Mummy doesn’t love her.
The little girl remembers the time she got out of bed one night and found Mummy and a man laying on the couch with no clothes on. Mummy really yelled at her, made her cry. Shortly after that Mummy went away, leaving the little girl with her brothers and Daddy.
No, Mummy doesn’t love her. She wouldn’t have gone away if she did.
Her brothers are younger than her. The little girl has to look after them because Daddy has to work two jobs to make money, and he doesn’t have the time and is too tired when he comes home from work. Every day the little girl gets out of bed, and wakes up Daddy so he can get off early. Then she wakes up her brothers, makes breakfast, gets them ready for school, makes lunches for all three of them. After school the little girl makes them do their homework, cooks tea then she puts them to bed. She has taken over the role of the mother they don’t have.
Tonight, the little girl has become the wife her father doesn’t have.
A newborn baby will literally die if it doesn’t have continual physical contact with the people around it. It’s called failure to thrive. The baby needs to know it is needed. So does the little girl. She needs to feel that Daddy wants her; loves her. A faded primal instinct tells the little girl this is wrong, but the need to have Daddy touch her - be close to her - is overwhelming. It has been a long time since she has received any kind of attention from him.
Her other arm is aching now. She uses both hands to try and relieve the discomfort. Her father shudders and groans. He ejaculates over his daughter’s hands and arms. His eyes are closed with the rapture of the moment.
He doesn’t see the little girl start to cry.
Early next morning the little girl is in the kitchen. It’s still dark, the only light coming from the open door of the refrigerator. Her cheeks glisten, glazed by her tears. Daddy will be awake soon, getting ready to go to work. She has to make his sandwiches. She lays the ingredients out on the bench top, but one item she carries across the kitchen and drops into the rubbish bin.
It is a jar of mayonnaise.
It will be many years before she can eat it again.
© Peter Stone 2003
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