Christine's Odyssey - Chapter 1
An angry voice
woke Christine.
Then a series of thuds and bumps forced her upright in bed. With her
heart fluttering against her ribs, she wondered if her parents had been
hurt. Her father’s soothing tone hinted that he was trying to reason
with her mother. Christine put a hand to her chest, waiting for her
heart to resume its normal pace. Another bang startled her. A familiar
heaviness settled in her chest and swelled upward to block her throat.
Another day had erupted in the Simms’ household.
Cassandra snorted and flung a hand over Jamielle, who twitched and dug
Christine with an elbow. Both girls stirred, then Cassandra sat up and
rubbed her eyes. “What was that?”
“Mommy and Daddydy are fighting again.”
“Oh.” Cass snuggled down against Jamielle, who snuffled into her pillow.
Nothing ever changed at their house; the constant quarrels, her mother
losing her temper and breaking things, her father trying to keep the
peace. Not for the first time, Christine wondered why she wasn’t born
into another family; one that lived in Kingston or even next door in
Manchester. Instead, their family was poor and lived deep in the St.
Elizabeth bush lands.
Shutting her wishful thoughts away, Christine threw back the blanket.
She shivered when cold air hit her skin through her nightgown. The
wooden floor groaned as she crossed to the battered dresser in the
corner. She got her clothes and moved to the door, swallowing hard at
the willful banging of pots and pans on the stovetop. Before she crept
into the passage, she glanced toward the kitchen; all was clear. But the
hinges creaked as the door closed behind her.
“Chris!” Her mother’s voice stopped her.
She answered when her mother called again. “Yes, Mommy?”
“It’s about time you got up. Come here!”
Christine sighed and her thin shoulders drooped. She focused on her feet
as she entered the kitchen, because she knew better than to provoke her
mother, who would interpret a direct look as a challenge.
The smell of cabbage sickened her. Not again! That’s the third time this
week! Her mind rebelled as her mother spat out angry words. “You think
I’m here to clean up after you?”
Although her mother had asked a question, Christine stayed silent. She
looked up through her lashes as her mother’s mouth twisted in a sneer.
“You might be your Daddydy’s little princess, but to me you’re just
another mouth to feed around here. So, don’t you forget it!”
Christine scratched at the floor with her toes, hoping for a quick
escape. She raised her head when her mother stabbed the air between them
with a finger. “You hearin’ me?”
Christine nodded.
“Next time I find anythin’ left in the sink overnight, I’m gonna slap
you silly.”
Christine braced herself for the wallop she knew was coming. Her
mother’s rant would not be complete without it. Still, her nose watered
and her eyes filled at the whack across the side of her head. Ellie
pressed a hand to her own forehead. “Go wash up and start tidying’ the
house.”
Christine headed down the passage, holding back tears. It didn’t matter
that she hadn’t left anything in the sink. Her mother would have
walloped her anyway. She entered the bathroom, closed the door and
approached the chipped face basin. In the mirror, she expected to find a
mark at the side of her head, but nothing marred her skin.
All she saw was two pigtails curling upward at the ends and her brown
eyes gazing back at her through the spots in the glass. She grabbed the
unruly plaits and held them to her ears, but they only kicked up in the
air again when she released them. She entertained herself by wriggling
her eyebrows and broke into a smile, showing small, even teeth.
She turned the brass tap on and started her morning routine. The slow,
deliberate movements were comforting, putting her into a near trance.
Minutes later, she rinsed her mouth and stuck her tongue out to examine
it, before she was satisfied. She shook her toothbrush and put it back
in the cracked enamel cup, along with the six others that spilled out in
different directions.
Her least favourite part came next – she yanked off her nightdress and
hopped into the shower, turning on the pipe before she could change her
mind. This was the worst thing about getting up so early. The water from
the underground tank was always cold. She soaped and rinsed herself,
then scampered out of the stall, shivering the entire time.
“Chris!” Her mother’s shout frightened her and when her feet settled on
the cracked tiles again, Christine yelled back, “Yes, Mommy?”
“What are you doin’ in there so long?”
“I’m almost finished.”
“Hurry up!”
