Lies and More Lies, part seven

It was Saturday, nearly noon, and Leta's day was going terribly. Not only was she suffering the after-affects of drinking too much alcohol the previous evening, but her son Dale, while playing outside, had hurt himself. He had been the tree in their front yard, slipped and caught his leg on a branch, which left a large gash. While she waited for the doctor, she attempted to make herself presentable—washed her face, combed her hair, pinched her ashen cheeks, put on a little lipstick, and dressed.

She was just finishing when she heard the doctor drive up. She raced down the stairs, so he wouldn’t ring the bell and quietly led him up the stairs to Dale’s room, so they didn’t wake her husband, who was still asleep. Vivian was still pressing rags against Dale’s leg. The doctor smiled and nodded toward her, and she stepped away.

During the doctor’s ministrations, which eventually required several stitches, Leta became so engrossed that she failed to hear her husband wake. In her defense, Leech was always rather quiet, even rising after a night of drinking. This was very different from her previous husband Ora Freeman. Ora would rouse from a drunken sleep with a curse on his breath, loudly carrying on until his body and head both had cleared. In contrast, Leech would open his eyes, lie flat on his back for several minutes, get out of bed, stand for a few more minutes to get his bearing, and then proceed steadily to the lavatory. On this particular morning, he was drawn to the commotion to Dale’s bedroom.

“What the hell is going on here?” Leech demanded, his loud screeching voice piercing the intense concentration of the room. Leta jumped. A pinch of pain grabbed her head, and a wave of anxiety clutched her back.

Leech was standing in the doorway, and Leta, who had been assisting the doctor, quickly left her son to calm her husband.

“It’s nothing,” she said plaintively, blocking the action from him. “Dale has a little scrape in his leg, that’s all. Now why don’t we get dressed, and then go downstairs for some coffee. I can have a fresh pot percolating in a couple of minutes.”

“You called the doctor?” Leech continued, pushing her aside. “For a little scrape?”

He strode over to where the doctor was finishing an application of stitches. Then he turned to Leta.

“This doesn’t look like a little scrape to me.”

“He’ll be fine,” Leta said, wishing her husband would leave the room. She turned to her daughter. “Vivian, go make a pot of coffee.” Then she turned back to her husband. “Vivian’s going to make you some coffee. Why don’t you finish getting dressed and go downstairs?”

Leech was a sight. He was still wearing his shirt from the night before, and it was sporadically buttoned, as if he had forgotten how to put it on. Part of it was tucked inside his undershorts, because he was not wearing trousers. His legs were bare, and he only wore one sock. Evidently he spilled something on himself the previous night for there was a brown stain running down the left side of his shirt. One sleeve was rolled, but the other hung limply.

He belched loudly.

“I don’t like this, Mrs. Hoose,” he said. “I don’t like this at all.”

“Yes, I know,” she said quietly. “But the doctor’s nearly finished. Now, let’s get ourselves some coffee. You’ll feel better after some coffee.”

“I feel fine,” he grumbled, as he turned away from the room.

“Of course, you do,” Leta agreed, standing close to him, but also clear of him. When he was in this state, he also hated to be touched.

A short time later, after the doctor left, as the two of them were drinking coffee in the kitchen, he was mostly distant. She knew his head was pounding. Her own was not much different. Not only had they stayed at the speakeasy until it closed for the night, but they also drank more than their usual maximum. He was staring at the breadbox. She was watching him. Then he turned his head slowly toward her.

“There is no question, Mrs. Hoose,” he said, “Children are a burden.”

To be continued.

Lies and More Lies, part six

Leta was having a bad Saturday. First she had been jarred awake in the mid-morning after sleeping later than usual. This was because she and her husband had spent a much longer time the prior evening at the speakeasy. He had been in a merry mood after some triumph at work and drank heavily up until the time they left. All evening and well into the night they drank and laughed with their companions until the crowd had dissipated and they were nearly by themselves in the establishment. Fortunately, their drive home was rather short, for he was unsteady at the wheel and wove back and forth on the street before finally parking at an angle in front of their house. They helped each other inside and up the stairs, where they both collapsed into bed.

The sound of the children getting their breakfast awoke her like a loud clanging in her ears. She quickly turned to her husband. Fortunately, he was still sleeping soundly, but that might not last long with the commotion that was rushing from the kitchen in the back of the house, through the living room and up the stairs to her bedroom. She stumbled around the room until she found her robe and hurried clumsily down the stairs, closing the bedroom door behind her. Every step seemed to be a little out of place. It was nearly nine o’clock. Dale was sitting at the table with a half-empty glass of milk. Vivian was at the sink, washing their breakfast dishes. The aroma of oatmeal and toast hung in the air. Being early August, the air was already warm and humid.

