Excerpt fromSoul Mistakes © 2014 by EA Kafkalas. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles or reviews.
ONE
Cremation, the idea filled her mind as the antiseptic odors of Belmont’s Funeral Home assaulted her nostrils. Alex had pondered cremation since her mother’s death seven years ago. Mindy told her it was because incinerating her mother’s body was the only way to wipe her out completely. Although the statement rang true, Alex knew there was more to it. The whole idea of embalming a body and displaying it for view was totally fucked up. The thought of people saying, “Gee, doesn’t she look lovely” or “she’s never looked better” made her skin crawl. How lovely could you look when you were dead? Whatever happened after death—and Alex certainly hadn’t worked that equation out yet—did it matter what you looked like in the hereafter? Why did they bury you in your Sunday best—were you going to spend eternity at a fancy ball? If your soul was recycled—or if you were about to become worm food—what difference did it make how you were dressed? These questions haunted her every time she set foot in a funeral home.
Even as a child she had wondered why the most beautiful old homes became funeral homes. Were they too large to house love? After a certain amount of square footage did a real estate agent just say, “Oh, too large for a family, must be a place for dead people?” The Belmont’s Home was breathtaking; from the moment you stepped through the beveled glass doorway you were accosted by a craftsmanship which no longer existed.
Easels with signs were propped in front of each doorway.
She stopped to appreciate the crown molding running around the top of each room, then the windows at either end of the lobby, with intricate beveled glass designs in the top half of each window. Her breath caught when the simple calligraphy on the sign displayed the two most horrifying words she ever read—Martineli funeral.
When Simon told her Willie had called and Mrs. Martineli was dead, she had been chopping vegetables in the kitchen and almost cut her thumb off. As the warm liquid gushed out covering the onions in crimson goo—she watched helplessly. Her lip quivered, her eyes clouded—then Simon’s hand was on her arm steadying her before she passed out. He tended to her wound all the while talking but she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All she could think was Mindy must be devastated. To Simon, all she could say was “I have to go.”
Stopping outside the room which was larger than most living rooms. The walls were painted a light cream and three large windows lined one wall, letting light flood the room. The sunlight poured through the beveled glass windows slicing up the space in to tiny streaks of light and shadow. Folding chairs had been placed out in neat little lines, seven across and five rows deep. An elderly gentleman sat on the aisle seat in the back row patting his eyes with a handkerchief. His leathery complexion made her think he must have been a tradesman of some kind who spent numerous hours baking in the hot sun—his skin cracked and wrinkled with age. Surprisingly he had a full head of hair the color of snow. She tried to remember who he was but couldn’t.
The front of the room appeared to be a sea of flowers. In the center of the sea floated a pewter coffin—lid open. She lingered in the back tempted to sit quietly with the old man. After not having seen Mrs. Martineli for five years she was in no hurry to see her lying in a coffin.
The room was abuzz. Simon’s brother’s funeral was similar. Paul died suddenly when a drunk driver jumped the curb and hit him as he was walking home from school. He was only fifteen and the family had been devastated. The coffin had been open and he lay surrounded by various sports equipment. A gesture she found odd. Did they think he was going to play on God’s baseball team? She had no time to ponder any of it, with Simon sobbing over his baby brother’s death. Her inability to find the right words to comfort Simon made her feel inept. His body shook and he held her hand so tightly the blood stopped flowing to her fingers. Right now she wished her hand was numb in his.
Her mother’s funeral—truth be told—was a welcome event. Alex had been an accident, a fact her mother missed no opportunity to remind her of. She never knew her father because her mother had no idea who he was. All she knew was it was some “John” and her birth had put her mother out of work for three months. Evidently no one wanted to screw a pregnant whore. Before she understood what her mother did for a living she used to dream of her father coming to take her away to live in a wonderful home. Only when she realized the true nature of her mother’s work did she know her father would always remain a mystery. How could he be looking for her, when he didn’t even know she existed? She stood for hours that day studying the painted lady in the coffin. She was unable to move for fear her mother would wake, reach out, grab her and pull her in.
Moving further in to the room she recognized the faces of people she had known as a teenager.
