Summary: Emma Pillsbury has not been formed from victory but from tragedy.
Prompt: Tail: adjective: coming from behind.
Emma Pillsbury has not been formed from victory but from tragedy. The moments that have made her who she is as a human being are not, ultimately, the highs, but the lowest of the lows. So, it would follow that she does not define herself based on accomplishments, or in relation to others. (When she became a guidance counselor, it's not when she said yes to marrying Ken, or Carl or Will.) But instead, from night after night in a dark hospital room when she was seventeen, with her niece.
Betty's birth, two years earlier, had been the most joyous of occasions for the Pillsbury family. Her older brother, Eric, and his wife, Brigitte, had given birth to a healthy baby girl. Of course, Emma hadn't been present for the birth. Both parents had, praying for a baby with ginger hair like theirs. And when Elisabeth Rose was born with strawberry blonde fuzz atop her tiny head everyone was happy. Emma, a high school sophomore at the time, had held the baby two days later. As she did, her parents joked with Eric about not letting Emma spend much time around the baby. They didn't want "the cleanies" rubbing off on another Pillsbury.
So, when her parents babysit Betty, (called Betty to distinguish her from Brigitte's mother, whom she was named for), Emma's parents insist she stay away from them all. And she does. She is ashamed to say that by the time the call comes, telling her family the unthinkable, Emma barely knows her niece.
It's December, 1997. A mild winter as far as Midwestern ones are concerned. There was hardly any snow. Certainly no ice. And yet somehow…somehow….
Eric, Brigitte and Betty were coming home from an evening out at the Red Oaks, when they crashed. The car is totaled. Eric broke his wrist, and had torn his knee apart. Brigitte has a minor head laceration that makes Emma woozy to think about. But that isn't the worst of it. Because, little Betty isn't expected to live through the night.
That evening, Emma's parents go to the hospital and Emma remains behind. That little voice in her head grows stronger and stronger as her panic increases. By the time her parents return the next evening, their faces masks of grim resolve, the entire house is spotless. Emma's hands are cracked and bleeding.
"How's Betty?" she asks around the lump in her own throat.
"Paralyzed," her father says, and then walked into the bedroom and shut the door. Her parents never visit Betty again.
"It's just too hard to see her perfect little body all broken like that," her mother weeps. "You don't understand. You weren't there."
Emma visits for the first time on Christmas Day, a week after the accident. Betty is in a full body cast. The look in her eyes haunts Emma, but she sits close by and holds her hand. Germs are, for once, the least of her concern. Hospitals are dirty, but if something goes wrong, there are always decontamination showers. That thought gives her comfort, and makes her feel ashamed all at once. Her niece is here, mutely watching her, though Betty's been talking since she was less than a year old. Now, it seems, she won't speak at all.
So, Emma sits. She tries not to look at the brand new pink tricycle, the dress up clothes or the tee ball set her brother and his wife have gotten for her. Emma's not much of a singer, but it's so quiet in the pediatric intensive care unit that Emma finds herself singing Betty's favorite songs (Tomorrow from Annie, and You are My Sunshine) and some of Emma's favorites (Here Comes the Sun and Good Day Sunshine by the Beatles.) Yes, sunshine is a major theme. Because optimism seems so far away, and is so very much needed. She stays eight hours a day, every day of winter break, her senior year.
It's in the middle of the third week that Betty speaks for the first time Emma can recall since the accident.
"Mama?"
"Mama's not here. But Auntie Emma's here," she tries, praying that Betty won't cry. "How can I help? Are you okay?"
"Stuck," Betty says gesturing weakly to the cast.
"Yes, I see. I'm sorry you're stuck. Can I help?"
"Take it off?" Betty asks, her chin trembling.
"I'm sorry. I can't take it off," Emma says sadly.
"Why?"
"Because it has to stay on for right now."
Betty sighs and closes her eyes. It is the most defeated Emma has ever seen a toddler. That night, she goes home and pours all her nervous energy into creating something positive for Betty.
Emma arrives the next day, armed with her very first pamphlet. It reads: SO YOU'RE FEELING STUCK. Emma is so proud she could burst. She shows it to Betty, and her little face lights up, at the picture of her own face.
"Me," Betty whispers, smiling a little.
"That's right. You. This is a little book, all about you. Would you like to read it?"
Betty nods and opens the pamphlet to the first flap, with the picture of Betty in her cast. Emma explains that first, Betty has to wear the cast. The next flap says Betty will work very hard, and when Emma opens the pamphlet all the way, there is a perfect hand-drawn illustration of a wheelchair.
