Rarity from the Hollow: Lacy Dawn Adventure, # 1

Cozy in Cardboard

Inside her first clubhouse , Lacy Dawn glanced over fifth grade spelling words for tomorrow’s quiz at school. She already knew all the words in the textbook and most others in any human language.

Nothing’s more important than an education.

The clubhouse was a cardboard box in the front yard that her grandmother’s new refrigerator had occupied until an hour before. Her father brought it home for her to play in.

The nicest thing he’s ever done.

Faith lay beside her with a hand over the words and split fingers to cheat as they were called off. She lived in the next house up the hollow. Every other Wednesday for the last two months, the supervised child psychologist came to their school, pulled her out of class, and evaluated suspected learning disabilities. Lacy Dawn underlined a word with a fingernail.

All she needs is a little motivation.

Before they had crawled in, Lacy Dawn tapped the upper corner of the box with a flashlight and proclaimed, The place of all things possible—especially you passing the fifth grade so we’ll be together in the sixth.

Please concentrate, Faith. Try this one.

Armadillo.

A, R, M ... A ... D, I, L...d...O, Faith demonstrated her intellect.

That’s weak. This is a bonus word so you’ll get extra points. Come on.

Lacy Dawn nodded and looked for a new word.

I’ll trick her by going out of order—a word she can’t turn into another punch line.

Don’t talk about it and the image will go away. Let’s get back to studying, Lacy Dawn said.

My mommy don’t like sex. It’s just her job and she told me so.

Faith turned her open spelling book over and rolled onto her side. Lacy Dawn did the same and snuggled her back against the paper wall. Face to face—a foot of smoothness between—they took a break. The outside was outside.

At their parents’ insistence each wore play clothing—unisex hand-me-downs that didn’t fit as well as school clothing. They’d been careful not to get muddy before crawling into the box. They’d not played in the creek and both were cleaner than on the usual evening. The clubhouse floor remained an open invitation to anybody who had the opportunity to consider relief from daily stressors.

How’d you get so smart, Lacy Dawn? Your parents are dumb asses just like mine.

You ain’t no dumb ass and you’re going to pass the fifth grade.

Big deal—I’m still fat and ugly, Faith said.

I’m doing the best I can. I figure by the time I turn eleven I can fix that too. For now, just concentrate on passing and don’t become special education. I need you. You’re my best friend.

Ain’t no other girls our age close in the hollow. That’s the only reason you like me. Watch out. There’s a pincher bug crawling in.

Lacy sat almost upright because there was not quite enough headroom in the refrigerator box. She scooted the bug out the opening. The clubhouse door faced downhill—the best choice since nothing natural was flat in the hollow. If it had sloped uphill, too much blood in the brain would have been detrimental to studying spelling or any other higher calling like changing Faith’s future. Faith watched the bug attempt re-entry, picked it up, and threw it a yard away into the grass. It didn’t get hurt. Lacy smiled her approval. The new clubhouse was a sacred place where nothing was supposed to hurt.

Daddy said I can use the tarp whenever he finishes the overhaul on the car in the driveway. That way, our clubhouse will last a long time, Lacy Dawn said.

Chewy, chewy tootsie roll. Everything in the hollow rots, especially the people. You know that.

We ain’t rotten, Lacy gestured with open palms. There are a lot of good things here—like all the beautiful flowers. Just focus on your spelling and I’ll fix everything else. This time I want a 100% and a good letter to your mommy.

She won’t read it, Faith said.

Yes she will. She loves you and it’ll make her feel good. Besides, she has to or the teacher will call Welfare. Your daddy would be investigated—unless you do decide to become special education. That’s how parents get out of it. The kid lets them off the hook by deciding to become a SPED. Then there ain’t nothing Welfare can do about it because the kid is the problem and not the parents.

I ain’t got no problems, Faith said.

Then pass this spelling test.

I thought if I messed up long enough, eventually somebody would help me out. I just need a place to live where people don’t argue all the time. That ain’t much.

Maybe you are a SPED. There’s always an argument in a family. Pass the test you retard. Lacy opened her spelling book.

