.
“Stop! Momma! Quit it! It’s NOT me. It’s HIM.” She crawled toward the door.
“Don’t you EVER talk about him like that!” this only drove Ella further into the rage.
Jeannie glanced up to see her mother grab at the table lamp. She jumped up, knocking Ella to the ground. Her heart thumped in her throat and she bolted. The moon stared helplessly as Jeannie made her way across the field. Ella was right behind her snarling and yelling.
“Is THIS where he goes? He meets you here? I’ll find you. I’ll fix you BOTH! He loves ME…NOT YOU. Not you, Jeannie. He can never love you!” The hateful words soared across the grass. Ella stumbled along chasing her “guilty” little girl.
Jeannie thought sure that she’d give up and just pass out on the ground. But Ella kept coming. She finally made it to the loping tree; its fingerlike branches open to catch her, save her. Quickly she scurried up, feeling panic and fear stinging in her muscles like angry bees.
Ella stomped through the clearing and up to the trunk.
“Get outta there you slut.” She slurred. She coughed and vomited at the base. Jeannie moved up a branch. “Come down here. I just wanna talk a you.”
Ella was swaying heavily.
“No mom.” Jeannie braced herself in a crook. The tree hugged her.
“JEANNIE.” She scolded. “Right now. Come down here.” She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Don’t make me get you down from there little girl. I’m your mother. You listen to your mother.” And she sauntered off, distracted.
Jeannie strained her eyes and gasped. Ella had found a rather large stick and marched back.
“I meeeean it.” She teased and began to poke Jeannie.
“Mom! Alright; but put the stick down.”
Ella took a swat at her daughter. Then another. Jeannie tried to scramble farther up, but the branch caught her leg. Snagged, she slipped, left hanging only by her hands. Ella wound up again. Jeannie raised her legs trying to avoid her mother’s swing. Ella began to giggle.
“If I break the piñata, I get ALL the candy.” She mused, trying again. This was the first time Jeannie was grateful for her mother’s impaired state. She missed and stumbled forward. The ground gave way and she tumbled to the side of the well. Now it was Ella who was scrambling.
“Jeannie! Help me. Pull me out!” She clawed and scratched at the dry, unsympathetic dirt.
Her daughter regained her footing, scurrying down to her mother.
“Jeannie” Ella huffed and threw her hand out. “Catch me. I’m slipping.”
The girl watched, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. Her sides shouted in pain with every breath.
“Make a wish Mom.” And, digging in her pocket, she chucked the last of her wishing stones over her mother’s head into the well. She heard her shriek until she hit the bottom. Well, not quite the bottom. She landed on Joe of course. Jeannie stepped back and wiped her hands. Turning, she hummed a little tune as she headed back to her house. She had quite a mess to clean up. The sycamore’s branches clicked with approval in the light breeze. The well had granted her wish.
There is a spooky spot at the barn, an old well and some gnarled trees....it's been brewing for days. I hope you like it. I did. Have a great day. I hope we visit again soon.
