The Little Pickup

      It was a beautiful day in Roseville—clear skies just cooling a little and getting ready for autumn, leaves beginning to turn.

      Laurene and I were together so it must have been one of the times when she came to stay with me for the weekend. We truly loved our time together; we had such a connection. We left for a trip to the shopping center, and as we got into my little Chevy pickup, I noticed she seemed unusually quiet and preoccupied. She twisted the hem of her shirt and rolled it up and then down as she had a habit of doing. Sitting in the passenger seat, she looked so small. She only was seven years old.

      I loved the attention Laurene drew while we shopped. People liked to stop and marvel at her green eyes and blonde hair. “What a beautiful child,” they’d say.

      We took care of our shopping, and I was sure to buy anything Laurene wanted. She would timidly pick out little toys but would insist that she would not bring any of them back home to her dad’s house. She said that they would be taken away. She knew that when she came back to me, her toys and clothes would still be there. She also liked to choose favorite dishes that we could prepare together. I loved to give her these small joys and watched her face light up.

      On the way home, she became quiet again, so I asked if anything was wrong.

      She started twisting her shirt again and looking down, she said in a small voice, “Grammy, I think I just want to kill myself—I think I just don’t want to live anymore.” Her head was down and she seemed even smaller than ever, her voice was barely above a whisper.

      “Oh, honey, please don’t say that.” I found a place and slowly pulled over and turned off the engine. I unfastened her seat belt and coaxed her over to my side and into my arms. She straddled me and rested her head on my chest. She fitted easily against me as if to melt into me. I stroked the back of her hair.

      “Sweetheart, what would make you say something so awful?” I whispered into her hair.

      “I don’t know. I think I’m no good. I’m a bad girl, and I need to die.” The two of us, alone in that pickup, created such a bond, strengthened by our spirits and held more tightly than even we could know.

      I held her tenderly and whispered, “I love you, and if you hurt yourself, it would break my heart. Then I wouldn’t want to live either.”

      She looked up at me and as tears ran down both our cheeks, she said, “Grammy, you’re the only one.”

      I held her and named all the people I could think of saying they all love her. She seemed to calm down a bit. Very gently, I asked this baby girl what made her feel this way.

      She buried her face in my chest and said, “My Mom. She tells me I’m no good. She says I’m dirty. She says I’m ugly. She says she wants Jackie and JR and not me.”

      “I want you. You know I want you. She’s wrong. She shouldn’t be saying that to you. Honey, you are beautiful—never forget that.”

      She said, “What about the kids at school?”

      “What do you mean, honey?”

      “The kids at school make fun of me. They say I’m fat. They say I’m ugly.”

      I had to think a minute, then realized what she was talking about. “Honey, your mom put you and JR in an all-black school in Oklahoma. You were the only white people there. The kids didn’t understand why you didn’t look like them. Kids make fun of things they don’t understand. It wasn’t your fault. You and JR just looked different to them.”

      “Grammy, they were so mean to us. I told Mom I wasn’t going back, and she hit me. She said whatever happens at school, I will get it worse when I get home.”

      She whispered into my chest that she and JR were scared to walk to school. They had to walk along a highway alone, and they were afraid of getting run over.

      She whispered into my chest, “We had to sleep on the floor in the hallway with magnets.”

      I said, “What do you mean magnets?”

      She pulled back to look at me. “Little white things and they move.”

      “Baby, I don’t know what you mean.”

      “Little white dots, Grammy. They were on the dirty clothes in the hallway. Mom made us sleep in the hallway and cover with the dirty clothes. The baby kittens died, and we smelled them. We covered the kittens up, but they got white dots. I think Mom said they were magnets.”

      We sit for a time, just holding each other, me letting the realization of what she had just said sink in and listened to the cars go by.

      “Grammy, we were so hungry all the time. Mom gave our food away, so we had to go to bed with nothing. Her friends would come over and eat pizza, but we couldn’t have any. Sometimes she took us to McDonald’s and lifted us into the dumpster out back and told us to look around for food. Grammy, we were so scared. We were afraid we couldn’t climb back out. We walked to churches, and Mom made us go inside and beg for food and clothes. Grammy, I hated that. I was embarrassed. But Mom would hit me if I came out with nothing.”

      Laurene went on to tell me of the times her mom’s boyfriends would come over and eat all their food and got mean to her and her brother and sister. She said her mother sold their curtains to the neighbors and men would look in their windows at night, and they were scared. Those men would try to get in at night when her mom wasn’t home. She told me of times when those men would hold JR’s head under water until he stopped moving, then let him up. Or they would lock the kids in a closet for God knows how long. She told me that her mom’s boyfriend would pour beer over her mom’s bare chest then licked it off in front of her kids. This all happened while they were in Oklahoma.

      I don’t know what to say to this little one except, “It’s over, honey. You don’t ever have to live like that again, and I’m so sorry you kids had to go through any of that. Grammy will always protect you.”

      “What about when Mom comes to get us?”

      “She won’t. I