Faith flipped her book over too, rolled onto her stomach and looked at the spelling words. Lacy Dawn handed her the flashlight because it was getting dark and grinned when Faith’s lips started moving as she memorized. Faith noticed and clamped her lips shut between thumb and index finger.

This is boring. I learned all these words last year.

Don’t use up the batteries or Daddy will know I took it, Lacy Dawn said.

Alright—I’ll pass the quiz, but just ’cause you told me to. This is a gamble and you’d better come through if it backfires. Ain’t nothing wrong with being a SPED. The work is easier and the teacher lets you do puzzles.

You’re my best friend, Lacy said and closed the book.

They rolled back on their sides to enjoy the smoothness. The cricket chorus echoed throughout the hollow and the frogs peeped. An ant attempted entry but changed its direction before either rescued it. Unnoticed, Lacy Dawn’s father threw the tarp over the box and slid in the trouble light. It was still on and hot. The bulb burned Lacy Dawn’s calf. He didn’t mean to hurt me—the second nicest thing he’s ever done.

Test? Lacy announced with the better light, and called off, Poverty.

I love you, Faith responded.

Me too, but spell the word.

P is for poor. O is for oranges from the Salvation Army Christmas basket. V is for varicose veins that Mommy has from getting pregnant every year. E is for everybody messes up sometimes—sorry. R is for I’m always right about everything except when you tell me I’m wrong—like now. T is for it’s too late for me to pass no matter what we do and Y is for you know it too.

Faith, it’s almost dark! Go home before your mommy worries, Lacy Dawn’s mother yelled from the front porch and stepped back into the house to finish supper. The engine of the VW in the driveway cranked but wouldn’t start. It turned slower as its battery died, too.

Faith slid out of the box with her spelling book in-hand. She farted from the effort. A clean breeze away, she squished a mosquito that had landed on her elbow and watched Lacy Dawn hold her breath as she scooted out of the clubhouse, pinching her nose with fingers of one hand, holding the trouble light with the other, and pushing her spelling book forward with her knees. The moon was almost full. There would be plenty of light to watch Faith walk up the gravel road. Outside the clubhouse, they stood face to face and ready to hug. It lasted a lightning bug statement until adult intrusion.

Give it back. This thing won’t start. Lacy Dawn’s father grabbed the trouble light out of her hand and walked away.

All we ever have is beans for supper. Sorry about the fart.

Don’t complain. Complaining is like sitting in a rocking chair. You can get lots of motion but you ain’t going anywhere, Lacy Dawn said.

Why didn’t you tell me that last year? Faith asked. I’ve wasted a lot of time.

I just now figured it out. Sorry.

Some savior you are. I put my whole life in your hands. I’ll pass tomorrow’s spelling quiz and everything. But you, my best friend who’s supposed to fix the world just now tell me that complaining won’t work and will probably get me switched.

You’re complaining again.

Oh yeah, Faith said.

Before you go home, I need to tell you something.

To avoid Lacy’s father working in the driveway, Faith slid down the bank to the dirt road. Her butt became too muddy to re-enter the clubhouse regardless of need. Lacy Dawn stayed in the yard, pulled the tarp taut over the cardboard, and waited for Faith to respond.

I don’t need no more encouragement. I’ll pass the spelling quiz tomorrow just for you, but I may miss armadillo for fun. Our teacher deserves it, Faith said.

That joke’s too childish. She won’t laugh. Make 100%. That’s what I want.

Okay. See you tomorrow. Faith took a step up the road.

Wait. I want to tell you something. I’ve got another best friend. That’s how I got so smart. He teaches me stuff.

A boy? You’ve got a boyfriend?

Not exactly, Lacy Dawn put a finger over her lips to silence Faith. Her father was hooking up a battery charger. She slid down the bank, too.

He probably couldn’t hear us, but why take the chance.

A minute later, hand in hand, they walked the road toward Faith’s house.

Did you let him see your panties? Faith asked.

