The Girl in the Treehouse Read online

  We also met older kids who lived down the block. That is where I flew like a bird and felt euphoric … before my face kissed the pavement. My mom said only a stupid kid with no brains would swing a toddler upside down by their feet for fun. We never saw those kids again after my trip to the hospital.

  One day, my mom came home and told us she met a friend. We took a walk to her house. My brother was in a stroller. He was now one year old. For some reason, he never wore pants, only a large saggy diaper with a shirt full of drool. He still could not crawl, walk, or talk. He could kick and throw, though, but only while he was sitting or lying down.

  Gina and I were excited to go to someone’s house. We never walked with my mom to anyone’s house, so this was special. We were greeted at the door by a loud lady named Mary. She was lovely and said hello to us; her three children bounced with anticipation in the background. Her house had a musty, familiar smell—the type of smell you would unwillingly inhale while opening a hefty bag of used clothes from a stranger. A smell you don’t like, but you gladly accept because of its benefits.

  As my sister gleefully went off to play with the older girl, I was attacked. By that I mean Tiffany was so excited by my white skin and blond hair that her behavior resembled an assault. She grabbed my arms so that she could touch my skin. Instead of treating me like a playmate, she looked at me as if I were a doll, her doll. She combed her long piano fingers through my hair. Much like the toy she thought I was, I remained motionless. It was clear Tiffany was unable to control herself.

  Excitement began to brew in her wide-set eyes. She repeated, “Oh, my lawd” in an awkward, high-pitched voice. At this point, I didn’t know if I was going to be her new friend or her last supper. Attention was always welcomed, but this was weird. This form of love was a kind I was not accustomed to.

  “Jenny, let me look at that hair. Oh, my lawd.” Tiffany started to sweep my hair to one side in a calm, compassionate manner. She leaned in, as if she desired to kiss me, but instead, she took a big whiff of my hair. I was bewildered and terrified, and I wanted to leave. To cause a distraction, I dramatically pulled away and grabbed onto my brother’s stroller.

  My mom took notice and told us to go play in the back room. This excited Tiffany, and she grabbed me and pulled me back to see her room. My reaction was as if I were being dragged into a haunted house. I was skeptical. But at the end of the hall, I was delighted to see bunk beds and posters of a black man she called “Michael Jackson.” Before I could get a closer look at the man with one white glove, my mom yelled to us that it was time to go.

  As we walked out the door, Mary said, “I’m serious, Alice. The girls can spend the night here anytime.”

  I think that was the first time I experienced extreme anxiety. I did not want to be left alone with Tiffany. Ever!

  MY BROTHER HAD BEEN PRESCRIBED medication to relax his muscles so the seizures would stop. Ironically, the doctors would do biopsies on his muscles and say, “Unfortunately, there seems to be no muscle growth.”

  My dad told us a lot of doctors had zero common sense, and he didn’t know how they survived on a day-to-day basis. He told them to stop prescribing Jay Jay the “damn muscle relaxers” and choose something else. Once his medication was changed, Jay Jay began to acquire a significant amount of muscle growth.

  By the time Jay Jay was two, he was in aggressive physical therapy. He had a beautiful angel named Esther. I have no idea where she came from; she just knocked one day. We opened the door, and my mom pushed us out of the way and told us to go to the back room. Instead, Gina and I stood near the hall because we had overheard Mom telling Dad the day before about this lady who had a crazy bag of tricks. We were excited to sneak a peek. Esther set her bag on the floor.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  “You two had better stay out of the way or you’ll get it later,” my mom said. We stepped back in obedience.

  Esther came back with a huge blue ball. She set the ball down and spoke to my mom and introduced herself to Jay Jay, which I thought was strange because he couldn’t even talk. Then she turned around and looked at us.

  “I’m Esther.”

  If she was going to say more, it would not have mattered; my mom interrupted Esther and said, “They won’t be in your way.”

  Esther smiled. “No, I don’t mind if they watch.”

