A List

1. I haven't written for almost a month. Haven't written anything at all.
2. I haven't taken my medicine.
3. The only thing I feel like doing is sitting still in one place for the rest of my life.
4. I want to keep my word.
5. I want to be infinitely forgiving.
6. I want to be infinitely compassionate.
7. These are the only things I can think about.
   

Queens of the Cattails - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

A week later, Rachelle stood next to the refridgerator in the kitchen, twisting the hem of her dress with two hands. It was her dress she wore this time, and not one Mama made. In the center of the washed-out orange bodice was a ridiculous picture of Big Bird in a pair of swimming trunks, playing on the beach. It was the ugliest dress I'd ever seen, but I was happy as a clam to see it on her.

"Your mama said you might be feelin' better today and maybe you'll wanna play," she said.

"I'm eatin' lunch right now," I said, poking at the top slice of bread on my ham sandwich.

"I can wait for you. I don't mind."

Twenty or thirty mean things I could've said to her just then crossed my mind and would've sent her out of my life forever, and that's just where I wanted her to be. Somehow, though, I couldn't bring myself to say one of them. A part of me felt at ease having Rachelle there, standing in our clean kitchen on our shining floor she was marking up with her dusty footprints.

"We could play on your tire swing," she offered. "I could push you the whole time. We wouldn't have to take turns."

Such an offer would've been readily received at any other time. Who could ask for more. But right then, the swing held no appeal to me whatsoever. What did appeal to me was another afternoon in bed, laying there with my eyes closed in a soft half-sleep, maybe listening to my sisters play with their Barbies or Mama bumping dishes against the walls of the sink.

Laying down was just about all I had the energy to do. I didn't even have it in me to persist against Rachelle.

"We could sit on the porch swing for a while," I said, resting my head on the back of the chair.

Rachelle brightened immediately. "Okay. But aren't you gonna eat your lunch first?"

"Not hungry," I said and pushed my plate away.

Outside, an afternoon breeze swept across the porch and circled through Mama's gardens, shaking the feathery heads of pampas grass and rustling among the families of ferns and azaleas. The smoky clouds overhead skirted the treetops and pushed the zesty fragrance of coming rain through the air.

Rachelle gently nudged her toes on the wood floor, rocking the porch swing back and forth beneath us. I let my legs dangle off the seat, slowing our momentum.

We sat that way for a long time, swinging and listening to the mockingbirds chatter in the bends of the rafters. It was the first time I'd been outside since the last trip to Miss Lou's, and our tiny plot of land just off the highway seemed like a place I'd never been before. I decided I'd be perfectly content to stay here for the rest of my life and never step foot off the porch again.

"I wish I lived here," Rachelle said.

I knew that, but I asked why anyway.

"It's just so pleasant. Your mama's pleasant, your sisters and your baby brother…your house and your room, and your garden. I know you must miss your daddy. I miss my daddy all the time. But you seem happy anyways."

The corner of my mouth tightened. "You hadn't seen my sisters slap at each other. Or my Mama yell, you hadn't heard that."

"Your mama doesn't yell," she sneered, as if I'd just told her I had a magic carpet that would take us all the way to China.

"She doesn't yell at _you_," I said.

Rachelle shook her head, unconvinced. Her messy braids whipped around her shoulders.

I realized it was the first time Rachelle ever disagreed with me, but I wasn't surprised. I wasn't all that mad about it either. As a matter of fact, sitting with Rachelle on the porch and not doing or talking about much of anything was not a bother at all. It was actually even more restful than sleep.

The screen door on the side of the house banged shut, and Mama came around with a handful of envelopes. "Goin' to the mailbox, girls. I'll be right back."

When Mama was halfway down the drive and out of earshot, I asked Rachelle, "Who was that man at your house last week?"

"That was Ron," she shrugged. "Somebody Mama knows from Shreveport."

"Is he her boyfriend?"

Rachelle brought her thumb to her mouth and bit at the side of her fingernail. "I guess. I don't know." She kicked her feet out from under the swing, and the whole structure jarred. "I guess I wouldn't mind if he was her boyfriend. He's sure a lot nicer than the last one."

"The last one?"

She spit, and a sliver of her thumbnail launched out of her mouth and into her lap. She hopped out of the swing and bounded down the stairs.

