No ‘Moore’ Mess- Chapter Six (Serial Version)
Chapter Six- Erica Kobayashi Comes Home
Eight months later the doctors released Erica from the hospital. Everyone was thrilled. It had been seven long years since Helen had last slept next to her beloved wife in their home. Soon, the joy of her return was replaced by a harsh new reality. Erica needed help to do everything.
“Her — on! Poop.”
“Hold on. I’m coming. Wait a minute.”
Helen jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. She got to the bathroom door, and she stopped. Erica stood before her wife in shame.
“Sorry, Her — on.”
The once pristine marble bathroom floor was covered with excrement of all colors. The medications Erica took made for a rainbow-colored morning bowel movement. The floor was a terrible mess.
“Again? Come on! I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a huge meeting at the university today.”
“Sorry.”
It wasn’t Erica’s fault. When nature called, it took all she could do to make it from her bed to the toilet. Occasionally, she didn’t make it. And as they say, “Stuff happens.”
Helen was quite the trooper for years. Pastor Andrew helped out where he could with Erica and Nancy. Erica’s condition remained the same. But Pastor Andrew’s health got worse as time passed.
It was difficult for him to help with Erica. He spent most of his time in and out of the hospital for a variety of ailments. It was all he could do to get Nancy off to school in the morning. Erica got older too. She needed more care.
It all overwhelmed Helen one morning. Her ‘Moore’ anger exploded. She snapped at Erica for the first time.
“Her — on! Shirt!”
“You’re just gonna have to wait. I’ve got stuff to do.”
It didn’t help that Erica was more demanding of Helen. It was not intentional. She had come to depend on Helen for her every need. Nobody could blame Erica, but it was difficult for Helen.
“Cold. Shirt. Me.”
Helen picked up an old, filthy shirt off of the floor, and she flung it at Erica’s head. The shirt hit Erica in the face. The shirt fell on the floor, and Helen directed her ‘Moore’ anger at her wife.
“Here. Why don’t you freaking eat it!”
Erica knew she had gone too far. She did her best to mend fences with her spouse. Helen saw her wife was helpless against her wrath. And she felt bad.
“Sorry. Love, Her — on.”
No one could blame Helen for being tired of it. She signed on to be a wife not a nurse, but she loved her wife. And Helen embraced Erica.
“Love you.”
Helen’s shoulders sank as she recalled Bertha’s own struggles with a physically-challenged family member. It helped her keep perspective about her struggles with Erica. Helen’s problems paled in comparison to those of her older sister.
Bertha had her daughter six months after she married Bud. The trouble in the delivery room started with a loud gasp from Bud. Bertha knew something was wrong with the baby.
“What? What is it? What’s going on?”
Bud said nothing. The baby was deformed. There was a thumb and pinkie finger on each hand. And the newborn’s left foot was missing several toes. Bertha took the news hard, but it was her child.
“Let me hold her. Please, I want to hold my baby.”
Bertha cuddled her baby for hours. Bud kept his distance. A baby was never Bud’s first choice, and a crippled infant his last one.
“I knew it was a mistake to have it.”
“It? This is a baby! And my baby is not a mistake.”
“But — ”
“She’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Bud was not so sure. Three months later at the baby’s baptism, he didn’t crack a smile as they christened the baby as Arlene.
The first two years of Arlene’s life were the hardest. Despite her physical limitations, she was a beautiful child. Everyone said so, but nothing came natural to her. It was a constant struggle for Arlene to reach the most basic of child development milestones.
Bertha pushed Arlene to do things alone. Arlene walked albeit with a considerable limp. By the time Arlene reached kindergarten, she was a real pro with her miniature claws. She was “mommy’s special little crab” as Bertha liked to say.
Bertha worried about Arlene getting bullied at school. She enrolled her in a local private school. Bud was not happy about the extra expense.
“Why are we spending money on that? For a — ”
“For a what?”
“A cripple. She ain’t going amount to nothing anyhow.”
“Some father.”
Bud was not a monster, but his life got the best of him. The factory he worked at closed after he married Bertha. He was not alone in being unemployed. Nearly every man in that hick town lost his job when the automobile manufacturing plant closed.