  “You better stay out of the way,” my mom warned us.

  Esther was kind and gentle. I watched, day after day, as she laid Jay Jay on his belly on the massive ball while holding his arms. She pushed the ball back to let his feet touch the ground. I thought her attempts were a waste of time, but it was fun to watch. One day, she turned to me and said, “Eventually he will crawl, stand up, walk, and run.” I laughed but kept my thoughts to myself. No, he will never do that.

  On weekdays, Esther took Jay Jay swimming. She was always around. I thought she was amazing, and I loved to watch her. She was calm and optimistic. She even talked about my brother participating in the Special Olympics. When she explained the organization to me, I thought she was nuts.

  One day, my brother cried and threw a fit and didn’t want anything to do with Esther. He was three now. I sat behind her and watched. After a moment, I whispered, “He likes Kenny Rogers.”

  “Kenny Rogers? Do you like Kenny Rogers?” she asked Jay Jay in a baby voice. “Where is Kenny Rogers, Jenny?”

  I pointed at the record player. Her excitement made me feel special, but I was also nervous because we were not allowed to touch my mom’s records.

  “Well, let’s give Jay Jay some Kenny Rogers then.”

  I just looked at her.

  “Jenny, do you know how to put the record on?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Would you like to be my helper? Would you put Kenny Rogers on every day for your brother?”

  I was so excited to be needed. “You have to ask my mom. She doesn’t let us touch them.”

  My mom overheard and walked into the room. “I don’t want the kids touching my records.”

  “Can I help her put Kenny Rogers on?” Esther asked. “I will take full responsibility.”

  My mom reluctantly agreed. By six years old, I was a cocktail waitress and a DJ.

  Esther showed up, day after day. We would play the Kenny Rogers record, and my brother would laugh and want to dance. Eventually, he pushed with his legs. Jay Jay improved with each passing day. Esther would move the ball as if he were going to fall off, and he would catch himself with his hands. We watched Jay Jay gain strength, and I felt proud to be a part of this work.

  As I entered kindergarten, Esther continued to grace us with her kindness and persistence. Her efforts paid off. One day, out of the blue, Jay Jay scooted on his belly to the TV and pulled himself up. He stood on his own! My sister grabbed his legs, and Jay Jay put his hands on the floor. We could walk him like a wheelbarrow. This was hilarious to us! We could hold his legs and go fast, and he would never fall. Those little arms were crazy quick. When we weren’t holding his legs, he would crawl everywhere. It was somewhat scary, though, because he never crawled on his knees. He squirmed around with his legs straight, butt in the air, and arms straight. We called him “Stink Bug.” He moved with impressive speed.

  Life improved as my brother gained strength and ability. On the weekends, we would go to the car races. I loved the sights and the sounds. We strapped Jay Jay down with strong Velcro my dad brought home from work so my brother wouldn’t buck himself out of his stroller. My dad said there was no way he could break out of that. Gina and I fed him junk food and entertained him with funny faces so he wouldn’t make noises and disturb others. The car races provided enjoyment, a rarity in our lives.

  ONCE, MY GRANDMA AND AUNT on my mom’s side came for a visit. This was the first time I felt admiration. My grandmother never yelled like my mom; she spoke softly. She stood tall and moved with grace. She had manners, and she seemed interested in us. My Aunt Janine captivated me. She was a coup
le years younger than my mom but looked the complete opposite. She had blond hair, recently brushed, and light-colored eyes like mine. I thought she resembled me. She wore a bit of makeup and clean, wrinkle-free clothes that made her even prettier. She had a beautiful New York accent that sounded fancy. I’d glance at my slouched-over, grumpy-faced mom and then look at Aunt Janine and wonder how they could be related and yet so different. My mom exuded negativity, but Janine was positive. It was like comparing the darkness to the sun. Sometimes I wished Janine was my mom.

