Forever Violet (eBook)

From Stony Hill to Broadway

James A. Costa, Frances R. Schmidt (Autoren)

eBook Download: EPUB

2023 | 1. Auflage
340 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-1570-9 (ISBN)

Infos

Violet's talent, resilience and iron will are the driving forces she depends upon to escape the trappings of her bleak existence and fulfill her ambition to become a successful writer in the Big City.

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"e;Forever Violet"e; is the story of Violet Sheehan, a twelve-year old girl growing up during the Great Depression in Stony Hill, a poor neighborhood of New London, Connecticut. Raised in a loveless home, she endures years of cruelty and indifference from an alcoholic father and mentally unstable mother. Living the life of a gamin, Violet vows to escape the trappings of her bleak existence and fulfill her ambition to become a professional writer. Her journey from Stony Hill to Broadway is fraught with several traumatic experiences and setbacks before the harrowing climax, which leaves open questions of life's unpredictable twists, and the roles destiny and fate play in it.

Textauszug

CHAPTER 2

That time of month came around and I had the same problem: no money, no Kotex. I used a towel, but that was only temporary. I needed to do something more. Nothing I could find worked. Then I got an idea. I knew Cowboy wouldn’t be home for a long time, so I opened the bedroom door and crept in. It smelled of beer and sweat. Usually I could smell pee, too. I pulled back his dirty sheet and put the blanket back over the top. Cowboy was always so drunk he’d probably never notice it gone. I didn’t care if he did, anyway. Picking up the sheet with my fingertips, I carried it to the kitchen sink to soap and scrub away the dirt, the stink and his filthy germs. After I was done, I took it outside and hung it on the clothesline to dry in the fresh air.

It took about an hour for the sun to do its job. The sheet smelled nice and clean as I gathered it up in my arms and carried it inside, where I laid it on my bed. Annie’s old scissors were a little rusty but still sharp enough. I cut the sheet into long strips, then cut again and again. When I had them the size I wanted, I folded each strip separately and tucked them away in my room. Because they were so old, they were soft. Just right. I knew I’d have to keep soaking them over and over in the future. Fifteen is a crummy age. At least for a girl it is.

Those were hard times for us. The Great Depression everyone talked about found its way into every house in our neighborhood. We were pretty bad off but Johnny Sullivan, my neighbor, was worse off than we were. Johnny lived three doors down from me and we went to Winthrop High together. I studied hard and was a good student because I wanted to get out of the scuzzy neighborhood someday, but Johnny didn’t seem to care too much about anything. To make things worse, he had a bad temper. It landed him in hot water so many times, he was filling our principal’s black book all by himself. Almost every other day when we’d meet in the hall, he’d tell me he had to stay for detention.

Other kids made fun of him behind his back because he was so dirty. They called him Piggy, but never when he could hear it. Johnny was tough and they didn’t dare. It wasn’t Johnny’s fault, though.

Half the time their water was shut off because his father didn’t pay the bill, and he would come and fill up a couple of jugs at our house.

Johnny’s dad was another drunk. Not as bad as Cowboy, but in his own way a lot meaner. Johnny never complained, even though his dad always beat him and his two little brothers. My dad was always too drunk to beat me. I felt sorry for Johnny almost as much as I did for myself. Everywhere I looked I saw poor people getting drunk and beating on each other. Still, I thought my life was the worst of all.

Feeling pretty low one day, I went up to the park and laid in my field of violets. I had a long talk with God. A real serious one. I asked what I did to deserve such a crappy life. I asked him more than that, too. I guess that’s called praying. I don’t know if God heard me. All I know is he never answered me.

My life, if you want to call it that, went on as it had ever since I could remember, with Cowboy ordering me around like a slave, insulting me, sometimes slapping me, and making me feel like I was a worthless nobody. All I could do is dream of the day I could escape my prison and find happiness. If such a thing actually existed and could be found, I swore I’d find it.

•••

Naturally, money in my house was scarcer than a hen’s teeth. Cowboy always seemed to have money for his booze and clothes, but never much money for food and almost never anything for my clothes. I had to go to school in the freezing winter with raggedy things that had been washed so many times you could see through them.

Whenever I heard Cowboy snoring good and loud in his bedroom, I’d sneak in and go through his pockets, grabbing every cent I could find. It was rare, but once in a great while, I’d get as much as two dollars, mostly in change. That was like discovering a gold mine. It didn’t last too long, but it helped.

