Freak

Prologue.

Shining black hair streamed past the girl as she entered the halls of Junior High, her mind lost in moments long ago as she carried her backpack upon her slender back. A teacher spotted her approaching from some distance, and peeled her eyes from the only blind child she’d ever worked with as she watched the girl’s elder sister making her way to the place her friends had been waiting for her. Poor child, she thought as she watched the elder girl’s back. How hard it must be to have a blind younger sister who never seemed to bathe, and who always got into trouble.

Halfway through the building, the younger of the two sisters turned and seated herself at one of the tables, her mind obviously somewhere else as she pulled from her backpack a small square object in a black leather case. Her white eyes were closed as she flipped the switch and listened intently to the garbled voice chattering incessantly beside her, and then beginning to type on the small object which held only seven rectangular buttons. How on Earth did this child ever make words appear on such an obsolete looking thing as this?

“Was it hard to get her out of bed this morning, Codie?” A friend of the elder sister asked, as she slapped her back in greeting.

“She’s not hard to get out of bed, usually. She was up till three this morning, writing her books.” Codie told her friend, missing completely the way the friend openly mocked her younger sister.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of Maria, Codie. She’s a big girl, and she still smells bad. Someone just ought to kick her ass and show her she can’t keep getting away with all the things she does. Doesn’t your dad ever punish her?” The friend asked as she glared malevolently at the younger girl seated at the opposite table.

“She’s always in trouble. Maria’s really not bad, she’s just different than us.” Codie told her friend defensively as she looked lovingly at the younger sister she worked so hard to raise.

“She’s a freak, Codie! You shouldn’t be forced to play Mommy to your youngest sister like you do. It was the same way with your older sisters, and that’s not fair. I saw how you always looked after everyone when you lived with your mother. Your Dad really shouldn’t make you look after Maria like you do.” The friend said as she glared still more dangerously at Maria’s bent figure.

“Don’t call her a freak. She’s blind, but not a freak.” Codie snapped as she pulled from her own backpack the work she’d yet to finish before math.

From the opposite table, Maria raised her head slightly and discreetly flipped the switch to her small Braille object. Her eyes blazed with unshed tears as she looked through the corners of her eyes to the elder sister she loved so very much. Life had never been good to Codie, and Maria had always felt bad for her. Now she had the stigma Maria had placed upon her sister, all because she was blind. She only hoped she wouldn’t lose control again, and show what a freak she really was.

Her eyes had been growing steadily wetter as she’d watched Codie trying her hardest to defend her younger sister, but Maria had known the truth all along. Codie had raised her sister up as best she could, but even at her best Maria had known the truth of what the others said about her when they didn’t think she was listening. Maria really was a freak, and if they knew just how big of one she really was, they’d lock her away forever and do experiments on her. What other kind of girl had dangerous affects on any and all things electrical when she was angry?

““Take a bath, Freak!” One of Codie’s other friends sneered as she slapped Maria’s slender back with a painful fist.

Maria kept her head bowed low, discreetly wiping the tears from her eyes. She knew it hadn’t been long since her last bath, though she understood why everyone hated her so very much. How many times had she come to after a wonderously long absence into the worlds of the characters in her novels both read and written, to find herself dirty and greasy? How many times had she wondered how long it had been since her last bath?

“Leave her alone, April. She took one last night.” Codie defended her sister,

“She only took one because you probably threw her in. God, what a ferak!” April said angrily, punching Maria in the top of her spine.

A tear escaped Maria’s eye, but the bell rang as though cued to keep it a secret from the world. Maria softly thanked the bell for its shroud, then packed her small Braille object away and hurried into the classroom. If she didn’t hurry back to the middle room where her computer, pocket dictionary and other small books were held, Mr. Paulsen would be angry at her. It seemed to her that since she’d had her things placed into that small room, none of the teachers wanted her in the main classrooms.

In the small room two minutes later, Maria pulled a small wooden board, covered on top with a rubbery surface and laid a thick plastic sheet of paper perfectly atop of it. Securing it down with the two knobs that twisted to tighten two small metal clamps, Maria lifted the pen from the top of the large wooden table she usually spent her day working at. A picture seemed to form beneath her fingers, tactile and clear, of a young Indian man with long hair and a long face like her own. His fingers were closed about something long and round, representing a sort of staff Maria had always wanted. A staff which kept his gift from mastering him, and doing harm to others.

“What are you drawing, Ms. Rogers?” A curious voice asked from just beind her.

“Oh, Mrs. Jacobs!” Maria spluttered as she hurried to hide her picture.

“Let me look?” Mrs. Jacobs asked, her youthful face shining as she looked over Maria’s shoulder.

Slowly Maria lifted the picture from the place she’d been attempting to shove it, and handed the flat wooden board to her teacher. Mrs. Jacobs would laugh at her now, just like everyone else did. She’d never do so on the outside, she was too good and kind for that. It was the inner laugh she found most hurtful about people though, and Mrs. Jacobs would hurt her without meaning to.

