Page 92 of Caged
I watch myself standing in front of a mirror as if I’m watching a movie. I’m bouncing with excitement.
“Mommy, how much ice cream can I get? Two scoops?”
“One scoop,” my mom corrects, her expression stern and focused. “I don’t want him thinking I raised a greedy, ungrateful child who has no self-control.”
I sit at a round, white table with my mom and a man I don’t know. My mom smiles at the man, flirtatiously touching his arm with her hand. Under the table, I see her knee touching his.
I straighten my back like my mom taught me, and smile. I take small, lady-like bites of my ice cream, even though I know it will melt before I can eat it all.
My mom and the man look at me, talking to each other, and smile. I smile back in my best little girl way. My mom seems happy. I’m happy. I’ve done well.
I’m back in the familiar house, sitting on the gold carpet, playing with my dolls. I hear my mom on the phone. She’s upset. Fear rises in my throat. The phone call ends. She screams, and I leap to my feet, but she’s faster.
“This is all your fault, Monroe. Mark said he doesn’t want to date someone with a kid, but it’s becauseyouwere soembarrassing, eating your ice cream like you’ve never had food before.”
I run to my room. She intercepts me just as I make it across the threshold, grabbing the doorknob.
“No dinner for you tonight or breakfast either. No more food until you learn not to eat like a pig!”
The door slams closed. I hear the lock turn.
I sit on the floor of my room. There is a painful feeling in my stomach. My underwear are wet from where I had an accident. I remember my mom telling me she was going out on a date last night, so she locked me in my room to keep me safe.
I think maybe she forgot about me.
And I tried to hold my pee, but I couldn’t make it.
I start to cry, thinking about how mad she will be when she sees my accident.
I cry harder when I think about how hungry I feel.
I’m in the living room of my childhood home. Life is moving quickly, like I’m in fast-forward. My grandmother is in the kitchen while I play on the floor. I smell the food she is cooking. The front door opens, and it’s my mother, dragging two suitcases and a large purse.
My grandmother comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Well?” she asks. Her voice sounds hopeful.
My mother drops her things and starts crying.
“He doesn’t want to come back. He said I’m an abuser. That I’m a narcissist and he never wants to see me again.”
“But what about Monroe?” my grandmother asks.
I look at my mom, waiting, but she shakes her head.
My grandmother sighs. “What are you going to do? Monroe can come stay with me.”
“No, I need her here. She’s all I’ve got.” My fleeting excitement is dashed.
“Well, you can’t lock her in her room anymore. She’s in kindergarten now. They’ll send Child Protective Services out here if she misses too much school.”
“How am I supposed to meet anyone? I can’t afford a babysitter.”
“At least put a little potty in her room and leave her with some food.”
Betrayal stabs me in the heart. My grandmother... She knew.
I watch myself sitting alone in my room with a large bag of potato chips. I take one at a time, eating slowly, making them last. My dolls are nearly bald from overuse. Braiding their hair, brushing their hair…
