Subject: Coming Home
From: awright@falcon.cc.ukans.edu
(Ashley Wright)
Date: 18 Dec 94 22:13:42 CDT
Disclaimer: This work of fiction deals with some topics that may be distastful or disturbing. While elements of a biographical nature are threaded throughout the tale (try and separate the truth from fiction if you wish) it is not intendended as a representative of the denizens of the southern US as a whole. This story is dark fantasy- so dark, that bad spelling may occur...
I barely remember going to Uncle Luke and Aunt Katie's ranch when I was little. Located in the Texas panhandle, we used to spend two or three glorious weeks there every summer, my siblings and I- giving my parents a much-needed rest and working off our juvenile energy running wild in the fields, swimming in the pond, climbing the rafters in the barn and jumping from the hayloft, milking the cows and playing with the baby lambs and rabbits and chickens... no vacation since has ever rivalled those days.
Uncle Luke was the tallest man in the world- at 6'7, he brushed the top of the doorjamb if he came inside with his Stetson on- and a hard working cattleman. He was rough and didn't stand for much foolishness, but our pretty, fun-loving Aunt Katie could always bring a smile to his face. She was also tall and quite strong and well-built from working the ranch, but Uncle Luke could pick her up off the ground and swing her around. She had been a champion rider as a young woman, and still helped our Uncle break horses. My cousin Nathan (five years older than me) and his younger brother Junior (just a year older) even had their own horses, and of course Junior said he was going to be a rodeo bronco buster when he grew up.
From age two until nine, my summers were eagerly awaited trips to paradise- true, we had chores and Uncle Luke kept strict order on the ranch- you didn't disobey his orders or talk back, especially not to Aunt Katie, or you would find yourself hauled out to the barn immeadiately for a switching- but we loved it. Aunt Katie's biscuits and pies put our own Mama's to shame, and she told the most wonderful stories and could even coax our Uncle, when he'd had a few beers, into pounding out the old fashioned songs our Grandma had taught him as a boy, while we all sang raucously along to the rousing Baptist hymns. He also could be cajoled into displaying his tattoos and the zigzagging scar that bisected his lean, muscular stomach- a souvenier of the War. The work was hard and we always came home with calloused hands and stiff, sunburnt backs, but we wouldn't have missed those summers on the ranch for anything.
Then, at Thanksgiving the year I was nine, Uncle Luke and Aunt Katie didn't come to our Grandma's for the traditional dinner. We got word that Aunt Katie had been awful tired and sick lately, but it was probably nothing, and Grandpa predicted she was pregnant again. We buried her May second, just a month away from her 31st birthday. I didn't know what leukemia was then, but my older sister Jaime, who was 13 and knew everything, said it was a disease you got from drinking fluoridiated water that made your hair fall out and your insides bleed until you died. Uncle Luke kinda lost it then, and wouldn't talk to anybody or do anything but drink Jack Daniels and talk to our dearly departed Aunt's grave, and Junior and Nathan got sent to our Grandma's, and Mama and Daddy took us all to Disneyland instead of spending summer at the ranch. It sucked. Everything was fake- even the trees- and Buddy snuck his bb gun into frontierland and shot Daniel Boone in the balls and we had to go home early.
Well, we all bitched and moaned about how much we missed the ranch and all that and why couldn't we go, that finally my Mama lost her notoriously short temper and yelled at us one night at dinner, "You cannot go down and visit your Uncle Luke because he is in a state o' grief and the last thing he needs right now are a bunch of damned spoiled children to worry about! His wife just died, for sweet Jesus' sake! If I hear one more word about that ranch from you selfish children, I swear I'm gonna whip the pure-dee shit out of you all!"
When our Mama, who went to church three times a week, was riled enough to say "shit", we knew to shut up and get clear of her. The fact that she had a serving spoon in her hand at the time convinced us all that she was not to be trifled with- she was not a mean woman, and she loved children, but she could have your britches down and turn you over her knee in two seconds flat. And when Mama was in a spankin' mood, anybody unlucky or unwise enough to cross her path could be subject to getting blistered. She never let up until you cried, either. So, the subject was dropped, and never brought up again until Daddy and Mama called us all together one Saturday morning and made the announcement.
