RANA


    MINDEN, LA


    SEPTEMBER 1986


    I don’t really know my mother.


    It don’t bother me. She ain’t one to me.


    Me and Daddy, we are best friends. I guess cuz’ we believe we can fight against our demons ourselves. Me and him, we the last kind of people to ever ask anyone for help. We simply don’t want to be a bother. That’s exactly how we is, and there’s no shame in it. I take up his ways, like I’s supposed to.


    I remember my Grandma Joyce describing us like two stubborn peas in a pod. She’s warned my mother plenty that I’ve inherited Daddy’s rebellious nature, starting when I was four years old. With me bein’ the oldest of eight in our family, how the hell could I afford to be molded and shaped like clay? Not when you got seven younger kids to take care of.


    Especially when you just a kid yourself.


    Everything my siblings do or say, they always fall upon me. If they forget their books or leave their coat behind on the bus, I take the fall for it. If one of them gets hurt on the playground, I be the one cleaning their wounds. If they wake up screaming in the middle in the night because of a bad dream, I’m the one who is supposed to comfort them.


    Don’t get me wrong—I love my three sisters and four brothers. They all still babies to me. I love them to pieces. But how you supposed to keep loving when you never get any yourself? In order to give, you got to have something. My mother always was easy on them. I always get the whoopings, the tongue lashings. With me, she’d take a sharp eye any day. Ain’t nothing I do seem right for her.


    * * * * * *


    When I was ten years old, the world ended.


    It was a warm spring day in 1971.


    Just around Easter, when Mama made me wear those stupid pastel colored dresses that itched me fearsome around the waist. I sweat them out too, and it was a nightmare getting ready for picture day. I stuffed chocolates and gummy bears in the pockets of my skirts during the plastic egg hunts. They’d melt through that cursed fabric, causing Mama to lose her mind. I made the world end multiple times before, actually, a remarkable gift for a child. I made the stars fall and the moon crash if I came home with a failing test grade, ripped a hole my stockings after getting in a fight with one of my classmates, or missed the bus so she’d have to take me to school. My mother hated driving. She didn’t even have a license, but Daddy had been teaching her some on the weekends.


    “You suppose to set an example, Rana,” she snapped one time after I came home with a bloodied nose and a torn book bag. The Brady Bunch was on in the background. My sisters Lindsey and Riley were playing with paper dolls in the living room. I could hear my brothers Austin, David, and Sydney jumping and being rowdy upstairs—playing cowboys. I already knew they’d snitched, since they arrived first.


    ”Stand right there,” Mama ordered, gesturing at the kitchen table.


    “Ooooh,” Riley said, peeking from the other room. She clutched a Raggedy Anne doll.


    “Shut up,” I fiercely whispered.


    “Rana Eleanor Brunswick!”


    My sister giggled as she stuck her tongue at me and skipped away. She’d have that stupid smile of hers gone by tomorrow once she found that blasted doll headless in the dumpster.


    I was in the fifth grade.


    There was this kid named Hubert who said that whenever I got on the bus I would cause the suspension to break, so we couldn’t go nowhere and we would be stranded in the middle of the road for days. Hubert was in the sixth grade, but I wasn’t scared of no middle schooler. So I gave him a good thrashin’ that had him crying like a girl. Broke his glasses in two. His tears had me grinnin’ for hours, even in the principal’s office, but I dared not smile around my mother. Especially when she in this mood.


    Mama was gonna have to stitch the long, jagged tear in my pale pink skirt. She stirring something in the pot. Stirring, stirring, stirring. It aint like she’d never stop.


    I patiently waited at the kitchen table.


    She was fuming, marching back and forth across the kitchen, banging pans and pots. I ain’t never see her this mad before. It was quite amusing, actually. She too pretty to get worked up like this. Usually she told me off, and I went into the front yard and selected the branch she supposed to smack across my backside. Then she send me to bed with no dessert. Repeat cycle. I knew what to expect.