"Then, you get one of these," Emma says, trying to keep her tone light.
"For being good?" Betty asks, and it breaks Emma's heart.
"For getting around," Emma explains.
There is silence, and Betty blinks slowly, like she's tired. "Will you stay forever, Auntie Emma?"
"I'll stay as long as you want me to. I promise." Emma kisses Betty's hand, and watches, shocked, as Betty falls asleep clutching the pamphlet.
Progress is hard to measure. Rehabilitation is excruciating to watch, but Emma forces herself to be there. She does her homework, and stays all day on weekends, because Eric and Brigitte are back at work and can only visit early in the morning or at dinner time.
Betty goes home months later, but it's different. Emma's parents won't have Betty over to their house anymore, because they have stairs. Eric lets it happen. He keeps Betty at home. So, Emma visits there instead.
Holidays are stressful, because, inevitably, their family will have to all be together. Emma's cleany-bug tendencies will rear their ugly heads and the name she dislikes more than anything will be hers again. Freaky-Deeky. It's mean-spirited because it's not who Emma is, not really. But she finds, she can't fight it. She can't fight her parents' closed-mindedness and her own anxious thoughts at the same time.
But Betty is there, and Emma finds strength in looking at her niece. In carrying first her, and then her chair, up the stairs, so she can join in the rest of the family. With each subsequent year, on the anniversary of the accident, Emma makes another pamphlet for Betty, according to her concerns. (SO, YOU'RE FEELING STUCK was followed by ALL THE THINGS I CAN DO and HOW TO MAKE FRIENDS IN KINDERGARTEN. Followed, incredibly, by SO, YOU WANT TO BE A DANCER.) They chronicled her progress, from scared, stuck toddler, to confident elementary school student. They gave Betty confidence, and they gave Emma direction.
A dozen years after the accident, after Emma has started as the guidance counselor at McKinley High School, and Christmas is around the corner again. . The neatness and need for order are out of control. Her father, joking - or maybe not - threatens to tie her thumbs together with twine if she doesn't stop fidgeting. Straightening. But that only makes it worse. Emma cannot hide her imperfections, and neither can Betty. Together, they make the tail on a kite while everyone else they know is the kite itself.
"Freaky-Deeky, put your ridiculous energy to good use and help her," Emma's mother gestures vaguely to where Betty waits outside the front door, while Eric and Brigitte bring in food, and gifts, largely ignoring their fourteen year old daughter.
Emma's on her way down the stairs when she hears it. Eric's voice at her back. "Freaky-Deeky and Rollie-Pollie. They're perfect for each other, huh, Mom?" He drops his to a whisper, but Emma can still hear as Eric confides, "She's getting too big to be carried."
Pushing open the door, Emma blinks at the harsh whiteness, and focuses on Betty's face. "Why do you let them talk to you like that?" she asks. "If they talked to me like that, you'd stop them, right?"
Right then, Emma knows, thank God) that Betty didn't overhear her dad's insensitive comments. And right then, Emma knows that she can't stay there. Neither can Betty.
"Come on. We're going to my house," Emma decides.
"Awesome," Betty smiles.
That night, Betty asks Emma if they can dye her hair blonde. She doesn't want to have red hair if it means being like most of their family. The winter 2009 pamphlet, a bit delayed, is entitled CHANGE YOUR HAIR. CHANGE YOURSELF. HOW TO RISE ABOVE HARMFUL ATTITUDES AND BELIEFS BY STAYING TRUE TO YOURSELF. Betty loves it.
By the time Emma and Will's wedding is just around the corner, Betty is seventeen. She has told Emma on several occasions that she is Betty's best friend. But the night before the wedding, as they lay awake in the dark, Betty says it again, and this time, Emma really listens.
"You know that it's because of you that I am who I am, right? I'm more like you than anyone else in this family. You're easily my best friend. Easily."
"That's nice of you to say, honey, but not necessary. I know girls your age have lots of friends."
"Is everything okay?" Betty asks, as intuitive as Emma was at the same age.
"I'm not sure if this is what I should be doing," Emma confesses. It's not right to tell a teenager, but Emma hasn't got anyone else.
"So…you're feeling stuck?" Betty asks, a smile in her voice. "Well…you'll be stuck for a while…but eventually…if you put the work in…you'll get anywhere you want to go," Betty yawns, and goes quiet, her breathing deep and even.
"I know I've heard that somewhere before…" Emma manages, as Betty reaches over in sleep, and squeezes her hand.
The End.