Summer reading essay by Betty C

The nurse wrapped her arms tightly around me, after I showed her the mark from where mother stabbed me. I sighed in her embrace. Please don’t let go, I thought. I held on to her so tight that my gash started to hurt. But I ignored it, focusing on the fruity smell of her hair. I squeezed her once more and then reluctantly let go. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to go anywhere but where Mrs. Norse was going. I have to say something I decided.
“Ms. N?” I squeaked.
“Yes David?
Oh no. I was shaking already.
“Well I….I was wondering if…there would be any chance that I could spend the afternoon with you. Wherever you’re going is fine. I just….no one will be home and I finished my chores and…”
“David,” she cut me off. I knew it. No. “I’m volunteering at a local Nursing home today. I would love it if you came, but ill be working with the residents mostly and …”
“That’s ok!” I blurted. Oops. “I’d love to come”
She paused to think.” Will your mother be all right with that?”
Mother. I flinched. Then the questions came, hard and fast. What would mother do when I was out? Call the police? Come search for me? Will she even notice? I prayed mother would stay drunk, laying on the couch today.
“Yes. I….I mentioned to her that I might not be home right after school today.” I lied. I was instantly thankful that she had no knowledge of my life at home.
“Well then, let me pack up my things, and we’ll get out of here!” She smiled her broad, inviting smile that I loved, and then hurried to get her briefcase. I followed her into her office.
“I’m sorry if I get caught up with the volunteer work, I don’t want you to think I don’t care that you’re here!”
She cares, I thought. She truly cares. We were out of the school and in Mrs. N car in less than 10 minutes. The drive took a very short amount of time, and I liked not listening to the usual screaming and bickering of my family. I daydreamed the whole ride and was brought out of my daze with Mrs. Norse’s sweet voice when we arrived at the nursing home on Cabot Street. It was a long, rectangular white building with trimmed hedges and a walkway lined with red and white roses. When we entered the square entry hall, there was a musicale being led by a man with almost no hair holding a banjo. Oh Susanna I thought. That use to be one of mothers favorites. I sighed and listened to the familiar melody, trying to remember the good old days.
Mrs. N had to drag me away from the performance to the elevator. She caught the door just as it was closing. The two chatty dark haired girls, who looked like twins and a younger red-head already in the elevator, eyed us as we walked in and found a place to stand in the opposite corner. The red-head smiled at me, and I shyly returned the smile, and then hid behind Mrs. N. For the short ride up, the redhead never took her concerned eyes off of me. I look down and notice my bruises and holey shirt. What’s not to look at I thought.
We got out on the third floor, and Mrs. N found out that the first room she was volunteering in was the grandmother of the three girls. We turned into her room, number 310, and on her bed, tucked in a bear claw quilt was the grandmother. The brittle skinned woman had faded blue eyes and red hair, which must have once been beautiful, I thought. She awoke and started reciting some fairytale I didn’t recognize. I spent my time looking at the redhead. After 20 silent minutes of watching the old woman, who fell asleep again, the two identical sisters left, and the redhead sat on the edge of her bed. Then she woke with a start and raised her voice at the redhead.
“I am briar rose!” she repeated.
Who’s briar rose? I thought. I heard her telling the redhead to find her castle, and that it was all she had left. She’s making no sense! She must be crazy I reasoned. But there was something in the tone of her voice that was very, very serious. The woman was soon back on her bed, asleep, and my nerves calmed. I walked over to the redhead, who was now crying, and put my hand on her shaking shoulder. She turned and smiled at me again, and I returned the smile more confident this time.
“Wh…” I couldn’t find my words, “Who is Briar Rosey?” I asked.
I offered her what was left of my sleeve to dry her eyes.
“Briar rose,” she finally said, “was the princess in the old story she use to tell us. It was a version of sleeping beauty. It was my favorite” a single tear rolled down her cheek.
“Do you remember the story?” I asked.
“Word for word. I used to recite some parts with gemma, that’s my grandmother. I’m Rebecca,”
“Dave Pelzer,” she shook my right hand. I flinched and pulled it back. She looked at me, with those same concerned eyes.
“Where did you get all of those bruises? And cuts? Are you ok?” she asked, suddenly panicked.
Oh no! I thought. A skeptic. She started circling me, pulling up my sleeves, and feeling the top of my head. She became more frantic as she searched me. I bit my lip.
And then, I don’t know what to call it, but something came over me….something that had to let someone, somewhere know what I was really going through. I was then tempted to tell her my life story. About mother, and father, and what my life use to be like. To a complete stranger! I tried arguing with myself, but it didn’t work. No, I said to myself, I have to protect mother. No matter how much she tortures me…I can’t. I just can’t!
And it all came pouring out.
I sobbed as I told her about how our life used to be perfect, the “Brady bunch” family, we were called. About how mother began drinking, and became angrier, and almost crazy, and how it scared and worried me. About how my father tried to protect me, but gave up, and started spending more time away from home. About how I was fed the scraps of my brothers lucky charms and I was lucky if I got a piece of bacon. I told her of the horrible games mother played with me, and how she beat me regularly. And most of all, how I wanted to be loved. By someone, somewhere.
Becca kept her eyes on me the whole time. Concerned, intense, and worried. After I finished I just sat there and cried. I cried for mother, for father and my brothers, for becca and her grandmother, and for myself. Becca ran up and hugged me, and she started crying too.
I let go of her sometime later, and wiped my eyes.
“I’m sorry, for throwing all of this at you,” I finally said.
She hugged me again and told me that she didn’t mind, and that she wanted to help me. Whatever I needed, that she would help me find it. A home, a family, and love.
“And what about you?” I asked, my eyes finally drying, “What is your family like?”
“Well,” she said, reluctant to change the subject to herself,” My Sisters are oblivious to life, and Gemma, but I still love them. I have to. They each have husbands, and children, so I guess I’m the odd one out in my family, I always have been. And I work for a local newspaper. ” She sighed, “and now I have to go search for a castle!”
I chuckled, and she did too.
“I suppose I could help you…with your search. But you’d have to tell me the story first, you know so I would have some background information.”
Then she looked at me, and smiled.
“Once upon a time,” she started, “which is all times and no times but not the very best of times, there was a castle and in it lived a king who wanted nothing more in the world than a child………