It's Me, Anna. Anchien Troskie

gift from my mom.

      “What do you want for your birthday, Anna?” she’d asked the week before.

      In the past I would’ve just shrugged. The excitement of not knowing what your present would be was sometimes more exciting than the gift itself. But this time I knew what I wanted.

      “Clothes, please, Mom.”

      “Clothes?” she said, surprised. “But you have a cupboard full of dresses.”

      “I don’t want to wear dresses any more. I hate dresses! I want a pair of shorts, and jeans and T-shirts.”

      “Anna.” My mother put on her here-comes-a-lecture face. “A woman must always look and feel like a woman. Jeans and shorts are fine for the beach, but otherwise they won’t make you feel feminine. A woman must be soft and giving. Pants make a woman look masculine. And we don’t want that. You’re a girl and you must look like one. Anyway, you’ve got a nice pair of pants for the winter, and your tracksuit.”

      It wasn’t the same, but I kept quiet. It didn’t help to argue with my mom. You could never win. I got the gold chain. It was very pretty but I would’ve preferred clothes. She bought the bikini as a compromise. “See, this is wonderfully feminine. You’ll see – when you wear it, you’ll feel and look like a real princess.”

      Uncle Danie was so sweet that day. He played with me and Danie Jr. He tickled me until it felt as if the laughter had squeezed all the air from my lungs. He didn’t mind if we threw sand at him. We laughed so much. Danie Jr and I ate ice cream and our hands got all sticky. We swam.

      When Mom and Uncle Danie crawled under the umbrella to escape the worst of the sun, Danie Jr asked me to climb the highest dune with him. The sand scorched our feet, and with each step we dug our feet deeper in search of the coolness below. We reached the top and, as we hopped from one foot to the other on the hot sand, Danie Jr took off his T-shirt so we could sit on it to stop our bums from burning. We sat down close to each other, our feet buried in the sand. Out of breath, we scanned the beach for our mom and dad.

      “You know they’re going to get married, hey?” he said.

      “Who says?”

      “My dad says. But not now. Later. He says they have to get to know each other really well first. He doesn’t want to make the same mistake he did with my mom.”

      “My mom also always says my father was a mistake.”

      “I like your mother.”

      “I like your father.”

      “I like my own mother more.”

      “I also like my own father more,” I trumped him.

      “If they get married, I’ll call your mother ‘Mom’.”

      “Why?”

      “Because I like her. Because my father would like it.”

      I sat for a while and thought it over. What would my father say if I also called Uncle Danie “Dad”? Perhaps I shouldn’t tell him.

      “Then I’ll also call your dad ‘Dad’.”

      We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

      “Then we won’t have to be ashamed at school any more because our parents are divorced or because we don’t have a brother or a sister,” Danie Jr said.

      “Ja.” I’d never been ashamed of that. But that day I felt like agreeing with everything Danie Jr said.

      After supper, Uncle Danie surprised us with a video he’d rented. “For the birthday girl because she looked so pretty in her bikini today.”

      “Come on now,” my mom shooed us along, “put on your pyjamas and then we can watch.”

      I ran – which was strictly against the rules – to get to the bathroom first. Mom didn’t scold me this time.

      The television was in my mother’s room. The two adults lay on the bed and Danie Jr and I lay on the floor in front.

      “Anna, come and lie here with us,” Uncle Danie said. “We can’t let the birthday girl lie on the floor.”

      He moved over so that he could lie in the middle with my mom on the one side and me on the other.

      I don’t know how it happened. At first I thought I was dreaming, but it was all too real. When I really became aware of it I realised that he’d slipped his left hand – the hand closest to me – under my panties. He was rubbing me – there, between my legs. I was numb with shock. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t Mom see? Maybe she did. Why didn’t she do something? Is this what fathers, or almost-stepfathers, are supposed to do to children? My father didn’t. Or would he still?

      He pressed his mouth close to my ear. I could feel his hot breath and smell the sweet smell of Old Spice. “Shhht,” he whispered very softly. “It’s our secret. Because you’re so beautiful.”

      He slipped his hand out of my panties when I started to jerk uncontrollably. Why did my legs feel so lame? Why couldn’t I speak? I only got up when I felt the life trickle back into my legs and my body had stopped shaking. “I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

      “But the movie isn’t finished yet!” Danie Jr complained.

      “Leave her, I think she’s had too much sun. Sleep well, Anna.”

      “You too, Mom.”

      I walked to the toilet and waited a long time to pee. It just wouldn’t come. Then I went to bed. I felt so cold under the sheet and blankets that I sneaked out and fetched another blanket from the cupboard in the passage. It wasn’t enough. I lay there shivering. I was freezing.

      Why did he do that? Why? I picked Snowy up from under my feet and stuffed him under the covers against my stomach so I could steal a bit of his warmth. He stretched himself out and began to purr. “I love you, Snow,” I whispered.

      Later that night I woke up, suddenly aware of a strange wetness between my legs. Snowy had been gone for a long time and the spot where he’d been was cold and wet. I fetched some towels and wrapped them around me tightly, so I couldn’t feel the wetness. Early the next morning I packed the soggy towels back into the cupboard between the dry ones. I would tell Paulina about the towels later, and together we would think up a plan. I also put the extra blanket back in the cupboard.

      I made up my bed myself. My mom was so proud of me. I couldn’t let her find out about the wetness in my bed. I wanted to tell her, but how? How would she react? I couldn’t, not after what had happened at school. I didn’t have the courage to talk to her about those sorts of things. There’d always been a gulf between us, and neither of us was prepared to build a bridge. My mother wouldn’t understand that it wasn’t my fault.

      That Monday afternoon after school, I found the most beautiful doll on my bed. She was wearing exquisite clothes.

      “A porcelain doll. Isn’t she beautiful?”

      “She is! Thank you, Mom!

      “She’s not from me, Anna. She’s from Uncle Danie. He spoils you terribly.”

      The doll was beautiful, but if you looked carefully you could see the scorn in her eyes.