Some things are hard to talk about—especially with a parent. For some teenagers, talking is beyond hard. It’s dangerous. Because the subject is forbidden. There’s too much at stake. In “Everything Nice,” from That Very Place, the stakes for Jo and for her mother are enormous.
Jo is afraid that her father is abusing her little sister Irene, the same way he once abused her. If she tells her mother, she fears the family will be torn apart.
Jo can’t be sure what the stakes are for her mother, because the secrets have been piling up for a very long time. The pain for the whole family is now so deep—and the denial so strong—it’s about to bury them.
Of all the stories in That Very Place, Jo’s was the most difficult to tell without letting emotions get the better of the writing. After all, what could be more harrowing for a girl than to be in Jo’s situation? What could be sadder? The solution, for me, comes only when I enter fully into the character’s point of view, allowing myself to feel what she feels, true or false, real or imagined.
Here’s glimpse of Jo’s first attempt to tell her mother—who’s busy cleaning the kitchen—what she suspects is happening to Irene:
I want to say something about Irene. Maybe not all of it, but something. “Mom?”
“What?” The word comes out sharply, like a slap, like this interruption better be worth her time. That’s when I see that whatever I tell my mother, however I describe what he might be doing, it will be inadequate, beyond anything she’d recognize as possible.
“About what? What is it?” She stops wiping, smacks down the sponge.
“I was just thinking about something.” Where do I start? With the bruise on her arm? With her nightgown inside out? Or with my first time, when we got home from Grandma’s, tired from the long drive, and he put me to bed? With the places he touched me that night?
“Nothing,” I mumble.
I hope you’ll read on and find out what becomes of Jo.
