(Excerpt from: Rain Dodging)
A misshapen outline remained where the pocket had been. Determined, I stepped into the dress anyway. I loved the texture of the cornflower blue fabric. The finely etched silver buttons on the shoulder straps were unusual. Besides, she would notice. Sitting next to me in the synagogue, she would be forced to remember. Today was Yom Kippur.
Father’s voice called up from the front hallway, “It’s time to leave.”
I joined my two brothers and sister, already marching down the stairs.
* * *
From a high-backed chair on the bima, the rabbi approached the lectern. A dignified man, even more so in a long, black robe. Eye-glasses perched on his nose, he peered out. He read, “Our God and God of our fathers, pardon our transgressions, remove our guilt and blot out our iniquities on this Day of Atonement.”
I looked down at my dress and remembered. Last March. Perpetual winter-grey owned the early spring sky, as usual. Oh, shit. Mother’s face disappeared behind the velvet window drapes. How late had I been? Not over 15 or 20 minutes, but she had seen Chuck walking me home. I grabbed the geometry books from his arms, not daring to touch, let-alone kiss. I ran up the driveway before he could respond.
I stopped only for a deep breath before turning the knob. Abruptly, the door opened. Mother yanked me by the arm until we were both in the dark hallway.
“When will you get it through your thick skull? YOU ARE TO BE HOME ON TIME.”
I froze, knowing what would come next.
I stood there. Shouts turned into screams, screams into hysteria, hysteria into rage. The familiar pattern. I escaped into the weary tunnel of my thoughts. I startled when hands grabbed for the gold chain around my neck.
I begged her not to break the chain, but I knew it was no use.
Mother looked down at the charm. She saw the small St. Christopher’s medal, hanging at the bottom of the chain. She went crazy.
“Chuck gave this to you?”
I was too frightened to reply.
“ANSWER ME.”
I mumbled affirmation.
Mother ripped the chain from my neck. She threw it on the floor.
“What’s next? A crucifix? Mass?”
I bit my lip. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Silence was my only weapon.
* * *
The Rabbi’s commanding baritone penetrated the sanctuary, breaking my train of thought.
“Thus hast Thou placed a particular task upon us, as mothers, wives and daughters. We are proud to be privileged to radiate Thy love wherever we may dwell.”
Mothers. Daughters. Proud. Love.
* * *
She tore off my dress with one giant slash, catching my twisted arm in my brass purse chain. Only five-years old, Kathy ran into our bedroom closet, whimpering. Even Matthew cried, begging our mother to stop. I noticed his two front teeth were finally coming in. They looked like upside-down tulips. Embarrassed that my kid brother could see me half undressed, I tried to patch the torn fabric over my exposed breast. Where was Mike, I wondered? Probably at wrestling practice. He had an outlet.
Her mouth contorted, teeth growing bigger and bigger.
“Praised be Thou, O Lord our God, who freest the captive. Amen. Praised be Thou, O Lord our God, who liftest up those who are bowed down. Amen. Praised be Thou, O Lord our God, who givest strength to the weary. Amen.”
My silence never failed to make her crazy. She interpreted the silence as indifference, further fueling her rage. She was too incoherent to notice my eyes, trapped in the numbness of anger and frustration. I wanted to scream, to explode, to release my own emotions. I was stuck within myself, glued to the mat before the chance to fight.
“Keep her tongue from evil and her lips from speaking guile. Be her support when grief silences her voice, and her comfort when woe bends her spirit.”
She was out of control, whipping me with the purse chain. I worried about Matthew and Kathy. Matthew was already a strange kid. Serious. Hiding behind books. Always alone. On the spectrum? And Kathy. Withdrawn. Little Kathy.
My mother’s tirade with the purse chain continued. I could barely stand it.
“May every virtue which Thou hast implanted within us reveal to us the dignity and sanctity of each human being.”
The rabbi was near the end of the service
“Remove from her heart all rancor and hardness, that I may forgive freely even as I hope to be forgiven.”
A finger grazed my dress where the pocket had been. I glanced down. My mother’s manicured hand. She had beautiful hands.
“May our worship in this Day of Atonement direct the hearts of parents to their children and the hearts of children to their parents.”
The rabbi closed his prayer book and looked out over the congregation. He walked away from the lectern.
I looked down at a blurred sea of cornflower blue.
