Banned

Growing up, I knew I was pretty. Mom told me over and over, "You have such a pretty face," as if my pretty face trumped my brains and talent. As long as I had a pretty face, that was all I needed. It may have been all she needed, but the only thing I needed was a penis. That would make everything possible. Boys had all the breaks. Jimmy could do reprehensible things and because he was a boy -- Mom's boy -- all would be forgiven. As long as he had a penis, Jimmy got all the breaks and everything he ever wanted, except when he misbehaved and the neighbors across the street from us in Hampton Roads, Virginia banned him from their yard. The Alexanders, Mrs. Alexander, banned Carol, too. If Jimmy was in trouble it meant he had followed Carol into trouble and Mrs. Alexander forbid them from entering her yard. Carol and Jimmy sat on the edge of the street, their legs dangling into the rain ditch, making sure they did not get any closer. They knew that either Mrs. Alexander's daughters would run and tell on them, tattle to their mother.

I stayed out of the drama, not only because I was not forbidden the yard but because when whatever happened, I had been playing or adventuring with Butchie and Bobby, the Alexanders' oldest boys. They did not suffer a child such as Jimmy and they did not like Carol either. As far as Butchie and Bobby were concerned, Carol was a spoiled brat, just like Jimmy. She was a fussy spoiled brat who always changed her clothes a bunch of times a day. That was too much for the boys.

Their sisters, Debbie and their other little sister were irritating tattletales and the boys treated them as older brothers always treated sisters -- avoiding them as much as possible.

The only Cornwell the boys liked was me, nearly the same age and much more approachable and friendly -- that opposite of Carol and Jimmy. The only other Alexander who liked Jimmy was Juma, the Alexanders' youngest child who had been born in Africa when their father was stationed in Libya with the Air Force.

Dad was Army, but Mr. Alexander was Air Force. He was stationed at Langley Air Force Base where Mom worked a second job. Langley was where the CIA had The Shop of Stephen King's horror novels where the telekinetic -- Fire Starter -- had lived when she was kidnapped by the CIA after the unthinkable happened -- a Fire Starter was born to two students that supplemented their income by volunteering for testing (a study put together by the CIA where student volunteers were given LSD and whatever symptoms occurred were carefully watched by CIA operatives.

No, I do not think that Mr. Alexander was a CIA operative, just an airman who was stationed at Langley -- probably a sergeant or other noncom just like my dad who was a sergeant and stationed at the Army base, Fort Monroe. Fort Monroe was on the peninsula where Dad caught pigeons to add to his backyard collection. Dad built cages for the pigeons and kept them there. That is where I learned how to feed the pigeons, putting corn in their beaks and massaging their necks to encourage the food to go down.

I loved feeding the pigeons and enjoyed holding and feeding the pigeons, especially when they flew around the yard and over the picnic table in the back yard where one of the pigeons let loose as it flew over the table. The bird lime landed on the bite of steak just before Mom put it in her mouth. She was horrified and dumped the mess when she dropped the forkful on the ground. Horrors. Ick! "Jim," she told Dad, get rid of those filthy birds." Mom may have ordered their deaths, but Dad shooed them into the cages and locked the birds away from sight.

Mom fussed and fretted the rest of the weekend, even after the Alexanders went home after playing cards that night. Mom fussed and fretted the rest of the night. Mom and Dad argued all night. Dad laughed about the pigeon's accurate aim. Mom fussed and fretted, furious and upset that Dad had not destroyed the filthy birds. I silently snickered as I had since the pigeon had fouled Mom's steak, but softly so no one could hear me. Carol was upset because Mom was upset and Jimmy fell to sleep still snickering under his breath. Jimmy was a child, he thought it was funny -- until he fell asleep.

Mom fussed at Dad until even I fell asleep. Mom was determined Dad get rid of "those filthy things" once and for all. Whatever dire consequences Mom threatened, the incident was forgotten as all such incidents fade into the past in time.

No doubt Mom planned to let the pigeons loose or contrive to leave the cage door unlocked and open so the filthy things would fly away and leave her food untouched in the future. She refused to ever eat in the back yard. "There will be no more cookouts," she said. Carol was silent. Jimmy whined and fussed. I went out the front door to go across the street.