Bud ended up getting a job at a local family-owned hardware store. He made about half the money he did at the car factory. Things got tight for Bud and Bertha. They lived paycheck to paycheck for two years after Earl Jay died of a bad liver.
Arlene’s condition prevented Bertha from working. It was on Bud to keep the household afloat. It is nobody’s dream to work triple shifts for peanuts. And Bud was no exception.
To Bud’s credit, he took any employment he could find. Bud worked the graveyard shift at a small business hotel outside of town. On weekends, he worked out at the old dairy farm on Route 309.
Bud got six dollars an hour to shovel cow dung. The family was making it, but the hours and degrading work got the best of Bud one day. He was at his wit’s end.
“How many hours a week am I supposed to work, woman? 40, 50, 60, 80? I’m not a machine. All this work for nothing.”
“Nothing? How about for me? For your daughter? For us?”
“And what about me?”
Bertha had no answers for Bud. By the time, Arlene reached junior high school, Bertha and Bud’s relationship was nonexistent. Late one night after a shouting match with Bertha, he was done.
“I’m going to go out for some air.”
“All right. Can you pick up a gallon of milk?”
“Sure.”
Neither the dairy product nor Bud ever made it back home. Soon after Bud left, Bertha got a housekeeping job to make more money. It was not enough to keep the lights on one month.
Bertha swallowed her pride, and she went over to see Pastor Andrew and Roberta.
It had been years since they spoke. Bertha was out of cash and choices. She did her best to mend fences with her parents. But it didn’t work.
“I know it’s been a long time and all, mother.”
“Not long enough for me. What do you want?”
“Andrew, stop that!”
Roberta wanted a relationship with Bertha again. There was no going around Pastor Andrew. He was the lord and master of everything and everyone inside the walls of his little, old castle.
“Excuse me, I mean, how much do you want?”
“Andrew! Please, that’s enough.”
“No! There’s one reason that daughter of yours drove over here. She wants money.”
Pastor Andrew was right. He was not about to open his wallet for Bertha. And he made it clear.
“Not one dollar. Not one dime. Not one nickel. Not one red cent. Nothing.”
“But what about Arlene? She needs — ”
“She needs a mother who is not a moocher.”
“I am not a moocher.”
“Could’ve fooled me. At any rate, you made your bed. Now, you are going to have to lie in it. The both of you. Sleep well.”
Bertha knew Pastor Andrew was never going to bend. She left. Roberta hugged her goodbye at the door. She slid a twenty dollar bill inside Bertha’s worn coat pocket.
“That’s all I can do. Don’t come back asking again. Best to keep Pastor Andrew happy. You know what I mean?”
“I do.”
Bertha paid the bills the next month. She sold most of the furniture and her wedding ring. The local food bank provided a meal or two, but Bertha and Arlene often went to bed hungry.
The town folks, especially the old women, mocked Bertha when they saw her. It was a cruel sport for them.
“Poor girl couldn’t keep a husband. He walked right out on her.”
“I heard that the daughter is out of control at school.”
“Look she can’t even keep new clothes on the kid’s back.”
“Someone should do something about her. It’s a disgrace.”
Arlene clothes were unwashed and covered with all manner of stains. Her old green shoes were so small that her toes poked out through the holes in them. It was tough for her at school, but she never complained. But Arlene sure had reasons to do so.
Bertha took Arlene out of her private school. There was no extra money for tuition. In the public school system, Arlene’s pretty face, physical challenges, and her ratty clothes, made her a popular target for ridicule from the other girls.
“Cinderella, Cinderella, where’s your prince?”
Arlene spent more than one afternoon crying on the dirty floor of the girls’ bathroom. Her angelic face covered by a sea of tears. The abuse got worse, but she never told anyone about the bullying. Bertha knew things were tough for her daughter at school.
The bruises in various states of healing on Arlene’s arms and legs were confirmation. Bertha went to the school administration several times. The principal, Mr. Toliver, dismissed her complaints.
“Someone’s got to protect her at school. This can’t keep going on.”
“We’re doing the best, we can. But we cannot be everywhere all the time. And your daughter has — ”
“Has what?”
“Problems a small town public school like this simply cannot solve.”
“I see.”
“Have a good day, ma’am.”
