Amazing Grace (9 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

THEN

There are a lot of cool things happening in the early seventies, but they're not happening to me. I'm in a backwater with two old fuddy-duddies who take their job as guardians to heart. Their charm wears off after a week. Not that I'm not grateful, but I went from a life of complete abandonment to a jail cell. It's bound to end badly.

They don't want me to go anywhere.

“You'll get lost,” Aunt Mae frets. “There's acres and acres of trees out here and if you wander off you won't find your way back.”

“Can I go down to the water?”

Aunt Pearl is peeling onions. “Don't go in the water. You might drown.”

“That might be sweet relief.” I slam the back screen door, but not before hearing, “Talk back and you'll get a hiding!”

“Now Pearl,” Aunt Mae tsks.

The only place they'd like me to go is to church. I'm at breakfast when they bring this up. I dip a bread soldier in my egg yolk. “That is the last thing I need. Trust me.”

Strangely, they don't challenge me on this. I thought for sure they'd start pecking away at me. I'm just grateful they leave it alone.

Mostly what I do is sit on my rock and smoke cigarettes. I'm running out and I don't have any money. School starts in a week and I need some clothes, although who knows what they wear in this backwater. The thought of going into another school gives me hives. In the whole nightmare of the last few years, the agony of meeting new kids is the worst, because kids can smell desperation and I reek of it.

The aunts take me shopping. I'm mortified walking around with these two clucking behind me. Everything I like they hate, so I turn on my heel and walk out the door. I'm sulking when they find me, puffing on my last cigarette.

Aunt Pearl walks over and grabs it out of my hand. “Have you no shame? Standing here smoking like a common prostitute!” She grinds it under her shoe.

I point my finger at her. “That's exactly what I was before I met you, and it's what I do best.”

She slaps me in the face.

Aunt Mae hops about, wringing her hands. “Now Pearl! Was that necessary?”

“Who do you think you are?” I shout.

Aunt Pearl grabs my earlobe and hauls me over to the car. “I'll tell you who I am, missy. I have the misfortune to be one of your relatives. A relative who will not put up with another spoiled brat living under my roof. Now get in that car!”

I yank the door open and slam it shut behind me. Then open it and slam it again. “You old bag!”

Aunt Mae clutches her chest. “Oh, dear. Oh, my. That really isn't necessary. Pearl! Pearl! Where are you going?”

Aunt Pearl is ramrod straight as she walks back into the store with Aunt Mae running behind her. They come out with a shopping bag fifteen minutes later.

“I can't believe this,” I say to no one. “What the hell is she doing?”

They get in the car and she throws the bag at me. “Clothes for school. If you don't like them, you can go naked.”

So that's how I end up wearing black slacks and a white blouse on the first day of school. My jeans were in the wash. A convenient coincidence?

The kids on the bus stare at me and I ignore them as we bounce towards higher learning. I'm in grade eleven now. This year and one more and I'm out of here. But then what? I've never made plans this far ahead. It's always been pointless.

At lunch, one of the boys approaches my table with a bit of an attitude. He wouldn't last a day in my former school.

“You seem to be the type who likes a good time. I'm Devon.”

“Fuck off, Devon.”

He grins. “Ouch! She bites!”

No sense in wasting this opportunity. “Do you have a smoke?”

“Sure thing. Come with me.”

He leads me through the hallway and out to the side door. There are a group of kids smoking cigarettes at the edge of the school property, all of them intent on sucking them down to the filter. We join them.

They want to know where I'm from. I tell them Chicago and they look impressed. So gullible.

“Do you drink?” asks Devon. “I've got some beer in the trunk of my car.”

I end up skipping my afternoon classes, getting drunk with Devon and rolling around in the back seat of his car.

He eventually takes me home but drops me off at the top of the driveway. “I'm not tangling with that skinny bitch. The fat one's not so bad.”

He backs out onto the road and squeals his tires as he leaves. What a dork.

My aunts are in their rocking chairs looking mighty displeased.

“The school called,” Aunt Pearl says. “You disappeared after lunch. Where did you go?”

