Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

She was screaming bloody murder, wailing and crying. Stomping around the house in a tantrum calling for me. I held my breath as she marched past the bureau I was hiding under. I had a soft white blanket over my head. I picked at the pilling fabric, curling each fray together into a fuzzball. The sun came through the window at a slant and illuminated my little cotton fuzzies, their silhouettes aglow like magic in my small fingers. This blanket was used, traveling from my Grandma’s house in Barnwell all the way out here, deep in the South Carolina woods. At least it felt like that for a little girl. Far and lonely. This blanket sat on my Grandma’s lap through the entire run of the ‘Days of our Lives’ and maybe before. My Grandpa gave it to my Mama when Grandma died last year. Now, here I sat, picking it apart enraged at my Grandma's daughter, weeping chaotically around me in this big ole empty house. The sound of my name being yelled was muffled now as she was three stories up in the finished attic: my de facto doctor’s office.

In my doctor’s office, there was a plastic stethoscope that when you pushed the pink heart-shaped button, it mimicked the organ's two beats, one roll of real-life white bandages for my Teddy’s hurt arm, a blanket-cum-hospital-bed on the floor and one of those things where when you hit your knee just right, your leg jumps. I didn’t go up there alone because of Uncle Freddy and a fear of shadows or more specifically what lurked beyond them. My doctor’s office was the highest point of the house with a ceiling window that let in natural light. I imagined my Mama sitting in this light weeping for me.

There were two miniature doors on either side of this four walled room that led to the off-limits unfinished attic. I would have to kneel down and crawl on my knees to pass through. These doors were almost hidden with no knob, but if you pushed on them, they came slightly ajar with a peep. I had just read ‘Alice in Wonderland’ and was curiouser and curiouser about these two doors and asked my Daddy to tell me all about them.

He said I mustn’t go through them because it was dangerous and I could get hurt. I asked him why, as children do, and pestered and pleaded.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked with a smile.

I shook my head with two yeses.

“Are you sure you really want to know?” A sly grin creeped onto his face.

“Daddy!” I squealed, “Tell me now or else!”

My Dad lunged for my rip cage which was my most ticklish spot and I was in a tangle of laughter.

“Tell me, tell me!” I screamed through fits of giggles.

“Uncle Freddy lives there and will get you!” He screamed for effect followed by a menacing Pixar Dracula laugh.

I howled. I had a feeling it was Uncle Freddy. I just knew he didn’t burn all up in that fire, but I wasn't sure how he found us here.

At night, my parents tucked me into bed in my new room. The popcorn ceilings felt too tall as if being stretched in a fish eye. The four posters of my bed stood staunch and dark. The way the shadows danced on their carved wood created menacing faces that looked down on me like looming warlocks. Mama and Daddy always did this thing where they sat on either side of the bed trapping me in the middle and I would try to move and be stuck under the covers like a straight-jacket and would kick my feet and flail until they released the blanket.

They laughed at how I said I was “claustrophobic.” They were always pickin’ on me for this or that.

“Where in the world did you learn a word like that, Boo?” they poked.

I scoffed back, “A book, duh!”

Mama made me read words from the Bible. I could flip to any page and pick anywhere I wanted. This Bible was monogrammed in silver and came with a case that had a stitched rendering of Jesus’ footsteps in the sand. I flipped the heavy pages back and forth, waiting for a feeling.

A feeling hit me in Psalms as I think it does for most people. At 102: The Prayer of the Afflicted, I read aloud:

“Hear my prayer, O Jehovah, and let my cry come unto thee. Hide not thy face from me in the day of my distress: Incline thine ear unto me; In the day when I call answer me speedily. For my days consume away like smoke, and my bones are burned as a firebrand. My heart is smitten like grass, and withered; For I forget to eat my bread. By reason of the voice of my groaning, my bones cleave to my flesh. I am like a pelican of the wilderness; I am become as an owl of the waste places. I watch, and am become like a sparrow, that is alone upon the house-top.”

I read it a few more times in my head. “What the heck does that mean?”

I looked at my parents for answers and they looked at each other, shrugging their shoulders cartoonishly.

“Okay it’s getting late,” said Mama. “Prayers.”

They repeated the Lord’s prayer with me, the Baptist one to be exact. It seems there are a lot of prayers but for some reason, they insist on this one. I laid my head down and my parents tucked me in on both sides.

I took the covers. ‘No, no, I got it.” I said exasperated.