  Before they came over for their visit, my mom told us not to ask my aunt or grandma for anything. We had all we needed, she told us, and we didn’t need handouts from people who thought they were better than us. Besides, Janine stole my mom’s baseball cards when they were kids, and she was still upset about that. It confused me to imagine Janine could be capable of doing such a thing, considering how much my mom loved those damn Mets.

  My mom seemed angry when she talked about Janine. It didn’t make me like her any less, though. Janine and my grandma treated us well. They even took us to a store. I usually wasn’t allowed to go because if I saw parents being nice to their children, I would beg them to take me home with them. Sometimes I would have to be pried off their baskets and pulled to our car, crying the whole way. Since I wasn’t allowed to ask Janine and my grandma if I could go home with them or have any of their money, I continued to ask strangers when they took us out.

  When Janine and my grandma left, my mom gave us an earful.

  “You girls know that Janine only has money because she doesn’t have kids to take care of, right?” Gina and I could only stare at our mom. We didn’t dare respond.

  “And if she did have kids, she would never be able to handle a disabled child,” my mom said. “Cursed people don’t get to pick and choose their paths like Janine can.”

  My sister and I sat in silence.

  “Janine has a good job working for the government, and she doesn’t have any brats to tie her down.” My mom’s voice grew louder. “Her life is perfect! She has no idea what the real world is like!”

  After a few moments, my mom calmed down. When she spoke next, there was a hint of sadness in her voice. “Janine was coddled. She was treated so well by your grandma. But not me. My mom even hit me with her high-heel shoe once, hard enough that the heel broke right off!”

  I didn’t care about anything my mom said. I still would have left with my grandma and my aunt if they had invited me.

  ONE TIME, I ASKED A pretty girl in kindergarten if I could live with her. She said yes, so we got on the bus together, and I was dropped off with her at her house. Her mother had no idea who I was. I asked if I could live there. I didn’t even know my last name. No one knew where I was or what to do. I didn’t care; the girl and I dressed up in all of her pretty clothes for hours. Her room was like a princess castle. Her mom fed us lovely food on a flowery dinner plate. The pretty girl just ate it. I took a picture of it with my eyes first. The food was art, not dinner. I sat and ate and hoped I’d never be found. Unfortunately, after many phone calls, everything was figured out. But it was late, so I got to spend the night and wear her amazing, beautiful, clean clothes to school in the morning.

  Now, let me tell you a scary story. You know by now that I derail, then always get back on track. No way you were going to slip by without reading this part.

  One day, my mom made an announcement. “Jay Jay is with Grandma, and Dad and I are going on a date. You two girls get to spend the night at Mary’s house.”

  My heart dropped, and a feeling of doom hit me. The thought of Tiffany sniffing my hair again terrified me. I imagined her setting up a torture chamber just for me.

  When we arrived, Mary said, “We are going to eat dinner now. Then we are going to get ready to go to the Jehovah’s Witnesses meeting.”

  Mary was tough, so everybody ran to the table, and I followed. I had no clue what was on the plate.

  Her son asked, “What’s this, Ma?” Mary slapped his mouth.

  I tried not to cry because I thought the food on my plate was fish, and I hated fish.

  “Come on, Jenny, eat your fish,” Mary said.

  I was afraid. “I need a drink.”

  “Oh, no. No one gets a drink until after they eat all their dinner. That’s the rule here.”

  The other children began to eat against their will. They looked motivated by fear, so I ate. Then Mary gave us milk. I drank mine so fast, the milk came out of my nose. My nerves crippled me, and I dropped my cup on the table, knocking over someone else’s milk.

  “Slow down, Jenny,” Mary said. “Haven’t you ever eaten at a dinner table before?”

  I actually hadn’t, but I had no time to answer. Tiffany grabbed me before I could wipe my milk mustache.

  “It’s hair time, Jenny!” She whisked me to the bathroom and pulled out her hair kit of horrors. “Where’s the hot iron?”

