Jeannie was lost into a summer day, riding on the fender of the
blue bike when childhood wasn't aware of itself and lived, lived the
sun, the ride, the houses passing by, Susan having the candy waiting at
home.  Until, until it was gone, given to her younger sister,
disappeared, gone.
    "Stop the bike."
    "No."
    "Please stop the bike, Susan!  I want off!  I wanna go home!"
    "Don't be stupid," Susan said, riding on, "We gotta get to the
store fast."
    "STOP THE BIKE!  I WANT OFF!  I WANNA GO HOME!" Jeannie screamed.
She wanted to go home and cry in private so nobody would call her a
crybaby.
    "Be quiet for pete's sake and just wait.  I'll get you some more
tomorrow."  Susan's skinny body kept pumping hard on the pedals, paying
attention to balancing the bike and not to her younger sister throwing
a temper tantrum.
    "IF YOU DON'T STOP THIS BIKE, I'M GONNA TELL MOTHER!"
    "Go ahead, we'll be home by then."
    "SUSAN, STOP IT. I WANNA GET OFF, LET ME OFF THIS DAMN BIKE, I
WANNA GO HOME!"
    Susan kept pedaling.
    "All right.  If you don't stop the bike, I will!" Lift legs, bring
down fast and hard, fast and hard to stop the bike, left foot in air,
coming down, one second too late, no shoes today, no shoes today, no
shoes today.  Slippery flesh slides on the thin metal rod and into the
spokes.  Scream, holler, bicycle fall over and stop.
    Terrified, scared, "SUSAN, HELP ME! PLEASE HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP
ME!"
    The black convertible stopped, picked her up, into the front seat,
white handkerchief, too small, too small to stop all the bleeding, her blood
escaping from her, all over the white handkerchief, all over the
front seat of the car. Susan left behind holding the bike, "HELP ME,
HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME! OH MOMMA, OH MOMMA, HELP ME!"
    "Go to the neighbors," she yelled at her other children milling
around, "Go to the neighbors and call your father." To the driver, "Can
you give us a ride to the hospital?"
    Still screaming and screeching, Jeannie watched the blood flow
from her heel.  She felt like an upsidedown milk bottle and it was all
gonna go before she could stop it.  It was all going to fall out of her
and she would be gone, dead, away.
    It's dark in here.
    Hush!
    Who's there?
    SHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
    Hey, what's going on down there?
    Listen, kid, we're busy making repairs and we can't work if you're
gonna bother us.
    What are you repairing?
    Your heel.
    My God, who am I talking to?
    You're not talking, you're listening to us fix your heel.  Now
shut up and be quiet.
    Can I watch?
    If you don't ask questions.
    Ok, I'll be quiet.
    Silence.

    Silence.

    Hey, what....
    SHUT UP!  One more time and we're gonna put you to sleep.
    I already am.
    That's it....
                                 * * *
    It's dark in here. Dark and warm.  Fetal position, blowing air
into face, making whole body warm.  Is anyone here?
    I AM.
    Where am I?
    You're inside.
    Inside what?
    Inside your mind.
    Oh.... Where does that make me?
    You're dead.
    NO, I'M NOT! I'M ALIVE!
    No, you're in a coma. You just bothered your body that was fixing
you up.  You kept bothering them so they put you into a deeper coma.
It may kill you if they don't hurry up.
    So, where am I?
    You're where you've always been.
    Who are you?
    I am God.
    God?
    Yes, God.
    SILENCE.... Hey, can I talk to you?
    You already have.
    I mean, like, I didn't know who you were.  Where are we?
    We're in your heart.
    But I thought God was in the sky, in heaven!
    No, that's a game I invented.  Why don't you stop kneeling and
bowing and sit on my lap and talk with me.
    Can I look at your face?
    Sure, my child. You'll forget what it looks like when you wake.
There, isn't it quite normal looking?
    You look ok.  Like a nice person.  Are you a man or a woman?
    Both, like you.
    Oh....  What are we gonna talk about?
    We could talk about you.
    I don't want to talk about me.  I'd rather talk about you.
    Why don't you want to talk about yourself?
    I'm in a lotta trouble now.  They're all gonna be mad at me
because they had to stop playing.
    Oh, I see.  Is anyone else going to be mad at you?
    I don't know.  Momma's crying and Father isn't here yet. I don't
know what HE's gonna do.  Hey, God, am I gonna live?
    That's up to you.
    But you should know if I'm gonna live, shouldn't you?
    Do you want to live?
    I don't know, really.  I mean, it's kinda hard being a kid and
it's harder being an adult, they say. I guess it never really gets any
better.
