District 9: Mary Cotte
Apr 9, 2018 5:02:56 GMT -5
Post by Sockie on Apr 9, 2018 5:02:56 GMT -5
Mary Amelia Cotte
DISTRICT 9
AGE 18
HANNA KOCZEWSKA
MOMENTS LOST TO MY MEMORY
My mother was in labour for almost two days before she died. Supposedly, everyone had seen it coming, with how large her stomach had grown. Most people thought she was due for twins, and that twins would kill her. You see, she did not have a very strong constitution to begin with, and multiple births are never easy out in the districts. Most particularly the lower you go. So it was no surprise when she passed. She died before I was born, actually. The doctors had to force me and my little sister out the hard way - a little bloodier and rougher than they would have been if the mother were alive.
Four of us squeezed into one tiny woman. It is no wonder to me why I am so afraid of being boxed in by people, the first seven months of my life I was boxed in with three other wrinkly murderer- and murderess- babies. My first brother was born five hours before me, two months premature. He was the strongest by far. My father named him Malcolm Aaron, after himself and my grandfather, because he thought he would be the only one of us to survive. If he had known my second brother, born three hours later would survive, he probably would have given him my grandfather's name. Instead he struggled along for two months before my father named him Taran Oliver. As for me, I came third, about an hour after my mother had died. In respect for her I received her name in the middle, Amelia, but he gave me my own first name in the hope I would live longer than she had. My sister came out soon after me, stillborn. He did not name her.
The subject of our birth is sensitive to my brothers and I, and my father has only spoken about it on two occasions. The first was shortly before our first Reaping, as he trembled at the thought of losing any one of us. The second was three years ago, during a dangerous time of my own life. Our neighbour did most of the caring for us as infants, as she was close to my mother and had experience as a midwife. She buried my little sister, saved Taran's life, and made sure there was always bread on the table for my father. While he was away at the factory, she watched over us, because she ran a laundry service from her home. This was the way my brothers and I survived our first two years.
Four of us squeezed into one tiny woman. It is no wonder to me why I am so afraid of being boxed in by people, the first seven months of my life I was boxed in with three other wrinkly murderer- and murderess- babies. My first brother was born five hours before me, two months premature. He was the strongest by far. My father named him Malcolm Aaron, after himself and my grandfather, because he thought he would be the only one of us to survive. If he had known my second brother, born three hours later would survive, he probably would have given him my grandfather's name. Instead he struggled along for two months before my father named him Taran Oliver. As for me, I came third, about an hour after my mother had died. In respect for her I received her name in the middle, Amelia, but he gave me my own first name in the hope I would live longer than she had. My sister came out soon after me, stillborn. He did not name her.
The subject of our birth is sensitive to my brothers and I, and my father has only spoken about it on two occasions. The first was shortly before our first Reaping, as he trembled at the thought of losing any one of us. The second was three years ago, during a dangerous time of my own life. Our neighbour did most of the caring for us as infants, as she was close to my mother and had experience as a midwife. She buried my little sister, saved Taran's life, and made sure there was always bread on the table for my father. While he was away at the factory, she watched over us, because she ran a laundry service from her home. This was the way my brothers and I survived our first two years.
AS I STRUGGLE TO REMEMBER
My father buried himself in work. He took extra hours, worked holidays, and began to insist to our neighbour that he be allowed to pay her for all the time she spent watching us. It wasn't that he didn't love us, no, he adored us. Every moment at home he spent with us, trying to get us to talk, or walk, or giggle. Asking questions about every little thing in the house to make sure we grew up curious. It simply hurt his heart. In each of us he looked upon his Amelia, our mother. The dark brown eyes of Mal, the thin-pointy nose of Taran, my soft brown hair. Our freckles, splashed across our faces, and our cries, and our laughter, and every time we blew raspberries - each moment reminded him of our mother. He never blamed us, but he always called me by my full name. I was never Mary to him, I was always Mary-Amelia.
My brothers called me that as well, although they would not know the meaning behind it until much later. Once they did find out I think they used the double name less because of it's association with myself, and more because of it's association with their lost mother. Our lost mother. My lost mother. We did not cry for her. She was nothing to us, as toddlers, we had no memory of her, we have never had a memory of her, and honestly if anyone had seemed a mother to us up to that point it would have been Ms. Halle, our neighbour. She told me of a time, when we were all about four, that Mal looked up at her and shouted "Mummy!" as if he were calling her a forbidden name. She corrected him quickly. She is our Ms. Halle.
