Emotional Rescue by Georgia Luber
When I was twenty three, I dated a commitment phobe. If you haven't had the pleasure, let me elaborate. A commitment phobe is a fabulous man who seems to be the perfect catch in every way, but he doesn't really want to be caught. He will act like a boyfriend most of the time then suddenly, out of the blue, start acting single by not calling you back on Saturday to make plans or by spending way too much time with his friends. He acts like a boyfriend about eighty percent of the time, but when you try and get an idea of where things stand, he gives you the emotional equivalent of a friendly sock in the arm. Mind you, this wasn't simply another case of "he's just not that into you". He asked me to move to New York with him after two weeks of dating. I said no, naturally, because I am not insane, and then spent the next eighteen months trying to figure out how to date a Pushmi-pullyu.
When someone gives you emotional scraps, you are always hungry.You are always waiting for them to drop something under the table where you wait patiently for them to realize how amazing you are and invite you to join them for dinner. He wasn't doing it on purpose, but he really didn't want anything serious. I didn't know how to have a relationship that wasn't serious, so I probably tortured him as much as I tortured myself.
One Saturday, we had made separate plans yet again. I had gone out with friends and had planned on surprising him with a frisky evening back at his house afterward. At the time I had been reading too much Cosmopolitan Magazine and not enough Camille Paglia. I had asked him to be home by midnight for the big reveal. He agreed. I arrived at his house a few minutes before twelve and waited. I fixed my Viva Glam red lips, repostitioned my cleavage (thanks entirely to my Miracle Bra) and popped breath mint. Twelve ten rolled around, and he wasn't home. I waited for five more minutes and drove to the nearest payphone. It was was several blocks away in a deserted mini mall off Ventura Boulevard. It was a double sided phone with two phones back to back. I put in the coins, as my newly acquired garter belt cut into my thigh, and dialed his car phone. This was well before everyone on earth had cell phones, so if he wasn't in his car, he wasn't picking up his phone. I didn't leave a message. I tried the home phone next, hoping he'd been waiting for me to call. It rang and went to the answering machine. I heard his friendly voice telling me he "wasn't here right now" and hung up the phone. I waited in my car for a few minutes. It was now almost twelve thirty, and I was beginning to feel foolish and pissed. My feet hurt from the ridiculous heels I was wearing, and it had suddenly gotten really cold. As I approached the phone once again and began to dial, a guy pulled up in an orange Datsun Z and got out, presumably to use the other phone. He looked like a short, scrawny Russell Brand, with stringy rocker hair and unecessarily tight skinny jeans. I was pissed enough now that I wasn't afraid of him. I figured I could always stab him with my really uncomfortable stiletto if he tried anything. I dialed both numbers again.No answer. He approached the phone on the other side and picked it up. He made a call, pushing the buttons really fast and, as he was waiting for an answer, swung slowly around to my side with the phone pressed against his ear.
"What are you doing out here by yourself?" he asked giving me a once over. He sounded like a nasal Bruce Dern. I could see his breath hanging in the air as he spoke.
"I am calling my boyfriend" I replied curtly, emphasizing the word boyfriend.
" Boyfriend?!" he snorted, "What sort of boyfriend leaves you out here at one in the morning on a Saturday night?". He was shaking his head a little and laughing.
"He didn't leave me out here. We are meeting up," I replied flatly. "we had separate plans tonight". Why I felt the need to explain anything to this weirdo,I will never know.
"Separate plans?!" he said,as if I'd told him that my boyfriend was sacrificing virgins under the full moon instead of taking me out to dinner. "That doesn't make sense, separate plans on a Saturday night? What kind of boyfriend doesn't want to be with you on Saturday night?"
It was becoming evident that he hadn't stopped to make a phone call. He stopped because he saw what he thought was a young desperate female, alone at a payphone, in the middle of the night,trying to call her boyfriend. He was one of those types that prey on a woman's insecurities by deriding what she says until she becomes convinced that what she has is a sham and that he is somehow the answer to all of her problems.
"I dunno, if I had a girlfriend like you, I would never leave here out here on a freezing cold Saturday night alone, I can tell you that much". At this point he had hung up and was leaning on the side of the phone, watching me dial, and shaking his head at me as if I were trying to patch my tire with nail polish. He gave me a few more once overs as he spoke.
