Broken #2

A boy screamed from the back of the classroom and raised his hand and slapped the girl next to him. He stood up and backed away from her. She hissed at him. Her eyes widened and she lunged toward him and scratched at his face. He fell to the ground and covered his face with his hands.

Josie ran to the two children and grabbed the girl at her sides and lifted her from the ground, the girl thrashing at the air. Her eyes were menacing and she cursed at Josie.

You bitch! she yelled.

Josie carried her out to the hallway and set her down against the wall. The girl flailed about and scratched Josie's arms and tried to grab her hair. Josie called for help. Another teacher passing down the hallway walked over and assisted her in restraining the girl.

After a while the girl settled down and sat with her arms crossed and a despondant, wounded look upon her face.

Are you ready to talk now, Josie asked paitiently.

The girl shook her head.

Okay, well, we called your mother and she should be here soon.

The girl began to sob quietly. Please don't call my mother, she said. You don't know, you just don't know what will happen if you let her take me. Please, let me stay here.

Of course your mother will be upset, but if you didn't hit other students we wouldn't have to call her.

But, no, you don't understand. Please, just let me stay here, I'll do anything, she cried, her cheeks red and wet.

I'm sorry, but if you hit another student we have to send you home. Anyhow maybe this can be a lesson to you.

The girl continued crying and put her head between her knees and hid herself and refused to talk anymore.

The girl's mother pulled up in a white van with the front bumper  missing. She left the van running and stepped out. She was young and attractive. She wore a blue sweater and her dark hair pulled up in a pony tail. She was tall and walked with conviction and when she swung the door open and looked at her daughter she scowled.

Josie motioned for her to go with her mother but the girl covered her face with her hands and leaned aginst the wall.

Come on now Daisy, Josie said, You've got to go with your mother.

Dasie, her mother yelled, get in the van. Suddenly Daisy turned and ran toward the van. She hurled herself into the backseat and disappeared behind the closed door.

Thank you, Daisy's mother said.

No problem at all, Ma'am, Josie said.

. . .

They lived in a small apartment complex a few miles from the school. The apartment walls were bare. All of the furniture was broken to some degree. A telephone book held up the corner of the stained couch. The glass coffee table was cracked. The television was an old console unit with a green tint.

Daisy's mother grabbed her wrist and pulled her up the stairs to the apartment. She said nothing. She opened the door and swung Dasiy through the doorway and slammed the door behind her.

What the hell is wrong with you? her mother screamed.

Daisy threw herself upon the ground and kicked her legs.

You know I had to leave work to come get you. How the hell do you expect me to pay the bills? We're going to end up on the street because of you! You spoiled little bitch! she yelled. You get everything you damned-well want and this is how you act? Stand up! she yelled.

Dasiy stood.

Her mother stood over her, menacing and wild.

You rotten bitch, she whispered. I don't know why I didn't… and with that she slapped Daisy across the face. Dasiy turned her face down and began to cry.

Look at me! her mother yelled.

Daisy raised her large, walnut shaped eyes to her mother's face. They stared at each other for a long while until finally her mother turned away, marched into the bedroom and slammed the door.

. . .

The next day at school Daisy was called to the couneslors office. She opened the door and found an intelligent looking man with horn-rimmed glasses reposed behind a large, oak desk. He chewed on the end of a pen and when she enetered he smiled and asked her to have a seat.

She folded her hands in her lap and her feet dangled over the carpeted floor.

So, I hear you were in a bit of a fight yesterday.

Daisy shook her head.

Well, what happened? he said.

Daisy was nervous and she spoke softly and carefully. Damien, he touched me.

How did he touch you?

On my arm, she said.

And so you hit him?

Mm, hm, she said.

Why would you do that?

My mommy told me to never let a boy touch me. She said if that a boy's touch is the most dangeous thing in the world.

I see, the counselor said, and scribbled something on his clipboard.

Do you think Damien was trying to attack you?

No, she said nervously.

Do you think you could have responded in a different manner?

Mm, hm, she said.

How about next time, if a boy touches you, and you don't want to be touched, you ask him to keep his hands to himself.

Daisy nodded her head and looked out the window.

. . .

Later that afternoon Daisy's mother received a call from the councelor.

Mrs. Bellicosta, he said.

You got me, she said.

Could I talk with you for a few minutes?

Sure, she said.

Well, I had a talk with Daisy today. She mentioned a few things I'd like to ask you about, regarding her outburst in the classroom yesterday.

Okay, she said.

Well, according to Daisy, she hit Damien, her deskmate, because he touched her on the arm.

Yes, she said.

And I asked her if she thought he was attacking her, and she said that she did not think he was, but that you had told her to never let a boy touch her.

That's right, she said.

Well, in a co-ed environment, it's very unlikely that there will be no contact amongst the children. Daisy is bound to be in contact with both boys and girls in the classroom.

I disagree, she said.

What do you mean, you disagree?

I mean, they should keep their hands off my little girl. I raised her myself - her father… she broke off.

Yes? he said.

Look, I don't need to explain myself to you. But if I want those boys to keep their goddamn hands off my little girl, that's what will happen.

Mrs. Bellicosta, is there something going on here you'd like to talk about?

There's not a goddamned thing going on here. Just leave me and my daughter alone.

With that she hung up the phone.

She sat in the kitchen, the sun sinking behind the valley beyond the river than runs along the apartment complex. She stared out at the point where the valley meets the sky, breathed deeply, and lifted a cold cup of coffee to her lips. She repeated the words she said to the counselor to herself. She let the words sink deeply. She felt the coldness in them. She knew she was being unreasonable. But she couldn't let her daughter go through what she did. She couldn't let her be ruined by a man. She felt his could touch on her shoulder and she shuttered and tore herself back into the present. A singular tear welled in her eye, and when she blinked it skated down her pale cheek. She tapped her finger on the kitchen table and set her cup down and walked into her daughter's room.

. . .

The sun was setting on the parking lot. A row of trees that lined the river were gilded in the orange glow. Their branches swayed in the gentle, autumn breeze. A boy was practicing his tuba on the third floor, and you could make out the silhouette and hear the instruments sonorous lamentations. A rabbit rustled in a pile of leaves and leaped out. It scampered across the parking lot and stopped when Daisy burst out of the entrance and ran toward the river.

Daisy's mother stood at the door and crossed the parking lot but stopped at the edge of the woods and watched her daughter disappear into the trees. Her hand still stung and a bit of blood stained her shirt. She looked at the spot of blood and knew it was her blood as well. She could not mend her past. She felt the old wound splitting open again. She put her hand on her shoulder - his imprint still there.

Daisy breathed heavily and followed along the river. She ran upon roots and rocks and soil. She looked ahead and felt the sting upon her cheek and raised her hand to her face and felt the gash and looked at her hand and saw her red blood and began to cry. She did not look back for a long time. She ran until the forest became dark and mysterious like a witch's tale. And after a while she stopped and sat against the slendor trunk of a grey birch. She looked up at the moon and heard the river as it washed itself away from where it'd been. She stood and walked to the bank of the river.

For the Indie Ink Writing Challenge this week, Sarah Cass challenged me with "Love doesn't break easily, but people do." and I challenged lxy with "Motherless child."