“I’m home,” I said, rapping on the door before moving on. If they wanted to know anything about me, they could ask. I was sick of trying to force them to be parents. I paused at Jacob’s room as I passed. When he got home I could finally fess up and confide in him. Even if he didn’t believe me, he would listen. Somewhere along the way Jacob had stepped into the role my parents abandoned. Losing my twin sister was hard enough, but without the comfort of Mom and Dad, it was unbearable. Without Jacob, I honestly feel like I would never have made it. Loneliness would have swallowed me whole.
6
LEAH
SWEAT TRICKLED along the curve of my neck, past the collar of my nightshirt, down each bump and rivet of my spine, and finally into my pajama pants. I was breathing heavy, but it was invigorating. It signified that I was doing something right.
I could only do twenty jumping jacks before tiring out, but I was still pleased with my effort. Five days ago, I’d barely been able to do five without collapsing. I was getting stronger. I could feel the difference in my limbs. In barely a week my body was already changing.
Once I finished a round of jumping jacks, I picked up the two stacks of books I’d bound with strips of cloth. With a set in each hand, I lifted my arms as many times as I could before my muscles quivered and I had to stop. Arms should not feel like cooked spaghetti. They should be strong and capable. Mine would have to be both for my plan to work. I had to keep going.
A couple of sets was all I could handle. I dropped the books at my feet and worked to undo the knots on the first stack. My fingers worked nimbly, going by touch alone in my pitch-black room. Thankfully, after my bout of “sickness,” Mother decided not to continue giving me the little white pills. I seized the opportunity, vowing to be more careful this time.
The knots on my stacks of books eventually loosened and I made my way cautiously to my bookshelves and stowed the books where they belonged. I shoved the strips of cloth into the couch cushions, giving Daisy a light pat before extracting my hand. I would have liked to carry Daisy back to my bed. I had so much to share with her. So much I yearned to tell someone. Daisy was a risk though. A risk I could not take at the moment.
I made my way to my bed and lay down. My eyes remained open, even though seeing was impossible. I wondered if this is what it felt like for a blind person. Did they adjust to their surroundings as much I had? They had to. Like me, they were probably able to navigate their living spaces with ease.
Eventually, I forced my eyes closed, willing myself to go to sleep. I couldn’t wake up tired two mornings in a row. Mother would start to suspect something. The sickness card could only be played for so long and I didn’t want to take the chance of seeing the little white pills again.
As much as I tried, my mind refused to shut down enough to fall asleep. I was too excited about my accomplishments, anticipating a time when I could put them to use. A feeling of happiness spread through my body. I felt in control. It was a heady feeling and one I couldn’t remember having before. I wasn’t sure how to accept it. I fell asleep with a smile on my face, something that hadn’t happened in years.
* * *
My smile was gone the next day. Mornings were when control was taken from me again. I could not dictate the moods of Mother. Even when I was good there were days when she seemed to find fault with the very air I breathed. Any number of insignificant things could set her off. Today would be one of those days.
I woke to her shrieking at me to get up. The first hit came by her hand when I accidentally bumped into her in my haste to make my bed. It was different from the leather strap. Her hand slapped across my face, jerking my head backward from the impact. The flesh of my cheek was on fire, but past experience taught me that if I reacted in any way it would only enrage her further. I had to act like nothing happened.
Breakfast started as a quiet affair after that. Neither of us spoke and I kept my head down, trying to chew my food although my cheek was swelling. I almost made it through without another infraction but because I was on edge, afraid of angering her further, I knocked over my glass and spilled juice all over Mother’s lap.
“What is with you today? Laziness!” she screamed, jumping from her chair. I immediately curled into a ball in anticipation of being hit. That was a mistake. “How dare you treat me like some kind of monster. Is that what I am to you? After everything I’ve done to protect you, to keep you safe?” Her fists rained down on my body in a fit of rage. Time and time again she connected on my back, shoulders, and legs. “Maybe you enjoy being punished, is that it? Do you know how much it hurts me to punish you? Why do you do this to me?”
There would be no protection from the physical pain, but I closed my eyes and my mind retreated to a place of shelter. A place where I could ride out the storm until she had worked out her aggression. I knew she had finished when I heard her grab a roll of paper towels from the small sink and throw them to the floor next to me before retreating up the staircase.
