The Girl at the End of Her Bed

She sat tightly wrapped in her white bed sheets, her eyes sunken and gaunt. The woman looked yellow against the sheets and walls. The box springs creaked, and the mattress dipped as the women shifted her weight while little girl sitting at the foot of her bed didn’t even wrinkle the covers.

“Tell me a story,” her big eyes pleading and dim.

“Fine. Once upon a time there was a little princess,” the girl said sarcastically, swinging her legs.

“Tell me a true story.”

“Ugh Fine. Thirty years ago, in Boonville California there lived a little girl with her family. She wasn’t perfect. She wasn’t the kind of girl parents brag about, or the kind of girl everyone wants to be.”

“What was her name?”

Sighing the girl said, “Her name was Amber, she had long dark hair her mother always put into braids, and big brown eyes, and a look that made her seem she could do no wrong. She kind of looked like you only a lot younger.”

***

Amber was eight. That meant she was allowed to walk to school by herself. To say Boonville was small was an understatement, the population consisted of less than 1,000 people and the town was the size of two city blocks along the side of highway 128. She was dressed in a white smock dress, scuffed black Mary Janes, and a winter coat. She walked along the highway kicking the gravel, completely indifferent to the loud trucks rushing past and the sight of her breath in the air. Once she reached the end of town it was a little more than a five-minute walk from the school. Singing to herself Amber walked up the steps of the little red schoolhouse looking at the smoak curling out of the chimney. She looked down at the stairs she saw a spider crawling along. Amber continued up the stairs a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth knowing the spider was no more than a stain on the bottom of her shoe.

Amber walked into the one small, one classroom school, looking down shyly the small smile still lingering. She took her place at the small wooden table “the green table” and waited for class to start hands clasped in her lap and ankles crossed. Amber sat still during the lesson, watching. She tried to take the words children are meant to be seen not heard to heart.

People say a lot more when they didn’t think you are listening, she said to herself.

Amber watched the teacher twist her wedding ring around her finger, a hard edge in her voice while she spoke.

Mrs. Day seems extra irritable today, she thought.

You know she will take it out on us, her thoughts replied.

Amber sighed. She really tried not to cause trouble; she tried her best, but something always went wrong. Amber sat on the edge of her chair, hand raised, and her eyes wide, waiting expectantly for something that would never happen.

“Billy,” Mrs. Day said to a boy sitting behind Amber, pointing to him with the end of a ruler. “Can you tell us what five times seven is?”

“35 Mrs. Day,” the boy replied.

The teacher nodded and smiled not even sparing a look in Amber’s direction. Internally rolling her eyes was all Amber could do to let out her hatred for Mrs. Day. Was her anger rational? No, it wasn’t, she knew that’s just the way things worked but it made her mad. She shouldn’t be mad. She should be like the other little girls: hands clasped in their laps, clothes neat, eyes facing the board, and most importantly quiet. Removing her hands from her lap, she picked up the pencil on her desk. She was board out of her mind idly tapping the eraser of her pencil against the table. She truly didn’t understand how people couldn’t do their times tables and she couldn’t understand why she never got called on. Amber looked at the chalkboard eyes big and blank, her pencil still tapping. Her eyes were still glassy and her mind somewhere else when Mrs. Day voice snapped her back to the present.

“Stop that incessant tapping and focus,” she snapped.

Amber nodded somberly as the teacher handed out the standard multiplication test.

We will get that dumb old bat back don’t worry, the voice said.

“You have 10 minutes to complete the multiplication tables,” Mrs. Day said lifting her watch, “starting now.”

Amber looked at the paper and rolled her eyes, her hand flew over the paper as her messy handwriting filled the page.

Now she will know. They will understand I know the answers, she said to herself.

Her thoughts replied, they will never understand you, Amber. They will never like you. To them you will always be too much.

Amber raised her head a little, eyes flickering around the different tables noticing most people were only done with the first few problems. She could have slowed down, pacing herself based on the people around her. Instead, she finished quickly, ignoring Mrs. Day refiling the wood heater.

Almost done she looked around. Why was everybody so dumb, and slow, and annoying? Couldn’t everyone see that they were stupid? Finishing her test slowly she fumed at the incompetence of her classmates.

Just be patient.

Pencil and test in one had she carefully stood up. Walking up towards the front of the classroom she noticed Billy, half a step behind her. She gripped her pencil firmly in her fist, smiling. She finished before him.

Look how mad he is that you finished first.

Amber paused for a moment to turn around and see what the voice was talking about, but she never got the chance to see the frustration in his face. Billy, knocked into her back pushing her forward. Tripping over the lip of the rug as if in slow motion the voice started to scream at her.

Do it. Make him pay, make Mrs. Day see how awful he really is. Make Billy get in trouble for once. Do it.

Without hesitation the little girl stabbed the pencil into her leg as she fell, smiling when the lead broke her skin. The little girl lay on the floor watching the hem of her white dress turn red fascinated, the tipless pencil still clutched in her hand.

“Ouch!” She yelled. “Look Billy pushed me! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”

Mrs. Day rushed over ignoring Billy and telling everyone to move away.

That was awful. Where are the tears? Where are the waterworks? Do better!