No. I ain’t got no good pair. Besides, he don’t like me that way. He’s like a friend who’s a teacher, not a boyfriend. I just wanted you to know that I get extra help learning stuff.

Where’s he live?

Lacy pointed to the sky with her free hand.

Jesus is everybody’s friend, Faith said.

It ain’t Jesus, you moron, Lacy Dawn turned around to walk home. His name’s DotCom and.... Her mother watched from the middle of the road until both children were safe.

Recess

Faith got 100% on her spelling quiz the next day, plus the entire bonus points possible. But, she had added a footnote for the word armadillo: ...also spelled armadildo and available at....

After she graded the tests, the teacher dialed the phone in the classroom that everyone had been told was for emergency use only and held the receiver away from her ear. The classroom was a former teacher’s lounge on the second story of the school building and the only one with a telephone. It had been converted after subsequent floods had caused mold to grow in several classrooms on the first floor. The recorded message of the Department of Health and Human Resources was heard by the first six rows back. She hung up on the answering machine before a human picked up. Therefore, no other official found out that a ten-year-old was suspected of knowing where to buy a sex toy. The teacher left the classroom. After returning, she got her purse out of the second desk drawer down on the left and put a folded piece of paper inside. Lacy Dawn frowned at Faith. That was a copy of your spelling quiz.

The teacher got up, walked between rows in her classroom, and announced student scores as she passed out the graded quizzes. When she got to Faith, she patted her on the back and yelled, A+. Thank you, she whispered. The other kids clapped because it was the first time that Faith had ever passed anything. Recess was next.

Don’t lean on the fence or you’ll get rust stains on your school clothes, Faith said to Lacy Dawn.

I’m so proud of you. A hundred percent just like you told me you’d get.

Then why do I feel so pissed off? When I did bad, at least I had somebody else to blame. Now I ain’t got nobody to hurt because all the kids clapped. It sucks.

You’re complaining again, Lacy said.

Designated to be consolidated, the school received little maintenance except to reduce liability. The playground had a chain link fence with vines growing through the diagonals, squeaky swings so loud that everyone on recess had to holler, and two teeter-totters with splinters that targeted fresh butt. Only one improvement had been added during the last three years of consolidation controversy. Pieces of shredded car tires were put under the monkey bars to cushion falls.

During recess, the teachers smoked cigarettes behind the corner of the brick school building. It was a designated smoking spot so that students wouldn’t be exposed to bad influence. Consequently, the playground was without adult supervision.

Why do you want to feel angry so often? Lacy Dawn asked Faith.

Why not?

It messes up your digestion and gives you the farts.

I like to fart—silent and deadly.

I’ve noticed, Lacy Dawn moved toward the gang hanging out under the monkey bars. They were older kids who lived on the hard road and who had parents that had been employed before the coal mine shut down. They still thought they had money.

My dad got a call about a job in Cleveland. What do you think, Lacy Dawn? Your mommy was born there. Is it cool? Will I meet Eminem? the tallest kid asked.

Does your daddy still hit your mommy when he gets drunk? Lacy Dawn asked.

Sometimes, but what’s that got to do with Cleveland?

Everything.

The tall kid grabbed the monkey bars and went to its end. His tip-toes touched the shredded tires. It was easier because the ground was several inches higher than before the shreds had been laid. Nobody acknowledged the achievement and all awaited his response.

When we get to Cleveland, I’ll stand up to him. I promise.

You’d better or she’ll know, Faith pointed at Lacy Dawn.

I know, the tall kid sat on the rung that had broken off his front tooth two grades before.

Why’d you tell him that? Lacy whispered in Faith’s ear. I ain’t got that kind of magic yet and you know it. I can only see inside people when they’re right in front of me. Cleveland’s a long way off and, besides, Eminem’s from Detroit.

Faith shrugged.

My mom and dad don’t ever hit me. Sometimes, I wish they would. I do stuff so they will, but it don’t ever work, the next tallest kid in line for therapy disclosed.

Parents use different styles of redirection. Yours use guilt. Lacy Dawn said.

