Beyond Cuckoo

River cut through the orange orchard to save a few minutes. Perfect timing allowed her to dally at the library and still get home by 6:00 for dinner. It didn’t matter where she went, or what she did, as long as she hit her mark at the table when the first dishes came out of the kitchen.

“How was school today?” Her mother asked, as she did every school day. On weekends and holidays, with nothing to say, she often said nothing at all.

“Mrs. Seidel let me feed the hamster,” River said as she passed the hamburger helper to her Father who dished mounds of the unidentifiable slop on to his plate. The smell of cigarettes and beer was stronger than usual and her sister, Anna, scowled from across the table.

“I hope you washed your hands,” Anna said. “You know those things are no different than rats. Who knows what kind of germs you’ve brought home to the rest of us.”

The family of four fell into the silence of eating—forks scraped melamine plates, interrupted by sips of water and an occasional sniffle or cough. River retreated to the world she had devoured earlier at the library. Mrs. Seidel’s homework assignment was to write about a place from a branch of each student’s family tree. River didn’t know if she should choose her father’s white-side from Oklahoma or her mother’s hispanic-side from Mexico. She spent two hours going through encyclopedias researching Mayan culture. She stayed a high priestess until it was time to clear the dishes.

*   *   *

The swamp cooler pumped musty dampness through the stucco dwelling. If it ran all day, it would be tolerable when they got home from the packing house. Her father was lucky—he had a sales job at the local furniture store. He’d be cool all day—drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes between customers. The three other pieces of the family would be sorting, washing and packing tomatoes all week in 100º heat. The packing shed had fans which helped some, but not much.

“Break time,” the crew captain shouted.

“Come hijas, I brought cold Cokes and tuna sandwiches.”

“Tuna again?” Anna whined.

River knew the look on her mother’s face and smiled cautiously as she took the cold drink and lunch. Heat brought out the matriarch’s snarly side and River cringed under the constant put downs. Anna, with a few years more experience, had learned how to snap back and win. River, on the other hand, melted under the pressure.

“The way your father’s paycheck is these days; you should be grateful we have anything at all. He was pretty good at selling cars, but he can’t sell a sofa or TV for the life of him. We wouldn’t be here, if he could earn a living. I don’t know what got into me when I married him.”

“I know what got into you,” the crew captain’s voice came up from behind. “I’d like to do the same.”

“Pedro,” her mother pushed the man’s hands from her waist. “Not in front of the girls.”

“Okay, Angelina—later,” he whispered as he shuffled away.

River had watched her mother go through men. She seemed to hate their father unless he had a big commission month. Then he’d take her out to dinner and buy something they couldn’t afford like jewelry. If he was broke, as he usually was, she’d go out with just about anyone who could show her a good time. When she came home there would be hitting, screaming and door slams. One night River tried to climb into Anna’s bed for safety, but her sister kicked her to the floor. River never tried again. Instead she put on headphones and turned the Walkman radio up loud—but not until she locked the bedroom door. If she had a dog, she’d be protected. That’s what dogs do, they protect, love and befriend. That’s why dogs were banned from their house—no love allowed, period.

Lunch break lasted thirty minutes. River finished the last sip of Coke and looked at her watch. She never went anywhere without it. She timed her life exactly. Sometimes she made a list, but only if she had to plan for something late in the month. Usually she made each day’s plan when she awoke in the morning. She had gotten good at how long each thing took. Fifteen minutes to wash face, use toilet and brush teeth. Twenty minutes to eat a bowl of cereal. Half hour to walk to school. Or in Summer, like now, be in the family car by 6 a.m. to ride to work.

By California labor laws, age ten was officially too young to be working full time, even during the Summer break from school. Yet there were at least ten kids her age at the packing house, even more in the fields. The field work was much harder, so River was thankful that her mother was such good friends with Pedro.

“I’ll be right back. I have to pee,” River announced.

“Don’t be late to the line like yesterday,” Anna scolded. “I had to cover for you.”

“Yeah, we can’t afford to lose our place near the fan because you wait until the last minute to go to the bathroom,” Angelina added.

River pointed to her beloved watch and said, “I’ve got ten minutes.” 

*   *   *

In bed at exactly 9:00, River went to her favorite place—the place where, in her dreams, she was a princess. Her Mayan throne, atop the central pyramid, commanded a view of the city and she commanded respect. On high holy days people traveled great distances to bring her gifts and ask for her blessing and advice. Two jaguars crouched nearby and she tossed them tidbits of meat.

“Where have you been? Bitch!” River jolted back to consciousness with the sound of her father’s voice.

“None of your business,” Angelina responded. “I’ve been working in the heat all day and I needed some air.”

“Yeah, sure. You went to see that guy you work for. What’s his name? Pedro?”

“I told you I just went out to clear my head and to get away from you. You stink like a tequila factory.”

River knew what was coming. Anna had gone out with some friends, so she had to think fast in case they pulled her into their argument. Somehow, when things went bad, they found a way to make her feel it was all her fault. The fights usually turned to money woes and River became the extra mouth to feed, her clothes cost money, and she needed school supplies. It didn’t help that River didn’t look much like her father, Ernie.

“Where’s that kid of yours?” River heard through the door, which she quickly latched. Ernie pounded on it and she knew it wouldn’t hold much longer. If she only had a dog to bark and growl, she’d be okay. Or maybe two leopards. Protectors suitable for a Mayan princess.

My work in progress, a novel with the working title of “River” ,is an environmental/political thriller focused on water and wildlife issues of the American Desert Southwest. I welcome any and all comments or information to help me drive the story. This is a tidbit of backstory.  elaine@mediadesign-mds.com