I was always up by six, so I was already in my clothes and had been anxiously awaiting everyone else's waking up to be told whatever the big news was, so I could go play. I'd been waiting for two hours by the time Jaime finally got her hair braided and Buddy got out of the can and everyone was downstairs in the living room, wondering what was up. Jaime was sitting at the battered old piano bench where Mama gave us music lessons, I was cross legged on the floor at Daddy's feet, Cissy was sitting next to him on the threadbare and sprung velveteen sofa, and Buddy was sprawled across the red leather Chippendale style chair whith his feet hanging off the armrest in the way Mama despised. She stood in the center of us, her arms crossed over her small chest, the sleeves of her yellow shirtwaist rolled up in the way I always imagine her. My Mama was not a particularly tall woman and definitely not large, but she had an air of confidence about her, and a relentless energy that seemed capable of acomplishing anything.
"I have talked to my Mother about your Uncle Luke," Mama announced, and we knew right away there was to be no discussion. Whatever they'd been up to, when those two matriarchs got together, there was no fighting them. "We are gonna be rearranging the house, and Uncle Luke and his boys are going to move in with us for a while."
Daddy nodded in mute agreement, he was a strong man, but had learned from years of experience to let Mama have her way. Of course, the four of us were full of questions. "What about the ranch?" "Where will they sleep?" "I ain't giving up my room!" "Does Uncle Luke know about this??"
Mama held up both hands in her traffic-cop gesture for silence, and she announced, "Listen up and listen up good! You aren't babies anymore, and you're all old enough to understand that your Uncle has gone through a real hard time. Aunt Katie meant the world to him, she was the only thing soft and sweet in his life, and now that she's gone Home, he's just not been able to take care of thangs."
"Ya mean he went off his rocker, Ma?" Buddy asked, and promptly got slapped! "The next smart comment outta your mouth, Newton, and I'll take hairbrush to your britches 'til you can't sit for a week!" Mama answered him hotly, her fair skin flushing with anger. "That goes for anybody else who gives me any trouble," Mama continued, pointing her finger at the rest of us for emphasis. Our usually mild-mannered Daddy spoke up, "That's right, and that goes for both of us. Your Uncle needs our help right now- he's your Mama's younger brother and we're gonna git him through this patch no matter what it takes. Now, I know things will seem strange at first, and Uncle Luke probably won't be the way you remember him. We'll all have to make adjustments, but ya'll just be on your best behavior, mind your p's and q's and do whatever you can think of to help him and your cousins feel welcome."
"First off," Mama announced, "Jaime, you need to move your things out of your bedroom- that's where your Uncle's gonna sleep. The boys can share the room with Buddy."
This piece of news brought protest from but Jaime and Buddy- where was she supposed to sleep? His room was two small to go cramming three people in there! Why couldn't they sleep with their Daddy? It was still our house, wasn't it?!
"I cannot believe you selfish, unkind children!" Mama exploded angrily. "I warned ya'll what would happen if you didn't straighten up- well, now you're both gettin' a spanking!"
Jaime immeadiately reddened and began to protest, at 13, she hated the humiliation of her infrequent spankings. Buddy paled and tried to apologize, but Mama was determined. "Jaime, fetch my hairbrush!" she commanded, and then my big sister started to cry. Although I thought she was bossy and acted too big for her britches, I could sympathise with her. That hairbrush was wicked, and riled up as she was, Mama was sure to blister their butts. Daddy said quietly to Cissy and me, "Girls, come on, let's start movin' stuff out of your rooms," and we headed upstairs as my older sister returned with the dreaded instument of torture, tears leaking from her azure eyes as she swore how sorry she was.
"You'll be a lot sorrier in a minute, by God!" Mama swore, "Now git over here!" there was a pause, a moment's silence, broken only by Jaime's sniffling and half-intelligable protests.
