"When you're done washing the car," Mrs. Sherman told me, "I want you to clean out the garage." I scratched at my neck where my rash was beginning to bloom again.
"But…" I started. I was going to protest, saying that there was lots of dust in the garage and it would start making my rash act up, but there was no stopping Mrs. Sherman once she got on a rampage.
"Mary Kathrin," Mrs. Sherman said in a warning tone. "Do as you're told." I sighed and nodded.
"Yes, Mrs. Sherman," I shrugged. I reached up to my collar-bone and scratched roughly until the skin turned bright red. Something about the perfume this woman wore made my rash act up more than ever.
After my mother and father died in a mysterious fire in Los Angeles, I was sent to live with my closest relatives. And when I say "closest," I mean they lived in Hollywood. I was pretty much not even related to the Sherman family. I watched as Mrs. Sherman and her 50's style clothes strutted back into the little suburban home.
The sun was blazing hot. I wished I could be where any other normal teenager would be in the summer of 1967: the beach. Truthfully, I was on the verge of maturity (meaning I was nineteen), but I was still kept at the house, working.
"Hey, Mary!" shouted two familiar voices. I turned around to see Nina and Lena Sherman bouncing toward me. They wore matching outfits: white, knee-length skirts with candy-cane print tops; simple, white saddle shoes with red bobby-socks underneath; and bright red ribbons holding up their double ponytails.
"Nina, Lena," I greeted the Sherman twins individually. I went back to scrubbing the light blue 1955 Ford Mercury. Everything about this family was old fashioned. Their clothes, their car, their house. Everything. It was very annoying at times.
I was the only one who wasn't still stuck in the 50's. No. My clothes were more in the…mid-30's style. Every time I would look at the Sherman twins' outfits, I would be jealous. Take, for instance, what I was wearing on this particular day: simple, gray, mid-calf length skirt with a button-up top of the same color with elbow-length sleeves; simple, black flats; and my hair tied up in a single ponytail. I looked very plain, to be honest. I never was incredibly pretty.
"Whatcha doin'?" Nina asked, leaning over my work. I was tempted to throw the sponge at her, but I kept my temper.
"Washing the car," I muttered.
"How's your RASH?" Lena questioned loudly enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
"It's fine," I answered quietly, not looking up from my pail of soapy water. I scratched my collar-bone roughly and the twins giggled evilly. For eighteen-year-olds, the Sherman twins sure didn't act it. They were barely mature enough to pass for five-years-old…especially in the clothes they were wearing now.
"Are you SURE?" Nina shouted. "Because we could go pick up some of your OINTMENT for you!"
"Because that's what family does," Lena sniggered. "They help each other with problems: MEDICAL or MENTAL!"
"I'm trying to concentrate," I mumbled, running the sponge over the car.
"We should stop bothering her, Lena," Nina sneered. "She's just smart enough to think about ONE THING AT A TIME!" That was it. I stood quickly and held up my fist.
"There's a train leaving in fifteen minutes," I growled. "Why don't you be under it?" Nina and Lena chuckled, but didn't move. I lurched toward them and they squealed, running away as fast as their immature legs could carry them. I smirked, happy with myself, then went back to cleaning the car.
Man! The sun was hot! Sweat formed on my forehead like I had dumped the bucket of water over my head. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and let out my held breath. Looking at the soapy water in the pail, I was tempted to plunge my face into it and cool off, but I would get into trouble and it would burn my eyes. Who knows? With all my knowledge, car soap could make my rash spread like a bad case of the bubonic plague.
"Help," I rasped. "Water. Thirsty." I was practically falling down from thirst. I stood up from the car and walked over to the house, opening the door.
"Are you done washing the car?" Mrs. Sherman pressed. I shook my head. "Then why are you in my house?"
"Water, please?" I begged. Mrs. Sherman rolled her eyes.
"Teenagers today are so lazy," she muttered under her breath as she got me a glass of water. When she handed it to me, I slurped it up like a fish. "And their manners are atrocious," she added quietly. I finished the water and handed the glass back to Mrs. Sherman. She took it, holding it between her thumb and forefinger before clinking it in the stainless sink.
"Thank you," I smiled. I scratched my collar-bone.
"Get out before that rash spreads," Mrs. Sherman ordered.
I shrugged and walked back out into the blazing sun. Immediately, sweat began beading on my forehead, but I had more work to do. I kneeled down beside the Mercury and started washing again.