There was the heavy-set woman in the corner, practically poured in to a black dress, her breasts pushing against the bodice in an attempt to break free. On second glance she identified her as Mrs. Goldberg the town baker. The standing joke among the townspeople was she ate more than she sold. Alex had a soft spot in her heart for Mrs. Goldberg because Mrs. G. would always sneak a donut or a pastry to her whenever she knew her mother had kicked her out of the house.
Standing next to her was a tall skinny young man, whose suit hung off his body, suggesting he had lost a considerable amount of weight recently, or he was wearing someone else’s clothes. His pale blond hair seemed to melt in to his sallow complexion making him look ghostlike. Alex wondered if he had been, or still was ill. Either way he was tall enough and alive enough to delight in Mrs. Goldberg’s breasts as he was at the perfect angle to see straight down her dress.
Her heart stopped—thinking she had indeed seen Mrs. Martineli—then she remembered the woman standing at the beginning of the receiving line was Mrs. Martineli’s sister Louisa, who bore a striking resemblance to her sister. Aunt Louisa had lost her husband at a young age and never dealt with her anger. No one ever said how he died: the subject was forbidden to be discussed. Alex had always imagined it was a tragic accident or untimely disease. The last Sunday of each month was spent at Aunt Louisa’s eating a feast fit for a king. Heaping plates of Italian delights which made the monthly trip worthwhile.
Louisa caught her eye and smiled warmly. Then Louisa tipped her neck in the direction of her niece.
Mindy stood at the end of the receiving line. Five years had past since they’d last spoken. Five years since Mindy had violently ended what Alex thought would be the longest relationship she would ever have with any human being.
Mindy wore a black chemise dress with a scoop neck, the dress tapered down to a belted waist, and flared back out again. There was no evidence she had born two children as she still had an hourglass figure. Despite all that had happened, Mindy still took her breath away.
Mindy’s dress blended in to the slate-black suit of the tall, sturdy man against whom she leaned for support. The somber colors and his state of upset cast a harshness on his fair features. Alex thought that under more pleasant circumstances his straw blond hair, Nordic face, with the chiseled, dimpled chin would make him look like he stepped out of the pages of Gentleman’s Quarterly.
Regaining the use of her feet Alex moved slowly toward them. She knew Mindy had married, and it was her husband Mindy leaned against. What she was unprepared for was the sudden hostility she felt toward him. Mindy had been everything to Alex.
Mindy’s skin looked as inviting as the day Alex first touched it. Mindy had let her hair grow, but pulled it back in to a conservative bun, hiding the finest black curls.
Moving in front of Mindy, she stared in to the tiny oceans of blue she had once spent hours adrift in. Now the seas were murky, as they always had been when something upsetting happened. She watched Mindy’s eyes brighten at the sight of her.
The two women stood staring at each other. After a five-year silence, words did not come easily for either of them.
She wanted water to ease her dry mouth in to speaking. Instead she reached out a hand and managed to choke out, “Mindy, I’m sorry.”
Mindy ignored the hand being offered and instead drew her close, closing the distance between them, and through her grief she whispered, “You came.”
“I had to,” Alex said, letting the familiar warmth take her to a time and place she thought no longer existed.
“Thank you.” Mindy brushed her lips against Alex cheek.
And then, for the first time in their entire relationship Alex pulled away first, setting Mindy back against her husband. Reminding her of where they each were in their lives now. And she knew she had to get out of the room as quickly as possible. Mindy introduced Alex to her husband. He enfolded Alex’s hand in a warm handshake and expressed delight at finally meeting her. Numbly, she thanked him and turned to make her escape.
She cursed herself for having told Simon not to come, wanting nothing more than to feel his strong arms around her. Having no desire to see Mrs. Martineli painted up and laid out like one of Madame Tussaud’s wax figurines she moved though the beveled glass door in to the cool night air. Wolfe was right. ‘You can’t go home again.’ Alex thought, as she sat on the marble steps of the funeral home and remembered how it all began.
Alex parked her bike against the battered brick wall of the tenement house. Jumped up to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape, hoisted herself up and begin her ascent to the third floor window leading to her apartment. Beer permeated the air of the dark room serving as part living room, part kitchen. Until she had visited other homes, she thought empty beer cans strewn about the house was merely a decorating choice. Now, she knew her mother was just a slob. She stopped temporarily at the refrigerator encrusted with dirt and food stains. She winced as she touched the door, then pulled it open and took out a can of soda. For all of her attempts to keep the place clean it did nothing to diminish her mother’s ill temper, or elicit any words of praise so she ceased doing it. And her time in the apartment was limited now she discovered schoolwork, basketball and Mindy.