Christine gathered her things and ran back to the bedroom. Cassandra
stirred at the sound of the door closing. In front of the mirror,
Christine loosed her hair and neatened her two plaits. Then, she opened
the window and the sun’s rays filtered through the lace curtains,
highlighting the drab, second-hand furniture. Her two sisters squirmed
when sunlight flooded into their space.
Christine avoided looking at anything in their bedroom. Instead, she
gazed outside beyond their yard, not seeing the chickens scratching
around or the two young puppies rolling over each other, nor did she
notice the old lean-to where her father stored his tools. She looked up
at the mountains, as always. Ever since she could remember, she had
wondered what lay beyond their green, mysterious peaks.
She fantasized about the people who lived on the other side. What did
they do? How did they live? Perhaps an eleven-year-old girl like herself
lived on the opposite side and thought about the same things. She lived
for this moment each morning, when she forgot her stormy life for a few
minutes and lost herself in her fantasies.
"Christine!"
This time her name was a menacing scream. She sped over to the bed and
shook Cassandra. The door crashed against the wall and her mother
stalked inside.
“I’m w-waking the girls up,” Christine said.
“Well, get them up and dressed quickly. I don’t understan’ why it takes
you three times longer to do anythin’ than a normal person.”
She left, muttering to herself, with a cigarette between her thumb and
forefinger. While Cassandra stretched, Christine coaxed Jamielle out of
sleep, but she tried to snuggle further into her pillow.
Cassandra leaned over the five-year-old. “I know how to wake her up!”
She wiggled her fingers against Jamielle’s side and she squirmed at the
disturbance. Cassandra continued to tickle Jamielle, who lashed out with
her leg. The kick caught Cassandra in the face. She screamed and put her
hands to her mouth. Blood poured through her fingers and tears welled in
her eyes.
Their mother rushed down the hallway, cursing. The door opened and she
walked into the room with a rubber flip-flop in one hand. “I swear
before the day is out I’m gonna kill one of you! What the hell is
happenin’ in here, Christine?”
Without waiting for an answer, she rushed round to the side of the bed
where Christine sat. She scampered off the bed, but not fast enough. The
neck of her worn T-shirt tore when her mother grabbed it.
Christine put her hand up to ward off the rain of blows she knew was but
seconds away. Her luck had run out and the day had barely started. The
heavy blows set her arm ablaze, but she did not drop it for fear of
getting hit in the face. Tears burned her eyes and her sinuses while she
prayed her mother would run out of steam before too long. Cassandra and
Jamielle sobbed and begged their mother to let her go, but their cries
were in vain.
Chirstine saw herself locked in her mother’s grip, as though standing
outside of her body watching familiar parts of a movie. Her mother’s
slender figure resembled that of an old woman, but the force behind the
blows felt like she had superhuman strength.
Tired of dodging blows, Christine lowered her hand. The slipper caught
her between the eyes, blinding her for a few seconds. Then suddenly, she
was free. She dragged a hand across her eyes to clear them, and used the
other to hold her torn shirt together. Her father had gripped her mother
by the arm and forced her out of the room. Christine heard them bumping
their way down the corridor and when a door slammed, she slumped on the
bed where her sisters lay sniffling.
She got up and pulled a shirt out of her dresser drawer to swap with the
one she had on. With tears still welling in her eyes, she slid down the
wall to settle on the floor. She sobbed with her knees drawn up and her
arms wrapped around them. Tears ran down her legs while she rocked
herself. Cass and Jamie crouched on both sides of her, stroking her
hair, but she did not acknowledge them. They cried with her. They always
did.
When her tears stopped, Christine headed for the bathroom, with her
sisters trailing behind her. She splashed water over her face, dried it
with a towel and cleaned the blood of Cassandra’s hands and face. Back
in their bedroom, she helped Cassandra change her clothes and then lay
across the bed with the two younger girls curled against her. With her
chin resting on top of her hands, she stared out the window. As she
examined the patterns the welts made on her arm, she decided to speak to
her father about something she’d been thinking about for a long time.
Today was a good day to tackle the subject.
