Cat (Wildflowers 4)

Jade stared darts back at her.

"Girls," Doctor Marlowe said softly, shaking her head. They both turned to me.

"That's not to say my mother didn't criticize my father," I continued. "I don't think a day went by when she didn't have some complaint about his drinking after work, the friends he had, the things she had asked him to do and he had forgotten or neglected. It was just that he would rarely . . . rarely challenge her. I used to believe that early in their marriage, my father decided the best thing for him to do was listen, nod, agree, accept and move on.

"Funny," I said smiling and still looking down, "but once I thought that he was wiser because of that. I had great respect for my father. He was a success in business and he seemed so well organized, contented, in control, I suppose is the word. He had an informed opinion about everything. Whenever he was

challenged, he could explain his reasons and ideas. He was very good at convincing people. I guess that came from his being a stockbroker and having to sell hope.

"Dinner at our house was always educational. My father would comment about something that had happened in the government or in the economy, and most of the time, my mother and I would just listen. I mean, I would listen. When I looked at her, she seemed distracted, lost in her own thoughts. Yet, always at the end, she would say something like, 'Well, what do you expect, Howard? If you leave the barn doors open, the cows will get out."

"Huh?" Misty said. "What do cows have to do with it?"

I looked at her and smiled.

"My mother is full of old expressions like that. She has one for every occasion, every event."

"My granny has good expressions too," Star said.

"We already heard," Jade sang and threw her nauseatingly sweet smile at her. "It's Cat's day today, remember?" she said, enjoying her sweet taste of revenge.

Star smirked and then shook her head and laughed.

I was jealous of them. Already, I was jealous, I thought. They were at each other all the time, but I could see they also respected and in a funny way liked each other and liked to challenge and tease each other. I wanted them to like me too. Who else would like me but these girls? I worried. I could count on the fingers of one hand the friends I had had and lately, I had none. I felt like a leper because I saw the way some of the other kids looked at me in school.

It's my own fault, I thought. My face might as well be made of glass and all my thoughts and memories printed on a screen inside my head that anyone could see and read.

"I feel dirty," I muttered.

"What?" Misty asked. "Why?"

I looked up, not realizing I had spoken. It had just come out like a burp. My heart began to pound again. I glanced quickly, fearfully at Doctor Marlowe. She gave me her best calming expression.

"Did you say you feel dirty?" Misty asked.

"Let Cathy go at her own pace, Misty," Doctor Marlowe cautioned.

"She said it."

"I know. It takes time," Doctor Marlowe insisted, closing and opening her eyes softly. "You know that. All of you do," she added.

Misty relaxed and sat back.

After a few deep breaths, I went on.

"I guess I always felt people were looking at me all the time," I said.

"With a mother calling you a freak, why wouldn't you?" Jade muttered just loud enough for me to hear.

"Yes," I said. "I suppose that's true. My mother never liked me to wear what other kids my age were wearing. I had to always wear shoes, never sneakers, and my dresses were drab and not very fashionable. She complained often about the way other young people dressed to go to school, especially girls. Every time she brought me to school, she would wag her head and mutter about the clothes other kids wore. She wrote letters to the administration but for the most part, they went unanswered.

"One afternoon when she picked me up, she spotted a tiny spot of lipstick on my lip. I was in the fifth grade by then. A lot of girls came to school wearing lipstick, even though they were only ten years old. There was a girl named Dolores Potter who talked me into putting it on while we were in the girls' room together. I was embarrassed to admit I had never done it before, but she could tell and laughed because I put it on too heavily. I fixed it with a tissue and we went to class.

"I was so self-conscious about it. It was like I was wearing a neon sign. I remember every time I lifted my eyes and gazed around the room, I was positive boys were looking at me more. When the bell rang for the end of the day, I rushed into the bathroom and wiped my mouth with a wet paper towel. I thought I had gotten it all off, but there was just this one spot in the corner.

"My mother always looks at me through a microscope. She doesn't look at anyone else that way. She fixes her eyes on me and looks at every little thing. If I have a strand of hair out of place or my collar is crooked, she spots it and makes me fix it. She has this thing about me being perfect, her idea of perfect," I added. "Anyway, she spotted the lipstick and erupted. The blood rose up through her face like lava. Her eyes popped and her eyebrows rose up and without a word, she brought her right hand around from the steering wheel and snapped it against the side of my face. It felt like a whip made of fire. She was so fast, too. I didn't have a chance to brace myself. My head nearly spun completely around. I guess it frightened me more than it actually hurt, but fear can slice through your heart and bring a deeper pain.

"I lifted my arms to protect myself. My mother could lose her temper and hit me a dozen times. Where she gets the strength for someone her size, I don't know, but she sure can explode."