Resisting the urge to say "well, you obviously don't have a girlfriend, so who are you to say?", I said nothing.
He laughed a little and repeated himself. I cut him off.
"He didn't leave me out here,I came to meet him and he wasn't home yet," I said without looking at him.
"Well, where is he?" he asked with mock incredulity, as if I told him my boyfriend had been adbucted by leprechauns.
"Probably on his way home," I said pointedly. This guy was starting to annoy the shit out of me. I didn't want to leave and drive to another pay phone, but I didn't want to be sitting in front of the house either, in case he really wasn't coming home until four in the morning. I also didn't want to let this guy think he got to me. The problem was that he wasn't wrong, exactly,but he was still a creep.
Our conversation went around in circles for about ten more minutes - he insisted that my boyfriend wasn't that great and I insisted that he didn't know what he was talking about. I called several more times and, finally, he picked up. He was tipsy and had just gotten home.It was twelve fifty, but it felt like six a.m. Once I heard his voice, I gave the guy a triumphant glare and told my boyfriend that I would be there in a few minutes. I hung up.
"Finally home,huh? Well where was he?" he asked snidely. He shivered a little.
"I am about to find out," I said,and turned toward my car.He watched me walk away.
"Yeah, well, that's a nice zit you got on your chin..."
I froze for a split second at the sting of the remark, then got in the car and locked the door. He turned and walked to his car and screeched off into the night.
I sat there ruminating on what had just occurred. He had definitely made me feel lousy, but mostly because a lot of what he said was probably true. The part about the zit certainly was. I peered in the mirror to see if the concealer I had painstakingly applied earlier had come off. It had.
I reapplied it and started the car. I drove slowly to the house, feeling like an idiot in my supposedly sexy get up, which I removed before I went into the house. I put on the clothes I had brought for the next day - jeans and t-shirt - and wiped off the red lipstick. I was mad and sad and not in the mood to be frisky anymore. He was dozing on the couch when I knocked. He took my hand, and we went into the bedroom and crawled into bed. I was still wearing my clothes because I was freezing and, huddled there in the dark, he mumbled something about being sorry he was late and fell asleep. I was sorry, too, because the damage was done.
ABOUT GEORGIA LUBER:
Georgia Luber is an aspiring novelist and blogger who secretly wants to be a super hero. Hampered by domesticity (a wonderful husband and two small kids), she chooses to write and rant instead, hoping to affect change through words. She supposes her motto would be - "words,in fact, speak louder than actions". www.shazzsahm.com.
Someone Else's Hell by Georgia Luber
Last summer we were sitting with a gathering of people from our new nursery school. We were at Griffith Park, the largest urban park in the country, under a tree that was adjacent to a large expanse of grass next to a baseball field. It was flanked by playgrounds and dotted with birthday parties and moon bouncers, as it was on every lazy Sunday afternoon at the height of summer. While it is a common meeting place for families with young children, it is hardly a safe haven from the dangers of city dwelling. They find from three to six bodies a year in Griffith Park, sometimes more.
We were having a lovely chat when our new friend suddenly and quietly asked her husband where their older girl was. The child had just been there, eating grapes and fixing the picnic blanket. Her mother had been holding their second child, who was a teeny baby, and their first, who would be two in January, had simply vanished.
The father quietly put down his lunch mid sentence and stood. He looked first at the play ground directly behind us, then to the picnic tables, in the hope that she was playing between the benches. Then to the dirt road, then to large expanse of grass that disappeared into the bushes adjacent to the freeway. We all stood and looked, semi frozen with the reality of what had just occurred. The park looked like a video game-kids running, people jogging all directions, single men walking slowly across the grass, couples lying on blankets and kissing. All this activity, and no child in sight.
He began to call out her name, as we all did, but there was an eerie sense of futility, not that she was actually gone, but more that it seemed impossible that we would ever find such a small person in such a large, crowded, and perilous space. We split up, each taking a different direction, yelling her name and scanning for a hopeful sight of her adorable small frame ambling across the grass. I happened to take the section to the rear, and walked directly across the grass to the far side where a moon bounce was tucked under a large oak tree. As I approached, I began to run. I saw only unfamiliar silhouettes jumping up and down.