    Do you want to live?
    I don't know. Really.  If I knew if it's gonna get better, maybe
then I'd might think about growing up.
    Or dying now?
    Wellllll, that's a big question for a small girl and I'm pretty
small, I can't even count to 100.
    Do you want to know what life is? I can show you what life is and
then you can decide whether or not you want to lie or die.
    My life, or everyone's life?  I don't want my life.
    You're so little, you don't know what your life is like!
    YES I DO! IT'S HORRID! with adults yelling and screaming and
telling me what to do and bossing me around. They never leave me alone,
they always yell and beat me up and complain all the time. It ain't any
fun.
    It's getting late, we can't keep talking.  I'll show you your life
and I'll show you everyone's life, then make your decision.  Then you
will either live or die.
    Really?
    Really.
    Can I talk with you anymore or do I have to leave then?
    You talk to be me every night, and if you chose to live, I'll see
you again in a few years.
    I'm gonna miss you.
    I see you've already made your decision.  Here, little girl, child
of my heart, here is your life and the world's life.  They are best
friends like you and me.
                                    * * *
      "Is she gonna be all right, Doctor?  Is she gonna be all right?"
    Dazed.  "Where am I? Where am I?" Dazed.  "MOMMY? MOMMY!"  Mommy's
crying, voices, Mommy's voice is sad.  "OH MOMMY, MOMMY!  Come here and
hold me, please hold me, Mommy. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you
cry!"
    "You had me scared there. Wait 'til your father hears about this,"
shaking her head sadly, crying, crying as she held her small daughter
in her embrace, "He's not gonna like it one bit."
    "But I didn't do it on purpose, Mommy!  It was an accident. I just
wanted off the bike and Susan wouldn't stop."
    Home to the big crowded house, too many people crowding around her
as her mother carried her in, so small, so small, scarcely bigger than
a bird, a crippled bird now, perhaps crippled for life, who knew, they
would have to wait and see, wait and see.
    All six sisters were quiet.  For five minutes.  'Til they grew
tired of looking at Jeannie's mournful face.  They went outside to yell
and shout, climb trees, ride bikes, run around the block, play in the
fields.  They wouldn't miss her, she was a kid and couldn't do much
'cept get in trouble.
    She was daydreaming when she heard him enter the living room.  He
sounded angry. She pretended she was sleeping but he looked at her too
fiercely. Jeannie opened her eyes. She felt his hate slap her in the
face.  He stood over her, a giant.  Strong. Healthy. Scary.  Her
father.  She wanted to cringe her whole body into the bandage, cringe
into the coarse navy blanket and coarser horsehair couch.    
    "How did she do this, Kate?" he yelled to her mother who was
peeling potatoes for dinner in the kitchen.
    "It was an accident, Daddy.  It was an accident.  Susan wouldn't
stop the bike and I thought I'd stop it. But I didn't put on my shoes
today.  That's all," she said looking up at him, afraid, small, afraid
of how tall he was and how she was lying down. She couldn't run if he
slapped her, she couldn't move or hide.
    "THAT'S ALL! Do you know what you've done!  You couldov killed
yourself!  Do you know what those doctor bills are going to cost me!  A
small fortune we don't have!"
    She sensed him.  She sensed a wild horse caught in a fire, trapped
in the barn and fire was all around.  She spoke up bravely, fast,
quickly reaching for his hand, "I didn't mean to do it, Daddy!  Really,
honestly. I didn't mean to do it at all!"
    He slapped her hand away.  "Don't give me any of that shit! You
Goddamn threw a Goddamn temper tantrum like always 'cause your mother
spoils you!  Now look what you've gone ahead and done to yourself!"
    She couldn't understand, she was the one with the bandage, not
him. It was her heel, her foot, her being crippled, not him.  Why
should he worry?  She hadn't hurt him. "I didn't meant to hurt anyone,"
she said, bewildered by his anger.  "It was just an accident."
    "ACCIDENT MY EYE!  You of all people know there's no such thing as
ACCIDENTS!  You're a careless little brat!  I'll teach you about
'accidents.'"
    She was sitting in the arm of the couch, trying to crawl into its
safety as if it were Mother's arms.  "What are you gonna do, Daddy?
What are you gonna do?"
    "I'm gonna teach you a lesson you'll never forget," he said
removing his belt. "It's all your fault, the whole mess is your fault.
Right when I'm making a little bit of money, you always come along with
an 'accident.'  First it was your eye and now this!  You bitch, you
cause all the trouble in this house!"
    "No, Daddy, I don't really, I don't!"
    "Yes you do! I've seen you!"
