Following is a shitty second draft of a piece of fiction Flannista started more than 20 years ago and discovered in a locked file cabinet in one of her closets over the weekend. She worked on it yesterday, but is honestly wondering if she ought to continue poking away at it (e.g., establishing a sense of place, etc.), or pitch it altogether and write it as memoir which would alter about 30 percent of what follows:
"There, there. Mommy loves my little girl. Don't worry. You aren't alone in that dark place. Mommy is right here."
Every night while alone in bed, Libby heard the soothing, sweet voice her mother used only with the dog.
A
month earlier Libby had discovered the sad and shabby sheepdog panting in a
ditch off the dirt road that connected Libby’s second-grade classroom to
home. When Libby tried to feed it
leftover carrot sticks from her bag lunch, the dog lunged up to lick her face,
knocking her to the ground. Frightened, Libby ran the rest of the way home, but
the dog followed her and parked itself outside the backdoor. Libby knew it would be gone as soon as
her mother saw its filthy, tangled hair.
That would clog up the vacuum for sure.
Much
to Libby’s surprise, her mother welcomed the dog. She tried to feed it a Burger King Whopper on a plate she
used herself. Then she bathed it
in the master bedroom tub, wrapping it in a good towel from the linen closet. She even rocked it to sleep on the
rocking chair in the living room that Libby wasn’t allowed to sit in.
The
next day the dog only ate some Hershey’s chocolate kisses. A few days later, it wouldn’t even eat
those or drink Ensure from a baby bottle.
Libby’s mother finally took it to a veterinarian.
“Gypsy -- that’s the name I gave her -- died at the dog hospital,”
Libby’s mother said one morning, aimlessly spinning a cereal spoon at the breakfast table. “The vet said it was from
some sort of heart condition. If
you ask me, that dog died of a broken heart.”
Libby
said nothing and watched as her mother took a red cookie tin from her leather
work bag and gingerly set it on the table. On the lid was a smiling Santa Claus. “Here’s all that’s left of my poor
abandoned girl,” said Libby’s mother. "Just her ashes.
Ashes that contain a little broken heart. You probably don’t know what a broken
heart is, do you, Libby? You will
soon enough. You saw how sad Gypsy was. She had been abandoned, left to shift for herself just like
when your father left me right after you were born. It just breaks your heart. Doesn’t it break your heart?”
Her
mother didn’t wait for Libby’s response.
“It broke my heart, that’s for sure, and I’ll be damned if Gypsy’s going to
be abandoned now. When I die, I
want my ashes mixed with Gypsy’s and put into this beautiful tin. Then I want your Aunt Ruth to find your
father and mail this tin to him.
Make sure she does that okay?
I want him to know that I don’t abandon little girls.”
Libby stopped
eating and stared at the cookie tin.
The only ashes she had ever seen were the ones from cigarettes or the ones heaped
up in the fireplace. Every spring
her mother swept those ashes into a grocery bag and dumped them in the outside
trashcan.
“You can’t fit into
that cookie thing, too,” said Libby, shaking her head. “No way. I’m not going to open it up and stick you in. I never heard of people getting
burned.”
“Jesus, Libby, you
have so much to learn about life,” her mother said. “People are burned every day, burned by the people you think
love you the very most. Listen to
me: you are burned most every day.”
Her words drifted
off like they did whenever she talked about what life was really like or what
life was like when she was Libby’s age.
“Mommy’s not feeling well, so she’s not going to work,” she said,
patting the top of the tin. “But
don’t leave for school until you’ve eaten everything in your bowl. You’re lucky to have an appetite.”
That night, Libby dreamt about fire.
In one dream, a spark from the fireplace landed on her mother’s
housecoat and caught fire. Libby
ran to get some water, but by the time she got back, all that was left was the
smiling Santa Claus lid. In
another dream, Libby was stuck at the dinner table alone eating carrot sticks
while flames licked the bottom of the tablecloth.
