Bleeding Heart

She went to bed that night remembering how people would remark how unusually close she and Daphne were. They looked nothing alike but the kids at school always called them “the twins.” Maybe it was because they could finish each other’s sentences; take cues from each other without saying a word, sometimes baffling those around them with their unity of thoughts and actions. She was drifting off with a smile and Bandia, snuggled up by her aide.

“Hey girl! You… twin girl!” yelled the school bully, Bettina Cleary, or Bad Betty, to Victoria as she walked from class to the playground and straight for the monkey bars. That was her favorite activity and she was good, really, good on those monkey bars.

“Bet you can’t beat me at tetherball.”

“I don’t want to play tetherball. I’m going to play on the monkey bars.”

“You’re scared ’cause you’re gonna lose and you know it!”

Against her better judgment and strong desire to swing upside down, Victoria walked over to the tetherball circle where Bad Betty was waiting.

“One game,” Victoria told her.

“Ha! That’ll be the fasted game I ever played!”

Betty was a heavy set, tough ruffian of a girl. This was Betty’s third year in the second grade and tetherball was her turf. She made the first serve and she slammed the ball, sending it spinning passed Victoria. Victoria watched it go by and jumped up to smack it before it could make its’ full rotation. BOOM! It whizzed in the other direction smacking Bad Betty in the head. Bad Betty reeled backwards, arms flailing, skirt up over her head as she fell backwards on her ass… hard.

The commotion brought all the other children on the playground running to see what had happened. They were laughing and cheering as Bad Betty tried to get up. Victoria went over to give her a hand and Bad Betty tried to pull her down.

Daphne was over on the kindergartener’s side of the playground and saw what was happening. She raced over in her little, black, patent leather shoes to come to her sister’s aid.

“What? You called your midget twin to come and fight for you?” Betty screamed.

No words were necessary between the sisters. Bad Betty was up on her feet now, swinging. Victoria didn’t want to get into trouble for fighting so she dodged her punches. Daphne came up from behind, pantsing Bad Betty and down she went, mooning the whole school at morning recess.

The roars of laughter sent the teacher on yard duty running in their direction. The teacher clenched her teeth when she saw Bettina Cleary on the ground. She yanked her up and said, “Bettina Cleary! That’s no way for little girls to act! Come with me to the principal’s office. The rest of you kids go on and play now.”

She led Bad Betty away, by the arm. The teacher never did ask Victoria or Daphne about any involvement they may have had in the Bad Betty mooning incident. When the last of the kids dispersed from the tetherball circle, the sisters smiled at one another and skipped along; Victoria to the monkey bars and Daphne back to the K-side to play four square.

On their way home from school that day, they held hands, skipping and singing The Clap Song 3-6-9 by Shirley Ellis.

As they approached their house, they could see their momma, sweeping the porch and waving to them as they came into view. They were never embarrassed by their momma like some of the other kids were of theirs. Their moms had their hair up in curlers and wore bath robes and fuzzy slippers. Their momma was beautiful. She was tall and very regal with her slender build, toffee skin, hazel eyes and a mountain of amber curls, which she often wore up in a bun. She could have been to be on the fashion pages of magazines.

There were some nasty people in the neighborhood that said they didn’t like their family because it was a “mixed marriage.” Victoria and Daphne weren’t sure what that meant so they asked their mother.

“I think they are talking about me because my skin is darker than most of the folks around here. My father was black, from the West Indies father and my mother was white, Dutch.”

“So… that’s a ’mixed marriage’?” Victoria asked.

“I guess so, sweetie. Your daddy is white, from Romania so they aren’t used to seeing families like ours.”

“But I like our family!” piped Daphne.

“I do, too, honey. If we like each other, as long as we love each other, and we’re good to everybody, that’s really all that matters.”

“And you’re too pretty! Those other mommas are witches!”

Angela Collinson laughed. “Now, don’t say that. It isn’t nice.”

She stroked both girls’ cheeks and smiled. “I can see you two are gonna be a lot like your momma.”

Her girls were always her priority; that is, along with her husband. She had given up a lot of her independence when she married. She never talked much about her life or her upbringing. They were very curious but never asked her. They glommed onto the tidbits of information she did share. She gave them wistful recollections of her childhood Christmases and told them how she adored her parents. They craved more but somehow, never did.

When their daddy came home from work that day, he greeted his wife, “Frumoasa mea,” (my beautiful) and he swept her up in his arms and kissed her passionately. They lingered in their embrace and looked lovingly into each other’s eyes.