She made her way through the debris to her room—the only bastion of clean in the apartment. Voices drifted from her mother’s bedroom. Alex stopped suddenly set the soda can down and retreated as quickly as possible. A lone beer can tripped her sending her flat onto her face in to several other beer cans. The crash brought her mother in to the room. Looking up she saw her mother naked from the waist up followed by her trick, still with his trousers on. His chest had little gray hairs sprouting from it and he practically had a set of breasts of his own. He was, she decided, the ugliest man she had ever seen. Alex scrambled to get to her feet as her mother howled at her, “What the fuck are you doing home from school?”
Knowing the drill, she tried to diffuse the time bomb of her mother’s temper. In a very even tone, she explained she had come to pick up a notebook she needed for class. Apologizing profusely, she tried to back slowly toward the window through which she’d entered.
But her mother’s arm shot out and caught her wrist. “Not so fast. How many times do I have to tell you not to bother me when I have a client?”
Alex apologized again trying to break free from her mother’s grip.
But her mother was determined to teach her a lesson. Her mother seized the man’s belt pulled it out of his trousers with one fluid gesture. She cracked it against the floor. The man stepped out of her way but made no attempt to stop her.
Alex protested. She was too old to be bent over someone’s knee, and certainly not going to be entertainment for this sad pathetic man. But Alex was unprepared for what came next. She put her hand out to brace herself as her mother hurled her toward the brick wall. Her hands tingled, but she was closer to the window, and escape was in sight. And then she felt it, the first lash of the belt as it whizzed across her back. Her heart stopped. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The second lash tore through her shirt and her skin. She screamed. She felt blood on her back and perspiration on her face and she crammed the collar of her rugby shirt in to her mouth to keep from screaming. Alex had learned a long time ago not to react. The more of a reaction she gave, the longer the beating would take. Each lash was more violent than the one before. She felt like her head would explode from the pounding. Everything went blurry and pain radiated up her body as her knees hit the floor. Falling onto her back Alex saw her mother drop the belt. The client had opened his pants and was jerking off. Nausea seized Alex and she choked it back down, as it was too painful to move. She heard the door slam. Dirt from the floor irritated the open wounds, helpless, unable to move, and then she remembered nothing until …
A voice traveled through the fog repeating her name, warm flesh touched her cheek. Reluctantly Alex opened her eyes and found herself adrift in Mindy’s tranquil eyes.
“Alex can you hear me? What happened?”
“Nothing. How’d you find me?”
Mindy explained when Alex didn’t show up for practice she came looking for her.
Mindy touched Alex’s shoulder, and gasped. “There’s blood on your arm.”
Alex continued to assure her everything was all right. But Mindy persisted wanting to know exactly what went on. Alex tried desperately to think of an explanation.
When Mindy finally asked if it was break in, Alex shook her head yes and took a deep breath. But when Mindy suggested they call the police, Alex grabbed her sleeves and screamed, “No.”
“But you’re hurt.”
“I’ll be fine, just help me up.” Alex held out her hand and Mindy took it. Her legs felt weak, but some of the pain in her back had subsided. When Mindy pulled her to her feet it was all Alex could do not to wrap her arms around her for support.
“Let me see your back.”
Grabbing Mindy’s arms Alex held her at arms’ length, and said, “Later.”
“But, Alex...” Mindy was becoming agitated.
“It’s not bad.”
“So, let me see it.” It wasn’t a request. Mindy was demanding now.
And as much as Alex didn’t want to deny Mindy anything, this was something she could not grant her. Not until they were both someplace safe. “Trust me.”
“You’re hurt. I want to help.”
Help. No one ever wanted to help. Before she met Mindy she didn’t know people could help each other
“The best way to help is to get me out of here.”
“Okay. Come back to my house.”
“No. I don’t want your parents involved.”
“Involved in what?”
“Mindy, you gotta' swear to me you won’t tell anyone about this until I say it’s okay.”
“You haven’t told me anything, Alex.”
“I will. I promise. Just not right now.”
Mindy looked skeptical. “I don’t know about this.”
“Do you trust me or not?”
Mindy replied without hesitation, “Of course I trust you.”