“Good morning, Ma,” Dale whispered cheerfully.

“What are you doing?” Leta demanded furiously. “What’s all this racket?” Her own voice felt like someone knocking her in the head.

Dale winced and sank into his chair, and Vivian turned toward them, freezing with her hands covered with suds.

“All this noise you’re making woke me up, and any minute you’re going to wake up Mr. Hoose! And you know we don’t want that to happen,” Leta continued in a harsh whisper.

Both of the children stared at her. Her head was pounding and she rubbed her temples with one hand. Then she thought she heard a noise from upstairs. Was her husband waking?

“Let’s go, let’s go!” she ordered. She grabbed Dale’s glass and pushed Vivian aside to plunge it into the water. “You’re not even dressed. What time is it? I want you dressed and out of the house in five minutes!”

Again, the children didn’t move.

“March!” she snapped.

The children rushed out of the room, leaving the nearly finished dishes and sink filled with sudsy water. While they were being very quiet, even the slightest noise seemed like thunder to Leta. With her hands dripping, she sat down at the table. Her strength had given out, and all she wanted to do was lie down.

After a few moments, she stumbled her way to the sofa and lay down. While she thought she heard her children slip out of the house, she could not be sure. She hoped, for all their sakes, that they had. Then darkness overtook her.

She was awakened suddenly by Vivian. The girl was shaking her shoulder and calling her. While she did not know how long this had been going on or even how long she had been sleeping, Leta knew immediately that the girl’s voice was louder than necessary. She raised her hands anxiously with several shushing noises. Once Vivian saw that she was awake, she became quieter instantly.

“What time is it?” she inquired, still groggy.

“Ma,” Vivian said forcefully. “It’s Dale. He fell. He cut himself pretty bad.”

“What?”

Everything was hazy, and while she heard her daughter’s words, she wasn’t sure she understood them.

“He’s got a big gash on his leg,” Vivian clarified.

“Oh Lord,” Leta said, pulling herself into a sitting position.

“He’s on the porch,” Vivian said, pulling on her arm to help her stand. “I think he needs a doctor.”

Vivian was correct. Dale’s leg was covered in blood, and he was sobbing uncontrollably when she reached him. She instructed her daughter to get three clean rags, and once she returned to hold them firmly on the bleeding area. He definitely needed treatment. After she telephoned the doctor, she ran across the street. Mr. Simmons was working in his flowerbeds. Was it that late in the day? She asked him if he would assist her in bringing Dale into the house. He needed to be carried, and she did not have the strength to lift him. Her husband was not at home to assist her. Mr. Simmons dropped everything and immediately complied. Dale’s sobs had reduced themselves to whimpers, and Mr. Simmons was as gentle with him as a devoted father. He was even remarkably quiet, considering the circumstance, and that she had obviously lied about her husband.

“You need to keep the pressure on,” Mr. Simmons said, referring to the wound. The rags were already full of blood.

“Yes, yes,” Leta said as Vivian went to get more rags. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispered. “You called the doctor?”

“He’s on his way,” Leta answered, and she escorted her neighbor back to the front door.

“You take care now,” he said.

Once he left, she saw herself in the mirror. She was a disheveled mess—her hair, her robe was buttoned askew and barely covered her slip. She was wearing one stocking, but not the other. Her eyes were puffy and red. And her breath reeked. Startled and embarrassed, she hurried up the stairs and rushed into her bedroom. Her husband was still sound asleep, thank goodness, She hurriedly changed her clothes and ran a brush through her hair, leaving the door open if Vivian came for her.

To be continued.

Lies and More Lies, part five

Life with Leech Hoose was not progressing as expected. Leta thought she had been more selective in choosing him as a mate. He was, after all, her fourth husband. When they met, she was in a terrible living situation with her third husband, who was never present, and left her with no food or ability to pay their household bills. She and her children were starting to look ragged. Leech, she believed, was a godsend. He was considerate and compassionate. He was kind and gentle. He seemed genuinely to like her. When they married, she believed that things would get better for her, and for her children. While he was awkward with them, he seemed to be accepting. 

