Burned by Ellen Hopkins Page A

Oakley and Martha Stewart!
    189
    A t Dinner
    Dad was outnumbered
    gender-wise, and hurting for a snort. It was easy to see Aunt J made him
    uncomfortable but I had no clear idea why.
    I only knew some past upset
    had kept them from speaking for a good long while.
    Insane,
    I thought, not talking to your
    sibling for decades. So, crazy
    me, I asked, "Are you two
    still mad at each other?"
    Incensed,
    Dad answered, Who said we were mad at each other?
    Incredulous,
    Aunt J contradicted,
    Best let water passed under the bridge keep on trickling downstream.
    190
    J ournal Entry, May 27
    I'm supposed to be asleep, but
    Dad and Aunt J are talking, and I'm eavesdropping big-
    time. Dad's slurring, so he must have stepped outside for a good ol' dose of Johnnie.
    Wonder what Aunt J thinks about his un-Mormon breath.
    He keeps telling her not to cut
    me slack and she keeps telling
    him it's her place, she'll do as she pleases, and he can just
    take me on home if that's how he feels. Funny, but 1 don't
    think I want to go home.
    Unlike yesterday.
    1 don't know what life here
    will be like, but Dad made it clear life back home would
    be hell, and I sure believe that.
    He won't even miss me.
    1 doubt anyone will miss me.
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    Except maybe Jackie, when she gets back from camp.
    The creepy thing is, I won't
    miss them, either. How can
    you go through sixteen years with your family and not miss
    them when you leave?
    What's wrong with my family?
    What's wrong with me?
    192
    D ad Motored Off
    Very early the next morning.
    I was sawing major ZZZZs.
    He didn't bother with good-byes, which only hurt a little.
    Aunt J let me sleep in. I woke all
    alone in a stränge room with chintz
    curtains and dried flower wreaths on bright turquoise walls.
    The only sound was the tick-tick of an iris-shaped clock and, somewhere outside, Aunt J's pleasant
    song as she puttered around the yard.
    I didn't move for several minutes, just lay there, contemplating.
    What was expected of me here?
    No one had mentioned a thing.
    Sacrament Services were obviously
    not high on the list. At home,
    I'd be sweating and suffering
    Bishop Crandall's evil stare.
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    No diapers here. No kids to tend.
    Dishes for two were nothing.
    Was I supposed to plant a garden?
    Feed the livestock? Count cats?
    I got up and went to the window.
    Outside, a small breeze toyed with a wind chime and ruffled
    Aunt J's small patch of grass.
    I remembered Dad's words:
    No trouble there but rattlesnakes and deserted mine shafts.
    I was beginning to believe it.
    194
    T he First Week or So
    Aunt J and I sort of poked at each other, testing the water, as they say.
    She talked about life in the sticks.
    I talked about life in the suburbs.
    She talked about solitary Irving.
    I talked about overcrowding.
    She talked about the joy-- and pain--of physical labor.
    I talked about diapers and dishpan hands.
    She talked about hot
    summers and hard winters.
    I talked about jackrabbits and pesky little sisters.
    She talked about hot
    summers and hard winters.
    I talked about school--up until the last few months.
    Which finally led her to ask,
    Do you want to talk about why you're here?
    195
    I Did--and I Didn't
    I liked Aunt J--her soft-spoken
    way, her honesty. But I didn't
    feel secure with her yet.
    How far could I trust her?
    How much did she know?
    How much did she want to know?
    So I probed, "Why
    do you think I'm here?
    What did Dad tell you?"
    She sat quietly for a minute.
    He said there was trouhle at school, trouhle with a hoy. . . .
    I nodded. "A little
    trouhle with both, okay? Is that all?"
    She looked me in the eye.
    He said your bishop has decided
    you're possessed by Satan.
    I snorted. "Because
    I want a normal life and someone to love me?"
    Is breaking someone's nose
    normal, Pattyn? Do you think
    your young man loved you?
    196
    Okay. Valid questions.
    "No, he didn't love me, and that made me . . ."
    Angry? Enough to make
    you lose your temper and hit
    someone eise in the face?
    "Hurt. Enough