I plunk down on their flowered sofa. “I went driving around with a guy.”

“Who, dear?” Aunt Mae says.

“Devon.”

Aunt Pearl looks disgusted. “Devon Hibbs is an idiot! His father's an idiot and so is his grandfather. The elevator doesn't go to the top floor in that family.”

“Now Pearl,” Aunt Mae tsks.

“I forbid you to see that boy again.”

“Just how are you going to stop me?”

“Try me.”

I've had enough for one day. “Good night, ladies.” Staggering up the stairs, I'm aware that the sisters are whispering to each other. “I love you too!” I shout behind my shoulder.

As my aching hangover head goes around and around, I'm aware I'm being a big shithead. I just can't summon the energy to care. But before I drift into semi-consciousness on my flowery quilted bed, it occurs to me that it's nice that someone wondered where I was.

In the morning I apologize. Aunt Mae beams and Aunt Pearl grunts.

We have this hostile truce for a couple of months. I mess up plenty, drinking, smoking, toking on weekends with other kids, but I stop skipping school. That's the thing that bugs the aunts the most, and I think that as long as I rinse with mouthwash, air out my clothes, and stop drinking a couple of hours before I go home, they're none the wiser.

That's how stupid you are when you're young.

While I congratulate myself on how well I'm hoodwinking these fine ladies, they hatch a genius evil plan.

I start seeing a pattern.

“Grace, could you bring in more firewood from the shed? Thank you, dear!”

“And make sure you clean out the grate this time. The chimney doesn't draw properly if you leave a pile of ashes.”

“Grace, dear, do you think you could help me put up a few wreaths?”

“While you're out there, shovel the snow off the porch.”

“Dearest, is there any chance you could cut down a small tree and bring it inside? You can help decorate it. Isn't that exciting?”

“Do you see these arthritic hands? Mix up that fruitcake for me. I'm surprised I have to ask.”

Then they inform me that in their day, the house had to be clean from top to bottom, walls and everything, so that the neighbours would be impressed when they came to socialize over the holidays.

“Do you have many visitors? No one's come since I arrived.”

Aunt Pearl takes her rolls out of the oven. “That's because we told them to stay away.”

I grab a banana from the fruit bowl and peel it. “Well, thanks a lot.”

“Now that you're housebroken, we can send invitations.”

Naturally they start to do the chores themselves, hanging off a ladder or standing on a chair to dust their endless knick-knacks.

“Give me that before you kill yourself,” I shout.

“Why, thank you, dear.”

“About time!”

I'm exhausted by Christmas Eve. But I have to say the place looks like a little dollhouse. I take a weird pride in it. I even fluff a pillow.

All I want to do is sit, but no. The two of them come downstairs in their finery.

“Where are you going?”

“To church, obviously. It's Christmas Eve. The whole reason we're celebrating? We've let your lack of interest in religion slide, but we must insist, on tonight of all nights. Go get dressed.”

“Wear your red sweater, dear! It's so Christmassy!”

“No fucking way.”

It's like I shot them with bows and arrows. They both flail backwards and Aunt Mae starts to weep while she looks for a handkerchief in her purse.

Are you proud of yourself, Amazing? “That didn't come out right. I meant to say, I'll be down in five minutes.” I bolt up the stairs.

Can I be any meaner? Why am I such a bitch? All these questions go through my mind as I put on the red sweater and tie a red bow in my hair. I even steal Aunt Mae's red lipstick and slap that on too.

They are composed when I come back down.

“You look very nice, dear,” Aunt Mae sniffs.

“Your great-great-grandmother Grace was a lady. How proud do you think she'd be, knowing her namesake spews filth like that?”

“You are absolutely right. I will never say that word again. I'm very sorry.”

Aunt Pearl straightens her shoulders. “I should think so. Now let's go.”

The little white church in the snow is crammed with people and twinkling lights. All these old ladies gather round and shake my hand as my aunts introduce me. My cheeks are scarlet, thinking of what transpired back at the house.

