The War of a Little Girl

Oh my God. I could die, twenty seven year old Lila thought as she looked around her newly renovated room. She had just returned home from a trip to town with Uncle Bert to get her hair cut that morning, and they were gone for no more than two hours. When she returned, what she found made her inconsolable. Lila observed that her old twin sized bed (the one she had personally hand painted with soft pink and lavender daisies) had been replaced with a more conventional cedar queen sized bed. And oh, her beautiful bedspread had been taken! Her father had given her the peach blanket trimmed in lace when she was just a baby, and she had slept with it ever since. Now lying in its place was a horrendous mustard seed quilt. She looked over to the wall in front of the terrible bed. Her dolls had run away! Her father had also given her those dolls, one every year, since she was eight. He had even continued to send her the dolls the first few years he had been gone to war. He sent her a little Hawaiian girl with a plastic green grass hula skirt, a little blonde pale faced Aussie girl dressed for an expedition in the wild, and a dark skinned Philippino girl in a red hand sewn dress with yellow trim. The last one he sent her came shortly after he was deployed to Okinawa. It was a little Japanese girl with a pale white face and dark black hair. They were all gone. Now on her shelves were new strange things-- books, candles, and other trivial trinkets Janet, her mother, had drug out of the basement.

“Janet!” she shrieked.

Janet had donated her other bed to the Marshes that lived down the street. They had just adopted a daughter from Beijing. Janet said that the twin sized bed would be perfect for the little China girl. The garbage man had picked up the rest of it. At this, Lila burst into tears.

“You had no right, Janet!”

Lila ran downstairs, past Janet, through the kitchen and out the front door. She ran down the big hill where the dead grass crunched under her bare feet. The harsh wind fiercely lashed at her face. She came to the apple orchard. The bare apple trees in the orchard usually reminded her of the twisted hands of old Granny Margaret, the small hunchbacked Negro woman that sat outside at the town church every Sunday, hoping to get change off of the good church folk. But now she looked around her and saw demonic figures with large gnarled arms reaching out trying to scoop her up in their grip. She ran through the orchard, panting and arms flailing about, until she could hear the sound of rushing water. Sully Bridge, a place she frequented, was coming into view, and she slowed her running to a light jog. She reached the small steel bridge and threw her legs over the edge. She looked down into the raging chaotic water. Its sound raged over the chaos of her racing mind. She felt at peace again. She looked back over her shoulder at her home that was situated on the large hill in the distance. It towered over every other home in the countryside. Daddy’s wealthy uncle had left him the beautiful cream yellow mansion with white shutters when Lila was a small girl. She sighed at the thought of her room. She turned around and leaned against the steel railing of the bridge and closed her eyes. She didn’t return to the house until late that night.

The next morning Lila awoke in her strange new room to the pattering of rain against her window. Her room was dark. Only one small beam of grey light made its way through her closed curtains. She smelled bacon frying, and the muffled sound of Janet and Jim’s voices floated up the stairs with the aroma. Lila flung her legs over her new large bed and placed her feet in the dingy bunny slippers her dad had sent her on her fourteenth birthday. Janet had missed these when she was cleaning out. A relieved smile cracked Lila’s face. Her feet hung over the back edges considerably. They were still comfy, though, despite being three sizes too small. She threw her pink robe on over her nightgown and marched downstairs, carrying the same anger and resentment with her she had the previous day.

As she rounded the corner of the kitchen, Janet handed her a plate of two fried eggs and toast with blackberry jam, the same thing she had been having for breakfast every day since she was twelve.

“Lila hurry and eat. You don’t want to be late for work,” her mother said patiently.

“Whatever, Janet,” she snapped.

Lila ate her breakfast quickly without saying another word. Occasionally, when Jim spoke, she would roll her eyes or let out a derisive snort. She hated Jim. Lila had refused to use the word mother when referring to Janet ever since she married him. Jim had come into their lives when she was sixteen, the same year her father had been convicted of first-degree murder. Her father had been back from the war for less than a year when her mother decided to remarry. He came in and tricked her mother into thinking that Lila’s daddy had been a bad man. A murderer. A psycho. Lila was amazed at how easily Janet had fallen into Jim’s trap. But she could see right through his tricks. She sometimes even wondered if he had had a part in her daddy’s wrongful conviction.