No part of this is corrupted. You could call these our "perfect years." It did not occur to us that we missed anything - we had a father and a Ms. Halle. Both of them kept us fed, clean, and happy. Father came home stinking of melted plastics, but we didn't care, we would just stick our faces in one of Ms. Halle's fresh washes. Then chase each other around the little yard, and eventually, fall asleep, packed like sardines into Daddy's warm bed, climbing over each other for the spot next to him. He never asked us to leave.
My brothers called me that as well, although they would not know the meaning behind it until much later. Once they did find out I think they used the double name less because of it's association with myself, and more because of it's association with their lost mother. Our lost mother. My lost mother. We did not cry for her. She was nothing to us, as toddlers, we had no memory of her, we have never had a memory of her, and honestly if anyone had seemed a mother to us up to that point it would have been Ms. Halle, our neighbour. She told me of a time, when we were all about four, that Mal looked up at her and shouted "Mummy!" as if he were calling her a forbidden name. She corrected him quickly. She is our Ms. Halle.
No part of this is corrupted. You could call these our "perfect years." It did not occur to us that we missed anything - we had a father and a Ms. Halle. Both of them kept us fed, clean, and happy. Father came home stinking of melted plastics, but we didn't care, we would just stick our faces in one of Ms. Halle's fresh washes. Then chase each other around the little yard, and eventually, fall asleep, packed like sardines into Daddy's warm bed, climbing over each other for the spot next to him. He never asked us to leave.
THESE IMAGES ARE FADED
Can you imagine our first day of school? Three equal-sized little Cotte children, swinging arms and nervously chattering. Never having played with anyone but each other and the children from two houses down the street. Ms. Halle took us, of course, because our father had work. She dropped us at the front gate of the school building and let us find the classroom on our own. We had been worried the entire morning about being separated, but by our good luck (or perhaps alphabetic luck), we were in the same room. We thought it was funny - the way the teacher called Taran Malcolm and Malcolm Taran. I used to complain to her during nap time about how she never accidentally called me Malcolm or Taran. I wanted to be a part of that, too. She said I better not get my hopes up.
When we were six Ms. Halle moved to a different part of town. We cried so hard about her leaving us, it was like losing a mother, and we had heard about other children's mothers at school. How they got cuddles and snuggled their mothers at night. Ms. Halle was never at our house at night. But she reminded us she was never our mother, and that we would do best to forget she had ever tried to be one. I still can not understand why she felt the need to leave us, but my father respected her decision, and I can accept her not wanting to replace her friend, our mother.
Taran and I had weak bones as children. They developed slowly, and several adults had to consistently remind us not to play so rough together. Especially Mal, who did not have the same problems, and never ached like we did. Once, in a particularly rough tickle fight, Malcolm broke Taran's wrist. Boy, do I remember that scream. I was the one that ran for our other neighbour to find Ms. Halle - who came quickly to fix our problem and disappear again. My father's reaction upon returning home was the first time we had seen him truly angry at any of us, and afterwards, Mal was a lot gentler when we wrestled. Even today I feel how tentatively he touches my shoulder, and know he would never mean to hurt a fly.
When we were six Ms. Halle moved to a different part of town. We cried so hard about her leaving us, it was like losing a mother, and we had heard about other children's mothers at school. How they got cuddles and snuggled their mothers at night. Ms. Halle was never at our house at night. But she reminded us she was never our mother, and that we would do best to forget she had ever tried to be one. I still can not understand why she felt the need to leave us, but my father respected her decision, and I can accept her not wanting to replace her friend, our mother.
Taran and I had weak bones as children. They developed slowly, and several adults had to consistently remind us not to play so rough together. Especially Mal, who did not have the same problems, and never ached like we did. Once, in a particularly rough tickle fight, Malcolm broke Taran's wrist. Boy, do I remember that scream. I was the one that ran for our other neighbour to find Ms. Halle - who came quickly to fix our problem and disappear again. My father's reaction upon returning home was the first time we had seen him truly angry at any of us, and afterwards, Mal was a lot gentler when we wrestled. Even today I feel how tentatively he touches my shoulder, and know he would never mean to hurt a fly.
COLOURFUL RECOLLECTIONS
For a time, my siblings and I were always in the same class. When we were seven, however, the teachers began remarking how annoying we would get if we were in a group together, and our tendency to create a sort of Cotte Family Clique within the classroom. So for the following year, we were separated, which was a huge pain for us. Being social with anyone but each other was a struggle, but in the end it was good for us. We were all able to open up more and try things that we ourselves enjoyed, rather than agreeing on something as a group. I also began to migrate further towards "girly" games, much to my teacher's relief.