They giggled and closed the door behind them. There was a lamp post across the street illuminating nothing but grass and it shone bright through my window. I tossed away from it and before me, in the shadows, beyond my safe bed of blanket, I wondered what monsters lurked.

Daddy said Uncle Freddy lived in the attic and if I even opened the door, even a little, I would disturb him and he would haunt my dreams. Daddy said he looked normal at first with a red striped shirt and brown hat, but if I messed with him, he would show me his fingers of razors. I dared to peak over my bed ledge and inched my wide eyes forward.

“Uncle Freddy?” I whispered. I felt a chill run up my exposed baby toe and escaped like a turtle in a shell under my covers. I tossed and turned a little longer and then I heard it.

The raised voices of my parents, back and forth and back and forth like a match, echoed in the empty foyer and rattled the chandeliers. I peered over the edge of the bed and whispered to myself, “Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.” No monsters appeared so I tiptoed to my bedroom door and put my ear against it. I couldn’t make out much. I heard “you never,” “always money,” and “here.” Then hard footsteps, an open vacuum that lasted too long and finally a slam of the front door that rattled my ear. I crawled to the window quick and peered out onto the front yard. My Dad’s truck reversed in a whirl and screeched forward until the echo was a whimper. I put my ear back against the door softly and heard my Mother’s strangled cry.

I looked at the shadow under my bed and dared anything to come fight me, but the shadow just sat there, unblinking. From my window, I looked out into the road. Our house was freshly built, the first one to be up in this new development. We had moved here for the good school district since our other house burned down. Lightening came heaving from the sky, struck the big Oak beside our house and it fell in flames right through the middle. We were out at my school play and later my classmates said God had cursed us. I asked God to tell me once and for all if it was true, but he hasn’t answered yet.

This new town was made up of one traffic light, a Shell gas station, a dilapidated drug store, a Hardees, a second-hand Christian themed shop and a cheap Chinese restaurant. Once you drove passed this, you kept driving for half an hour down a winding road cut through wheat fields then cow fields then cotton. Half way in you could turn right at the antique trailer showroom but after that it was just dark trees and freshly paved black. The virgin forest ended at a man-made lake, leaping in and out of the divide like blood vessels creating coves that now cost a fortune. It was the years before the Great Recession when the housing market was booming and every bright-eyed bozo with grandeur of the American dream got a bloated loan to buy happiness.

I didn’t know this at the time. I liked how we had this huge empty house, all these rooms with no furniture, where I could create any world I wanted. The vast wooden floor of what traditionally is a dining room if you had money to buy a table and chairs, was the perfect place to tendu and pirouette. The extra room upstairs was filling up quick with my imaginary kitchen set, my nursery, my office and my classroom. The huge front room over the garage, lovingly referred to as The Frog, was divided into two rooms: the front half housing a tv and a futon and in the back, I had my karaoke machine plugged in so I could do renditions of “Lucky” by Britney Spears.

But now, in my room, looking out at the carless driveway and the houseless neighborhood and the starless night, I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted my Daddy to come back. My face scrunched up like it was going to cry and I willed the tears to come, but they rescinded back into the depths of my façade. I opened the window. The lone street lamp didn’t shine a wide circumference and everything else looked pitch-black. I leaned out and put my hands on the black shingles of the roof. It sloped down wide and flat. I crawled out onto it, sat against the white siding and looked up into the heavy clouds.

“Dear Lord, please help my Daddy to come back and please help my Mama not to cry. Please help them to be kind to one another and for everything to be okay…Okay, Lord, I think that’s all. I just want us to be happy again. Amen… Oh, wait and Jesus? Will you help me to not be scared of Uncle Freddy and the other monsters? Okay that would be cool. Thank you, Jesus. Good night.”

When I opened my eyes from prayer, a witch’s screech descended onto the night. She kept screaming and screaming, a tortured cackle that made chills crawl up my spine. I froze, my back plastered to the exterior of the house, my feet and hands planted on the rough shingles, bracing.

“Oh, God, is this a freaking joke? Witches are worse than Uncle Freddy!” I was panting, looking into the darkness awaiting my fate until a silent white being swooped under the lamp post and twinkled before disappearing along with the cacophony. My heart was beating fast. I was gulping for breath. “Be brave. Be brave. Be brave,” I repeated in my head.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and looked around, not recognizing the place until a few more blinks. Realization occurred and I ran to the window. The drive way was still empty. I tiptoed to the door and put my ear against it. All was silent.