When Lila finished her breakfast, she left her plate sitting on the table and rushed back upstairs to get ready for work. She put on her modest burgundy work skirt and a pink blouse that her mother had bought her last spring. She stepped out of her bunny slippers and into her white stockings. She slipped on a pair of black patent Mary Janes. Her caught glimpse of her reflection in the mirror that hung on her wall, and she shifted uneasily. She detested having to wear these old people clothes, but it was apparently necessary to “look professional”. She hated the way the rose-colored top brought out the natural flush in her pudgy cheeks. Her eyes were small and squinty. A strand of dusty brown hair fell across her forehead. She brushed it back and pinned it with a sparkly barrette.

Janet drove Lila to work this morning, as she did every morning. Although Lila was twenty-seven, Janet still treated her like a small child. When Janet had begun to notice that Lila seemed to be developing a little slow at the age of sixteen, she had taken her to see Dr. Michael, a specialist in child psychology. He told her not to worry, it was just from the trauma of seeing what her father did and assured her that she would grow out of it. But Lila was now nearing age thirty, and she still often resorted to her wild temper tantrums when anything didn’t go her way. Anger had encapsulated her and kept her locked in its unforgiving grip for years.

“You look nice today sweetheart,” Janet said lacking her usual motherly enthusiasm as they drove. Lila rolled her eyes. She gave not one care if her mother wanted to pout. The room wrecking wretch deserved all the fury she could muster. In fact, she was half a mind to start driving herself to work from now on. Luckily, the ride was short and passed with Janet remaining mercifully quiet and sullen.

Upon arriving at work, Lila took her usual seat behind the reception desk at Mr. Taylor’s law firm. Within five minutes, the phone was ringing and a steady stream of clients was coming through the door. It was going to be a deplorable day.

She discussed with Mr. Bearden his case against Old Bobby Lymen, the town barber, like she did every day, about how that “Damn Son of a Bitch!” stole his money and his chewing gum one day while cutting his hair. “And that was the worst goddamn haircut I ever seen on a man!” Lila listened with very little enthusiasm. She gave an occasional sarcastic laugh. She was doodling idly on a yellow note pad, when the deliveryman came in.

She glanced up from her sketches. Pete’s sandy blonde hair caught the light of the midday sun reflecting off the storefront windows across the street. He strolled up to the desk in his usual relaxed way carrying a bundle of manila envelopes, all the while affecting one of his disarming smiles. It was hard to stay in a bad mood when Pete was around. There was nothing spectacular about the guy, but he was always quick with complement and seemed to be a perpetual optimist. One of those people that never seem to have a bad day. He had moved to Benson, Mississippi from Philadelphia just last month, and in the few weeks he had been the new delivery boy, Lila developed quite a crush on him.

“How are you doing Ms. Weaver?” he inquired. His icy blue eyes drew her in.

“Oh, why I.. I’m doing okay, Pete.” Lila’s voice was shaking. Pete always made her fumble for her words. She was easily embarrassed, but she had never felt this shy around anyone else.

He handed her a thick stack of envelopes for Mr. Taylor. His hand grazed hers. She suddenly forgot all about her bad day and Mr. Bearden’s rant. She even temporarily forgot about her destroyed room and lost treasures. She had never really had a serious crush on anyone before. But now sometimes, when her work at the office became too mundane, she pictured herself with Pete and a family. They would be perfect, she thought. Just like her family had been before Daddy went off to war. Pete would work for the postal service just like Daddy and come home to her and their baby girl. She would cook, and they would have family dinners, and she would laugh at Pete’s jokes like Mama used to Daddy’s.

Lila sighed. Like that will ever happen.

Later that evening, after dinner, Lila went downstairs for some coffee. She stopped suddenly midway down the stairs when she heard her mother speak.

“Jim, what am I going to do? She hates me now,” Janet despaired.

“She’ll get over it. Big deal, you rearranged her room, it’s time she let go of some things,” Jim said bluntly.

“But..”

“Goddamn Janet, the girls almost thirty. You think you can keep this up for the rest of her life? You shelter her way to damn much. I mean he’s been on death row for over a decade, and this is his final appeal. What’s gonna happen to her when it’s all over, Janet? You know you’re getting too old to manage her as it is.”