"Please, Mama, Mama, no, oh- I'll be- no- don't!" her sobbing began in earnest and I knew Mama had my pretty teenaged sister, who was so concerned about being sophisticated and grown up, pinned between her knees and was uncerimoniously undoing the buttons of her Levi's. Mama never let you take down your own britches and that in itself was almost as bad as the spanking. I was walking slower and slower, as if in a dream, and Daddy finally grabbed my arm and hustled me up to the room I shared with my 11 year old sister.
While we were putting our toys and books and other small, easily transferred items into cardboard boxes and Daddy undid the screws on the bunk beds, the still, hot air was punctuated by sharp, rhythmic smacking and Jaime's shrieks of pain and humiliation. I almost felt sorry for her, subjected to a degrading bare-bottomed spanking in front of our brother, but then I remembered that she'd slapped me only the day before for picking up the phone when she was talking to one of her nasty friends, and felt a sort of vindication.
Cissy had crated up all her trophies for tumbling and gymnastics, and her pictures and books on horses and was helping me throw my rat's nest of various and sundry collections- rocks, bottle caps, coins, animal bones, comic books, etc, into boxes when there was a brief pause and we knew that our sister was weeping in the corner, her face blushing as crimson as her bruised bottom, and the husky-voiced blubbering and hollering along with a new volley of smacks alerted everyone within earshot that Buddy was getting his. By the time Mama came upstairs, red faced herself and with her blonde hair touseled and a glint of rightous wrath in her deep blue eyes, Daddy and I were hauling mattresses out into the hall and Cissy had carted 4 boxes of our prized possessions up to the third floor attic.
For this was to be converted to the girls' bedroom- we had always used the attic as a playroom, where we wrestled, played ping pong, watched tv on the flickering ancient black and white set and Cissy practiced her gymnastics routines, so it was relatively clean and comfortable. Actually, we were getting a good deal although at the time, none of us appreciated it- when the windows were open, the attic was the only bedroom in the house that wasn't stiflingly hot in the summer. And it really was the only space large enough to accomidate three active girls, provide space for friends to visit and even sleep over, and where we could fit all our posters and bookshelves and collections and dressers and air rifles and roller skates and all the other paraphanalia we couldn't bear to part with that comprised our southern girlhoods.
Jaime and Buddy didn't remain in disgrace long, they were needed to help in the toting and carrying that encompassed moving all the accumulata of our young lives. We worked all day, eating cold lunch and dinner dust streaked, on the stairs, but by 11 pm we were all scrubbed, bone tired and the three Wright girls were settled into our new accomidations. Although I hated sharing my quarters with both my older sisters- either one was tolerable separately (although I liked Cissy better), they ganged up on me when they were together- I liked the new room. For one thing, even with all our combined paraphanalia and clutter, there was still enough space in the center of the room to roller skate, and since I slept on the top bunk, I had a small and precious private space where I could go when I needed to be by myself. Also, Daddy had promised to make us a big walk in closet, which would be far better than the one I had shared with Cissy- she was always complaining that I pulled her dresses off the hangers when I got my overalls, and stretched them out of shape. What a whiner! After all, I was a lot smaller, wasn't I? Daddy said he would make the new closet with graduated hanging bars, so each of us could reach them comfortably. And he'd secretly promised to make me a special hidden compartment in the wall where I could keep my most precious collections and my journal- Daddy understood the need for privacy from female relations. He himself spent a lot of time in our old carriage house, which he had converted into a workshop and where he was absolutely, positively not to be disturbed without an invitation.
Daddy and I loved our Mama and the girls, but we both sometimes just needed to get away for a while. I think that he was secretly looking forward to Uncle's Luke's moving in because it meant that there would be another man in the house- and the fact that since Uncle Luke had sold the ranch, he and Daddy were going to go into business together and open a garage. At last Daddy would be able to quit his hated job at the Refinery, a job which brought him home reeking of crude oil and which so permeated his clothes that Mama made him strip to his shorts on the back porch and leave his work clothes outside before heading straight for the shower when he got home every night.
