Running With Scissors_ A Memoir Part 8

"I know," she said, as she bent over and placed the dime on the sidewalk in front of the car. "It's a t.i.the. I like to thank G.o.d when he does something nice for me."

In Thome's Market Hope couldn't decide between a tuna sandwich or a turkey sandwich so, even though there was a line behind her, she pulled out her white bible. She did the dip herself, because she was in a hurry. "Harvest," she said. "I landed on the word harvest harvest." She thought for a moment and then said, "Aren't turkeys grain-fed? They are, I think. So that's pretty close to a harvest." Then she smiled at the perplexed girl who was standing behind the counter looking mortified and she said, "I'll take the turkey. But on multigrain just to make sure."

At first, I, too, was mortified by all the bible-dipping that went on in this house. But like everything else, I quickly got used to it.

And then I started to do them myself. It was surprising how addictive they could become. When I asked, "Will I like the new Supertramp alb.u.m?" and landed on the word "starvation," I knew that the alb.u.m was a dud and I should save my money. It was like being able to turn to the back of the book and look at the answers.

Or it was like asking a parent.

THE BURNING BUSH.

F.

ERN S STEWART WAS A MINISTER'S WIFE. AND A CLOSE FRIEND of my mother's. She had a white smile that was usually located just a few inches above a plate of Rocky Road brownies she had baked from scratch just for me. She lived with her family in Amherst, in a warm and comfortable house that sat at the top of a small gra.s.sy hill. A clutch of tall white birch trees stood next to the house, their branches just grazing the slates.h.i.+ngled roof. of my mother's. She had a white smile that was usually located just a few inches above a plate of Rocky Road brownies she had baked from scratch just for me. She lived with her family in Amherst, in a warm and comfortable house that sat at the top of a small gra.s.sy hill. A clutch of tall white birch trees stood next to the house, their branches just grazing the slates.h.i.+ngled roof.

Fern was a perfect perfect minister's wife who shopped for teak napkin rings with my mother and enjoyed discussing contemporary poetry and visiting the local galleries. She wore her prematurely gray hair in a blunt-cut bob, held back away from her face with a black velvet hairband. And she spoke with a slight British accent, although it was my understanding she minister's wife who shopped for teak napkin rings with my mother and enjoyed discussing contemporary poetry and visiting the local galleries. She wore her prematurely gray hair in a blunt-cut bob, held back away from her face with a black velvet hairband. And she spoke with a slight British accent, although it was my understanding she had been raised in Vacaville, California. Fern and her family took ski trips to Stowe. They shopped mail-order from J. Peterman and L. L. Bean. She wore nubuck leather kiltie flats from Talbots and a small gold cross around her neck. had been raised in Vacaville, California. Fern and her family took ski trips to Stowe. They shopped mail-order from J. Peterman and L. L. Bean. She wore nubuck leather kiltie flats from Talbots and a small gold cross around her neck.

And instead of f.u.c.k f.u.c.k, Fern Stewart said fiddlesticks fiddlesticks.

When my parents divorced, my mother and I had nowhere to live. The house was to be sold; the profits split. But until then, we were homeless.

Fern took us in.

She arranged for us to live in a house just down the street from hers. There was a bas.e.m.e.nt apartment in that house and I was fascinated by the leaded gla.s.s windows, the copper plumbing and the wide oak floors. For a few months, I spent part of the time in this small apartment and the other part at the Finch house, in a room near the back bathroom that Hope had cleared out for me.

Many nights, my mother and I had dinner at Fern's. Her family was genuinely warm and always made me feel like they'd been waiting impatiently all day long for me to show up.

Her four children each had perfectly white, straight smiles. Like Chiclets. Even the girls had clefts in their chins. And they always appeared to have just stepped from a hot shower.

As Fern set a pottery bowl of steaming broccoli with homemade cheese sauce on the table, her son would reach for it and offer me the first serving. "Even if you don't like vegetables, you'll love my mom's Gruyere broccoli," he would wink.

His older sister would playfully sock him on the shoulder of his Izod. "Heck, Daniel. Mom could even make us love lima beans!"

