Fern Bright

Ever hear about those people who spend time and money on therapy to dig up old memories? I’m one of them. Before yesterday, I would be the first to say that it’s crock of shit. That hypnosis isn’t real and that past events can’t have a substantial hold over current circumstances. Well, I was dead fucking wrong. Because yesterday, I remembered Fern Bright.

I was 6 at the time. It was first grade and I loved it. My school was really cool and I loved my lunch pail. It was a Transformers lunch box with an Optimus Prime thermos! The little things like that made the difference between the best day ever and the worst day imaginable.

My mother worked long hours but she didn’t want me in the after school program. She felt that our Connecticut school system was full of troublemakers and being around those kids outside of a classroom was just asking for trouble. So instead, she’d send me to Fern Bright’s house.

Mrs. Bright was a stay-at-home wife & mother. She used to be a dental hygienist, but soon her full-time job was being a mommy. And not just any mommy, but a mommy for Fern. Fern was her daughter. Fern was also an only child. She and I went to the same school, but Fern took a different bus. She was in the special needs class. I’d known her forever because the Brights lived down the street. Sometimes my friends and I would play with Fern. She was very quiet and copied us, doing whatever we did. As far as I could remember, I never heard Fern speak.. or even make a noise for that matter.

My bus dropped me home at 3:45 pm. I then walked to Fern’s house. The door was always open and like every Monday, Mrs. Bright made her famous cinnamon swirl cookies - from scratch! I could smell them through the screen door. “It’s my way of making it through the mun-days!” She would say. I didn’t understand what she meant until I grew up.

I loved chocolate milk, but she only had milk. There was no chocolate syrup, powder or Ovaltine. From what I recall, there was nothing sweet in the whole kitchen save the ingredients she kept for her cinnamon swirl cookies, which were stored in a cabinet so high that any child would have to plan weeks in advance to climb it properly. So… there was my glass of whole milk, a napkin, a plate and one warm, gooey cookie.

I climbed up the stool, which was enormous by a 6 year old’s standards. Fern sat next to me. But she didn’t sit on a stool. Fern was in a high-chair. She looked like a plant that outgrew its pot. I studied her briefly, not trying to stare too long because she scared me. She was always staring at me for long periods of time without so much as blinking an eye. If you’ve seen the Exorcist, try to recall how terrifying it was to see the possessed child stare into the camera right at you. Same feeling when Fern would stare at me. But today, I got a good look at her.

Fern was huge. Not fat huge, but huge like a 12 year old boy wearing a wig huge. Her strong body was like a tree; solid as an Oak. On her upper lip, there was a distinct shadow created by a thin layer of black hair. Occasionally she had some green snot build-up in one or both nostrils. Her hair was thin, like my grandfather’s. Fern was a sight, and I say this not to poke fun, only to paint a proper picture.

Every Monday, I only got one cookie. I took a bite, Fern watched and followed suit. Fern’s plate had only a half of a cookie. By the time I was through, my stomach was rumbling. I was still hungry.

Me -  Can I have a cookie?

Mrs. Bright -  Only one cookie or you’ll spoil your dinner.

(disappointed, I looked over at Fern)

Me -  Why does Fern only get half?

Mrs. Bright -  Because Fern can’t have a lot sugar.

Me -  Why?

Mrs. Bright -  Well, because she’s special.

That seemed like a load of shit. If someone’s special, they get more, no? The phone rang in the other room.

Mrs. Bright -  You two behave.

(off she went to answer the phone)

The pile of steaming hot cookies was sitting in front of us. I was 6 and at 6, you start testing people and things, seeing what limits you have. I reached over to grab a cookie. Fern made a face. It was the first expression I’d ever seen from Fern. Her lips curled into a circle, as if she was going to say “Uh Oh!” I was wearing overalls at the time and stuffed 3 in my pocket. Using my little arms, I swung myself down to the floor, landing on both feet and scampered to the TV room.

The TV room was stockpiled with toys, but not the nice kind. It reminded me of a toy station you’d find at a doctor’s office. Headless barbies & dirty legos. Too many toys that had no relation to each other. I hid inside the playhouse to enjoy my treasures. Each cookie was placed in front of me. Which one do I eat first? I started with the smallest so I could savor the biggest. In walks Fern.

There wasn’t much room in the playhouse to begin with. Fern sat across from me, cradling 7 cookies in her arms. She followed my lead by placing the cookies in a line and pretended to choose an order. She was copying me, but she had no idea how or why I was ordering my cookies.

I took a bite. Fern followed. Her bites were much larger, so by the time I was done, so was Fern. Fern just ate 7 cinnamon swirl cookies in less than 10 minutes! When she was rounding her 5th, I noticed a change. Fern started making noises.

The noises were strange and unprovoked. She started to giggle as if I told a joke, but I was too scared to even speak. Her laugh was deep like a lumberjack’s. I was truly terrified, frozen in fear. She started speaking to me.

FERN -  KOO-KOO-DE-GOO!

I didn’t respond.

FERN -  KAKI-MO, KAKI-MO FOR-PEA-SUE!

(pause)

FERN -  HA!

Her massive thigh was blocking the exit. I had no choice but to remain still. So still that I was playing dead, hoping the bear would eventually walk away.

There was a small TV in the playhouse with a VHS player. Fern started to clap ecstatically as if I just gave her a good idea. Again, I did nothing to provoke her. She turned around, flipped on the TV and hit play on the VHS. It was an episode of Fraggle Rock, a hit children’s show at the time involving muppet-like creatures who were in constant fear of big, scary ogres; how fitting. Fern clapped and clapped and clapped. And then, Fern did something I wish could forget.

Fern stood up (hitting her head on the plastic ceiling), grabbed a stuffed animal, put it between her legs and started to rub herself furiously, like a carpenter trying to use sandpaper on a stubborn piece of wood.

FERN -  HE-HAW… MURRRR. HE-HAW… MURRRR.

She turned to me and looked directly in my eyes, all the while keeping her stuffed animal between her legs..

FERN -  HE… HAW… MURRRR!!!

And then darkness. I must have been out cold for a while. When I finally came to, I was laying on my back. Looking up, I could see up Fern’s nostrils. She was starring at the Fraggles.. my head replaced her stuffed animal. I couldn’t move, and trust me, I tried. It felt like an eternity. Trapped, imprisoned and suffocating because of something I didn’t understand. And Fern? She understood less. He. Haw. Murrrr. My head was now the stubborn piece of wood.”

Fraggle Rock had a healthy balance between story & song. When the story unfolded, things went smoothly. But once song & dance started, my face became a mechanical bull that was holding above it’s recommended capacity. Her body weight was all-encompassing; I was paralyzed under it. Her pelvic bone was thrusting continually into my mouth. It was salty and musty; it reminded me of my great nanny’s closest, which had a mothball flavored thickness one could taste by just breathing in.

By the time Mrs. Bright stepped in, I must have blacked out because… well, because I can’t recall Mrs. Bright stepping in! My intention in telling this story was not to make fun of Fern, who is still struggling more than most people. My only intention is to recount in full detail my first semi-sexual encounter. And to remind all of you out there who still don’t understand: when someone can’t have sugar, it’s usually for the best.