After five months of marriage, she was no longer feeling that he liked her at all. Certainly, he wanted to spend time with her, eat with her, share a bed with her, and, most enthusiastically, go drinking with her. While he was sometimes impulsive about taking her along on his daily excursions to their local speakeasy, he wanted her to look nice when they went out. “I like to show off my beautiful wife to the lushes and losers,” she overheard him tell to the bartender one evening when she returned from the lavatory. However, he obviously detested that part of her that was a mother. She had children, and as far as he was concerned, they were nothing more than a “pack of rats running amok in the house.” If he had not been her husband, she could have responded to that vicious and negative remark with motherly strength and prowess, but she had to live with him. Her children had to live with him. All she could do was devise and execute a lifestyle that kept her children separated from her husband.

This made for a lot of stress and tension that she held inside her. Every day had more challenges than she could manage. She was basically living two lives at the same place at the same time—one with her husband and another with her children. In the morning, she would rise and prepare Leech’s breakfast. He would eat and then go to work. Then she would rouse the children and feed them their breakfast. During the day, she and the children would have full access to the house and yard. But at four o’clock, they began their evening preparation. She would start supper, and the children would remove all traces of their presence from the living room, kitchen, yard and bathroom. While Vivian watched whatever was cooking, Leta perform a final inspection throughout the house to make sure that neither child had forgotten any item—a toy, a book, or even Vivian’s sewing. Anything left would be confiscated. By five o’clock both children were in their individual bedrooms, and the kitchen table was set for two.

If all went well, her husband would arrive home from work, skim the newspaper, eat his supper, spend fifteen minutes in the bathroom, and then leave for two or three more hours. Once he was gone, she would feed the children, and they would clean up the kitchen. After this, the children would return to their rooms until morning under the strictest orders to be quiet. Even though it was summer and still light enough for the children to play outside, Leta could not risk Leech arriving home from his evening’s repast earlier than expected and find the children anywhere. Sometimes she would sit with the children, but most of the time, she sat alone in the living room, drinking beer and waiting for her husband’s return.

This was not the home life she had envisioned when she first started thinking about marriage to Leech Hoose. This was not the happy family she believed would come to pass when she began to feel that a relationship with him would be possible. This was not how she planned to live her life.

Fortunately, she had the beer to clam her nerves.

To be continued.

Lies and More Lies, part four

As June turned into July, Leta's husband Leech made it clearer and clearer that her children Vivian, age 15, and Dale, age 12, were not welcome in his house. The punishment of taking Dale’s shoes away was only the beginning of a series of incidents that inspired more rules and punishments to make their lives miserable. He took the adage that children should be seen and not heard to an extreme degree; basically, he wanted no indication that the children even existed. By mid-July, he and Leta were eating alone, at a table with only two place settings. After he left for his evening repast, she would call the children downstairs for their meal. Although she always cooked enough for four, Leech would sometimes eat all of the potatoes or meat, requiring her to quickly whip up some eggs or feed her children bread. Sometimes Leech would insist that Leta join him at the speakeasy, leaving the children to fend for themselves. When she asked to feed the children first, her husband insisted that his schedule prevented that.

Leta tried to remain patient. After all, he had never been married, never shared his house, and over the years developed patterns in his lifestyle that would take many months to alter. While he had invited and seemingly accepted Leta into them, he rejected the presence and needs of children. Having never had any of his own, he could not understand their needs or even their participation in the household.

While Leta was grateful that they had enough to eat and a secure roof over their heads, she was frequently distressed by the daily dysfunction of the household. More and more she and the children endeavored to prevent any interaction whatsoever between them and Leech. This meant that from right before he arrived home from work until he left for his evening’s repast, they remained in their bedrooms. This also meant that any and all of their belongings would remain in their rooms as well. This was a challenge. For much of the day, as it was summer, the children were in and out of the house. They had several toys and things that were easily put down, if only for a short period of time, and inadvertently left behind. Ensuring that all of the children’s things were out of site by the time Leech arrived home from work in the evening was quite a challenge.

Weekends were particularly strenuous. Leech spent much of his time at home. This resulted in the children either remaining outside throughout the day or caged in their bedrooms for long periods of time. For Vivian this was inconvenient but not impossible. The 15-year-old was studious and quiet. As long as she had a book to read and some sewing, she could remain in her room for hours. At 12 years old, however, Dale was active and careless. Without realizing what he was doing, he would engage in some physical activity that could easily be heard on the first floor.

Leech would respond with hostility. “What’s that racket? It sounds like the rats are on the warpath up there.”

One Sunday afternoon when he had been abruptly awakened from a nap, he took the broom handle right out of Leta’s hands and poked the ceiling hard.

“What are you doing?” Leta asked.