There really was nowhere else to go so they settled on Mindy’s house. She insisted on putting her jacket on, and wouldn’t take Mindy’s help.
“I think you should ride in front of me.” Mindy suggested.
“No. Go slow, I’ll keep up.”
Alex took extra care to make sure Mindy couldn’t see her pain as she rode. She just wished Mindy would quit looking back.
When they arrived at the Martineli's her entire body was drenched in perspiration. Alex wished she knew whether her jacket, which now clung to her back, was being held on by sweat or blood: she had the sinking feeling it was an ugly combination of the two.
They parked the bikes in the garage, and Mindy made a final attempt “Alex,” Mindy touched her drenched forehead, “I wish you’d let me call the police. You don’t look so good.”
The warmth of her touch was almost enough to make Alex concede. “There’s no need. I feel safe here.”
“At least let me tell my Mom.” Mindy said.
“You promised.”
“I know,” Mindy closed the garage door and led her in to the house.
Mrs. Martineli was sitting at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle when they walked in. She was a short woman, with pudgy cheeks, short brown curly hair, and brilliant blue eyes like her daughter. From the first day Alex met her, less than a year ago she fell in love with Mrs. Martineli.
Italian sausage was cooking on the stove and a pot of tomato sauce was simmering. Her kitchen always smelled wonderful—full of aromas as exotic as the countries they came from. The kitchen was the center of the Martineli’s world. Not only did they have the most incredible meals around the huge oak table, they spent hour’s playing cards and games, having tea and or ice cream and cookies. Every time Alex entered the room, she felt a sense of security wash over.
“Hi, girls,” Mrs. Martineli looked up from her puzzle. “Are you joining us for dinner, Alexandra?”
“Can she, Mom?” The question was a formality. They both already knew the answer. But Alex loved hearing the answer every time.
“Of course, darling, you know Alexandra is always welcome here.” Mindy kissed her mother on the cheek and ran upstairs.
Alex wanted to kiss Mindy’s mother on the cheek. Instead she thanked her, and added, “You’re very sweet.”
“It’s all the sugar I use in my tea.”
They both laughed.
“Alexandra, did you know you have a tear in your jacket?”
Alex thought her heart would stop, knowing Mrs. Martineli would want to fix the jacket. It was just like her to notice. She always made you feel like you were the center of her universe at that very moment.
“Why don’t you take it off and I’ll fix it for you.”
This was not happening, Alex told herself. She could not let this happen. “That’s okay, Mrs. M. I don’t want you to go to any trouble on my account.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Here let me have it.” Mrs. Martineli took hold of the lapel trapping her.
Alex tried to ease the coat off slowly since her back had stiffened and it hurt to move.
“Let me help you,” she offered.
“No, I can do it. I’m just a little stiff from basketball practice.” Alex managed to pull the coat off and give it to her. “Thank you for doing this.” she said, and started backing toward the stairs.
Mrs. Martineli’s eyes widened and she looked at her, “Do you know your jacket is–”
But her thought was interrupted by Mindy’s exclamation of “Jesus, Christ!” As she bounded down the stairs and stopped behind Alex.
Mrs. Martineli didn’t bother to scold Mindy for taking the Lord’s name in vane. Instead she moved to see what Mindy was looking at and gasped in horror.
Alex turned slowly to see them looking at each other. No one spoke for several minutes and then Mrs. Martineli took her face in her hands, “Who did this to you?”
Mrs. Martineli’s hands burned against her cheeks. Alex knew she was waiting for an answer, but she couldn’t find a way to tell the woman she wished with all her soul was her real mother, all the atrocities her birth mother had committed. Her throat constricted and she blinked to fight back the tears. The last thing she wanted to do was cry right now.
Mrs. Martineli said tenderly, “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll call your mother.”
“No!”
On this matter Alex knew Mrs. Martineli would not budge. “She has a right to know, Alexandra.”
Alex assured Mrs. Martineli she would tell her.
“I don’t think you’ll tell her anything, Alex.” Mindy blinked back the tears forming in her eyes. ”'Cuz’ she already knows. Doesn’t she?”
Mrs. Martineli looked horrified. Alex knew a beating of any kind was beyond her comprehension. Mrs. Martineli’s voice lowered to a whisper, as she asked, “Your mother did this to you?”
