Twenty-five

It was summer, and even though the window was wide open, the air felt sticky and warm, just like the squishy lime jello Maggie had eaten for dessert.

She was curled up in a big, fuzzy blanket that tickled her chin. Small beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she wriggled and squirmed, trying to get comfortable. She really wanted to kick the blanket off, but she remembered Mama saying to follow the rules. And the rules were clear: no messing up the covers.

"Don’t even think about it, Margaret!” she imagined Mama yelling. Whenever she was annoyed, which was most of the time, Mama called Maggie Margaret.

"Good girls always snuggle up with their blankets, even when it's warm!"

Mama never explained why it was important to follow the rules, but Maggie was smart enough not to ask. When you're five and your Mama is a big, scary grown-up, you don’t ask. You simply do what you're told.

Once, when she was much littler, maybe as little as three, she asked, and Mama answered, "Because I say so." And then she smacked Maggie across the face. It stung and cut her lip. The blood was icky, just like the golden knob on her bedroom door she once licked to see if it was sweet like honey. It wasn't, and it made her mouth feel funny for a really long time.

Maggie tried to picture herself in the garden, wearing only her undies and flip-flops, splashing through the sprinklers and having the best time ever. The grass brushed against her legs as she ran and ran and ran... She felt little drops of water sliding down her legs, like tiny tickles. They were so nice and warm... Oh no! She got all fluttery inside when she figured out she wasn't in the garden and the drops weren't water at all!

The wobbly floorboard outside her room creaked once, twice. She probably cried in her sleep, waking Mama up! Her heart went thump-thump-thump as she tried really hard to hear if there were any more noises. There was nothing. She froze, hoping Mama wouldn’t peek in on her, then tried to go back to sleep when a bright light filled the room. Mama stood in the doorway, a sudden and startling presence.

"I'm sorry, Mama," Maggie said quietly, the three words almost like a little mouse—chirp, chirp, squeak...

She wanted to crawl under the scratchy blanket, but Mama, who looked really big and really cross, moved to the bed in two giant steps and yanked it off her.

“I won't do it again, Mama…” Maggie promised.

She’d do anything to make Mama happy because, when you're five, Mama is your whole world, and you only want her to be proud of you. That's why you learn the four- and five-times tables even though you're still in kindergarten. And you practice them every day so Mama can see how much you're trying to get better! You also always say 'please' and 'thank you' because Mama says good manners are important. But instead of making Mama proud, you wet the bed and make her clean up after you, which makes her mad. Mad and disappointed.

"You’ve really let me down. Margaret. Again." Mama sighed—Uffff, ufffff, uffff - like a wounded ‘possum. Maggie knew what a wounded ‘possum sounded like because she saw Mama whack one with a shovel once when she caught it stealing eggs from the chicken coop.

Maggie knew what the sigh was about. It meant she was in big trouble!

"Please, Mama. Please don't make me sit in the tub!" Maggie whispered in that chirpy, mousy voice again – squeak…squeak…chirp

She really wanted to be the sweet little girl Mama wanted her to be. In her mind, she WAS the sweet little girl who did all the things she was supposed to do. And while her body felt stiff and scared, the sweet little girl in her head tried hard to come out and do as Mama told her. But she couldn't. Something was holding her back…

"You have to learn to be responsible, Margaret. To face the consequences of your actions," Mama said calmly, then reached out to help Maggie get out of bed.

"I’ll do my best, I proooooo-mise!" It didn’t sound at all like Maggie’s voice, but a moan, as if someone were trying to pull the tiny mouse from the trap it was stuck in.

"Don't try to wiggle out of your punishment, Margaret," Mama said firmly, leading her to the bathroom.

The water was already cold, but Mama threw in a bag of ice to make it even colder. The cubes floated in the tub like tiny transparent ships.

"This will help you remember next time," Mama said, watching Maggie's teeth chattering as she lowered her into the icy water. The tiny ice ships bobbed up and down with each shiver.

At first, Maggie felt all tingly. But soon, she couldn't feel anything. It was not that bad, after all. Way better than getting her mouth washed with yucky lime soap or getting a spank! Mama was big and really strong, and she always hit her right where it stung the most—on the back of her legs. Whoosh- whoosh – whoosh …

It was better than when Mama made her sit at the dinner table, just watching her eat mash and sausages while Maggie was all hungry and stuff. And so, so much better than that time when she made Maggie kneel on uncooked rice for two whole hours! Maggie didn't really know how much time an hour was, but she knew it felt like forever and then some. When she finally got up, her knees had little marks on them, which made it hurt to walk for days and days. Yeah, the tub was okay because, after a bit, the floating ships melted, and the water was no longer cold.

When she was allowed to go back to bed, the blanket no longer felt scratchy. She cuddled up under it, feeling cozy. Maybe Mama was right? Sitting in a tub full of cold water certainly made her love her comfy bed!

"Before you go to sleep, Margaret, remember how lucky you are to have a snuggly bed and a warm blanket," Mama said before closing the door and heading back to her room.

And Maggie felt lucky! It kinda helped her understand why she should always follow the rules. Mama knew best, and Maggie loved her to bits with her tiny five-year-old heart!

Maggie’s Mama was way older than the other kindergarten moms. She didn't really know how old, but she had lots of little lines around her eyes and gray hair. Mama also wore her glasses when she read. The other moms had smooth skin and colorful hair. Jenny's mommy, for example, had the prettiest red curls, and she wore cute ballerina shoes with her white jeans. No glasses, only giant sunshades that showed Maggie’s face when she bent down to kiss her.

