December at the Women’s Shelter

[Editor’s note: ‘Better Next Year’ is an essay collection edited by Vancouver writer JJ Lee, published this fall by Tidewater Press. The collection features the personal essays of writers with a connection to B.C. Each essay reflects on a memorable winter holiday season in their lives.

This essay excerpt, which appears in the book as ‘Shelter,’ is a real-life account of December at a women’s shelter as told through the eyes of a child.

Content warning: This story contains depictions of intimate partner violence and family breakdown. It may be triggering to some readers.]

The bunk beds did make the first night a little better.

Mom spoke in the bedroom doorway with a worker who hadn’t smiled once since we arrived. She reminded me of my grandmother but grumpier. And if I knew one thing about grumpy grandmas, it was to stay out of their hair.

I inched away from them and closer to the bunk beds. I wanted to stake my claim before Stephanie, my six-year-old sister, could. She already had a loft playhouse bed back at home and was used to sleeping in something fun. I slept on an antique hospital bed. Its metal frame creaked and rattled every time I rolled over. I was always afraid I would cut myself on the sharp edges.

So sure, the bunk was second-hand and covered in another kid’s marker but it beat what I had. Also I was the oldest by three years. I remember deciding I definitely deserved the top bunk over Stephanie.

I would throw my Cabbage Patch Kid on the top bunk before Stephanie could even open her mouth. I just needed the shelter worker to leave so I could call it.

I sidled to the window and pulled back the curtain. We were on the second floor of an old house halfway up a hill. I could see the city below, a traffic light at the bottom of the hill and an orange bridge off in the distance. Colourful lights and snowman decorations lit up the houses nearby, creating a warm seasonal glow. The storefronts, restaurants and the lead-zinc smelter across the city flashed and blurred into a mix of reds, whites and industrial oranges.

In the distance, tiny pinpricks lit up a handful of houses. These were my favourite. They reminded me of the quiet times we had at home in the winter.

The worker explained the house rules to my mother while my sister kept her eye on me. Mom was responsible for our breakfasts and lunches. Food was in the fridge and the pantry. A chef would take care of dinner. She usually made meals like vegetable soup, spaghetti and meatloaf. The shelter had one television but no cable TV because they didn’t want anyone fighting over the channels. Finally, no men allowed — not even her father.

Us kids weren’t allowed to run up and down the stairs. We also had to stay out of the other bedrooms even if they were empty. And most importantly: never ever give out the shelter’s address or phone number.

Stephanie and I were good kids. Everyone always told our parents how well-behaved and quiet we were. This woman was different, and I didn’t like how she was already upset at us for no reason. I suddenly had the urge to run up and down all the stairs around and check out every single room. I wanted to see if they had bunk beds, too.

I think not knowing why she directed her anger at us kids crushed me because we depended on a warmth and comfort we never saw. I just wanted to give her a real reason to be mad. But I knew better.

The worker said the shelter had a playroom in the basement. It had all kinds of toys donated from kids who no longer needed them.

The limits of charity

I didn’t want other people’s broken toys. I wanted all the toys I had back at home. The My Little Pony Paradise Estate still had all its pieces, my Barbies had their original dresses, and my own Strawberry Shortcake dolls smelled like they were supposed to.

I figured it was like this: if a kid didn’t want to play with their old, broken toys, then why would I?

Why did charity have to be so dirty?

The basement also had a donation room full of used clothing, said the worker. Mom said she’d find us kids new outfits in the morning. But I wasn’t about to wear someone else’s clothes for the same reason I wasn’t about to play with someone else’s toys. Too filthy and uncared for. The outfits I brought from home were just fine.

But in the end, none of this mattered because I knew we’d be out of there soon. My family always celebrated the holidays together.

Before she left, the worker said one last thing: the shelter would separate us into different rooms after a week. They wanted to free up the only family-sized bedroom in the house for future families. My sister and I would stay at one end of the hall and my mother at the other.

