I don’t remember my
father. He died shortly after my birth in 1960 and my mother took that as
license to pretend he never existed. Sometimes I fantasized that I was the
product of magic, or that I would grow up to be a fairy princess, or perhaps a
world-renowned dragon trainer. And on my fifth birthday she turned my world
upside down by marrying a somewhat older man she’d known for two weeks. His
name was Clark Fairbanks, and with him came his five-year-old son, August.
It was a simple ceremony
at the courthouse, and my mother looked beautiful in her light blue dress with
matching jacket and pumps. Her short blonde hair was topped with a pillbox hat
adorned with a small, pearl accented veil and she wore just the right shade of pink
lipstick. Clark was dressed in a fancy black suit, his son August dressed the
same, but I paid little attention to them as I only had eyes for my mother. I
had never seen her look so happy before. She had a glow radiating from her face
that I knew I didn’t put there. Even at five years old I knew this man must
have been something special, but I was far too young to understand. All I knew
was my intimate family of two had increased to four — including two males no
less — and I felt like I was adrift at sea never to find shore again.
Clark took all of us out
to a fancy restaurant for lunch after he and my mother were married and I sat
rigid in my chair, trying to keep the itchy material of my brand new dress from
scratching my skin every time I moved. August was sitting across from me and
had not spoken a single word. His short, dark blond hair was combed neatly away
from his face, revealing a spray of freckles over his nose. He scowled at me,
his piercing blue eyes sending chills over my skin. Suddenly he kicked his leg
out under the table, connecting with my shin and sending me into meltdown mode.
I began to cry in that silent way you know a child is in true distress, tears
streaming down my cheeks but no sound coming out of my mouth.
“Shut up, crybaby,” August
mocked me.
Clark immediately grabbed
him by the scruff of the neck and hissed, “Auggie, you apologize this instant!”
He continued to scowl at
me but said nothing. Clark stood up and yanked him off his chair, disappearing.
My mother pulled me into her arms and petted my hair lovingly.
“He’s confused, April,”
she said. “Just like you are. We’ll get through this. We’re a family now.”
The shock and pain of his
kick subsided a bit and I found my vocal cords once again. “He’s mean, Mommy, I
don’t like him,” I cried.
“You only met him an hour
ago,” she said, wiping my tears away with a napkin. “I promise it’ll get
better.”
I was still sniffling
when Clark returned with a red-faced August, who stood in front of me and said,
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for,
Auggie?” Clark asked.
“I’m sorry I kicked you,”
he grumbled.
I just nodded acceptance
and hugged my knees to my chest, having no idea what else to do. My mother
immediately pushed my legs down and reminded me I was wearing a dress. Clark
and August returned to their chairs and I continued to pick at the food on my
plate, not interested in any of it.
After lunch we were
whisked away to Clark’s expansive estate in Beverly Hills, our new home. Clark
and my mother each held one of my hands as they led me through the house to my
bedroom, which not only housed the few personal items from our old apartment,
but dolls, toys and clothes beyond my wildest imagination. I was far too young
to understand any of it and I just wanted to go back to our apartment and play
in my old room. No Clark. No August.
It had been a long,
exhausting day, and my mother and I were finally alone when she got me ready
for bed that evening. She tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead and I
asked, “Mommy, when are we going home?”
“This is our new home,
honey,” she replied with a smile. “Clark and August are our new family now.”
I looked around my new
bedroom with wide eyes; everything looked disproportionately huge in my young
mind, with frightening windows and drapes and doors that looked like they
wanted to trap me inside without a way of escape.
“I don’t like it here,” I
whispered, terrified.
“It’ll be strange for a
while, but I promise everything will be all right,” she insisted. “Clark is a
very nice man and he’s going to take care of us.”
I burst into tears and my
mother pulled me into her arms, caressing my hair and promising that everything
was going to be okay.
Comments
Post a Comment