Learning to Walk

When Daddy slammed the door, the floor and windows shaked, so I ran into the bathroom. I didn’t want to roof to fall down on me. In school, Ms. Armstrong said that during a tornado you are to run into the bathroom in case the roof falls in or the windows break. That’s the safest place, she said, so that’s where I was, waiting for the roof to cave in. I waited, but it was stuck real high and tight. Not even a piece came down.
I was glad. If the roof fell down I didn’t know what me and Momma would do. I didn’t want to go back to Grandma Clara’s. She smelled funny and her rice always burned to the pot. Her bathroom was too small for us to hide in if the roof came in. Momma told me to hush up and get out of the bathroom and into bed.
I hated my room. There were faces in the walls and they looked at me. They stared while I was trying to sleep, with big, scary eyes. They pretended they were part of the wood, but I could always see them, ugly,twisting mouths and mean eyes. I wished I couldn’t. I stared straight at the ceiling and thought of angels, like Momma said. Nothing can get you if you pray good enough, but sometimes I would think of a fairy godmother on her way to me, flying under the moon; flying in her sparkling dress. When she came I would get three wishes. I would wish for no more stupid faces on my wall. That, and no more rumbling roof or windows.
When Momma was done wiping the wetness from her eyes, she came to my door and looked in. She whispered goodnight and she closed my door just the way I liked it, with a little crack for the light from the kitchen. I pulled the blanket over my head, and heard the scrape of Momma sliding the chain on the door. I peeked my head out to see if the faces moved. They were smart and always knew when I would look. I pulled the covers back over my head and listened real hard. Momma was watching TV and I could hear all those big laughs coming from the set. Maybe Momma was laughing too. Maybe those small quiet laughs where you barely even have to smile, ‘cause I didn’t hear anything. I fell asleep.
I went to sleep until Daddy came back with his heavy hands and feet making noise on the door, making the windows shake again. This time I just layed still and silent, like at nap time in school. Daddy screamed and kicked and stomped and pushed at the chain and slid his fingers inside the door and then his screams were nothing and he stopped pushing the door and everything was very quiet. It still felt like the windows would crack.I pushed off my covers and got out of bed. I went to the slit in my door and squinted in the light. Momma was still standing at the door, still and small, naked feet on the linoleum. This time Momma didn’t slide the chain back.The door didn’t open and let the cold air in. She walked away.
When she saw me she picked up my doll by its little foot and the eyes looked at me sideways. Its hair hung down to the floor. She gave it to me and said to hush and get back to bed. I hugged her to my chest. It was my doll, my baby, my turn to say no to mean faces. I didn’t have to look straight at the ceiling, or pull the covers over my head. The chain was locked and I was big for my dolly just like Momma was for me.