DOTTIE

DOTTIE’S STORY                            (apron strings)
(as witnessed by her young daughter, Boston 1972)

Daddy reached for her and held her long fingers in his rough hand. Momma looked at him, warily, and syrupy said “Honey now, I’m in the middle of cooking your dinner…”

She wiped her free hand on the apron tied over her navy blue, polka dot dress and picked up the metal spatula again. Her summer arms bare, she’d kicked off her pumps at the door, hurrying to the kitchen, late, with frozen burger patties and fries for the oven on an already too hot night.

Hamburgers sizzled in the frying pan behind them.

He held her left hand tight, stroking her fingers, and when he came to her wedding band, he reminded her “We made certain vows, now, didn’t we?”

I looked up from the table where I sat coloring. I did not like when Daddy got that tone. Momma didn’t either and she tried to wriggle her hand free, but before she could, he grabbed hold of that ring finger and he broke it.

Water came to Momma’s eyes as she screamed, pushing me up out of my chair.

I clenched my fist full of crayons. I clenched my fists tight so Daddy couldn’t get to my fingers.

I wanted to keep my hands, my arms, my fast legs. But my eyes would not turn away.

My eyes stayed on Momma and Daddy’s twisted face. He changed from one eye blink to the next. He changed from the strong man that provided for us to the strong man that hurt us. He changed from sweet caresses to breaking fingers.

“We made certain vows now didn’t we!?!”

The meat sizzled and hot grease popped, splattering on the shiny white stove. She’d get in trouble for that, I thought. But it wasn’t the grease he was mad about.

He took her arm and ran his nose along it, sniffing her scent. Momma’s face was white, tears rushing down her chin, but she had stopped up her scream, and was thinking now, you could see it. I huddled…thinking How was she goin’ to talk her way out?

How was she goin’ to get away with only one broken finger…?

“What you doing Johnny? Now you know how tickling makes me…”

But he wasn’t tickling her! He was sniffing her, like a dog on a scent and when he got to the crook of her arm, just inside her elbow, he stopped.

“Now what’s this here?” he whispered.

“What Johnny?” Momma sobbed, “What?”

It was hurting more than she could hold back.

“Why this here scent, Sweetie. This ain’t your scent I smell here. No.

This here scent is a man’s scent. A man who had your arms wrapped ‘round him!”

Daddy’s eyes wild, fixed on that spot, his hand gripped, crushing her fingers, Momma’s ring finger turning blue, and her face changing too. Something came over her, from far away, snapped into her head and started protecting her. Gave up trying to wriggle her hand free and instead took the hand that gripped the spatula and started beating his face.

It must have been hot or it must have been sharp, ‘cuz he flinched.

He flinched enough to let go his grip, enough that she ran for the hall – but she didn’t make it. He grabbed the ties of her apron and yanked her back, the knot tightening ‘round her waist. Her hair flipped forward in her face, but I saw her eyes, straight on me, and I knew what they were saying.

They were screaming

Help!

Her mouth didn’t move, but I heard it. Heard it in my head- and my feet start moving.

He didn’t see me. His eyes all on her and his mouth busy hollering those words those words.

“We made certain vows, Doris! DOR-IS,” he hissed “and YOU have BRO-KEN them!!!”

I wished away from there. I whisked out of the room like an invisible broom.

I looked down at my feet pajamas, slippin’ out the back,
let the screen door close quiet,

Daddy shouting ‘You’re always askin’ for it Doris!’

But Momma wasn’t asking for it,

although Daddy always said so.

I ran across the dark driveway, through to the neighbor’s back door. I didn’t knock and them surprised to see me in foot pajamas standing on their kitchen floor, my tight fist full of crayons.

Laurie’s Momma, at the sink washing dishes, big old yellow gloves squeaking on her hands, took one look at me and she was on her knees, ripping gloves off and asking
“Honey, what you crying for? You look like you just seen a monster!”

Crying?!!

I didn’t even know I was, but when I opened my mouth to speak my throat closed and opened in fits, and I could only get words out between gasps.

“My Momma… my Momma…call the Police… men…
my momma…did something…
and my Daddy…has his belt … round her neck….!!!”

Laurie my best friend stood there, staring like she didn’t know who I was. Why I wasn’t just being her normal shadow who followed her from room to room, game to game, followed cuz I needed her to show me how to have fun. The puzzle on her face looked like it was beginning to pain her. While her Momma on the phone told the operator

“YES it is an E – MER – GEN-CY… and YES the PO-LICE and YES the address is…” then to me “WHAT’S your house number honey?” then “Never mind, Ours is TWELVE and they are just next door in the yellow house…”

I don’t know how but I grabbed that phone from her and I sobbed to the Operator “But it’s dark out and you can’t tell it’s a yellow house cuz it looks like all the other houses, but it’s NOT like all the other houses and it’s NOT like all the other Daddies and you better hurry cuz he has his belt round her neck and was lifting up her skirt…” and then I couldn’t talk.

No more. And Laurie’s Momma took the phone, staring at me like I was different while she said, real soft into the phone “You’d better hurry…or it will be too late.”

But I heard her and I was already thinking, how each time he squeezed that belt around her neck and pushed her from behind; how each time a little bit of Momma’s light went out, and time was ticking by and there were no cars, and it was just getting darker all around us…

Laurie’s Momma had already given them dinner, had already cleaned up the kitchen, fed her husband and sent him off to the Late Shift, already put a fresh cloth on the table, and was scrubbing the last of the pots…

But my Momma was late getting dinner and I know those hamburgers were burning in the pan and she’d never have to wash it again.

My belly grumbled but my throat clenched -and suddenly all I could think about was breathing, but not breathing. My throat not working. No air. No words. My throat closing up- I couldn’t talk, couldn’t breathe and there was Laurie standing in front of me, her hand full of dog-eared coloring books and one shiny new one. Handing it out to me.

“You wanna color Dottie?” she asked me.

I just stared at her, but instead I saw, my momma’s hand reach up
and push her thumb up under the belt, try to loosen it from her throat,
and I imagine

What if she didn’t wear an apron?

What if it had come untied?

What if he never got a hold of her?

I opened my hand and saw
I had broken all the crayons.