“Kitty couldn’t have burned you.” Adult me sees the flick of her eyes, the subtle turn to the corner of her mouth. She’s not so sure.
“Coop was being mean,” I reason. “He wouldn’t share.”
My child’s mind has already forgotten the cruelty, the pushing, not that it would justify what she—whatIdid.
Mama picks Cooper up, balancing his weight on her hip. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Mommy’s going to take care of this. I want you to wait right here. You can do that for me, can’t you, pumpkin?”
I nod, but my resolve crumbles faster than a sandcastle washed away in high tide. I trail behind them, a small shadow clinging to doorways. She sets him carefully on the countertop, turning on the tap and placing his arm under the cool stream. She digs through drawer after drawer, emerging triumphant with bandages and ointment clutched in her fingers. Whether from true pain or the attention the situation grants him, fresh tears soon fall orb-like from Cooper’s lashes.
“It’s okay now, Coop. Mommy’s got you.” She wraps her arms around him again, careful to avoid the wound.
“I hate Kitty,” he sobs into her chest.
“Oh honey. No.” Soothing hands brush his hair back from his forehead. “All siblings fight. Sometimes you hurt each other and no matter how much you wish you could, you can’t take it back. But you and Kitty need one another. Someday one or both of you will need help, and you’ll know without a doubt that you can count on each other. Right?”
He nods, eyes widening as he watches her apply the bandage. “How did you make it not hurt so much, Mama?”
The scene has changed and I am now in front of Watson Elementary School. The sun shines down on the yellow brick structure, more than a century old by the time I ever walked its halls. A brand-new playground waits just to the right of the building, already full of frantic shouts and little bodies running. It was built just the year before, a gift from the greater families of New Malcolm, and this was supposed to be a draw for parents.
Ignore the lead paint, the asbestos wrapped pipes, the non-functioning fire escapes—we have a new playground!
A light texture tickles the skin below my knees. I’m wearing a bright blue cotton sundress that dances around my legs in the summer breeze. I was happy.
We had moved closer to the city right before I started kindergarten. All of our friends stayed behind in our quiet rural town while Cooper and I left for the alien landscape of downtown New Malcolm.
“Look, the weird girl is here! Weird girl, why are you always so weird all the time?” Anastasia Martin remained a rich, spoiled brat until graduation, using Mommy and Daddy’s money to buy popularity and fear in alternating measures as it suited her whims. She was my personal bully, and the first ‘bad guy’ I ever faced. Her voice grates against my senses.
“I’m not weird.” I keep my voice light, consoling. “You wanna play, Stasia?”
“Stasia!”she mocks, exaggerating to highlight my slower, more relaxed way of speaking. In time, I’ll pick up the fast, impatient way people native to New Malcolm spoke. But not now. Not yet.
Her taunt is a siren, calling the other kids to come from all directions and circle around her prey. I meet each of their eyes in turn and find pity in some, sympathy in others, but most are happy to sample Stasia’s cruelty like a delicacy.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes as helplessness overwhelms me. “Why do you have to be so mean?”
“Mean, mean,” she mimics. “You’re nothing but a whiny baby. Go ahead and cry, weird girl. Cry like a baby.”
Tears fortify themselves just beneath my eyelids, tickling the sensitive line where the inner part of flesh meets outer.
SPLAT.
A glob of mud and green, watery fungus makes an audible squishing noise as it hits, each squelching echoing in my ears as if time had slowed. I don’t see where the first one flew from, but soon the air is full of them, every classmate’s hands covered in muck, the ground at their feet torn to shreds with their efforts. A smell akin to manure permeates the air.
I can’t stop them anymore. The teardrops spill over, mixing with the grime and dripping more mess into my sundress. Mama didn’t even want me to wear it that day. It was for a special occasion. But I had loved it, and I couldn’t wait.
Ruined.
“What’s going on?” Cooper pushes his way into the circle, an easy smile on his face, still full of baby roundness that somehow made him all the cuter. Then his eyes fall on the mud-covered lump crumpled on the ground in front of him. “Kitty?”
“Kitty!” Stasia snickers, relishing my misery. The sound carries around the circle, making them sound like a pack of jackals.
Cooper rounds on them, his switch flipped. His eyes darken, flattening in his anger like a blade.
“You’re not funny, Stasia.” His voice is calm and firm, and though he speaks in a lowered tone, his voice carries over the group. “You’re nothing. A bully, but nothing. Someday you’ll scare everyone away, and you’ll only have your nothingness to keep you company.”
One by one the circle loosens, each kid backing away from her as if Cooper’s words had broken whatever spell they had allowed themselves to fall under.
Stasia glances to one side and then the other, watching her grip on the playground release. She stamps her foot twice into the ground, white patent leather Mary Janes sinking into the earth and coming back covered in filth. No matter how much she huffs, Cooper never backs down, and before long she too turns and walks away.
