F Hemmingway - A family saga Volume One

The knowing, wise, old eyes of the school nurse regarded the lovely, auburn-tressed girl who sat across the desk from her. The complaint was a common one; the girl was suffering some faintness with her menstrual period. Ordinarily, Ernestine would have sent the afflicted girl home with instructions for bed rest for the remainder of the day, but she was stopped in mid-reach for the special form excuse she would have to fill out. The girl had just said that she didn't want to go home, asking instead, that she be allowed to stay in the Health Office until the close of school.

"Is there some special reason, Charity, something that would keep you from staying at home…?" the nurse asked.

Charity Scott glanced up into the kindly face, momentarily, then concentrated her gaze on the pen-holder on the desk as an attack of dizziness reminded her of her reason for this visit to the school's Health Office. She didn't know exactly how she should answer Mrs. Keaton's question. It was difficult to put into words; she just knew that it would be best if she did no? Go home. With an effort, she began, "M-My dad's at h-home… he's sick and stayed h-home from w-work… t-today…" she stumbled.

"Is he quite ill?" It was a leading question.

The girl was quiet for a moment, not answering. How should she answer? How can a young girl put it into words?

"Well…" Charity dropped her eyes to the floor, "h-he drinks… quite a lot… a-and…" She stopped then, not wanting to go on.

"… And, what… Charity…?" Ernestine's voice was kind, coaxing.

"I–I just d-don't want t-to go h-home… is all…!"

Ernestine Keaton, school nurse, knew the reason without asking. She had heard it all before, many times, from many girls. She flipped through the Emergency Card file to extract Charity Scott's card signed by both parents. She knew the answer to her question, but she asked, "Is Gabriel Scott your real father?"

Most of the time, Ernestine mused, it was stepfathers who molested the young girls, but she had known of many cases where the girl's real father had had sexual interests in their own, flesh-and-blood daughters. The unnatural, incestuous lust revulsed and disgusted the nurse, but there was little she could do about those situations, most of the time, it was too late. Dear God! Here's another lovely young girl, exposed to heaven only knows what…! A drunken, sex-maniac of a father, no doubt… peeping and pinching… waiting for his chance to… to debase her… ruin her! God! Why isn't there some way we can help… before it's too late? She had to know. She probed a little further.

"Are you afraid… of your father, Charity…?" she asked, "… afraid to be alone with him… afraid he might… do something to you…?"

Charity's face flamed. She looked up in disbelief at the school nurse who had dared to say what she had not even wanted to think.

"That's crazy, Mrs. Keaton… Why sh-should I–I…?" Tears welled into her lovely grey-green eyes, and she looked away, out of the window, across the sprawling campus, quiet now after the change of class.

Empathetically, Ernestine's heart reached out to the girl. She knew for sure, now, and she understood. Softly, she said, "I'm sorry, Charity. Please forgive an old lady for prying… and I do understand… and want to help you… if you need help."

"Wh-What's to h-help, Mrs. Keaton, go ahead and write m-my health excuse… a-and I–I'll go h-home…" she said, forlornly.

"It won't be necessary. I have an extra cot… just go on in the next room, there, lie down and rest. Stay until final dismissal."

Ernestine watched the girl as she left her office and went, obediently, into the separate room where several cots were provided for the girls' use. She sighed, resignedly. Her mind was in a whirl. Dear God! How had Mrs. Keaton known…? How had she guessed…? I didn't tell her…! Daddy's really never… done anything… but… Oh, God… the way he looks at me… sometimes! I know he must be thinking some awful thoughts… about me! Thinking about sex-things… maybe about things he'd like to do to me! Oh, God! It's just horrible… living in our house… with him! But what can I do…? Dear God… What can I do?

And Don knew that Jack Roberts would be there. He was always there, except for the times when he got busted and was hauled off to Juvenile Hall for possession of drugs. Somehow Jack was always clean. The fuzz couldn't pin anything on him, even when they put on the big crunch.

Jack was sitting on a bench at one of the outdoor tables, a stringy-haired blonde sitting next to him, hanging on his every word. He was a heavy dude, for sure, as far as the chicks were concerned. Looking up, he saw Don approaching and said, "Split, baby… here comes a dude looking for a hit… like, you know, bread first, meat later."

Don sat down, giving the mini-skirted chick a long look at her cute, little behind, the skirt barely covering it, as she twitched away to join a knot of girls, giggling about some confidence just exchanged.

"Man… like she comes on strong…" Jack said.

"Must be something else…" Don agreed; then, "You mowing any grass. Today…?"

"How much you need, man…?" Jack's voice toneless.

"Ten roaches…"

"Only ten…?" Jack turned away. "Man, I ain't got the time…"

"It's all I got bread for…" Don was desperate.

"You know how much… put it in the saddle-bag on your hog!" Jack said.

"It's already there!"

"About ten minutes, then," Jack told him. "But I don't know why in hell I should take a chance on being busted for ten lousy roaches? Christ!"

"Shit! I can't buy it by the ounce, yet!" Don flared.

Jack glanced around apprehensively, then glared at Don. "Back off, man! There's liable to be narcs around…!" He turned to leave, but after one step, he came back and went on. "No more, after this, Don, it's got to be by the ounce!"

Don watched him as he mounted his big Japanese motorcycle, kicked it into roaring life and rode away up the broad avenue. Jack, he knew, didn't live in that direction, but then, a big man like Jack wouldn't be foolish enough to keep the stuff at home. Idly, he wondered who Jack was working for, because he was pretty sure the pusher was handling hard stuff, as well as marijuana. He knew the kid was making big bread, and he was envious, but at the same time, he was aware of the risk Jack was taking in furnishing him with the ten roaches he had ordered. The fuzz could bust you for that as easily as for a whole kilo.

Don went to the order window and bought a large Coke and a bag of fries. He was munching them when the girl Jack had been talking to when he arrived came over and sat down next to him. She took a piece of his French Fried potato, put it in her mouth and sucked it in, little by little. He watched in fascination, aware of the symbolism, and his penis jerked upright in his pants.

"You come on strong!" he said. "What's your name…?"

"Marcy," she said, repeating the performance.

"You Jack's chick?"

"In a way… we swing…" she said.

"He's a heavy dude… I don't want him to put the crunch on me!" Don told her. "So… why don't you split… now… unless you got something going…"

"Just being, like, you know… Friendly…"

"Flake off!" Don snapped.

She scribbled a telephone number on a paper napkin and thrust it at him, "Get me on the horn, Don! It might be… like, you know… a real thing…" She was gone.

He remembered seeing her around Perry High School. She was a junior, too, like himself. He watched her walk away and decided he would like to get to know her better. It would be easy if Jack didn't have a prior claim on her. He finished off the fries and drank his Coke. Man! She's on it!