ONE
Cremation, the idea filled her mind as the antiseptic odors of Belmont’s Funeral Home assaulted her nostrils. Alex had pondered cremation since her mother’s death seven years ago. Mindy told her it was because incinerating her mother’s body was the only way to wipe her out completely. Although the statement rang true, Alex knew there was more to it. The whole idea of embalming a body and displaying it for view was totally fucked up. The thought of people saying, “Gee, doesn’t she look lovely” or “she’s never looked better” made her skin crawl. How lovely could you look when you were dead? Whatever happened after death—and Alex certainly hadn’t worked that equation out yet—did it matter what you looked like in the hereafter? Why did they bury you in your Sunday best—were you going to spend eternity at a fancy ball? If your soul was recycled—or if you were about to become worm food—what difference did it make how you were dressed? These questions haunted her every time she set foot in a funeral home.
Even as a child she had wondered why the most beautiful old homes became funeral homes. Were they too large to house love? After a certain amount of square footage did a real estate agent just say, “Oh, too large for a family, must be a place for dead people?” The Belmont’s Home was breathtaking; from the moment you stepped through the beveled glass doorway you were accosted by a craftsmanship which no longer existed.
Easels with signs were propped in front of each doorway.
She stopped to appreciate the crown molding running around the top of each room, then the windows at either end of the lobby, with intricate beveled glass designs in the top half of each window. Her breath caught when the simple calligraphy on the sign displayed the two most horrifying words she ever read—Martineli funeral.
When Simon told her Willie had called and Mrs. Martineli was dead, she had been chopping vegetables in the kitchen and almost cut her thumb off. As the warm liquid gushed out covering the onions in crimson goo—she watched helplessly. Her lip quivered, her eyes clouded—then Simon’s hand was on her arm steadying her before she passed out. He tended to her wound all the while talking but she couldn’t hear a word he was saying. All she could think was Mindy must be devastated. To Simon, all she could say was “I have to go.”
Stopping outside the room which was larger than most living rooms. The walls were painted a light cream and three large windows lined one wall, letting light flood the room. The sunlight poured through the beveled glass windows slicing up the space in to tiny streaks of light and shadow. Folding chairs had been placed out in neat little lines, seven across and five rows deep. An elderly gentleman sat on the aisle seat in the back row patting his eyes with a handkerchief. His leathery complexion made her think he must have been a tradesman of some kind who spent numerous hours baking in the hot sun—his skin cracked and wrinkled with age. Surprisingly he had a full head of hair the color of snow. She tried to remember who he was but couldn’t.
The front of the room appeared to be a sea of flowers. In the center of the sea floated a pewter coffin—lid open. She lingered in the back tempted to sit quietly with the old man. After not having seen Mrs. Martineli for five years she was in no hurry to see her lying in a coffin.
The room was abuzz. Simon’s brother’s funeral was similar. Paul died suddenly when a drunk driver jumped the curb and hit him as he was walking home from school. He was only fifteen and the family had been devastated. The coffin had been open and he lay surrounded by various sports equipment. A gesture she found odd. Did they think he was going to play on God’s baseball team? She had no time to ponder any of it, with Simon sobbing over his baby brother’s death. Her inability to find the right words to comfort Simon made her feel inept. His body shook and he held her hand so tightly the blood stopped flowing to her fingers. Right now she wished her hand was numb in his.
Her mother’s funeral—truth be told—was a welcome event. Alex had been an accident, a fact her mother missed no opportunity to remind her of. She never knew her father because her mother had no idea who he was. All she knew was it was some “John” and her birth had put her mother out of work for three months. Evidently no one wanted to screw a pregnant whore. Before she understood what her mother did for a living she used to dream of her father coming to take her away to live in a wonderful home. Only when she realized the true nature of her mother’s work did she know her father would always remain a mystery. How could he be looking for her, when he didn’t even know she existed? She stood for hours that day studying the painted lady in the coffin. She was unable to move for fear her mother would wake, reach out, grab her and pull her in.
Moving further in to the room she recognized the faces of people she had known as a teenager.
There was the heavy-set woman in the corner, practically poured in to a black dress, her breasts pushing against the bodice in an attempt to break free. On second glance she identified her as Mrs. Goldberg the town baker. The standing joke among the townspeople was she ate more than she sold. Alex had a soft spot in her heart for Mrs. Goldberg because Mrs. G. would always sneak a donut or a pastry to her whenever she knew her mother had kicked her out of the house.