“Don’t worry I will.” Amber said.

“What was that honey?” Mrs. Day said concern evident in her voice.

“I said it really, really hurts.” Amber replied. Quickly scolding herself for her mistake.

“Class I want everyone outside for a quick recess while I patch Amber up. Billy I will talk with you later. Now hurry along.”

Mrs. Day stood up to grab her first aid kit as the children filed out of the room, the cold wind ripping through the now opened door. Mrs. Day returned from the cupboard with a small red first aid box.

“Okay Amber, this might sting a little honey.” The teacher said.

Amber tuned her teacher out and watched in fascination as she took the tweezers, carefully reaching for the pencil lead stuck in her leg. She didn’t flinch when the lead came out or when Mrs. Day cleaned the cut with an antiseptic wipe. Mrs. Day placed a horrid pink band aid over her wound and helped Amber to her feet and into a chair.

“How are you doing honey?” Mrs. Day asked.

“I am okay.” The small girl replied lip wobbling.

“That’s good. Now sit and rest. I am going to send the kids back in and have a talk with Billy.”

With that Mrs. Day left pushing the door open and holding it for the children to re-enter. Amber looked down at her bloody dress frowning slightly when she saw the band aid. She knew she couldn’t take it off quite yet or else Mrs. Day would be concerned but she itched to see the small puncture wound. When she looked back up the rest of the kids were starting to crowd around her talking incessantly. When Billy returned all the kids parted to let him by.

“I am really sorry Amber,” he said smirking. “I really didn’t mean to push you over it was an accident.”

“It’s okay Billy,” She replied, trying her best to contain her rage with fists clenched under the table.

“Okay class we have to really focus if we are to finish all the work we need to get done before lunch.”

The class settled down and Mrs. Day started to teach again. If anyone could see behind Ambers calm exterior they would have run. She sat there with a pleasant smile on her face but internally she fumed.

ACCIDENT! IT WAS NO ACCIDENT! Why didn’t Mrs. Day punish him? He pushed you if you had pushed someone, she would have your head. How did she not punish him? That little evil twat of a teacher.”

I know don’t worry I will get my revenge, she replied.

The rest of the class time before lunch passed quickly. Amber sat quietly as she always did silently planning, planning the downfall of that horrid little red schoolhouse.

“Alright class, lunch today is going to be shorter. So, everyone grab your lunchboxes and head outside.” The teacher said.

“Mrs. Day?” Amber asked.

Mrs. Day turned around and nodded, “yes hun?”

“I don’t really feel up to eating outside.” She said in a small voice lip quivering.

“Of course, honey have a nice rest in here,” she replied no hint of concern in her voice.

When the door had shut Amber chuckled to herself, the girl slowly pulled off her band aid and looked at down at her leg, which was bleeding again. Even if Amber didn’t have a plan, she wouldn’t have wanted to stand outside alone watching the girls play hopscotch and ring around the rosie without her. Amber rushed over to Mrs. Day’s desk and started rummaging through her drawers careful not to mess everything up. She started logically with the top of the desk sifting through papers. She heard metal clinking together as she opened the top left drawer. Reaching into the drawer she pulled out a large ring of keys. Mary Janes scuffing against the floor she rushed back to the table to place the keys in her jacket pocket, chuckling to herself. Next, she headed over to the wood burning heater looking. Amber rummaged around in the box ignoring splinters until she found what she was looking for, a white bottle with red cap that looked very large in her dainty little hands. Amber shook the bottle happy with the large sloshing sound that was produced.

“It’s almost completely full.” She said.

Now people will learn. Learn not to ignore you, learn to take you seriously.

She squeezed the bottle and a steady stream of fluid spilled onto the floor. Over the next few minutes, the girl completely covered where the edge of the wall met the floor. She was very careful not to get any fluid too close to the heater.

You don’t have much time.

Heart thumping Amber tore the hem of her dress into a long thread drowning half of it in lighter fluid. Carefully she stuck the dry end in the back of the heater, grabbed her coat and headed out the door.

“Amber? I thought you were eating lunch inside?” Mrs. Day said looking confused.

“I was, I just needed to go to the bathroom before class.” She replied pointing to the small outhouse some yards away.

“Okay I am just about to round everyone up so hurry.” Mrs. Day said before using her teacher voice to shout. “Lunch is over class everyone back inside.”

Nobody noticed Amber didn’t go to the bathroom. She instead got into the back of the line keys in hand. When the last child entered the school building, Amber shut the door, took out the keys, and turned them in the lock. She smiled at the jingle of the keys in the lock and skipped towards the outhouse.

“Ring-around-a-rosie a pocket full of posies,” she sang turning towards the school. “Ashes, Ashes they all fall down.”

***

“When the fire department came, they found her sitting on the steps of the outhouse, hands in her pocket talking to herself and laughing.”

There was a harsh knocking on the door and the woman struggled to sit up in bed. She turned from the door and the girl was gone from the end of her bed.

“Amber!” The women on the other side of the door said. “Stop talking to yourself!”

Amber just laughed, she sat there arms glued to her waist with a straight jacket and laughed.

Frances Anderson, 2022

Prose