I started to call out in broken Spanish about a small missing child to the smiling Hispanic woman who was peering in at the jumpers when I saw her. In the corner of the moon bounce, I saw her round sweet head atop her small precious body, quietly rolling around. I called to her, and she looked up,with no sense of the trouble she'd caused in wandering off. I coaxed her out and scooped her up, feeling a wash of relief, and the smallest flash of anger that children have so little understanding of the trauma they cause in silently pursuing their bliss. I told her that her parents would be very happy to see her right this minute, and we ran across the lawn, rushing to spare them even one more second of the blinding, chest crushing, dizzying terror that they had been experiencing for the last four minutes. I think someone saw us and called out to them.They met us on the grass,a cool layer of calm over full body petrifaction.
There was no admonishment, just hugging and semi hysterical laughter as an attempt to salvage the rest of the afternoon.
We may tuck them in bed that night and thank our lucky stars, but we never quite recover from those experiences. As parents,it scars us subcutaneously, deep in our psyches, because we know that it was we who let them slip away unnoticed.We know in our hearts that we just got lucky and happened to find them safe, this time.
This happened again a few months ago at the zoo with a stranger's child. I saw the beginning of it, just as before, with the alarmed questions to each other about where the middle girl had gone. They were two women with two other kids.They immediately split up, calling her name frantically. I approached, and asked what she was wearing.She told me a brown dress with pink flowers and pointed to the younger girl they were with. "Just like that with blonde braids.She's five...", she said, breathlessly, and told me her child's name, Brooke.
I left my two kids, safe with Daddy by the penguins and went the opposite direction, secretly patting myself on the back for often dressing my kids alike for this exact reason. I scanned the crowd as I passed the otter exhibit, feeling again like I was in a strange video game, with elephants, and macaws and popcorn carts moving in the foreground. I was overcome by the same feeling of futility, because there were so many possibilities of where she could be. I got to the top of the crowded trail and saw a huddled group by the fence,with a small blonde braided girl in a brown shirt with pink flowers. I told them her name was Brooke, and asked her to come with me.They had a fleeting moment of suspicion as I swooped in and took her by the hand back down the hill. I told her that her parents were looking for her by the penguins.I followed the sound of their voices, hoarsely calling out for her, into the snake exhibit.They were reunited in front of the boa constrictor window.
Three minutes of hell, over at last. Again, no admonishment, just hugs.The mother had the same layer of cool over abject terror.The adrenaline surge must have been exhausting.She thanked me, not for just helping, I think, but more for understanding exactly how she felt.
I returned to my family, who were ready for ice cream and tired of waiting for me.
As we walked back up the hill to the Dippin' Dots cart, I felt a terrible and overwhelming sense of compassion for the families whose hell never ends.The ones who look all afternoon, and eventually call the police.The ones who tearfully describe what she was wearing to the officer and explain that they had only looked away for a minute. The ones who have to get in their car as night falls, and drive home, leaving behind the last place they saw their child alive. They lie awake wondering if she is still out there, lost, scared, alone.Or worse yet, is she with someone who may wish to do her harm.
It is unimaginable that people endure this, let alone survive this. Life is so fragile, really, painfully and punishingly fragile.
Gentle Earth by Anne Cross
I love the world,
This little, gentle earth
That daily dares
To tread its course
Around the monstrous sun,
Humming Bach and Mozart
As it goes.
I fear the world,
This dark and dreadful earth
That daily tears
Its members from itself
And casts us to be trampled on
By grief.
I touch the world.
This soft and trembling earth
That yearly dies
And rises yet again
To wrap us in the whisper
Of its Spring.
I hate the world,
This harsh and cruel earth
That daily drags
Down innocence and love
And drowns them in its jealousy
And blood.
But most of all -
I love the world,
This little, gentle earth
That daily dares
To tread its course
Around the monstrous sun
Humming Bach and Mozart
As it goes.
The Parrot and the Mermaid by Amy Lynn
The parrot had been flying for several days and was very tired and very hungry. He had been trying to reach land but there was no land in sight. He was beginning to despair, when he saw a piece of wood floating on the sea below, and he landed on it, grateful at least for the rest. He was so exhausted that he fell in to a deep sleep, still hungry.