Everyone at the table would laugh. Then join hands and say grace.

To me, these people were as exotic as animals in a zoo. I'd never seen anything like them. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to be one of them or simply live among them taking notes and photographs.

I was certain that Fern, unlike my mother, had never hurled the Christmas tree off the deck or baked one of her kids a cornstarch birthday cake. Furthermore, there was no doubt in my mind that Fern never craved a cigarette-b.u.t.t-and-canned-smoked-oyster sandwich.

In some part of my lower brain stem, I recognized these people for what they were-normal. I also recognized that I was more like a Finch and less like one of them.

It was difficult to imagine handsome, preppy Daniel sitting in the TV room at the Finches', pointing at the family dog and laughing because little Poo was lying on the floor in a fit of giggles with his pants pulled down and the dog licking his erect p.e.n.i.s. It was hard to imagine Daniel seeing this and then shrugging and turning back to the TV. Because he'd gotten used to it Because he'd gotten used to it.

My mother eventually found us our own place to live. It was one half of a large old house on d.i.c.kinson Street, just a few miles up the road from Fern. My mother liked the fact that it was across the street from where Emily d.i.c.kinson once lived. "I'm as brilliant a poet as she was, you know. It just feels right for me to be here at this point in my life." And I liked the fact that it was a lot closer to Northampton and the Finches'. Now, instead of my mother having to drive me over there, I could take the PVTA bus. The fact that my "room" was really just a nook without a door told me that I wouldn't be spending much time with Mom. there, I could take the PVTA bus. The fact that my "room" was really just a nook without a door told me that I wouldn't be spending much time with Mom.

Dr. Finch had already told me to consider his his house house my my house. He said I could just show up anytime I wanted to. "Just pound on the door and Agnes will get out of bed and let you in." And I knew Hope really liked having me there. So did Natalie. Even though she was living in Pittsfield with her legal guardian, she came to Northampton a lot. And she said if I was there, she'd come all the time. house. He said I could just show up anytime I wanted to. "Just pound on the door and Agnes will get out of bed and let you in." And I knew Hope really liked having me there. So did Natalie. Even though she was living in Pittsfield with her legal guardian, she came to Northampton a lot. And she said if I was there, she'd come all the time.

At first I'd thought it was weird that Natalie had a legal guardian, considering she already had a father. But Dr. Finch believed a person should choose his or her own parents. So at thirteen, Natalie had chosen one of her father's patients, Terrance Maxwell, who was forty-two and rich. So now she lived with him and attended a private prep school that he paid for. Just like Vickie lived with a pack of hippies that traveled from barn to barn all across America. Every six months or so, Vickie would make a pit stop back home in Northampton.

So I was learning that living arrangements needed to remain fluid. And that I shouldn't get too attached to anything. In a way, I felt like an adventurer. And this appealed to my deep need for a sense of freedom.

The only problem was school. I had just turned thirteen, a seventh-grader at Amherst Regional Junior High. Elementary school had been a disaster, with me repeating the third grade twice. Then after the divorce and the move to Amherst, I transferred to a new elementary school and that hadn't worked either. Now, I was heading for something much worse.

From the first day when I walked in the door and was a.s.saulted by the smell of chlorine, I knew I wouldn't be attending this school for very long. Chlorine meant a pool. And a pool meant mandatory swimming, and this meant not only a.s.saulted by the smell of chlorine, I knew I wouldn't be attending this school for very long. Chlorine meant a pool. And a pool meant mandatory swimming, and this meant not only wearing wearing a bathing suit in front of other kids, but being cold and wet and then stripping it off when my d.i.c.k was at its smallest. a bathing suit in front of other kids, but being cold and wet and then stripping it off when my d.i.c.k was at its smallest.

Another problem was the esthetics. To me, the large gray one-level building looked like some sort of factory that might churn out ground meat products or just the plastic eyes for stuffed animals. It was certainly not the sort of place I would want to spend any real time. The Amherst Cinema, on the other hand, was exactly the sort of place I wanted to hang out. It even had a smoking section. I also liked the Chess King at the Hamps.h.i.+re Mall. They sold reflective s.h.i.+rts and fantastic white dress pants with permanent creases.