Standing next to her was a tall skinny young man, whose suit hung off his body, suggesting he had lost a considerable amount of weight recently, or he was wearing someone else’s clothes. His pale blond hair seemed to melt in to his sallow complexion making him look ghostlike. Alex wondered if he had been, or still was ill. Either way he was tall enough and alive enough to delight in Mrs. Goldberg’s breasts as he was at the perfect angle to see straight down her dress.
Her heart stopped—thinking she had indeed seen Mrs. Martineli—then she remembered the woman standing at the beginning of the receiving line was Mrs. Martineli’s sister Louisa, who bore a striking resemblance to her sister. Aunt Louisa had lost her husband at a young age and never dealt with her anger. No one ever said how he died: the subject was forbidden to be discussed. Alex had always imagined it was a tragic accident or untimely disease. The last Sunday of each month was spent at Aunt Louisa’s eating a feast fit for a king. Heaping plates of Italian delights which made the monthly trip worthwhile.
Louisa caught her eye and smiled warmly. Then Louisa tipped her neck in the direction of her niece.
Mindy stood at the end of the receiving line. Five years had past since they’d last spoken. Five years since Mindy had violently ended what Alex thought would be the longest relationship she would ever have with any human being.
Mindy wore a black chemise dress with a scoop neck, the dress tapered down to a belted waist, and flared back out again. There was no evidence she had born two children as she still had an hourglass figure. Despite all that had happened, Mindy still took her breath away.
Mindy’s dress blended in to the slate-black suit of the tall, sturdy man against whom she leaned for support. The somber colors and his state of upset cast a harshness on his fair features. Alex thought that under more pleasant circumstances his straw blond hair, Nordic face, with the chiseled, dimpled chin would make him look like he stepped out of the pages of Gentleman’s Quarterly.
Regaining the use of her feet Alex moved slowly toward them. She knew Mindy had married, and it was her husband Mindy leaned against. What she was unprepared for was the sudden hostility she felt toward him. Mindy had been everything to Alex.
Mindy’s skin looked as inviting as the day Alex first touched it. Mindy had let her hair grow, but pulled it back in to a conservative bun, hiding the finest black curls.
Moving in front of Mindy, she stared in to the tiny oceans of blue she had once spent hours adrift in. Now the seas were murky, as they always had been when something upsetting happened. She watched Mindy’s eyes brighten at the sight of her.
The two women stood staring at each other. After a five-year silence, words did not come easily for either of them.
She wanted water to ease her dry mouth in to speaking. Instead she reached out a hand and managed to choke out, “Mindy, I’m sorry.”
Mindy ignored the hand being offered and instead drew her close, closing the distance between them, and through her grief she whispered, “You came.”
“I had to,” Alex said, letting the familiar warmth take her to a time and place she thought no longer existed.
“Thank you.” Mindy brushed her lips against Alex cheek.
And then, for the first time in their entire relationship Alex pulled away first, setting Mindy back against her husband. Reminding her of where they each were in their lives now. And she knew she had to get out of the room as quickly as possible. Mindy introduced Alex to her husband. He enfolded Alex’s hand in a warm handshake and expressed delight at finally meeting her. Numbly, she thanked him and turned to make her escape.
She cursed herself for having told Simon not to come, wanting nothing more than to feel his strong arms around her. Having no desire to see Mrs. Martineli painted up and laid out like one of Madame Tussaud’s wax figurines she moved though the beveled glass door in to the cool night air. Wolfe was right. ‘You can’t go home again.’ Alex thought, as she sat on the marble steps of the funeral home and remembered how it all began.
Alex parked her bike against the battered brick wall of the tenement house. Jumped up to reach the bottom rung of the fire escape, hoisted herself up and begin her ascent to the third floor window leading to her apartment. Beer permeated the air of the dark room serving as part living room, part kitchen. Until she had visited other homes, she thought empty beer cans strewn about the house was merely a decorating choice. Now, she knew her mother was just a slob. She stopped temporarily at the refrigerator encrusted with dirt and food stains. She winced as she touched the door, then pulled it open and took out a can of soda. For all of her attempts to keep the place clean it did nothing to diminish her mother’s ill temper, or elicit any words of praise so she ceased doing it. And her time in the apartment was limited now she discovered schoolwork, basketball and Mindy.
