Don't Cry for Me

December 28, 1966

Ava didn’t ordinarily cry, but then this was no ordinary day. She had only cried three times in her life. Three times before today, that is. Three times that she could remember. If she couldn't remember, it didn’t count.

*

1953

She was six the first time and was surprised the details were so clear twelve years later. The small curly-haired little girl sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of soggy Wheaties in front of her. Her siblings, having finished their breakfast a millennia ago, had gone off to play. Only Ava remained alone, hopelessness washing over her.

The clatter of dishes being washed in the background echoed inside her mind while she contemplated how unfair life was. Mother’s words broke her thoughts, sending icy tremors down her back.

“What’s gotten into you, Ava? I remember you liking Wheaties last week. I can’t afford to buy something extra because you’ve decided you don't like them."

Ava stared at the wall with unseeing eyes while Mother stomped out of the room. Anyone who spoke while Mother was angry, risked getting slapped for talking back. But the situation was out of her control. Every time those brown, limp morsels touched her mouth, she gagged. Looking at those soggy tan shapes swimming in her bowl of milk reminded her of the brown spots on the backs of his hands. Those clammy, limp paws that had inched under her skirt after asking:

“You wanna play a game?”

For seven days, Ava kept those memories tucked away in the hidden spaces of her mind. For seven days, she didn’t think about the incident until this morning when she’d come down to breakfast and realized what awaited her. Thoughts went rampant.

Maybe, if I sit here long enough, I’ll become deathly ill, and Mother will have to take me to Dr. Lagazino. Then he will see how mistreated I am and take me home to live with him, and I’ll never have to eat Wheaties again. 

The sound of Mother’s high-heeled shoes click-clacking on the linoleum grew louder and louder until the child stiffened when Mother's body hovered above hers, generating enough body heat to send shivers up Ava's spine. The girl clutched the seat of the chair, her knuckles turned white, and she almost bit her tongue while clenching her teeth. When the expected blow never came, the girl relaxed.

“I’m going to let you go because Aunt Angie’s coming for lunch. I don’t want her to know what an impudent child you are.” Mother squeezed Ava's chin, lifting it until the child was forced to stare into fire-breathing eyes.

  “You are never to tell anyone what happens in this house, do you understand me?” Mother said through gritted teeth.

Ava nodded.

“Answer me, don’t nod,” Mother growled.

Ava mumbled, “Yes.”

Running in the house was forbidden. So, Ava walked as fast as her little feet could move toward the back door. She still couldn’t believe Mother let her go. She spied freedom beckoning her through the half-open door. Five more steps, and she’d be free—four, three, two, ….

Ava heard rather than felt the wallop that knocked her head against the door frame. Tiny pinpoints of light floated beneath her eyelids as she clung to the doorknob. Her face became heated, her knuckles white. Despite the pain, the girl kept her grip on the handle, refusing to fall. An all too familiar voice reverberated alongside the pounding inside her skull. 

“Remove that smile from your face and get out of my sight; this is no laughing matter.” 

Ava didn’t have to be told again. Once outside, she ran up the small hill in her backyard to her hiding spot under the weeping willow tree. Now that she was safe under the branches that brushed the grass beneath her, she couldn’t stop the tears from pouring down her cheeks. Ava sunk to the ground and leaned her aching head against its cool, rough bark.

*

December 28, 1966

Ava pushed those memories away as she sat on the cold, steel office chair, folding and unfolding the slip of paper requesting her presence. Dark sunglasses covered swollen red eyes while she waited to find out what the school administrator thought about her situation. Ever since hearing the news this morning, she’d been crying. As hard as she tried to keep her thoughts from drifting back in time, she couldn’t keep from remembering the second time she'd cried.

*

1957

She was nine when Mother told them the latest development. “Your father and I are getting divorced.” she’d said in a flat, rehearsed voice.

Ava’s world stopped spinning. A bowling ball replaced her stomach. Where her heart used to be, there was …nothing. Her mind also abandoned her for a couple of hours, leaving her numb and unable to do anything except sit under her weeping willow and stare into its branches. When it came time for bed, though, her thoughts returned with a fierceness that made her head spin. Memories of bitter-sweet times with Father flooded her brain.