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re up there!” he shouted. “I have ears in the back of my head.” When he finished poking more than a dozen times, he turned to her. “Damn rats,” he snarled. Then he twisted away and jammed the broom handle back into the ceiling one last time.

Leta was obviously mortified and knew that the moment she had the chance, she would need to console her son. Leech tossed the broom aside and grabbed her wrist.

“Let’s get a drink,” he said. “I’m thirsty.”

“But…” Leta stammered.

“We’ll take care of those pesky rodents later.”

Leech gave her a little tug, and she relaxed just enough to be compliant, following him out of the house.

To be continued.

Lies and More Lies, part three

Dale had been without his shoes for four days. At first he didn’t mind. It was summer after all, and he rarely wore shoes in summer anyway. But when it came time for Leta to take him to visit his father, she knew he needed to have them. When she asked her husband to return them, he refused.

“Leech,” she cajoled, “you don’t understand. I can’t take Dale to visit his grandparents without shoes. What will they think of me? Of us?”

“Mrs. Hoose,” he said sternly, “you are the one who does not understand. A punishment is a punishment, and the boy will get his shoes back when I say so.”

 

“But he needs them.”

“That’s too bad. Now maybe he’ll think twice about being underfoot,” Leech retorted.

They were preparing for bed. This was a rare night. While he had spent a part of it out drinking, he was home early and less intoxicated than usual. However, he was quite irritable.

“What am I going to tell his father and grandparents?” she asked with exasperation.

“That’s your problem,” he said. “He’s not getting them back tomorrow, and that’s that.”

“Leech,” she said, now a little irritated herself, “you’re being ridiculous.”

They were standing near each other, close enough that she could smell him, a mixture of alcohol, cigarette smoke and dried perspiration. He needed a bath, but that was not her issue. She was in her nightgown, and he had removed his shirt and pants, which he had thrown carelessly over a chair.

Without warning, Leech grabbed the alarm clock and threw it at the wall near her, where it crashed and fell apart. His face was red with fury.

“This is my house, god dammit!” he snarled. “What I say is law. Your little brat is not getting his shoes back until I say so. End of discussion. If he doesn’t like it, he can leave. Now clean up this mess you made.”

After his pronouncement, he stomped out of the room. Leta watched him head to the stairs and then stride down them. Until he was out of sight and beyond her hearing, she had held her breath. Finally, she let it out and pressed her hand against the dresser to hold herself up. She took several uncertain steps to her vanity, where she dropped onto the stool. For several minutes, her mind was in such tumult that she could not hold onto a single thought. Did Leech mean to hit her with the clock? Would he try to hit her again?  Why was he so angry about those shoes? When was he going to give them back? How angry was he? How had she gotten herself and her children into this situation?

She could not permit herself to sit and question for very long. At any moment, her husband might finish his calming drink and return. If the alarm clock pieces were still littering the floor, she knew his reaction would be even stronger. He might even strike her. While he had not hit her, she sensed that this was not beyond his capability. The broom and dustpan, however, were in the kitchen, where her husband was. She would have to get them. She took a deep breath and left the room.

To be continued.

Lies and More Lies, part two

The household was thick with tension. Leta had just interrupted an argument between her twelve-year-old son and her husband. The two had been arguing about shoes. Apparently, her son Dale had left his on the living room floor, and his stepfather had stumbled over them when he arrived home after work. Leta was in the kitchen. Supper was ready to put on the table, and she had taken a few moments on the back stoop to enjoy a cigarette. She was unaware of the conflict until the voices escalated loudly enough for her to hear them.

Leech was furious. He called Dale an ungrateful brat and threatened to throw the boy out of the house to live on the streets. Dale had called Leech a mean and ugly monster who hated everyone but himself. Leech threatened to beat the boy senseless. Dale stood behind a chair and encouraged him to try. When Leta arrived on the scene and demanded to know the reason for the row, Dale took the opportunity to storm upstairs to his bedroom. This left Leta alone with her temperamental husband, who turned his fury toward her

“This is not going to happen in my house, Mrs. Hoose,” he snarled. “I am not going to trip over children’s things. I am not going to have children underfoot. You either get your brats under control, or I’m throwing them out on their asses. Do you hear me?”

In the moment, Leta cared less for what he was saying and more about calming her husband down. The last time he was this angry, he had punched a hole in the wall.

“Yes, of course,” she repeated during the tirade. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of it.”

“You better, This is not how a man is supposed to live in his own home,” he insisted, as he picked up Dale’s shoes. “In the mean time, I am going to keep these to teach that young fellow a lesson.”

