When Sondra drove up to the house and parked, she could see that the living room lights were still on. It was after midnight. Val was either drunk or asleep in her recliner—or both.
Sondra unlocked the front door and walked in. “I hope you didn’t wait up for me.”
“Nope. Just watching Leave It to Beaver,” slurred Val.
Sondra glanced at the TV screen to confirm what she thought her mother had said. She hurried to her bedroom, quickly packed her suitcase, grabbed her acoustic guitar and headed back through the living room on her way to the front door.
“June Cleaver never had problems with her daughter.”
“Val, the Cleavers didn’t have any daughters. They just had Wally and The Beaver.”
“They were lucky.”
Sondra didn’t have time for this. She was not going to let her mother drag her into the tired old argument about what kind of a person her daughter had grown up to be. She opened the door and carried her suitcase and guitar to her car, and loaded them into the trunk. She planned to drive far away and never come back. But as she opened her car door and started to get in, she realized she would never see her mother again. And she just couldn’t stand to leave without at least saying goodbye.
When Sondra opened the front door to walk back inside, she saw Val hanging up the phone.
“Who were you talking to at this hour?” She had already closed the door behind her when she saw the gun.
Val picked up the pistol from her lap and pointed it at her daughter. “I can’t let you leave town.”
“Val, put that thing down. You’re drunk.”
“I called 9-1-1.”
“Why—to tell them you’re drunk and you’re playing around with a gun?”
“Don’t get smart with me, Young Lady. I called to tell them you killed that boy.”
“What? Are you out of your mind?” Sondra regretted that she hadn’t strangled the old woman when she had the chance. “I told you I didn’t kill him! You’re just crazy. You think the police are gonna believe a crazy old woman?”
Val ignored her daughter’s remarks. “Of course, I know it’s my fault you turned out like this.”
“Turned out like what? I don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t make any sense when you’re drunk, Val.”
“It all started that night when Buster killed your dog.”
“I don’t want to talk about that. Just put the gun down—please.”
“Well, that’s not really true. I guess it started the first time he beat you. He came home drunk—like he always did on Friday nights, and stepped on one of your toys in the living room and twisted his ankle. He was always telling you to pick up your toys. So, he got mad and yanked you out of bed and whipped you black and blue with his belt. I don’t think he meant to hit you with the buckle. He probably didn’t even know he was holding it by the wrong end. And to this day, every time you look in the mirror and see that scar over your right eye, it must remind you of that night.”
“I never even think about that. Now, put down the gun.”
“And that wasn’t the last time he beat you. But then—when he killed your dog… what was that little dog’s name? Muttly. Yeah, that’s it.”
“Stop.” Sondra stepped toward Val, hoping she could snatch the pistol out of her hand.
Val raised the gun higher. “Get back!”
Sondra slowly moved back to where she had been standing.
“Yeah. You had gone off to school without feeding Muttly, and when your father came home that night you were at a friend’s house. That little dog was barking like crazy by the time he got home.”
“Why didn’t you feed him?”
“I wanted you to learn a lesson. It was your job. And I knew Buster would get mad and chew you out for it.”
“Thanks,” said Sondra, with rancorous sarcasm.
“Yeah. I’ve always felt guilty about that.” She paused. “But it was what happened the next night that ruined you for life.”
“It didn’t ruin me. I wanted him dead.”
“I know you did. And I was afraid of what you would do,” said Val, beginning to sober up just a bit.
“It felt so good when I saw him sprawled out on the sidewalk with his head busted open.”
“But it was wrong. He was a mean drunk—but he didn’t deserve to die.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Well, maybe he did. But now that I’ve seen what it did to you—it just wasn’t worth it. You’ve never been the same.”
“Hey, I learned how to stand up for myself that night. I knew from then on I would never let anybody push me around.”
“It’s my fault. And don’t think I haven’t lived with the guilt all these years.”
“Why should you feel guilty? He beat you too.”
Val looked surprised. “I didn’t think you… “
“Of course I knew. How could I not know? Is that why you never screamed? Because you didn’t want me to hear?”
Val stared at her in disbelief.
“I could hear you whimpering for hours afterwards—while he was snoring. The next day, he’d act like nothing happened. And so would you. But I knew.”
“I taught you a lesson alright. But it was the wrong lesson.”
“After that night everything was fine.”
“How can you say that, Sondra? He died. And I’ve never been able to forgive myself. That night is what made you the way you are.”
“I don’t know.” Sondra looked away.
“It should never have happened. I should have left him before it got so bad.”
“Yes, you should have. But you didn’t. And it’s just as well. If we had left him he would have found some other woman to beat up, and maybe she would have had a young daughter too. It was better to stop him before he hurt somebody else.”
“I knew you were so mad at him for killing Muttly. You cried all night. And you wouldn’t come out of your room the next day. I was afraid you’d try to kill him. But by the time he got home, I thought you were already asleep. I had no idea you were watching through the window.”
“Watching and enjoying.”
“Don’t say that. I didn’t want to do it. You make it sound like it was fun.”
“It was fun. It was the most fun I’d ever had. I saw you squatting down on the porch in the shadows. You knew he’d be too drunk to notice you there. Then, when he came walking up the stairs, right as he put his foot on the top step you jumped up and pushed him backward. And you must have pushed hard—because he fell back fast. It was the most beautiful thing in the world. I’ve played it over and over again in slow motion. His arms were flailing—there was nothing to grab onto. His back hit the sidewalk first. He might have been paralyzed if he had lived. Then his big old fat head hit the pavement like a deflated volleyball. I can still see the blood oozing out all over the sidewalk. If you look real close you can still see the red stain.”
“I’ve tried to get it all up. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve scrubbed that sidewalk with bleach.”
“It’s still there. It’ll always be there.”
“And that’s what did it. That’s what turned you bad. It was my fault. But I didn’t know you were watching. I tried to make it look like an accident.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry, Sondra. But it has to stop now. I can’t sit by and let you kill anybody else. The police should be here any minute.”
“So, if I tried to walk out of here right now, you’d shoot me? We’ll I don’t believe it. You don’t have the nerve to pull that trigger.”
Car brakes squeaked in front of the house.
“That would be the police,” said Val. “And, for the record, I never intended to shoot you.” She put the barrel in her mouth.
“No!” Sondra ran to stop her. But it was too late. “Why, Val?” She studied her mother’s lifeless body. Her eyes began to well up. Unexpected emotions washed over her. She would not give in to them. In her mind, she wasn’t crying as long as the tears stayed in her eyes. But then they began to roll down her face. Finally, they gushed. “Why, Mom? I loved you. I hated you… but I still loved.”
Then Sondra remembered the police. They would be knocking at any moment—then breaking down the door. What would she do? She couldn’t get away in her car. She went to the window and peeped through the curtains.
There were no police cars. The squeaking brakes must have been some neighborhood car at the stop sign. Had Val really even called the police?
Sondra was not going to stick around to find out. She ran out the door, jumped into her car and drove away.