Staying alive was my main goal. And because Cowboy was so stingy, I had to ‘shop’ every day. ‘Steal’ is more like it, but I just called it shopping. Combing the streets, looking to get milk or bread off doorsteps early in the morning was easy if the people inside were drunk or sleeping late, but it didn’t happen that often. And any foolish woman who left her shopping bag unattended...well, it was mine. I’d grab it and run like hell.

My favorite place to shop was at Mr. Beit’s grocery store because it was easier than at the Busy Bee. Even though the Busy Bee was closer to my house, it was smaller and wasn’t as busy as the name made it sound. Besides, whenever I went there, Mr. Loften always stretched his skinny neck around, watching me like a hawk with his beady eyes.

At Mr. Beit’s store I could always count on picking up a lonesome onion that fell out of a bin, or a celery stalk or, if I was lucky, a big, fat pepper...any damn thing I could get my hands on. Sometimes I gathered enough to make a water stew. That’s a poor man’s meal I made when there was nothing else in the icebox to eat. I’d fill a pot with water, add ketchup and throw everything I could find into it. It was better than starving. If you’re hungry enough it’s not so bad. Not good, but not bad.

One day I decided to do some ‘shopping’ at Mr. Beit’s store. As usual, I made sure I had a few cents on me, so if I had to, I could prove I was there to buy something, not to steal. I moseyed around a while, trying my best to look innocent, when I saw a limp carrot hanging out of a bin. In a flash I took it and slipped it in my bag.

A hand tapped my shoulder. “Hello, Violet?”

I almost jumped out of my skin. I turned and saw that it was Mr. Beit, the owner of the store standing there. He had a nice smile on his face, like he was happy he caught me.

Oh, my God, I’m caught. I’m going to jail!

“Is there anything I can help you find?” He had bright blue eyes and a deep dimple in his chin.

My breath stuck in my throat. Unable to speak, I shook my head.

“You know, Violet,” he said, “I have some soup bones I didn’t sell. If you won’t be offended, you can have them. Would you like them?”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Nobody ever gave me anything before. Never. I nodded real hard and tried to look grateful. God, I don’t think I ever smiled back at anyone in my whole life. I don’t think I ever knew how.

He left me standing there waiting and wondering why he was being so kind to me. I was nothing to him and he didn’t really know me personally. And why was he taking so long? He must have seen me grab the carrot. He had to be standing right behind me or close enough when I stole it. Was this some kind of trap? Was he going into the back room to call the police to search my bag?

I was ready to run out of the store, when he came out with a package in his hands. It was wrapped in white butcher paper and tied with a bow. He glanced to the side and reached over a counter. “And here are three carrots, an onion and a few cabbage leaves to go with it,” he said. He nodded toward the door. “Now go home and make a big pot of soup.” He gave me a little shove.

I used the change I had to buy a loaf of bread before leaving and carried everything in my arms. I didn’t just walk home; I skipped, jumped and danced all the way, hanging on tight to my packages. It did bother me, though, and made me feel a little guilty for stealing from such a nice man. It hit me then that Mr. Beit probably knew all along I was stealing and felt sorry for me. Maybe he even knew about Cowboy and his cheapness. Right then and there, I made a promise to myself that if I ever could afford it, I would pay back Mr. Beit for the stuff I had stolen from him. Every penny of it.

A lot of hungry kids roamed the streets. If they spotted you carrying something, they’d rob you in a minute. The were a bunch of dirty, little buggers. I stopped dancing around before I climbed Stony Hill. I didn’t want my neighbors, those nosy Parkers, to wonder what I had and why I was so happy, either. As I got near the Sullivan house, I heard the boys yelling over and over again:

“I’m hungry, Johnny, I’m hungry!” And Johnny yelling back, “I ain’t got nothin’ to feed you!”

I stepped carefully over the cruddy yard littered with broken glass, cans, and pieces of junk right up to their kitchen window. It was grimy and hard to peek through, but good enough to see the boys’ faces. They were filthy, except for the white trails their tears made down their cheeks and around their mouths, where they mingled with the snot running out of their noses.

I looked down at my package of food. The soup would be enough for us all, but that meant nothing for myself later. Oh, what the hell!

I banged on the door and called until they finally let me in. I told Johnny about Mr. Beit and asked him and the boys to come and eat with me. Johnny kept saying ‘no, thanks,’ but I kept badgering him.

“I have plenty here for all of us, Johnny. I really do.”

Johnny looked tortured. “OK, Violet....

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 23.10.2023
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-1570-9 / 9798350915709