BROKEN LITTLE GIRL
She stood; her pale face pressed to the glass and watched the raindrops race each other down the pane. Heather fogged the glass with a sad breath, drawing a heart with a zigzag through it; broken. She scratched absently at her bruised, dirty knee bringing fresh blood from the scab. Her dress, a dingy yellow and couple of sizes too small pinched her thin frame. Its hem had simply given way to daily use, hence the baggy old jeans underneath. She wore Mickey’s old holey high top sneakers and socks. They flopped around her young birdish legs. Her hair was growing back now, only a little jagged from where he’d gotten mad and cut it. The angry stubbled spots itched mercilessly, especially when she wore the greasy ball cap to cover it. It was only Saturday. She had to make it through the weekend and THEN she sneak to the library where she was safe; during the day anyway.
She sighed and watched the flowers bend and sway in the storm. She loved her flowers. They were perfect; sweet smelling (not like herself who had to bathe in the barrel out back after it rained), beautiful (unlike her own bruised, often marred body) and loved. Heather compared the few people she saw to flowers. The man that delivered mail was like a starburst mum with his brown and red beard and thick hair. Mrs. Davies down the street who walked her snapdragon of a poodle, Mitzy, resembled a big fat Gerber Daisy. The lady spent a lot of time outside so her face was dark and wrinkled. Then she had this big ole mess of blonde crazy hair; each strand a little different shade and kinky. Wow! It looked like straw was all Heather could think when she watched that woman sachet down the street in shorts too short for her thick stem legs and then of course…she had some SERIOUS blooms in her tight skimpy blouses. She looked down at her own shape, curvy and lean. The young girl giggled and kissed the glass. Licking her lips, she tasted rain and dirt.
“Quit takin up space, Stupid.” Mickey grumbled, glaring at his dead wife’s daughter. “Do something. God knows you could be cleanin. This place is a sty.”
Heather scurried to the corner and began to pick up clothes for laundry. She turned sideways so as not to touch either him as she exited. Mickey brought his hand back and she ducked out the door, barely missing the blow. Darkness in his eyes hatefully promised a second attack. She knew she was going to get it. After the dishes were done, the laundry finished, her stepfather’s lunch made and the late night cleaning completed, she quietly crept out back to the barrel. She prayed he hadn’t heard her. Slipping from her thin veil of clothes and began to wash. The night was cold causing her to shiver all the way to her bent up, tattered core. She kept slivers of soap that she stole from him under her watering can; the only dainty thing she had. She smiled down at its cornflower blue pain and violet blue birds soaring happily around and around. She dunked it the barrel and set it aside. Heather scrubbed at the grime; both inside and out; hoping to come clean. She danced around naked in the brush struggling to keep warm against the biting wind. Her breath was a silvery mist inside the velvety sky. This mouse of a girl squeaked against the shock from the sharp, icy water. “Good GOD!” she whispered, almost unable to control her shaking. She’d almost finished, her joints screaming from the cold. She only had to rinse now…
“Whatcha doin Sweet Pea?” Mickey purred from the porch.
She heard him strike a match, watching it glow as it lit his cigarette.
Instinctively she balled up to cover herself scrambling for her clothes.
“Cold?” he grinned. She counted the spaces between his teeth: six including the huge gap in front that would enable him to eat an apple through a picket fence. His mouth looked like a laughing zipper.
“No you simpleton. I’m ENJOYING this.” She snapped.
“Who’s Simple Tom?” he asked, taking a long drag.
“Nobody.” She smiled brightly, stifling a laugh.
“You laughin at me?”
“Nope. Just doin my chores.” She said slamming her fists through the sleeves of her dress. The seams groaned at the abuse. “I hear ya…” she thought dismally.
“You burned dinner.” He grumped. “Piss poor wife you’d make. No one’s gonna want you. Can’t cook, broken…you’re stuck here. You’re lucky I keep you.”
“You ate it anyway, didn’t ya? Scarfed it right up.” She squinted, planting her feet firmly to the ground. She knew it was coming. She was asking for it.
