Body of Ash (26 page)

He needed to take his anger out and we were easy...

It wasn’t until she hit Katie, that she understood. The release was amazing, like letting out her breath after being held under water. All of her anger and disappointment had a place to go – a voice. But, as good it as it felt, she couldn’t do it again. Seeing Katie’s fear stopped her, bringing Marge back to the present. Her daughter’s terror was sobering – as bad as witnessing Darryl hit her mother. 

If losing control with Katie is this good, imagine what I could do to him?

Her father had become old and feeble. Attached to an oxygen tank, the old mechanic was resigned to spend the rest of his years on disability because he had smoked the life from his lungs. Even as he gasped for air, it didn’t stop him from screaming out his demands. With feet up in his recliner like the king of the god damn world, he expected Marge’s mother to wait on him. For years, the two existed in that miserable trailer. It surprised Marge that her mother put up with him instead of escaping like she did.

Marge wouldn’t stay with a man like Darryl Case. If roles were reversed, she would have found a way out. Maybe pour antifreeze into his Kool-Aid and Ever Clear and watch the miserable bastard choke on his vomit. She never would have
stayed and allowed him to dish out his anger the way her mother did.

It wasn’t just the beatings and the smell of his liquored breath – it was the look that had begun to appear on his face when Marge was getting dressed up to go out at night. She knew what it meant. After being around guys at school, she recognized when a man stared at more than a woman’s pretty face. From his corner of the living room where he was bathed in the flickering light of the black and white television, his eyes lingered a little too long on her breasts and crotch area.

Darryl’s touch was one of pain – the idea of him trying to do to her what he did to her mother in their cramped back room made her sick. It was only a matter of time before he forced his way into her twin sized bed, and hurt her worse than he already did. She knew it, her mother knew it, that was why
Nanna
never asked Marge to come back home after she ran away with Bruce. Why when her mother came to visit, the older woman insisted on traveling alone.

“Katie,” Marge mumbled through the door. “I’m not so bad, you know.” She paused for a moment, listening. “My father – he’s a real asshole. He hit me and
Nanna
a lot. But, it made me strong. I’m strong enough to fight for us.”

Marge looked at the mug in her hand. She hadn’t realized she drank it already. Its image of a smiley face proclaiming “Believe, Dream, and Achieve” stared meaningfully at her.

She did believe. Her life with Brian was going to change everything. There would be no need to get angry and lose control in order to feel better. Williston wouldn’t be able to make any more demands. They would be out of their shit apartment with the ugly shag carpet and asbestos siding, living the way they deserved. All of the nice things Marge had been saving, the clothes and cosmetics, were for her new life. She would dress the part and become the woman she had been born to play. On Brian’s arm, Marge would be the envy of every person that once put her down.

Tonight would be the night. Tomorrow when she awoke, Brian would be by her side and the life she had been waiting to live with him would be hers. No more games. No more time spent waiting.

It’s me or Angela.

Marge didn’t plan on going anywhere.

40

KATIE

Friday 5:00 PM

Katie tugged the comforter over her head. There was no end to her mother’s slurring monologue from the other side of the door. Now and then Marge’s pink chipped nails would slide under the door jam, beckoning her to open up and accept her apology. Katie wanted her to go away – to take her drunken ramblings and save them for Brian. 

Why is she just sitting on the damn floor?

It wasn’t like Katie would disappear if suddenly given a moment of silence. Her bedroom didn’t even have a full size window. She couldn’t go anywhere. Needing some time and the freedom to focus her thoughts, she couldn’t decide what to do with her mother’s constant presence.

She’s waiting for me to forgive her, to tell her it is okay. It’s not that easy this time.

From the quiet tone of Marge’s voice, Katie knew her mother was working through a bottle of wine. The red grape
smell of MD 20/20 was pungent. Katie had taken a sip of it before, and could still remember her mother’s laughter when her face puckered from the sour liquid. There was a reason Marge called it “Mad Dog” – it was vile, but the proof was strong enough to get a quick buzz on. Plus the bottle was small enough to fit in her mother’s handbag.

Dad asked if she was drinking again. That’s the understatement of the year.

How long did Marge have a problem? Katie used to think her mom changed because of the divorce, but now she wasn’t so sure. Somehow in her mind, she had always pictured the years prior to the divorce as the wonder years, a time of perfection when Marge was a regular Martha Stewart cooking dinner each night and keeping the house immaculate.  From the tone her father used, it sounded like Marge may have been drinking even back then.

Was she always crazy, too?

Lying in bed, Katie began to question what she remembered. Memories of her mother behaving over the top, instantly came to mind. At the time Katie was young, making her childlike naivety impossible for her to separate her mother’s actions from her blind adoration. In her eyes, her mother was the most beautiful woman on the planet, courageous and breathtaking. But looking back, Katie began
to recognize moments in time that signaled her mother’s erratic behavior.

