Lost in the rhythm of a new world looking for a bass line…

The grey clouds laid across the sky bringing a melancholy air to the old farm house. If the sun were to ever rise, the house had never seen it. Even the grass on the measly one and a half acre lot refused to grow a certain shade of green. The paint was chipping off the grey siding, and it seemed like every window and door in the little house didn’t belong where it was placed. Each one left a crack when it was shut allowing for the stale air to linger into the house and stay there, just waiting to be wasted.  1

Spoiled little brat, Wayne Denton thought, you ruined my life. 2

Emma was small for her age, barely reaching four-five. Her clothes were stained covered with holes; she always seemed to get lost in them. She would always scuffle down the hallway adjusting them, making them lay right on her thin shoulders, and still be short enough to where she wouldn’t trip over them. Her thin dirty-blonde hair went just below her shoulder blades before turning inward, jarring into her back like a needle upon tread, her eyes were as big and as blue as the ocean.  3

“WHAT IS THIS!?!?” Wayne yelled, taking the plate and throwing it to the wall. It shattered and fell, the broccoli, and corn becoming mixed in a destruction zone of porcelain.4

“IT’S COLD! What am I to do with this? I come home from hard days work, and have money to give you clothes, to take care of you, and you can’t even make me a hot meal!?!?” He jerked himself up from the table, making the chair fall behind him as he started for her.  He grabbed her by the shoulders and started to shake her. “You spoiled little brat, you are useless” 5

She looked down, moving her feet back and forth trying to lose herself in the rhythm of a new world. Her black socks had holes in them and she made a game of trying to squeeze her toes in and out of them, it wasn’t much, but it was enough of a distraction for her. 6

“LOOK AT ME!!” he shook her harder, making her look. She flinched. He threw her down as if saying she wasn’t even good enough for his own and hands to hold. She hit her head on the wall behind her on the way down and ended up on her buttocks looking up at him. He looked down at the broken plate then back at her, clinching his fist. 7

“Clean this up,” he said, “NOW!” With one last wave of anger he stormed out of the room leaving the remains of the broken child behind. Emma stared at the ground as she adjusted her large shirt, keeping her hands busy as a way to stop the tears from rolling down her face. Her little hands trembled as she tucked small strands of hair behind her ears. There was a throbbing pain in the back of her head where it had hit the wall, and she fought the urge to grab it, because she knew it would make him angrier. Slowly pulling herself up she walked over to the discarded dinner, and huddled over it, the rough edges of the broken plate almost cutting into her delicate fingers.8

I won’t let him get you, she said, I won’t let him hurt you. 9

Emma sat on the room of her floor talking to her teddy bear. The house was peaceful now, her father had passed out almost an hour ago, and she knew he wouldn’t get up for a while. She always loved times like this, it was the only time she could do what she pleased with out getting…getting…hit. The worn teddy bear in her hands was missing an eye, but she loved it anyway. It was the only thing she had left of her mother. (“You killed her,” her father would say, “She is dead because of you.”) 10

Emma had never met her mother; Gloria Denton died giving child birth. 11

Gloria and Wayne loved each other more than anything in the world. Their love for one another was so full of romance and lust they couldn’t bear be away from each other. With in a year they got the news: Gloria was expecting. I don’t want a child, Wayne thought. He didn’t have the time for it. I am too young; I need to live a little. He was afraid the child would bring something between him and Gloria, and he could already tell by the way Gloria started acting that his fear was coming true. Gloria seemed genially…happy. She went to the stores and bought a crib and an assortment of baby clothes, she spent the afternoons looking through baby books trying to pick out the perfect name. She loved the filling of carrying a little child. The thought that she shared nine precious months building a untouchable relationship with her unborn daughter made her happier than she ever thought possible. 12

March 22, it happened. Emma was coming. Even though Wayne could see Gloria was in pain, she never showed it. Every time a contraction came, Gloria would stay with it until sweat came down her face then say “that was a good one.” And every time a small one came she would look disappointed like she had failed at something, like something was wrong. Something did go wrong though, really wrong. The doctors faces turned in a way Wayne couldn’t comprehend, and he was asked to leave the room. Wayne sat out in the hall, thoughts littering his mind; what if she doesn’t make it? I can’t lose her, of course she will make it don’t be silly…but what if she doesn’t? Hours seemed like eternity as he sat running through the situation at hand again and again. Then the doctor came out. 13

“We have some bad news,” that was all Wayne remembered him say. Wayne hated Emma ever since that day. He was not over come with the feeling that normal fathers get the first time they lay eyes on their children. On the contrary, the first time he looked into his daughters eyes his gut sank with hate. 14

“Aren’t you proud of her,” the nurse asked, as they held Emma up through a thick pane of glass, showing her to him. 15

“No,” he said, “she killed her mother.”16

Emma slept with the teddy bear every night, and in some weird unspoken way it connected her with her mother. She wasn’t sure where her mother was, but she figured it was her fault she was gone. She heard a thump at the end of the hallway, and quickly got into bed, throwing the covers on top of her and pretending she was asleep, the grasp on the bear getting tighter and tighter around its neck almost wringing it off. I won’t let him hurt you, she whispered. 17

The thumping got louder and louder and she could hear her father’s feet as he scuffed them on the carpet. The sound reached her doorway, then passed it, and she heard the door slam and the car start up and pull out of the driveway. The grip around Sizebeary Shucklebee loosed and she let out a sigh of relief. You see, the said, you are safe with me. She bent her head; giving Sizebeary a tender kiss, then rubbed his head with her fingers. There was something serene about the silence that night. Emma fell right to sleep her thoughts blending into dreams.18

Days pasted and things got better. Dinner was always hot when Wayne got home, and the Sizebeary Shucklebee’s neck was saved during the long nights because of it. Her father would come home from work, eat in silence, then go out at night and she wouldn’t see him again until morning. It was as if he avoided Emma all together. A month passed, however when things changed again.  19

Winston Slidell was a character. He was a middle aged white man whose facial hair made him look much older. The scent of beer was his trademark, and it lingered for a while even after he passed. It was almost as if he got up early in the morning just to get all the alcohol under his belt that he could before noon. Wayne and Slidell were friends since high school and went out almost every night to blow their pay checks on beer.  Because they wasted so much money Slidell ended up getting evicted from his house and had no place to go, so he moved in with Wayne and Emma, the house was already small but having three people in there made it seem smaller. Slidell took Emma’s bed and she slept on the couch, but she didn’t mind it. She didn’t view anything as hers. The quilt she used was her fathers, the bed was her fathers, the house was her fathers, and Sizebeary was her mothers. She sometimes even thought she didn’t deserve Sizebeary. If I killed her…, she thought. Emma thought a lot, it was one of the things she was good at. Thinking, and cooking, they were her strong points. 20

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing,” Slidell said, the sun was about to set so his speech began to slur because of the alcohol. He stumbled closer to her, rubbing his greasy hands through her hair, she cringed, as her arms recoiled back into her body like a shield. His hands went to the base of her neck and he grabbed it pulling her closer. Her slender shoulder brushed up against his legs and he held her there, his grip tight. She could feel his heart beat in his legs but she couldn’t understand why. 21

“You are growing up mighty fine Emma,” his voice trailed off, as the pressure from his arm increased around her.  22