I made my way downstairs very slowly, placing both feet on each steep step and held the railing tight. The morning light played with the twinkling colors of the chandelier and lit up the foyer in a dance. I smiled and almost forgot Daddy. I looked and looked at those lights and tripped, tumbling down the last three steps.

I heard her before she appeared. “Boo! Where are you? Answer me right now!”

She saw me sprawled on the floor and shrieked. She ran to me, shaking me.

“My child! My child!” she screamed.

I began to cry, not because I was hurt but because I felt overwhelmed and she gripped me so tight and wouldn’t let go.

I was grasping for breath, trying to speak. “Mama, Mama! I’m okay, I’m okay!”

I pushed her away so my chest could expand so that my lungs could too. This offended her and she pulled her body away and cried and said, “How could you do this to me? You need to be more careful with these stairs! Head always in the clouds.” She softened a bit, but her tears fell harder. “I just love you so much. I would die if anything happened to you, you understand me?”

I nodded that I did and went to hug her because I could tell that is what she wanted me to do. She pouted, still wounded. She walked away and left me there alone on the floor. Mama always said, “When Mama isn’t happy, nobody is.”

My chin quivered. A rush of chills ran from my toes to my eyes and tears fell silently. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I wanted to be invisible. And that’s when I did it and she started to scream.

I hid in my bedroom closet behind my hanging clothes first and used crayons to create a masterpiece on the white walls. Time passed as my mural grew into a sunny picnic scene with all Noah’s creatures and then, I heard my Mama call for me.

I was still invisible so kept quiet. “Boo? Boo?” Honey?” My mom began pacing the downstairs. “Boo? Boo?” The fear in her voice began to show. I heard her ascend the staircase and tap on my door. “Darling? Are you in here?” She entered my room and tiptoed around. She opened my closet then closed it again. I heard her check my bathroom then the extra empty bedroom and continue down the upstairs hall. I used this as an opportunity to sneak across to the other bedroom and hide in the closet there. She was yelling for me now. “This isn’t funny! Come out now or you are in big trouble!”

I heard her go downstairs. I snuck to her room but it was barren with no good hiding spots. I silently went to The Frog, but it was the same: vast empty carpet. Suddenly, I heard her come up the stairs again and panicked. I broke my own rule and ran one more flight up to my doctor’s office alone and looked around. My mother’s footsteps came closer: up the stairs, down the hall. She was angry now, full of fear and screaming. One footstep, two. In my bedroom, out. In my bathroom, out. A door slam. A thud. I looked at the two miniature doors that led to the attic, to Uncle Freddy. “Be brave,” I repeated in my head. “Be brave, be brave.”

I grabbed Teddy by his not-hurt paw and pressed on one of the attic doors. It came open with a click and I widened it slowly. It made a creak which in turn made my heart jump out of my chest. I heard Mama just below in my karaoke room and decided I was way more scared of her than Uncle Freddy. I crawled into the blackness, shut the door behind me and held Teddy tight to my chest. I took deep gulping breaths as I heard Mama come up the stairs. She walked around the room then paused. I held my breath. I heard her sit on the floor. I heard two manufactured beats of a toy heart and then I heard her softly weep. It wasn’t a cry of anger or for show. It was different than the pouty dramatic display of emotions she was accustomed to. It made my eyes shed tears and my chin slightly shake, but I forced myself to stop and reveled in my anger towards her for leaving me on the stairs, for squeezing me too tight, for making Daddy leave.

I heard her footsteps grow fainter with distance. She continued searching the upstairs and calling my name in a panic. I dared to open my eyes in the darkness of Uncle Freddy’s lair, but couldn’t make out much. I took a deep breath then got out of there fast. I snuck past her in her bedroom, silently crawled down the stairs and went into the office with the one big bureau nobody used. I had left Teddy but brought Grandma's blanket and now used it as a shield.

I picked it apart, imagining each illuminated fuzzie had bravery and when I added to the growing fuzzball of fabric in my hand I grew braver and braver. I didn’t want to be scared of Uncle Freddy or the monsters under my bed or of Mama finding me and giving me a spankin’ or of Daddy never coming back or of loneliness or of confusion or of that feeling when I can’t breathe when I think too hard and my head gets dizzy.

