View Three

I was 8 and a half when Melanie was burned in the bathtub. It was all my fault, too. I always did what mother told me to do--help John or watch Melanie so she wouldn't get in trouble. I always was helping out, always doing something for someone else. It was my job--I was "Mother's little helper." So when mother was running hot water in the bathtub for our baths, and she asked me to stand in the doorway to keep Melanie from getting near the tub, I was used to doing that kind of thing. I did stand in the hall right outside of the bathroom. But I didn't get what my mother was asking me to do, I guess. I kind of followed her to the doorway of her room because I didn't realize that Melanie would go toward a bathtub with steam rising up off of it.

When Melanie shrieked, I thought she was dying. Mother shoved me aside and rushed into the bathroom, pulling Melanie up out of the water. Then she turned off the faucets. I could see Melanie's eyes shut and she was leaning back against Mother, and she was crying so hard she could hardly breathe. Mother was looking down at her legs that were as red as tomatoes. "Diane! Quick, run and get daddy--hurry!" And so I ran across the lawn to where Daddy was. When I told him that something terrible happened to Melanie and that Mother said to go hom quick, he dropped his tools and ran out of the neighbor's house to our house. The neighbor lady asked me what happened, and I told her that my baby sister had fallen into a bathtub full of very hot water and was probably going to die. She looked horrified. I turned and ran home so I could see what was going on.

The neighbor followed me and said she'd stay with me and John while Mother and Daddy ran out the door with Melanie bundled up in a blanket, off to the hospital. All I could think of was that I had disobeyed my mother and that I would be in terrible trouble when they got home. Especially if Melanie died--boy, I'd be killed. Daddy had really gotten after me and spanked me pretty hard several times before for other things I'd done--that I didn't know were bad things. So there was no telling what he'd do to me when Melanie died.

The neighbor made us supper and I could hardly eat it. All I could think about was that I hadn't done my job, had disobeyed, and now I was very, very bad. Something awful was going to happen to me. I just knew it.

Everyone had always made over Melanie because she was so cute. People would stop on the street and remark to Mother how cute she was. "Such a face, such a face!" an older woman had effused. "What a beautiful girl!" someone else had said. I just stood by, like chopped liver. I wish someone would tell me that I was beautiful, or that I had "such a face." Mother told me that I had a fat tummy, but didn't really tell me much about how I looked. Neither did Daddy, even though I knew he loved me. People even commented about John--his blond-white hair and smiling face. He was really cute. I was just someone who tried very hard to do all the right things so someone would tell me that I was good and pretty and nice. Maybe if I took good care of John and Melanie people would see how responsible I was and that I was good-hearted. But now, since Melanie might die, I thought I was the worst person in the world, both inside and out. The thing was, I was so sick of hearing how cute Melanie was that I had once wished she would die, or that she was never born. Because before she was born I was the only girl and I was special because I was cute and did cute things. Mother used to tell all these stories about what cute things I did. I wanted to be cute and nice. Maybe this is why Melanie had fallen into the hot water--because I'm not nice, I'm not good, and I'm not as cute as she is.

I could hardly think of anything else except of what would happen to me when Mother and Daddy got home. Daddy came home after I had gone to bed. But I wasn't asleep. I heard him come into the house and I wondered if he'd come back to my room and spank me or tell me how terrible I was. But he didn't say anything when he came to my door and looked in at me. I pretended that I was asleep.

The next morning, Daddy told us that Melanie was burned very bad and that she would need to stay in the hospital for a few days. Mother was there with her, so we'd need to go to some friend's house for the day while Daddy was at work. Daddy looked worried, but he didn't look angry at me. Maybe he'd wait until Mother got home and then they'd both yell at me.

The next day, Mother came home and made us a meal before she laid down to sleep in her bed. I knew that it was my job to keep John quiet so she could get a nap. Mother had taught me that if she fainted (she was pregnant and sometimes felt faint), that I was to go get a wet washcloth and put on her head until she woke up. So I had to take care of my mother sometimes, too. I wondered if she'd take me aside and spank me, but she just looked tired and very sad. She laid down on her bed and went to sleep. I thought that if I just kept everything clean and quiet that she wouldn't get angry with me when she woke up. So I straightened my room and tried to clean up the kitchen a little bit. I wanted everything perfect so I would be a good girl, too.

Mother woke up and ran to the bathroom. She was in there for a long time and I could hear her crying. See, it was because of what I had done. But when she came out, she called Daddy at his office and told him that he should come home. He did, and they went into the bedroom and I could hear Mother crying in there while Daddy talked to her. I found out later that the baby that Mother was pregnant with had fallen out into the toilet and died. It made me feel so terrible--now not one, but two deaths would have happened because of me.

A few days later, Daddy took us to the hospital lawn where we looked up at the fourth story window and waved at Melanie. All I could see was a white blur up there. Daddy said that she had bandages all over her and that's why we couldn't see her fingers, or any clothes on her. All she had was bandages. I could see Mother up there, but not much of Melanie. I prayed and prayed for her that night. "God, please don't let her die!" and "I'm so sorry that I said I didn't want my baby sister."

A few days after that, Melanie came home from the hospital. She looked really different and she was real quiet. I couldn't tell if she was glad to be home or what. Mother said that I had to treat her very carefully because her skin could come off and lots of it had come off already. She had these two long places on one hand, between her fingers, where Daddy said the doctor had to cut apart her fingers. Three of them had cooked together. It was sickening to think about.

John and I tried very hard to watch Melanie so she wouldn't fall down, or get her bandages dirty. Mother and Daddy hovered over her and Daddy changed her bandages every day. I watched him talk real sweet to her and put her in the bathtub and pour white gooey stuff over her hands. Then he'd carefully scrub her skin. She never cried, but she looked kind of blank. I thought it might hurt her.

All the while, I kept wondering when Mother and Daddy would take me aside and punish me for what I had done. Life while waiting for the other shoe to drop, can be really interesting. I did it for years after Melanie was burned. I wish someone had told me that it wasn't my fault, but no one ever talked to me about it. I lived with nightmares and fears for a very long time. After awhile, I just got tired of waiting--waiting for someone to notice me; for someone to tell me I was good and pretty; for someone to tell me that I could do special things and that I was a special person; that God had a special work for me to do. I tried to do all the things that I was told and even other things--taking care of Mother and trying to help her in the kitchen and stuff. But no one ever told me any of the things I wanted. So I got angry with Melanie and took it out on her for a long time.

I remember one time when she was going to sit down on a chair and I quickly pulled it out from behind her. She fell on the floor on her bottom and hit her head on the bedpost. I think she fainted or something, because Mother was in the room in a flash, holding Melanie to her and asking me angrily why I did such a thing to my sister. I didn't know. I just knew I was heartsick that no one noticed me and that she got so much of the good things from my parents: attention, love, compliments. If only I could have what she did.