Times My Mother Stood Up for Me
It is three years after my father's departure. In the middle of the night, I awaken to the sound of my sister thumping down the hall. She is always running to my mother's bedroom. I bury my head in the pillow, drifting back to sleep.
"Charley!" My mother is suddenly in my room, whispering loudly. "Charley! Where's your baseball bat?"
"Wha?" I grunt, rising to my elbows. "Shhh!" my sister says.
"A bat, " my mother says. "Why do you want a bat?" "Shhh!" my sister says.
"She heard something. " "A robber's in the house?" "Shhh!" my sister says.
My heart races. As kids, we have heard of cat burglars (although we think they steal cats) and we have heard of thieves who break into houses and tie up the residents. I immediately imagine something worse, an intruder whose sole purpose is to kill us all.
"Charley? The bat?"
I point to the closet. My chest is heaving. She finds my black Louisville Slugger, and my sister lets go of her hand and jumps into my bed. I am pushing my palms into the mattress, not sure what role I should play.
My mother eases out the door. "Stay here, "she whispers. I want to tell her that her grip is wrong. But she's gone.
My sister is trembling next to me. I am ashamed to be lumped in with her, so I slide out from the bed to the doorframe, despite her pulling at my pajama bottoms so hard they nearly rip.
In the hallway, I hear every creak of the house settling, and in each one I imagine a thief with a knife. I hear what seems to be a soft thudding. I hear footsteps. I imagine a big, ruddy beast of a man coming up the stairs for my sister and me.
Then I hear something real, a smash. Then I hear... voices? Is it voices? Yes. No. Wait, that's my mother's voice, right? I want to run downstairs. I want to run back to bed. I hear something deeper – is it another voice? A man's voice?
I swallow.
Moments later, I hear a door close. Hard. Then I hear footsteps approaching.
My mother's voice precedes her. "It's all right, it's all right, " she is saying, no longer whispering, and she moves quickly into the room and rubs my head as she passes me to get to my sister. She drops the bat and it clunks on the floor. My sister is crying. "It's all right. It was nothing, " my mother says.
I slump against the wall. My mother hugs my sister. She exhales longer than I have ever heard anyone exhale before.
"Who was it?" I ask,
"Nothing, nobody, "she says. But I know she is lying. I know who it was.
"Come here, Charley. " She holds a hand out. I straggle over, my arms at my side. She pulls me in, but I resist. I am angry with her. I will remain angry with her until the day I leave this house for good. I know who it was. And I am angry that she wouldn't let my father stay.
ALL RIGHT, ROSE," my mother was saying as I reentered the room, '^you're going to look beautiful. Just give it a half hour. "
"Who was on the phone, dear? " Rose asked me.
I could barely shake my head. My fingers were trembling. "Charley? " my mother asked. "Are you all right? "
"It wasn't... " I swallowed. "There was no one there. "
"Maybe it was a salesman," Rose said. "They're afraid when men answer the phone. They like old ladies like me. "
I sat down. I felt suddenly spent, too tired to keep my chin up. What had just happened? Whose voice was that? How did someone know where to find me, yet not come get me? The harder I tried to think, the dizzier I got.
"Are you tired, Charley? " my mother asked.
"Just... give me a second. " My eyes drooped shut.
"Sleep, " I heard a voice say, but I couldn't tell which of them said it, that's how gone I was.
Times My Mother Stood Up for Me
I am fifteen and, for the first time, I need to shave. There are stray hairs on my chin and straggly hairs above my lip. My mother calls me to the bathroom one night after Roberta is asleep. She has purchased a Gillette Safety Razor, two stainless steel blades, and a tube of Burma-Shave cream.
"Do you know how to do this?"
"Of course, " I say. I have no idea how to do it. "Go ahead, "she says.
I squeeze the cream from the tube. I dab it on my face. "You rub it in, "she says.
I rub it in. I keep going until my cheeks and chin are covered. I take the razor. "Be careful, "she says. "Pull in one direction, not up and down. "
"I know, " I say, annoyed. I am uncomfortable doing this in front of my mother. It should be my father. She knows it. I know it. Neither one of us says it.