But these paled in comparison to the real problem: I was surrounded by normal American kids. Hundreds of them, teeming through the halls like the roaches in the Finches' kitchen. Except I didn't mind those nearly as much.

I had nothing in common with these kids. They had moms that nibbled matchstick-thin slices of carrot. And I had a mom that ate matchsticks. They went to bed at ten o'clock and I was discovering that life could go on well past three in the morning.

The more time I spent at the Finches', the more I realized what a waste of my life this school c.r.a.p was. It was nothing but a holding tank for kids without bigger plans or ideas. Even Natalie said if she had to go to public school instead of private school, she just wouldn't go.

The Finches were showing me that you could make your own rules. That your life was your own and no adult should be allowed to shape it for you. own rules. That your life was your own and no adult should be allowed to shape it for you.

So I would go to school for a day. Sometimes two days in a row. The other twenty-eight days I would do my own thing, which basically meant write in my journal, see movies and read Stephen King novels. I was careful not to be absent for thirty days in a row because this would cause the school board to issue a "core evaluation" which could result, I feared, in reform school.

The trick was to show up for homeroom. And then leave. This created confusion within the school's records. Allowing me to slip through the cracks. And the fact that I had absolutely no friends, knew not one person's name, made my invisibility even easier.

One afternoon I came home early from school. I made my appearance to be counted at homeroom and then I casually walked out of The Factory. It was a beautiful day and I had seven dollars. I was thinking I could go to the Amherst Cinema and see the German film that was playing there. So I decided to stop by d.i.c.kinson Street to get another five dollars from my mother.

And when I opened the front door, there was Fern with her face buried between my mother's legs.

My mother was sprawled back on the sofa with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Fern's head was moving from side to side like a dog gnawing on a rawhide bone. They were both naked; my mother's blue nightgown draped over the arm of the sofa; Fern's blouse and skirt in a heap on the floor.

My mother didn't notice me at first, but Fern opened her eyes and turned her head toward the doorway, keeping her mouth on my mother. She looked right at me and for just a split second, I saw real terror.

Grossed out and disturbed on a deep level, I turned to leave. As I walked out the door I heard Fern howling like an animal, screaming from somewhere down inside her chest.

My mother was shrieking, "Fern, Fern, it's okay."

I went outside onto the porch and just stood there. I felt like, ick ick. But also like laughing. The street was quiet; twostory homes, trimmed hedges, driveways, a cat. The things people do behind closed doors The things people do behind closed doors. Looking at the yellow house with its green shutters and the brown Dodge Aspen in the driveway, you'd just never imagine it.

It seemed like only a few seconds pa.s.sed before I heard the door open, felt hands on my shoulders turning me around. Fern was standing there, dressed but untucked, her hair dented. She was crying, her cheeks all s.h.i.+ny, and she was pulling me toward her, trying to hug me, kissing my cheek, my forehead, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

I tried to pull away. I didn't want her mouth on me.

The next thing I knew, Fern was running down the steps, then cutting across the lawn toward her car, her head bowed down in shame like she was ducking rain, her handbag clutched against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

I thought of her dry-cleaned son, Daniel. I thought of him pa.s.sing me a basket of rolls at dinner. "My mom's rolls are magic. Here, have one."

When I walked back inside, my mother was sitting naked and cross-legged on the couch, smoking a More. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were large and sacklike, resting in her lap. She exhaled loudly, then brought her cigarette to her lips and sucked on it like a baby. I could not comprehend how anybody would want to do the things to her that Fern was doing. At that moment, it would have been easier for me to spontaneously grasp quantum string theory. were large and sacklike, resting in her lap. She exhaled loudly, then brought her cigarette to her lips and sucked on it like a baby. I could not comprehend how anybody would want to do the things to her that Fern was doing. At that moment, it would have been easier for me to spontaneously grasp quantum string theory.

"I wish you enjoyed school more," she said. "Although I guess it must be very dull compared to your life with me. Would you please hand me my nightgown?"