    My mother began to chop up carrots. Whack, whack, whack. I couldn’t stand her cooking. I’d opt out for a burger and fries and milkshake. The only reason why she started making this stuff was because the doctor told her that I was getting fat. She freaked out if she ever caught me drinking soda at night, or raiding a bag of potato chips. My stomach grumbled, but I wrinkled my nose at the gooey concoction bubbling on the stove.


    I’d rather starve.


    “You want to explain yourself?” she asked, setting down the knife. Her hands were wet. She wiped them against the flowered apron Daddy got her for her birthday last year.


    I shrugged, not in the mood to play her game. I started to turn away, but her high shrilled voice made my ears rather sore.


    “Young lady.”


    ”What?”


    “Get back over here.” She gave me a disgusted look. “Don’t you what me.”


    I bit down on my cheek. “Yes’m.”


    “I just got off the phone with your teacher,” my mother snapped. “Don’t you realize that you’re suspended for a week? This is the third time this month, for goodness sake.”


    Leaning against the wall, I played with a piece of lint on my sweater. The sensation of my fist plowing into that boy’s face was one I would take a million suspensions for. To see him cry and cover his bleeding face.


    ”You think this is a joke?”


    I hid a growing smirk on my face.


    My mother placed a hand on her hip. “Is that really all you have to say for yourself? The principal wishes to speak you, me, and your father tomorrow morning at the school.” She frantically cleared a couple of hairs from her forehead, smoothed out her pretty dress. “I swear, I am about to send you up to your uncle’s farm. I can’t take it anymore.”


    ”Hubert started it,” I said, kicking my Mary Janes against the leg of the chair in front of me. “It ain’t my fault he’s so dumb.”


    My mother’s gray eyes flashed. They large and round, like mine. It’s the only thing that I had inherited from her, yet I hated it the most. She is a natural beauty, small and slim and dainty. I was going through a bad growth-spurt, and was about as tall as her. I hated being the tallest girl in my class. Especially the biggest. Having the biggest sized clothes. I couldn’t even wear pretty shoes. My feet looked like tree stumps.


    It sucked.


    “I don’t care who started it. I won’t have you fighting at school. You know better than that.”


    “They keep pickin’ on me,” I mumbled under my breath. I would tell her more, but I see no point in it. So I grabbed a sugar cookie from the kitchen table and turn to head upstairs, but my mother’s stern voice caused me to stop. My fingers dug into my palms.


    “Don’t you walk away when I’m talking to you. You watch your tone, because I’m out of patience with you. Tomorrow, you and I are going to pay Hubert’s mother a visit. And you are going to apologize to her, that boy, and your teacher. Do you understand, young lady?”


    I glared at her, before taking a bite.


    “Let me tell you something, Rana,” my mother said, taking a couple steps forward. “You tend to blame others for your problems. But I will not have you deny responsibility for yourself. Oh no, I won’t.” She pursed her lips together. “You and I have been over this plenty of times. You know what the doctor said about your weight, correct? You can’t be having sweets on your diet. I won’t have you stuffing your face, not so close to dinner. So hand it over.” She gestured to the cookie.


    My cheeks burned.


    Her eyes narrowed. “You need to take up a hobby and focus on other things.”


    With one swift motion, I dumped it directly in the trash can and stormed to my room, which I shared with my three younger sisters. Fortunately, neither of them had arrived home yet. My mother called my name, but I slammed the door and locked it, before throwing myself on my bed and placing the pillow over my head. It’s best that no one sees you cry. So I do what I must, let it all out.


    It was dark outside when I woke hours later. I changed into my pink pajamas and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, before peeking out of the dirty window. Daddy’s pick up truck was parked in the driveway, and he carried a cardboard box in his arms. Without thinking, I ran downstairs to the porch steps, past where everyone was having supper in the kitchen. He’d already climbed out of the driver’s seat when a smile fell upon his tired face. His arms were open wide, and I rushed into them. I buried my face into his broad shoulder. I was so tired. I could’ve fallen asleep right there.


    ”Princess!” he exclaimed. “How’s it going?”


    I sniffed, and Daddy’s smile melted away. He clicked his teeth and scooped me sideways in his arms, before sitting on the driver’s seat. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes clung onto him, and the fuzz on his beard was itchy against my cheek. We sat in silence for a moment, before he drummed his finger against the steering wheel. I already knew what was coming, and I couldn’t help but squirm.


