Date: Mon, 10 Feb 1997 21:45:28 -0600 Message-Id: <9702110345.AA23835@popalex1.linknet.net> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" From: "J. Rowland" Subject: Because I Love You, Goodbye; Ch. 1 Because I Love You, Goodbye; Ch. 1 by Jennifer L. Rowland The door slammed behind the little boy as he rushed into the house. He'd saved his lunch money all week to buy the surprise for his little sister. He smiled to think how her face would light up when he gave it to her. She'd pointed to it the last time Momma had taken them to the five and dime. But Papa was away again, and money was tight. Momma always got upset at any reminder of how poor they were, so the little boy had decided to save up and buy it himself. He found his sister staring out the living room window. Her long brown hair was tousled, covering the round face with the telltale features of Down's Syndrome. "Hiya, Squirt," he said. His sister spun away from the window excitedly when she heard his voice. "Al!" She ran to deliver a hug and kiss. "I got something for you, Trudy." Her face lit up even more. "Close your eyes and put out your hands. He reached into his satchel and dropped a box of crayons into her outstretched hands. "Okay, you can open 'em now." Trudy squealed with delight at the colorful wax sticks. She opened the lid and pulled out the red, her favorite color. She turned it over and over in her hand, mesmerized by its brightness. Al plunged his hand into his satchel again, coming up with a sheaf of drawing paper tied up with a red ribbon. "You need something to draw on, don't you think?" he said with a smile. Trudy's beaming face brightened even more. Al was glad he'd gone without lunch that week. Anything he could do to make Trudy happy; she certainly had enough to deal with. Last week, one of the Gibson boys had thrown a rock at her, taunting her about her appearance. Al chased him for a block before getting into a scuffle that cost him a bloody nose. But the smile now gracing Trudy's face made it all worthwhile. "Well, aren't you going to draw something?" Al asked. Trudy shook her head, hugging the paper and crayons to her chest. "Not yet." She held up the red crayon. "Too pretty." Al laughed and hugged his little sister. "I'm glad you like it." he looked around the living room. His mother's tan coat lay in a disheveled pile on Papa's favorite chair. "Where's Momma?" Trudy stiffened in his arms and looked uncertainly to the dining room. Al heard the clink of glass against glass. He winced and hugged his sister tighter. "Al?" The voice from the dining room was beginning to slur. Even a six-year-old could tell that a large amount of alcohol had been consumed. "Albert!" "Yes, Momma?" Al patted his sister's shoulder to reassure her, and himself. Their mother's voice had the impatient edge that too much gin brought. Mrs. Calavicci staggered into the living room clutching the bottle of gin. Her other hand held a glass of the liquor. "What took you so long to get home?" she demanded. Before he could answer, Trudy toddled forward, her arms extended with the crayons and paper. "See?" Mrs. Calavicci's eyes narrowed menacingly, "Where did you get that?" Trudy smiled at her big brother. "Al." Their mother whirled on Al. "Did you steal that?" "No!" Al was indignant. "Then how did you pay for it?" Al knew his mother would be furious if she found out he'd used his lunch money. He opened his mouth to deliver a story, but the growling of his empty stomach reached the surface before his words. The bottle and glass came down onto the living room table with a crash. Gin sloshed over the side of the glass. Al yelped as his mother grabbed his arm. "You used your lunch money, didn't you?" She shook him, "Didn't you!" "Momma, I only wanted to do something for Trudy," Al stammered. That statement earned him a slap across the face. "Are you saying I can't take care of her?" Mrs. Calavicci shouted. "The money only goes so far! That money was for your lunch, not for you to spend on useless things!" "But, Momma, I..." "Shut up when I'm talking!" Mrs. Calavicci screamed. "I told her we couldn't afford that! How do you think that makes me look!" "Momma, I'm sorry. I just thought..." "No, you didn't think! You never think, you worthless child!" Another slap rapidly descended on the little boy. Tears welled up in his dark eyes, but he refused to let any of them spill over. He smiled at his terrified sister to let her know everything would be okay. Mrs. Calavicci saw the smile and angrily misinterpreted it as