At some point my father began to fall back into his depression. However, this went completely unnoticed by me and my brothers because we were too busy playing games outside, chatting about our school days apart from each other, or plowing through homework and colouring pages brought to us by our new neighbours. The only times we were somewhat aware of his depression was the time near our birthday - when he became silent and grim, or the nights in which he rolled out of bed and sat in the kitchen for a few hours. Eventually, soon before our tenth birthday, he told us we would have to start sleeping in a different bed.
Malcolm grew much faster than Taran and I, and because of that he had already been sleeping on the floor beside my father's bed for quite some time. When our father finally kicked us out of his room for the last time, he helped us build the pallet on the floor of the back room that would become our bed for the next few years. It was a messy nest of quilts and crochet scarves found in the back closet, but it was surprisingly warm, and we fought much less over space and blankets. There was enough room on the pallet that I occasionally invited the girl from two houses over to sleep over with us, and she fit nicely in between me and Taran.
At some point my father began to fall back into his depression. However, this went completely unnoticed by me and my brothers because we were too busy playing games outside, chatting about our school days apart from each other, or plowing through homework and colouring pages brought to us by our new neighbours. The only times we were somewhat aware of his depression was the time near our birthday - when he became silent and grim, or the nights in which he rolled out of bed and sat in the kitchen for a few hours. Eventually, soon before our tenth birthday, he told us we would have to start sleeping in a different bed.
Malcolm grew much faster than Taran and I, and because of that he had already been sleeping on the floor beside my father's bed for quite some time. When our father finally kicked us out of his room for the last time, he helped us build the pallet on the floor of the back room that would become our bed for the next few years. It was a messy nest of quilts and crochet scarves found in the back closet, but it was surprisingly warm, and we fought much less over space and blankets. There was enough room on the pallet that I occasionally invited the girl from two houses over to sleep over with us, and she fit nicely in between me and Taran.
AS WE GET A LITTLE TALLER
I remember being taller than Taran for a solid two months. It was a landmark achievement - for two siblings that had stood head to head for so long, I was officially in the middle. It did not last as long as I had hoped it would, no, he had his growth spurt soon after me and shot up only just short of Malcolm. By our eleventh birthday we were about even again, but of course with Mal an inch or two ahead. Our personalities were just beginning to diverge, but it was not a bad thing. Malcolm was smart. He had ideas. He always knew what game we should play. Taran was an artist, a messy one, and made me jealous of his strange, newly discovered skill. Me, though? I was happy to keep blindly following them in whatever they did, and try any new thing a teacher handed me.
Then, in the spring before our twelfth birthday, our father had a break down. It was a clear evening, and he entered our room like he never had before. He was beaten, red-faced, and tearful. If he had been a drunkard I would have been scared, but I knew him not to be. He was a gentle man, but it was heavily that he lowered himself to the floor and pulled us into his arms. It was several minutes before he was able to answer our confusion.
That was the night he said we ought to know everything, and everything about ourselves and our mother. It was that night he told us what our names meant. Mal knew, Taran guessed, but I never knew the special feelings behind being Mary-Amelia until after that night. I feel as though our dynamic changed that night, because my brothers stopped seeing me as Youngest Sibling and more as Surviving Daughter. When my father wasn't around, they tentatively speculated about our little sister, and how much she would have looked at me. And after some time, when we had done all the speculating we could squeeze about her, we speculated about my mother. And how much we might look like her. What ways we were like her. "Does Dad chew his knuckles? Have you seen? Do you think maybe Mother chewed her knuckles?
Then, in the spring before our twelfth birthday, our father had a break down. It was a clear evening, and he entered our room like he never had before. He was beaten, red-faced, and tearful. If he had been a drunkard I would have been scared, but I knew him not to be. He was a gentle man, but it was heavily that he lowered himself to the floor and pulled us into his arms. It was several minutes before he was able to answer our confusion.
That was the night he said we ought to know everything, and everything about ourselves and our mother. It was that night he told us what our names meant. Mal knew, Taran guessed, but I never knew the special feelings behind being Mary-Amelia until after that night. I feel as though our dynamic changed that night, because my brothers stopped seeing me as Youngest Sibling and more as Surviving Daughter. When my father wasn't around, they tentatively speculated about our little sister, and how much she would have looked at me. And after some time, when we had done all the speculating we could squeeze about her, we speculated about my mother. And how much we might look like her. What ways we were like her. "Does Dad chew his knuckles? Have you seen? Do you think maybe Mother chewed her knuckles?
IT FADES INTO YEARS
By thirteen, we wanted nothing to do with each other. Of course. It wasn't cool anymore. Mal didn't want to be seen with a scrawny brother and a silly sister. Taran envied Mal, and didn't want to be around me, the Girl. I cared at first but quickly found distractions in other girls, who wanted to sit in groups and walk each other home and laugh about Silly Boys. The girl from two houses down spent more time with me, but we were never actually that close. After a few months Taran informed me I wasn't going to be her friend anymore, because he was her boyfriend. Not hanging out with her was no loss.