Nearby, a young mermaid was playing, when saw a flash of colour on the floating piece of wood. She swam over and found the sleeping parrot. It took her several hours to drag the wood to a nearby island where there was a beach and even longer to haul it right up the beach. Beyond the sand were shrubs and bushes, which then turned into forest. An impressive castle lay within forest. The mermaid went back out to sea to watch what happened next.
It took some time for the parrot to wake up and start struggling, but he did not have the strength even to stand, still less to fly. The mermaid was unsure what to do, as it was very difficult for her to move about on land. She had heard stories told about what happened if a mermaid stayed too long on land. She had heard that some had been taken by demons and dragged off to horrible demon kingdoms to become slaves. It was said that the demons treated their slaves very badly.
So the mermaid quickly dived into the sea and went to find the wise woman, an old mermaid, in her village under water. The mermaid explained to her about the parrot. She asked what she could do to help the parrot. The wise woman told her that she would be able to stay on land for exactly one hour before the demons would come for her. She also explained that if the mermaid could get to the shrubs at the edge of the beach, there were berries and other fruits that she could collect for the parrot.
The mermaid swam back to the surface quickly, and floated to the edge of the beach. She took a deep breath and made her decision. She dragged herself on to the beach and started pulling herself towards the bushes. It took her longer than she expected, and she began to worry greatly about not having enough time.
When she got to the bushes the mermaid collected what fruit and berries she could carry. She took them back to the parrot, and began to feed him. As she did this, she stroked him gently under the chin, and then started back to get more fruit. It was only when she was nearly back to the parrot that she realised she had lost track of time. Out of the corner of her eye she saw dark shapes hovering at the edge of the forest. The demons had come for the mermaid.
At this moment, in the castle in the forest, a princess came to a window looking out over the beach. She was just in time to see the mermaid being dragged off by the demons. She also saw the parrot take off from the wood on the beach, and recognised him as her parrot who had escaped from the castle aviary three weeks before. As he flew near to the window where the princess was standing, the she saw a silver mark under his chin. The princess knew that such a mark appeared on any living being that was touched by a mermaid who had saved their life. She realised that her parrot had been saved by the mermaid who was being carried off by the demons.
The princess ran to find her bravest and most skilful knight, and ordered him to ride after the demons and rescue the mermaid. The knight ran to get his horse, and rode off as fast as he could after the demons. He caught up with them in a clearing less than a mile from the castle, and ordered them to let the mermaid go. However the demons just laughed and ran on much faster, still carrying the terrified mermaid. The knight overtook them and blocked their path, drawing his sword. He fought the demons courageously until they ran off, leaving the mermaid on the forest floor.
The knight lifted the mermaid up onto his horse, and as he looked at her, their eyes locked in mutual fascination. He carried her down to the beach on his horse and helped her back into the sea. She swam back out a little, but could not resist turning back to look at the knight who had saved her. Every day from then on, the knight would come down to the beach, and the mermaid would always be there. They would talk for hours. Gradually they both realised that they had fallen in love, and it caused them great pain because they could not be together all the time.
The mermaid went back to the old wise woman, and told her about her new problem. The old mermaid sighed deeply, and asked the mermaid if she was sure she had thought this through. When the mermaid said that she had, the old woman told her that, if she could hold the hand of a human that she truly loved, and the human truly loved her as much in return, the human would be transformed into a merman. However, the wise woman explained to the mermaid that this should not be done lightly, as if they decided to take this path, they would not be able to come back to the village, and would both be exiled until they died for breaking Mer law. She said that even if the prince died before she did, the mermaid would never be able to come back to her friends and family.
The mermaid was much trouble by this news, but decided to speak to the knight about it and leave the choice with him. They spoke at length over several days, the knight concerned that the mermaid would never see her family and friends again. The mermaid pointed out that the knight would also be cut off from the world that he had always known, and so they talked on.
Finally they decided that they loved each other so much that they would take the risk. Since the mermaid would only be sent away from her own village, they would start a new life in a new village. The mermaid held out her hand, the knight took it, and so began the biggest and happiest adventure of their lives.