No. We couldn’t be away from her. Why would they separate us kids from our mom? I’d once gotten lost in a department store and sobbed for 15 minutes straight. Sure, we were still under the same roof but that didn’t stop me from panicking when I couldn’t find her. Finally a kind woman brought me to customer support where they paged my mom, who showed up half-relieved, half-angry. The thought of not seeing my mom across the room from me in a strange women’s shelter scared me. The worker closed the old wooden door behind her with a click, which made me jump.

I tossed my doll on the top bunk and called it. Stephanie was in no mood to fight. Instead, she waited by the bottom bunk for our mother to tuck her in for the second time that night.

I climbed up top and studied the view: pale green walls, a wooden dresser and my mother’s single bed.

Being up high wasn’t as great as I thought it would be. I pulled the covers over me and laid my head on the pillow. The sheets smelled nothing like the ones at home. They were a different kind of clean, so that even in the dark I couldn’t pretend I was in my own bed.

I thought of my father coming home to an empty trailer that night and missed him so much. I couldn’t fully understand why we’d left — especially tonight.

As far as I knew, my dad was just like the other dads in the village: he drove a pickup truck, he visited the bar and listened to loud rock music with the windows down.

In fact, he was better because he could weld, which meant he could make anything. He also built his own cars for the demolition derby and won first place every year. And sometimes he’d take Stephanie and me four-wheeling in his truck through the mountains.

In the summer, however, Mom said he’d been hurting her in private. It had been going on for a while. She even had to see a doctor. This didn’t make any sense to me because he was always around and I never saw him do or say anything wrong.

My mother swore me to secrecy that we’d leave someday but wouldn’t tell me where or when. We never spoke of it again. In fact, I had forgotten all about her plan by September. If anyone at school asked about my family, I would have told them we were happy because I thought we were.

I tucked myself deeper into the top bunk as my sister below me snored. Holidays always brought families together. Mine would be no different. I couldn’t wait to leave the shelter.

A mystery man

Mom said she’d try on her donated clothes later because she was going out. She threw on a sheer, black top covered in sequins she had stitched on herself. She usually wore this when going out for dinner with her girlfriends or my father.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Out.”

“With Dad?” Mom didn’t answer.

“When will you be back?”

“Later.”

“Will you bring us back something?” Stephanie asked.

Mom said yes. I didn’t want anything from the store.

In the kitchen, Mom made us peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwiches and set them on the table before kissing us goodbye. After she left, Stephanie and I ran up to our room to watch her through the window. We couldn’t find her.

“Bathroom,” I said.

We ran to the top floor, climbed onto the toilet seat and looked out the window. We stood on our tiptoes to get a full view of the street. Our mother teetered up the sidewalk in her high heels through ankle-deep snow.

After slipping a few times and laughing at herself, she finally made it to a shiny gold car that had been waiting for her. Mom opened the passenger-side door and went to get in but stopped. She said something to the driver, then looked down at her shoes. Mom kicked the snow off her high heels, then climbed inside.

The car turned around and drove past the house. I tried to see the driver but only caught a glimpse of a single hairy arm.

We watched them, our tiptoes aching, until they were out of sight. I didn’t know who this mystery man was or what he wanted with my mother and why. I just knew I hated him.

A holiday special

That night, after Mom finally came back, I was done with the shelter and I wanted to go home. Christmas was only three days away.

“Who was that man you were with?” I asked.

“What man?”

“The one with the gold car.”

Mom asked how we knew and I told her we saw them from the bathroom window. My mother said he was just a friend and that his name was Rob. I told her I didn’t like him. She said I didn’t have to. At least not yet. I had no idea what that meant but I didn’t like how it sounded.

Mom went out with Rob again the following night. He took her to dinner at an all-you-can-eat spaghetti restaurant, then to a nightclub called Rosario’s.

A third worker let us watch a movie at the shelter. Movie night was a big deal for me because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d watched TV. Compared to the others, this worker was younger, prettier, and smiled more. She was my favourite. I thought maybe she was in high school because she reminded me of the babysitters we had back at home.

Halfway into the show, the doorbell rang in the kitchen. The worker looked at me, her eyes wide, and I couldn’t tell if she was surprised or afraid or both, which made me nervous. She paused the movie and told us to wait there while she answered the door.

