These are two different scenes of the same scenario. This is part three and the scene with Barb is part four. In the book they will run together so you kind of get more of a feel of the way Tisha is treated by Barb. It makes Sandra’s outburst all the more valid and applauded because of how long the abuse went on.
Non-fiction / Life Journal 3
Walking to School
My earliest days of school are mostly a blur to me now as I try to recall them. The earliest years were filled with blue mats for nap time and gram crackers for snacks, recess on plastic playground equipment, and a kindergarten school yard full of wood chips to cause as few skinned knees as possible. This resulted in a daily dumping of wood chips on the carpet in my bedroom which frustrated my mother to no end.
Then there were the days when I actually became aware of learning things. Those days when I became aware that there were actually words on those billboards outside the car window and that I could read them. There was the joy of getting the right answer and being the teacher’s favorite. This coupled with the fact that I was one of the toughest four square players in the school put me in a good position. I was not one of the cool kids mind you, but I was somewhere in the middle.
One particular memory I have is of the walks to and from school. See my mother had to go to work very early and our next door neighbor had grandkids that she walked to school so I would normally walk with them:
“Tisha, it’s time to wake up.”
Tisha rolled over and groaned. She hated to go to sleep at night. She always had this fear that if she slept the monster in the closet would get her, but once she was asleep, there was no where she would rather be. She rolled over and put her head under the pillow to head back to the sweet land of unicorns and fairies.
“Get up, you are going to make me late,” her mother yelled from the bathroom. Tisha could smell the hair curler that indicated her mother was curling her hair and nearly ready for work. The smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen and she smiled as she sat up. The television blared out the news as Larry drank his first cup of coffee.
Tisha may not have been a morning person, but she loved mornings once she got up. There was such a feeling of comfort in the house because her parents were still warm and fuzzy from their own sleep. The house felt warm and inviting and beckoned her out of bed. She sat up and stretched in the center of the queen size bed that swallowed up her small frame so easily.
It was easy for her to imagine she was a princess sitting in the center of her royal bed, only her blanket was not quit a royal gold. It was in fact a zebra stripped silk comforter that was a throwback to her mother’s younger days. Throwing back the covers Tisha made her way to the kitchen, her rainbow bright flannel nightshirt a little worse for the wear.
Larry came to help her pick out a cereal. “What do you want,” he asked her still bleary eyed from sleep.
“Lucky Charms,” she replied easily and he rolled his eyes before retrieving the cereal. Despite her mother’s many efforts to get her to try different types of cereals she always seemed to find her way back to her favorite cereal in the whole world. Lucky Charms.
Once the bowl was filled and sat before her she picked up the spoon and peered into the bowl. She looked at all the rainbows and the horseshoes and felt a little happy inside. She looked at the leprechaun on the box Larry had sat in front of her bowl for her. She sang the words “they’re magically delicious” as the leprechaun on TV often had.
She swayed her head back and forth as she methodically ate the ‘nutritious’ cereal stars portion of her favorite breakfast food first. Then came the fun part. The part that she would savor. The part that would make her feel happy all day as she thought back on it. The marshmallows floated in the white milk turning it various shades of mink and purple as she took her time to get the right proportion of milk and marshmallow on every remaining spoon full.
When there were just a few marshmallows left in the milk Tisha began to imagine that she was a passenger on one of the small shapes. She was stranded in the middle of the sea of milk, alone on this edible deserted island. She imagined her small self floating along, waiting for rescue when suddenly… “Oh no. Look out, it is the giant Tisha,” she said out loud.
She scooped the particular marshmallow that was the scene of her imagining up out of the bowl and looked at the small Tisha where she stood less than an inch high.
“Please giant Tisha, don’t eat me,” the tiny Tisha pleaded.
“It’s too late for that Letisha. I’m afraid I’m just too famished,” the giant Tisha stated, using one of the vocabulary words she had studied just last night for homework.
“Please, I’ll give you anything,” the tiny Tisha pleaded yet again.
“Yes, and you will start by giving me your soul,” the giant Tisha said with an evil laugh as she finally devoured the spoonful of sugary goodness. She began in earnest with an evil laugh when her mother called from the bathroom.
“Letisha Renee Stanton. Are you dressed yet,” she called from the bathroom where she was still applying her makeup.
“Yes mama,” Tisha lied as she swooped up the bowl and went to the sink, dumping the excess milk and running to her room.
“Did you just dump that milk out,” her mother started and Tisha groaned as she pulled off her nightshirt and pulled her school clothes on.
“I was finished with it,” she replied.
“Then you drink it. You think we have money to just be pouring down the drain,” her mother asked and Tisha nearly mimicked the words that came out of her mouth.
“I’m sorry. It didn’t seem like that much when I poured it,” she called back to her mother. Her mother could see her from the bathroom where she stood, illuminated by the soft light from the light bulb over the mirror.