I follow her instructions. I pull in one direction, watching the cream scrape away in a broad line. When I pull the blade over my chin, it sticks and I feel a cut.
Oooh, Charley, are you all right?"
She reaches for me, then pulls her hands back as if she knows she shouldn't. "Stop worrying, " I say, determined to keep going.
She watches. I continue. I pull down around my jaw and my neck- When I am finished, she puts her cheek in one hand and smiles. She whispers, in a British accent, "By George, you've got it"
That makes me feel good.
"Now wash your face, " she says.
Times I Did Not Stand Up for My Mother
It is Halloween. I am sixteen now, too old to go trick-or-treating. But my sister wants me to take her out after supper—she is convinced you get better candy when it's dark—so I reluctantly agree, as long as my new girlfriend, Joanie, can come with us. Joanie is a sophomore cheerleader and I am, by this point, a star on the varsity baseball team.
"Let's go far away and get all new candy, " my sister says.
It is cold outside, and we dig our hands in our pockets as we walk from house to house. Roberta collects her candy in a brown paper shopping bag. I wear my baseball jacket. Joanie wears her cheerleading sweater.
"Trick or treat!" my sister squeals when a door opens.
"Oh, and who are you, dear?" the woman says. She is about my mother's age, I guess, but she has red hair and is wearing a housedress and has badly drawn eyebrows.
"I'm a pirate, " Roberta says. "Grrr. "
The woman smiles and drops a chocolate bar in my sister's bag as if dropping a penny in a bank, It goes plunk
"I'm her brother, " I say.
"I'm... with them, "Joanie says. "And do I know your parents?"
She is about to drop another bar in my sister's bag. "My mom is Mrs. Benetto, " Roberta says.
The woman halts. She pulls the candy back. "Don't you mean Miss Benetto?" she says.
None of us know what to say. The woman's expression has changed and those drawn eyebrows are straining downward.
"Now you listen to me, sweetie. Tell your mother that my husband doesn't need to see her little fashion show by his shop every day. Tell her to not get any grand ideas, you hear me? No grand ideas. "
Joanie looks at me. The back of my neck is burning.
"Can I have that one, too?" Roberta asks, her eyes on the chocolate. The woman pulls it closer to her chest.
"Come on, Roberta, " I mumble, yanking her away.
"Must run in the family, " the woman says. "You all want your hands on everything. You tell her what I said! No grand ideas, you hear me?"
We are already halfway across her lawn.
Rose Says Good-Bye
W'HEN WE STEPPED OUT of Rose's house, the sun was brighter than before. Rose followed us as far as the porch, where she remained, the aluminum door frame resting against the side of her walker.
"Well, so long, Rose, honey," my mother said. "Thank you, dear," she said. "I'll see you soon. " "Of course you will. "
My mother kissed her on the cheek. I had to admit, she had done a nice job. Rose's hair was shaped and styled and she looked years younger than when we'd arrived.
"You look nice," I said.
"Thank you, Charley. It's a special occasion. " She readjusted her grip on the walker handles.
"What's the occasion? "
"I'm going to see my husband. "
I didn't want to ask where, in case, you know, he was in a home or a hospital, so I blurted out, "Oh, yeah? That's nice.
"Yes," she said softly.
My mother pulled at a stray thread on her coat. Then she looked at me and smiled. Rose moved backward, allowing the door to close.
We stepped down carefully, my mother holding my arm. When we reached the sidewalk, she motioned to the left and we turned. The sun was nearly straight above us now.
"How about some lunch, Charley?" she said. I almost laughed. "What?" my mother said.
"Nothing. Sure. Lunch. " It made as much sense as anything else.
"You feel better now—with a little nap?" I shrugged. "I guess."
She tapped my hand affectionately. "She's dying, you know."
"Who? Rose?" "Um-hmm."
"I don't get it. She seemed fine.
" She squinted up at the sun. "She'll die tonight." "Tonight?"
“Yes.”
"But she said she's going to see her husband." "She is. "
I stopped walking.
"Mom," I said. "How do you know that?" She smiled.
"I'm helping her get ready."