“Well, aren’t you as cute as a button?” Jenny’s mommy said. She had a cheerful voice and giggled nonstop like the kookaburra Maggie once saw on Barney the Dinosaur. Kook-kook-kook…

Mama never called Maggie silly names or giggled like Jenny's mom. She was always serious and only ever said things like “come here!” or “will you shut up?”

Mama also had a deep frown on her forehead like a crack in the crust of a loaf of sourdough bread that Maggie once saw in a bakery. Whenever it appeared, Maggie knew she needed to be on her best behavior, which was most of the time.

“Got knocked up by her boss,” Maggie heard Jenny’s mom say to Laura’s mommy. She had no clue what “knocked up” meant, but she knew it was something bad just from the way Jenny's mom said it. It sounded mean, like when Jenny told Maggie she was a "basted" because she had no dad.

"Got her in trouble and then dumped her. Poor thing. Not exactly a beauty, with that face that could stop a clock," Laura’s mom replied, squinting to see if Maggie was listening. She was. When she heard Laura's mom say mean things about her Mama, Maggie loved her more than ever. Like, super duper lots, just like a five-year-old can love!

Maggie knew that one was not supposed to say "dump" because people dumped trash, not other people. So, how could anyone dump Mama? Jenny's mommy was silly! And so was Laura's because a face couldn’t stop a clock. Mama would never get dumped, and anyway, she stood so tall that next to her, Laura's mom looked really tiny and not important at all!

Even when she was all sad after Mama got mad at her, Maggie would try her very best to make Mama say something nice or smile at her. Because Mama was the most important person in Maggie's life, and she couldn't imagine ever feeling differently. Not ever!

"Why can't you do anything right, Margaret?"

Maggie's belly got all twisty whenever she heard Mama sound so disappointed.

"Look at your dress! You always make such a mess, even when I try to keep you clean!"

Mama was brushing Maggie's hair, but the brush got stuck in a big knot, and Maggie winced because it hurt. She didn't know what stung more—the tears she tried to hold back or the scratchy brush on her head.

"Carless-tug-little-tug-girl-tug!"

Mama pulled really hard—yank, yank, yank—until the brush finally came out with a big bunch of hair.

Maggie bit her lip, trying hard not to let any more tears fall. She knew Mama was just trying to turn her into a proper young lady, or at least that's what Mama always said.

"You'll never be a proper young lady if you keep behaving like a wild animal!" Mama roared, swatting Maggie with the brush. Maggie flinched and backed away, as if she were in a cage with a lioness, because the roar was so loud. Roar-roar-roar!

When Mama got that mad, Maggie did feel like an animal—not a mouse anymore, but a dog tied with a rope, all scared and shivery. And all she could say was, "Whoof, whoof—I'm sorry, Mama! I'm really, really sorry! Please don't hurt me!"

It didn't help at all. Mama just kept getting more and more upset! Maggie still loved her, but it made her feel all wobbly because she thought she could never be as good as Mama wanted her to be, no matter how hard she tried. She felt small and stupid and mean, and she knew she was because Mama said so.

"It's all your fault, you stupid child! If it weren't for you, I would be somebody today!" Mama would yell and cry, and Maggie tried to hug her, but Mama would push her away.

Maggie felt even smaller, more stupid, and mean. Because when you're five, you just know that your Mama is always right! And if Mama said she was mean and stupid, then it had to be true.

Maggie gazes at the figure in bed. It is summer, and although the window is wide open, it still feels hot and stuffy. The figure is wrapped in a large, fuzzy blanket that goes up to her chin. The room smells of lavender, a faint attempt to hide the underlying odor of sickness and decay. One hand rests on the blanket, fingers slightly curled, and the skin is thin as parchment, dotted with brown liver spots and thick, protruding veins. The fingernails are long and yellow, showing signs of age and neglect.

The figure on the bed breathes slowly and shallowly, with her chest barely rising and falling. It sounds like the wheezing and rattling of a mouse struggling to escape a trap. Or maybe a dog chained to a post, trying to bark for help but unable to make a sound. Or possibly the sigh of a wounded ‘possum battered to death with a shovel. Not a lioness anymore…

Aside from the breathing, the silence is only broken by the occasional creak of the bed frame beneath her frail body. Small beads of sweat form on her forehead as she squirms, trying to get comfortable.

Maggie stares for a long time. Memories of the past remind her how tall and strong the figure on the bed used to be. She was so tall that, next to her, Jenny's and Laura’s moms looked really tiny and insignificant.

She approaches the bed and slowly, very slowly, reaches out to hold the cadaverous hand. How long has it been since she last held it? Or rather, how long has it been since the same hand hit, pulled, dragged, whipped, thumped, and punched her? More than ten years. None of the memories have faded, each one as vivid as the day it happened. Because the body heals quickly, burn marks and bruises fade, black eyes and broken bones mend, and hair grows back, but the other scars... Well, that’s a different matter.

The warmth of Maggie’s touch seems to spark a flicker of clarity amid the fog of illness. The woman's grip tightens, a silent acknowledgment—no guilt or remorse, only a sense of peace and comfort—the relief of letting go.

Maggie is glad she came. Because it doesn’t matter if you are five or twenty-five. Whether you are a little girl or a big, scary grown-up, you are tied to your Mama no matter what. And although you don’t forgive or forget, you don't dump people like trash. You just don't….