    “Your mama told me what happened today.”


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    I focused on a crack on the windshield. “Do we have to talk about it?”


    “Not until you’re ready to,” Daddy said. He cleared his throat. “I ain’t putting words in your mouth now. You tell me what you want to speak on.”


    ”I hate school,” I mumbled.


    “Aw, Princess, you just gotta give things a chance.” To my surprise, he gently wiped away tears that I didn’t know were still pouring down my face with his knuckles. “Even when they don’t turn out the way that you want them to, it don’t hurt but to try. I know it’s hard. But you gotta still try.”


    I sniff. “I wish I could go to work like you.”


    An amused look crossed Daddy’s face. He had more wrinkles than the last time I saw him. “I would give an arm and a leg to switch places with you. You want to be up by sunrise, have bills to pay? A family to take care of?”


    “If I could avoid having to say sorry to Hubert Gaines, then yes,” I muttered under my breath. “I can’t stand that bastard.”


    ”Rana,” he firmly said.


    ”Well, I can’t! He constantly picks on me.”


    ”There’s people on my job who I can’t stand either,” Daddy replied, “but I can’t beat them up. Otherwise, how would we be able to eat? You think having to give an apology is bad enough. Just imagine losing everything you had in a flash, in a simple moment of anger. A moment that you can never take back. It ruins people’s lives, Princess.”


    ”But he—”


    ”I ain’t excusing what that boy did. But it ain’t right to fight fire with fire. It won’t fix nothin’. Just swallow your pride and admit your wrongdoing. The rest will take care of itself.”


    I picked at a mosquito bite on my arm. “I don’t have to be sorry, do I? Cuz I ain’t.”


    Daddy shrugged. “Well…you can be a little bit sorry. Sort of sorry. Not all of the way sorry.”


    It was hard to fight back a giggle. “Daddy.”


    He raised an eyebrow. “You gotta promise me no more fighting, okay? Do it for me. And mind your brothers and sisters.” He grinned. “Although I shouldn’t have to say that. They are absolutely crazy about you.”


    I nodded. “I promise.”


    He patted his stomach. “I’m hungry, aren’t you? Let’s go and have some supper.”


    My smile faded. I hated this part—not being able to have him all to myself. But to hide my disappointment, I nodded as he set me down on the asphalt, which was warm against my bare feet. Daddy stretched his back and picked up the cardboard box. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my pajamas. I didn’t want to go back into that house, to the chaos that my siblings left behind for me in the tiny dining room.


    “Your birthday is coming up.”


    I shrugged. It would be a pair of stockings, shoes, or a dress. A doll was too expensive.


    Daddy exhaled. “Money’s been tight this year. And your mother, she’s been getting on me about our budget, especially with school uniforms and books.” He smiled and lowered the cardboard box in my hands. “I know it’s kind of too early, but you’ve shown to me how responsible you’ve been with the family.” He chuckled. “You’ve been a big help, so why don’t you take a peek inside?”


    Confused, I slowly lifted the lid, which was poked with holes. Something wet and rough brushed my hand, startling me with a yelp. A black, round nose. There was a soft bark, and I slowly lift the squealing puppy out, unable to hold back a laugh. I grinned so hard the corners of my mouth hurts as the animal continued to lick my face raw, wet nose sniffing my skin. He had spots all over him, his enormous ears were floppy.


    “Daddy!” I exclaimed. “You didn’t!”


    He placed a finger over his lips. “He was found running around in the lumberyard by my boss. I believe he’s a stray. Hold back from telling your mother for a couple of days, alright? You leave that to me.” He paused, stunned by my silence. “I know it ain’t exactly what you want this year, but I figured that—”


    He didn’t even get to finish his sentence, because I hugged him so hard that he was nearly knocked off his feet. I never wanted to let go, not ever. And I knew he would stay.


