What offended her was that Damien lived in a dirty, run-down trailer, with dirty washing and dirty dishes all over. Tracy apologized for the mess and the smell. ‘I’m real sorry. I been so busy, I didn’t get a chance to clean up.’ But somehow Tully doubted Tracy Scott ever had a chance to clean up. The trailer’s dirt looked lived-in. Well, this would certainly be a lateral move, thought Tully as she drove home. Like it mattered, anyway.
When Tully came through the door and saw her mother’s face, she said, ‘Sorry I’m late, Mom, I was over at Julie’s.’
Hedda got up off the sofa, strode over, and hit Tully full-fist in the face. Tully staggered back from the blow and fell. Hedda, teeth clenched, sweating, completely mute, came close and kicked Tully in the stomach.
She kicked Tully again and again and Tully started to shriek. Her screams carried through the front screen door into the Grove, and a few neighbors came out. They whispered to each other, but no one dared go near the house.
‘Ma!’ shrieked Tully, still supine, trying to scramble away from her mother’s foot. ‘Stop it, stop it, stop it!’ She finally managed to get up and put her hands over her face, while her mother, foaming at the mouth, punched her, hissing, ‘Slut, slut, slut.’
From the time Tully was two, she learned fear, and with fear she learned hate, and with hate she learned silence. But something else, too, came out this evening. As Tully struggled up, hands over her face, trying to protect herself, Tully felt rage rising. It nearly lifted her off the ground with its force, and she grabbed her mother’s hand and knocked it against the wall, hissing back, ‘Stop it! Stop it, you crazy woman, stop it!’
Hedda was much stronger than Tully and seeing her daughter angry only made her crazier and stronger. Hedda flailed at Tully, grabbed her with both hands around the neck and began to shake and strangle her.
For Tully, the sensation of not being able to breathe was an odd one in real life. She had woken up with the sweat and fear of death so often that to not be able to breathe at first felt oddly like a dream, and – as if in a dream – Tully felt her suffocation in slow motion and didn’t fight. Quite familiar with the feeling, she did not panic, nor even gulp for air. She finally lifted her knee and hit Hedda with what strength she could muster square in the crotch. Hedda gasped and let go. Seeing Hedda’s hands between her legs made Tully braver. Tully gritted her teeth and grabbed Hedda’s tangled hair, yanking it up and down and hissing all the while, ‘You’re fucking crazy! Fucking crazy!’
After a few moments, Tully let go of her, and as mother and daughter backed away from each other, they saw they were both covered with blood. They stood there for a long moment, looking at each other dumbly. Hedda stared at her own hands, her own shirt, and then at Tully. Tully stared at her mother and then held up her unstitched wrists, which had opened up. Having been recently cut again – for the first time in three years – they had had no time to heal and were bleeding profusely onto Tully’s palms and fingers and down to the floor in the hall. Drops of dark blood formed red quarters on the black and white tiles. Tully pressed her wrists to her chest.
Hedda started screaming. ‘You slut, you liar!’ she shrieked. ‘You slut! You liar!’ And then, out of breath, she lunged again for Tully, who, calmer now and prepared, backed away fast, to see her mother fall on her knees, get up, and lunge for Tully again. And again. Trying to move away, Tully became slower and calmer, as if too much tension and anger weakened all her defenses. But she knew it was not tension and anger that was calming her down, for the light-headed feeling turned into the familiar Whoooshhh, and she saw not Hedda in front of her, but the waves and the rocks. Rocks blended in with the visual unreality of her mother, her mother screaming at her for being a slut and a liar while Tully stood there and bled.
‘What are you saying, you crazy woman, what are you accusing me of?’ Tully said weakly, holding her wrists to her chest. She knew she had little time. Her legs were buckling under her, and she wanted to hold on to a chair or sofa, yet couldn’t while holding on to both her wrists.
‘You’ve been fucking since September!’ screamed Hedda.
Tully lost all her sensibilities. She charged at her mother, flinging her hands in front of Hedda, her wrists spitting blood into Hedda’s face. ‘Since September? September! You mean since September ’72, don’t you, Ma! Since September ’72, right, Ma, starting with your brother-in-law – my Uncle Charlie! Right, Ma? Right?’
Hedda, supporting herself by leaning against the back of the couch, looking at Tully and breathing hard, shook her head and hissed, ‘This will all come to a complete stop, do you hear me? You will not be a slut and a liar under my roof!’
Glowering at Tully, Hedda went for her again, but fell on the floor, spent, and from the floor said, ‘Not while you are living in my house, do you hear me?’
‘Great!’ said Tully. ‘Fuck you!’ She wanted to shout it, but she had nothing left in her to shout with. Her split wrists shouted ‘Fuck you!’ all over Hedda’s face and floor, while Tully turned and stumbled up the stairs and into the bathroom.
Hedda lay there until she got her breath then stood up, wiped her face with her sleeve, and went upstairs. She found Tully on her knees in her room, in front of her bed, wrists sloppily bandaged, stuffing clothes into milk crates.
‘What are you doing, Tully?’
‘I am getting the hell out of here, Mother,’ said Tully, not looking at her.
‘You are not leaving this house.’
‘Uh-huh. Right.’
‘You aren’t leaving this house! Tully! Did you hear me?’
‘Mother, did you hear me?’
‘You aren’t going anywhere, sit down and calm down. You’re hurt. You been cutting yourself again.’
‘I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Mother. Get out of this room and leave me alone.’
‘Tully, don’t you fucking talk to me like that!’ Hedda shrieked, and started toward Tully.
Tully got up off her knees and, standing up straight, legs apart, both bandaged hands in front of her, pointed the long barrel of a .45 pistol at Hedda Makker.
Hedda stopped cold and stared at the gun.
‘Where did you get that?’ she whispered.
‘Mother,’ said Tully. Her voice was weak, but her eyes were those of a madwoman. ‘That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am leaving and I am not coming back. You must be familiar with that, Mother, your family leaving you and not coming back?’
Hedda flinched.
Tully laughed. ‘How could I say that to you, Mother? Because you’re fucking nuts! That’s how! And you’re making me crazy, too.’ She lowered the gun but continued to stand legs apart in front of her mother.
‘Put the gun down,’ said Hedda.
‘Mother, I want you to leave this room. I will be out of your house in just a few minutes.’
‘I don’t want you to go,’ said Hedda. ‘I lost my temper.’
‘Too