I reflected on these things, and wondered about Uncle Luke, and whether he'd be stark ravin' mad, or his hair would be dead white, and whether our Aunt up in Heaven was watchin' this very minute and what she thought of her husband and two little boys selling the ranch and moving in with us. In the hot dark of the bedroom, with the faint summer breeze blowing through the screen, I lay under my scratchy new cotton sheets and listened to Cissy's soft mutterings in the bunk below me, and Jaime's periodic thrashings as she tried in vain to find a comfortable spot in the bed. I knew from experience that her bottom was still swollen and sore, too sensitive for even cotton panties and the sheets against her bare skin must be maddening. Hearing a soft sob from my older sister across the room, I sighed, stuck my fingers in my ears and concentrated on the light blue-painted rafters above me until I finally drifted into unconsciousness.
During the next week, we all sacrificed our summer vacation in preparation for the arrival of our bereaved kinfolk. Mama was in an unually cranky mood and we all were careful to steer clear of her when she got that certain look in her eye and tightening of her jaw. Jaime and Buddy's spankings had served as an example for everyone, and we were careful to obey her immeadiately and not give her any of our usual backtalk. By nighttime, we were always dog-tired and ready to hit the sack- since I was now sharing a room with Jaime, I had seen her changing and witnessed that not only did Mama's hairbrushing leave bruises on my sister's bottom, just beginning to swell into feminine maturity, but that they lasted for a whole week. If Mama had found out that for the first three days after her spanking, Jaime didn't wear panties under her shorts, she would have really been in for it, but Cissy and I were the only ones who knew and we weren't squealers.
As my Uncle and cousins' arrival neared, Mama grew more impatient with us and we had to watch what we said even more closely. Daddy always stood up for us if he felt Mama was really being unfair or soembody was being punished unjustly, but he backed Mama up on this one and we were all well aware of the fact that this would be the worst possible time to make trouble, as we might wind up receiving one of our Daddy's infrequent whippings if we were so foolish as to act up. Mama spanked us frequently, but almost always with her bare hand- it was only when she was really angry that she was moved to reach for her hairbrush or wooden spoon- but when Daddy decided somebody needed a lickin' it meant they were going to get the switch, and that stung like hell and left welts, even through jeans. Not that we were often lucky enough to keep our britches on, if we were so ornery as to warrant a switching- Daddy let the girls keep on our panties as a concession to modesty and that was bad enough, but Buddy got whipped on the bare butt and the embarrassment almost outweighed the pain. Daddy also didn't restrict himself to switching our bottoms- but attended to our thighs, calves and the ultimately tender area where seat meets leg- this ensuring that the effects of a switching made themselves felt as an incentive to behave for several days to come. The weals faded within a few hours, but the faint pink stripes and the scorching discomfort whenever the unhappy miscreant sat lasted for days. Our Daddy was the kindest, gentlest man I knew, and we didn't get spanked half as much or as severely as some of my friends, but when he was angry enough or we'd transgressed direly enough to warrant a trip out to the barn, he administered swift, harsh justice.
I had gotten switched most recently, for punching a boy in my class in the face, getting suspended and then lying about it. It was the lying that earned me a switching, not the punch- which would have only gotten me grounded. Even the suspension would have only merited extra chores, a scolding and possibly a hand-spanking to "drive the lesson home", but lying was absolutely not tolerated by either Mama or Daddy and was, along with bigotry and hatefulness, the only two crimes my Daddy really got het up about. I lied mainly because I was ashamed of myself for picking on the kid, who didn't deserve it. Also, I wanted to go to the Sate Fair the weekend after school got out, and if my parents found out I'd been suspended they surely wouldn't allow me to go. So, I pretended to go to school every day, felt miserable, passed fourth grade with a "D" in conduct and went to the State Fair. I felt lousy the whole time, and had just about gotten to the point where I felt guilty enough to rat on myself, when my Daddy came home from work early one day and slammed the screen door and stomped into the living room without even bothering to change out of his oily work clothes.
"What do you think you're doin', comin' in my house in those nasty clothes?!" Mama, who was having coffee and talking with one of the ladies from the Alter Society demanded, but Daddy just bellered at the top of his lungs, "Ashley Lizbeth Wright, you git down here right this minute!!!!"
