“Deirdre”

Sitting alone in an old canoe was Deirdre. She was a small little girl, much smaller than other girls her age. Deirdre had long black hair, straight, shiny. It fell in her face. Her silvery eyes peeked out through the dark locks like a sea monster through seaweed. She sat in the canoe singing gently to herself. Her soft, cherubic voice fluttered over the water and echoed over the mists. She had the voice of a lost soul. It was mournful and for a six year old, haunting. It wasn’t at all cheery like the other girls who sang about sugar and spice or about school as they jumped rope.

“What should we do with a drunken sailor,” she sang. “What should we do with a drunken sailor, early in the morning?”

The canoe rocked and rolled over the gentle drifts of water. Breezes blew in, ruffling her waist-long hair. Sitting in the canoe with her was an old doll with matted blonde hair, a stuffed green cat, and a homemade teddy bear named Bob, stitched and sewn together with patches and pieces of her old dresses.

“Tie him to the wheel and call him captain,” she sang. “Tie him to the wheel and call him captain, early in the morning.”

Deirdre rocked in the canoe as the breeze blew the small craft into a rock. She was stuck in the middle of the vast lake. She didn’t even care to look up after the canoe bumped into the rock. She just kept singing.

“Throw him in the barrack with the captain’s daughter. Throw him in the barrack with the captain’s daughter, early in the morning.”

She continued singing for her toys, with a slight smile of pleasure on her face. Behind her was a small wicker basket. When she finished her song, she smiled brightly.

“Very good, friends,” she cooed cheerily. “But, Bob, remember, no straining your voice. You’re a tenor.”

She reached behind her and grabbed the wicker basket and hopped off the boat. Her bare feet on the moistened, misty rock made a pitter-patter. She lay out a large, king sized comforter. It was torn and faded but more clearly seen than its tears was the fact that it was homemade; made from the same materials as Bob. She lay out the picnic lunch. As she sat out four small plates, the sun showed its face through a pea soup mass of clouds. From her picnic basket she took out a tray of homemade cookies, a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. Then, she went back to the canoe and took out her three toy friends and sat them around the blanket. She made them all peanut butter sandwiches. As if they were real company.

“Now, Conniption,” she said to the green cat, “How much peanut butter do you want?”

After which she spread a thin layer of the peanut butter on a single piece of bread. She then looked to the doll and asked the same thing. After which she painted a mound of peanut butter on two pieces of bread. The same went for Bob. She then dove into the cookies and munched them.

“Does anyone else want cookies? I made them myself last night. Yeah, I was watching infomercials late last night and I got a hankering for snickerdoodles.”

She took a piece of bread and tore the crusts off and tossed them in the water behind her with a quick whip of her wrist. Soon, a baby duck was all over them.

“I made the bread this morning. Yeah, I hope you like it. It took me four hours and three loaves but I finally got the recipe right. It called for a stick of butter but I forgot I was cutting a third off the recipes and I accidentally put too much butter in. I think I put enough flour in, ‘coz the middle is nice and fluffy.”

She passed out some more cookies to her stuffed animals.

“Why aren’t you guys eating?” She asked somewhat distraughtly. “I thought you liked my bread.”

There was no answer from the green cat, the doll, or the scrappy bear.

“I don’t like you anymore!” She cried. “I don’t have any friends.”

In a normal childhood fit, she snatched the teddy bear up and threw him in the water. Upon realizing what she had done in a bout of frustration and anger, she dove into the water after him. Barely able to swim, she was able to swim down and catch her patch-work bear. She pulled the bear to the surface, slinging him over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry Bob! I didn’t mean it y’know!” She said laying his wet, sopping mass onto the rock.

The bear normally stood a foot tall. The pebbles and beans in his feet pulled him down faster and the water soaked into his fabric.

“I didn’t mean it, honest. I get so sad sometimes because no one likes me. No one is nice to me. I know you’re a stuffed animal and I know I made you from my old dresses. You’re not real. I know you can’t talk to me.”

She sat him up on his rump.

“Can you give me a sign that you’re at least listening to me?”

Right on cue, the bear fell on its face.

“Let’s go home,” she sighed, dripping wet herself.

She rowed the boat back home to the little dock. She took her stuffed friends in one arm and the picnic basket in the other. Cold and shaking, she had wrapped herself in the blanket.

“Deirdre!” A booming voice called. “Get home girl. Now!”