One Halloween, the last she spent with her father before the separation, Katie and Williston came home from trick-or-treating to discover her mother sitting, barefoot and half dressed, on the front steps of the old colonial they lived in.  Her mother’s hair hadn’t been washed and she wore bright red lipstick that had smeared across her face.

Just as Katie climbed out of her Dad’s sedan, a family from next door walked past the house.  Even though they weren’t overly friendly, Marge called for them to come get candy. As the parents halted at the steps, caution crossed their faces while the children reached into the large bowl Marge balanced on her lap. Grinning madly at them, her mother tried making conversation, but found it difficult to form her words.

At the time, Katie thought her mother’s appearance was a ruse in the spirit of Halloween, but her dad didn’t seem too happy. He urged Marge back in the house, telling her to get ready for bed while he finished passing out the treats. Rising to her feet, her mother swayed a little before tossing the bowl down the steps, spraying the sidewalk with Tootsie Rolls and lollipops. Katie recalled the uneasy feeling of her parents fighting, but it wasn’t until looking back on the night now
that she realized her mother’s behavior and appearance were not in good fun.

She had problems, even then.

There were other times. Marge was infamous for two things – making a scene and leaving an impression, only they weren’t always positive ones. In fifth grade, Katie’s class took a field trip to Yale Peabody Museum in New Haven. She was thrilled when her mother signed up to chaperone. After the long bus trip in which her mother lead a mass group sing along to Metro Station’s dance anthem “Shake It,” the children were then separated into groups of five with one parent assigned to each. All of Katie’s friends, including Rachel Jones at the time, wanted to be in Marge’s group.

With her faux fur coat and stilettos, Marge looked larger than life. Her outgoing banter left each little girl in complete adoration. The only thing was, instead of roaming the halls of the museum checking out dinosaur fossils and the Egyptian mummy – Marge took the girls straight to the gift shop. After tiring there, she brought them to the basement café, where she ordered herself a latte and doctored it with a little shot of something special she kept in her purse.  As Katie’s friends played with their gift shop purchases, Marge sipped her beverage. When Katie’s history teacher finally found them, the look on Mrs. Langer’s face caught the attention of
everyone, accept Marge, who seemed oblivious to the disapproval. With a grand sweeping gesture, she just stood and announced to the girls it was time to head back.

Who would do that? Why did she think that was okay?

Trying to understand her mother’s motives just made her actions harder to accept. Marge wasn’t the stereotypical drunk. She got up and went to work, dressed herself, made friends, had a life. Her mother could make plans and keep promises, all while fueling her energy on packs of Marlboro and tequila. No matter what she was doing, or where she was heading, she brought the party with her.

Katie grew up with the understanding that her mother would always be the center of attention. Marge was outgoing and lively and could make conversations with complete strangers look easy. With her perfect figure and boldness, the woman attracted attention and relished in keeping it. Katie’s rightful place was in her mother’s shadow. From there, she didn’t need to stand out. Even though Marge drank too much, the world revolved around her and her needs. It was easy that way when Katie was younger, but not anymore. She had grown tired of living on the sidelines, with her wants and desires being met only as an afterthought.

She’s never put me first. I don’t think she knows how.

Climbing out from the cocoon of covers she had formed on her bed, Katie caught a glance of her reflection in the mirror. It felt strange seeing her new hair. After years of looking like a smaller version of her mother, the red was bold and demanding of attention in a way she wasn’t used to. 

Instead of looking like Mom, I look like me.

It was definitely a change on the outside, but she still needed to figure out what to do with how she felt on the inside.

The lump on the back of her head ached at being touched. Although her face was still tender, only her cheekbone showed a sign of her mother’s strike. A purple bruise was forming just under the temple. Her mother couldn’t hit her. It was just unacceptable. Whether she did it because she was drinking or because she was just plain
nuts,
wasn’t the point. She couldn’t be allowed to do it again without consequences.

Could she move in with her father? She never really considered it.

Williston and Thomas lived just outside of town in a private lake front community. Consisting of large, glass front contemporary homes, they were the kind of properties her mother used to scorn, claiming the sharp angles and modern design lacked creativity. On the few occasions her mother
dropped Katie off for a visit, Marge always insisted the inhabitants of the quiet hamlet were either trying to hide something by pretending to fit in or they were just plain boring because the properties weren’t homey and there were no signs of kids around.

Although Katie liked the spacious design of her father’s house, knowing her mother disapproved kept her from imagining Williston and Thomas’ place as a second home. Darla had two bedrooms, one at her mom’s house and the other at her dad’s, but Katie never used the spare room her father set aside for her use. Although he had mentioned it several times over the years, Katie couldn’t let go of her hurt long enough to accept his offer of the space. A home without her mother in it never appealed – but as Katie ran her fingers across the small bruise, she wondered if it was time.

Thomas was nice. He must have made a decent living as tax collector for the town because he owned the house when her father first moved in. Coupled with her father’s income as an accountant, Katie was sure the two didn’t have to worry about their utilities being shut off and had more to eat in their house than a case of beef flavored ramen and an assortment of canned soups.