XXThe Hiss Quarterly || Volume IV, Issue 3

I opened my finger with the pin on the brooch that Grandma had given me and squeezed, watching the red drip down, filling the wrinkles of my fingerprint, then knuckle. I was behaving--not making a noise or a mess or doing something to disturb Mother.

But she came in like she usually did and came over to my bed. I don't know if she even saw my finger, the blood or the brooch but she said, "What did I tell you" and followed through with a slap. She turned and left. I thought she would have at least kicked me, but she didn't.

I noticed that my finger had stopped bleeding; it was dry and maroon, like Brick Red Crayolas. So I decided to color. I colored. When I was done, I took my picture down to show Mother. She hung it on the refrigerator and asked me to set the table. I did and I heard the dog crying outside so I went to the door to let him in. I thought Mother might yell but she told me thanks instead.

She was cooking ham which was her favorite thing to cook. I sat down at the table and played with the salt and pepper shakers.

"Don't play with the salt and pepper shakers," she said.

I stopped playing with the salt and pepper shakers and said, "I have a spelling test tomorrow. If I get all the words right, I get an ice cream sandwich. The words are long.”

"I can't hear you," she said.

"I have a spelling test tomorrow," I said loudly.

"I can't hear you," she said.

I said, "Okay" and went upstairs. I didn't eat dinner later because I wasn't hungry.

Mother wanted me to press my dress for school tomorrow and since I was already ironing, could I please do her blouse, father's trousers, my skirt and the good tablecloth? I did. Mother came in and asked me how much heat I liked. She put my little finger on the iron but I had it already unplugged. It wasn't very hot. Still it made a blister which I popped with the pin on the brooch that Grandma had given me. I hope I don't get an infection.

I had an infection once. I got it from the cut on my leg. I got the cut on my leg from when Mother pushed me down the stairs. Doctor Levenstein said many mothers hit their children. It's called discipline.

God, it made me mad when Doctor Levenstein said that. It also makes me mad when I see Father discipline Mother. She sometimes bleeds and I think that she must hurt but she doesn't cry.

I went to bed at nine-thirty. Mother came up and kissed me good night. "Sleep well so you can be rested for your math test tomorrow," she told me.

"It's a spelling test," I said.

"I can't hear you," she said and left the room.

I practiced spelling to myself. I spelled words in my head. I wrote them on a pretend blackboard and erased them. Then I fell asleep.

I woke up and Mother brought me orange juice. I drank it and said thank you. I got ready. It was raining out, so I was going to ask Mothe for a ride but I knew she wouldn't hear me, so I walked to school.

We took our spelling test and I missed one word. It was ambulance.

I got home from school at four. I was mad about something that had happened on the playground so I pulled the head off my doll and put it in my mouth and chewed on it. It was only a Barbie. I went into the kitchen. Mother was looking at the newspaper and smiling. I asked her, "Can you hear me?"

"Of course, silly," she said and messed with my hair. "Sit down and have a piece of bread while I read to you." She tipped the paper so I could see the pictures.

"Nancy says to Sluggo, 'Look at the sun, Sluggo. See how it is ascending.' And Sluggo says, 'I'd hate to be the mailman to deliver that.'" Mother put down the paper. She said, "That's dumb."

"I thought it was funny," I said. "What does ascending mean?"

"Shut up, you," she hissed. "Who cares what it means? You don't need to know. And how did you do on your spelling test?"

"I only missed one."

"Which one?"

"Ambulance."

"Well, I'll tell you what we're going to do about that." She stood up from the table and grabbed onto my hair. "You have to know how to spell ambulance. Everyone knows how to spell that word. Everyone but you." She pulled me by my hair to the door and pushed me outside. I waited on the step.

In a few minutes she came back to the door. She put some coins into my hand. "You take the trolley to the hospital and don't come back until you know it."

I ran and got on the trolley. I got off at Ford Avenue and walked down by the hospital. I sat by a bush outside of emergency and saw the ambulance. A-M-B-U-L-A-N-C-E. I closed my eyes and tried to remember it. Over and over again I spelled it. Over and over again until I knew it by heart.

I took the trolley home.

"Well?" Mother said when she greeted me on the step.

"A-M-B-U-L-A-N-C-E."

"Good girl," she said as she pulled me through the door into her open arms. "Now go rest before dinner."

I went upstairs and lay on my bed. In my head I saw the word ambulance. I could not make the word go away.

I ate all my dinner. I ate two helping of mashed potatoes. I love mashed potatoes.

"You sure love those mashed potatoes. I need more potatoes. I need a lot of things," Mother announced.

"You need a kick in the head," Father said.

"I need to go to the store after dinner," she said.

"I'll go for you," I offered.

"No, you're too tired. You can rest on the Winslows' porch while I'm gone." I was happy to hear that. I helped Mother with the dishes.

Mother walked me next door. She pinched my arm to a black-and-blue and told me to be good and not embarrass her. She said, "I'll be on my way now. Go knock on their door and tell them you're here. Don't go in their house. They don't want your filth in their house."

I walked up their front steps and she walked off. I rang their doorbell. Lucy came to the door and opened it. She said, "Come on in."

"No," I told her. "If you don't mind, I'd rather swing on your porch."

"Sure," she said and came out and swung with me.

"What grade are you in?" she asked.

"Second. What grade are you in?"

"Twelfth."

"That's ten more than me," I said.

"Hey, that's pretty good," she said. "I don't remember if I could even add two and two in second grade."

"I can spell ambulance. A-M-B-U-L-A-N-C-E," I spelled.

She said, "That's pretty impressive."

I asked her, "What does ascending mean?"

She said, "To go up. Can you spell that, too?"

"Everyone knows how to spell that word," I lied. I felt mad all of a sudden. "I want to be alone," I said.

"You sure?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Okay, I'm going inside," she said and she did.

I looked up into the sky. It was almost black. I could hear a siren far away and the Winslows' television. I could hear people talking and saying words I do not know and cannot spell.

I looked up into the black sky. There were no words in the sky. Only stars and one moon. I thought to myself, I'd like to live in the sky. I swung back and forth on my swing, a little wind moved past my ears as I swung, looking up into the sky where I wanted to live.

My mother came up on the sidewalk and told me to come home and I thought to myself, I can't hear her.