Yeah, I cut myself once. See. It helped a little, but I would really appreciate a switch every now and then.

Don’t fetish. Relax, you’re a good kid and your parents want switched, too. It’s not your daddy’s fault that the mine shut down. He feels guilty about not being a good provider and gets rid of it by giving it to you, Lacy Dawn kissed the scar on the kid’s arm above the bottom of his shirt sleeve.

The crowd went, Oooh... when the scar seemed to fade.

You’re a good doctor, Lacy Dawn.

Next, a kid who lay on top of the monkey bars above the gang said.

Give me your shit. But, don’t you ever say anything bad about Faith ever again. I’ll vex you into eternity. You’ve been giving her a hard time since the first grade, Ronny. It ain’t fair.

Sorry. I’m just so sad all the time. I take it out on anybody that will react and she’s an easy target — fat and ugly.

Next year, she’ll be hot. You’ll regret every mean thing you ever said to her.

Faith moved into position to punch his exposed belly.

I already regret everything, Ronny said.

Your parents thought if they taught you how to predict consequences of your behavior you would exercise self-control. You learned it too good and now you go over and over every little detail. Before you do something mean, just take a few slow, deep breaths and you won’t hit anybody anymore. Then, you will have less regret. When you stop being mean, I’ll help you fix your depression. But, if you ever say one mean thing about Faith again, I’ll let her kick your ass like it’s never been before.

My mommy don’t do nothing but watch soaps, a girl in the second said.

Mine too, three smaller children gathered for wisdom.

Cigarette smoke formed a cloud that floated from around the corner of the building. Only one female teacher still had a husband and he had been jailed for manufacturing meth after their house caught on fire. It was another tidbit of conversation during an extra-long recess disallowed by the State Board of Education. Recess was the most productive part of the school day because of Lacy Dawn’s magic way of helping others.

I wish I had a husband, the only male teacher employed by the school yelled. It was loud enough for the kids to hear above the squeaky swings.

There goes Mr. I’m Gay again, a boy said.

He’s so boring, another said. The crowd nodded.

I wish I could fix my own family, Lacy Dawn whispered to Faith.

It’s a kid’s job to help her parents and any kid who don’t ain’t much of a kid and maybe don’t even deserve to live! Faith yelled louder than Mr. I’m Gay. It was her daily speech to classmates.

The school bell rang to return to the classrooms. Another fifteen minutes was left before compliance was expected. Several kids gathered tighter around the monkey bars to try to get attention from Lacy Dawn. The healthier ones played more or less organized dodge and kick ball games in opposite corners of the playground.

Like the center on a football team’s front line, Faith tried to look mean by grimacing and folding her arms. It was a body-guard-like role so the others used her as an avenue to Lacy Dawn by lining up. A first grader pulled down her shorts to show a blue bruise on her butt. Faith rolled her eyes and turned away. A fourth grader opened his mouth and pointed inside but Faith didn’t look. A girl in the fifth who sat beside her in class pointed to her crotch. Tears streamed. Faith winced for a moment but screened her out by turning her head. Not today, Britney. Lacy Dawn only has so much magic at any given time. She needs to recharge. Everybody has issues and tissues. You can be first tomorrow.

A fight broke out in the far corner of the playground. The games stopped and the kids rushed for the better entertainment. Lacy Dawn and Faith followed to get a good place to watch. The teachers saw the action and either returned to the building or gathered behind the crowd to bet on the winner.

She called my mommy a ho, a second grader with a bloody nose accused a sixth grader and swung air.

But she is. My daddy told me. I didn’t mean to make you mad, –  the sixth grader tried to maintain a distance by stepping back – I’m sorry. I don’t even know what it means.

A ho is a person who has a lot of indiscriminant sex, the smartest girl in school except for Lacy Dawn said to show off. She put on her headphones and walked toward the school to prepare for the next spelling bee, which would include the word indiscriminate.

Faith picked up the dodge ball and beaned her in the back of the head.

Roundabend

A round the bend, roundabend , roundabendroundabendroundabend..., Lacy chanted in just the right way to make it happen. She walked out the back door, floated across the porch, and glided up the dirt path toward DotCom’s ship. A year older, her magic had matured.