“I know I can’t shelter her forever, but what am I supposed to do? You know what she’s been through. You know what she saw! And being the daughter of a murderer! Can you imagine? She needs me!”

“I don’t need you woman! And my father didn’t murder anyone you liar!” Lila screamed as she rounded the corner of the kitchen.

“Oh my dear!” her mother exclaimed. “Oh darling, your father was a great man but the war changed him. Darling, why can’t you remember? You never recall the drinking and fits of uncontrollable rage. You don’t remember the broken furniture or the screams of terror every time he tried to sleep. Your father returned from the war a broken man.”

And it was true that her father had been more distant and less affectionate when he returned home. Still there was no way she was going to buy into the lies Jim told. What she couldn’t understand is how he had so easily convinced everyone else. Before the war and Jim everything had been so perfect. Lila had been top in her class at Benson Jr. High. She was a vibrant, smart, talented little girl. She had loved to paint and sing. Her dad had insisted she know how to play the violin, the piano, and the guitar. He would oversee her practice every night. She didn’t mind, though. She loved spending time with her daddy. She was very good at playing all instruments, especially the violin, and this pleased him, and that made her happy. Her mother, Janet, had been so much happier then, too. They went on family picnics in the park, and they went to church every Sunday. Lila wanted those days back, more than she wanted anything else. She hated her mother for not wanting the same.

One Tuesday afternoon, Lila was finishing up putting statements in envelopes to be sent out in the mail when Pete came in to Mr. Taylor’s office earlier than expected, smiling as usual.

“It will be a few minutes,” she said flatly without looking up.

“ Well, I don’t mind,” Pete said, giving her a startle. She had not realized it was him.

“I was wondering How could I get you to let me show you a nice night out on the town?”

Lila paused. She didn’t really know what to say.

“We’ll get something to eat and go to the drive in. C’mon. I hate to resort to bribery, but I’ll even buy you some ice cream,” Pete said with a chuckle.

“I guess that would be ok.” Lila agreed, trying to hide her embarrassingly tremendous amount of enthusiasm.

“Great I’ll pick you up Saturday around six,” Pete said with his most charming smile.

That Saturday night came with eager anticipation. Pete took Lila to get some burgers and root beer floats at Dan’s Diner and then they watched a double feature at the drive in. Not once the whole night did Lila feel alone. As the weeks passed many such nights were shared by the couple. Lila had found a new source of comfort and security in Pete as they spent many nights together following this first date. Pete was good humored and charming like her daddy had been. She loved being in his company. And he was so easy to talk to him. He was the only person that ever believed her when she spoke about her father. “He’s such a good man. I’m sure they won’t let him die, right Pete?” she would say. “Of course not. You’re daddy was a good man. A real good man,” he would reply.

One beautiful autumn day, Pete asked her to move in with him. It was an easy decision for Lila. She could finally be rid of her old life. Rid of Janet and Jim. Rid of all the loss that being at their home constantly reminded her of.

Jim had a small house on the edge of town. It was a nice two bedroom starter home with a fenced in front yard and a big front porch. Janet had fiercely protested the move, but Jim had talked her into it.

“She can do what she wants to Janet. She is twenty seven,” Jim had said.

The move was quick and easy for Lila had few belongings that her mother had not thrown away. She took her clothing and a few keepsakes. Lila absolutely beamed with excitement when Pete had agreed to let her redecorate the bedroom. This is the start of something wonderful, she thought.

As soon as she got settled in she got right to work on the bedroom. Subdued colors and dark vanished wood soon gave way to an explosion of pastels. Pete had helped her paint the bedroom lavender. On the day she finished her transformation of their bedroom she returned from the craft store with some acrylic paint she planned to use to replicate the pink and purple daisies that had been in her old bedroom before Janet destroyed it. “Honey I’m home.” Hearing no reply Lila wandered to the bedroom eager to see their finished work. There sitting in the middle of the bed was a beautifully wrapped gift with a card attached. The card read, “Something to bring it all together. Pete.”

