Fifteen November 1970 #4
Kiju nodded, stunned at being chided by Sally, before she also turned and left the room.
Sally pulled a chair over, sat and took my hand. She used the cloth that Kiju had left on the bed stand, cool now, and wiped the wound on my face.
“They mean well,” she said as she pushed the hair away from the wound.
“Kiju tells me that the path to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Sally laughed through her nose and continued to clean my face.
“Kiju asked me what I did to make Kenneth do what he did.”
“Your grandmother likes to see the best in everyone even when there isn’t a single redeeming quality about them, and that would be Kenneth all right. She can’t wrap her head around someone being bad just because they are.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I know.”
“I was just taking a shortcut to see John.” My voice cracked and I started to cry again.
“Shhh. I know. And I want you to relax. I’m going downstairs and have a little talk with those two. You just try to get some sleep.”
I nodded as she pushed the chair away and closed the door behind her.
I listened to the muffled voices from downstairs until the exhaustion or the pain led me into a shallow sleep.
Later, Kiju’s hand, soft with age, came to rest on my damp forehead and I opened my eyes. Her face looked old, long and sad. She tried to smile for me, but it was laboured. I tried to smile back, to give her some comfort, but my skin, sewn together, pulled in pain.
“I’m so sorry, Aliet, my girl. I’m so sorry.”
I closed my eyes, and this time fell into a deep sleep.
Memory is weird when it comes to events like this.
It hides things from us or reframes them.
If it didn’t, I don’t know if I would have been able to move on.
We didn’t go home the next morning. I remember missing another week of school, staying in the bed upstairs, having food and tea brought to me, John coming to see me every day when he got off school and before he had to go home to help his father with the house repairs, hearing the adults whisper and seeing the children peek their heads around the corner to catch a glimpse of me.
The cut on my face slowly started to heal, the bruises, so many bruises, started to fade, but my mind wasn’t healing the same way my body was.
“I’m so sorry, John.” I was lying in bed, a pillow propped under my right side, my left side bruised and sore from where Kenneth had thrown me onto the rock.
“Sorry? What for? You didn’t do anything.” He reached over and took my hand.
“I don’t know. I just feel like I caused all this trouble.”
“Kenneth caused all this trouble. He is the one that needs to be sorry.”
“I just don’t know why he hates me so much.”
“He’s been an asshole since he was a kid. You remember. Always thinking that people looked down on him, until he did things that made people actually look down on him.”
“Thank you for being here.”
“I’ll always be here. Remember that.” John smiled and bent over to kiss the hand he had been holding in his.
The next morning, we woke to fresh snow. The world was quiet and covered in a thin layer of white. Kiju stuck her head in the room.
“Aliet, sweetheart, I think it’s time for us to head home. You don’t have to go back to school yet, but I think it would be good for you to sleep in your own bed.”
I turned over and sat up in the bed. My body felt weak from lack of use. “Okay. I’m ready to go home.”
I hugged the boys, placed a kiss on Faye’s soft cheek and allowed Sally to hold me longer than I think I’d ever been held. Big Ben put his hands on my shoulders and looked directly at me, into the eyes that I was still convinced I might have gotten from him.
“I’m sorry for my rotten behaviour, but I do love you, Aliet. I let my rage overpower any rational thoughts of what was best for you. Sally showed me that. Just remember that we love you. Remember that people love you.”
I nodded. His voice, usually so booming, was soft and gentle.
“I’ll be okay.” And maybe I didn’t believe it then, but I was; on the outside, the only evidence was a thin white line down the side of my face.
A thin white line that was whiter in the summer when my face browned in the sun.
A thin white line that to this day I tell strangers I got when I fell from a swing set.
I never heard from Kenneth again. Rumour had it he’d been sent to live with his mother in the States, possibly to avoid the police, but I don’t really know.
I want to say I never thought of him again, I want to be that person, but I do think of him.
When I smell bad breath on a man, I think of him; when someone traces the scar on my face, usually in an act of love or desire, I think of him.
When I look at my hand and see freckled skin and not brown, or when someone comments on the uniqueness of my eyes, I hear his cruel words.
The older I get, the less I remember, but the memories still arrive, usually when I least expect it.
Then I just sit and close my eyes, breathe deeply and remind myself that John was there, John had saved me.