  She made me sit on the floor, and I felt like she was trying to pull my head off by my hair. She started digging aimlessly in the cabinet with one hand, while holding my hair in the other. The words hot iron played over and over in my head. Was she going to burn my hair off with this hot iron? How hot was it? I felt terrified, and no one was around to help me. I sat there, held my ears, and tried not to cry.

  She dipped her hand in Vaseline and started to part my hair and twist and pull. The rubber bands snapped here and there. I smelled heat from the apparatus in her hand, but I never looked at it. I didn’t want to get burned.

  “Oh, you’re going to look so beautiful, Jenny.” Tiffany spoke in a strange voice, as if she had waited her whole life to do this. Ten minutes later, we were all done.

  My entire head felt numb. She helped me stand and said, “Now, look how beautiful you are.” I looked in the mirror. My eyes were slits that almost touched my ears. I had a headache. A gazillion tiny lines zigzagged all over my head. When I tried to touch my head, Tiffany slapped my hand away.

  “Uh-uh!” she said. She put more Vaseline on my hair and sprayed my head with hair spray.

  Mary yelled down the hallway, “Time to go!”

  We all walked down the road to the Jehovah’s Witnesses meeting. I could hardly see through my venetian blinds for eyes. I started to think about an escape plan. When the meeting ended, we walked home. Afterward, Tiffany danced to Michael Jackson. I eventually fell asleep while sitting upright on the floor.

  Suddenly, all was silent and I was in a warm bath. I opened my eyes and wondered what had happened. The room was dark. I saw Tiffany asleep on the top bunk. I looked down to see that I had peed on the floor. In a panic, I gathered my things, snuck out the back door, walked all the way home, and slept on the back porch. I was found alive the next day around noon, huddled in a ball, with a dirty doormat for a blanket. That was the last time I ever spent the night at Tiffany’s.

  A few weeks later, I rode on the handlebars of a neighbor boy’s bike and got my foot caught in the spokes. He was the boy with the freezer full of ice cream. The experience was pleasant, in a way, because his parents gave me free ice cream, and I took a trip to the hospital again. The doctor said that my ankle was sprained, and I’d have to stay off of it for several days. While they wrapped my foot, I cried so that I would receive more love and affection. I thought if I cried with all my might, they would let me stay, but they didn’t. My mom took me home and lectured me about my clumsiness and carelessness. I was selfish, she said, because I forced her and my dad to pay extra hospital bills they could not afford.

  “Miraculous Misery”

  Not one experience has ever lasted forever, like rain.

  Sometimes rain comes when we are drowning

  And sometimes it comes when we have a drought.

  Either way, it never stays, yet a rainbow finds its route.

  A lizard, in need of a drink,

  feels blessed when God sends rain.

  While a rat stuck in a ditch would never see the gain.

  Good
for some, yet bad for others.

  Misery mine,

  Miracle, my brother’s.

  Me at four years old, pretending to bake

  Me at six years old, sporting a backpack that my aunt made me

  Grandma and Grandpa Asbenson

  Me in kindergarten

  Me in first grade

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Church, Buttermilk, and Responsibility

  Teensy-weensy clothespins hang across the string of Christmas lights. The clothespins are placed strategically so the colorful lights will shine on the sticky notes that dangle below them. So far, there are four, soon to be five. My heart is drenched in wine as I listen to the sweet rhymes of Norah Jones. I’ve had a headache for ten days now. Sometimes I wonder if I have brain damage. Despite, I must write, and I will manage.

  The four notes hang with their names written out. Their names are the chapters this tree brought about. Now is your time, number five, to arrive. Be brave, forget shame, be strong, move along, and bleed deep.

  The screams came again in the middle of the night. My mom was frantic. My dad yelled. There was a short silence after the screams, followed by cries of disbelief. When my sister and I walked into my parents’ room, they passed us as they ran out. They didn’t have Jay Jay. Fear gripped me as I looked into his crib. I was horrified to see that he was gone.