Mom called me back from the front porch. "You are forbidden to go across the street," she said. I stopped dead in my tracks and she turned around and went back into the house. She knew without a doubt I would soon follow. I was very well behaved, an obedient daughter.

I cast a regretful look behind me as first Bobby and then Butchie stopped in their tracks looking while I walked slowly away, casting glances back at the Alexanders, shrugging my shoulders, and proceeding through the front gate, closing the gate, and dragging my heels as I walked up the stairs into the house. I closed the door behind me, locking eyes with Butchie and Bobby before I closed the door.

Mom pounced on me as soon as the door was closed. "You are not to go into the Alexanders' yard."

"But Mom...," I complained.

"You are forbidden to go over there."

"Mrs. Alexander cast Carol and Jimmy out of their yard. I was not banned," I said.

"You are not going to go to the Alexanders. As long as Jimmy and Carol are banned, you will be banned."

"But Mom...," I complained.

"Not another word." Mom put her foot down and I knew there was nothing I could say or do. Jimmy and Carol were banned and now so was I. End of story. There was no story I could tell, no excuse I could give, nothing I could say that would make Mom relent. If Jimmy and Carol were banned, I was banned. Mom was leveling the playing field. Whatever trouble Jimmy and Carol had gotten into, the Alexanders would have to do without me, too. Mr. and Mrs. Alexander would plead with her -- explain things from their perspective, but Mom would never relent. As long as Jimmy and Carol were banned, I would share their punishment.

Jimmy and Carol had been banned before. I would wait it out until Mom felt Jimmy and Carol were banned no longer. I had shared the banning before. Jimmy would be out, and Carol with him as long as the punishment stood.

Go to your room," Mom said.

At least I had my books. I stomped up the stairs, closed the door between the room I shared with Carol and Jimmy's room, and flopped down on the bed. I had been planning to read, "Heidi" by Johanna Spyri when Aunt Anne sent it for my birthday last week. I had read it once right after I received it, but I would enjoy reading it again. Soon Adeleide was seated on a stool eating melted cheese her grandfather had made and drinking fresh goat milk from one of Grandfather's goats after Peter, the goatherd, brought the goats back and marched off down the Alp to his grandmother's home. As Heidi drifted off to sleep in the linens stuffed with fresh hay beneath the stars visible through the hole in the roof. I could almost smell the fresh hay and heard the roaring of the pines bending here and there in the wind soughing through the pines on the Alp, book clutched to my chest, head nestled in the pillow beneath my head.

"Dinner," Mom called up the stairs. I rubbed my eyes and stumbled up from my nap. I could make it down the stairs to the bathroom, wash my hands, and go to the kitchen for dinner. It smelled good. Meatloaf. I would be glad to scoop up potatoes and carrots and place them around the meatloaf.

Dad was still dressed in his uniform as he filled the plates and passed one to Carol, Jimmy, and me. then he filled Mom's plate and passed it to her, filled his own plate, and Mom bowed her head and had Jimmy say Grace.

For now, the ban would be enforced. Good thing the weekend would soon arrive and I would pack up the weekly delivery of TV Guide. I would have to go door to door to sell the TV Guide as soon as I finished my piano lesson with the old German woman. If I was lucky and had learned my lesson, Mrs. Marquardt would not smack my hands with the ruler. I would play the piano (badly if I had not practiced enough) and would spend the morning smelling Mrs. Marquardt's apartment and the big box of rasins she always fed the pigeons that landed on her second floor apartment window sill. I would learn do my lesson and maybe she would set me something new, something as good as The Spinning Song I learned last month. I hope, I hope.

I would practice after dinner as soon as I washed the dishes. Maybe for once Carol would wash and I would dry, but more likely Carol would not do her part of the chore and I would end up washing the dishes -- again. Mom let Carol get away with it and would order me to wash the dishes. She said it was easier to get me to do the chores than to argue with Carol. I really hoped Carol would do her chores and I could practice my lesson. If I dried the dishes, I would be able to practice sooner.

Carol cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the sink. She turned on the hot water, squirted the soap in the sink, and picked up the dish rag. "I'll dry," she said.

"It's your turn," I said.

