Cleveland/Upstate NY Female - 21 Years Old | Ok, so, I've finally finished a draft of the above story. What does everyone think?
Quote:
London Calling
Waves of terror shook through her body each night as the door creaked open and the nylon windbreaker swooped like a feather to the ground falling limply on the dingy floorboards. Joanna closed her eyes tighter as the work boots skipped across the floor. The sound of metal hitting the nightstand pierced her ears and she knew it was coming. She tried to quell her breathing and stop her heart from beating. If he thought she was dead, maybe tonight would be different. It wasn’t. His tiny frame straddled her thicker one, kissing her neck. Never her lips. She could never bring herself to face him, to look into his beady eyeballs, and he never forced her. Perhaps he realized it was the least he could do. Kissing was meant for people in love.
When she awoke in the morning, to see the sunlight pouring in from the lopsided window she always hoped it was just a dream. But when she saw her mother in a full face of makeup at the stove, making breakfast, she knew it wasn’t. Hints of the bruising were still visible. When the sleeve of her nightgown fell as she reached up to the cabinet, her arms were covered in welts. She quickly grabbed a cup and pulled down her sleeve. He sat mindlessly eating bacon, and she just kept making it for him. Batch after batch. Joanna thought her mother was stuck in a trap, refusing to believe that her husband was anything but the gallant duke who plucked her and her daughter from the shelter and into a home with as many rooms as people. Joanna knew her mom ignored the sounds coming from her room at night, not because she didn’t care, but because she couldn’t deal. If her mother admitted to herself that there was a problem, she would have to deal, but she was powerless. Joanna found it less easy to ignore the welts on her mothers arm.
Joanna chugged a glass or orange juice, readied herself for school, lightly kissed her mother on the cheek and stared blankly past the thin frame. With the rumble of the approaching school bus she felt a new life. School was safe. At school, she participated in class discussions actively, and joined as many clubs as she could. The longer she could stay at school, the better. In the fall, she played soccer, in the winter volleyball and in the summer, she had joined the golf team. She was the President of her middle school’s Student Government. As President, she dictated that meetings should be held after sports practice; students should be able to participate in both athletics and leaderships without having to worry about time conflicts. The position won her a certain level of popularity and easy re-election. She had also initiated a number of charity projects and ‘leadership retreats’ on weekends; as much for herself as for the good of those in her community.
When the school finally closed its doors each night, she went to the library to finish her homework. She couldn’t get anything accomplished at home. With any creak of a door or the shuffle of footsteps her heart would race and her breath left her, as though she had been were running from a monster. In a sense, she was. Additionally, Joanna didn’t have a desk at home, and was afraid to work at the kitchen table. A number of things could go wrong. Her mother was often in there cooking, and the sight proved distracting. Each glance at her mothers battered face or arms brought with it a shiver or terror and pity. The thin fame could walk in and slip. He could run his fingers across Joanna’s back, put his hands on her side. Joanna knew her mother didn’t have the mental stability to fight that battle. She would have to stop being in denial.
When she first started visiting the library, she would only stay as long as it took her to finish everything. Soon, she began checking over her homework, making sure everything was correct. A few months later, she decided to first do her homework on a separate sheet of paper and later re-write it. Writing things helped her learn. Or at least that is why she told herself she was so scrupulous with her homework. Still, her grades shot through the roof. As a kid, she was never that smart. She never stood out in any way really. She was shy, of average looks and intelligence. But now everyone knew her, and everyone liked her. She still held some baby fat, but, she had a perfect button nose, and her hair actually got lighter as she aged, now a shiny strawberry blonde. Her eyes were a piercing icy blue, that she often wished could bore though the thin frame until he was no more.
She had a lot of friends. But, she wouldn’t call herself popular. She knew the popular people, of course, and they liked her. But, she had friends from all of the groups - the preps, the jocks, the nerds. She was so involved; it was hard not to have something in common with almost everyone. Even many of the teachers wanted to be her friend. Although they saw a teen, she could converse on the level of an adult. The teachers were impressed by her diligence, and she consistently had the highest grades in class.
