8. NO PUSHING OVER A NOMAD

During mom’s adjust to single life. She never ran out of suiters, whom I hated every single one. No ordinary man was good enough to replace my daddy. At 9 years old I didn’t understand or appreciate the needs of a 46 year old woman and I had no mercy. I was defiant and my defiant behavior worked. I was brutal in my methodical determination to reign chaos in these men every effort to win me over.

One night, maybe 8 months after poppy died, home alone with my siblings, or should I say torturing me, my mom came home with an odd looking fellow. His black hair was greased back, everything he wore was black and his black shoes came to very narrow points. My mother was acting like a heart throbbing teenager. They walked into the room hanging onto each other, each of their steps scrutinized for balance, compensating for all the liquor they drank. My mother tumbled into a large tapestry chair and the man knelt before her and began kissing her knees and hands. My siblings froze. Not any facial expression. Just as they had frozen in time. I felt like I was 5 going on 20. I did what came naturally. I attacked him from the back. Biting, hitting, screaming this man in black with the pointy shoes touching my mom.

One sibling finally came to life. She grabbed me, the keys to my mother’s car and slung me and yelling at my other sibling to get in. I kept telling them they didn’t have a license but from the look in their eyes, this time it didn’t matter.

I couldn’t get the man’s face out of my head. We went to the house of my mother’s best friend whom fell all over us when she heard what happened. I wasn’t quite connecting with what had happened to ‘what had happened’. All I knew was some guy was touching my mom and I didn’t like it.

My mom taxied over to her friend’s house early the next morning. I hid out on a lower landing outside the kitchen and could hear my aunt and my mom talking.

“What is wrong with you?” my aunt asked my mom.

“I had too much to drink. You know how lonely I’ve been since he died.” She spoke as though she were a child being scolded, softly sniffing.

“What is Shell to think?” my aunt retorted.

“She’s too young to understand. I don’t plan on saying anything unless she does.” My mom said as though she was the miracle wishful thinker.

“You get yourself sorted out. This isn’t a good example for her.” My aunt was yelling now.

“Shell will never understand my dating. She hates males. All males. It doesn’t matter who I date. She hates them all, gives them all a hard time.” My mom started to cry and I heard her getting up from the table. “James, who is a really nice man tries to have patience. He’ll bring her toys or games. Once he brought over these bouncy balls. Took one out at a time, and started bouncing them all over the room. Eight of them! Shell laughed hard but it didn’t last long.”

My mom’s friend retorted, “You have to remember how Shell felt about her father. She adored him. I understand why she acts like she does. Why can’t you?”

The room went silent.

They called me to breakfast. I came to the table and no one said much of anything other than what we might do that day. Before I entered the room, I heard my mom apologizing to my siblings for what had happened. She never said anything to me. No request for forgiveness, not a hint that she was guilty. The worst is she didn’t tell me she was sorry and I decided not to say anything because I didn’t know what to say, but I know I was staring at her strangely, I could feel myself doing so. I lost a lot of respect for her.

When my mother began to date, it felt like my life at six. was over. The endless streams of men who wanted to marry my mom and in turn become my father would not pacify me. No one could be my father and I wasn’t going to be swayed to believe anything different. No matter the activity, even if I loved it, I spent my time making my mother’s life hell and anyone who was courageous enough to date her. The temper tantrums were not saved for inescapable situations. I was a terror from morning until night and made sure any man thinking of a future with my mother would soon give up, tired of the tears and tantrums. The slightest thing would provoke me. Getting into a car was a mind shattering experience.

I’ll never forget the look on the enemies faces over the years. A look of shock and bewilderment stuck to their faces like a stamp. It wasn’t that I hated them. I just hated males. I was mad at my dad for leaving me alone with this crazy crew and as far as I was concerned no male was to be trusted.

I was the baby of the family, but there was a huge gap between my older siblings and myself. Several years. It must have been a shock to my parents who had thought their child rearing days were almost over when my mom became pregnant with me. My siblings were in a world totally different from mine and I was always being thrust into their worlds all the time.

“Your sister is bringing her boyfriend over for us to meet this afternoon.” My mother announced looking anxiously for my reaction.

“I don’t like boys, and I don’t want to meet him.” Was my surly answer.

“You’ll like this boy. He’s from Germany and your sister says he is very sweet and funny. Give him a chance.” My mother coaxed, reaching for my hand.

I pulled my hand away and ran into my room screaming, “Never! I will never like boys!”

In my room I grabbed a stack of comic books and headed for the safest place I knew. I stayed under my bed for hours soaking in all the antics of Archie and his friends pictured, making up their script in my head and was content not to be bothered.

I stayed put when I heard my sister’s voice and a male’s voice filtering through the one I recognized, my mom’s. The front door shut with a bang that made me jump in my nervous state of the male arrival.

“Where is Shell Mother?” My sister asked. She always calls her mother.

“You know how she feels about males. Please don’t take this personally. Ever since she lost her father she doesn’t like men.” My mother sounded apologetic for a daughter she didn’t understand.

“I understand.” The enemy said, even though I knew he didn’t. “She doesn’t have to come out. Give her time.”

My sister wouldn’t have it. “No, she needs to get over this aversion to men and get over Father’s death.” She always called him that, where as I always called him ‘Poppy’.

I could hear my sister coming down the hall and stopping at my room. She knocked but I didn’t say a peep. Slowly the door opened and my sister called out to me.

“Shell, I’ve got a nice boy I want you to meet.” She said in her sweetest voice.

I held my breath hoping she would go away. She tried again.

“Come on out, Shell. He isn’t going to bite you. Please! I don’t want him to think I have a male fearing sister!” She wasn’t going to back down. She got on her knees, lifted the bedspread and said, “Peek-a-boo! I see you! I really like him and I want you to like him too.” She pleaded.

“Go away. I don’t want to meet any crummy boy!” I yelled.

With these words she grabbed me by my arm and pulled me screaming from my hiding place and dragged me and the comic I was scripting all the way out to the living room to my mother and the enemy. My legs and free arm were swinging wildly and I was crying and begging all of them to stop making me do this. This went on for a few minutes longer until my mom told my sister to let go of my arm. I shot back into my bedroom hearing her call me a big baby (which I was literally) and feeling safer once again after slamming the door.

There was a time when I did like boys before poppy died. I use to walk to kindergarten with two boys in my class. One was black and the other Jewish. Not like me where one parent was Jewish. Both his parents were. I knew my mom found the trio odd but she still let my nanny feed us cookies and milk and let them stay and play after school. That all seemed like years ago. I just wanted to be left alone to grow old under my bed, which at the time I considered 10.

How little did I know what was coming.