I was just getting home from riding my bike and as I walked up the drive to the house, I could hear Mama and Daddy arguing all the way outside. I opened the door, only to be met by my Daddy who was looking madder than I'd seen him since he caught Buddy swiping dirty magazines from the 7-11.
"Young lady, you and me are gonna have a talk," Daddy said, taking me by the shoulder and steering me to the kitchen (by this time Mama's lady friend was getting her purse). My mind raced, what was up? Daddy was mad about something... had I left my skates on the stairs again? Fighting with Buddy?? Oh no, maybe he overheard me call Jaime a bitch... of course there was always the big one, but how could he have found out about that?
"I ran into Tim Hollis today, Ashley," Daddy said, "you remember meeting Mr.Hollis- the other assistant foreman where I work?"
Shit! Sudden realization stabbed me in the gut. I decided to play it cool. It was hard though, with Daddy looking at me like that.
"His little boy goes to school with you, doesn't he?" Daddy asked, and before I could answer, he held me by both shoulders and shook me in exhasperation. "What is the matter with you, picking fights for no reason?! Tim told me his boy came home with both his front teeth out. Now, what did that boy ever do to you?! Did he pick on you?"
"No sir." Now I was miserable, and just wished feverently for this to be over, or better yet, for it to be happening to somebody else.
"Did he call you names? Or make fun of you?! Ashley Wright- no, look at me, girl- did that boy in fact ever do anything to justify you haulin' off and busting him in the face?!"
"I guess not." I looked at the worn linoleum, holding my breath, and dreaded the inevitable outcome.
"You know what they call people who hit folks for no reason?! Do you?? A bully! Do you know how humiliating it was for me to stand there and listen to my fellow worker tell me my baby girl is a bully?!"
"I'da been more humiliated if'n I was him- his son's the one who let a girl beat him up-" no sooner had this ill-timed phrase left my mouth than my Daddy had yanked me off the ground and tucked me under his arm. He'd played football through college and was still in pretty good shape. The first of many swats cracked sharply against the stretched denim of my overalls. As Daddy carried me out of the kitchen, he continued to lecture me and in fact was sounding angrier as he listed off my offenses-
"Not only was I informed my sweet baby girl picks fights with little boys for no reason, but imagine my surprise when I was told you'd been kicked out of school!"
"Not kicked out," I protested, but was silenced by 8 or 10 rapid fire swats to the seat of my pants. We were on the back porch now, heading for the screen door that led out to the yard. Daddy was taking long strides, lecturing and swatting in a steady rhythm now.
"You are a bully, you pick fights, you sass your teacher, you git yourself suspended from school... when did you intend to tell us about that?"
This question must have been rhetorical, because before I could get a word in edgewise, I was cut off by Daddy's diatribe and more stinging swats to my vulnerable bottom. As we crossed the yard, it dawned on me where we were headed and I began to struggle and twist in the iron grasp that held me 4 feet off the ground, but to no avail.
"Daddy, no! Please-" I pleaded, but my angry father kicked open the door of our ramshackle barn, which we only used for storage and the dreaded but mercifully infrequent chastisement of naughty children. At last I was set uncerimoniously on the ground, and Daddy looked me directly in the eye and said, "Ashley, I love you and I'd rather cut off my own arm than hurt you. But I will not stand for you lying to your Mama and me, or for this kind of behavior! Now, I am gonna blister you with a peach tree switch 'til your li'l bottom or my arm is worn out- whichever comes first!"
"Nooooooo!" I bawled shamelessly, but my howls received no clemency. Daddy had broken off a switch from one of our fruit tres during the long trek out to the barn, and he held me by the front of the shirt with one hand while he swiftly undid the buttons on my shorts with the other. My shorts fell to my ankles, effectively hobbling me, Daddy shifted his grasp on my shirt to the back of my collar, and he raised the terrible switch high in the air. I closed my eyes, but couldn't shut out the whistle of the stick as it swished up and then hurtled down towards its small and inevitable target... the first stroke landed right across the dead center of its target and I howled and thrashed... but Daddy was resolved to teach me a hard lesson and continued to bring down the searing switch, which whistled and cracked horribly against the little protection afforded by my thin cotton panties... by the time my father decided justice was done, I was sobbing openly, partially from emotional release and partially from pain and shame. At last, Daddy cast the instrument of correction aside and gathered me up into his strong arms, my shorts still dangling rediculously and my butt feeling like it was literally flayed. I bawled into Daddy's shoulder, getting grime and oil residue on my face and wetting the already dirty cloth with snot and tears.
