Chapter 8: The Mistake

Cookie next found her art class, which was taught by a young, pretty, blonde-haired teacher named Miss Wilson. The classroom was decorated with many drawings in charcoal, watercolor art, sketches of the human form and painted ceramic items, all done by former students. Miss Wilson talked about some of the things they would be doing and then Cookie returned to room 38 and Mr. Gilley and Mr. Sharp, who had already done their orientations that morning so they let the whole class leave early.

Cookie's spirits were heightened as she walked home by herself, Corey having to stay for football practice. She loved art and knew she would enjoy that class and was eager to get started with her studies in all of the other classes. Junior High, it seemed to her, was going to be a great experience.

Once home, Cookie made sure that the house was immaculate and baked an apple pie, to serve with ice cream, for a nice dessert. She made Chicken Kiev for dinner, with herbed redskin potatoes and broccoli tips with slivered almonds. She set the table and had the dinner finished just as her father came in the door, from work, and her brother bounced down from his room upstairs.

Cookie served the two of them, at the dining table, before excusing herself to her own dinner in the kitchen.

As she was sitting at the kitchen table and eating the half-sandwich and tea she had made for herself, she was called into the dining room by the booming voice of her father.

"Yes, Poppa?" she said as she rushed in and stood by his chair, wondering if he wanted more coffee or seconds or another napkin.

"Kneel down here," he ordered her, pointing at the floor beside him, "I don't want to have to get up for this."

Cookie dutifully got to her knees next to her father, her hands folded together in front of her lap as she enquired, "Is something wrong?"

The slap, when it came, was mostly the flesh of his open hand across her face. It was an "instructional" slap and not meant to cause any real or lasting damage.

"Too much salt in the sauce of this stuff," he told her and went back to cutting the fork-tender chicken, on his plate, with his bread-knife.

"I'm so sorry," she stated, feeling the sting in her cheek as she softly spoke.

"Get out of here," he ordered now and Cookie scampered up and went back to her chair, alone at the kitchen table.

Sitting there, looking down at her sandwich, Cookie felt the ache in her chest and the wet tickle of the tear dripping down her cheek. It was just one tear but it terrified her. What if he came in and saw it? She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand and sniffed once to clear her nose.

She had been slapped before, she told herself. Why was she feeling such inner hurt this time? It was becoming a struggle for her to keep her emotions in check lately and she wondered why and worried about it. She had to work harder at hiding her feelings or face some terrible consequences for showing them.

If only parents didn't own their children, she thought to herself. If only they were required to love them and never to hurt them or their feelings. If only her mother had survived and were here to...

Cookie wiped away a second tear and waved such thoughts from her mind as she went back to her cold supper.