One of my favourite
pastimes when I was a 7-year-old girl, was to troll the neighbourhood with my
little red wagon collecting all the neighbourhood cats. I used to pretend I was
an animal rescuer – way before Go, Diego, Go! was even
a thought. I brought all the cats to my yard, fed them kibble, water, and made
sure they could not escape for the hours I wanted to play dress-up. Our family
kitten (he was just a few months old), Tiger, had been hit by a car the 3rd
day we brought him home. I did not think he would survive, but dad took him to
the animal hospital and a few days later Tiger came home with pins in his hips
and jaw. Yes, apparently it was expensive. Tiger did not like wearing my doll
clothes or playing teatime. Usually, once he got a little heavier, he would
attack me with his claws when I wanted to play with him. In retaliation, I used to bend that little
shit’s tail until he ran away and the cycle of violence continued. He
would dig his claws in my scalp and bite me HARD and then, I would bend his tail. My dad would often make Tiger jealous on purpose to illicit this reaction because he thought it was hilarious. Tiger was bonded to my dad and did not like anyone receiving attention from Jack.
Princess
was my cat and she was a beautiful long-haired calico. She gave us kittens one
year – that was incredible to watch. Princess would show up outside my window
at school wanting to be let into my grade 2 class. I loved her. When I was
unable to find her for a few days, I started checking dumpsters and sure
enough, a car had hit her and no one told me.
On my walks to collect
cats, I used to find empty cigarette packs. I used to collect the empty packs and
when I found half-smoked cigarette butts, I would add those to my pack. No, I was
not collecting litter. My mom was permitted to visit and she had come for a
weekend. We stayed at the motel in town and got to eat at restaurants, go
shopping for Barbies, board games, and clothes; we had such an amazing
time. Mom was a smoker now and I wanted to be just like her. I preferred menthol
cigarettes.
When maman would visit, I would usually keep an article of her
clothes if I thought she would not notice. I would return it when she came back
and would take something new. I would keep her t-shirt, bra, swimsuit, socks,
it did not matter what it was, under my pillow so I could keep her scent close
to me when I cried myself to sleep every single night after being yelled
at. In fact, I stole something of hers
right up until my late teens, but by then it was usually her pajamas. By this
point, screaming matches were the norm and being caught in the crossfire was a consequence of my father’s desire to win custody at all cost – hooray! Everyone
gets to be miserable forever now.
One bright sunny morning Roxanne
and I decide to play a round of Knock Knock
Ginger except Roxanne does not quite understand the concept. I would run up
to a door, ring the bell, and hide in a bush; I still don’t know why this was
such a fun game. Roxanne on the other hand would run up to the door, baby doll
in hand, ring the bell and as soon as someone answered, she would peer up at
them under very shy lashes and shout “FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF! FUCK OFF!”
and then run away. Did not take long for someone to call The Store and tell
them what was going on. I could not have been more confused; for sure, we would
be grounded, sent to our rooms for days, but no, mommy thought this was
hilarious and not a punishment given! Encouraged, we terrorized the
neighbourhood. I remember one Babushka had a fruit garden behind a chain-link
fence in her front yard. After watching us, from her front window eat her strawberries and raspberries, she started waiting for us to show up, hiding in her bushes
with a broom to swat at us and chase us away. After the fifth or sixth time we
got bored and found better things to do, like start fistfights.
When my sister was
younger, she was always teased for not having a slim physique. Dad had charged
me with protecting her and I took my duties very seriously. No one and I mean
no one, touched or teased my sister without serious consequence. One time a boy
about two years older than me was calling my sister a fat fucking pig so I
picked up my slingshot and hit him with a perfectly sharp rock right in the
middle of the forehead. He was pretty shocked (and I was pretty impressed with myself), I really didn’t
think I would hit him that far away. I was a natural at hitting my targets.
The
ambulance came because the poor kid needed about 12 stitches (I split his
forehead open). Dad thought this was hilarious but he also felt pressure by the
kid’s parents to reprimand his eldest daughter. I remember him leading me by
the hand away from the ‘action’ and as I was facing the door to enter The
Store, he stopped me, giggling in my ear while trying to be serious and gently
slapped my butt while saying “you hurt him, don’t do things like that he could
have lost his eye.” Once we were inside, I was congratulated for protecting
Roxanne and given a chocolate bar, bag of chips and a pop.
Flying high, the next day
I asked dad if Roxanne and I could have a lemonade stand because I wanted to
buy myself a new bike – a BMX but mommy said no because it was a boy’s bike.
Dad helped us set up a table and a couple chairs.
Roxanne and I went inside and made lemonade from scratch and even
attempted to juice apples. Our lemonade was not very good, but we also offered
cookies to balance the tart of the lemon. I charged $0.50 for a cup and a
chocolate chip cookie. I had no idea how money worked, in my head, I could just
give people coins in exchange for a product. At the end of the afternoon, I am
not sure where dad was, we packed up our table and chairs and ran into the
kitchen to show mommy how rich we were! At some point, you would think that I
would learn my lesson, alas, I was not that bright. Mommy used to call me
stupid all the time and an asshole, but I thought she used to say that just
because she hated other people's children. She loves Roxanne. Roxanne is chubby just like
mommy.
I remember showing her
all our money and her grabbing it, fury in her eyes and I knew I did something
wrong. My stomach would not stop churning and I remember shaking inside my body, and
those icy fingers gripping my stomach so tightly that I forget to
breathe. “YOU! That money is not yours. Your father and I work
to provide for you. You stole the cookies from the cupboard and didn’t pay for
them. You didn’t pay for the cups or the lemons either. Today you will learn a
lesson about overhead.” She took all my money and told me I owed her $2.50
because I did not earn enough selling ALL MY PRODUCT to cover the cost of the
ingredients. I did not get a BMX bike.
I really hated living
with her. I can say that now, but back then, I loved her. I loved my father. I
thought they had my best interest at heart and that I mattered.
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