Daddy left on a day when the snowball bush, with large blue-gray snowball-shaped flowers, was in full bloom.  Katie worked her body into the huge bush.  She watched as Mother attacked him with her fingernails, leaving marks on one cheek, accusing him of hating his family.  Daddy drove away in his car, and Katie remained in the bush at the mercy of Mother.

In any given afternoon Mother could be found at the kitchen table, staring at her reflection in the darkening windows, alone, the madness growing to maturity.  Her hair went from light brown to gray in one year.  Mother wore the gray like a war medal, referring to it as white, the price of marriage.

Katie found comfort in Mrs. Young, the old woman mother hired to keep an eye out for her after school.  Mrs. Young made cookies ever other day just for Katie, chocolate, oatmeal, and peanut butter.  Her house smelled like old rose petals and the rooms were crowded with furniture and tiny hand crocheted doilies.  The den held the treasure, model horses of all kinds: pintos, stallions, quarter horses, and Katie's favorite the Appaloosa, gray as a sky loaded with rain.

"The Appaloosa is the most beautiful of horses.  When I was a young child, my father bought me an Appaloosa.  I called him Wind.  To this day, I have never felt quite as free as when I rode Wind."  Mrs. Young held the model horse in her gnarled, shaking hands.

Sometimes Mrs. Young forgot to pick Katie up from school, left her waiting until every child and teacher were gone.  Katie found her way home through the maze of neighborhood streets.  Mrs. Young cried when she realized what she had done, hugging Katie to her tiny bosom.  "You mustn't tell, Katie.  Your mama will never understand, and I will lose you."  Katie kept the secret.

The new bike arrived a month before her eleventh birthday.  The color reminded her of an Appaloosa.  Mother stood on the front porch stoop, glaring at the Riches Department Store truck parked in the drive.

"You must have the wrong house."

"If Katie Parsons lives here, there's no mistake, Madam."  The man wore a pea-green shirt, his name (Tom) embroidered above his pocket, sleeves rolled to his elbows.  He turned to Katie, leaving Mother gapping.  "I am suppose to tell you happy birthday from your father.  He wishes he could be with you."  He flashed an envelope in her face.

Katie took the card from his hand.  "Thank you."  Red, green, and blue balloons dotted the card; a card one might give to a five-year-old.

"What in the world?"  Mother screeched her words like an exotic bird in a jungle.

Bless Daddy's heart; he just couldn't remember dates.  He always mixed up her birthday, even before he left.  Mother relished this mistake, rubbing salty accusations into the wound until Katie's feelings grew raw and hateful.  But, the bike, in all its splendor, made up for the forgetfulness.

"Does he think you will forget what he did to us?"  Mother watched her with owl eyes, demanding allegiance.

"I like my bike."

"Well, what else could I expect out of you?  You always love him no matter what."  Mother glared at the bike.  She opened the front door to the house.  "You'd better be careful, young lady.  Your daddy isn't here to buy your food and clothes."

Katie's shame flamed in her face as she climbed on the bike, kicked the stiff stand, wobbled somewhat with the large size, and shot into the street.

"Go ahead and kill yourself."  Mother screamed from the porch.

The wind blew her short mousy hair from her face; her breath caught in its icy fingers, pumping, pumping, with her legs, faster and faster, gaining distance, pumping, flying, joyful freedom, life outside the confines of the yard.  She imagined she pedaled straight into the sky, into the galaxy, into infinite.  As the sky bled into dusk, lights shown through the windows of houses, families watching TV, eating supper, doing homework, washing dishes, laughing talking on the phone.  She rode the wind and spotted her house on the horizon.  Why?  Why had Katie worked her way back?  Mother bellowed from the front door.  Where could Katie go?  To Daddy?  She kept his address inside her diary.  Katie parked the bike behind the garage, out of Mother's reach, and entered the house through the back.

Life in the Parsons's house, if viewed from a plate glass window by a bike rider, might suggest order, dust-free tables, plastic slipcovers guarding the new furniture.  Mother lounged in a bright red oversized chair.  When Mother sat in the chair, she plopped like a free-falling object hitting the ground.  Katie went into the kitchen and pulled steaks from the deep freeze along with a package of green beans.  The freezer was stocked with such a variety that one might believe Mother loved to cook.