    * * * * * * * * *


    My fingers wrap around the steering wheel as I pull up at the driveway of my parents’ house. Daddy’s pickup truck ain’t there, so I’m guessing he’s either at work or the gas station. I tug at the white band around my wrist—I had only been discharged from the hospital a few hours ago. Once I turn off the engine, I glance at my duffel bag, before zipping it up fully all the way. The white plastic caps of my medication bottles with their pills rattling inside make my head spin. I forgot the fancy terminology that the doctor had used, when writing on his notepad, his thick rimmed glasses barely visible over the edge. I remember running my fingers over the thick scars on my wrists, talking to a lady in an empty room with only two chairs. She kept asking me these questions.


    Bipolar. Manic Depressive.


    What is manic about me? I don’t know what that word means. I don’t know if I have ups and lows. The last thing I remember was being in the woman’s bathroom at work, standing over the sink. The faucet was running, the water first clear, then red. I remember nearly drowning in that sink, in the thoughts that settled into my mind like smoke.


    You’re fat, stupid, ugly. Nobody cares for you, why are you here? What is the point of being here? You’re a complete waste of—


    The screen door bangs against the porch.


    I glance up and sigh.


    My mother, wearing a bright blue dress and slippers, stands in the threshold. Her dark gray eyes scan the yard, before revealing the disappointment that I know will be there. After shoving my wallet into my pocket, I unlock the door on my car and get out, my sneakers crunching against the gravel. Despite the sweltering heat, I’m in a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, more so to cover up the multiple scars on my arms. I don’t care if she sees them. I want her to. It’s Daddy who I’m hiding them from.


    My mother stares at me. She is still more beautiful than ever, like she hasn’t aged a day since I last saw her. Her nails are manicured, hair cleanly swept behind a bun—hers straight while mine is wavy and unmanageable. There lacks a single wrinkle in her homemade dress. And it pisses me off.


    You’re fat, stupid, ugly—


    I slam the car door. My throat hurts when I swallow. It’s not like I really chose to be here. These things occur randomly, like the last couple of months. As for me, I just want to return to my college dorm in New Orleans. This drive alone wasn’t worth it, and the only reason why I decided to take the psychiatrist’s advice was because I knew that Daddy would be home. That was why I was discharged. Now that he’s absent, I’m in even a worst predicament. The neighborhood is dead quiet, even though it’s only a Saturday afternoon. Not even the ice cream truck has arrived yet, although it’s hotter than the desert.


    My tennis shoes drag against the ground.


    Just a month, my psychiatrist had said. And then I’m supposed to return to the hospital for a routine check up. What can they see? Are they going to crack open my skull and make sure that the meds have done their work?


    My mother taps her foot against the ground. I can see how her flowers have been recently watered. Not a single weed rests among them. I have half the mind myself to dig them up and throw them in her face, to ruin each aligned row. She continues to watch me.


    Fat, stupid—


    I should’ve just gotten back into my car and left. Probably should’ve called my brother Sydney and borrowed some money from him to stay at a local hotel, take my meds, sleep this off. But I’m not a quitter, and I don’t want to appear as one to Daddy. So as I trudge through the grass in the front yard, I can feel my mother’s eyes on me. It’s not until I make it to the porch steps that she finally folds her arms and speaks. Nope, even her voice is the bloody same. It makes me want to pull my ears out.


    “They told me what you did. The university.” The veins around her neck are strained, bulging through her skin. “Your boss found you on the floor.” She raises her voice. “Would you please tell me what is going on?”


    I pull my hood over my head.


    “I’m talking to you, Rana.”


    And I don’t have to answer. I’m twenty-five, for heaven’s sake, not twelve.


    My mother grabs my arm. “If you don’t get yourself together, your scholarship is going to be taken away from you. Your sisters are engaged. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to finish a semester of school. This is completely unacceptable. Riley is working full time, and Lindsey graduated two years early. Austin and Sydney just got apartments of their own and are enrolled in the trades. Why not follow their lead?” She scoffed. “It’s ridiculous, you being the oldest, and can barely pass a calculus introduction class. It was a basic math course, Rana. You didn’t pay attention, did you?”


    My cheeks burn. Her fingers dig into the fabric of my sweatshirt.