“It’s really very good, Maria. You’re learning well!” Mrs. Jacobs told her, surprising Maria by the sincerity in which she spoke.

“You really think so?” Maria asked hopefully, as the board seemed to levitate a little.

“I know so. Now, let’s get to work. If we don’t start showing true results, I won’t be able to work with you any longer.” Mrs. Jacobs told her, as Maria’s face fell.

Maria had to do better, she knew that. A’s were good, but she seemed to be receiving more B’s than A’s in classes this term. If her grades weren’t perfect, she’d lose Mrs. Jacobs forever. This was the only teacher in this school Maria really loved, and the only friend besides the two she sat with at lunch she’d ever had here. How she longed to do better, if only to keep Mrs. Jacobs for her own.

The house was an unforgiving place, with its high ceiling and echoes in the night. The basement in which Jane Montgomery spent most of her life was cold and dark, with little friendliness in the lonely atmosphere. Her only company was the Persian cat Meeks, who only came about every now and then.

With jade green eyes, a round face and short brown hair, Jane had never considered herself the true master of her body. She was always being told how overweight she was by her obsessive parents, and primped like some form of porcelain dolly her mother liked to play with. How she hated to be treated like a breakable little toy, all because she could sing. At times, Jane hated her voice, and all the times her parents would make her sing when there wasn’t a thing in the world to sing about. To Jane, the world was an unhappy and unforgiving place for a girl who didn’t belong.

Standing from her desk, Jane’s head seemed to explode with pain. She’d knocked her head against the cabinet once again, causing perhaps the fifth brooze on her forehead that day. She was always doing clumsy things like that, no matter how hard she tried to be graceful like her mother and father wanted her to be.

“You really should work harder not to beat yourself up all the time, Janey. It’s really unbecoming to look as though you’ve got no sense of direction. What would people think?” Her mother asked as she entered the room.

I don’t know, mother. Perhaps they’d think I was human, rather than an alien who gets no broozes even though I have no sense of direction? Jane thought bitterly to herself as she nursed her aching head. There would be no aspirin or adville for her headache, only the tugging of her mother’s arranging her hair and the pasty feeling she got when makeup was applied to her fair face. Jane hated makeup, almost as much as she hated the curly little ringlets her mother thought made her look “oh so sweet!”.

“We’re running late. We’ve got to hurry and get you presentable for the Mayor. Come to my dressing table and we’ll get started.” Julie Montgomery commanded as she dragged her fifteen year old daughter upstairs by her large hand.

Jane followed her mother, feeling she had no other choice as she sat uncomfortably on the seat fo her mother’s dressing table. Her head ached too much for her to slip into the familiar dreamworld that kept her busy throughout her school days, and she knew it would only grow worse with the tugging and merciless pulling of her hair by her mother’s rough hands. How had her mother learned such cruelty when it came to looks? Why could she not be gentle like the mothers Jane dreamed of?

“Now, you’d better sing something advanced tonight. Intermediate won’t work for the Mayor, and we have to give him what he wants. Janey, stay still!” Her mother scolded as Jane’s head jerked with one strong pull of her mother’s hands through her thick short hair.

“That hurts! And what do you mean by intermediate? I wanted to sing something from Fantom of the Opera.” Jane told her mother in her soft voice, as she clutched her forehead.

“That seems fine to me. I just don’t want you singing something that might look bad on us.” Julie told her daughter as she thrust a comb through her daughter’s hair.

Jane did not look toward her mother, as her mind blazed with the possibilities. In her home, it would be all right to sing just as she wished. The only drawback? She wasn’t to sing anything about one wishing to be free in any sort of way to be with their love. This always drove Julie into tirades Jane wished to avoid.

The brush pulled heavily upon her short hair, and Jane resented the touch as she tried to hold her face. As the makeup had recently been applied to her skin, Juliebatted her hands away. Jane was frustrated now, as she touched her overly large hands. She looked like a freak, and her mother didn’t even care! Didn’t anyone at all notice how different she was inside?

“I do, Abraham. I know what it is to be a freak.” A small voice said inside Jane’s head, causing the girl to jump in fright and surprise.

The pulling of the brush meant little to her now, as she concentrated on that small voice. It was as though she’d heard it speaking into just her left ear, but she couldn’t be sure as she felt the brush tingling against her aching scalp. How ahd that voice known that which she kept hidden from even her closest friends?

Many years had passed since Jane had openly wished to be a boy. Many years during which Jane’s parents had threatened Hell would drop her into its fires if she pursued this awful sin. Many years did she try to suppress this desire to be a man and not a woman, all the time fighting everything inside herself to keep her thoughts and feelings as feminine as she could. How had this voice dug into her deepest thoughts and desires?

“Are you paying attention, Jane? I was telling you something important about tonight!” Julie scolded as she tugged extra hard at her daughter’s hair.

“What? Oh!” Jane cried, pretending she had heard her mother’s talk.

“Jane, don’t forget about your stage presence. People with sight are different. They like to see your face, so stand up straight and be sure to articulate.” Julie ordered, as though Jane had never sung before.

