Chapter 3: Consequences
Continuation of Sunny and Ahmed
When we get back to Brit’s place, I’m so excited I can’t go to sleep. Thoughts of the night—the comedy club, the bonfire, meetin’ all of Brit’s friends, especially Ahmed, and knowin’ that people accepted and even liked me—replay in my head like a weird dream.
Maybe I’m crazy, like one of them homeless people that goes around talkin’ to themselves. I gotta put this night behind me. Eventually I fall asleep.
The next morning I get up early ‘cause I gotta go to work. Brit’s still asleep. I walk the few blocks to our house and let myself in the back door with my key. Gotta feed Fluffy, eat some breakfast, and pack a lunch. Then I set out for the Fruit Basket. It’s a fifteen-minute walk, so lots of daydreamin’ time.
I hate my job. My boss, Mr. Elm, is an ugly fat toad—he’s mean to me—never says a kind word. Daddy says he’s a good man, and that I should be grateful he gave me a job, given my problems, even if he pays me half what the others make.
My problems. What are they?
I’m a good person. I’m always kind to people and animals. I do my chores at home, cook, clean, and volunteer at the Lighthouse. What else am I supposed to do? What do so-called normal people do?
Daddy says I have a low IQ. So what if I can’t do math worth a hill of beans, or operate a cash register fast enough? Lots of people can’t do that. So what if I talk a little different than other people? My mouth and tongue don’t do exactly what I tell them to, but I can tell you for certain—all of my words and feelings are clear in my brain.
I can read and write. Maybe not perfect. I’m a slow reader, a slow writer, a slow walker, a slow talker. Slow.
Daddy says I’m slow.
Mr. Elm says I’m slow.
He hired me to get in good with Daddy—and maybe God.
I go ’round back when I get to the Fruit Basket. Mr. Elm doesn’t let employees walk through the front door. Just inside the back, I find my time card and slide it into the time punch.
I round the corner, and there he is.
“You’re late,” Mr. Elm says.
I look at my watch. One minute late.
“Sorry, Mr. Elm. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“You better, or I’m gonna need to talk to your father.”
I don’t say nothin’ back. No point. I go to my cubby, put my bag in there, and throw on my work apron. Then I go look at my list. Dairy first, then fruits and veggies.
Before long it’s lunchtime. I take my apron off, get my lunch, punch the clock, and go out back where there’s a table for employees.
Donna, one of the checkers, is eatin’ her lunch. She looks up. “Have a seat,” she says.
Weird. She’s never said two words to me, even though she goes to our church and she knows who I am.
“How’s it going?” she asks.
“Okay,” I say. The hairs on my neck are tellin’ me she wants somethin’.
“I heard through the grapevine you got a boyfriend.”
“Where’d you hear a thing like that?” I say. News travels faster than lightnin’ in Citrus Grove. Brit’s been waggin’ her tongue, no doubt.
“A friend of a friend,” she says.
“It’s not true.” I eat my sandwich in silence.
After a while, Donna says, “Also heard you made a big splash over at that comedy club outside the city.”
“And I suppose you believe that too?”
“Doesn’t sound like you,” Donna says.
“No, it doesn’t,” I say. My heart’s about to jump out of my body, it’s pounding so hard.
“Some mean-spirited person’s makin’ up lies about me.”
“That’s a shame. I hope your mom and dad don’t catch wind.”
I’m gonna kill Brit.
I get off work at two. Brit’s still at the Lighthouse, so I go in, get my stuff, and go home. No way I’m gonna to stay in her house a minute longer than I have to. Besides, I don’t need a babysitter.
The next couple of days I keep to myself as much as possible. Go to work, come home, don’t talk to a soul besides Fluffy.
Brit calls several times. I don’t answer. She even knocks on the front door a couple times. I pretend I’m not home. She must know by now that her nasty talk got back to me.