Her breezy att.i.tude made me mad. She thought of n.o.body except herself. I yanked her nightgown off the arm of the couch and threw it at her, just missing her cigarette.

"Watch it, Augusten! I've got a lit cigarette in my hand." She glared at me. "Don't act out in anger. If you're upset by this, talk to me about it."

"I just don't understand you. I mean, why? How could I not know? What?" I stammered. "How long have you and Fern been ... together?"

My mother slipped the nightgown over her head, then stood to pull it down over her body. "Oh, I've loved Fern for a very long time. Our relations.h.i.+p became physical a number of months ago."

"When we were living next door?"

"Augusten, those are private details from my personal life." She held her cigarette between her first two fingers and poised her thumb on her temple. "It's between Fern and I." My mother always spoke like she was being interviewed by Ladies' Home Journal Ladies' Home Journal. Like she was a celebrity.

So Fern and my mother had been lovers for months. My mother was a lesbian. I'd heard somewhere that being gay might be genetic. Maybe I'd inherited this from her. I worried, what else have I inherited? Would I also be crazy by the time I was thirty-five? might be genetic. Maybe I'd inherited this from her. I worried, what else have I inherited? Would I also be crazy by the time I was thirty-five?

She walked into the kitchen and I followed. I watched her spoon Sanka into a coffee mug and then add hot tap water.

"I worry about you so," she said, blowing into her cup before taking a loud sip. "I worry about you and school."

"I can't stand that place," I said. "And Finch is always talking about how you can't make a person do something when they turn thirteen. That when you turn thirteen you're free."

"Yes, I know he is. But the law says you have to go to school."

"Well, f.u.c.k that." I lit one of her cigarettes.

"Please don't smoke my cigarettes. You have a pack of your own, although I wish you wouldn't smoke."

"Well, I do."

"I know you do. I just said that I wish you wouldn't."

"Fine," I said, crus.h.i.+ng it out.

"No, don't do that. I'll smoke it," she said, reaching for it. Then, "Well, I know I can't force you to go to school. I can't force you to do anything you don't want to do. But I do wish you'd reconsider."

How could she expect me to think about school at a time like this? Furthermore, if I had had just stayed in school, look what I would have missed. Fern, the minister's wife, was not only a card-carrying lesbian, but my mother's lover. just stayed in school, look what I would have missed. Fern, the minister's wife, was not only a card-carrying lesbian, but my mother's lover.

Fern was a m.u.f.f-diver. And she was diving on my mother's m.u.f.f And she was diving on my mother's m.u.f.f.

"Does her family know?"

"No," was my mother's flat answer. She turned to me and said very seriously, "And it's important that her husband and her children do not know what's going on between us." She said this like I was going to run right over there and say, "Hey, guess what! Guess what your mom is doing while she waits for the bread to rise!" said very seriously, "And it's important that her husband and her children do not know what's going on between us." She said this like I was going to run right over there and say, "Hey, guess what! Guess what your mom is doing while she waits for the bread to rise!"

Then it was as if the lighting changed and a camera slid down a set of rails, zooming into her face. A musical score practically filled the room. She stood in front of the window so that her nightgown filtered the sunlight and her body glowed in silhouette through the fabric.

"All my life, I have been oppressed. And all my life I have worked hard to fight this oppression. When I was a little girl living in Cairo, Georgia, I had a black nanny named Elsa who lived in a shack on the other side of town." She reached into her pocket and brought a cigarette to her lips, lighting it dramatically and exhaling a plume of smoke into the air. "In those days, black people were called n.i.g.g.e.rs. And I knew that the word n.i.g.g.e.r was a dirty word. And it was a word filled with hatred and anger. And I knew that it was used to describe black people. I also knew that Elsa was no n.i.g.g.e.r." She paused to look me straight in the eyes. "I knew it was wrong." She walked across the room and faced the wall. "It has taken me all my life to find myself as an artist." She turned to face me. "And to find myself as a woman. I have struggled against the oppression of my mother. And the oppression of your father. And for the first time in my life, I feel I am truly able to claim myself."