“Are you arguing with me,” her mother asked stopping mid mascara stroke. One thing Tisha had learned in her short life was not to argue with her mother. Her mother was better at it and far more vicious with her barbs. If there were an award to be won for winning an argument she imagined her mother would stride across the stage gracefully each year and thank all the little people, namely her.
“No,” Tisha called back.
“Good. Now come in here so I can do you hair. We need to go.”
Again Tisha groaned before she pulled on her shoes and went to the bathroom as her mother instructed. She sat on the toilet lid and closed her eyes waiting. She did not have to wait long. Her mother was many things. She could be very loving, she was lots of fun, and she was also very heavy handed, especially when it came time to comb her daughter’s hair.
Her mother removed the beret that had become tangled in her daughter’s hair during the night and let go of a curse as the knotted mess stayed in place. “I swear to God I have no idea how your hair gets so tangled at night. No matter what I do you always manage to tangle it all up,” she said as the firm strokes of the comb and then hairbrush began the process of untangling the mess. Tisha’s head turned into a throbbing mass of pain and she did her very best to hold the tears back.
One thing that her mother did not like was for her to cry while she was combing her hair. This often brought on comments like ‘I’m going to make you start combing your own hair’ or ‘I should just cut it all off since you can’t seem to keep it untangled’. Tisha wouldn’t mind trying her hand at combing it herself, she would probably be far gentler with it, but such an attitude would seem like ungratefulness, something she tried not to be towards her mother.
After a few more curses from her mother, her hair was finally tangle free and in two perfect pigtails at either side of her head. The pigtails were braided and small berets shaped like daises held the ends in place. The daisies were purple to match the purple shirt she wore with her kaki colored shorts. It was going to be hot today.
After brushing her teeth, she bound from the bathroom feeling relieved to be free. She went to her room and put her homework folder into her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Larry had just finished brushing his own teeth when she went in to the living room to join her mother near the front door. Larry would get dressed while her mother delivered her to the next door neighbors house so that she could wait for the other children to arrive that needed to be walked to school.
Her mother took her hand as they headed out into the warm night air. It was very early morning and the crickets still chirped as they made their way out the front gate and then over to the neighbors gate. Her mother opened the latch and let Tisha precede her into their neighbor’s perfectly immaculate yard. Tisha liked the yard and wondered what it would be like to play on the grass. She would never know, though, for the neighbors were old and never let anyone other than their grandchildren play in their yard.
Tisha’s mother knocked on the door as a dog somewhere in the distance barked as if to say ‘how dare you disturb my rest by being out so early in the morning’. The door finally came out and a bleary eyed old white woman with solid gray hair stuck her skinny head out giving her mother the evil eye. Tisha wondered why the woman looked so angry, as if disturbed by their arrival, when she knew that they would be here at the same time every morning?
Barbara, the neighbor, was what was known as a grumpy old woman. Her normal facial expression was a scowl and her denture-less face early in the morning did not make the scowl any more attractive. She was not warm and fuzzy in the morning the way her parents seemed to be. If at all possible she was even more grumpy.
“Does she have her key? She can’t come back here again with me after school,” Barbra scoffed her voice as hard as a brilo pad.
“She has her key,” Tisha’s mother guaranteed with her spine straight and her head held high. No one would be looking down their nose at her mother. She worked too hard to be intimidated by the scary face of an old lady. Tisha, on the other hand, was scared senseless sometimes.
“Good, like I said I have somewhere to be after I pick them up this afternoon,” Barb reiterated before stepping aside to let Tisha in. Tisha gave her mother an uncertain gaze. She knew that if her mother had any other option, she would not force her daughter to go into that dark house, but she had no choice. She had to be to work much earlier than Tisha’s school started. Her mother bent down to hug her smelling like clean soap and toothpaste.
“Be good, turn in your homework. Do you have your lunch ticket,” she asked.
“Yes Mama,” she said and watched as her mother turned quickly and went back down the walkway without another word to Barb.
“Well, come on, I can’t stand here all morning,” the older woman admonished. Tisha hurried into the house after the woman. Once inside Tisha looked around the cold sterile room. It was not a place that she had ever gotten used to in all the time she came here. How they managed to keep it as cold as a refrigerator in this house Tisha never knew. Even when they ran the conditioner at her house all day and night it never got this cold.
She took a seat on the floor in her usual spot. The carpet was not like the carpet at her house. It was not plush. It was hard like the carpet at her school or like the carpet at the doctor’s office. Tisha shivered as she sat there. Barb did not bother to turn a light on in this room for her, but went to the kitchen instead to begin making coffee and breakfast for herself and her husband.
