Nine Minutes Read Online Free PDF Page B

long, billowy skirts
with stretchy waistbands. She went barefoot as often as possible. She had dirty
blonde hair parted down the middle that she always wore in two braids that
almost reached her waist.
          She
made sure I was fed and always had clean clothes to wear to school. Well, most
of the time. Wrinkled, but clean. That was the extent of her mothering.
          Our
home was filled with plants hanging in homemade, elaborate macramé hangers.
Scented candles and incense were always burning. Despite working in a health
food store, Delia smoked a pack of cigarettes a day until Vince finally
convinced her to quit. I used to light the candles to cover up the smell. Later
it became a habit I continued long after she quit.
          Vince
drove a beer delivery truck. He had the same job for as long as I can remember.
He was an okay guy. I can’t say anything bad about Vince.
          Delia
and Vince never beat or abused me. I don’t remember them ever yelling at me or
punishing me. They just didn’t care enough. I wasn’t loved or nourished
emotionally.
          I
guess they mostly ignored me. I have no memory of Delia or Vince helping me
with homework. I don’t remember them ever attending any school pageants or
volunteering for fundraisers. I do remember always taking care of myself, even
at a young age. I still recall standing on a kitchen chair so I could reach the
stove to boil water for macaroni and cheese. That was one of my favorite things
to make. Unfortunately, I had a few too many meals of the same type, and to
this day I cannot stomach macaroni and cheese, tomato soup or any kind of cherry-flavored
drink mix.
          By
the way, Vince and Delia were serious alcoholics. Thank God they weren’t mean
ones . Waiting for them at Smitty’s Bar after
school felt normal to me at the time. It was the routine. This was back when
Fort Lauderdale felt smaller and people knew each other. That’s where I grew
up. Fort Lauderdale, Florida.
          When
I was in grade school I was what people called a latchkey kid. I walked home
every day from Parkland Elementary School. I would let myself in and lock the
door behind me. Delia didn’t even require a phone call from me telling her I
made it home okay.
          I
was a loner but never lonely and was an excellent student. I buried myself in
my books. I showed a real talent for working with numbers. I loved numbers. I
still love numbers. I love how they never lie. They always fit. There is always
a constant.
          By
the time I was thirteen I had completely taken over the family finances.
Believe it or not, both Delia and Vince would cash their paychecks, keep what
they wanted, and give me the rest. I rode my yellow ten-speed bike to the local
bank every week to make a deposit. I paid all the bills, forging Delia’s
signature on the checks. I reveled in feeling like I was an integral part of
something. I liked to play chief financial officer for our small family.
          I
really felt important, too, when Vince would ask me, “Hey Gwinny ,
my boots are wearing out. Think I can keep back twenty for some new ones? You gonna have enough to pay the bills?”
          It
was a small empowerment, but it was better than nothing, and the fact that I
was managing a family budget gave me confidence and a feeling of importance. I
mattered to this family. I had never felt that way before.
          I
was Gwinny when they were drinking, which was most times. But by the time I was ten I’d started to
insist that instead of Gwinny , I be called Ginny. I
felt like Gwinny was more suited to one of the stray
kittens Delia adopted. It was a baby name and I didn’t like it.
          Eventually,
Ginny was shortened to Gin. Yes, Gin, just like the alcohol. Some things are
just plain ironic, aren’t they?

Chapter Five

 
    Moe smiled.
I couldn’t tell if she was amused that I noticed she had no tongue, or
embarrassed by it. Just then the door