Moments later, a man carrying a camera followed her into the living room. His eyes lit up when he saw us. He said he worked for the newspaper and was writing a story about the Christmas donations. The man held out his camera and asked if we wanted our picture taken. I didn’t, but I also didn’t think I could say no to him. I thought I’d make him mad after he’d been so happy to see us. I looked at the young worker for help. But she only stood against the wall and watched.

Stephanie followed me to the tree where we both sat cross-legged. The man reached underneath the tree and grabbed two presents, then placed them in our hands. My sister and I looked at each other and our eyes grew big. When the photographer told us to smile, we gave him our biggest, happiest smiles and then he snapped the picture.

I was ready to tear open my gift when the man snatched it from my hands. “These aren’t for you,” he said, reaching for my sister’s. He shoved them back under the tree.

The worker let him out. I spent the rest of the movie wondering what I’d done wrong and why the shelter worker didn’t help us when the man took the gifts back.

Who were they for if not us? It didn’t make sense to have a tree with presents underneath and no one to give them to.

The next morning was Dec. 24, and when Mom asked how movie night went, I told her about the photographer and how I was more upset that he’d taken my gift than my picture.

Mom looked at me, her eyes dark like a crow’s.

“You had your picture taken? For the newspaper?”

I said yes.

My mother told my sister and me to stay in the room while she went downstairs.

I covered my ears, too afraid to listen to her argue with one of the workers over something I’d said. All Stephanie and I could do was stare at each other.

Mom came back upstairs, grabbed a suitcase and threw our clothes in it.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“The shelter’s closed for Christmas. We’re going to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

I helped her pack. I loved my grandparents. They loved us in return with their too-tight hugs, home-cooked meals and questions about school. Sometimes Grandma painted my nails or let me paint hers, but most of all she said, “Children should be seen and not heard.” That was my cue to watch cable TV, which was something I couldn’t wait to do. I’d been missing the holiday specials.

I didn’t want to go back to the shelter. I don’t think anyone did. But we knew my grandparents’ place was too small and crowded. Eventually we’d need a real plan. Until then, we just wanted to enjoy the season.

My sister and I slept head to toe on the couch that night. Grandma’s guinea pig mucked about in his cage, kicking up wood shavings, rattling the steel ball in his water bottle and gnawing on the bars. I couldn’t sleep either.

Dad knew where my grandparents lived and he must’ve known we were there. I fell asleep not knowing if I’d get my home or my presents first, but I was sure Dad would come through because he wanted his family back just as much as I did.

Then everyone would see how happy we actually were.

A way out

Back at the shelter, Stephanie and I explored the whole place. Mom was out again and the workers were busy so we could go pretty much anywhere.

Mom spent even less time at the shelter after the move.

But one afternoon, she sat us on her bed. I was so mad they put her in a room with ugly orange walls but she was smiling for the first time since we’d left home.

Mom said she’d met a very special man.

“Rob,” I said.

“Yes.”

Rob was so rich that he had an in-ground swimming pool with a diving board in his backyard. I didn’t know what she meant by “special.”

If we were good, Mom continued, then he’d let us swim in it this summer.

She also explained it was important to be polite because Rob was her new boyfriend and we’d be meeting him soon. Then she had me hold out my hand.

“I want you to say, ‘Hello, Rob. My name is Jennifer. It’s very nice to meet you.’”

By this time, I’d given up any hope that my family would get back together. My dad still refused to give up our Christmas presents and I suspected Mom wanted out of the shelter just as much as I did.

I imagined an underground swimming pool in our very own backyard, much better than the plastic kiddie pool we had at home. I could have all my old friends over. We could have a camp-out and swim underneath the stars.

I couldn’t wait for summer.

I held out my hand to my mother and said, “Hello, Rob. My name is Jennifer and it’s very nice to meet you.”

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Excerpted from ‘Better Next Year: An Anthology of Christmas Epiphanies,’ edited by JJ Lee. Copyright 2023 JJ Lee. Published by Tidewater Press. Excerpted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.