Read Spare Change for Free Online

like there was an
eggbeater caught inside of her. “Some kind of mother you are!” he’d growl, and
turn off in disgust. Still, when the darkness of night rolled around he’d feel
the same old fire of wanting in his belly. “Come over here,” he’d say, “Make
Daddy happy.”
    The first year, Benjamin held off going to New York by claiming she’d
have to get back in shape if she was to attract a talent scout. “Those
Rockettes don’t have an ounce of fat on them,” he told her. That whole summer
Susanna ate nothing but spinach and lettuce. She’d spy a Hershey bar and a line
of drool would drizzle down onto her chin; but she stuck to the spinach and
lettuce. She grew to be so thin that her eyes sunk back into her face until
they appeared to be sitting on a ledge of cheekbone; her arms became smaller
around than those of Ethan Allen. Finally, when Susanna was too weak for
lovemaking, Benjamin said he thought she’d taken the dieting a bit too far and
suggested they postpone the trip till she got some meat back on her bones. The
second year he insisted the boy was still too young to travel. The third year
there was a problem with the crops; the fourth he had something else worrying
his mind. Year after year he found an excuse to cancel the trip to New York,
which was, of course, the reason for most of their arguments. 
    “I’m suffocating out here,” she’d wail, “I want more than just you and
this kid.” 
    Benjamin would answer, “You got a fine house, a kid, and a man who
loves you! What more does a woman need?” Before the evening was out she’d be
hurling cook pots at him or screaming profanities that caught hold of the wind
and traveled far beyond the neighboring farms—sometimes in another town that
was miles down the road, men would swear the voice had been that of their wife
who was washing dishes in the next room.    
    Ethan Allen grew up with such sounds taking root in the canals of his
ears. Before his first birthday, he’d become so accustomed to the arguments
that in the midst of a free-for-all, he could nap peacefully. He’d sit there in
the floor and not twitch a muscle, when a piece of crockery sailed by and
splattered against the wall. The first word the boy ever spoke was damn and the second was hungry . While he was still small enough to be
suckling milk from a bottle, he’d toddle along behind Susanna saying, “Damn kid
hungry, Mama.”
    “See what you’ve done,” Benjamin would moan, “the kid thinks that’s his
name.”
    “Oh, and I suppose you’re not to fault!” she’d answer.
    By the time the boy was three, he’d learned to fix his own peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches. He’d also learned that when the breadbox was
empty, he could drag a stepstool across the kitchen, scramble up onto the
counter and reach into the cupboard for a box of dry cereal. “That’s my little
man,” Susanna would say, and plant a kiss on his forehead as she headed off to
town. At an age when most children are cautioned against playing with matches,
Ethan Allen would light the stove and fry up an egg.
    Susanna considered the boy’s ability to fend for himself an admirable
trait. “You ought to be more like Ethan Allen,” she’d tell Benjamin, “you don’t
see him counting on me for every little thing!” 
    “A woman’s supposed to do for her husband,” Benjamin would answer in
return, which inevitably led to the screaming of insults back and forth. They’d
fight about almost anything they found at hand—things as inconsequential as a
missing button or unmade bed. The arguments most always ended with Benjamin
leading her off to the bedroom and closing the door behind him. “Slip into that
lacy brassiere,” he’d say and she’d do it. Once she could feel the heat of his
breath curling into her ear, feel the hunger of his hands groping her body,
Susanna would elicit yet another promise of a trip to New York.
    The year Ethan Allen turned eight, everything changed. The