“What are you doing?” Leta demanded, moving to prevent him from leaving the room.

“It’s summer,” Leech explained. “He doesn’t need them.”

“But what about church or going out?” Leta questioned. She was very displeased by Leech’s plan.

“He’ll just have to make do,” Lee snapped.

“For how long?” she then asked.

“As long as it takes until he learns his lesson. Now move aside.” He raised the shoes threateningly. Leta froze defiantly, but only for a few seconds. Then she stepped aside. Her husband pushed past her, slightly knocking her off-balance, as he left the house.

Once he was gone, her own fury became apparent. She clenched her fists and tightened her body. Then she threw her arms down with a grunt. Dale knew better than to leave such things around. He knew that Leech was at his most peevish when he returned from work. He knew better than to engage the man in any sort of argument, that this would result in some unwarranted and complicated result.

She went into the cupboard and poured herself a shot of whiskey, which she sipped while still standing before the open cupboard, the bottle in one hand, glass in the other. After three sips, she swallowed the rest of the shot and then poured herself another one.

Once she had composed herself, she headed up the stairs to talk to her son.

To be continued.

Lies and More Lies, part one

Leta was home alone. More and more over the summer, she found she liked it that way. Her fifteen-year-old daughter Vivian was spending several days with her cousins Lucille and June, daughters of Leta’s brother Aaron. Her twelve-year-old son Dale was playing with friends down the street. Her husband Leech was at work. It was a balmy Friday afternoon. Aside from making supper, which she had already planned in her mind, she had finished her housekeeping for the day. She was sitting in her rocking chair with some embroidery and a glass of whiskey. A light breeze, as if it were the loving breath of God, ruffled her fabric and tickled the back of her neck.

She waved to one of her neighbors, as he dragged his lawn mower to his front yard. She liked Mr. Simmons. He was a polite, friendly widower, in his early 70s. Where most of their neighbors spent Saturday mornings taking care of their yard work, he did his in the afternoon. He told her that he was a night owl, that he liked to spend his mornings drinking coffee, reading the newspaper and relaxing. He did his chores in the afternoon, so he could enjoy the heat of the day. He was a tall, thin fellow with only wisps of white hair on his head. He walked with a limp from a wound he received during the Spanish-American War. Nerve damage that he rarely noticed, he explained. It didn’t slow him down at all. He and his late wife had ten children. She died in childbirth, leaving him to raise the children on his own. He had never remarried, he said, because he was simply too busy. By the time his youngest daughter married it was too late. No one would want an old man who was used to doing everything his own way. Women, he shared conspiratorially, say they want to get married for someone to take care of them, but in fact, the opposite is true. Women marry to have someone to take care of. He didn’t need that. Shortly after Leta and the children moved in with Leech, she took Mr. Simmons a pie to thank him for clearing snow off her walk. Shoveling snow was just one of the chores that her husband elected not to do.

Mr. Simmons waved back and focused on his lawn.

Leta checked the time. Leech wanted her to have his supper waiting upon his arrival home from work. As he didn’t like vegetables, the meal primarily consisted of beef, pork or chicken—preferably roasted—and boiled potatoes. Sometimes she would mash the potatoes. He would drink two bottles of beer with his meal, burp loudly and then excuse himself. After spending ten minutes in the lavatory, he would proceed out the door. On most nights, this all took place within 30-minutes and not a word was said amongst the four of them. On other nights, when one of the children or even she began to share some bit of information or even ask a question about the meal, he would slam his fist down on the table and glare angrily for several minutes. Leta actually looked forward to the moment when her husband left the house.

Once he was gone, she and the children would finish the meal, clear the table and spend the next two hours doing their chores and homework. Leech arrived home from the speakeasy at approximately 8:30pm. If the children were not already in bed, they were in their rooms. Depending on his level of inebriation, he would either be friendly with his wife or stumble up the stairs to bed. At least once per week, he would fail to undress or even take of his shoes, but collapse onto the bed horizontally. Leta slept on the sofa those nights. The first two times she experienced this, she tried to rouse him enough to undress and move, but he would not budge. The second time, as she was trying to remove his shoe, he kicked her in the face, bruising her left check. The next morning he asked her about the bruise, appearing to remember nothing.

Leta hated to ruminate on the challenges of her life, but lately it seemed that this was all she did. She sighed deeply, stood, pulled her sewing things together and went into the house for a beer.

She did not see the woman watching her from half a block down the street.

To be continued.