"I'll be back in a minute, Madge," she called as she took off toward the mailbox. "I'm goin' with your mama."

Queens of the Cattails - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Long after everyone else had fallen asleep, I lay awake in bed with the covers tucked under my sides and pulled up over my chin. Faye and Winnie slept together on the trundle, backs to me and curled together like spoons.

Ripples of moonlight waved on the ceiling, reflecting off the surface of the bucket water right outside our window. I concentrated on the rhythm of the movements and tried to find order in the patterns.

I pretended I were a mermaid, deep underwater, and the lights were rays from a summer sun, guiding me up from the dark, cavernous depths. If I swam long enough and hard enough, I'd finally reach the surface and catch my first breath of fresh, sea-misted air.

A new kind of pain ate away at my insides. I'd never hurt down there so badly. Not even when Curtis Gilbreth kicked me square in the crotch with the sharp toe of his cowboy boot because I whipped him at keepsies and took his steelie shooter. When that happened, Mama said I needed stitches but I cried so hard she couldn't get me out of the house and into the car to go see Dr. Shaw.

This was worse. There was so much blood. So much I thought I might not wake up if I went to sleep. The only pair of panties that fit me right were now soaked and stained with blood and pee and stuffed up into a tear in the bottom of the boxspring, like Rachelle's butterfly.

I couldn't seem to get dry, either. I came home sweating and nauseated.

"What on God's green earth took you so long?" Mama fixed a hard, heavy eye on me.

I drifted through the door, dragging my feet across the rug. "I needa lay down," I said.

The pinch between her eyes relaxed a little; she bent over me and touched my forehead. "What's wrong, Madge, are you feelin' all right? You look flushed…you don't have a fever, though. Where are you hurtin'?"

I shook my head. "I'm not hurtin', I'm just tired, and I feel sick to my stomach."

"Well let's get you in the bathtub."

I lingered in the hall outside the bathroom while Mama drew my bath water. She paused and stared at me, probably trying to decide whether or not she should call Dr. Shaw.

"You gonna get undressed and get in?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," I said. I tried to sound convincing. "I have to go Number Two first." She seemed satisfied.

It took me an eternity to peel off my clothes, like trying to pull off a BandAid from a bad, scabby scrape. Every muscle in my body ached, my bones wanted to fold the way they were when I was born.

It took even longer to get up the courage to sit down in the bath water, and when I finally did, it hurt as bad as I thought it would. Once I was in, though, I wanted to stay in, and I would have if Mama hadn't come to get me after everyone else was done with supper.

There in bed, the damp sheets clung to me under my quilt. Every now and then, when a sharp pain stabbed through me like a skewer through a shrimp, my spine went straight as a rod. The sheets shifted, and an fresh edge of wet cloth stuck to my skin.

I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. So far, I'd done well to keep my distance from the rest of the family, but if Mama worried too much and took me to Dr. Shaw after all…. I couldn't think about that.

So I watched the water on the ceiling and tried to find where I was at the beginning of the day. Then I'd sew together two edges of time where a stained piece of its fabric had been torn away.

Go to Chapter 9

Queens of the Cattails - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The cat swatted her paw at me through the space at the bottom of the door. I pressed my cheek into the floor to see as much as I could of what was on the other side, which wasn't much. The light from downstairs was weak and diffused against the far wall like a last breath.

My head still throbbed. I wiggled my fingertips along my scalp feeling for blood; I found a big goose egg the size of my fist. I didn't remember how it got there.

"Mar-gie!"

I scrambled away from the door back into the dark.

Uncle Buck's steps fell hard and slow up the stairs. The cat whined as a shadow divided the bar of light under the door.

I clamped my teeth together and waited.

"Margie," he said. "You ready to come out now?"

"Yes," I tried to say, but my voice got stuck and only air came out.

"We got an understanding?" he said.

I thought of Faye and Winnie. I thought of little Raymond and how scared he'd be if he were the one in the attic instead of me.

I thought of Goldie Beaumont and what awful things she might say to me now, what terrible things she might say to everyone else.

I thought of Mama and what she'd do if she lost her job at the alteration shop, and what it would be like if she sent me for a switch but didn't love me.