It felt like an eternity before I moved. I opened my eyes again, allowing my mind to ease back into reality and take stock of my pain. Pain was tricky. At times it was glaringly obvious, like from abrasions and contusions. Other times the pain lay in wait, striking just when you thought all was well. I’d become an expert at what the body could endure. I used to spend hours sobbing after one of Mother’s punishments, cursing myself for causing it to happen. Tears would leak from my eyes until I had none left, then exhaustion would set in and take me. That never happened anymore. I just accepted my fate and moved on.
Today the pain was about a six out of ten. Six was tolerable. I’d had worse. When I was little all Mother’s punishments felt like a ten, but over the years I’d developed a scale of severity of sorts. If one of her punishments reached a ten now it was excruciating, like the time she broke my leg. Tens shook me to the very core and made me want to give up which is why I never liked to think about them.
After a few minutes, I finally managed to pull myself up into a seated position. I didn’t think I sat up too quickly, but my head spun slightly, threatening mutiny. I inched myself backward, cringing from a kink in my back. I had to use my right arm to propel myself along because my left arm felt bruised and sore to the touch. It was a long tedious trip across the floor. By the time I made it to my bed, I wondered if scooting to the bathroom would have been a wiser choice since my stomach was churning nauseously. I swallowed back the lump in my throat, hoping my breakfast would stay put. Puking would only add insult to injury.
Eventually I was able to hoist myself up on my bed. Several minutes passed as I tried to regain the air in my lungs and keep the contents of my stomach in check. I closed my eyes to keep the room from spinning. I knew I’d have to get up soon and clean the mess. There was no telling how long Mother would leave me alone. It could be all day and night or she could come back down at any moment. One thing I was certain of: Whatever had set Mother off earlier had nothing to do with me. Something at work had pissed her off and I became the target for her frustration.
I woke up realizing I had dozed for a short time, clearly remaining in one position for too long, judging by the stiffness in my joints. I inched up on my pillows, thankful that the room had stopped spinning. My head still throbbed, but tossing my cookies was no longer an issue. Now that I could take stock of my injuries, I tallied my throbbing head, a sore back, tender ear, and a bruise imprint of a shoe on my left arm, which explained the tenderness I felt while trying to scoot across the floor.
It could have been worse, so much worse. The bruise on my arm upset me the most since it would make it hard to continue my book-lifting exercises at night. The fleeting thought that she somehow knew what I’d been up to crossed my mind. Maybe my sore arm wasn’t just a casualty of the fallout. I had to be wrong. It was a coincidence. A sore coincidence, but nothing more. As soon as my body wasn’t so stiff, I would continue with my regimen, using only my right arm until my left could do its share again. For the time being, I suffered th
rough my injuries to clean up the mess left behind from breakfast that morning.
Mother skipped bringing me dinner that evening, and breakfast the following morning. My stomach growled in protest, so I drank water to keep it satisfied. Finally I ended up scavenging through the trash for the few remaining scraps from our breakfast the previous day. Each hour ticked by at a snail’s pace as I wondered if she would decide to forgive me by dinnertime. I tried whittling the hours away by reading, but every book I seemed to pick up had a mention of food in it and only made me hungrier. I decided after that to clean my room instead. Really it was just moving things from one spot to the next since my room was already spotless. It was a futile exercise, but served to keep my mind off my growling stomach.
By the time I heard the dumbwaiter being lowered at dinnertime I’d almost given up hope that Mother would return. I figured my final punishment would be starvation. I could hardly believe it when I heard the lock opening on the door, followed by Mother appearing at the bottom of the stairs with a smile and a bag of books. It was her form of an apology. I smiled back, eagerly waiting for her to unlock the dumbwaiter. I was so hungry I could have gnawed off my arm.
Mother actually helped me set the table while she chattered away the entire time. She was happy. Whatever demon had claimed her the day before was gone. I lapped it up like a dog, thankful to have her back.
“I think you’ll like the new books I picked out for you,” Mother said, offering me another roll.
I paused for a moment. She was offering me seconds. She had to be really sorry. “Thank you,” I said.
“I told the sales clerk some of the titles you’d already read and she recommended a new fantasy series. She couldn’t believe it when I told her you read almost two books a day,” Mother said, beaming at me.