"I washed the dishes last night," she said.

Mom walked in. "Just do the dishes," Mom said.
 
I decided I could practice sooner if I washed the dishes. Mom said she would make up a chore list and post it on the fridge. Wouldn't matter. Even if Mom wrote down the chores, Carol would still make sure she got out of it. I would end up doing the dishes, so I might as well get to it so I could practice.  Sooner started, sooner done. I pulled on the rubber gloves, picked up the dishcloth, and started the dishes.

 "Don't forget to wipe the table and sweep the floor," Mom said.

Sooner started, sooner done. Carol would not even pick up the boom and dustpan and sweep the floor. there was not a chore she would ditch and I would end up doing it all. Right now, I'd wash and she would rag me about washing the dishes faster so she could dry the dishes and put them away.

I washed. Carol griped, hand held out for the next dish. She continued griping and holding out her dish towel covered hand. "Why don't you sweep the floor. I'll get done sooner and you can dry."

"You just want to get me to do your work," Carol said.

"The kitchen has to be cleaned one way or the other. Why don't you sweep the floor?"I asked.

"No, you sweep the floor as soon as you finish washing the dishes."

"Why can't you just sweep the floor?" I asked.

"You would do anything to get out of doing the dishes," she said.

"And you would pile the sweeping on my shoulders and get out of your share of the chores," I said. "When Mom posts the chores list tomorrow, you'll have to do your chores and I won't have to do them for you."

"Wanna bet?" she asked.

"How are you going to slip out of it if Mom writes up the list?"

"I will have studying to do."

"So do I tonight, but I'm washing the dishes."

She dropped the plate into the sink.

"I just washed that," I protested.

"It was dirty," she quipped.

"Where?" I asked, washing the dish again and rinsing it in the other sink.

Carol picked up the dripping dish, let it drip into the dishwater, and scrutinized it closely, wiping the dish slowly as if trying t catch the food so she could show me I was doing a bad job. Finally, she finished wiping the dish, stacked it on top of the clean dishes, and lifted them into the cabinet. "You finally got it clean," she said.

I wash another couple of dishes, rinsed them, and stacked them in the drainer. "You're getting behind," I said.

"Forgot the silverware," she said.

"Go get the broom and sweep the floor," I said.

"Get the rest of the dishes from the table and do the silverware. And don't forget the pots and pans," she ordered.

"As soon as you sweep the floor," I said.

"Fat chance," she said. "Mom will make you do it."

"I'm washing the dishes."

"Mom will make you sweep the floor, too."

"I'm washing the dishes."

"I have homework.  Just watch."

When Mom came into the kitchen, Carol whined about having homework to do. Mom let her go as soon as she dried the silverware. She ordered me to sweep the floor and take out the trash. It would not do to complain. Carol got her way and I will sweep the floor and take out the trash. Maybe I would get time to practice tomorrow . Mom tacked the chore list on the fridge. Days of the week were marked across the top and my name was listed in tomorrow's chore. Carol's name did not appear anywhere. You will wash this week and Carol will wash next week."

"I did the dishes tonight. why do  I have to do them the rest of the week?" I asked.

"You will take turns. You do this week and Carol will do next week. You will switch weeks."

"Like we switched every other day?"

"It is easier to manage weeks. Days can get lost. You will switch weeks and since you started this week, Carol will take next week."

"Until she whines and fusses and you decide it is easier to make me do it," I said.

"You're whining and fussing and I haven't asked Carol to take over," Mom said.

"Because Carol's whining and fussing is louder than mine." I said.

Mom and I went back and forth arguing until she put an end to the argument. She slapped me in the face.

No matter whether or not the argument was over tonight, we would argue again. It was inevitable. Carol would win and I would lose. I might as well resign myself to doing the dishes. Carol will not do her share and Mom will back her up. Might as well get it over with. I finished the dishes, wiped off the table, picked up the broom and swept the floor. I wiped out the sink, dried the dishes. wiped the table, and wrapped the trash before I took it out and set it outside the gate for the trash men to pick it up tomorrow. When I got home from school, I would bring in the trashcan and start dinner. Tomorrow is another day and Carol is still my conniving sister. C'est la vie.

That is all. Disperse.