He looked over at his girls and said, “Meu mic spioni have a secret.” (my little spies)

The joy they felt watching their parent’s loving moment soon turned to fear. He was terribly

good looking but a little scary, too. He was tall with black hair and black eyes with a complexion

that seemed to need a bit more sun. He told his girls he came from a long line of Romanian

princes. They didn’t doubt it when they were young, it added to his air of mystery. He was a

professor at Husson University and taught genetics.

“Hi papa, so glad yer home,” said Victoria, nervously.

He continued his gaze. It was unnerving to look, into those black eyes. Daphne crossed her

legs as if she had to pee and was about to crack when he suddenly broke into a big grin.

“Yes, you are your mother’s daughters.”

“We have homework, papa; a lot of homework. Huh, Daphne?”

Daphne was still engrossed with her father’s grin. Victoria pulled one of her sister’s pigtails

and motioned her to go to her room and “do homework.” Daphne smiled sheepishly and

followed Victoria.

It didn’t take much prodding to get either one of the in front of the TV when Dark Shadows debuted in 1966. The show became a daily ritual. It was fodder for their imaginations with vampires, ghosts and witches, entering every fabric of their being. Séances became a popular activity and the playhouse in the backyard became ‘conjuring central’ for all types of dead people; real or imagined.

“Take hands everyone and don’t break the circle,” said Victoria to her sister and the four other little girls gathered round the little, pink plastic table.

“Call the white witch!” one little girl shouted.

“We did that already. We’re conjuring Quentin Collins today. No more yelling out or Victoria won’t be able to conjure him.”

“Quentin, Quentin Collins… can you hear me…” Victoria gave it her best, spooky voice.

They all sat; silently and cut their eyes from one to the other and back to Victoria. A wind began to crackle and whistle outside. Cool air could be felt coming through the cracks in the playhouse.

“I’m scared,” whimpered one of the younger girls.

Victoria looked to see who said that. “Uhhh!. You broke the spell!”

“You made her cry! You made my little sister cry!”

“I told you not to bring her. She’s a baby,” complained Daphne.

“Well, he’s not gonna come now,” said Victoria.

“Girls! Dinner!”

“That’s our mom. You guys better go now. We’re having Kentucky Fried Chicken!!!!” With that, Daphne hustled everyone out of the playhouse.

After dinner, their mom fell asleep on the couch watching the Man from U.N.C.L.E. Victoria thought she had come incredibly close to conjuring Quentin Collins in the playhouse. She slipped off to her parents’ bedroom because she always felt a ‘vibe’ in that room. That was the one room in the house that still held remnants of their father. She closed the door behind her, using her flashlight.

“If you can hear me, Quentin, give me a sign.” Victoria’s voice quivered.

She crept around the room, positive the ‘vibe’ was present. After scanning the room carefully with the flashlight, she came upon her father’s closet. It smelled sweet. Her curiosity was piqued now, and the closet door was ajar. She slid the door open with her foot and shown the light from the floor to the ceiling.

She stood still for a moment and looked up. She saw a face, a man’s face with long sideburns. She shrieked and stumbled backwards. Now she heard footsteps coming down the hall and quickly.

The bedroom door flung open and light flooded the room. “What are you doing in here, Victoria?” asked her mother. Daphne was running in behind her.

Victoria was pale, eyes wide and mouth open.

“Ooooo!! What are you doing in daddy’s closet?!”

Victoria ran to her mother and threw her arms around her. Angela sensed her daughter must be missing her father and did not scold her. “Come on out. Let’s watch some TV and then it’s time for bed. You, too, little miss.”

Now Daphne’s mouth was open; how come she didn’t get in trouble? Victoria ran out of the room with Daphne in tow. Angela stood in front of the closet and pulled out a blue suit hanging with a tie slipped under the collar. It looked ready; ready for him. She pulled it close to her and it smelled of his sweetness. “You’re still with me, aren’t you Bela.”

Victoria didn’t talk about it with Daphne until the following day. “I saw him.”

“Saw who?”

“Quentin. Quentin Collins in daddy’s closet. At least I think it was him.”

“Nuh uh!!”

“Yeah, huh! I could feel him, and I could smell him!”

“You touched him?! What’d he smell like?!”

“I didn’t touch him with my fingers. I just knew he was there. There was a sweet smell in the room.”

“Wooooow… wait till I tell everybody!”

“No! You can’t tell anybody! Just like we’re not supposed to talk about daddy, you can’t tell anybody. Promise?”

“I guess.You’re no fun.”

That was the last time they talked about it.

When they were both in junior high school, Daphne admitted to Victoria that she had had a sex dream about the handsome, curly headed Joe Haskell, Maggie Evans’ boyfriend on the show. They also remained faithful viewers of the show until it ended in 1971. They gave it the same reverence as a church goer would a Sunday morning. Victoria found inspiration to write her own tales of the supernatural.