ABOUT AMY LYNN:
Amy Lynn lives in Kent with her husband and their son. Her little boy provides inspiration for her children's stories.
Mother Knows Best by Maureen Dutton
She sat quietly. Those around her fidgeted and tutted and looked at their watches. The carriage contained six stressed and tired passengers, it had been 2 hours since the train stopped in the middle of nowhere and Jane Beech sat in the corner, an oasis of tranquillity, eyes closed but they knew she was not asleep by the odd twitch of her mouth.
She had been stared at by her fellow travellers for the past two hours, and with nothing else to look at, each in the carriage had closely scrutinised her and tried to work out who she was and why she might be sitting alone on this journey. She had her eyes closed and was not aware of all the attention she was getting. They rightly surmised she was quite young, at 20 years old, Jane kept the appearance of a younger girl with an Alice band holding back her long mousey hair. She wore a cardigan over a heavy blue cotton pinafore dress, rather dull was the view of the man sitting opposite her. The woman at the end of the carriage thought white ankle socks and flat blue shoes were rather silly for someone her age. They all in their own way agreed she look serene and calm which in the present situation was close to sainthood.
Jane used the time to relax and enjoy the peace and solitude that closed eyes afforded her. In her young life she had never known this kind of peace. From as young as 5 years old, she remembered her Mother scolding her, telling her she was a difficult child, and a plain and ungrateful child. Mother had told her as she started Infant school that the other children would bully her because she wore thick glasses and was different from the others, and Mother was right. Her life at school was hell. She learned over the years to keep quiet and her head down. They laughed at her clothes, they laughed at her glasses and they laughed when she cried. Mother had said that she had to get used to it because that was to be her life, only someone like Mother could ever love her. Mother was right. When she got to senior school, the taunts felt far worse, they ganged up on her and it all became too much to cope with. One morning she couldn’t get out of bed, she felt paralysed. The stress was diagnosed and her Mother said she couldn’t go to school anymorebecause she was sick. Jane was so grateful and relieved; she found she could move again. Mother arranged for home lessons and told her every day how lucky she was to have a Mother who put up with such a wilful and difficult child. She knew that no other Mother would do this. Mother loudly proclaimed on many occasions to Jane that children like her would be sent to an orphanage where no one would love them and no one would care. Jane was told that if she was good, Mother would keep her safe. The terror of being sent to an orphanage stayed with Jane until she was 16 years old and was then taken over by the terror of being thrown into the streets. Mother said that children who were simple in the head and plain like her would never be allowed to stay in a family home. Jane was very lucky and she thanked her Mother often for her kindness.
Her stutter was so bad that Jane could not speak quickly enough and her Mother spoke for her. Mother was right, people didn’t want to spend time waiting to hear her say a word, they were far too busy and Jane never spoke in public, she appeared mute. Mother told everyone that she was simple in the head and this would encourage understanding smiles. It had been a long time since Jane had spoken to another person other than her Mother.
On a rare visit to the Doctors when Mother explained Jane had a chesty cough and needed some antibiotics, Dr. Manse, a locum, found Jane very interesting and asked why she did not speak. Jane had just shaken her head as was usual. Mother spoke up quickly and said the child was simple and couldn’t speak properly.
Jane remembered how it had taken a year for Mother to agree to speech lessons for her, but she did reluctantly agree after much persuasion. The pleasure she got from the lessons could be seen by Dr Manse. To have someone spend time teaching her in this way was wonderful. She took the opportunity to read different books, and Dr Manse, Phillip, she blushed at calling him by his first name, was very kind and told her about contact lenses so she didn’t have to wear the thick glasses. He found she was an intelligent girl and had no mental issues. She just had an over protective Mother.
Over the year she blossomed, he took her out and she learned how to order in a restaurant, how to buy something in a shop, and how to buy a ticket for trains. She had never been very far from her home and only then with her Mother.
Her speech improved and she still stuttered but was quite clear and learned how to control the stutter. She would rush home and chatter incessantly to her Mother. Her Mother said all the chatter would be the death of her. She noted Mother was cross with her but didn’t know why. Mother told her no good would come of it all.
Mother was right, Dr Phillip Manse was moved without notice to another clinic in London far away from her. Mother had reported him as being obsessive over Jane.