Our lack of supervision is what probably led to Taran's corruption and the many arguments between the three of us, mostly surrounding rules Taran was breaking. Sneaking out to be with Evelyn, stealing from our father, and stealing from us among them. Things came to a head when we began fighting on the floor of our living room in the early hours of the morning, because I had caught him handing off my favourite fuzzy mittens to Evelyn as a gift. Mal interceded before my father awoke, but we were still both yelled at in the morning for our bruised faces.
My father despised us fighting. When Mal and I returned home that evening, the blanket nest had been dismantled. Two cots sat on opposite sides of the room for the boys, and a twin mattress was in the corner of the kitchen for me. We continued to grow more distant, and I increasingly sought out other people to spend time with. I needed people, not because of extroversion, but because without someone else to dictate my feelings I didn't know what sort of things I was interested in. I had no hobbies or strong causes without someone to echo.
Our lack of supervision is what probably led to Taran's corruption and the many arguments between the three of us, mostly surrounding rules Taran was breaking. Sneaking out to be with Evelyn, stealing from our father, and stealing from us among them. Things came to a head when we began fighting on the floor of our living room in the early hours of the morning, because I had caught him handing off my favourite fuzzy mittens to Evelyn as a gift. Mal interceded before my father awoke, but we were still both yelled at in the morning for our bruised faces.
My father despised us fighting. When Mal and I returned home that evening, the blanket nest had been dismantled. Two cots sat on opposite sides of the room for the boys, and a twin mattress was in the corner of the kitchen for me. We continued to grow more distant, and I increasingly sought out other people to spend time with. I needed people, not because of extroversion, but because without someone else to dictate my feelings I didn't know what sort of things I was interested in. I had no hobbies or strong causes without someone to echo.
THESE WERE THE CIRCUMSTANCES
I eventually found the perfect person to echo. His name was Wiley Sutton, and he was two years older than me at sixteen. We became very close very fast, and eventually I found myself spending all of my time with him. I figured I finally understood what had Taran so distracted. I even found him one night to apologise for judging his relationship with Evelyn, because I felt so strongly about the one that I had developed with Wiley. He was smart, and opinionated, and through that I felt myself becoming smart and opinionated, with all of the same defenses for my "Beliefs" that Wiley held. Almost every word that came out of my mouth had surely been said by Perfect Wiley before.
It was four or five months into our relationship that he began pushing for more ways to feel close to me. I respected him and his perfect personality, and I wanted to be respected by him for the perfectness of his reflected through me. I should have known it wouldn't work, I should have seen the outcome, but no one told me anything. No one warned me. How was I to know? What Wiley and I did was never discussed with me until it happened, so quickly, so passionately, so thoughtlessly. Things we had neither ever felt before.
What was meant to be felt? I asked the girls I trusted most - but what help were they, at fourteen? They knew no better than I did. They pointed me towards older girls, but they had no desire to talk to me, either. You're too young for that, wow, ask someone else they would say, nervously, embarrassed. And so eventually I stopped asking other people, because I was afraid someone might start spreading untrue things. It was no use. Wiley and I continued. And when I became pregnant, it was a sure surprise.
It was four or five months into our relationship that he began pushing for more ways to feel close to me. I respected him and his perfect personality, and I wanted to be respected by him for the perfectness of his reflected through me. I should have known it wouldn't work, I should have seen the outcome, but no one told me anything. No one warned me. How was I to know? What Wiley and I did was never discussed with me until it happened, so quickly, so passionately, so thoughtlessly. Things we had neither ever felt before.
What was meant to be felt? I asked the girls I trusted most - but what help were they, at fourteen? They knew no better than I did. They pointed me towards older girls, but they had no desire to talk to me, either. You're too young for that, wow, ask someone else they would say, nervously, embarrassed. And so eventually I stopped asking other people, because I was afraid someone might start spreading untrue things. It was no use. Wiley and I continued. And when I became pregnant, it was a sure surprise.
TINY LITTLE WORRIES
I didn't know for a long time. I had very little knowledge of what pregnancy was, and it tended to stop at sometimes the mother dies in childbirth. By the time I had deduced it, Malcolm already had. He told me he worried for me. I told Taran before Wiley, and it ended up being the best decision, because Taran was waiting around the corner when Wiley informed me it couldn't be his. The boys fought. I watched. I would have stopped it, but my heart had already disconnected from my stupid Perfect Boy. I was done with his personality. If you could call it that.
