After Susie went away, my world split in two. There was the sad, confusing world of my home and the happy, exhilarating world of the neighborhood. Once I discovered my body and my freedom, I was rarely home other than to sleep and eat. Every morning I left the sanctuary of my bed, made myself a bowl of Rice Krispies and ran out the door for another day of adventure.
My Summer days basically consisted of going from one cathartic activity to the next-- jumping rope, playing hop scotch, riding my bike, climbing trees down by the creek, roller skating with metal skates that clipped onto my blue Keds and tightened with a key I wore on a string around my neck. It was like my body took charge and I went along for the ride. Once in a while my mom would bring out a pitcher of Kool Aid with paper cups. I remember hearing it sloshing in my stomach when I went right back to playing double dutch, two ropes turning in opposing arcs as my friends and I vied to see who could keep going the longest.
I rarely took time to run into the house even to pee. Sweet little Danny, a toddler, was in the playpen in the back yard as usual. And stopping off at Joey's room, I registered that he hardly ever got out of bed. Just rocked back and forth sucking his fingers and making strange moaning sounds. Susie wasn't like him, but I knew something was wrong, still in diapers at almost four and not outside playing on these warm summer days. I heard my mom with newborn Tommy, crying behind the closed bedroom doors. That's when I first caught wind of the word retarded.
It was an especially exciting Summer for me. Having gone to the Browning School half days for kindergarten, I was turning 6 and would now be going to Our Mother of Perpetual Help grade school just like my sister Mary. This meant new shoes and grey and blue plaid uniform jumpers and a new metal lunch box just like hers. And books I could bring home at night. It also meant walking to school every morning with my big sister. By the middle of July we had already dragged mom shopping for school supplies. There was nothing like the smell of new leather penny loafers and pink erasers in plastic pencil cases.
I liked school right away. In spite of fidgeting and squirming until recess, it all seemed safe and separate from the world at home. By now I was used to seeing nuns and, though I still didn't like to get too close, I had an instinct that I needed to keep them on my side. But none of it was easy for me, letters got mixed up and sometimes I got distracted and didn't hear homework instructions or understand arithmetic. But I didn't dare ask my parents for help. No evidence of being retarded if I had anything to say about it.
I worked hard and feverishly erased to accordion tears, the lined and dotted newsprint when my penmanship wasn't perfect, or I mixed up the letters in my name as I often did. Turns out I was good at memorizing, so I read things over and over until I knew I could remember them. And I started to feel smart when the A's came rolling in. Nothing but A's, and I brought them home to show my mother as proof that I wasn't like them. And she seemed genuinely happy in those moments and that power made me feel like I could make up for everything else if only I stayed perfect.
But things suddenly took a turn once again. One day Joey was gone. We came home from school and he was no longer in his room. Nothing was said. A thick fog of sadness hung over the house and a few days later, our mother was gone and my grandmother came to stay with us. I loved my grandmother but something happened that took me over without warning.
Until then, first grade was a place I found a sense of belonging and a plan for bringing happiness into our house. But after the latest disappearances, the very next day standing to recite the pledge of allegiance as we did every morning, tears started streaming down my face. Silent and steady, they continued throughout the day, and into the evening. And the next day, and after that. As much as I tried and as much shame as I felt, my body overflowed with a torrent of sadness beyond my control.
I was crushed by the realization that I was not enough. My mother went away in spite of my flawless behavior and accomplishments at school. Before this, my body had only brought me joy and exhilaration. Now I knew the true power of my body, turning me inside out for all the world to see, precarious and naked and powerless to control my feelings. The kids at school knew not to tease, but rather whispered and pointed. Stifled giggles behind cupped hands.
Up until now, my sister and brother seemed to be a secret. But suddenly I knew that everybody knew, it passed from lips to air in just a whisper. The covert truth had gushed out the windows and doors of the house that could no longer contain it. It spilled over into my separate world and became a mark of shame. It came ever so quietly, but remained a deafening shriek in my pulsating brain from then on. Retard.
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