Jane remembered how she had argued and raged at her Mother for doing such a cruel thing, that Dr Manse was her friend. Mother told her she was an ungrateful, wilful child and didn’t deserve her love. Mother called her ungrateful and told Jane that all her love meant nothing and she knew that Jane would leave her. She said that Jane’s Father had left her years ago and was a wilful, ungrateful man and Jane was just like him. Jane complied with her Mothers wishes, the thought of being thrown out of the house onto the streets to fend for herself still filled her with terror.
It was only a week ago that Dr Phillip Manse came to see her. Mother had gone to the shops and Phillip had waited until she had got on the bus. Jane wasno longer allowed out, Mother bought everything for her and she stayed indoors and waited for her Mother to return. Mother had said she was not to be trusted to do as she was told and if people saw her, they would take her away and put her in a home where no one would love her. He knocked on the door and Jane, frightened by the knock, peered through the Window and saw Dr Manse. He said he had come to rescue her, to take her to London to a place where they would help her. Mother had said he would try and get to her and she was right. Jane said no to his offer to go away with him now. she couldn’t leave her Mother and she asked him to go away. He gave her a card with a telephone number and an address in London. He told her that if she ever changed her mind, she could contact him there.
Mother was right, she was simple, and she couldn’t ever leave her Mother. Who would feed her and clothe her. Mother had said that London was a very bad place full of people who would hurt her and laugh at her like they did at school. Mother had made her wear the glasses again saying contact lenses were silly and not good for her. She hid the contact lenses, she didn’t throw them away as Mother had told her to do. Mother was right, she was a wilful child.
She was on this train because her Mother had found the card and Jane confessed to seeing Phillip. Mother said she would make sure that Jane never spoke him or any man again. Men, as Mother said, always hurt women and leave them. She knew that meant she would never be allowed to talk to Dr Manse or see him again.
Her Mother was right, Dr Manse had acted inappropriately by holding her hand and taking her to places in the town. He had cuddled her when she got upset and showed her how pretty she was in a mirror. He was nice and she had wanted to be with him. Dr Manse loved her, and wanted to help her. He had found a flat in London where they could live and he was going to show her all the sites of London and he was going to make her very happy. She wanted to go out again, to enjoy the sunshine, to have people look at her like she was an adult and not a simple child looked after by her Mother. She wanted to sit on a train again with real people and be normal.
Mother wouldn’t let her leave. Mother wanted to lock her in her room. She had to stop Mother screaming at her and making her unhappy. She kept the bloody knife in her bag wrapped in her best handkerchief. She would show it to Dr Manse when she arrived in London. Mother was quiet now and Jane was glad of that. She took the purse from her Mother’s bag and the card with Phillip’s address on it. She had enough money to get her to London. She placed her Mother on the settee to rest and turned on the television so Mother had something to watch and didn’t get bored. She said goodbye and her Mother stared unblinking into space. Jane knew that Mother was always right; she was a very wilful, naughty girl.
Those watching her saw a very slight smile appear on her face and wondered if she was thinking nice thoughts.
She had been stared at by her fellow travellers for the past two hours, and with nothing else to look at, each in the carriage had closely scrutinised her and tried to work out who she was and why she might be sitting alone on this journey. She had her eyes closed and was not aware of all the attention she was getting. They rightly surmised she was quite young, at 20 years old, Jane kept the appearance of a younger girl with an Alice band holding back her long mousey hair. She wore a cardigan over a heavy blue cotton pinafore dress, rather dull was the view of the man sitting opposite her. The woman at the end of the carriage thought white ankle socks and flat blue shoes were rather silly for someone her age. They all in their own way agreed she look serene and calm which in the present situation was close to sainthood.