Why listen to a teacher talk about how many quarters Nancy needs to buy six apples if they are four and a half cents each when I could listen to this?

"So Augusten, I hope I have your support in my relations.h.i.+p with Fern. Because at this stage in my life, I do not need and will not accept more oppression. I have spent years, my entire life fighting oppression. I hope I don't have to fight you, too." She exhaled, closing her eyes and letting her chin sag down to her chest. with Fern. Because at this stage in my life, I do not need and will not accept more oppression. I have spent years, my entire life fighting oppression. I hope I don't have to fight you, too." She exhaled, closing her eyes and letting her chin sag down to her chest.

It seemed that I should clap but I didn't.

Instead I said, "Okay, I don't care. Can I have five dollars?"

She smiled. "May I have five dollars. And yes, you may, if I have it. Go get my pocketbook and let me take a look." I have five dollars. And yes, you may, if I have it. Go get my pocketbook and let me take a look."

PURE PROJECTION.

I.

T WAS A BRILLIANT S SAt.u.r.dAY AFTERNOON, WITH THIN, wispy clouds high in the sky; the perfect day for a parade. As Hope and I blew up balloons and tied them to colorful ribbons, the doctor walked around the house in his underpants and wingtip shoes singing off-key, "To dreeeeam the impossible dreeeeeeeam ..."

"Dad?" Hope called.

"TO FIGHT THE UNBEARABLE-"

"Dad! I need to know if you want us to tie balloons to your hat or just your umbrella."

Finch came into the room. "I want balloons tied onto everything! Today is a day of joy! Balloons everywhere!"

Hope smiled. "Okay."

I blew up a yellow balloon and handed it to Hope. She tied a red ribbon around it and then looped this through the band that ran around the doctor's gray felt hat. tied a red ribbon around it and then looped this through the band that ran around the doctor's gray felt hat.

"We'll need some more pink balloons for his hat," Hope said. "Pink is Dad's favorite color."

In the end, we inflated about sixty balloons, tying them to his hat, his umbrella, looping them through the b.u.t.tonholes of his long black wool coat that he intended to wear despite the heat. We tied balloons around our own waists and we even attached two balloons to Agnes, one over each breast.

"I'm not going out in public like this," Agnes complained. "Give me more of them, so I can tie some somewhere else. I can't have just these two."

Overhearing Agnes's complaint, the doctor stepped into the room, now dressed in his suit. "No, Agnes," he boomed. "These are the only balloons you should have. You are the matriarch of the family, the Great Breast-Feeder, and that's what these balloons symbolize."

"Oh, phooey," she said. "I don't buy it."

"I said, you will wear only those two balloons! They are your breastloons."

"Breastloons, that's funny, Dad. I like that."

"You do?" he said, his eyebrows twitching. "Then you shall only wear two balloons too."

Half an hour later, Dr. Finch headed out of his house wearing his balloon-covered coat, holding his balloon-covered rainbow umbrella high above his head. Pink balloons on pink ribbon trailed from his hat.

Hope and I followed a few paces behind him carrying a sign that read, UNITE THE F FATHERS OF THE W WORLD. TODAY I IS W WORLD F FATHER'S D DAY!!!!! I was covered with balloons; they were even tied through my belt loops. But Hope had only two balloons, one over each breast. were even tied through my belt loops. But Hope had only two balloons, one over each breast.

Hope's younger sister Anne walked behind us with her young son, Poo. Anne was annoyed that she'd been tricked into being in the parade, and refused to wear the breastloons, but she did carry one. And Poo, of course, had six or seven balloons which were tied to his ankles and dragged on the ground.

Next was Natalie. She'd agreed to the breastloons, but also insisted on wearing sungla.s.ses and a large hat so that n.o.body she knew would recognize her on the street.

My mother was at the tail end of the parade, looking extremely nervous and distracted. She held one small white balloon in her right hand and her More in the other. She kept enough of a distance so that it appeared she'd just been an average woman, out on an average walk, who just happened to come upon a small white balloon which she decided to pick up. I wasn't sure if she was ashamed to be in the parade, or if she just needed to have her meds adjusted.