She made her way through the debris to her room—the only bastion of clean in the apartment. Voices drifted from her mother’s bedroom. Alex stopped suddenly set the soda can down and retreated as quickly as possible. A lone beer can tripped her sending her flat onto her face in to several other beer cans. The crash brought her mother in to the room. Looking up she saw her mother naked from the waist up followed by her trick, still with his trousers on. His chest had little gray hairs sprouting from it and he practically had a set of breasts of his own. He was, she decided, the ugliest man she had ever seen. Alex scrambled to get to her feet as her mother howled at her, “What the fuck are you doing home from school?”
Knowing the drill, she tried to diffuse the time bomb of her mother’s temper. In a very even tone, she explained she had come to pick up a notebook she needed for class. Apologizing profusely, she tried to back slowly toward the window through which she’d entered.
But her mother’s arm shot out and caught her wrist. “Not so fast. How many times do I have to tell you not to bother me when I have a client?”
Alex apologized again trying to break free from her mother’s grip.
But her mother was determined to teach her a lesson. Her mother seized the man’s belt pulled it out of his trousers with one fluid gesture. She cracked it against the floor. The man stepped out of her way but made no attempt to stop her.
Alex protested. She was too old to be bent over someone’s knee, and certainly not going to be entertainment for this sad pathetic man. But Alex was unprepared for what came next. She put her hand out to brace herself as her mother hurled her toward the brick wall. Her hands tingled, but she was closer to the window, and escape was in sight. And then she felt it, the first lash of the belt as it whizzed across her back. Her heart stopped. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The second lash tore through her shirt and her skin. She screamed. She felt blood on her back and perspiration on her face and she crammed the collar of her rugby shirt in to her mouth to keep from screaming. Alex had learned a long time ago not to react. The more of a reaction she gave, the longer the beating would take. Each lash was more violent than the one before. She felt like her head would explode from the pounding. Everything went blurry and pain radiated up her body as her knees hit the floor. Falling onto her back Alex saw her mother drop the belt. The client had opened his pants and was jerking off. Nausea seized Alex and she choked it back down, as it was too painful to move. She heard the door slam. Dirt from the floor irritated the open wounds, helpless, unable to move, and then she remembered nothing until …
A voice traveled through the fog repeating her name, warm flesh touched her cheek. Reluctantly Alex opened her eyes and found herself adrift in Mindy’s tranquil eyes.
“Alex can you hear me? What happened?”
“Nothing. How’d you find me?”
Mindy explained when Alex didn’t show up for practice she came looking for her.
Mindy touched Alex’s shoulder, and gasped. “There’s blood on your arm.”
Alex continued to assure her everything was all right. But Mindy persisted wanting to know exactly what went on. Alex tried desperately to think of an explanation.
When Mindy finally asked if it was break in, Alex shook her head yes and took a deep breath. But when Mindy suggested they call the police, Alex grabbed her sleeves and screamed, “No.”
“But you’re hurt.”
“I’ll be fine, just help me up.” Alex held out her hand and Mindy took it. Her legs felt weak, but some of the pain in her back had subsided. When Mindy pulled her to her feet it was all Alex could do not to wrap her arms around her for support.
“Let me see your back.”
Grabbing Mindy’s arms Alex held her at arms’ length, and said, “Later.”
“But, Alex...” Mindy was becoming agitated.
“It’s not bad.”
“So, let me see it.” It wasn’t a request. Mindy was demanding now.
And as much as Alex didn’t want to deny Mindy anything, this was something she could not grant her. Not until they were both someplace safe. “Trust me.”
“You’re hurt. I want to help.”
Help. No one ever wanted to help. Before she met Mindy she didn’t know people could help each other
“The best way to help is to get me out of here.”
“Okay. Come back to my house.”
“No. I don’t want your parents involved.”
“Involved in what?”
“Mindy, you gotta' swear to me you won’t tell anyone about this until I say it’s okay.”
“You haven’t told me anything, Alex.”
“I will. I promise. Just not right now.”
Mindy looked skeptical. “I don’t know about this.”
“Do you trust me or not?”
Mindy replied without hesitation, “Of course I trust you.”