My father was the hardest person to tell. I waited longer than I should have, and by the time I told him he had already been slow-cooking in worry about my expanding waist. To my surprise, he was not angry, but broke down in tears over my lap and begged me to stay with him. Stay? Was he expecting me to leave? Like my mother? I thought - I couldn't end up dead. I'm too young, I'm not as weak as she was. And everyone worried about my bones. And everyone worried about my coughs. And everyone worried over my every step. Until the birth.
It was a little boy, strong and happy. I named him Basil, and the boys switched to the living room so I could have a bedroom with my son. I tried to continue school for a while. Mal stayed with Basil on Mondays and Taran stayed with him on Tuesdays, so I had two days a week, but after a year I began to stay home full time to take care of him. Wiley began visiting, but I closed the door on him repeatedly. Perhaps he had good intentions for a while, but my continued rejection ruffles his feathers. I kept quiet about the visits. I didn't want my brothers to fuss. I tried to make it difficult for him to visit, by saying Basil had a cough, or some other silly excuse. But it was no use. Wiley and I continued. And when I became pregnant, it was not a surprise.
My father was the hardest person to tell. I waited longer than I should have, and by the time I told him he had already been slow-cooking in worry about my expanding waist. To my surprise, he was not angry, but broke down in tears over my lap and begged me to stay with him. Stay? Was he expecting me to leave? Like my mother? I thought - I couldn't end up dead. I'm too young, I'm not as weak as she was. And everyone worried about my bones. And everyone worried about my coughs. And everyone worried over my every step. Until the birth.
It was a little boy, strong and happy. I named him Basil, and the boys switched to the living room so I could have a bedroom with my son. I tried to continue school for a while. Mal stayed with Basil on Mondays and Taran stayed with him on Tuesdays, so I had two days a week, but after a year I began to stay home full time to take care of him. Wiley began visiting, but I closed the door on him repeatedly. Perhaps he had good intentions for a while, but my continued rejection ruffles his feathers. I kept quiet about the visits. I didn't want my brothers to fuss. I tried to make it difficult for him to visit, by saying Basil had a cough, or some other silly excuse. But it was no use. Wiley and I continued. And when I became pregnant, it was not a surprise.
THE DREAMS I'M HAVING
I was angry. I had never been so angry in my life. When had I ever been my own person? Was I ever not connected to someone? My father, my brothers, my WILEY, my BASIL? I cried so often for seven months that Malcolm worried for my hydration. My father cared for Basil while I laid in bed, crying along with my son about the state of things. Wiley stopped visiting again, and I isolated myself in a futile attempt to try being my own person. What I didn't realise was instead of self-reflection, I was emptying myself only further. I nearly erased my family from my life.
It was at seven months I broke. My belly was too big, and I knew it, my father knew it. He came to me and warned me that this pregnancy could be more dangerous. He never said a word about multiple babies, but I knew what he meant, and three weeks later I went into labour with twins. Halfway through the pregnancy, the first child struggling to make its way out, Taran ran for Ms. Halle. Just as she always promised, she came, and finished the delivery. It lasted a day, and at the end of it I had one daughter and one corpse.
My hips still ache from the difficulty of that birth, and while Wiley has seen the child I have not let him visit often. Malcolm stayed with me during my recovery, and eventually both of my brothers finished school early to begin working in the factory. Two young children and four near-adults was simply too much to support with one person working. I would work, but since the birth I've been weak and tired so often, and still need to stay home with my children. No one accuses me of dragging us down, because we care for each other much more than that.
I named the daughter Matilda, after Ms. Halle, and the corpse I named Amelia. Because that was the day I decided to become myself. Just Mary.
It was at seven months I broke. My belly was too big, and I knew it, my father knew it. He came to me and warned me that this pregnancy could be more dangerous. He never said a word about multiple babies, but I knew what he meant, and three weeks later I went into labour with twins. Halfway through the pregnancy, the first child struggling to make its way out, Taran ran for Ms. Halle. Just as she always promised, she came, and finished the delivery. It lasted a day, and at the end of it I had one daughter and one corpse.
My hips still ache from the difficulty of that birth, and while Wiley has seen the child I have not let him visit often. Malcolm stayed with me during my recovery, and eventually both of my brothers finished school early to begin working in the factory. Two young children and four near-adults was simply too much to support with one person working. I would work, but since the birth I've been weak and tired so often, and still need to stay home with my children. No one accuses me of dragging us down, because we care for each other much more than that.
I named the daughter Matilda, after Ms. Halle, and the corpse I named Amelia. Because that was the day I decided to become myself. Just Mary.