The next morning
Libby walked to school determined to know the truth about fire and ashes. Along the way she
saw her neighbor, Jack, a fifth grader, watering the lawn. “Can people actually get burned in a
fire?” Libby yelled.
“Sure people can get
burned in a fire,” Jack replied, aiming the hose in Libby’s direction. “It’s awesome. My dad has this book about wars and
stuff and you should see the pictures in there. Some of the soldiers look just like roasted marshmallows.”
“But girls can’t
get burned, right?” asked Libby.
“Sure can,” Jack
replied. “The school library even
has a DVD about it. Me and Jim
checked it out once and it showed this girl being tied to a pole and being
burned right up. All that was left
was some twigs and ashes. It was
awesome.”
“You lie!” yelled
Libby.
“Man, you are
stupid,” replied Jack. “Go check
it out yourself. It’s about a girl
named Joan who was a saint or something.
Man, at the end she’s praying and the soldiers still lit her up. She’s like burnt toast and then nothing.”
“How many ashes are
left?” asked Libby.
“What kind of
stupid question is that?” replied Jack.
“Enough to fit into
this bag?” asked Libby, holding up her lunch.
“Geez, I don’t know,” said Jack. “See for yourself. You’re so weird.”
Libby ran to the
school library and asked the librarian if there was a DVD about a girl named
Joan who was some sort of saint.
Moments later, the librarian returned with a DVD labeled, Saint Joan.
The back said:
The
award-winning movie based on the true story about a village girl turned warrior saint who was burned at the stake in 1431.
Libby couldn’t
believe it and as soon as she got home from school, jammed Saint Joan into the DVD player and hit play.
Before long, she was enraptured.
A girl with a face that seemed to shine like the pictures of Jesus in
the Bible said that voices from God were telling her to lead soldiers in a
battle. She put on soldier armor
and helped win a big battle just by praying. The King got new land but hated taking care of it. He blamed Joan. They had a big trial and accused Joan
of being a witch from the devil.
Joan kept saying, “I must stand alone. It is better to be alone with God.” Then everyone threatened to burn her if
she didn’t shut up. But Joan said,
“If I go through the fire, I will be in your hearts forever.”
An angry crowd dragged
Joan off and tied her with chains to a stake surrounded by big sticks. Some priest handed her a
cross of sticks and then some soldier set the whole thing on fire. Holding the cross tightly, Joan’s face
began to shine again. Then the
flames reached her feet and knees and waist and hands. Soldiers in the crowd dropped their
faces. After a while, nothing was
left but a large pile of smoking ashes, too many to fit into the cookie
tin.
Libby heard the backdoor open, paused the DVD and went into the kitchen.
Her mother had just set her leather work bag next to the sink. She was unzipping an inside pocket. Out came the cookie tin.
“Sometimes I wish I
were you, Libby," said her mother, walking toward her bedroom, carrying the tin. "I wish I could go to school instead of work and people would take care of me and I could draw pictures and watch movies and learn lots of new things. New
things to forget old things.”
Libby heard her mother’s bedroom door open and close. “So what new things did you learn
today, Libby? Tell me.”
Standing outside
the bedroom door, Libby replied, “I learned that people get burned just like
you said. They get burned pretty
bad.”
Libby heard a closet door open and close. Then a dresser drawer. The creaking of a bed. “Yes, sweetie. People get burned pretty bad, but
that’s nothing new. Tell me what new thing you learned today.”
“I learned that
your ashes can’t fit into that cookie thing,” said Libby. “You can stay right here. Okay?”
Her mother didn’t
reply. Libby went back to the
living room and continued to watch Saint Joan.
Priests and soldiers were still talking about her. One of them said that everything had burned except her
heart. They didn’t say it was
broken or anything. Just that it
didn't burn and would be with them forever just like she said.
Libby wondered what it would be like to have
someone’s heart forever. She
wondered if there were containers big enough to hold her mother’s heart after
she was burned. At least her heart wouldn’t be broken. That was
something new, something her mother would want to learn. Tomorrow morning, Libby would be sure
to tell her.
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