Jane used the time to relax and enjoy the peace and solitude that closed eyes afforded her. In her young life she had never known this kind of peace. From as young as 5 years old, she remembered her Mother scolding her, telling her she was a difficult child, and a plain and ungrateful child. Mother had told her as she started Infant school that the other children would bully her because she wore thick glasses and was different from the others, and Mother was right. Her life at school was hell. She learned over the years to keep quiet and her head down. They laughed at her clothes, they laughed at her glasses and they laughed when she cried. Mother had said that she had to get used to it because that was to be her life, only someone like Mother could ever love her. Mother was right. When she got to senior school, the taunts felt far worse, they ganged up on her and it all became too much to cope with. One morning she couldn’t get out of bed, she felt paralysed. The stress was diagnosed and her Mother said she couldn’t go to school anymorebecause she was sick. Jane was so grateful and relieved; she found she could move again. Mother arranged for home lessons and told her every day how lucky she was to have a Mother who put up with such a wilful and difficult child. She knew that no other Mother would do this. Mother loudly proclaimed on many occasions to Jane that children like her would be sent to an orphanage where no one would love them and no one would care. Jane was told that if she was good, Mother would keep her safe. The terror of being sent to an orphanage stayed with Jane until she was 16 years old and was then taken over by the terror of being thrown into the streets. Mother said that children who were simple in the head and plain like her would never be allowed to stay in a family home. Jane was very lucky and she thanked her Mother often for her kindness.
Her stutter was so bad that Jane could not speak quickly enough and her Mother spoke for her. Mother was right, people didn’t want to spend time waiting to hear her say a word, they were far too busy and Jane never spoke in public, she appeared mute. Mother told everyone that she was simple in the head and this would encourage understanding smiles. It had been a long time since Jane had spoken to another person other than her Mother.
On a rare visit to the Doctors when Mother explained Jane had a chesty cough and needed some antibiotics, Dr. Manse, a locum, found Jane very interesting and asked why she did not speak. Jane had just shaken her head as was usual. Mother spoke up quickly and said the child was simple and couldn’t speak properly.
Jane remembered how it had taken a year for Mother to agree to speech lessons for her, but she did reluctantly agree after much persuasion. The pleasure she got from the lessons could be seen by Dr Manse. To have someone spend time teaching her in this way was wonderful. She took the opportunity to read different books, and Dr Manse, Phillip, she blushed at calling him by his first name, was very kind and told her about contact lenses so she didn’t have to wear the thick glasses. He found she was an intelligent girl and had no mental issues. She just had an over protective Mother.
Over the year she blossomed, he took her out and she learned how to order in a restaurant, how to buy something in a shop, and how to buy a ticket for trains. She had never been very far from her home and only then with her Mother.
Her speech improved and she still stuttered but was quite clear and learned how to control the stutter. She would rush home and chatter incessantly to her Mother. Her Mother said all the chatter would be the death of her. She noted Mother was cross with her but didn’t know why. Mother told her no good would come of it all.
Mother was right, Dr Phillip Manse was moved without notice to another clinic in London far away from her. Mother had reported him as being obsessive over Jane.
Jane remembered how she had argued and raged at her Mother for doing such a cruel thing, that Dr Manse was her friend. Mother told her she was an ungrateful, wilful child and didn’t deserve her love. Mother called her ungrateful and told Jane that all her love meant nothing and she knew that Jane would leave her. She said that Jane’s Father had left her years ago and was a wilful, ungrateful man and Jane was just like him. Jane complied with her Mothers wishes, the thought of being thrown out of the house onto the streets to fend for herself still filled her with terror.
It was only a week ago that Dr Phillip Manse came to see her. Mother had gone to the shops and Phillip had waited until she had got on the bus. Jane wasno longer allowed out, Mother bought everything for her and she stayed indoors and waited for her Mother to return. Mother had said she was not to be trusted to do as she was told and if people saw her, they would take her away and put her in a home where no one would love her. He knocked on the door and Jane, frightened by the knock, peered through the Window and saw Dr Manse. He said he had come to rescue her, to take her to London to a place where they would help her. Mother had said he would try and get to her and she was right. Jane said no to his offer to go away with him now. she couldn’t leave her Mother and she asked him to go away. He gave her a card with a telephone number and an address in London. He told her that if she ever changed her mind, she could contact him there.
Mother was right, she was simple, and she couldn’t ever leave her Mother. Who would feed her and clothe her. Mother had said that London was a very bad place full of people who would hurt her and laugh at her like they did at school. Mother had made her wear the glasses again saying contact lenses were silly and not good for her. She hid the contact lenses, she didn’t throw them away as Mother had told her to do. Mother was right, she was a wilful child.
