Tessie D

So, let me pick up where I left off. 

By the time I got Daddy home from the carnival on Saturday night, it was already dark. I felt weary and exhausted. I know that I didn’t have any reason to feel embarrassed about Daddy but I still did. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been exposed in front of everyone, including Angel. I knew that this feeling wasn’t entirely rational—most everyone in town already knew what Daddy was like and who is to say that Angel noticed or would make the connection that the stumbling drunk was my father. Still, Daddy’s behavior only seems to justify in their minds why they reject us and mock him.  

We climbed the steps to the house—skipping the rotten second step that Daddy had never fixed—and saw Momma sitting on the front porch in the dark. The moon wasn’t very bright, and she hadn’t turned on the porch light. She was cradling her head in her heads with her forehead resting in her palms. Her short, brown hair was a mess, and her housedress had stains on the front. I thought for a second that she might have been asleep, sitting as still as she was. 

But, when she raised her head, I knew that she’d just been enjoying a moment of peace and quiet before going to bed. Daddy walked past, mumbling something about almost winning the big prize. 

I sat down next to Momma. She’d be getting ready soon to go to work and would be gone all night. She’d come in in the morning and cook Daddy breakfast before going to sleep for most of the day. Eventually, she’d wake up and would cook dinner, clean the house, and wash the clothes. Then the routine would start again. 

Daddy won’t be much help. He’ll have his coffee, eggs, and toast and then will go down to the pasture for a couple hours. He’ll come back up to the house before heading to town, spending whatever little money we got on beer, feed, and hay. 

This—farming, housework, poverty—I don’t want any of it. I swear to God and all things holy that I am going to move away, go to college, get out of this shit-kicking town.  I’m going to study art and music and literature. I’ll be cultured and smart. Anything other than just Poor Tess. 

I nudged her on the shoulder, “Hi, Momma.” 

Momma looked up, “Oh, Tessie, good. You made it. Gimme a hug.” 

I wrapped my arm around Momma and rested my head on her shoulder. She stroked my hair as we sat there for a while, just holding onto each other. 

Eventually, she pulled away, “Come on, let’s go inside.”

The next day was Sunday, and since we don’t go to church, I slept in. I heard Momma come in from work, but I just rolled over and went back to sleep. Later that morning, I got up, went into the kitchen and made a bowl of cereal. I wanted to turn on the tv, but with the way the house is set up, Momma and Daddy’s bedroom wall adjoins the living room, so they’d be able to hear it. Then, Daddy would wake up mad and throwing stuff. 

So, I grabbed my book and sat in the living room on the couch eating breakfast. I’m reading Catcher in the Rye right now. I had to check it from the town’s public library because the school librarian wouldn’t let me check it out without a note from my parents. I didn’t even want to read it at first but when she told me that I couldn’t, well, that was that. I’m not even entirely sure what the big fuss is about. The main character is an antisocial snot but I expected more sex or violence or something. I mean, I’ve been reading V.C Andrews’ books for years, and they sell those by the cashier at Walmart. I’m not even sure if the librarian has ever talked to a teenager or read Catcher in the Rye if she thinks this book is scandalous. 

Daddy eventually got up and took up his usual spot at the dining room table. He said he had a headache, which meant again no tv, so I spent the rest of the day picking up the house and reading. Momma got up later in the afternoon, washed clothes, and cooked dinner. 

We were sitting down to dinner when Daddy looked up. I think it might’ve been the first time all day. 

“Tess, we’re gonna have to sell Prince,” he said.

I had a mouthful of mashed potatoes. 

Still, I didn’t know what to say. I loved our horse. I loved seeing him graze in the pasture when I was leaving for school. It always looked like a scene from a painting—the sun coming up over the hill, orange and yellow. His swayed back and strong legs. I never rode him—we had a saddle at one time but then Daddy sold it for extra cash. But, I would brush his mane and feed him sugar cubes and carrot sticks. 

Momma said that we needed the money to get us through the rest of the spring and to buy fertilizer, so we could bale hay. 

And, if there was anything left over, I could use it to pay for my college application fees.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. It was not the first time we had sold one of the animals to cover our bills. I had learned a long time ago not to be overly sentimental about it. We named our cows and still slaughtered them for beef each spring. 

Still, Prince wasn’t a cow. He had a personality. 

And, this also meant that things were getting bad. Prince was my barometer of sorts, a savings account—but, Prince could only be sold once and this meant that things were getting bad.