A single, poor woman with a crippled kid was not high on the list of the principal’s priorities. That is the way life goes for poor, white trash sometimes. Against her better judgement, Bertha sent her daughter to school.
Arlene endured the abuse until two of the older boys did their best to “make a woman out of her.” And they almost did. The typing teacher, Ms. Busch, found them in a janitor’s closet.
“You boys get off her. Go on now, get out of here.”
“Aw, we were having a little fun, Ms. Busch.”
“You all right, Arlene? Why don’t you go home?”
“I’m okay. Thanks.”
Nobody saw Arlene at school again. Bertha never learned about that incident, but her daughter refused to go to school. Arlene knew her mother had more than enough headaches, so she said nothing.
The bank came the next week and took the house. Bertha and Mary lived in their little, blue compact car for three months. They begged for change and food along the local highway until the police made them stop.
They said it was “a bad look for the local community.” Out of options, Bertha made one more visit to her parent’s house while Arlene waited in the car. It was not a happy reunion.
“Please, father, take in Arlene. She did nothing wrong.”
“My position on this matter is clear. You are on your own.”
This time Roberta chose to make things right. Roberta could be an angry and cruel woman, but she had a soft spot for little, crippled kids. She did her best to change Pastor Andrew’s mind on the issue.
“Come on, Andrew. At least let the child stay. For a while anyway.”
“I raised my kids once. That’s enough. Especially one like that.”
“Andrew!”
It looked for a moment as if Roberta was going to fight back on her daughter’s behalf. It took only a glare and a raised fist from Pastor Andrew for Roberta to acquiesce. He was not going to be usurped by anyone in his home.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Sorry, Bertha but your father’s right.”
Pastor Andrew nodded. With the battle lost, Bertha gave up. She slammed the green and white door behind her as she left. That was a mistake.
“Don’t you be slamming my door! This is my house you whore!
“I am not a whore.”
“And you are not my daughter.”
It was true that Bertha was not a whore. But it was also true she was out of money and nearly out of gas. Arlene was asleep in the backseat of the car as Bertha sped away.
Bertha kept right on driving out of that hick town until she got to the old stone quarry. She parked her car on the edge of it. The bright stars twinkled as she prayed.
“Dear God if you can hear me please answer.”
The only response Bertha got came from the backseat of the car. Arlene woke up as Bertha finished her prayer. Bertha gave up on God, and she finished.
“Amen.”
Arlene moved up to the front seat of the car. Bertha put her arms around Arlene. The pair wished the embrace could last for forever.
“And amen.”
Bertha started the engine, she put the car into drive. She pressed her foot hard on the brake pedal. Arlene knew what Bertha was considering. What Arlene lacked in fingers, she more than made up for in brains.
“Is this it, mama?”
Bertha said nothing. She wondered what kind of a mother would commit suicide and worse take her child with her to the grave. Bertha shook her head as she looked at her daughter.
“Arlene, get out of the car.”
“No.”
“Now! Get out of the car!”
“No!”
Bertha didn’t have the stomach to take her foot off the brake pedal. She stared at Arlene for the longest time. Bertha reached to take out the ignition key. Arlene leaned to Bertha, and she gave her a kiss on the cheek. Arlene pushed her mother’s right leg off the brake pedal.
“It’s okay, mama. We are in this together. Love you.”
“Arlene! No! Oh God!”
The next evening some local kids found the car smashed to pieces in the old stone quarry. The police came to investigate. The detectives suspected it was a murder-suicide, but the official word given to the public was it was a tragic accident.
Nobody in the hick town wanted the blood of a poor, single mother and her crippled daughter on their hands. Pastor Andrew refused to go to the funeral. He forbade Roberta to go. She went anyway with Helen. She told Pastor Andrew a little white lie.
Roberta said she was going shopping. Roberta, Helen, and a handful of Bertha’s former co-workers were the only people who came to the cemetery. Roberta blamed it on the heavy rain falling.
The reverend asked Roberta if she wanted to say something at the service. But she shook her head. After they put Bertha and Arlene into the cold, hard ground, Roberta tugged on Helen’s purple shirt sleeve.
“We better be gettin’ on back home, Helen. Pastor Andrew’s gonna be wantin’ supper.”
“Best not to keep a man waiting.”
“Smart girl.”