From under the porch, the family mutt watched the girl pass the trash pile and the barrel used for burning. Her father’s truck door slammed. The sound echoed off the hillsides. She stopped at the edge of the Woods and leaned on one of the three big trees that kept watch over the path to Roundabend. I hope Daddy’s leaving.

If you won’t shoot him, at least get us the hell out of this hollow, Lacy Dawn said to the maple tree as if it were her mother.

When we got married, your father promised to teach me how to drive just as soon as I was old enough, the maple tree quoted in reply.

Lacy hugged the tree. That’s just the way Mommy always says it.

She crouched in a shadow to watch down the hillside. Ragweed waved, bees buzzed, and birds flew, but the pick-up truck stayed put in the gravel driveway beside the house. Daddy’s tricked me before.

Yesterday, I was so stupid, she said to the walnut tree a few yards uphill. I stood right there in plain sight on the path—easy pickings.

No shit, the walnut tree said loud enough to be heard by the entire Woods.

The switch hurt bad. I ain’t got no thick bark like you.

It’s getting thicker, the tree complimented.

I hope so. she said.

After you got switched, Lacy Dawn, your father dragged you home and threw you to the ground by the back porch, Walnut began the session.

You think I don’t remember last night? she asked.

Your mother had locked herself inside the truck cab so he broke out all of its windows with a lug wrench. She begged him to stop while you watched. What’s a lug?

Stop! Daddy, PLEASE stop it! Switch me again. Here! I’m right here! Lacy relived the incident with her eyes squeezed shut. I’ve got to save Mommy, again and again—in real life, in my dreams, should have yesterday, and right here and now. If I’d distracted him last night, maybe she could have run away. If he kills me, maybe they will put him in jail and she’ll be safe.

Asshole! Lacy Dawn’s mother yelled at the truck from the kitchen through an open window. She turned up the radio to cover Lacy Dawn’s screams from the hillside. I’m the mommy.

From the path, Lacy Dawn listened. From the kitchen, Jenny also listened as the truck’s engine cranked but didn’t start. Its door opened and pieces of glass fell from the cab floor. Lacy Dawn’s father walked to the front of the truck, kicked the grill, and lifted the hood.

He grabbed your mother’s right ankle and pulled her out of the truck, the walnut tree continued the session.

It ’bout knocked her out, probably didn’t even hurt that bad when she got switched, Lacy Dawn said.

You counted the strikes out loud so he wouldn’t lose track, the tree maintained focus on the incident.

Ten, but he didn’t stop like he was supposed to. Eleven! she screamed. Why didn’t you help her, DotCom?

Lacy Dawn slumped on the walnut tree and wiped sweat from her brow. Her long, stringy brown hair stuck to her face. At her grandmother’s insistence, it had never been cut. Now ten years old, it snagged on anything, including Walnut’s bark. She used the bottom half of her hand-me-down Bratz tee shirt to dry her face, and she worked her hair loose from the bark snags. Daddy didn’t hear me or he’d be getting a switch. I hope he leaves.

Walnuts always remember but never warn, she said to the oak tree on the other side of the path.

It was just a switch, the oak tree said.

Lacy Dawn sat, rubbed a scar on her ankle and looked down the hillside again. The truck was still there with its hood up. Her mother turned on the back porch light. It was a bare bulb in a white porcelain fixture that dangled by its wires. A loose piece of dirty yellow vinyl siding flapped in a wind stronger than a moment before and a loose piece of roof tin banged. Otherwise, the scene had not changed.

It was sixteen strikes, the oak tree said.

Lacy Dawn winced. That’s the most switches he ever made me watch.

It was just another lesson from Mama—like how to string beans or can tomatoes, she bit a tangle from her hair and cleaned a thumbnail with a little stick. I should’ve waited until Daddy was gone to leave the house.

Lacy Dawn took in and exhaled a slow deep breath. It was a relaxation exercise taught during gym class at school by the woman from the mental health place. Moonlight turned the tree leaves olive.