    "I do not, Father!" she said yelling, angry, her eyes staring at
the belt he was still undoing.  She hoped she could say something that
would stop the belt from coming down on her. "I do not cause all the
trouble, YOU DO!"
    "Don't you dare say that!  I pay the bills in this house and until
you pay the bills, this is my house!"
    "No it isn't!  It's Mother's house too, just as much as it is
yours!"
    "You little brat!  I'm gonna teach you a lesson.  I'm gonna strap
you within an inch of your life for saying that, you little bitch!"
Crack against her face.  Swish in the air again and crack against her
thin chest, sobbing, sobbing.
    "Please stop! Please stop, Father!  I didn't mean what I just
said! Please stop, please stop!"
    "I'm not gonna stop until you learn who's boss in this house, you
little brat!  I'm gonna strap you within an inch of your life!  How do
you expect me to pay all the doctor bills you just made?  Huh?  You
think money grows on trees?  Well, just tell me how do you expect me to
pay all those bills!"
    "I promise I won't do it again, I promise," she said, peeking
through her arms which protected her face as the belt swished down
again and again.
    "It's too late.  It's always too late so this is to teach you to
stop having 'accidents.'"  He snarled the word every time he said it.
Snarled the word 'til accidents didn't exist and she really had done it
on purpose, had put her foot into the spokes on purpose, had wanted the
blood to flow to flow and to flow, and wanted to be crippled for life
and wanted to die and make him pay all the bills.
    Swish, crack, swish, crack repeatedly against her body, on the
back of the couch, on the arm of the couch she tied to hide under, but
it only caught the edge of the belt while the rest managed to hit her
shoulders. "Please stop hitting me! Just stop hitting me, Father!"
    He was in a wild frenzy.  She could see his body tense more and
more as he swung the belt far in the air to bring it down on her, to
belt away his problems, to kill his problems, to kill the bills, all
the sorrow, his child that might not walk again would be better off
dead anyway.  "Please stop, please stop, Father!  FATHER, IF YOU DON'T
STOP NOW, I'M GONNA HATE YOU FOREVER!"
     He didn't stop.
    "STOP! STOP!  I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE!"
    "YOU CAN TAKE MORE, YOU LITTLE BITCH!"
    She sat up, shaking, sobbing, angry.  She dropped her hands from
her face and looking him straight in the eye and yelled, "I HATE YOU
FATHER, I HATE YOU. I'M GONNA KILL YOU WHEN I GROW UP. I'M GONNA KILL
YOU LIKE YOU'RE KILLING ME AND IT WON'T BE AN ACCIDENT EITHER!"
    He dropped the belt, crumbled onto the edge of the couch next to
her, "Oh my God! Oh my dear God, what have I done," reaching his hand
out to her, "Oh, honey, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came
over me."
    She flinched from his touch. Trembling, frightened at what her
words had done to him, but glad. Glad.  "I HATE YOU FATHER," yelling
still, the hot heat of her anger watching her triumph and pushing him

further and further into victory for her for the first time in her
life, although his beating - and sometimes with the buckle end - was
far, far from the first, "I HATE YOU AND I'M GONNA KILL YOU WHEN I GROW
UP. THEN YOU CAN GO TO HELL WITH THE REST OF THE WORLD!"
     "Oh, leave me alone, child, leave me alone," he said, weeping.
"Get out of here, just get out of here and leave me alone."
    "WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN DOING TO THIS CHILD?" Mother yelling
at him.
    "Oh, Kate, I lost control and hit her." Sad, fallen, fading, lost.
    "You not only hit her, you gave her black and blue marks all over
her body, you bastard!  Can't you see she's sick! I just brought her
home from the hospital. No, you can't see. You beat her up all the
time. Who cares if she's sick, can't walk. Who cares if she can't run
from you with that bandage on her leg. She's only five years old!  No,
you can't see anything, Bart.  Just get out of here, get out! We don't
need you here. You're no good, you're just a no-good-bum. Get out and
leave us alone!"
    "I didn't meant to hurt her, Kate." His whole body shaking,
sobbing like never before, "I didn't mean to hurt her. I don't know
what came over me."
    "Well, I know what came over you, too much liquor as usual. Get
out of here and sober up before dinner!"
    A crippled man, weeping still, tried to touch his sixth daughter,
to say 'I'm sorry.'  She flinched again and hated him with her eyes.
In any angry whisper spoken from clenched teeth, she repeated, "I'm
gonna kill you when I grow up," and repeats every night since then,
every night he sleeps with that voice in his heart, that small angry
face in his dreams, that little child he beat up would never sit on his
lap again and match her heartbeat to his.


1973