She doesn’t wanna get in trouble with Daddy. He’s payin’ her extra to “look after” me. She doesn’t wanna lose her job at the Lighthouse, and if Daddy knew the truth, he’d definitely fire her. I think.
I’m tryin’ to figure out what to do, what to say to Mommy and Daddy. Should I just tell them the truth? Daddy always says that’s the best policy. Lies beget more lies, and of course, lyin’ is a sin. I guess I’m a sinner.
Mommy and Daddy have been home for a couple of days.
I know my come to Jesus moment is about to arrive. Mommy and Daddy just pulled into the driveway. They was out to dinner with Brit’s mom and dad.
I’m sittin’ at the kitchen table eating a frozen pot pie I bought at the Fruit Basket when they walk in.
“Hi sweetheart,” Mommy says. Her voice drips like honey. She knows I’m gonna get it. “How was work today?”
“Same as always,” I say. “Mr. Elm got mad at me ‘cause he didn’t like the way I organized the condiment section.”
“Like, I said before, Sunny, you need to thank Jesus that a kind hearted soul like Mr. Elm would give somebody like you a job.”
His words, somebody like you, hurts in ways he can’t imagine. He may as well have smacked me. Sometimes I hate my Daddy.
“Oh, I thank Jesus everyday.”
Changing the subject I say, “How was your dinner with the Larsons?”
“Good—always is.” Mommy says, “Excuse me, just need to use the little girl’s room.” Mommy walks out of the room. Now I know that ax is gonna fall.
“May I join you?” Daddy asks as he pulls a chair out across from me to sit down.
“It’s your house,” I say.
“Don’t get smart with me,” young lady.
“Just sayin’ you’re welcome to sit.”
“That’s good. You’re right, this is my house and if you want to keep on livin’ here you got to live by my rules.”
“Yes sir,” I say, looking down at my chicken pot pie.
“Brit told her parents you was late showing up at her house. Said she got real worried about you, and looked all over town—couldn’t find you. Where’d you go?”
“Daddy, that’s a big lie,” I say. “I went there right after you and Mommy left. Brit was sunbathin’ in the front yard, wearin’ an outfit you wouldn’t approve of.”
“Some others in the congregation heard you got yourself a secret boyfriend.”
“Come on, Daddy, does that sound like me? What boy would have me anyway?”
“They’re also sayin’ you went to some comedy club in the city?”
I hear my heart beating in my ears. I gotta tell the truth.
“Okay, Daddy, you wanna know what happened? Right after I got to Brit’s she told me she was goin’ to a club with friends, and did I want to go too? I said, ‘no, my Daddy wouldn’t like it,’ but she said you’d never know, so why not? So, I went.”
Daddy’s sittin’ there with his serious listenin’ face, like he’s thinkin’ of what to say or do.
I keep goin’, “Then, Brit signed a sheet with my name to go up on stage ‘cause she was trying to make a fool of me.” Now tears and snot are streamin’ down my face.
“Daddy, you gotta believe me. When they called my name to go up, I put up a fight, but Brit and her friends made be go up there. I’m not a funny person. I can’t even make myself laugh. So I just got up there and said blah blah blah. Lot’s of things came outta my mouth that I was makin’ up as I went. I told ‘em I had a boyfriend ‘cause I wanted ‘em to think I was cool, normal.” I pick up my paper napkin, and blow my nose. “I’ll swear on the Bible if you want.”
Daddy looks a little sad. “That won’t be necessary. I believe you, none-the-less you are grounded.”
“You can’t ground me,” I say. “I’m an adult.”
“As long as you are living under this roof, you will abide by my rules. Maybe it wasn’t all your fault, but your behavior didn’t look good for me or the Lighthouse.”
“Well, maybe I’m just gonna find me someplace else to live,” I say.
“You know you can’t do that, sweetheart.”
“Why not?”
“Because you are deficient.”
“Daddy, I am not. I’m enough, and I can take care of myself. I’m tired of being reminded that I’m different. I’m a person, and believe it or not some people like me.”