(-)(-)(-)
"Organize the gardening tools. Make sure you sharpen the ones that have dulled over the season," Mrs. Sherman instructed me. "Then, put out the tarps, dust around the shelves, and get those clumps of dust in the corners. When you're done, you can come in for supper."
My rash itched like crazy. I scratched it roughly as I nodded my head in understanding. Mrs. Sherman looked disgusted (as she always did when my rash started to act up), but turned around and flounced back into the air-conditioned house.
"Well," I sighed, attempting to make the best of things, "at least I'm inside." I started to go through the armory of shovels, rakes, and other sharp, pointy objects used to put things in the ground.
I worked for a long while, sorting and sharpening tools and hating my situation. I wondered if any of the tools were sharp enough to kill a person. Not that I was planning on killing the Sherman family or myself. I was just wondering…
"Fork…trowel…pick," I sighed as I placed the last three tools in their correct places. I sighed before picking up a dust cloth and beginning to dust around the shelves and walls of the garage.
My nose tickled. But that wasn't the worst of it. I knew that my rash would act up when in contact with almost fifty pounds of dust. I scratched my collar-bone so hard that it began to bleed.
"Crap!" I cursed looking at my fingertips. "When did my fingernails get so sharp?"
I pressed my thumb to my rash and pulled it away to see blood. I groaned, wiping it off on my skirt. Screw it if Mrs. Sherman got mad about me dirtying my clothes.
I quickly plucked the dusty clumps from the corners, threw them away, and hurried inside. Mrs. Sherman and the Sherman twins were praying by the table.
"Good," I muttered. "Just in time for dinner." Mrs. Sherman glared up at me.
"Ahem," she sneered, clearing her throat. "We're saying grace?" She said this as if I was an idiot for not knowing her insanely religious ways. I nodded, pressing my finger to my lips. "There's some food for you on the counter. You can eat it in your room if you don't make a mess."
"Pig," Lena snorted under her breath. Nina giggled and Mrs. Sherman threw them a look, but didn't protest. I took my plate from the counter and headed to the back room.
My room had a terrific view…of the brick wall that separated the neighbor's yard from ours. It was all "white-picket-fences" in the front, but the back wall was solid and sturdy. The walls of my room were an ugly shade of off-white and the carpet was gray with many brown stains on it from previous spills (thanks to the Sherman twins). There was a single bulb hanging from the ceiling from a strand of wire and when the Sherman twins had a slumber party, it would wiggle around as they had pillow fights and danced to music. My bed was an old spring-bed and it sagged in the middle, making it almost impossible to sleep on. A small desk and chair in the corner served as my soul entertainment…That is, if I ever got time for entertainment in the first place.
But right now, this desk served as my dining table. I sat my plate down and slid into the splintery chair. My dress caught a little and I had to pull the snag out or it would rip apart. I leaned over my plate and took bite after bite of the one-star food. I knew that out in the real dining room, the Sherman family was enjoying at least a four-star meal, but I was pretty much "The Help," and therefore, I did not get amazingly good food. After dinner, I took my plate to the kitchen to be greeted with Mrs. Sherman's angry face.
"You spilled, didn't you?" she growled.
"No," I told her. Her perfume wafted over to me and hit my skin. I began scratching at it, pulling the collar of my dress to reveal my bloody, scabby rash. Mrs. Sherman's face grew scared.
"Dear lord, Mary Kathrin!" she exclaimed tugging on my hand. "What did you do to yourself?"
"My rash was itching," I mumbled under my breath so the Sherman twins couldn't hear. "My nails were too long, I guess."
"You'll get my furniture all bloody," Mrs. Sherman rolled her eyes. I should have known that her furniture was more important than my welfare. I grabbed a paper napkin from the counter and held it to the bleeding spot.
"I'm tired," I sighed. "I think I'll get to bed."
Mrs. Sherman turned away from me as if to say, "Like I care about anything you do or say, Mary." I shrugged off this thought and headed back to my bedroom.
I changed from my gray dress (which now had bloodstains on it) to my plain, white nightgown. Tucking my hair up in a nightcap, I slid into my horribly uncomfortable bed, sinking into it until that same spring poked right in between my shoulder-blades. I tossed and turned until I finally fell asleep.
(-)(-)(-)
The next morning, I woke up to frantic screaming above me. Fan screaming, to be more specific. It sounded like the Sherman twins just heard something extremely exciting on the radio. Surprise, surprise. I swung my feet to the floor and quickly changed into a similar dress to the one I had been wearing the day before: modest collar line, mid-calf length skirt, boring shoes, hair tied up in a single ponytail.