Mickey ground out his smoke and exhaled slowly. She could feel him thinking about her; how to get at her. It was because of this that she was so “broken”. If she won and kept him off, she was beaten; keeping her from view, the library, for days. If she lost…she chose not to remember what happened when she lost. The little flowerbed under her window served as the reminder; cover up your secrets with dirt. Make them pretty to the outside. Heather balled up her fists.
Mickey growled and stepped off the porch. “Why do you do this Sweet Pea?” His hands raised into the air as if there was a Divine answer on its way. “You just don’t learn do you?”
She could smell his breath and see the glimmer in his eye. She let him get closer; close enough to feel the power in his body. If she didn’t do this right, he’d win. He snatched her arms and pulled them above her head. His chin shoved between her ear and shoulder like a pig in a trough. He snorted and tried to kiss the hollow of her throat. Heather gulped and pulled to the side. Mickey leaned in, his leg prying her knees apart. Heather winced as his grip tightened around her wrists. He pushed against her, his hand swatting at her “shirt”.
“Now doesn’t this feel…” he breathed against her skin. She felt the warmth of his spit run down her back.
“Good?” she panted and brought her knee up between his legs as hard as she could.
It sounded as if she had cut chicken bones apart. Mickey’s breath flew from his body in a rush and a grunt. He dropped to the ground clutching himself. His face wrenched in pain as he struggled to regain his breath and manhood. Heather snapped up the watering can, swinging it around and then stepping in. There was a heavy thud when Mickey hit the ground; and a lot of fresh mud. That’s what she told herself it was; thick and gooey. She leaned over, putting her hand to his throat. There was a soft thumping. Good, he wasn’t dead. She pushed the water barrel across his legs causing a thick crunching noise. She sat down and waited for him to come around.
It took longer than she thought but eventually he began to stir; groaning and rolling in the muck next to the porch.
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’ll get hurt worse. Maybe never walk again.” She said quietly pulling at the grass.
“You are done little girl.” He said through his dirty fingers as he wiped his face.
“Yes. And I’m leaving. You will never follow me. You will never find me. I will finish what I started here tonight if you do.” She leaned over and pinched his leg hard. He didn’t move. She smiled. She got up and began to walk into the night.
“Where are you goin?” the crippled man wailed. “You can’t leave me here like this!” he pushed himself up to a sitting position.
“I can. I will. And Mickey?”
He had begun to drag himself to the porch, his now useless legs trailing him. Under his gasps he swore at her, threatened her with ungodly harm.“You bitch..”
“How does it feel to be broken?”
She walked off the edge of her shameful sad life and fell into a whole new world.
“Mommy?” the little girl asked.
Heather pulled away from the dirty window. The rain tapped at the glass welcoming its old playmate. She smiled down at her daughter, Rose.
“Why are we here? This place is yucky.” The little girl wrinkled her nose, sniffed and dragged the toe of her tiny shoe across the dirty warped floor. “Is this your house? Do you live here?”
“Sweetie, no one LIVED here. It’s just an old house.”
“Mrs. McIntosh?” the lawyer asked.
Heather turned and cocked her pretty head.
“I’ll need you to sign these papers, please. You want nothing of your stepfathers’? ”
“Nope. Nothing. Donate his health care equipment if it’s salvageable. Burn the rest for all I care; to the ground” she added through gritted teeth and turned to Rose.
“Let’s go Bunny. Daddy will meet us in town and we’ll go out for dinner and ice
cream.”
“YAAAAY” Rose brought her plump fingers up to her pink cheeks, clapping excitedly.
The pair walked out and down a ramp, added for his wheelchair in place of the porch. Next to it, sat a rusty, dented watering can with little bluebirds on it.
“Can we have this Mommy?” Rose struggled to lift it. It was full of rainwater.
Heather felt bile in her throat. “We can paint it and I can use it for MY flowers. It’s so very pretty Mommy. A little girl must have been here once. Can we have it?”
“Can you carry it Rosie?” Heather reached for it but Rose pulled away.
“Of COURSE I can!” she said defiantly. “I’m not broken!”
“No. No you certainly are not.” Her mother said and turned to stare at the small patch of weeds under her old window.
I've been away for so long. I'm glad you didn't give up on me. It feels good to come back here again and to have you visit. I've missed you.