There really was nowhere else to go so they settled on Mindy’s house. She insisted on putting her jacket on, and wouldn’t take Mindy’s help.
“I think you should ride in front of me.” Mindy suggested.
“No. Go slow, I’ll keep up.”
Alex took extra care to make sure Mindy couldn’t see her pain as she rode. She just wished Mindy would quit looking back.
When they arrived at the Martineli's her entire body was drenched in perspiration. Alex wished she knew whether her jacket, which now clung to her back, was being held on by sweat or blood: she had the sinking feeling it was an ugly combination of the two.
They parked the bikes in the garage, and Mindy made a final attempt “Alex,” Mindy touched her drenched forehead, “I wish you’d let me call the police. You don’t look so good.”
The warmth of her touch was almost enough to make Alex concede. “There’s no need. I feel safe here.”
“At least let me tell my Mom.” Mindy said.
“You promised.”
“I know,” Mindy closed the garage door and led her in to the house.
Mrs. Martineli was sitting at the kitchen table doing a crossword puzzle when they walked in. She was a short woman, with pudgy cheeks, short brown curly hair, and brilliant blue eyes like her daughter. From the first day Alex met her, less than a year ago she fell in love with Mrs. Martineli.
Italian sausage was cooking on the stove and a pot of tomato sauce was simmering. Her kitchen always smelled wonderful—full of aromas as exotic as the countries they came from. The kitchen was the center of the Martineli’s world. Not only did they have the most incredible meals around the huge oak table, they spent hour’s playing cards and games, having tea and or ice cream and cookies. Every time Alex entered the room, she felt a sense of security wash over.
“Hi, girls,” Mrs. Martineli looked up from her puzzle. “Are you joining us for dinner, Alexandra?”
“Can she, Mom?” The question was a formality. They both already knew the answer. But Alex loved hearing the answer every time.
“Of course, darling, you know Alexandra is always welcome here.” Mindy kissed her mother on the cheek and ran upstairs.
Alex wanted to kiss Mindy’s mother on the cheek. Instead she thanked her, and added, “You’re very sweet.”
“It’s all the sugar I use in my tea.”
They both laughed.
“Alexandra, did you know you have a tear in your jacket?”
Alex thought her heart would stop, knowing Mrs. Martineli would want to fix the jacket. It was just like her to notice. She always made you feel like you were the center of her universe at that very moment.
“Why don’t you take it off and I’ll fix it for you.”
This was not happening, Alex told herself. She could not let this happen. “That’s okay, Mrs. M. I don’t want you to go to any trouble on my account.”
“It’s no trouble at all. Here let me have it.” Mrs. Martineli took hold of the lapel trapping her.
Alex tried to ease the coat off slowly since her back had stiffened and it hurt to move.
“Let me help you,” she offered.
“No, I can do it. I’m just a little stiff from basketball practice.” Alex managed to pull the coat off and give it to her. “Thank you for doing this.” she said, and started backing toward the stairs.
Mrs. Martineli’s eyes widened and she looked at her, “Do you know your jacket is–”
But her thought was interrupted by Mindy’s exclamation of “Jesus, Christ!” As she bounded down the stairs and stopped behind Alex.
Mrs. Martineli didn’t bother to scold Mindy for taking the Lord’s name in vane. Instead she moved to see what Mindy was looking at and gasped in horror.
Alex turned slowly to see them looking at each other. No one spoke for several minutes and then Mrs. Martineli took her face in her hands, “Who did this to you?”
Mrs. Martineli’s hands burned against her cheeks. Alex knew she was waiting for an answer, but she couldn’t find a way to tell the woman she wished with all her soul was her real mother, all the atrocities her birth mother had committed. Her throat constricted and she blinked to fight back the tears. The last thing she wanted to do was cry right now.
Mrs. Martineli said tenderly, “Okay, let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll call your mother.”
“No!”
On this matter Alex knew Mrs. Martineli would not budge. “She has a right to know, Alexandra.”
Alex assured Mrs. Martineli she would tell her.
“I don’t think you’ll tell her anything, Alex.” Mindy blinked back the tears forming in her eyes. ”'Cuz’ she already knows. Doesn’t she?”
Mrs. Martineli looked horrified. Alex knew a beating of any kind was beyond her comprehension. Mrs. Martineli’s voice lowered to a whisper, as she asked, “Your mother did this to you?”