41. Rue
rue
. . .
King Theodore the Brave
Teddy hated his curls. By the time he was five, they were halfway down his back. Hair-commercial worthy, shiny and thick, they attracted attention everywhere he went. My sunshine angel, our mother called him.
The moment he was born, he became the center of her world. Once I was old enough to care, I didn’t. He was the center of my world too. The only difference between us was how we loved him. To me, he was magic. To her, he was an extension of herself.
She lived for Sundays, for the excuse to parade him before the families at church. She soaked up all the compliments like they were hers. I suppose they were, in a way.
Teddy hated Sundays too.
She’d wake him up early and spend an hour or more on his appearance.
Perfect curls. Perfect, starched white clothes.
Perfect, shiny shoes without a single scuff.
He wasn’t allowed to eat breakfast, so I used to sneak him food when I could.
Only white food, though—bread, cheese if we had it.
He was a messy eater, and we’d learned what happened when he spilled food while wearing white.
When Teddy was six and a half, he tried to cut off his hair with kid scissors—those rounded, dull ones. He managed to saw through an inch of hair below his ear before I found him crouched in the bathtub. Our parents were at a neighbor’s for their weekly cribbage night. I was responsible for him.
Teddy didn’t understand yet what would happen when they came home.
He was still innocent. I put him to bed early and waited for my parents at the kitchen table.
When they walked in, I showed them the lock of hair and the scissors.
I told them I’d held Teddy down and cut his hair because I was jealous.
The strategy worked for almost two years.
Teddy would fall in a puddle, I’d say I tripped him.
He’d scrape his hands or knees, I’d say I made him climb a tree with me.
He was pretty clumsy, which meant at least three times a week our mother would take Teddy for a walk after dinner so our dad could talk to me.
Then, when Teddy was in fourth grade, he left school one day with a split lip.
He insisted that he fell and hit his face on the playground.
I knew he was lying. Teddy was small for his age.
Petite. He had the face of an angel and a gentle spirit that bullies were eager to crush.
But he wasn’t as innocent anymore. He didn’t want me to tell them I’d done it and even went as far as protesting when I confessed. They didn’t believe him.
It was cold that night. Mom only took Teddy as far as the porch. He had a cup of hot cocoa, an ice pack for his eye, and a thick coat so he wouldn’t catch a chill. She put earmuffs on his head so he wouldn’t hear anything.
The look in my father’s eyes was different that night too.
I followed him down to the basement as usual, but instead of his hand or a wooden spoon, he pulled off his belt.
The big shiny buckle glinted in the harsh light of the hanging bulb.
After, I was relieved they hadn’t given me dinner.
Throwing up would have made things worse.
I cleaned up as best I could, told Teddy I was okay, and read him stories as usual. But in the morning, he saw the blood gluing my nightgown to my lower back.
The following night, he asked to be excused from the dinner table to use the bathroom. I watched him go with a sick feeling in my stomach.
He was gone a long time.
Our mother had just stood up to check on him when he reappeared. He had our dad’s electric razor in one hand and a fist of shiny blond curls in the other. His face was red, his eyes full of angry tears. He’d shorn his hair to the scalp.
He yelled, “I’m not a doll!” and threw his hair at our mother’s feet. She shrieked like he’d thrown a bucket of blood.
We’d celebrated Teddy’s ninth birthday the week prior, and I was a few months shy of eleven.
That was the beginning of the end.
River’s arms spasm around me. His heart pounds against my back. I can’t say it yet, but I think he knows. The truth sits in the water with us, clinging to our skin and clothes.
“They blamed me for his behavior. I was the wild one, the tomboy with dirt under my fingernails. They thought I’d poisoned his mind.
There were more punishments, but I barely remember them.
What I remember most is that for a few days after he cut off his hair, Teddy had this lightness about him I’d never seen before.
It was like he’d dropped some invisible weight or shed skin that didn’t fit him.
I was so happy for him. But I was scared too. So fucking scared.”
A shiver quakes me, clicking my teeth together. River toes the stopper from the tub.
“Let’s get you dry.”