Daddy always appeared happy. Always telling jokes. Making her laugh. Ava loved him and was certain he loved her. 

Her face was turned to the wall, her head covered with blankets to keep from waking her sister in the other bed. Ava waited in vain for sleep to silence those thoughts, but instead, she cried and cried and cried. 

When the morning sunshine brushed her face, Ava scurried to the bathroom and splashed icy water on her eyes until the puffiness receded. Her heart was still missing, and the bowling ball remained, but she placed a smile on her face and came to the table for breakfast. To all observers, she was again her happy, cheerful self. After all, she was her Daddy’s girl.

*

December 28, 1966

It became apparent she wouldn’t be able to control her thoughts, so Ava sighed and allowed the third and last time she'd wept to surface from the locked compartments of her mind.

*

1960

After the divorce, food was scarce. Whenever Mother left the house, Ava would race to the kitchen, grab a couple of sheets of saltines, slather them with jelly, and race to one of the forts she’d built in the woods behind their house. She never took more than two sheets and never more than twice a week, figuring Mother wouldn’t miss them, and she never did. This snack kept Ava’s stomach satisfied for an hour or two, allowing her more time in her refuge.

One summer evening after dinner, Mother gathered them in the living room and announced the latest news.

“Pack all your belongings. After your father 

deserted us, there wasn’t enough money to pay the mortgage. So, we need to move.”

 After Father left, the woods were the only thing that gave Claire any joy. So, the night before leaving, Ava raced back to a clearing in the woods, picked up a dead stick, drew a rectangle in the dirt, and stood tall in the middle. Staring up at the darkening brooding sky, Ava declared.

“Someday, I will graduate from college so I can obtain a well-paying job and buy a piece of property that nobody can take away from me. Even if it’s only the size of this rectangle, I'll have furniture without holes, and I never go to bed hungry again. Goodbye, home, I shall never forget you.” She whispered while three solitary teardrops trailed down her cheeks. 

Ever since the day they forced her to leave her world behind, every waking moment had been spent on getting excellent grades so she could earn a scholarship to college and escape her horrific life.

This was the last time she’d shed tears, until this morning, that is. She didn’t even cry when she told him goodbye.

*

September 21, 1966

Charlie sat gawking at the steering wheel. After several long minutes, he turned to her, the corners of his eyes damp, and took both her hands in his. His following words spoke to her soul. “Don’t leave; stay here and marry me.”

Ava wavered, for a second. Her heart made a quantum leap every time he touched her.

“I’m too young, and I need to do this before getting married.” After a long pause, he murmured.

“I understand. And I’ll wait for you. If you change your mind, though, call, and we’ll get married whenever you want.”

Ava couldn’t remember the exact conversation; her throat kept closing, making it difficult to talk. She let him do most of it and just sat cuddled in his arms. She had to stay strong, refuse to break down and throw away this opportunity, knowing how lucky she’d been to be awarded a complete scholarship to a prestigious college. If she broke down now and threw this chance away, they would both regret it. In the end, they agreed to spend their summers and every holiday together. The moment she graduated they would wed.

Then it happened. Ava often told herself she would never be intimate without the sacrament of marriage. It was a sin, and she was a Christian. It did happen, though. Something, hormones, she guessed, took over during that goodbye hug.

*

December 28, 1966

Now her dream was over. She was barely eighteen and had been hoping her suspicions were wrong, but they weren’t. The year was 1966. Ava was pregnant, unmarried, and options were few.

“Good morning,” Ava winced as a voice brought her back to the present.

“I’m Mrs. Jenkins. I understand the school doctor has confirmed

that you’re with child. You've probably realized why I've summoned you here." 

Seeing the girl's blank stare, the woman continued, "We're here to decide what to do now. You are a bright young lady, and in the two months you've been here, you have excelled in every area. I am sincerely sorry, but the school is just not able to manage pregnancies.”

The rest of the discussion consisted of Mrs. Jenkins asking questions and Ava answering, with only a nod or a few grumbled, “nos.” 