One night, Joanna had stayed at a friend’s house long past the time she normally returned from the library. It had brought out his violent side. Instead of kissing her neck, he grabbed it, crushing out all the air until Joanna’s pale skin matched her eyes. Why was she home so late? Was she avoiding him? How dare she? He fed her, gave her a room to call her own. That night, he forced himself upon her twice, and Joanna wanted more than ever to call out for her mother. Someone. Anyone.
The next day in school a student messenger interrupted Joanna’s English class, noting that the principal wanted to see Joanna Belkin. The class howled out a collective “ohhhhh” although they knew she couldn’t be in trouble, it was fun to pretend. Joanna stood red faced to leave with the messenger. She wondered what on earth she could have done wrong. Did they find out about her stepfather? Were they coming to take her away? Were they answering her prayers from last night? She didn’t know if she wanted that. She did. But, she didn’t. She walked hesitantly into the principal’s office.
“Welcome Joanna, Please, come in. Take a seat.” The principal smiled.
The office was large, but bare. A singular bamboo tree sat against the far wall. The tree along was at leas the size of her old bed at the shelter. The open space put her at ease.
Joanna sat in the plush leather seat and the principal continued, “As you may or may not know, each year the Chillington School, in London, awards our top student with a 4 year scholarship.”
The principal studied Joanna waiting for a reaction. When none came she spoke again “This year,” her smile broadened, “that student is you.”
Joanna found it difficult to speak. Her apprehension gave way to joy at the real possibility of never having to go home again. Finally, she exhaled and allowed a slight grin to creep onto her face, growing wider with every passing second, until she couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.
“It’s a truly wonderful school, with a world wide reputation. If you graduate from there with decent marks, the doors to almost any college in the world will be wide open to you. Plus, you’ll just love London! Second only to New York City.” She lowered her voice a bit in telling a mock secret “Although, in my opinion the accents put them over the top.”
The principal handed Joanna a packet of information. She told her that she would have to finish out the year here, of course, but could begin ‘college’ (as they called it in London), abroad. All she would have to pay for were her flights to and from home.
Joanna considered responding that she never wanted to go home. But she still realized that paying for the initial flight could be a problem. She said tentatively “I don’t know that my family could afford a flight to London. What can I do if they don’t pay for it?”
“I…. I don’t know. We’ve never had a student with this situation before, and legally, the school cannot pay for your flight. Maybe we can hold a fundraiser or something,” offered the principal.
Joanna considered, but rejected the offer. She didn’t want people to think she was in need of charity. Instead, she asked her mother to make slightly larger quantities of bacon the next morning and brought some to school. When the greasy aroma filled the classroom, it seemed as though each student had asked her a piece. She agreed to give them one… for 50 cents. Soon Joanna had expanded her business, using some of the profits to buy pancake batter. Her mother, as a zombie of cooking, was happy to make them for her while Joanna got ready each morning. A pancake with a dab of syrup went for $1. Soon, she had enough money for the flight.
The only problem was that the airline required a credit card, and Joanna did not have one, nor could she ask to use her mothers. She was not going to tell anyone she was going, until she got there, lest they try to stop her. She started at the librarian until the librarian came over and asked if she needed anything. She explained her situation and handed the librarian a wad of cash. In exchange, the librarian handed her a credit card.
After the thin frame had left her room that September night, Joanna quietly got out of bed and plucked on clothing. She greased the lopsided window, to prevent the creaking and threw her belongings and then herself outside. A few hours later, the city rushed at her, dizzying amounts of lights and people forcefully headed towards their destinations. The Chillington School did not have a campus; instead it was part of the city, prominently lining Piccadilly Circus. Her dorm room was spacious, although she shared it with another student whose belongs were there, but was nowhere to be seen. Joanna spread her arms and flopped dramatically onto her new bed. Her outstretched legs and hands hit nothing and a grin spread across her face. She walked back and forth across the room, counting the steps. 25 walking from left to right. 26 walking from the back wall to the door. As she was taking her 26th step, her new roommate walked in.
The roommate had dark brown hair and wore a button down oxford, flats and a headband. She seemed surprised to see Joanna there. “You must be Joanna! I’m Cindy. It’s so lovely to meet you. You’re the American, correct?”
In this new environment, caught in her embarrassing act, Joanna’s confidence left her, and she felt once again trapped under the thin frame. “Uhm, yes, yes I am. It’s uhm, lovely to meet you as well. I was just heading to the bathroom. Would you know where it is?”