I heard Mama coming and held my breath. She passed, her foosteps went upstairs. I continued picking out bravery. I got lost in my thoughts like Mama says I always do so didn’t hear her footsteps approach or sense her shadow in front of me. She whipped the blanket off my body fast. I could only see legs and feet and feared for her face. She was stern. She said my whole entire name, pronouncing each syllable like a death sentence.

“Come out here right this second!” she said.

I crawled out but kept my head low. “Look at me,” said she. I slowly raised my head to meet her eyes. Her face was puffy and stained with tears. Tears fell out of my eyes too, in a slow trickle.

“Did you not hear me calling, child?" She said with a low growl.

I didn’t respond. She spat, “Speak to me at once.”

I nodded my head up and down.

“Then why didn’t you answer?” she prodded.

I started to violently sob and my shoulders slouched forward. I was caught and ashamed and still angry.

“Your Daddy will hear about this,” she said, “and you’ll get the belt.”

“Da…Da…Daddy isn’t here,” I stuttered.

“What did you say?” she hissed.

“Nothing, Mama.”

“No. Say it. I want to hear you say it.”

I choked. “Daddy isn’t here.” I rubbed my eyes and the tears came faster.

“Your Daddy isn’t here. I am so you will listen to me. I am here. I love you. Your Father isn’t here for you,” she was exact with this blow.

I cried harder.

“Up to bed with you!” Mama roared.

I protested. It was still light outside.

"Your bed. Now. Don’t make me say it twice.”

Mama tucked me in. Just Mama. She made me recite the Lord’s prayer and this made her feel guilty and she wasn’t so scary anymore.

“Mama, where is Daddy?” I had been too afraid to ask until now.

Mama sighed real deep, her whole chest moved. She looked out the window and her eyes became glassy. “He’s working, honey, like he always is.” She kissed me on the cheek and told me she loved me and I said it back and she shut the door very quietly.

I awoke awhile later to beams of light shining in my face as my Dad pulled in the driveway. I jumped up and watched him out the window. He slammed the door, paused by his truck then walked slowly. I crossed my room and put my ear to the door but only heard hushed voices.

I held my breath while I ever so slowly turned the knob then opened the door an inch. Their voices were getting louder, back and forth and back and forth. I crawled out to the stair bannister and peered over. I saw Mama’s raven hair first then her arms in this dance like an orchestra conductor.

“And you're fucking drunk, aren’t you?” Mom said aloud.

Dad’s tone was low and terse.

“It’s always the same fucking thing and how are we going to live?” Mom jabbed back.

Dad’s tone was building…” always do it and what are you going to do? Keep sitting around on your fat ass!”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that in my house!” Mom snapped as her voice broke.

The shouting came next. "Your house? Your fucking house?"

I swiftly crawled back to my room, inched the door closed and opened my bedroom window, inhaling fresh oxygen like I’d just drowned. I decided to run away and packed my pink backpack with Sour Patch Kids, my Teddy and my Bible.

I crawled out onto the roof and shut the window behind me. I stared out into the scary darkness. Tears came fast and heavy. My vision was a mix of salt water and soft street lamp and I sensed something when a flash of black ran across my eyes.

I thought of Uncle Freddy then the witch! I rubbed the tears away and was alert like a soldier. I scanned my peripherals and jumped when I saw a small white creature looking at me curiously. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief then looked into the wide eyes of a delicate barn owl, mostly white with some brown rubbed in his wings.

“Why, hello there, good sir. What are you doing on this fine evening?” I said this as distinguished as I could, though my voice cracked.

The owl cocked his head right then left, examining me. He looked out into the dark night. His eyes scanned the sky before landing back on me.

“Have you recently just moved in, too?” I asked the owl.

He blinked twice and I took that as a yes.

The owl flew to the side of the house and looked at me as if to follow. I crawled curiously. He swooped down and stood by the street light as if waiting for a bus. I pictured him in a top hat with a briefcase tucked under his wing. I giggled and then had the grand idea of not only running away, but running away with Mr. Owl. I was only one story off the ground and the porch bannisters wrapped around the house so I could easily step down with a bit of courage.

I thought of Alice and knew she would. I landed on the ground with a soft thud of my two feet. The owl opened his wings and did a little dance and shake so I figured I was on the right path. I cautiously walked over to him and waved. He bobbed his head up and down. I giggled. He looked at me, looked down the perpendicular street, looked back at me, then soared high into the sky.