Tisha had tried going into the warmth of the kitchen to sit at the table and watch Barb make breakfast before, but Barb had made it clear in no certain terms that she was not welcome in her kitchen. She had even tried to sit on the couch, but was told that she was not allowed on the furniture. There was a do not touch list a mile long for Barb’s house.
Do not touch the couch.
Do not touch the table.
Do not touch the TV.
Do not touch the knickknacks on the table.
Do not go in the bathroom without permission.
Tisha was surprised that she was even allowed to touch the floor. She sat on the floor and pulled her legs up under her as she smelled the food cooking in the kitchen. As usual Tisha lay on her side on the living room floor and tried to ignore the growls that came from her stomach. Despite having eaten cereal at home, the smell of cooking food, especially breakfast food, always served to make her hungry again
As she lay on the cold floor in her shorts and t-shirt, her book bag curled beneath her head, the world of fairies and unicorns began to call her back. She went to sleep and by the time she woke up again the sun was up. Barb’s husband, George, sat at the kitchen table reading the paper, quiet as usual. His wife said enough for the both of him. Tisha kind of liked George and was sorry that his wife was so mean to him.
Well, she was mean most of the time. When her grandchildren showed up, however, one of her rare smiles crossed her face and she hugged them both. By the time Annie and Beth arrived, their grandmother had put her teeth in, combed her hair, and donned something other than a moth eaten robe.
Tisha loved it when the girls arrived for Annie had become one of her best friends during first grade and she liked talking to her while they walked to school. Barb turned on the cartoons for the girls once her granddaughters arrived and they all watched the elephant show before the walk began. Often Barb offered the girls doughnuts and the like, but Tisha saw by the look in her eyes that the offer was not extended to her and all though she was polite enough to ask Tisha if she wanted one, Tisha more often than not declined.
The only time she brought herself to eat with the girls was on the rare occasion that she hadn’t gotten the chance to eat her precious Lucky Charms because she overslept. This morning was no exception to the rule. She watched the other girls eat and as the Elephant Show ended they all prepared to walk to school. Her friend, Ricky Dutcher, from across the street met them at the gate and Tisha felt much the same as she had felt when she’d escaped the bathroom after her mother’s hair brushing this morning. She felt a sense of freedom. When they were walking to school, she was not quite as afraid of Barb. She was on her own territory, with people that she felt comfortable with. She was not an outsider here.
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trident reviewed Version 1 -
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As this is a blind review, I have no idea if in fact your life is remarkable or not.
But if not then I think that while you write very well (among the better writers here), and you paint very pretty pictures with your words, I question whether you’re writing this for your own self-gratification, or for the pleasure of others. Because, while it is stuff every reader will relate to (except my playground equipment was cast iron and rusty tin – not plastic), it is quite mundane stuff.
If this was a chapter in a book – a filler between other more engaging scenes, I’d say it was more than adequate. But you’ve got talent which could (and should) be applied to more creative works. Because if you put this kind of effort into a more engaging plot, you could be the next JK Rowling.
There’s very little I’d fault with the flow and the delivery, and save for a few typo’s which a spell-checker would pick up, you’ve been very tidy. One little point… “Brillo Pad” has 2 ‘l’s and a capital B.
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trav8434 reviewed Version 1 -
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”...bedroom which frustrated my mother to no end.” Comma after bedroom.
I like the idea of realizing the existence of letters outside the classroom.
“This, coupled with the fact that I was one of the toughest four square players in the school, put me in a good position.” If you keep this sentence the same, the commas should look like this.
”...there was no where she would rather be.” Try “there was no place…”
“Tisha could smell the hair curler that indicated her mother was curling her hair…” I don’t think you need to mention the hair curler and then tell us it’s being used – fairly obvious from the smell of the hairdryer.
Once again, you describe this young girl in such a way that i can see her in her jammies and feel my own childhood feelings come back.
“She scooped the particular marshmallow that was the scene of her imagining up out of the bowl…” this part of the sentence is a little awkward and could be rearranged.
“Do you have your lunch ticket,” she asked.” On a few occasions like this one you miss question marks.
“no certain terms” no uncertain terms.
You emphasize the cruel treatement by writing that Barb turns on the TV only after her greandaughters arrive. This is subtle, very good.
I read this before, i think, but it was very different. The conflict between Barb and Tisha’s mother is gone, sadly, but i don’t think the story sufferes too much. If this is a completely different piece, i still like it, though it mentions some of the same themes already mentioned before.
So, are they one piece just revised, or two different ones?
And i liked it. You describe a child’s mind very well.
Travis
poetking reviewed Version 1 -
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Very good! once again i suggest you re-read your work, just to make sure it reads to the masses, as you want it to! the problem with a lot of writers who want to get their work published, it may seem what you want it to read as, as you are putting down in print the first time, but when you re-read it, you then find certain aspects of your work that could be changed to make it come across more clearly, its only a suggestion, but it works!
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