She was on this train because her Mother had found the card and Jane confessed to seeing Phillip. Mother said she would make sure that Jane never spoke him or any man again. Men, as Mother said, always hurt women and leave them. She knew that meant she would never be allowed to talk to Dr Manse or see him again.
Her Mother was right, Dr Manse had acted inappropriately by holding her hand and taking her to places in the town. He had cuddled her when she got upset and showed her how pretty she was in a mirror. He was nice and she had wanted to be with him. Dr Manse loved her, and wanted to help her. He had found a flat in London where they could live and he was going to show her all the sites of London and he was going to make her very happy. She wanted to go out again, to enjoy the sunshine, to have people look at her like she was an adult and not a simple child looked after by her Mother. She wanted to sit on a train again with real people and be normal.
Mother wouldn’t let her leave. Mother wanted to lock her in her room. She had to stop Mother screaming at her and making her unhappy. She kept the bloody knife in her bag wrapped in her best handkerchief. She would show it to Dr Manse when she arrived in London. Mother was quiet now and Jane was glad of that. She took the purse from her Mother’s bag and the card with Phillip’s address on it. She had enough money to get her to London. She placed her Mother on the settee to rest and turned on the television so Mother had something to watch and didn’t get bored. She said goodbye and her Mother stared unblinking into space. Jane knew that Mother was always right; she was a very wilful, naughty girl.
Those watching her saw a very slight smile appear on her face and wondered if she was thinking nice thoughts.
ABOUT MAUREEN DUTTON:
Maureen Dutton has published two books; “The Devil’s Tears” a love story with a supernatural twist to it. “Silent Night” a thriller set in England and America. They can be found on Amazon, good book stores and her website. She works in criminality in her paid job and voluntary work, which has given her much material to use in her books.
Maureen's third book “The Singhing Detective” is doing the rounds of Agents and Publishers at the moment. It is the first of a series of books about a Sikh detective in the Metropolitan Police Force. Again, all her novels have a twist at the end. She has a website www.mcdutton-writing.co.uk and it contains a chapter of each of her books. Maureen's books are character driven and the situations bring out their raison d'etre
She is an Essex girl and very proud of it. She has lived in Essex for most of her life. She moved to NewburyPark from the East End when she was 7 years old and lived her married life in Barkingside. Maureen now lives in Chelmsford and loves it there. Essex people are the friendliest people in the south of England.
She works in Dagenham and for 5 years lived in Dagenham. Her voluntary work was in Barking so she knows the area very well. Over the years she has met all kinds of people through working voluntarily with Samaritans, mentoring, YOT Referral Panels: They range from awesomely heroic to sad, mad and seriously bad. She believes anyone is capable of any act as long as they can justify it.
Maureen has now joined LIONS at Fairlop. This is a huge international charity organisation and wherever there is a disaster or where help is needed you can be sure the LIONS are there
Maureen is fascinated by people. If you talk long enough to someone you realise that no one necessarily sees life, love and the pursuit of happiness in quite the same way.
Maureen's third book “The Singhing Detective” is doing the rounds of Agents and Publishers at the moment. It is the first of a series of books about a Sikh detective in the Metropolitan Police Force. Again, all her novels have a twist at the end. She has a website www.mcdutton-writing.co.uk and it contains a chapter of each of her books. Maureen's books are character driven and the situations bring out their raison d'etre
She is an Essex girl and very proud of it. She has lived in Essex for most of her life. She moved to NewburyPark from the East End when she was 7 years old and lived her married life in Barkingside. Maureen now lives in Chelmsford and loves it there. Essex people are the friendliest people in the south of England.
She works in Dagenham and for 5 years lived in Dagenham. Her voluntary work was in Barking so she knows the area very well. Over the years she has met all kinds of people through working voluntarily with Samaritans, mentoring, YOT Referral Panels: They range from awesomely heroic to sad, mad and seriously bad. She believes anyone is capable of any act as long as they can justify it.
Maureen has now joined LIONS at Fairlop. This is a huge international charity organisation and wherever there is a disaster or where help is needed you can be sure the LIONS are there
Maureen is fascinated by people. If you talk long enough to someone you realise that no one necessarily sees life, love and the pursuit of happiness in quite the same way.