And I thought of Daddy. If he ever found out about me and Uncle Buck, he'd be glad he left. There'd be no more cards on my birthday or phone calls on Christmas. He'd never again tell me he missed me or that I was the apple of his eye. He'd finally be able to give all of his love to his new family, and he'd never look back.

"I'm ready," I said. This time, my voice was clear as a bell.

The lock unlatched, and the door creaked open. Uncle Buck's silhouette hung in the door frame. He stood aside and opened his arm toward the stairs.

I swayed to my feet. The blood rushed to my brain, and my legs almost crumpled beneath me. As I shuffled toward the light, warm fluid leaked down my legs. Every step sent pain raking through me from the inside out.

At the threshhold, Uncle Buck stopped me, poking a finger at my chest. "We understand one another?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Tell me, Margie."

I swallowed back a gag and cleared my throat. "Con-fi…con-fi…"

"Confi-denchee-ality," Uncle Buck said. "You keep your word, and I'll keep mine."

I nodded again.

Uncle Buck grinned and stuck out his hand. I flinched.

"We gotta shake on it, friend. Then it's official."

I put my fingertips against his, and he closed his hand around them. The same long, narrow hand that kept me from tumbling over on the lane had a lot more strength in it than anyone could ever imagine.

Go to Chapter 8

Queens of the Cattails - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

As soon as I came around the bend and the road home stretched out straight and reassuring, the angry cry I'd been holding burst out of me. I ran a few paces, but the pain shooting through my jarred bladder put an end to that. I wasn't going to make it home.

Sobbing and nowhere near a toilet, I made a desperate dash for the trees at the back of Granddaddy's fields. I could already feel hot trickles of urine, and I fought mightily against the stream.

Crying like a baby, I thought. Peein' my pants like a baby.

I squatted in the first protected cluster of foliage I found and let the bitter tears and the urine flow as they willed. It was superficial relief to an ache that had been filling me since before I could remember.

I pressed my face into my knees and wrapped my arms around my head, ignoring the mosquitoes that buzzed in my ears and lit on my exposed skin. My bladder emptied, but a fresh dread settled into my bowels when I acknowledged the trouble I'd probably meet when Mama saw me shuffle inside in such a mess.

No use puttin' it off, I thought. I smeared my nose on the back of my hand and stood, pulling my drawers up from around my ankles.

A twig snapped behind me. I wheeled around to see Uncle Buck leaning against a young pear tree, arms crossed over his chest and hands tucked into his stained armpits. "Tinkle got the best o' ya?" he said, smiling.

I froze; the rancid taste of shame, shock, and something else swirled on the back of my tongue.

Before I could reply, Uncle Buck had me at the wrist, dragging me along the way Rachelle had less than an hour ago.

"How 'bout you come with me for a bit, Margie?"

I stopped and tugged against him, but he tightened his grip.

"I can't, Uncle Buck," I said. "Mama told me to be home before dark. I gotta go." He marched on as if I hadn't said anything.

"You know, me an' your daddy was good friends before he took off. Real good friends." Uncle Buck easily trampled weeds and ankle-high saplings under his shoes.

I kept getting caught in thick cords of St. Augustine grass, and I could feel stickers collecting on the soles of my feet. That high-pitched tone returned to my ears, but there would be no clearing my throat this time to keep the word away.

Go to Chapter 7

Queens of the Cattails - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

A question in the form of a knot tightened up right under my heart. I couldn't get away from Rachelle fast enough, and I couldn't begin to understand my dislike for her. Had she been a snotty, selfish brat -- like that pageant princess Goldie Beaumont, whose family owned the alteration shop where Mama worked -- there would be no question at all. I disliked Goldie with just about all the self-righteous indignation I possessed, and rightly so, because Goldie was a stuck-up, two-faced liar who said things about my Mama and Daddy that just were not true.

But Rachelle never said one ugly word about Mama or Daddy or me. On the contrary, she talked as if she wished she were their daughter instead of Miss Lou's. I should've been flattered to be thought of so highly by someone, but instead, Rachelle's admiration just made me ill.

I pouted, taking long strides away from Miss Lou's and watching the powdery dust kick up around my stomping feet. When I watched the ground, the pebbles and ruts slid by, making it seem like I was moving much faster than I actually was. The walk back home from Miss Lou's always seemed to take much longer.