I'm squished between the aunts and I try desperately not to listen to the man in the pulpit asking us to follow God's son Jesus, to praise the name of Jesus, to love one another and obey the master.

I panic, leaning over to whisper in Aunt Pearl's ear. “Did he say obey the Master?”

She gives me a look. “No. Clean out your ears.”

Now we have to stand up and sing the hymn “Silent Night.” My knees buckle and I put my face in my hands and cry and cry and cry. The kind of crying you can't ignore.

The minister, organist, and choir keep going. There's an uncomfortable atmosphere around us and a murmuring of the crowd. Aunt Pearl puts her arm around my shoulder and leads me and Aunt Mae out of our pew, down the church aisle, and back to the car.

When we get to the house, Aunt Pearl sits me at the kitchen table, while Aunt Mae puts the kettle on.

“I'm sorry I ruined your night,” I sniff. “I'm not sure what happened.”

Aunt Pearl takes off her gloves and sits beside me. “No, I'm sorry we made you go. I should have known better.”

“What do you mean?”

Aunt Mae also sits at the table. “Before you came to us, the social worker sent us your case file so we would know what we were up against. She told us we had every right to refuse to take you in. That because of your upbringing, you had a lot of baggage, and she needed to know if we could handle it.”

The kettle starts to sing. Aunt Mae gets up while Aunt Pearl continues.

“We know what happened to you at that farm.”

“You do?”

Aunt Pearl looks down at her lap. “I know about the leader of that miserable cult you were in. God knows what you suffered. I didn't want the details, which I realize now was selfish on my part. If you were courageous enough to survive him, then I should be courageous enough to hear it.”

So over toast and tea, I tell them about the man. Aunt Mae sheds copious tears and Aunt Pearl keeps patting my hand. They're outraged on my behalf, which is comforting.

“And he calls himself a Christian!” Aunt Mae keeps yelling. “He deserves to be doused in honey and buried in an anthill!”

We both look at her.

“Well, why not? Or cut his pecker off!”

When I open my eyes the next morning, I have a dull headache, no doubt from reliving some of the worst days of my life. If only memories could be shut off like a tap.

I lay in bed awhile, listening to the sounds of the house. The aunts are up, because the house is toasty, the smell of bacon is in the air, and someone has opened my door a crack—Lulu, the fat black and white cat, is curled up at the end of my bed. There's Christmas music playing on the radio, which is kind of nice.

Christmas wasn't celebrated when I was a kid. Well, it was as far as learning that Jesus was born on Christmas Day and the three Wise Men showed up, but the man never let any of us have presents and we never saw Santa Claus. We all knew about him of course, the few times we saw television, but the man said that greed was a sin and we wouldn't partake in such blasphemy.

I think he was just cheap.

The calm, peaceful mood this morning almost puts me back to sleep again but then I hear a sound.

“Psst! Psst!”

I lift my head. Aunt Mae's head is poking through the doorway.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Good morning,” she grins. “Have you forgotten it's Christmas morning? We've been waiting downstairs for hours.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Don't tell Pearl I was up here. She'll get mad. Just come down soon or your bacon will be charcoal.” She disappears.

It's while I'm putting on my housecoat and slippers that I realize that maybe my aunts have bought me Christmas gifts. I have nothing for them. It never crossed my mind. Frantically, I look about the room, but there's nothing that's not theirs already.

“Lulu! I'm such a jerk.”

Lulu rolls over and exposes her belly for immediate attention but I don't have time. There's only one thing I can do.

When I go downstairs, the aunts are in their bathrobes and slippers. There's a fire burning in the fireplace and candles lit even though it's morning. Our small Christmas tree's lights are on and there are a few presents underneath.

I'll make sure I remember this. What families are supposed to look like.

“Merry Christmas!” the aunts shout. They then come over and hug me. “Breakfast first, and then we'll open our gifts.”

“I don't have any gifts,” I mumble as we go in the kitchen.

“Matters not a whit.” Aunt Pearl puts a bowl of porridge with brown sugar in front of me. Aunt Mae pours the cream. Afterwards we move on to orange juice, bacon, eggs, and toast.