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com Memoir/Abuse Writing Sample

The Tub
Kiss Grandma goodbye, Jenna, her Mother said too
loudly.
I dont want to kiss her, the little girl replied,
shrinking away.
Youd better or else.
Mothers glare froze the little girl in her tracks. I
just cant do it, Jenna thought. Great Grandma is an
Indian witch everyone says so - and has power over blood.
For Jenna, a six year old, this fear was very real.
Her own Mother had told her one story: a woman in a car
accident who was bleeding from the inside until Great
Grandma stopped the bleeding simply by laying her hands on
the injured woman, the power of a witch. Great Grandma
also had the power to make people bleed: out of their
mouths, ears, nose and even tears of blood out of their
eyes. In the mind of little Jenna, Great Grandma was a
black magician of extraordinary terror.
The urge to pee consumed the little girl. She backed
against the wall of the hallway, crossing her small,
misshapen legs. Great Grandma smells like sour clothes,
onions and farts. Her bony hands are claws and she has
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spit at the edges of her mouth. I never want to kiss that
face.

Did you hear me? her Mother says through gritted
teeth.
The little girl couldnt breathe; caught between the
terror of the Great Grandma witch and the reality of her
Mothers tortures. She had no choice but to run from the
problems and, giving in to her fears, she bolted as fast as
her warped legs would take her.
Out the screen door, down the stairs and around the
house to end up back under the front porch the little
girl had become expert in evasion, ending up in a close
place below the house, the last place her Mother would
look. She peed in the corner of the refuge and took stock
of the surroundings, laying down with her back to the house
foundation.
She was safe, for now.
The longer she lay there, in the frigid filth under
the porch, the more she felt the cold Maine autumn seep
into her bones, the chill slicing through her cotton pants
and worn T-shirt. It was miserable but not as bitter as
the ice of Great Grandmas eyes.
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After an hour or so, the front door slammed open and
she heard her mothers harsh voice.


Shes a rotten kid. I promise shell suffer for the
disgrace she made of herself today. When I get done with
her, she wont be able to sit for a week.
Great Grandma didnt say a word. She shuffled her
walker across the warped planks of the porch. Shish bump,
shish bump, shish bump and then the two women navigated
three porch steps with Mothers angry stomps.
If such were possible, little Jenna became even more
terrified. I should have just closed my eyes and kissed
the witch even if it did mean blood and death.
Mother helped the crone into her car and slammed the
door, scaring the breath from the little girl. The car
crunched away as Mother stomped her way across the porch,
dirt and pebbles falling through the planks into the girls
hair. The front door shut again with a report heard down
the block.
Even in her refuge, the little girl was lost. Lost at
home; lost to her Mother. What to do? She sat under the
porch, in the dirt and cobwebs, shaking in the chill,
brushing as much dirt out of my hair as she could. Mommy
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will be mad about the dirt on my pants and shirt. Could she
stay there all night?
Maybe then her Mother wont be mad because shed be so
glad to see her daughter alive in the morning. But then
again, maybe shell freeze during the night.
Jenna waited as long as her little bones could take
but then her teeth began chattering so hard it was painful.
She knew shed have to face her mother and the longer she
delayed, the worse the punishment would be. She crept from
under the porch, quieter than a whisper, circling to the
back of the house and up the steps to the kitchen.
Her mother sat waiting at the kitchen table, a
beautiful vulture ready to strike. As she heard the little
feet at the back door, Catherine stubbed out her cigarette,
exhaling along puff of smoke. The woman stood up, pushing
her chair back with a slow scratchy noise.
As her mother turned to glare at her, Jennas body
began to shake. Swift as a snake, Katherine opened the
door, lifting Jenna off her feet by her hair.
You have to learn to listen, her Mother said, her
face a mask of stone. Katherine walks Jenna to the
bathroom, dropping her on the floor.
Take off your filthy clothes, she said, filling the
tub with cold water. Jenna hurried to comply, her eyes
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brimming with tears; her scalp screaming from pain. Icy
water fills the tub.
Get in.
Jenna cant move, her eyes riveted to the old chain
connected to the submerged rubber stopper. Katherine grabs
the little girl by the hair, twisting it into a vicious
knot.
Get in the goddamned tub. Dont make that baby face
at me. Katherine twists the hair harder.
Please Mommy, please. Ill kiss Great Grandma next
time.
The laugh from her Mother was as painful as her hair.
No girlie girl. Youre going under.
Katherine lifted her daughter over the huge tub,
tilting her sideways and under the frigid water. Jenna
screamed, the water roiling from her terrified thrashing.
DONT BREATHE IN! DONT BREATHE IN! Jenna warned
herself.
The tub was a huge old antique model, slick white
porcelain with a tinge of blue. It was too deep for Jenna
to push herself up; she flailed her arms for the sides of
the tub, reaching up and outward. Her Mothers steel grip
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held her in place, ignoring the little girls clawing
hands.
Jenna spun halfway around, looking up through the
bubbles of her screams at her Mother. Katherines hair
hung down in the water, the tips of her black tresses like
shark fins in the water. Jenna scrambles to reach for
anything. There is nothing to grab.
Ill die this time, she thought. Ill die in this tub
this time. Will she love me when Im dead?
Jennas hands flailed at the sides of the tub for any
grip, clawing at the slick porcelain. Her Mothers face
was wavy and fractured through the furious water but the
grim satisfied smile was still there. Jenna could see the
actual pleasure her Mother took in disciplining her.
Jenna started screaming in her mind, Let me up, Mommy!
Let me up! Hoping that this psychic tactic might work.
Shes a hunted animal now, thrashing against her predator,
controlled by a primal instinct, intent only on surviving
through the next second and the one after that. Suddenly,
Jenna remembers.
Be a rag-doll. Lie still.
Lie still. Dont breathe.
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Be a rag-doll. Lie still.
Lie still. Dont breathe.
Jenna cant hold her breath anymore. She counts
numbers in her head, maybe the last seconds of her young
life. Her eyes bulging out, the little girl would cry if
she could.
With practiced timing, the Mother allowed the little
girl to surface, watching her daughter wretch and vomit
into the water. The bathroom spun around the little girl
as she sucks in precious air. She cant get enough, dizzy
from it, nauseous with the sheer pleasure of breathing.
Her Mother pulls the chain to the stopper, emptying the
water and puke down the drain. She grabs her daughter by
one arm and yanks her into the air, the girls chest
heaving.
An odd thought occurs to the little girl - It is a
good thing to be glad to be alive. She notes that shes
not always glad to be alive but today, at this moment,
shes happy for the simple act of breathing. Shes glad to
be hanging by one arm from her mothers steel grip. Shes
so glad until her Mother says,
I should have drowned you when you were born. Youre
just the afterbirth - my real daughter is out there
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somewhere in the nice world. Go get your pajamas on, her
Mother hisses. Get out of my sight; fuckin afterbirth.
The little girl runs naked and wet up the narrow
stairway, listening to the stairs that creak under her
feet. At the top, the floor is so cold she has to skip to
her room. Jenna puts on her nightie in one motion, the
cotton sticking to her scan like wet paper. She dives
under her covers, shivering and shattering, and buries her
head under her pillow where it cant be seen by anyone.
The shivering gets worse; never enough blankets, never
enough covers.