Daddy rocked me and stroked my hair for a few minutes, then finally put me down and thoughtfully left me to pull up my shorts and compose myself. When I was finally able to leave the barn, he was waiting for me on the porch steps, and took me up into his lap and explained he still loved me and he hoped he never had to whip me like that again. By dinner time, we were friends again, even though I was unable to it comfortably on the wooden kitchen chairs, and that night when I got tucked into bed, I gave him the same kiss on the cheek as always, no hard feelings, but the memory of this painful and frightening (not to mention humiliating) ordeal was still fresh in my mind.
***When we last left off, the recently bereaved and possibly alcoholic Uncle Luke had just sold off his ranch and prepared to move himself and his 2 sons in with our young heroine's cheerfully dysfunctional family. Buddy, Ash's mean older brother, was still thirsty for revenge and had just discovered cousin Junior and Ash in her room, smoking...***
Buddy was gearing up to holler for Mama again, but before he could let loose with his bull-moose beller that would undoubtedly bring swift justice upon us, I had leapt to my feet and lunged at him, tackling him in a desparate attempt to shut him up. My older brother being considerably taller and heavier than me, shoved me off roughly and we grappled on the hard wood floor, me frantically grabbing one of Cissy's socks which was within handy reach on the floor and trying to stuff it in his big mouth to shut him up.
Buddy always was a dirty fighter, and even though I was wrestling with all the determination of a coyote in a trap, he soon had be pinned on my belly on the floor with my skinny arms drawn painfully up behind my back.
"Mama's gonna whip your ass good, when she hears about this," Buddy leered evilly, putting his foot in the small of my back and drawing up sharply.
"Ow! Goddam you, you big ape, lemme go or so help me I'll-"
"You'll what?" my brother taunted, grasping both wrists behind my back with one hand, he shoved the other underneath me and twisted the nipple nearest him painfully. "I bet Mama and Daddy both'll whip that little butt of yours so hard you'll be black and blue for the rest of the summer!!"
"Let her go," Junior said suddenly, and Buddy gave him a contemptuous look before hawking up a loogey to spit in his direction.
"You stay outta this, you little twerp or I'll see that you get yours too," Buddy threatened. Then, still kneeling painfully on my back, he leaned down and offered, "tell you what, I'll make you two little squirts a deal. What'll you gimme to keep my mouth shut about this?"
I knew we were stuck. Buddy was a terrible tattletale, he loved to get me in trouble and he was pissed that Junior was infringing on his territory. He would relish nothing more than to see me get blistered in front of everyone, which I knew would be the inevitable outcome if our Mama found out about this. I cringed at the thought of catering to my ugly, mean and stupid older brother's demands for the rest of the summer, but knew there was no escape. "I- I'll do whatever you say," I managed to choke, "-lemme go, you're squashing me!"
"First say that you'll do all my chores and you'll give me your allowance," Buddy demanded. "And you both have to do exactly as I tell you for the rest of the summer- otherwise..." he gave my butt a couple sharp whacks and laughed when I hollered. "You'll get worse'n' that if I let Mama and Daddy know what you two were up two. Smoking, drinking, playing doctor..."
"That's a goddam lie!" I shouted in outrage, managing to flip myself suddenly onto my back and kick the big jerk off of me. Junior had already stashed the cigarettes by throwing them out onto the roof, and I picked up Jaime's alarm clock and threw it at Buddy's head. "I ain't doin' nothin' you say, and if you tell, you won't ever be able to prove it anyhow!" Buddy ducked, but unfortunately for me, the clock was electric and in my blind rage I neglected to notice. The clock flew threw the air and suddenly stopped short when it reached the end of its cord, and crashed to the ground. Buddy grinned at me again, taunting, "Gee I hope you didn't break it, you'll get extra licks for that, no doubt..."