Bursting with excitement Lila ripped back the paper on the gift box to find a large black leather hand bound book. What an odd present. Perplexed she thumbed through the pages. Inside she found what appeared to be police records and court proceedings. She called for Pete, but heard no reply. Is he playing some sort of joke? She began to read the first page. She realized it was a record of her father’s alleged wrong doings. They were all collected here in one place like an encyclopedia of evils. What she was reading couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. She remembered what happened, and she knew these were fake. “Why, why, why,” she sobbed to herself.

“I’ll tell you why you deranged little bitch!”

Lila turned to see Pete leering at her like a predator. Those icy blue eyes pierced hers like steel rods.

“You know where I spent the last fifteen years of my life?”

Lila was shocked. “N..n..no,” she stuttered.”

“ Locked up in some psycho ward because your precious daddy killed my best friend. You know I was there that night he killed Mark. I watched that mad animal beat him to death. And you were here, living like a little princess, telling everyone that your daddy was a good man. Well you ain’t gonna go around running your mouth bout’ what a good person your pa was no more.” Pete was yelling, red faced and eyes bulging. He grabbed her wrist and squeezed it tight.

“My daddy was a good man. He didn’t kill your friend Mark. It didn’t happen! Ya’ll have the wrong man!” Lila was devastated. Not him too, she thought. She jerked her wrist away and clapped her hands over her ears, as she doubled over in pain. The room around her was spinning. She couldn’t contain her sobs.

“Oh what are you crying about you stupid girl?”

Lila stopped crying. She looked at Pete through bewildered eyes. The room was completely hushed for a moment.

“What are you crying about you stupid girl?” her father’s words echoed in her head.

Then something came from deep within her mind. Something that had been tucked away and hidden for many years now, sprang forth with little warning.

Lila was sixteen years old again. Her daddy had just come home from the war in the Pacific. When he had first arrived, she had been watching from her bedroom window. She had run down the stairs and out the door and met him in the dusty driveway. She had flung her arms around his waist and waited for him to return the affection. He didn’t. He seemed cold, different. This is the same way he seemed this night as he sat in the family room, eating leftover beef stew and drinking from a flask. His eyes were glazed, and he smelled of whisky. There was a knock at the door.

“Who the hell could that be at this hour?” her dad growled.

Muttering obscenities under his breath, he heaved himself from the couch and stumbled to the door. When he had opened it, no one was standing there.

“I’ll be damned!” he screamed. “Where are you, you stupid son of a gun?”

Lila heard one of Mama’s ferns fall to the concrete porch. The ceramic pot shattered. At that moment, her father leaped from the doorway and tackled a small figure in the darkness. He father began mercilessly delivering blows to its head. Fear welled in Lila’s chest. She saw Peter Hapsbury behind the Magnolia tree watching in horror as she did.

“Daddy no!” He didn’t stop. Lila could now see that her father’s victim was Mark Greene, one of the upperclassman at her school. Her father continued to punch the boy. Lila dropped to the ground crying. When the little boy had stopped struggling in his grip, Lila’s daddy stood up and looked around. He glanced at Lila sobbing in the doorway. Their eyes met and what she saw sent a chill up her spine. His eyes were distant and emotionless, like nothing had even happened. He walked past her. “What the hell are you crying for you stupid girl?” The sheriff had arrived shortly after.

She snapped out of the nightmare when Mark slammed the book of police reports down on the floor in front of her. She bent down and tore a picture of the crime scene from it. She folded it and placed it against her chest. Pete grabbed both of her wrists and pinned her to the wall. She successfully struggled to free one of her hands and struck Pete so hard against the cheek that he was temporarily dazed. Clutching the truth between her own fingers, with tears rolling down her face, she escaped Pete’s grasp and ran out his front door. She ran as fast as she could to the river.

Once she reached the bridge, she stepped under the steel railing, and with one hand clutched the picture and with the other held the rail. She took a deep breath. She was no longer crying. She looked down at the chaotic water beneath her. The jagged rocks that pierced through the water’s surface didn’t scare her. The water sounded furious. As furious as she was. She looked back over her shoulder at the lights coming from the kitchen at her home. She saw two figures sitting at the table. Jim had Janet’s hand in his. They looked calm. Lila looked back to the water. With barely any hesitation, she leaned forward and let go of the railing. She felt the picture of the dead boy in her hand all the way down.