Mildred Banks Loses Everything

The Banks family, like so many others, were undoubtedly miserable.

Walter Banks, the head of the household, was a cruel man. He was a corrupt businessman that wanted nothing more than to make a profit at the expense of well meaning families who truly cannot stand to lose said money. He inherited a fortune as a young man, and learned how easy it is to fall victim to greed. He didn’t do anything if it didn’t help him accumulate some amount of wealth, especially if it made others lose their money. For all intents and purposes, he was no more than a paycheck to his wife and child. He was rarely home, naturally, and when he does return every month or so, it was for nothing more than a quick kiss on his wife’s cheek, a pat on his son’s shoulder, and a night of quiet in his study, reviewing the numbers scrawled in his notebook, keeping account of bills and taxes and everything else he could possibly think of. He may be an absent father, a neglectful husband, a swindler and a crook, but he was smart, and he was careful, and, above all else, he was a businessman.

Mildred Banks, although kinder than her husband, was much the same in terms of selfishness. She grew up in a small town, in a small house, in a small family, and she had always dreamed of bigger things. When it was served to her on a silver platter in college, then, by the name of Walter Banks, she pounced on the opportunity with all her might. She gladly accepted when he proposed, of course, and gladly accepted the split of his wealth. She imagined limousines, important meetings with important people, and all of the Hollywood glamour that supposedly comes with being rich. Walter, of course, was against extravagance, and gave her nothing more than an average life in the suburbs, with her own allowance, and not even a maid to help raise their child. Her child, rather.

Daniel Banks was a sweet boy, completely devoted to his mother, and pitifully devoted to his father. He spent all his time creating cards for him, scribbling tirelessly on loose leaf paper with his crayons, most of them broken, in hopes of gaining some ounce of love. A lonely child, he was inseparable from his mother. He would follow her around the house, attempting to help in whatever household work had to be done that day, but ultimately doing more harm than good in the process. Danny, as he was called by his mother, wanted to be an astronaut more than anything. Well, he wanted a father more than anything, but he was willing to settle. 

It was May 21st, his sixth birthday, and that morning his mother woke him with a surprise. Mildred had gotten him an astronaut helmet, a platter of star laden cupcakes, and a small toy rocket that lit up and buzzed. He was ecstatic, and ran to his closet, appropriately called Danny’s Den, which they had painted black and decorated with stars and planets, laughing as he went. Walter was at work, of course, not even remotely aware of the date, or his son, or anything, really, and he certainly didn’t feel any remorse about it. Mildred’s mission that day was to distract from his father’s absence, but also making it a point not to say things that would imply he had a father to miss. It was like every other day, in that regard, but it did nothing to stop Danny from asking when his father would come home to see them. Mildred knew the truth, then. Walter Banks wasn’t coming home.

He had a family of his own at that point. They were upstate, in the city. The letter was still in her nightstand, now tear stained and worn. He had agreed to continue giving her a small sum every week, though she doubted how much longer he would, or if the amount of money they would receive could tide them over at all. She was on her own now, she thought, but she had Danny. For now, at least. It was only a matter of time before he left her too. Off to college, maybe, or to wherever little boys go when they're done with their tired mothers. She couldn’t answer him then, and she never did. Or, rather, she never got the chance. With Walter gone, and now with a stricter budget, she was understandably stressed. But, above all, she wanted her son to have a good birthday. After all, you only turn six once. 

Her life was chosen for her, she realized. She went from her parents ruling her before giving her to Walter, then Walter did the same before leaving, and now Danny was the one dictating her day. God, it was tiring, and she was angry, regardless of what she would admit to herself. She could feel it under her skin, threatening to come forth at any moment in a fiery ball of terror. Nothing but nerves, she would say. When Danny would break things, or never cease his restless movement, or belt out his nonsense songs, Mildred knew he meant well, of course, but it was all she could not to scream. She was a rubber band on the verge of snapping.

Danny was enjoying his birthday, but couldn’t help asking incessantly when his father was going to return. He wanted to know and was determined to get an answer, no matter the consequences. Mildred, on the other hand, was equally determined in shielding her child from the truth, at least for his birthday. After the cupcakes and the rockets, she took him to the backyard, and they played a mostly one sided game of tag. Danny was like a little mouse scurrying through the trees and over bushes, and she could not hope to keep up. Taking heaving breaths and a seat in the soft grass, she rested her head against an oak and gazed up at the sky. Danny, having run everywhere he could’ve possibly, joined his mother, nestling into her arms, and began his journey into sleep.

Mildred sighed, the boy was heavy and uncomfortable, and in her one moment of peace she was laid upon. He was mumbling in his sleep, some repetitive gibberish she really didn’t care to decipher. That was until she realized he was muttering about Walter. The poor boy, she thought. He doesn’t know what’s coming. His breathing went a bit odd, a bit forced, before he woke himself up coughing. He was shivering, she noticed, and warm. Carrying him in her arms, she brought him back to the house.

He was certainly sick. She couldn’t pay for a doctor, and she absolutely refused to ask Walter for the money, so she figured she would assess his condition herself and treat accordingly. If she did that and he continued to get worse, she would call her mother. She felt his forehead first, and there was no doubt it was warm. He had been running outside, though, so it might be nothing to worry about. His breath was rasping noticeably, but, again, exercise could do that. She laid him down for a nap, and promised to check on him in half an hour. She told him he could sleep for as long as he wants, since he was six and a certified young man who could make his own decisions. Danny laughed a bit before falling asleep, and she crept out of his room after turning out the light.

Mildred knocked lightly on his door the next morning, and she saw he had not woken up in the night. Comforted by the thought of a restful night, she decided it was time to wake him. Walking closer to his bed, she noticed the sweat seeped into the sheets. He looked pale, almost blue, and she shook him softly. He didn’t stir or even open his eyes. She picked him up then, cradling him with one arm, and dialed her mother. She frantically explained what had happened, and her mother told her to check for breathing. She laid him on the floor, and listened to his chest. She heard no breathing, no heartbeat, no life. Her mother knew what had happened, not because she told her, but because of the sobs coming from the other end of the line. Mildred hugged his body, rocking them back and forth.

The funeral was not much later. Walter came, as did her mother. A few neighbors tagged along, just to claim they did. Influenza, the doctor had said. His lungs filled up with liquid and he suffocated in his sleep.

Mildred Banks was alone now. Her son was gone, the house was empty, and she was free. A weight, much heavier than the boy himself, had been lifted from her shoulders. She dared not to ask Walter for money when he was alive, and she dared not ask now. Instead, she stole what money she thought would be necessary, not bothering to tell anyone. From Walter, she was heartbroken, from Daniel, she was grieving, and she needed a change more than anything. She packed what she could now, choosing what she wanted and what she didn’t. Now, what she wanted was France. She’d be a painter, she thought. An astronaut, perhaps. Anything but a housewife, she decided. She dare not marry again, or have children, either. 

Mildred Banks, no, Mildred Golden, was going to make a life for herself, and she’d be damned if she let anyone stop her.