I hopped over a bare corn cob and stepped around a rusty Tab soda can. I curled my toes back to kick a paper bag out of the way when I noticed a person crouching right in front of me. If I hadn't thrown my momentum aside and tripped on my own feet, I would've run right into him.

"Careful there!" A long, narrow hand grabbed onto my arm and pulled me upright, ripping a bigger hole in my torn shirt sleeve.

I yanked away, wide-eyed and gasping.

Uncle Buck stood and squinted at me through his long, black, greasy bangs. An amused grin pulled his lips back on one side of his mouth revealing two gaps on top and one on bottom between cakey yellow teeth that didn't quite meet. I smelled beer on him from four feet away. "You all right?" he said.

I nodded and rubbed my hands down my sides as if I'd really fallen and were wiping dirt off of my palms. I jerked my head toward Aunt Nell's hoping she was still at her gate, and back toward Rachelle's hoping she'd stayed at the roadside to watch me turn the curb, but neither was there.

"Marjoram Eppinette…well aren't you a sight for sore eyes." His sore eyes didn't blink or flutter a bit as he spoke to me. He raised his arm straight out toward me, pointing all five of his fingers toward my stomach. "Last time I saw you, you was this tall. How old 're you now, Margie?"

"Nobody calls me Margie," I said.

Uncle Buck snorted. "Oh, that's right. Madge, id-nit?"

"Mm-hmm. And I'm ten."

"Yes, you're ten," he said, as if I were the one asking my age, and he were the one answering. "And I'm ten-plus-ten-plus-ten. You know how much that is?"

I did know, but suddenly, I had to pee really bad. I didn't want to tell him that, and I didn't want to run off and be rude. Mama tolerated my attitude most of the time around the house, but she never, ever tolerated me being rude to anyone, particularly adults. I crossed one foot over the other and tried not to be obvious.

Uncle Buck blinked and lowered his gaze from my face to my collar. He lingered there until I began to wonder if maybe a spider were crawling on my neck, or if my buttons weren't buttoned right. I brought my fingers up and tugged the fabric together, just in case.

"So how's your ma?" he asked. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets so his shoulders scrunched up and his elbows locked.

I noticed his blue jeans were way too big for him, and the frayed, mud-coated hems folded over his shoes. His yellow-used-to-be-white t-shirt was too small, and the front of it pulled up just over the snap of his pants so the skin of his belly showed. Under his armpits were large, half-moon-shaped stains made darker by the sweat there now.

"She's fine," I said, twisting my fingers together behind my back. I really had to go. "I really gotta go."

Uncle Buck showed the gaps in his mouth again. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. "I gotta toilet in the house if you needa go that bad."

I shook my head. "No, thanks. Mama wants me home before dark or--"

"--Or she'll send you out back to get a switch and whoop that little tail o' yers?" At that, Uncle Buck threw his head back, and a loud, scratchy laugh shook him all over. He wagged his head back and forth and stomped the ground.

If I didn't hate Uncle Buck before, I hated him now. "No! I wasn't gonna say that! I--"

"I know, I know," he said, lowering his voice but still chuckling. "Your mama wouldn't harm a hair on your head, would she."

I glared at Uncle Buck. I imagined poking my finger in his eye. The truth was, Mama would take a switch to me, and she had before, but I knew she loved me, and I didn't like it at all that Uncle Buck made it sound like she didn't. "No, she wouldn't," I said.

Uncle Buck's grin widened until I thought his face might split. "But your daddy would, wouldn't he."

Now it was my turn to blink. I blinked and blinked, willing the tears to stay in my eyes where they belonged, and willing the sting in my bladder to go away long enough for me to get home.

"I gotta go!" I yelled, and I turned and ran, leaving Uncle Buck shaking and laughing in the middle of the lane.

Go to Chapter 6

Queens of the Cattails - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Miss Lou glanced at me when Rachelle and I stepped through the front door into the kitchen, but she didn't speak to me. Her thin red hair hung in her face, and I didn't think she brushed it anymore than she brushed her daughters' hair.