She quickened her pace. The pitter-patter of her small feet were almost like a drumming on the pavement leading up to her lonely home on the lake. She burst through the front door, nearly crashing into her father.

“Where have you been? I’ve been yellin’ for you for an hour!” He snapped.

“I was on the lake with my friends,” she replied sheepishly, dripping cold lake water onto the wood floor of the kitchen.

“Why are you wet?” he sneered, ripping the blanket from her.

“I jumped in the lake after Bob.”

“Who’s Bob?”

“My bear that I made.”

“Your bear that you made?”

“Yes.”

Upon snatching the toys from her arm he announced, “No more Bob until you get in the bath. You smell nasty. What’d you do? Play with a dead fish?”

Deirdre’s lips began to quiver as she marched forward to the stairs. To get her moving faster, he father booted her with his foot, nearly knocking her to the floor.

“And don’t get water all over the bathroom floor either!”

Then her father observed the watery trail that followed her and grumbled. He took the three stuffed animals and jammed them into the trash.

“Daddy! No!” she screamed, watching him from the bottom stair.

“Get upstairs! All you do is cause trouble! I should just lock you in your room for the rest of your life and maybe things wouldn’t go wrong around here.”

She scrambled upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. Hopefully, her tyrannical father wouldn’t scream for her anymore.

That night, she tucked herself into bed as she did every night. From under her bed, she pulled out the cardboard doll beds that she had made. She took all the old dolls and her homemade bears and bunnies that were sitting around her room and laid them in their beds. Each bed had a name written on it in magic marker. When she had put all her friends to bed, she noticed that three were empty. Upon seeing the vacant beds, she cried.

“Goodnight Tips. Goodnight Patches. Goodnight Marilyn. Goodnight Bast,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bob, daddy threw Bob in the trash. I was bad.”

Like she did every night, little Deirdre turned down the covers to her bed and crawled in. The various nightlights around her room lit small circles in the corners, which were enough to relax Deirdre. The lights around the room and the numerous little beds laying about the floor comforted her in a way that she needed desperately. She needed it more than anyone else could understand.

When she woke the next morning, she woke to the sun on her face. She turned over to face the floor. Lo and behold there was something missing. Something was terribly wrong. To the terrifying sight, Deirdre stare down upon it, eyes burning and skin flushing in anger.

“Where. Are. My. Friends!” She stammered furiously.

She ripped the blankets off of her and counted all the empty beds. There were seventeen little beds. At least no beds were missing. But, there were seventeen friends that had vanished. Fearing for herself, and not just for her stuffed friends, she ignored her father. She stated close to home and just plain ignored him. Luckily, he left for work and she was home alone.

“Daddy was mean,” she said over a homemade breakfast of oatmeal, jelly toast and melon cubes.

“What did he do?” Asked Peter.

“He threw away Bob, and my green cat, and my doll yesterday. He yelled at me, too.”

“What did you do?” Esther asked.

“I went for a canoe ride. He was sleeping when I left so I left a note on his bedside table.”

“Perhaps he was just scared when he found you weren’t there when he woke up,” Ezekiel suggested.

“No, he does this a lot, even when I don’t leave the yard.”

“What have you done in the past?” Ezekiel asked.

“Sometimes, if I spilled a drink or dropped food on the floor he would yell at me to clean it up. He would call me clumsy and stupid. He’d rub the dirty cloth in my face after I cleaned the mess up. I know I didn’t mean to drop the food or spill my juice. He was just being mean. I think there’s something wrong with my dad.”

Ezekiel looked over to Peter who looked over to Esther.

“What else?” Esther asked as she poured some more juice into Deirdre’s glass.

“He used to throw things if the teacher said I was in a fight.”

“Were the fights your fault? Why did you fight?” Inquired Esther.

“I never started the fights. The kids on the playground, even the older kids, would pick on me. They’d pull on my dress and throw dirt balls at me. They called me weird and told me that I was a loser. I never really fought back. I yelled at them to stop and I would push them away, not trying to hurt them. Then when the teachers came, the kids would cry and complain and I would get in trouble for hurting them. Then daddy would yell and throw things. He threw my books and once he threw a glass bowl full of cookies I made at the wall.”

Esther looked to Ezekiel who looked to Peter.

“Does daddy hurt you?” Peter asked.

Deirdre shook her head, “No.”

Peter turned to Esther, “Good.”

She nodded in reply.

“What else?” Ezekiel said.