I was so mad that I leaped onto Jaime's bed and went for my brother's throat. He shoved one dirty hand in my face, partially blinding me and smashing my nose painfully, and shoved me down hard into the mattress where he proceeded to give me a sound beating. I kicked, hollered, thrashed and fought, and Buddy probably wouldn't have let up until he bloodied my nose or split my lip if Junior hadn't come to the rescue.
"Hey Buddy," my cousin asked innocently, "since we're gonna be sharing a room and all, I was just wondering- do you still piss yourself every night, or have you finally outgrown that now that you're in junior high?"
"You little cocksucker, I'll-" Buddy began, his face reddening and his lip curling in rage. My brother let go of my throat and made a grab for Junior, which was precisely the moment my quick-witted cousin brought the lamp down on his head. The lamp was an ugly ceramic number that had been given to Jaime by my great-Aunt Naomie, and encrusted all around the base with ceramic roses and other girly decoration. It connected with my brother's head with a satisfying <thunk>, like a hammer smashing into a ripe watermelon, breaking off two roses in the process.
"Oh shit, Junior," I breathed when I was able to comprehend what had happened, "I think you killed him."
"No I didn't," Junior replied, pale and shaky, "look, he's still breathin'... anyway, he was trying to kill you--"
I noticed the blood on the chipped base of the lamp just about the same time my Mama burst in the room, demanding, "Just what in the name of all that's holy is goin' on up here?! Sounds like you kids are tryin' to tear the house- OH MY GAWD!"
When she saw the unmoving form of her only son and heir, and me and Junior holding the bloody lamp with obvious expressions of guilt on our pale faces, Mama went stark raving mad. She ran downstairs, hollering for my Daddy and I knew we were in for it.
"Quick," I whispered in terror, "make a break for it!"
Junior was shaking Buddy, and slapping his face none too gently in an effort to revive him, and I ran for the window, hoping that if I could just manage to get out onto the roof, I could somehow shinney down the guttering or call for help. I heard Mama's frantic hollering downstairs, followed by heavy male footsteps hurridly making their way up to the attic, to seal our fate, and that was enough to prompt me to make a dive for the window, popping the screen in my last-ditch effort to save my hide.
I hesitated a moment too long and was halfway out onto the roof and freedom when I felt myself roughly snared around the waist and was hauled back inside.
I was jerked back into the house uncerimoniously by my Daddy, who slammed down the window quick. Mama had a wet cloth and was wiping Buddy's forehead with it- probably the first time his face had been washed in a week- and carrying on about, "Oh, baby! Speak to me honey! How many fingers am I holdin' up," and all that sort of thing. Buddy hadn't been cut bad- just a small scratch from one of the ceramic roses- but he'd bled like a stuck pig all over Jaime's fluffy pink comforter. He had a rapidly swelling knot on the back of his forehead, and a bruised and puffy lip from where I'd kicked him earlier during our fight.
"For Christ's sake, Mama, I'm okay! The li'l twerpjust caught me off guard, that's all. Leave me alone!" Ever the southern gentleman, my brother showed his gratitute to our Mama by slapping her hands irritably away from him and kicking at her.
But Buddy didn;t get so much as a "mind your manners, boy"- instead, Mama turned to me and hollered, "Missy, you have got it comin' to you this time! What did I tell you about being on your best behavior for your Uncle?! You could have permanently injured your brother's mind, whackin' him over the head like that- and you ruined your sister's lamp!"
"I'm sorry I broke the lamp-" I started off, but Mama strode over to me in about 3 steps, grabbed me from Daddy and hauled me over to the bed by the shirt collar. I was tripping over my own feet trying to keep up with her. Mama was hollering at me about a mile a minute, but at that moment I felt as though I were outside of my body and watching the whole scene unfold from someplace up near the ceiling. Junior was standing by the window, with Daddy's hand on his neck to ensure he didn't go nowhere- looking pale, Buddy was looking even worse than usual but he had this sickly grin of satisfaction on his ugly mug, even as he rubbed his head in pain, my usually pretty Mama was transformed by anger into a mythical creature of destruction- like the Gorgon, looking into Mama's eyes right now could turn a man to stone.