Rachelle's mama wasn't very pretty, even though she was much younger than my mama. The lady was too skinny, and she stood with her shoulders hunched over and her back humped like an old lady, as if her chest hurt.

Next to me, Rachelle stood with the burlap bag in her arms. She was strong for a girl the same age as me, or she was just over-excited to have another load of dresses to share with her sister.

"Look, Mama! Madge brought me some more clothes!" she said, dropping the bag on the dirty linoleum with a loud thud. "And some blackberries, and some shoes for you, too!" She shoved the tan heels against her mother's stomach.

Embarrassed, I said what Mama told me to say. "Mama says you can have 'em if they fit ya."

Miss Lou dropped the shoes onto the floor one at a time, turning the left one from its side with her dirty toes. She waivered on one foot as she brought the other off the floor.

"Come 'ere, Rachelle," she mumbled. Her voice was low and husky, like a man's. Or like somebody who either smoked too much, yelled too much, or both.

She grabbed onto Rachelle's shoulder for balance and slipped her feet into Mama's town shoes. They fit perfectly.

Rachelle sucked in an awe-filled breath. "Those are so pretty on you, Mama," she said. "Keep 'em on."

The shoes weren't pretty on Miss Lou. They were pretty on my Mama, and they should've been on my Mama's feet.

Miss Lou yanked the shoes off and shoved them back at Rachelle. "Go put 'em under my bed," she said. She didn't even say thank you, but I'd tell Mama she did.

Rachelle grabbed me by the arm and dragged me toward the back of the house. I did not want to go there with her, but staying alone in the room with Miss Lou would've been worse, so I let Rachelle pull me in one hand and the burlap bag in the other. I didn't offer to help.

Through the fading light in Miss Lou's room, I traced the sleeping form of a man on the bed. I had no idea who it could be. I never saw anyone around Rachelle's house, much less a man. But Rachelle seemed to know who he was. She tiptoed into the room, slipped the tan heels under the bed, and tiptoed out, shutting the door behind her.

"I got something to show you," she whispered, padding off toward the room she shared with her sister.

"Where is Beverly?" I asked, realizing I hadn't seen her yet. Rachelle shrugged her shoulders.

In the bedroom, I stood in the middle of the floor with my arms wrapped around me, careful not to touch anything.

"You can sit down," Rachelle said as she layed on the floor and scooted on her back beneath the bed. As she fumbled with something in the boxspring, I glimpsed under her dress the pair of bloomers with the rose at the waist. I winced.

Rachelle crawled out from under the bed with a large book in her hands. "I have something for you."

I sniffed. "I don't read much."

"No," she said. She opened the pages and pulled out a folded piece of wax paper. "Here. The edges of the paper are stuck together, so you gotta be careful opening it."

I gently peeled the corners apart, and there, pressed between the folded sheet was a large monarch butterfly, perfectly intact. The black on the wings was as soft and fine as velvet, and the colorful markings were so bright, they looked handpainted.

Despite myself, I was delighted. I couldn't have found a more perfect butterfly, and I wondered how Rachelle could've caught it and pressed it with such expertise, not one part of the creature was bent or broken.

"Where did you find it? Did you catch it yourself? Did you kill it?"

"Oh, no," Rachelle said. "I tried to save it. I found it on the car outside and I was watching it and waiting for it to fly away, but it never did. And when I finally went to touch it, it didn't move. I think it died like that."

I peered at Rachelle out of the corner of my eye, unconvinced.

"It's true," she said. "And I wanted to save for you, but I didn't want to stick a needle through it like they do in school, so I put it inside a book instead. Do you like it?"

I did like it. And I didn't like how much I liked it. So I lied.

"I don't like dead bugs," I said.

I expected for Rachelle to pout or cry, or snatch the butterfly away and keep it for herself. But she laughed. "It's not a bug, Madge. It's a monarch. Take it home and put it in one of your books. You'll get used to it."

Rachelle walked with me back to the lane, pushing the wheelbarrow and chattering about the blackberries and how she wished her mother would bake some time. The sun was already setting, but I still had time to make it home before it was too dark to see.

"Maybe we can play tomorrow?" she asked.

"I'm gonna be busy tomorrow," I said, which was the God-honest truth, but it felt just like a lie.

Go to Chapter 5