Episode 3: The Truth About Sadie Wilkins
Read “The Truth About Sadie Wilkins” from the beginning.
Episode 3: Dream a Little Dream Of Me
Time ceased to exist as I lay there thinkin' about what had happened that night at East Shady Grove Cemetery. No doubt we were in for trouble as soon as Rhonda told her parents what Stevie did.
I couldn't figure it out. Stevie didn't even budge when I was screamin' at him. It was like his mind was off somewhere else. When Tommy showed up, we were able to pull him off of Rhonda. She looked so scared and ran away without sayin' anything. I knew we were goin' to get it good.
Heavy footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. I heard breathing. The steps seemed to be gettin' closer to my bed. I could feel someone standin' right next to me.
At first, I was too scared to peek because I thought it might be Daddy. But the presence was so strong I couldn't take it anymore. And I figured Daddy would have done somethin' by now. So, I gathered all my courage to face whatever was watchin'.
I threw the covers back and sat up. But my room was empty. So I figured I was all amped up because of what happened earlier. As I lay back down, I tried to quit thinkin' about everything that had happened since we left Southern California. I pictured my best friend, Jackie, and me, before the accident, sittin' in my room in the afternoon sunlight, my favorite time of day.
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.
***
That night, I had the strangest dreams. It was almost like watchin’ a movie—the kind that leaves you wishin' you hadn't watched.
The last of the day's light streams into a dark livin’ room through dirty windows. Smokey gray rays land heavily on a woman's mouth as she drags deeply on a Kool 100 cigarette. A dusty haze envelopes her, givin’ her skin an unhealthy glow as it settles into the wrinkles around her lips. "All in the Family" is playin’ on the TV. The woman is in the shadows, rocking back and forth in an overstuffed chair.
From another part of the house, SWAK, SWAK, SWAK rings out, almost drowned out by the TV's volume.
"No . . . No.No.No! Pa Please! Ow! No. Oh. Oh."
A dog growls and barks. Followin’ the commotion, a loud—YELP! SWAK. SWAK. SWAK. Sobbin’ fills my body. I'm wracked with pain.
"PLEASE!!! STOP. Sorry. I'm sorry. I'll be good," cries a tiny, familiar voice.
The beatin’ continues unmercifully. I see Ma fully now—middle-aged, wearin’ an old-fashioned moo-moo. She appears to be unaffected by the drama in the other room. Her eyes remain stubbornly fixed on the television as she chain-smokes.
The bedroom is dimly lit by a tiny table lamp sittin’ on the floor. It's Rhonda. She's so small. She's wearin’ a homemade sack dress. The red welts coverin’ her legs throb, makin’ my legs burn. Her face and eyes are red from crying. But she isn't crying anymore.
The only sound I hear is the canned laughter comin’ from the livin’ room. Rhonda is hunkerin’ down on a mattress, lyin’ on the bare floor. She stares through the walls and far away. Her dog, Brutus, is a big mutt with bushy fur and a great brown mustache. He’s curled up next to the bed with his head in her lap.
The volume on the TV lowers.
"Sadie!" An angry man is yellin’.
Her name is Rhonda. Why is he callin’ me?
"Ya better answer me right now! And get your sorry ass in here!"
"Yes, sir." We both answer the man.
"And put that useless piece a shit mutt outside right this damn minute, or I'll come in there and put that fucker out of his misery."
A terrified look washes over Rhonda's face as she readies to take Brutus outside. I try to console her, but she can't hear me. I try to touch her arm, but my hand slips right through. Brutus looks at me with big brown puppy dog eyes.
"MOVE IT! I'm countin' to three, and you best get in here if you know what's good for you. One, two."
Rhonda bursts into the livin’ room with Brutus close behind.
"I'm here, Pa!"
Pa wears one of those 50s-style wife-beater t-shirts (I know cuz Daddy wears those), jeans, and boots. He don't look nothin' like Daddy. This man is short with bright red hair and a giant, angry red face. He grabs Rhonda by the arm. I can feel his dirty, calloused hands. Brutus growls.
"God damn dog!" Pa grabs Brutus to take him outside.
"No! Don't! You're hurtin’ him," we say.
Rhonda tries to stop him, but he shrugs her off and continues to drag Brutus outside.
"You get your ass back to your room right now. I'll deal with you later."
Rhonda moves toward Pa.
"Don't even think about it!"
He drags Brutus out of the room, and Rhonda runs to her bedroom in tears. Ma turns the TV back up and, lightin' a cigarette, settles in.
Read Episode 4