He helps me to my feet, then lifts me out of the tub and sets me on the bathmat. I stand like a mannequin as he pulls off my shorts and T-shirt. He hesitates before removing my bathing suit. Before he can ask, I pull it off myself.
He towels me dry, his touch careful. So gentle. When he moves behind me and sees why I never wear two-piece bathing suits, he only pauses a moment.
“Be right back.”
He returns with clothes and dresses me in sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and my coziest socks. Then he picks me up and sets me on the bed in a nest of blankets.
“I’m going to get dressed and come right back. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”
I burrow deeper in the blankets. He presses soft, warm lips to my forehead.
I blink—he’s gone.
I blink—he’s back.
He sits behind me again. A cradle of heat. A steady heartbeat. Salt, cedar, and citrus. He’s here.
But I’m elsewhere.
“After that, Teddy stood up for himself more, pushing back against our mother’s control.
And she… she was obsessed with the idea that she was being punished for her sins, and if she could cure Teddy, God would save them both.
He was never hit like I was, but the scars our mother gave him were so much worse than mine.
Constant degradation, forced conformity, isolation, religious shaming—all of it presented as an act of love and fear for his soul.
“She started taking him to counseling sessions with her pastor. Teddy wouldn’t tell me, but I’m positive she threatened me in order to make him go.
After a few weeks, though, he almost looked forward to them.
It was an escape from home, and even though it was still torture, at least the pastor didn’t yell at him or call him horrible names.
“But the wrong person found out why he was at church Tuesday nights. They spread vicious rumors. Our parents’ friends started snubbing them—excluding them from events, ignoring them at church. Our father started drinking a lot, getting angrier faster. Our mother became even more fanatical.
“My mattress had been moved to the basement after Teddy cut his hair, but I still snuck into our old bedroom every night to tell him stories. One night, I found him tearing the seams of his clothes. All the outfits our mother had sewn for him were in pieces. And I remember this feeling… it was like watching him slide toward a cliff and knowing I wouldn’t be fast enough to save him.
A few weeks later, I stole our dad’s wallet and we ran away for the first time.
“Over the next year, we must have run away a dozen times. We were always caught. If not by them, by another adult. We made it as far as the highway once. A lady pulled over and asked if we needed help. I told her we were going to see our nonexistent grandparents in Eugene and needed a ride. I was so fucking relieved when she said she’d take us.
But she was lying. I didn’t recognize her, but she knew who we were.
The troubled Baker kids. She took us to the police station.
“Seventh grade was really rough. Teddy was still at the elementary school, and now he didn’t have a single person looking out for him. My bullies were suddenly bigger and meaner too. Between them and home and constantly worrying about Teddy, I started failing my classes.
“Then our class took a field trip to the library. It was the first time I’d been, and it was like I’d walked into a dream.
The head librarian, Ms. Lakin, was this fierce older woman who scared everyone but me.
She saw something in me—maybe herself, I don’t know—but when we were leaving, she pulled me aside and told me to come back.
So I did, almost every day. Once I knew she was safe, I started bringing Teddy.
“Ms. Lakin was like our grumpy fairy godmother. She’d open the library’s back door for us an hour early and turn a blind eye while I helped Teddy fix his clothes.
I even trimmed his hair every few weeks.
And we’d go straight there after school so he could change before we walked home.
But even though our mother never figured out where we went, she was still a shark.
Teddy’s growing confidence was blood in the water for her.
By the end of the year, she was driving Teddy and I was walking alone.
“I kept going to the library. Ms. Lakin… she helped me find direction and purpose. She taught me that the greatest weapon I had to protect myself and Teddy was my mind, but it was up to me to make it sharp enough to cut. Over the next couple of years, I turned my grades around. I developed a plan and for the first time, I had hope. I was going to earn an out-of-state scholarship and take Teddy with me. Until then, I’d protect and support him as much as possible. ”
Despite the warmth of the man behind me and the blankets around me, I’m so cold it seems odd my exhales aren’t clouds.
River’s arms are covered in goosebumps like he feels the glacier inside me too.
“I wrote hundreds of emails. I called every crisis hotline and support organization I could find. There were a lot of kind people who understood what Teddy was going through and who really wanted to speak to him, but his leash was even shorter than mine.