That Child

Everybody has that one (maybe two or more) quirky relative who defies explanation.  In my family’s case, that’s actually more of a rule.  But when my little sister, Mandy, would say she’d see people, we honestly didn’t know what to say.  No one likes to admit there’s mental illness in the family, right?  I mean…as a kid, everyone has imaginary friends.  But Mandy said she didn’t just have imaginary friends; she saw people.  It was cute – until she was a teenager.

Then it got scary.  ‘What’s wrong with Mandy?’ was a common question at family gatherings.  We couldn’t say; no one seemed to know…what was wrong with Mandy.

“We’re cursed,” Mandy told me; she was about twelve.  “Our family is cursed.”

“Yeah, we are,” I remember telling her that first time; thinking about the family events where someone got shit-faced drunk and started fighting.

“I’m serious!”

I tried to be understanding.  But when someone says your family is cursed – especially if it’s a relative who has a reputation for saying shit like that – how do you respond?

I’m the oldest of the brood, and Mandy is the youngest; four boys and two girls.  She was my baby; tiny even for my 12-year-old arms, when she was born.  I helped to raise her, along with my brothers.  Our parents were primary commanders, but I was second in charge.  My brothers were tough to raise – as you would expect with boys.  But Mandy turned out to be even more of a handful!

I don’t know what it was about her, but she could be so difficult.  My mother always said it was because we girls tend to cause drama.  Daddy would just sigh, as if saying, ‘Tell me about it,’ yet not wanting to be too honest.

I really can’t remember the first time Mandy said she saw someone who wasn’t there…in her bedroom.  She pointed to her dolls.  “Over there,” she told me.

But it was after our maternal grandmother, Martina, died.  “Mamatina” – the witch of West Texas.  Damn, that bitch was mean!  And nasty.  The droplets of blood from the garage into her kitchen said enough.

“You need to get out of here when you graduate,” my Aunt Nicoletta told me.  I was 18 and had just attended my senior prom with a boy who said he felt nauseous every time he stepped into our house.

“That part of the family is too strange,” Nicoletta muttered.  She was an in-law to my mother’s side.  “Everybody knows that.  They just won’t say it.”

I started saying it to myself before I graduated high school.  Only a few other people would say it out loud.

Especially after meeting Mandy.  “Our family is cursed!” she kept saying.  I don’t know how many times I heard that from her.

My father would just quietly bob his head up and down.  Marrying into my mother’s family was probably like an initiation into a biker gang.  He had to endure a lot of misery and, once in, couldn’t escape.  If anything, though, he injected a semblance of normalcy into the chaos.  I’m certain he was glad when Mamatina died.  Without making a sound, he let out a massive breath.  I could hear it through the moaning at Mamatina’s funeral.  Even the priest looked relieved.  In this instance, Mexican mysticism didn’t blend well with Roman Catholic purity.

What would Jesus do?!  Hell, what would Mother Mary do?!

I was certain Mamatina’s death would solve a lot of problems.  And it did – for the most part.  I had just earned my bachelor’s, and I noticed the air in the house had lightened.

Then, as I approached 30 and still not married, Mandy shocked me.  “I’m pregnant.”

This had to be a joke, I told myself.  But I uttered the eternal question: “What?”

“Yes.”

Raymond was a boy she knew from high school.  He wasn’t weird…just plain and ordinary.

“He’s the perfect one,” Mandy said, “the perfect father.”

I then said the next best thing, “Um…okay.”  I never knew what perfect was supposed to mean.

Raymond was present for the birth and even named the baby – Rose.  It seemed ideal – and appropriate: a sweet-smelling blossom with thorns and a blood red pallor.

Mandy’s fingers looked white the moment she gripped the rails of the crib.  Rose was about two months old.  “We’re cursed,” I heard her mumble.

I sighed – not too heavy – my head bobbing slightly.  “Okay.”

But it wasn’t…okay.

Mandy kept saying it – more than she ever had.  “We’re cursed.”  Our family was cursed.

Ordinary Raymond just ignored her, as he swaddled Rose in his skinny arms.  Rose never cried, just sort of grunted.  When she seemed distressed, Raymond was the only person who could calm her down.  He’d pull off his shirt and press her tiny head against his chest; the left side – where she could hear his heartbeat.

Then came that one Saturday afternoon.  I took some groceries over to the house for Mandy and Rose.  Raymond was at work, and no one else was there.

Mandy looked disheveled, but was notably calm.  I guess she’d been up all night.

That word – ‘cursed’ – kept running through my mind.

What does that mean?

“You know,” said Mandy.

Well…I did.  In some ways, I understood what she meant.

Cursed…that one word hung over me like a chronic itch in the middle of my back, while wearing a heavy winter coat and driving.

That baby…Rose.

Mandy’s child.

Daddy’s head bobbed up and down as he thumbed through the TV channels.

Finally…I looked at Mandy.  “What curse?”  After all these years, I had never thought to ask her.

Her eyes flinched.

Rose fell silent.

“You know,” Mandy whimpered.

The air grew heavy.  I mean…REALLY HEAVY.

Cursed.

Please!  I entered Rose’s room and approached the crib.  She looked…well, red.

Heavy air.

I turned back to the doorway and stepped into the hall.

Cursed?

What?!

Heavy air.

Really.

Heavy.

Air.

I turned around…looked at the crib.

Rose was quiet…still.

And – I saw someone.

Something sharp and cold plowed up into my spine.  That itch.

I felt dizzy.

There…standing beside the crib…someone.

Some…thing.

Cursed.

A curse.

Someone…some…thing…a curse.

Something.

Smiled…it smiled…grinned…at me.

Mine.

What?

Mine.

I looked at Rose.

Mine…she’s mine.

Her?

Rose remained still.

It grinned…the someone…something…standing beside the crib.

It grinned again.

Her…this child…mine.

“I told you,” Mandy said, standing at the doorway.

That…something…blood red skin.

Heavy air…really…heavy.

I could hear Raymond’s heart beating.

And Daddy nodded.

The something grinned…mine.  Its bony fingers gripped the crib railing.  Blood-red skin.  Mine.

Rose was completely motionless.

This child…the something said.  Mine.