impudence. "You think this is funny, young man?" The alcohol roughened voice tightened in rage. Al cried out as the new barrage of blows struck old bruises. The tears he'd been holding back ran down his cheeks. He fell to his knees as his mother shoved him, advancing on the quivering Trudy. The child still clutched the crayons and paper. "No, Mommy. Pretty," Trudy said in a small voice. The four-year-old backed into a corner. "Pretty from Al." Reminding Mrs. Calavicci of who had bought the crayons and drawing paper was not a good idea. She viciously knocked the precious gift out of Trudy's hands. Crayons scattered across the living room floor. "Go to your room," ordered Mrs. Calavicci. Trudy stared in horror at the rainbow rolling in all directions. "No! Mine!" She scrambled after the crayons. Trudy screamed as Mrs. Calavicci grabbed her by the curls. "I told you to go to your room!" She raised her flattened hand to strike. "No!" Al yelled. He ran in front of Trudy; the blow intended for his sister caught him hard across the back. "Go to your room, Trudy. Please," he coughed out. Trudy disappeared down the hall. Although he was still gasping for breath, he relaxed now that his sister was out of harm's way. His relief was short-lived, though. His mother was in a drunken rage. Mrs. Calavicci snatched a handful of Al's hair and twisted it. Tears of pain stung his eyes. "So now you think you can raise her better than me?" Al had never before heard so much anger in his mother's voice. Frightened, he tried to pull away, but his mother's grip was too tight. His futile efforts further enraged her. She slapped him, the large diamond of her engagement ring caught him on the brow. A trickle of blood ran down his left cheek. "Momma, I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I thought it would help." "I do not need you to raise my daughter for me!" Mrs. Calavicci shouted, punctuating each word with a slap. Another cut opened up on Al's cheekbone. Anger displaced his fear. Al shouted through his tears, "I just wanted to make Trudy happy! You don't seem to care about that!" Mrs. Calavicci flew into a blind rage. Savage blows rained upon the small body. The storm of fury came to an abrupt halt when Al's head impacted with the wall. The child's eyes rolled back into his head before he slumped into an insensate heap. Horrified, Mrs. Calavicci backed away from the crumpled form of her son. Her retreat was stopped by the living room table. The gin bottle clinked against the glass as a result of the vibration. A shaky hand reached back for the glass. The ice tinkled inside as the shivering hand brought the glass to her lips. A small voice interrupted her. "Mommy?" Mrs. Calavicci saw Trudy's round face peering into the living room. "Why Al go nite-nite?" Mrs. Calavicci's body was racked with sobs. "Go back to your room!" she screamed. Trudy vanished. Mrs. Calavicci looked at the glass in her hand. She hurled the glass across the room. It shattered against the far wall. Her hands clamped over her mouth, Mrs. Calavicci fell to her knees beside the unconscious body of her little boy. Unsteady hands lifted the motionless form and cradled it in her lap. Tears splashed on her son's forehead as she smoothed his hair. "Oh, Al. Baby, Momma's sorry." She began to rock back and forth, still hugging her son. "Shhhh, sweetheart. Momma didn't mean it." An agonized scream escaped from her throat. "Dear God, help me," she sobbed. She lifted the hand that had been caressing his cheek to wipe away the tears that blinded her. Mrs. Calavicci choked when she saw the blood on it--Al's blood--her son's blood. "Oh, God, no," she whispered in horror. She hugged her unconscious son tighter. "I can't do this anymore," she wept into Al's hair. "It isn't fair to you, or to Trudy. I can't make my babies suffer for my mistakes." The gin bottle rested on the living room table, directly in her line of sight. The label taunted her, inviting her to drown away the harsh reality. "No," she forced herself to look at the small bruised face in her lap. But her gaze kept bouncing up to the gleaming bottle. "Go away!" she screamed at the bottle. "Go away," she repeated over and over again. Mrs. Calavicci looked at Al's unconscious face again. She could hear Trudy's crying drift down the hallway. "Yes, go away. I'll go away." Mrs. Calavicci got up and carried Al to the couch. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby," she whispered. She kissed Al's forehead. "I love you." Mrs. Calavicci went to her room to pack.