My Mother Divinity [Unedited]

Chapter Ten

She was born in pain. Her mother screamed and screamed and she remembers being pulled out, crying herself. Opening her eyes for the first time to blinding artificial light in a hospital room. There aren't many cases of people being able to recall their own birth, and she hasn't ever told anyone she still sees it in her sleep at night - they'd never believe her.

But she's a beauty - so much so she is named after the Greek for 'most beautiful'. Calista - not a common name in the Borders or in Britain at all. It almost makes up for the fact she's a weak child growing up, always inside on a cold day with a runny nose, and when she trips and skins her knees playing with the other kids at nursery she does nothing by wail and wail.

She hears her mother speaking in whispers one night to the man she's remarried. There are discussions and worries for her social development. "She's about to start school," her mum stresses, "and she has no friends. The other kids are scared they'll hurt her; she's always covered in bruises and - shit, what if they think we're doing that?"

"She's only four, and she's small for her age," her step-father argues, "and so what? She bruises like a peach but she'll grow out of it. It's too early to be fretting over all of this."

On her first day of school, the teacher makes them all introduce themselves and they pass a soft toy globe around in a circle with their legs crossed and when it's not their turn, they fold their hands into baskets on their laps. She informs the class her name is Calista and the teacher checks the register and wonders if it's spelled correctly on the system.

Everyone is busy making friends but she sits in the corner and doodles on a piece of torn lined paper when it's 'creative time'. The marker is blue and bleeds onto her fingers. She sits in silence until the teacher comes up to her, poorly disguising her concern for the little girl's solitude.

"Hello, Calista. What is it you're drawing?"

She explains that it's a sheep. They're her favourite animals because when she was a baby, her mother used to take her round to the neighbour to be babysat while she worked two jobs, and the neighbour was a farmer with chickens and sheepdogs and little lambs. She got to watch while the lambs were bottle-fed before they grew into adulthood.

At lunch break, she sits on a bench alone, pressing down on a Frube. She has a ham sandwich on white bread and a ripe orange and even a packet of those chocolate-coated animal biscuits as a treat for being so brave on her first day. The teacher helps her deposit her rubbish in the bin then buttons up her coat so she can play with the other children outside.

"If you're patient, you might get a shot on the swing," the teacher suggests. She thinks the woman has a soft spot for her because she's so pretty and small. It's proven so when she goes to stand in the line for the swing and only has to wait a few minutes before it's declared it's her turn.

The teacher pushes her because nobody else wants to. When she's high enough off the ground, she can't help but smile and feel free with her little hands clutched around the chains. And then one of her classmates knocks into her and pushes her to the dirt.

She starts crying as she always does, and upon the sight of the purple scrapes that have appeared on her knees under her pinafore, screams louder. It hurts so much. She's taken to the medical room and the nurse dabs the blood away with a paper towel and sticks on a big Dora the Explorer plaster, but it soaks through almost instantly and the adults around her suddenly look confused.

"She won't stop bleeding," the nurse tells her teacher.

Then later: "She wouldn't stop bleeding," says the teacher to her mum when she's being picked up. She casts her eyes to the ground and worries she's going to be reprimanded for being careless but her mother only picks her up and hugs her tight and tells her everything will be fine.