You Can't Break Her

One| Once burned, twice shy

Age 2

April 1992

Dust floated in the air as the sun's light pierced between the thin gaps of the window blinds. It's beams illuminated every suspended particle that hesitated to fall.

Half-full beer bottles and crushed beer cans laid out next to a carton of smokes on the kitchen table. The stench of long-ago smoked cigarettes lingered in the air. It was just another day.

This was all I knew.

I would before my mother did and pulled out my mermaid doll, a hideous redhead with an overly made-up face and green-blue scales. It had a button on its stomach that I was never able to push because my fingers weren't strong enough, but I loved it anyway. I might have even enjoyed it more because I always liked a challenge. I banged the dolls' head against the floor while making loud eating noises.

"Amaris, stop making all that noise!" my mother snapped as she lazed back in the recliner. "Mommy has a headache. Can't you ever just be quiet?" her voice rose with each word. She held her hand over her forehead, palm facing up like the drama queen she was. Her antics were interrupted by the obnoxious ringing of our home phone. The shrill echo through the room made me wince — loud noises we're never something I enjoyed. I backed up to the counter, hugging my mermaid.

My mother, Jess, rolled her eyes. Jumping out of her chair, she took four big steps and answered, "Hello." she pressed her back against the wall, next to the phone, listening. "Yeah, that's okay. Come over. We are home all day, " she cheerfully proclaimed. "Yep, just me and Ama." My mother kneeled, pulling me in for a hug as I wobbled past her. "Help mommy clean up. Auntie Thea is coming to visit." She stood, hung the phone up, and began pacing the apartment while picking up odds and ends. I ambled over tossing teddy bears and blocks into my wooden toy bin.

When every toy was away, my mother put on a pot of coffee. Sitting at the table, she picked up a cigarette and tried to find a lighter. The doorbell buzzed, and she was up again with her heavy feet to let her sister inside.

"Hey, it's so nice to see you, " Thea said through a smile. She opened her arms to hug Jess.

I held back my squeals of excitement — seeing my aunt was always a special occasion. When she looked at me, I crawled to her as fast as I could.

"How is my big girl?" Thea lifted me into her arms.

"Do you want a smoke, Thea?" Jess returned to her seat, holding up the one between her fingers. "I just bought a carton."

It was dark despite the early hour, and a single line of light spanned the kitchen floor. The yellow walls and black and white stone countertops rarely got to see the light.

Thea shook her head, sitting at the kitchen table with Jess. "How is Ana doing?" Jess searched the table for a lighter, pushing aside old newspapers and junk mail before giving up. "She's fine, you can see her, can't you?" After a knowing look from her sister, she continued, "She's hyper as hell and she drives me crazy. That's how she's doing."

Thea knew something was wrong. Everyone knew. Two-year-olds are only so clumsy.

"That's good, Jess. How have you been?"

My mother began shuffling through the messy tabletop. The many ashtrays clinked together, inching their way closer to the edge. She determinedly hunted for matches or a lighter – anything to satisfy her craving. Her cigarette was still lodged between her fingers. It bounced and bobbled with every hand movement she made.

"I'm fine, Ama is fine. We are all good here. Why are you suddenly so nosey?" Jess spat, her ability to overreact rivalled by none. "Money has been tight, but it's nothing I can't handle."

Thea closed her eyes, nodding. She knew that every word from her sister's mouth was questionable – Jess was born a compulsive liar. From the bruises on her two-year-old nieces back and chest, it was tormenting and visible to Thea from that nothing was okay.

My aunt took a deep breath. "I was just asking. You don't have to explain yourself to me." Thea plucked a plastic dog that I presented to her from my fingers. "Next time I come over, I'll bring some farm animal toys. How

does that sound?"

My eyes drifted to my mother's hand. The still unlit cigarette bobbled between her fingers as she continued to search for a flame to spark its toxic fumes. My eyes lit up as I remembered the pack of matches on the table in the living room. I retreated from the kitchen, eager to retrieve

them for her.

I could hear my mother's voice from the other room. "Is mom still mad at me about our last chat? You know, she could stand to take a little blame herself. She's not perfect either."

I went back to the kitchen. Jess was shaking her leg rapidly. I walked over to her reaching out. "For you, Mommy."

A look of rage covered her face. She snatched the box from my hand. "How many times have I told you not to play with matches?" As if she was in a hurry, she opened the box, took out a match, struck it, and snatched up my arm. "Maybe you'll hear me this time." Her hand quickly surrounded my tiny wrist. I was powerless as the match drew closer to the back of my hand and the fire connected with my skin. Squealing screams told of the pain I felt as the blazing match burned through layers of my flesh.

Thea sat mortified.