“A few things you should learn about England. We call the bath-rum, the loo. But follow me. You must be just exhausted from your trip. I visited New York a few months ago, my father took me on his business trip. He said that everyone should see New York at some point. But I got there and all I wanted to do was sleep. I didn’t get a wink of rest on the plane, even in first class; the chairs are just so uncomfortable!”
“I couldn’t sleep either.”
That night as Joanna readied herself for sleep, her mind raced. For once, not because of what was imminent, but because of what wasn’t. It would be hard to jump across an ocean. She thought about what it would be like to spend time in her new room, not staying out as late as possible, not waking to the smell of bacon. She tried to take comfort in all this, but found herself awake well into the small hours of the morning, tossing and turning, breathing loudly.
Her roommate stirred. “Are you okay hun? I know being in a new place can be scary. I’m scared, and I grew up in Luhn-don! But it’s ok, I’m here for you. And everything will be just fine. Try to get some rest. Orientation starts tomorrow you know, and we need to make some new mates.”
Joanna tried to empty her mind as she eventually drifted to sleep. Throughout the night she had visions. The windbreaker rustling. The ring slamming against the nightstand. Long hours in the dim and sterile surroundings of the library. Her new room, spacious and distant. The thoughts swirled and whirled as though being spun through a mixer. She woke up feeling like she had never fallen asleep at all. She had escaped, but really, she hadn’t. Her mothers’ image was with her everywhere. In the loo, as she now called it, the tube, in class, and during walks in Regent Park. She saw her mothers’ image reflected dully on her homework, and a hologram standing behind the stove whenever she peeked into the kitchen behind the counter in the dining hall. She couldn’t help but feel guilty that she hadn’t gotten her mother out. There was no way she could have. Her mother wouldn’t have left, and was confused when she found out Joanna had. Joanna didn’t know for sure, but she imagined that things had only gotten worse for her mother since she left. More bruises, more bacon. She didn’t know how to help. She didn’t know if her mother wanted help. But she felt obliged to give it to her anyway.
In the forthcoming days, weeks and months, Joanna tried her best to fit in, and act as if she weren’t being haunted. She talked to new people, explored London and worked hard in her classes. As a force of habit, she continued to spend long hours in the library, and also joined as many clubs as the school had to offer. Some were harder to infiltrate than others. The student government was apparently a popularity contest, and although she was known as “The American girl” and an intriguing presence, was not yet popular.
Still, 4 years later, she had once again succeeded at becoming the top student in her class. And she eventually won the student government presidency, by knowing people from across the school through different organizations. All the while, she wracked her mind for ways to get her mother to leave. She talked to her mother on the phone, once a week without fail. It was comforting to talk to her mother. Each moment they were on the phone, she knew he wouldn’t harm her. Sadly, once a week was all she could afford – even with her part time job.
Upon graduation, she had been told that she could get into any college she wanted. Oxbridge or Harvard/Yale. Why didn’t anyone combine those names? Hale? She liked it, and stuck with it. Her classmates began using the term as well. Still, she had no intentions of attending Hale. Joanna had finally thought of a plan. Since her first days at Chillington she had wrought her brain for a way to get her mother out. Each plan had a new hitch. But this plan was perfect. Foolproof. She had thought of every contingency. No matter what, she would never see her mother with layers of makeup in the morning again. She sat for a while, pleased with herself for finally figuring it out.
Before she left for the American consulate, she decided to call her mom. She had not yet called this week, and she needed to hear her mother’s voice. She needed to remind herself why she was doing this. She pulled her calling card out from under her pillow and headed to the phone booth downstairs. She entered numbers, and a pin, calling with a phone card was a long process. Finally, it was ringing. But it kept ringing. Two, three, four. It never took this long. Five, six, seven. Her mother was always home. Millions of images implanted themselves in her mind. More and more until her head was so full, the images were coming out her ear and falling to the ground. By the tenth ring Joanna dashed back up to her room, hastily threw her belongings in a suitcase, retrieved her savings from a deep corner of her drawer and hailed a taxi to the airport. She ran to the first ticket counter she saw, and booked a flight back to the states.
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