"WHOOOOOOOOOO!" the twins sang out. I climbed the stairs to their room and mashed my ear up against the door. I'd probably get in trouble if any member of the Sherman family caught me, but I really wanted to know what was going on.
"Yes, you heard me right, folks!" the announcer was shouting excitedly. "The Monkees you know and love are going to be playing in Hollywood this weekend! So save your voice, 'cause you're gonna want it to scream at that concert! And now, a Monkee song!"
"EEEEEK!" Nina's voice shrieked in excitement. "The Monkees are coming here?!"
"I can't believe it!" Lena's voice rejoiced. "We have to go see them play!"
"Davy is sooooooooo cute!" Nina exclaimed. I heard her dancing around the room and landing on her bed.
"Yeah," Lena agreed, swooning. I listened in on the music for a moment. It was pretty good for rock-n-roll.
For a few minutes, I totally forgot that what I was doing was incredibly against the rules in the Sherman household. I didn't remember this fact until I felt someone tap my shoulder.
"Mary Kathrin," Mrs. Sherman scolded, "I am surprised at you. Eavesdropping on my poor, innocent little girls? Shameful!" I looked at the floor.
"Sorry, Mrs. Sherman," I muttered. I walked back downstairs and went back to my room, shutting myself away until I was needed for any heavy, back-breaking work. I always told myself that I wasn't a pack mule, but it was hard to believe after a while.
"MOTHER!" two voices shouted simultaneously followed by pattering footsteps above me.
"Children," Mrs. Sherman laughed, "don't shout indoors. What is it?"
"The Monkees are coming to play a concert this weekend," Nina explained.
"Can we go?" Lena asked.
"Please?!" the begged together. Mrs. Sherman sounded like her happy attitude was erased like a blackboard.
"The Monkees?" she asked incredulously. "You mean that band of long-haired weirdoes who play loud, obnoxious rock-n-roll music? Oh my dears, you don't want to go see them, do you?"
"Please, Mother?" Lena pleaded.
"It would mean ever so much to us," Nina cried. Mrs. Sherman thought for a long while.
"Only if there is a responsible chaperone," she finally announced. The twins gave an audible groan.
"Who'll guarantee a boring time at a Monkees concert?" Nina whined. There was silence before the twins and their mother ran down the stairs and my door burst open.
"Heeeeeeeeyyyyy," Lena smiled as she came into my room. "Mary! You wouldn't happen to want to come to a concert with us, would you?" I knew that if I said yes I would be guaranteed not to go. But, I kind of wanted to see this band. So, I decided to give in.
"No," I grimaced. "Who'd want to go to a concert when they could be cleaning the house?" Ooh was I sneaky or what?
"Oh come on!" Nina begged. "P-P-Pl…" Her voice trailed off. Lena looked at her sister, surprised. Mrs. Sherman looked rather taken aback as well.
"What was that?" I asked, cradling my hand to my ear.
"P-Please come with us?" Nina groaned. I grinned.
"Well, okay then," I sighed. Lena and Nina smiled widely and hugged each other. "But if I get behind on my work, I'm gonna get upset," I warned. Mrs. Sherman looked rather surprised, but shrugged it off and started to get breakfast ready.
(-)(-)(-)
"Mary!" Lena shouted thrusting her smelly track shoes at me. "Clean these up."
"Is that any way to talk to your chaperone?" I questioned. "You know, I might just not go to this stinking concert if you treat me that way." Lena's eyes shone with fear. She quickly picked up her track shoes smiled at me.
"On second thought," she laughed nervously, "why don't I do something around here for a change?" She ran out of the room and I leaned back on the floor. It felt really nice to relax for a change…even if it was just in my bedroom on the stained carpet.
"Mary!" Nina exclaimed. "I need to have my dress for the concert ironed!"
"The concert is three days away," I pointed out.
"Do it now, you lazy slob!" Nina screamed. I looked at her, my eyes opening wide in fake surprise.
"My, my, my," I breathed. "Such a temper. You'd better watch your P's and Q's or I might not take you to this concert." Nina shrunk back.
"Um…Heh, heh, heh," she said, panic in her eyes. "Forget it. Just iron it when you're ready…Please." Nina scurried out of the room like a frightened little mouse.
I leaned back on my floor and fell into a comfortable sleep. The last thing I remembered thinking was, "Ahh. Milking it is sooooo worth it. I could definitely get used to this kind of treatment!"
