The Woodlands

The father fainted quickly. He was so badly beaten, I think he was half dead anyway. But the mother looked her boys in the eyes and locked on to them as the knife was buried in her chest. I remember thinking the odd thought that the heart didn’t look quite right; it was misshapen, too big on one side. See, they carved the shape of a heart into the victim’s chest. It was a reminder, a painful one. A scar they could never escape that would remind them what you got if you broke the rules and broke the hearts of the Superiors. This policeman looked like it was too much for him today. His eyes squinted and his teeth gritted as he continued his gory work.

“Look into my eyes darlings, Mama will be ok,” the mother said calmly, trying to soothe her terrified children.

The pain must have been excruciating but she only cried out once during the initial stab, letting out a strangled moan as it punctured her skin and sliced a gash across her lung. The policeman swore at his mistake. Like air escaping a balloon slowly, the cry had not enough air to produce much of a noise, but it was enough to make me want to scream myself. Blood pooled at her feet and dripped over the edges of the podium like a paint tin tipped over, thick red coloring the sandstone pavers and soaking into the stone. People were moving back to get away from it, blood reaching out to touch the tips of their shoes.

The mother looked up at the sky as her life left her body, her sweat-soaked, light brown hair falling back from her face in streams as she whispered, “I love you,”“ to her boys. The brothers were screaming and holding each other, beyond hysterical. They were bundled into a van and driven away. It was over. Two crumpled bodies lay in the center of the circle, grotesque, misshaped love hearts carved into their chests. Everyone walked away. Mother took me to buy shoes that day.

I doubted that memory would ever leave me. It was carved into my chest like those love hearts. I felt it sitting there, a cut-in scar. I held my hand across my chest and dragged my bucket down the hall to start my work. Water sloshed carelessly over the side, sending steaming splats of strong smelling chemicals in my wake.

It would take me at least three hours, maybe more. I hoped I would be late enough that I could sneak into the house, grab a warm di

I finished one toilet block and moved to the juniors’ section, nodding my head in greeting to the cleaner who was sweeping the hallway. I tried not to think about going home, about the weekend that stretched before me like a desert. I had to cross it, and Paulo was always there, dangling the ice cold water right in front my face, sneering at me and pouring it out on the cracked earth as I watched it sizzle and turn to vapor. The stupid thing was all that waited for me on the other side was more school. The Classes couldn’t come soon enough. I poured out the cleaning water, almost black with things I didn’t want to think about, and wrung out the mop.

The halls were peaceful. The grey walls and green linoleum was not quite so oppressive under the dim glow of the emergency lights. Without the scared, scurrying children, I could pretend I came here to learn, not kill time.

I placed the cleaning gear back in the cupboard, ready for next Friday, and noted the time—eight. If I really took my time, I could get home just as they went to bed. I made my way to the principal’s office.

He was staring down at a piece of paper in his hands, reading and then putting his finger to certain words and reading again. When I tapped gently on the door he jumped, his glasses falling off his face. He fumbled around on the floor, found them, and turned his face to mine, giving me his best icy stare. I swallowed my want to mock him. He was about as intimidating as a puff of wheat.

“I’m finished with the bathrooms. Can you sign this so I can go home?” I said, trying to sound repentant.

He was irritated by my interruption, nothing new there. He held out his hand and I placed the detention slip in his palm. He scribbled on it and held it up, waving it slowly in front of my face, teasing.

I narrowed my eyes, wanting to snatch it from his stubby fingers. “You know, I don’t know why they would bother sending you to the Classes,” he said with a look of self-satisfaction, like he’d just solved some great mystery “We all know this is exactly what you’ll be doing when you get out.”

I took the slip from his fingers, managing to whisper pathetically, “You don’t know that.”

I exited his office quickly, but not before I heard him snort. He had me pegged. Menial, meaningless labor for Rosa.

I ran out the door, dragging my bag along the ground, listening to it scrape and pick up the loose dirt. After I sca

I managed to sneak in just as they were getting ready for bed. Mother looked to me quickly out of the corner of her eyes, concern brimming over her black lashes before Paulo snapped at her to come to bed, joyfully adding that he had thrown out my di

“If you’re not going to get here on time, then we are not going to save di

My stomach grumbled and I put my hand to it, quickly reminded of how tender it was from the punch earlier. I made a point of poking my head in the door, flipping my hair back, and smiling at him. “It’s fine, Paulo. I’m not hungry anyway.” I strolled deliberately to my bedroom.

I stripped off quickly, not even wanting to look at the bruise I knew was blossoming over the dark brown skin of my stomach. I was like an ill-adorned Signing Day tree. Blue and purple blobs decorated my skin in a grotesque pattern; lash marks ran across my back, linking like plastic tinsel. I sighed. Was the principal right? Was I bound for a life of mopping toilets or emptying garbage cans? Had I given up? It seemed to me to give up you first had to give in to something. I had no ambitions, no idea what I wanted out of my life, only that I uncontrollably tumbled from one bad event to another.

I pulled on my nightdress and climbed into my rickety old bed, pulling the thin yellow covers up to my chin. Maybe things could be different. I could try harder at school. I could stop getting into trouble. It wasn’t too late for me. I giggled humorlessly as I realized what a ridiculous thought that was. And I gave in to it. To the fact that I was a troublemaker and tomorrow I would most likely do it all over again, in another way, in another place, but it would always be the same. Nothing changes.