    “You need to find a tutor. If you don’t, you’re paying your tuition on your own.”


    I roughly yank myself free and storm into the house. Once I reach the guest room, I slam the door and lock it before she can get inside. She knocks a couple of times, yelling my name in the hallway, before finally leaving me alone. I toss my bag on a chair and sit on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily. After blinking the water from my eyes, I pick up the phone and call Daddy’s number.


    The line goes dead.


    * * * * * * *


    It is eleven thirty when I finally sneak out of the room. My stomach is rumbling, and since I don’t have any change on me to run to the nearest fast food joint, I am at the mercy of the kitchen. I tiptoe quietly, hoping the fuzzy socks that I received for free at the psychiatric hospital would not make too much noise.


    I spy a box of mac and cheese in the cabinet. Once I get the water boiling and prepare to dump the pasta in, I grit my teeth when I hear my mother’s footsteps from upstairs. I don’t look up as I continue to stir my pasta. She might berate me for eating too late. Apparently, dinner is only supposed to happen at seven pm. It’s why I don’t come home for Christmas or Thanksgiving.


    My mother appears in the family room. Dark circles are under her eyes. She settles down on the couch and folds her arms in her lap, dressed in her fuzzy robe and slippers. She watches me scoop my dinner into a bowl and sit down at the dining room table. I’m poking at it with a fork when she finally speaks.


    “Your father come home yet?”


    ”No,” I mutter under my breath.


    ”You see his truck in the driveway?”


    ”No.”


    “You called him, didn’t you?”


    I nod. This seems to be enough for her, because she leans her head back against the couch cushion. I wish she would turn the television set on.


    “I ain’t seen him since Thursday,” my mother continues. “I’ve called his job multiple times.”


    My fork clatters on the table. “What?” As I stand up, a pain shoots immediately through my stomach. “Thursday?”


    She glares at me. “It’s…he usually is gone for a couple days on a business trip. He told me he would be out for a while. Probably on the same day that you were comin’.” Her tone shifts. “And watch how you address me.”


    ”Since when he start doin’ that?”


    My mother clears her throat. “He’s started picking up a couple of hours at his job.” She paused. “So he’s been going out of town more often. The doctor don’t like it, but he says that business has been demanding.”


    “And you let him?” She has done this to spite me, I know it. Daddy has heart and lung problems. He can’t be out in the dust too much, less an asthma attack would start. “You making sure he taking his medicine, at least?”


    ”He had his mind made up.”


    Heat rushes to my face. “Are you stupid?”


    Her mouth drops as I storm down the hallway and yank my sweatshirt over my head. She must’ve followed me down, because as I approach the front door she snaps at me.


    “What has gotten into you? First you disrespect me, don’t even ask how I’m doing. You don’t offer to help out with the house or nothing, just barrel your way in like the elephant you are. You have an attitude problem, and you need to get it in check.”


    ”Daddy’s been missing for two whole days and you ain’t even call the cops?” I yell. “How come you ain’t call and tell me?”


    “I did call you,” my mother shouts. Her pretty features are now distorted, and I can see that she is fighting tears back. “Even at the hospital. I call you everyday and you don’t even leave me a message. Nothing. Curse it all, Rana, why are you always so angry?”


    ”You never listen to me,” I snarl, yanking the door open. I tug on my shoes. A heavy wind blows in, causing the curtains nearby the couch to sway and flow. “You talk so much, yet you really never have anything to say.”


    My mother’s face goes extremely pale, and for a brief second, just a second, a pang of guilt washes over me. But I can’t stay in this house for one moment. Not another moment.


    It is raining when I climb into my car and slam the door. With shaking fingers, I clear my damp hair out of my eyes. My head is spinning, my heart pounding in my chest as I fumble with my keys. I can faintly hear her break down in the kitchen, but I shut it out. She had never been there for me in similar moments, and I am glad that I will be absent for hers. I turn my car on, reverse down the driveway and begin to speed down the road. I roll down my window, ignoring the water landing on my burning, hot cheeks. My eyes are wet.


    When I see my face in the rearview mirror, I don’t recognize who is looking back at me.