"I have had just about enough of you, young lady- and this is the final straw!" Mama stormed on, shaking her finger in my face and ignoring my explosive protests. There was no way I wuld get to tell my side of the story, and even if I could, she wouldn't believe it. Mama had the misguided notion that Buddy was a real boy instead of a toad in Levi's.
Knowing the spanking was inevitable didn't ease my suffering any when Mama finally turned me abruptly over her knee and started whaling on the seat of my well-worn britches. I was thoroughly embarrassed to be spanked like this in front of my despised brother and cousin- and was blushing crimson and gritting my teeth in shame, determined to last this out without a sound, when I was suddenly hauled back onto my feet and the most unthinkable punishment of all was inflicted...
Mama held me pinned in place with her own denim-clad knees, and even as she reached for the waistband of my britches, the alarm bells went off in my head- Mama was gonna take my britches down! I was gonna get a bare-butt whuppin' in front of my Daddy, older brother and my cousin!!!
"Mama, no! Not in front of ever'buddy-"
"Why not?!" my heartless Mama demanded, her face set in an angry grimace, "Junior's a part of this family just as much as anybody else, and I think after what you did to Buddy, you deserve to have him watch you get your naughty li'l bottom blistered!"
"NOO!" I hollered, but it was futile, even as I twisted and protested I was roughly yanked over Mama's knee and effectively pinioned by her oposing thigh so that I couldn't even wiggle or kick. The rain of smacks immeadiately decended on my bottom- and the thin cotton drawers I was wearing offered no protection against the stinging punishment. I was so mortified, to have my brother and cousin, who was just one year older than me, see me in my panties like a little baby... I would never live this down. I would have to run away immeadiately and go live in a cave and become a hermit. I was softly crying from the humiliation of it all as my Mama, appalled at the violence she thought I'd inflicted on my brother for no reason, applied smack after smack of her stinging right palm to my tender butt, lecturing as she did so.
"And if I ever catch you raising your hand to anyone else again, I'll paddle your bare butt til it's black and blue, you hear?! Don;t you ever hit your brother again! I don't care what he was doing- you coulda killed him and then where would you be?!" Mama delivered a final volley of stinging smacks to the tender backs of my thighs and released me, pointing a warning finger at all three of us, "I had better not have any more trouble with you three today, or so help me, I'll paddle every last one of you until your noses bleed buttermilk!"
Apparently Mama had gotten over her sympathy for Buddy and at least I could nurse the small consolation that he'd been included in the threat. After she stormed fromthe room, yelling at my perfectly innocent sisters who were just going upstairs and happened to get in her way, Daddy sighed and said, "Buddy, go to your room and I don't want to catch you messing with Ash again. Ashley, you get in bed and think about thangs for a while. Junior, you come with me."
My Daddy ushered the boys out of the room and I fled for the sanctuary of my top bunk. I crawled up into the bed, shedding my shorts as I did so, and curled up in a ball under the covers to rub my blazing bottom and feel sorry for myself. Although I despised crybabies and whiners, the pillow was wet by the time I finally fell asleep, exhausted with the turmoil of nearly killing my brother, the arrival of my long-awaited uncle, and the wrath of my Mama. And I still had to make up for breaking that damn lamp- I had a feeling I would be doing Jaime's chores for a long time to come. Laying on my side, legs drawn up to my chest and my cool hands rubbing my scarlet bottom in an attempt to soothe the biting sting, I reflected on how unjust the world was and decided to run away. Not forever, just long enough to make folks appreciate me... I decided that I would talk it over with Cissy and Junior and give them a chance to come with me if they chose... we'd have fabulous adventures and become world famous and when we returned, "they" would be sorry they'd treated us so poorly, and beg us to forgive them...
These thoughts soothed my discomfort and humiliation to the extent that at last I even fell asleep in the tangled sheets, my copper hair damp from exertion and heat, and my tanned little hands still thrust into my underpants.