Barely able to contain her tears at the constant tug of the hair and eye pokes the brush made when Julie lost control of it, Jane endured the next fifty minutes of her mother’s agonizing care before she was finally allowed to slip away for some hot tea and a relaxing moment alone. She longed for these times each time her mother worked to make her look beautiful in Julie’s standards, but at last it was finally over and Jane could be alone. She could be alone for just ten to fifteen minutes, and she could be Abraham, just like she always did in her most secret of lives.

“Hello? Can you hear me? Voice?” Jane asked once she had finally slipped to her room.

No voice answered her, and for a moment Jane felt her heart sink with disappointment. Twice the voice had come to her, and twice she hadn’t been able to answer back. Perhaps it was just a memory of someone she didn’t remember? Perhaps, thought Jane hopefully, it was her birth mother trying to communicate in some manner?

The lights were bright downstairs, as Kursten sat alone on her bed. The door had been locked all night while her eldest brother Collin looked after her, but an hour ago he’d gone to play ball in the park with his friend and left her alone in the house. Kursten didn’t mind most of the time, but tonight she could hear the neighbors fighting again, And twice she thought she could hear someone striking the other. Now she was frightened, and Collin wouldn’t be back for hours!

A small rumble within the very pit of her stomach brought Kursten to the awareness of her empty stomach. There was no food in the house, and she felt her ribs each time she lay on the bed at night. How long had it been since her last meal? How long had it been since Collin or her mother cooked her something to eat?

Frightened half out of her mind, Kursten stood and made her way down the stairs. Her fluffy white kitten Tom waited for her just at the bottom, and she picked him up as she walked into the disasterous kitchen. Garbage littered the floor and surfaces about the house, as well as dishes both moldy and crusty. Kursten felt her stomach lurch dangerously at the smell of the filth that was her home. Why did nobody clean it up?

“Why don’t ye move out of the way, Lass?” A voice asked from justinside her head.

“Go away. I don’t want to talk to you!” Kursten told the voice for the hundred thousandth time as she tripped over the ball Collin had left lying around.

“Will ye be wantin’ to eat or not?” The voice asked, sounding offended as it tried to persuade her.

Kursten couldn’t argue with the voice. She was too weak to make a stand right this moment, and soon felt herself sliding sideways as something large seemed to squeeze into her body. Her breath caught a moment, then came in slow and even puffs as it moved of its own accord toward the messy cupboard.

“I hate you. Do you know that?” She asked in a voice that failed to reach her lips.

“But ye love it when I cook yer suppers and make yer bed.” The voice of the man replied, sounding unnaturally high as it passed through her lips.

Kursten couldn’t fight with him now, so she allowed herself to relax as her bone weary body worked to prepare a sandwich. She’d never know where the fixings had come from, but the sandwich seemed to hit the spot as she ate hungrily into it. She’d have to thank the man who kept helping her someday, but now wasn’t the time. Now, she wanted him to go far away and leave her alone.

“Won’t ye be thankin’ me?” The voice asked, using her lips again as it pronounced its words.

Something hard flew through the air, smacking Kursten’s head smartly as she sat ready to finally fight with the voice. From her lap Tom cringed against her, and Kursten knew by the angry footfalls where the source of her pain had come from. For once in his pathetic life, Collin had returned home early with his friend Brian.

“Your sister was talking to herself again! My God!” Brian said angrily as she heard him plop heavily upon the sofa.

“Don’t pay any attention to her, Brian. She’s only a freak, anyway.” Collin told his friend as he threw a heavy cup toward Kursten.

“I’m not a freak! Don’t call me a freak!” Kursten told them angrily, defending what little pride she had as she stood to leave the room.

“You are, and always will be a freak. Only freaks talk to themselves.” Collin agreed with his friend as Kursten felt a carrot land hard against her head.

Thoroughly disgusted, Kursten left the room and walked up the stairs to her bedroom. Closing the door behind her she sat upon her bed, lonely once again as she listened to the radio. A particularly sad song played, and Kursten allowed the tears to fall as she listened and nodded her head at the thoughts she had been thinking.

Collin and Brian were right. Kursten was a freak, and would always be a freak. If only she could rise above it as so many other women probably did, when they felt their lives had been unkind to them. How sure Kursten was that there must be others who felt like freaks. No way could she be the only one.

From downstairs, the slamming of the front door caught her attention. Her father had returned from the bar at last, and she knew what that meant. He’d fight with another one of his girlfriends and they’d scream for hours. If the fighting centered around her again as it seemed to do more often now than before, they’d wake her and yell at her for hours until they finally tired themselves out.

“Oh God, please don’t let them come up here? Don’t let them find me? Not tonight?” Kursten prayed, though she knew her prayers were in vain.

The pounding of feet upon the stairs brought shivers to Kursten, and she knew her prayers had not been heard Her father was on his way up now, and from the way he yelled for her, she knew she was about to be in terrible trouble. If the slamming of her opening bedroom door was any indication, she was about to have the holy living Hell beat out of her.