“Mr. Owl!” I said in protest. “Wait for me!”

I walked in the direction he had flown, beyond the borders of the street lamp circumference. The farther I was from the light the more the sky opened up before me and I was in awe. The stars gleamed bright dotting every corner of the sky. I walked further still and the moon came out from hiding behind a tree and greeted me with a full friendly face.

“Why, hello there, Mr. Moon!” I said and waved.

Crickets chirped in greeting too and then frogs began a song. I heard slow lazy waves hitting a shore and asked myself, “What would Alice do?”

The night was balmy and perfect. I felt very far away from home. The sky was clear and I could see the moon’s reflection perfectly in the calm lake. I put my bare toes in the water and picked up a stone near. I brushed off the mud and saw the sharp point of an arrow head. I marveled at its edges as I explored every inch with my fingers. I imagined I was Pocahontas and fought the air with my new weapon.

A snap of leaves rustled behind me. I jumped around, arrow head ready to pierce the nearest heart. “Be brave, be brave, be brave” rang through my head like lightening but then a small white creature hopped out before me.

“Oh! It’s you! You about scared me to death, little guy and got yourself killed, to boot!

The white owl flew back to the road, landed, looked at me and bowed.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” I replied.

The owl and I were at the end of the perpendicular street that ran directly in front of my house. The street here ended at the lake in a circular cul-de-sac and already had the wooden bones of three houses being built right on top of each other. I looked at my house, a gleaming white beacon in the night with black shuddered eye lashes protecting dark windows and a southern symmetry only found in magazines.

“I’m not going back there,” I said to the owl.

He bent his legs and took flight toward the middle of the three wooden structures. I followed. The owl landed on a cross of beams where he had a nest of pine straw. The owl poked and prodded, moving single strains of straw and placing them delicately back. I saw a glimmer of white and gasped.

“Mr. Owl you are a Mrs.! And not only that, but a mother!” I exclaimed.

The owl ignored me and kept tidying until tucking herself nicely over the eggs. I sat on the dusty floor. This family must have run out of money before finishing their house too, I thought. I wondered if they screamed about it and if they had a kid who runs and hides.

“Should I call you Mrs. Owl or Mother Owl?” I asked the owl in earnest.

The owl blinked twice so I knew she preferred Mother Owl.

“Okay, then, it’s settled,” I said. “Wait! Where is Daddy Owl?”

She looked all around then back at me and cocked her head.

“Yea, my Daddy was gone too,” I said. “He came back but Mama says he is drunk and they are loud.”

The owl nodded. We both agreed we liked the quiet solitude.

“Are you scared to be a mother?” I asked.

The owl blinked a few times contemplating.

“Yea, I bet it is scary. I know my Mama tries.” Tears fell silently down my cheek and I wiped them away.

“Do you wanna be a Mommy?” I asked.

The owl cocked her head at me.

“Yea, yea, I know it’s an odd question, but sometimes I think my Mama didn’t want to be or something because she’s always so scared and takes it out on me and Mrs. Owl, I don’t like that one bit and it’s just not fair, you know, because I didn’t even ask to be here. I just am and now have to do all this life stuff and then my old house burnt down and all the kids said I was smited and Mother Owl, maybe I am and I don’t want to be. I try to be good. I really really do. And now Mommy and Daddy made us move all the way out here and I don’t, I don’t…” My tears fell harder. “Well, Mother Owl, the truth is, I don’t have any friends.” I put my head in my hands and sobbed.

The owl rustled around her nests and rearranged a few pine needles. She walked around cautiously surveying her home.

“Do owls ever get lonely?” I asked, rubbing my tear-stained face.

The owl stopped mid rustle, cocked her head towards me and shook it up and down.

“Maybe, we could be friends.” I said softly.

Mother Owl continued to nod. She got distracted by a falling leaf and then settled down atop her babes.

I pulled my Bible out of my pink backpack and flipped the pages until I got that feeling. The feeling hit somewhere in Job and I read to Mother owl:

“I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. My skin is black upon me and my bones are burned with heat. My harp also is turned to mourning and my organ into the voice of them that weep.”

I sighed. “Ain’t that the truth,” I said to Mother Owl.

I suddenly knew what I had to do, but I was scared. I packed up my book and stood on my own two feet. I waved goodbye to Mother Owl and then, I walked the long black road to the big white house. "Be brave, be brave, be brave," I repeated to myself.