"Katie, what are you doing in that kitchen?"

"I am cooking supper."  She peeled the foam tray from the back of the frozen meat, turned the stove eye on low, and threw the steak into the frying pan.

"What are you cooking?"

"Steak and green beans."

"We had that two nights ago."

All the windows in the breakfast area and throughout most of the house were now covered with three layers of treatments.  Mother believed men roamed the roads waiting for a look in a victim's window.  She insisted that one day Katie would be murdered in her bed because her curtains were left open after dark.

"Make mine medium rare.  The last steak was too tough."

"Alright."  Katie clipped the word.

"I hope you are not being disrespectful, young lady.  Fix me a drink and bring me one of my pills."

Katie often wondered why Daddy left her alone with Mother.  Was it like Mother said, he didn't want to bother?  The steaks sizzled in the pan as they thawed.  Katie mixed a tiny amount of bourbon with coke and pulled a pink pill from one of the many bottles.  "The pink ones?"

"The pink ones?"  Mother mimicked.  "Of course the pink ones.  It never changes."  Katie handed her the drink and pill.  "Now, that's what I need."  She took a sip of the drink, pushing it back at Katie.  "More."

Katie added a generous amount of bourbon to the glass.  How much liquor does it take to kill a person?  The steaks sizzled.  The green beans soaked in steaming water, breaking away from the frozen iceberg one bean at a time.

"Tell me Katie how did it feel to ride that fucking bike?"  Mother stood in the kitchen door.

"It was alright."

Mother snorted.  "You'll probably kill yourself.  I don't like the idea of you riding in the street."  She popped the pill in her mouth and drained the glass.

Think, Think fast!  "It's great for taking myself to school."

"That's why I pay Mrs. Young.  So you're not on the road.  There are men just waiting to grab little girls and force them into their cars."

She was losing the battle.  "You can save the money you pay Mrs. Young to pick me up.  I'm eleven I don't need to be picked up from school."  The bike clouded her thoughts.  "She forgets most of the time.  I really hate walking home in the rain."  The words escaped into the air.

"What do you mean?  She's not picking you up from school?  I can't believe you'd let me throw hard earned money down the drain.  I'm going to speak to that woman!"  She reached for the phone on the wall.  "That's it Katie!"

Katie clasped the receiver to her chest.  "No.  She hardly ever forgets.  Please don't call her.  I'll do what you say.  Mrs. Young needs me."

"Hand me that fucking phone."  She pulled the receiver free, dialing.  "You can sing a different tune when you want something."  She turned her back on Katie.  "Mrs. Young?  I want to know why you've been stealing my money?"  She faced Katie again.  "My Katie tells the truth.  She says you never pick her up from school."  She glared at Katie.  "I'll tell you what, Mrs. Young, we no longer need your services."  She slammed the phone into its cradle.  "You'd better not think of lying to me, Katie Parsons!"

The steaks burned around the edges, smoking in the pan.  "I'm not.  I tell the truth."

"You look like you're lying!"  Mother pinched the tender skin of Katie's arm.  "Look me in the eye, young lady!"  Katie's heart beat in her face.  "You look like you're lying."  Mother reflected madness.  The slap rang sweetly across Katie's cheek.  The steaks smoked.  The next slap rang bells in the room.  "Look at this damn supper!"  Mother raised her hand.

Katie stepped back, the hot pan in her hand.  "Don't you touch me."

"You worthless little liar.  You're not worth my effort.  I wish your father had taken you with him.  I wish I hadn't fucked my life up with you."

Katie stopped in her room long enough to grab Daddy's address, and then she left.  The crisp cold air filled her lungs taking her breath away, but still she pedaled, pedaling for her life through frigid air, pedaling until the last possible second, through the dark, as Mother's voice cut through the neighborhood, begging her home.  She took the long way around, knowing all points lead back to the beginning.  That winter taught her to keep pedaling as Mother lost her last grip on reality, and Katie raced the wind.

Author Bio

Ann's formative years were spent in Atlanta, Georgia during the sixties with her extended family, who believed the south was a country of its own.  From this lethal combination was born a writer, who to this day finds the characters from her history creeping into her prose.  "It's the stuff that makes writing interesting."