After Mommy got switched, Brownie came out from under the back porch and licked my face. That’s when he got his too. Daddy tricked us when he slammed the truck door like he was leaving, Lacy Dawn said to the maple tree and moved to the other side of the path to slump on the oak tree. Its bark was less rough so her hair didn’t snag, but its roots were above the surface and there was no soft spot to sit on. I hope Daddy never gets a good muffler on that truck.

Fifty dollars is a lot of money, she said to the oak tree.

They doubled the price for a legal vehicle inspection from $7.50 to $15.

How do you know? You’re a tree.

What’s a dollar? Oak asked.

It’s made of paper and you can buy things with it, Lacy Dawn said.

Eat shit, the oak tree said. I wish her the best of all nutrients.

Thanks. You guys have been a big help.

As long as Daddy can buy an inspection sticker from his friend at the junkyard, he’ll never spend good money for a muffler and I’ll always hear it when he goes up the hill. That’s what I’ll listen for—the bad muffler and not the door slam. It’s much safer. This was a good session.

Lacy stood, turned around, and faced up the hill toward Roundabend. Trees, brush, rock, and weeds shared the moonlight. Once wide enough for a tractor, the now neglected footpath curved out of sight. The top meadows had turned to hay, but when that was not harvested, it turned to weed.

What should I do? Go home or go visit DotCom’s ship? she asked the entire Woods.

Ask your dead girlfriend. She hangs out around here all the time, every tree within range chorused.

Faith had been murdered by her father during a rage the year before. He had used a switch so fat that it could’ve hit home runs at the World Series. Faith’s mother had watched without intervention. Afterward, her father changed underwear because what he’d worn during the incident was soiled.

It’s a kid’s job to help her parents and any kid who don’t ain’t much of a kid and maybe don’t even deserve to live, the walnut tree quoted Faith.

Lacy Dawn hugged Walnut. That sounds just like her. She said the exact same thing every recess at school for three years.

I told you a hundred times you tree. Stop quoting me or I’ll get inside you, Faith said from within a boulder beside the path.

Shut up. You’re still on restriction, you eavesdropper, Lacy Dawn said.

For what? Faith asked.

You hit that girl on the head with a dodge ball on purpose. It made her cry.

Shelly’s a bitch. I’m glad she lost the spelling bee.

You hate everybody, Lacy Dawn said.

So?

So you’re on restriction, that’s what.

But that happened before Daddy killed me, Faith pleaded.

You’re still on restriction.

When my mommy got beat up, I helped my daddy too. It was a big part of my job, Faith said. It’s your job too and don’t ever forget it or you’ll be sorry or worse.

I’m trying not to hate him, Lacy Dawn peered around the oak tree. The hood was still open on the pick-up. Her father was standing on the bumper and leaning over halfway into the engine compartment. Moths circled around his trouble light.

But, you never told me how to help my parents, she said to the boulder.

It didn’t answer. Faith had moved on to occupy another inanimate. Lacy Dawn did the relaxation exercise she’d learned at school. Faith learned how to help parents from her older brother. He quit and made it her turn. But I ain’t got no brother to teach me how.

You’d better help them good or I’ll beat you up, the walnut tree quoted Faith’s brother.

Lacy Dawn massaged her butt and sat back down. Maybe I should ask Faith’s brother? No, he’d want too much.

I’m too young to barter with a man, she said to the walnut tree. I hope I’ll always be too young.

Nothing’s free, Lacy Dawn, the oak tree said.

Eat shit, she said.

No problem, the tree agreed.

Lacy Dawn looked down the path. A dog face shined in the moonlight. It was on the ground between two loose pieces of porch underpinning. Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree blared from the radio in the kitchen and seeped into everything within proximity.

One time, Faith’s brother stole my Frisbee. He wouldn’t give it back until Daddy hollered at him, Lacy Dawn said.

I’ve never heard this story, the walnut tree said.

He gave it back right away when Daddy yelled at him. Nobody messes with my daddy.

"Tell