LOSS OF INNOCENCE (poem)

Skitch, at 13
Taken by a dear departed friend

THEN:

Loss of Innocence

In the spring of 1980, she turned thirteen.

She awoke one morning,

In the summer of that year,

A child with eyes that needed rubbing,

Legs that must be stretched,

Blond curls, already sun kissed,

That had to be tamed into a ponytail.

Breakfast went by – just as always.

Biscuits and gravy,

She spent time playing outside in the warm sun.

She hung the laundry on the clothesline.

Lunch, often completely neglected in her impoverished home,

Was a mustard sandwich.

Soon there would be a real treat,

Tomatoes and cucumbers, warm and fresh from the garden,

Sliced up and added to the bread and mustard or bread and mayonnaise.

She brought the laundry inside and put it away.

Then settled down to read on the porch,

Relishing the wind in her hair,

And the streaks of sunlight on her legs.

When thoughts of supper occurred to the adults,

Her father called her over and sent her to the store.

Crackers and milk.

She watched her toes as she walked.

Her flip flops reminded her.

“Crackers and milk.”

“Crackers and milk.”

Her mother made the best soup.

It would be tasty.

She had been to the store dozens of times,

Sometimes for bread,

Sometimes for bouillon cubes,

Or a carton of eggs.

This time, she mustn’t forget,

It was crackers and milk.

She stepped inside the store, and it was hard to see.

The bright sun outside had made her blind in the dim building.

She walked past Norma.

Norma had the largest eyes,

Always looking a little frightened.

“Crackers and milk,”

Her shoes reminded her.

She headed for the dairy isle.

A loud sound filled the air.

What was that?

Did someone pop a big balloon?

She had not seen a balloon.

Did Norma drop something?

Did Norma climb up on a ladder and fall?

The child went to see.

What she saw was not a balloon.

It was not a fallen ladder.

She saw Norma in the floor with her eyes wide –

Just as always.

She saw that cherry kool-aid gushed from somewhere near Norma’s face.

From a spot close to Norma’s right cheek.

But where was it coming from?

Where was the tube that had broken?

The cherry kool-aid splattered on the shelf,

All over the gum.

The cherry kool-aid looked thicker than water,

Thicker than cherry kool-aid would ever be.

Was… it… blood?

Two women were at the door.

One was pushing the other,

Trying to get her to leave.

“I’m going to be sick,”

Said the pusher.

The other woman stood like a rock.

She had a gaze of supreme satisfaction on her face,

And a dark pistol in her hand.

It… was… blood.

The girl turned and fled.

Would they kill her now?

Were they behind her as she ran?

Crying she took the back way out of the store.

She knew the route well.

She ran into the manager.

And told him that Norma was hurt.

That was all her tongue could manage.

She went home and buried herself in her safe bed.

Her parents weren’t sure how to comfort her.

No one had ever told them that their child would face this.

The sheriff came and asked her questions.

The killers had waited on the police.

There would be no need to go to trial.

That night she kissed her mother goodnight – just like always.

Her father brought a drink of cool water to her bed – just like always.

Her sister told her a story, and explained how elevators worked – just like always.

The lights went out.

And she closed her eyes.

But each time she closed them, she saw Norma’s face.

And for the first time, she was afraid of the dark.

For the first time, she shivered in the warm summer night.

Nothing was – just as always.

For years she would fear death lurking in the shadows.

In the store.

In the library.

In the clinic.

At her school.

She never again went to the store for crackers and milk.

She never again drank cherry kool-aid.

At home, they did not talk of the dark day.

And many times, throughout her life, she would close her eyes and see Norma’s face, 

and the vile look of satisfaction staring over a dark pistol, 

and the blood on gum.