She wriggled off the bed; Cass and Jamielle followed. On the way past
his door, her father’s voice drifted to her “...every time we have an
argument, you take it out on Christine.”
Her footsteps slowed of their own accord.
Her father continued, “Christine is not the problem. Neither am I. You,
Ellen, are the problem. You’re mean and selfish and you’ve gone back on
your word. You promised to take care of her as if ...”
His voice faded and started up closer to where Christine stood. “…all
you care about is yourself and your needs. You wanted to be a mother.
Well, you are a mother – five times over. Grow up and act like one!”
The door opened and Christine came face to face with him. She had never
seen him angrier - his lips were clamped together and his eyebrows
rumpled in a frown. He said nothing, but laid a hand on her shoulder on
his way toward the kitchen and out the back door.
Those words were the most Christine had heard him say to her mother in
weeks. Usually, her mother quarrelled and he refused to answer. Her
chest tightened when glass shattered in her parents’ room. She hastened
to the kitchen, where she laid out seven place mats and cutlery and then
sat down to wait. She tuned her sisters out by counting the iron mold
marks on the fridge.
The sound of rushing feet told Christine that Sam, her nine-year-old
brother was running down the hall again. Most likely he was chasing
Josh, the baby of the family. Josh proved her right when he toddled into
the kitchen and waggled his hands at her. It was his way of telling her
to pick him up.
“Kwistee,” he gurgled.
She lifted Josh and put him on her lap.
Sam raced in behind, saw that Josh was occupied and took his seat.
“Morning.”
Cassandra and Jamielle answered his greeting and continued their
conversation.
All of them went still when their mother’s slippers flapped toward them.
Christine pulled out the seat next to Sam, deposited Josh in it, and
dropped into her chair. Their mother grunted at them and crossed to the
cupboards.
“Good morning, Mommy,” they all said.
The back door opened and their father came inside took his seat. His
fond gaze rested on each of them. “G’morning,”
“G’morning Daddy,” they answered, smiling at him.
Ellie turned, with the plates in hand and their smiles faded.
On Saturday mornings, the family ate together. By some unspoken
agreement, the girls sat on one side of the table. The boys sat on the
other and Maxwell and Ellie faced each other. They ate in silence,
except for the occasional pinging of cutlery against glass.
Christine tried to keep the distaste off her face while she forced the
steamed cabbage and green bananas down. The smell of cabbage disagreed
with her and to make things worse, her mother always made it soggy. She
glanced at Josh’s plate. At least he got his bananas crushed with
butter.
He sat on a cushion in the chair next to Ellie and every so often, she
spooned food into his messy mouth, although he wanted to feed himself.
The moment they finished eating, Sam, Cassandra and Jamielle excused
themselves and ran out to the back yard. Josh slid off his chair and
staggered away behind them.
“Try not to get as dirty as a hog’s foot rope and keep an eye on Josh!”
Ellie yelled.
Christine cleared the table, gripping the plates tight to avoid them
clattering, for she was always nervous around her mother. She’d removed
almost everything and stood cleaning the mats, when her mother spoke.
“I’m done. You can move these things.”
Christine approached her and picked up the plate. She reached for the
cup and her mother’s voice stopped her. “Have some manners. Don’t
stretch across me.”
Christine pressed down on the cutlery to stop them rattling and walked
around to her mother’s other side. When she picked up the cup, the
remaining tea sloshed over the rim and wet the place mat.
Ellie turned disgusted eyes on her. “You’re so clumsy. Only God knows
how you don’t break everything you touch.”
Out of the corner of her eyes, Christine glanced at her father. He
sighed, shook his head and then gazed at his hands with a tight smile.
But he was not amused. He felt her pain and understood her better than
anyone else. Love for him swelled inside her. At times, she wished her
mother would die or go away and never return, so their lives would be
peaceful.
Her brothers’ and sisters’ yells intruded on her thoughts, making her
sad. She’d never known the freedom to run and laugh and play because her
mother expected her to do all the housework.
Fresh tears burned her eyes. Christine wanted to be anywhere else but
home. The need to speak to her father alone intensified. Their trip to
town later in the day could not come soon enough.