“He doesn’t let me have friends. It’s his fault I don’t play with the other kids. It’s his fault I am the way I am. I’m lonely and I feel lost. It makes me scared. I taught myself to cook, to clean, to sew, and to make stuffed animals because that’s what I need to do to be okay. He doesn’t buy me clothes when I need them so I have to make them, which is why I learned to sew. He never bought me toys which is why I learned to make stuffed animals and things. He never made dinner for me, which is why I learned to cook and bake. He doesn’t do my laundry when he does his and he doesn’t clean the house. I do.”

“What do you think needs to be done?” Peter questioned.

“I think I should talk to him. But I don’t want to do it alone.”

Peter looked to Esther who looked to Ezekiel.

“What if you can’t reach him?” Asked Peter. “What do you want us to do?”

“Send daddy away and bring my mommy home. Don’t hurt him, just make him sorry”

“Daddy,” Deirdre asked.

“What?” He snapped. “I’m busy.”

She was already getting angry. She felt her skin burning. She wasn’t afraid of him, she was angry.

“You’re watching baseball.”

“Shut up! Go to your room.”

“No,” no she replied strongly.

“No?” He asked flying out of his chair.

“That’s right. No.”

Six year old girls are never like this. That much is true. But it can be certain that when six year old girls are like Deirdre, they have a whole new attitude. All little girls are made of sugar and spice. Deirdre’s sugar and spice had been spoiled.

“I’m hungry, dad. When’s dinner.”

“Whenever you decide to make it.”

“No, daddy, I’m hungry and I can’t reach the top cupboard.”

“Get the stepping stool. What do you want me to do everything for you?”

“You broke the stepping stool and threw it in the fireplace. I need you to reach the top cupboard for me.”

“Deirdre, go to your room. You’re not going to eat supper tonight!”

“No.”

“NO?!”

“That’s right. No.”

Deirdre was calm. She stared her father down. She just stared, and stared hard.

“You can’t do this to me.”

“I can do whatever I-”

“No you can’t, dad.”

“Don’t argue with me, girl!”

“If you don’t stop being mean to me, someone will come and make you be nice.”

“Who? Who is going to come into my house and tell me how to raise my daughter?”

“My friends.”

“Your friends? You don’t have any friends.”

“Yes I do. And they will be here any minute.”

Angrily, he gave her a shove to the floor.

“Stop!” she screamed covering her ears with her hands. “Stop being mean!”

The house began to shake around them. The lights that were on began to flicker and the lights that were off came on, suddenly and bright. The television set began to display static and the channels began to change on their own. Deirdre’s father looked around, scared, wondering about the lights and the shaking. Deirdre kept screaming.

“Stop being mean! Stop being mean!”

Then the windows flew open. The cool summer breeze picked up and began blowing the newspapers around the room. Then, it got cold. An eerie feeling came over the room.

“Get out,” a deep and raspy voice said. “Leave this house.”

Deirdre’s father stumbled back, as if he could feel the cold breath on his neck. He began to breathe hard and deep, gasping and whimpering whenever he heard the voice.

“Leave her alone,” said the second voice.

“Leave this house!” the third voice said, growing louder and angrier. “Go away.”

Then her father, as menacing and mean as he was became something else. He began to get scared. He ran out of the house. He was gasping and breathing hard, almost crying in fear and disbelief. Then the flickering stopped. The TV was back on the baseball game and the lights came back on. There was no more shaking. Deirdre opened her eyes and put her hands to her side. She stood up and looked around the room. Her father was gone.

The next day when Deirdre woke up, she was still alone. As she ate breakfast in peace, a big yellow taxi pulled up the long dirt driveway of her lake house. Inside was her mother. She stepped out of the cab and as Deirdre stepped onto the front step, the two locked eyes. Her mother was plumper. She didn’t look like a breakable skeleton. She had shinier, longer hair. The scars and bruises on her skin were gone and she looked like mommy again. She wasn’t shaking and looking like she had just thrown up. There was not white, smoking stick hanging out of her mouth and there were no more red dots on her arms.

They ran to meet each other. Deirdre jumped into her mother’s arms.

“How are you feeling, mommy?”

“Better, Deirdre, I’m not sick anymore. Where’s your father?”

“He was bad and he had to go away. He’s not going to come back.”

“Deirdre?”

“What?”

“Where is your dad?”

“I told you. He was bad and he had to go away and never come back.”

“Maybe I should just call the police.”

“Yeah, and tell them that daddy needs help.”