She recalled little about Mrs. Jenkins’ appearance, which didn’t matter. Only her words mattered, which were spoken softly but firmly from lips that were the same, soft, and firm. Ava was a problem, and Mrs. Jenkins was here to find the solution.

“As I see it, you have two choices. You can either marry the father of the child or go home to your mother and decide whether to keep the baby or give it up for adoption.”

She paused, cocked her head, and smiled.

“Perhaps, you'd like to call the father. You can use my phone if that is the case.”

Ava's heart responded. A wave of warmth replaced the cold in her bones, and she smiled for the first time since learning the unwelcome news. Mrs. Jenkins left the office to give the girl privacy.

Combing her purse, Ava found the number Charlie had sent in his last letter. Shaking fingers made it challenging to dial. Somehow, she managed and finally heard the phone ringing on the other end. Holding her breath, Ava waited…. and …. waited. She was about to hang up when a strange male voice answered.

“Hello. “Is - is Charlie there?” Ava’s voice croaked.

“No, but his wife Doylene is.” The stranger replied.

“Hello, hello? Can you hear me? Do you want to talk to Doylene?”

“I…I…uhm," Because of the sweat on her hands, Ava nearly dropped the phone. Her heart pounded so loudly that she had trouble understanding the man's words. "Did you say his wife?”

“Yes, they got married yesterday. Would you like to talk to her?”

Ava didn’t remember if she responded before replacing the phone in its cradle. She sat in the steel chair, welcoming the coldness against her sweating legs. She sat, not thinking, not crying, not anything. It was as if she'd ceased to exist.

When Mrs. Jenkins returned, Ava must have told her what happened but didn’t remember. Her lips were moving, but Ava's ears had stopped working. She just sat and followed the events as they unfolded.

Although, her mind returned long enough to hear Mrs. Jenkins say,

“Do you want to call your mother, or would you prefer I do?”

The girl looked straight ahead through the gray fog but muttered,

 “You call.”

Mrs. Jenkins left the room, and Ava studied the clock, counting the seconds as the hands jumped forward, dot by dot by dot. Mrs. Jenkins returned; her voice echoed against the hollow remains of Ava’s mind.

“Your mother wants you to come home and keep the baby." Mrs. Jenkins paused, waiting for some response when none came, she continued. "Best of all, she’s offered to help you raise the child.” Mrs. Jenkins said, smiling.

*

January 1, 1967

Chicago O’Hare airport felt larger and noisier than Ava recalled when she'd arrived three months ago. She vaguely remembered purchasing a magazine from the little stand, searching for the best place to sit.

She found two chairs tucked away in a corner which afforded a view of the reader board but obscure enough that no one would bother her. After sitting in one seat, she placed her suitcase in the other, ensuring no one would sit next to her and try to make idle conversation. The girl found comfort in sitting among strangers who didn’t know who she was, where she was going, or what she had done.

A young mother and small daughter wandered through the maze of seats until they found two empty seats across from Ava. Not close enough that they would try to talk to her, but near enough that Ava could study them from behind her dark glasses.

The girl’s curly black hair and doe-brown eyes reminded her of herself at age two or three. Ava tried to catch the girl’s eyes, but the child kept her head down fixated on the floor. When Ava coughed, the girl glanced up. A slight grin formed on her tiny face when she spotted Ava smiling at her. This brief contact warmed Ava's heart.

Someone announced a flight, and all too soon, the girl was leaving. The girl’s mother’s shrill voice broke the calm Ava had been experiencing.“Hurry we’re going to miss our flight.” 

The sounds of slapping and heart-rending cries punctuated the words.

Something inside Ava stirred. Not the baby; it was too soon. But her hand went to her stomach as she clutched her suitcase, straightened her shoulders, and marched over to the woman. Glaring into the mother’s eyes Ava said, through gritted teeth.

“Don’t... hit... the ...child.”

Then, Ava turned and walked away. Away from what she knew awaited her and her baby and towards the cold, dark, unfamiliar world. Fear engulfed her body as he shuddered, though not from the cold. Choosing something other than the familiar gave the girl a glimmer of something besides despair. So, despite the panic gnawing on the walls of her stomach, Ava chose hope.