When Marilyn Monroe’s Psychotherapist Asks About Her Childhood

Most Sundays, Norma Jeane has to change clothes after church, but today she gets to stay in her good dress.

“Come into the front room,” Ida says. “Stand still for a minute while we share some important news.” Even though Ida Bolender is only Norma Jeane’s foster mother, she sews her clothes like a real mother would, adding extras such as a Peter Pan collar.

At church Norma Jeane stayed still for over an hour, and now her legs twitch with a seven-year-old’s need to move. But she says, “Yes, ma’am,” and waits by the davenport. 

“What’s going on?” Lester whispers. He’s Norma Jeane’s sort-of brother, but only because they both live with the Bolenders for now.

Starting to worry, Norma Jeane shrugs and tries to kick off her too-tight sandals.

“We need to talk with you about a big change,” Wayne Bolender says. 

“Norma Jeane, stop fidgeting,” Ida says, her own feet stuffed into leather pumps.

Although Norma Jeane would like to live with her mother, that isn’t possible. Her mother, who works at a motion picture studio, is far too busy to pour Norma Jeane a cup of milk, or darn her ankle socks, or teach her the colors of the rainbow. Whenever Norma Jeane visits her apartment, her mother says, “You may be small, but you’re a lot to handle.”

For now, the Bolenders allow her to live with them, as long as she abides by their rules. 

“Norma Jeane, leave your shoes alone. Look, you’ve made a black smudge. See how nice Lester looks?” Ida says, which makes Lester stand up straighter.

Norma Jeane copies his stance, her feet planted firmly on the floor. Since living with her mother is not an option, she wants to stay with the Bolenders. Ida and Wayne live on a farm and have plenty of food—boiled potatoes and knobby green beans, slices of soda bread, and sometimes blackberry cobbler if it’s a special occasion.

Wayne clears his throat. “Taking in foster children, such as yourselves, is both an honor and an immense responsibility.” 

“I’ve been doing a good job recently of abiding by the rules”—Norma Jeane ticks them off on her fingers—“no swearing, no lying, prayers before bedtime.” 

All summer she’s been shucking corn and holding the dustpan while Ida sweeps. Maybe the Bolenders are going to adopt her and Lester. Then Norma Jeane can call them Mama and Daddy. Her real mother only wants to be called Gladys.

“We’ve thought long and hard about this big decision,” Wayne says.

Norma Jeane nods until Ida frowns at her. 

“Lester, we will be petitioning the court to adopt you as our own.” 

As Wayne’s words rattle around the room, Norma Jeane holds her breath. Lester is hugging Wayne and Ida, and still they’ve said nothing about her.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Ida holds out her hand for Norma Jeane. 

“I can be adopted too? Like Lester?”

Ida dabs at her eyes and shakes her head. “We tried to talk your mother into it but she wouldn’t agree. She does want you to keep living here though.”

“For how long?”

“Your mother didn’t say. From where I’m standing, she seems to be very busy at her job, and you have a lot of growing up left to do.”

“So, a long time?”

Ida smiles, but Norma Jeane, noticing she’s made no promises, turns and runs away through the kitchen and out the back door.    

It’s the hottest part of the day, and when she looks directly at the sun, hazy dots swim in her eyes. Norma Jeane blinks, and tears wet her cheeks. Ida didn’t say how long she could say. She definitely didn’t say how long. 

At least Norma Jeane still has on her orange dress. Her everyday playthings are not so brightly colored, nor so full in the skirt. She begins to prance up and down the backyard. Prickly bushes crouch beneath the sun, and bright rays flash off the metal roofs of the neighbors’ farmhouses.

Lester comes outside and whistles through a blade of grass held against his teeth.  

Given the afternoon’s development, Norma Jeane decides she both likes and does not like Lester. Sometimes he plays with her, marbles or hide and seek, and once he fashioned a rope for jumping. On the other hand, Norma Jeane doesn’t like Lester because the Bolenders are adopting him and not her. She gathers speed, flicking up her dress to create a breeze, and dust stirs behind her. It coats her legs, soft as powder and slightly cool.

Before Lester can say anything about being adopted, Norma Jeane calls out for her dog. He’s prone to wandering, and she’s always telling him not to venture into the neighbor’s yard.

“Have you seen Tippy?” Norma Jeane asks with another swoosh of her skirt. The dog showed up back in April, the afternoon of the Easter cantata, with a frayed rope around his neck and briars stuck in his tail. He belongs to her, everyone agrees. 

Lester whistles again through the blade of grass. “Here he comes.”

Tippy trots up, tail wagging, and Norma Jeane scratches behind his black and white ears, his favorite spot. If he would prance along with her, staying by her side like in a parade, the afternoon would be much better.

“Right here, Tippy.” Norma Jeane taps her leg. “Ready?” Off she goes, practically skipping this time. Much to her delight, the dog follows.

“If you’re up to playing, you must be feeling better,” Ida calls out from the back door. “My goodness, what on God’s green earth have you done to your Sunday dress? Come back here this instant.” Ida does not sound the least bit impressed with Norma Jeane’s prancing, and worse yet, Tippy takes off running without her.

As Norma Jeane walks back toward Ida, she points her toes in her t-strap sandals. Her white socks are ruined, and her legs are filthy, streaked with sweat and dust. No wonder the Bolenders haven’t tried harder to adopt her. 

“You can’t treat your nicest church clothes like common playthings,” Ida says. “Do you know how much time I spent sewing the collar on your dress?”

“No, ma’am.” The afternoon sun makes Norma Jeane’s scalp tingle, and by now Tippy is nothing but a blur in the distance, heading straight for the grouchy neighbor’s yard. She wishes Ida would show her how to sew. If her real mother were raising her, she would teach her how to wear rouge and cook a pot roast and everything else a grown-up lady or woman does. “I’m sorry, Mama,” Norma Jeane says without thinking.

Ida’s eyebrows knit together. “What did you call me?”

“I said it on accident,” Norma Jeane says quickly. “Thinking about my real mother did it.”    

“I’m not your mother, Norma Jeane. You know better than that.” Ida crouches down to Norma Jeane’s level. “Calling me your mother is akin to lying.”

Norma Jeane doesn’t mean for it to, but she feels her lower lip tremble. Gladys will visit soon, all red hair and plucked eyebrows and Chesterfield cigarettes. In the meantime, in exchange for the privilege of calling Ida and Wayne her mother and father, Norma Jeane would give up her prized possessions, even her cat’s eye marble.

“I’ve never led you to believe I’m taking the place of your real mother.” Ida doesn’t raise her voice—she hardly ever does—but her words sting. “Or that Wayne is standing in for your real father. It’s nobody’s fault if he’s never shown his face. Nod if you understand.”

Norma Jeane nods until her neck creaks, like the last step on the Bolenders’ porch. As they walk back toward the house, Norma Jeane comes up with an idea. In church that morning, a member of the congregation got dunked in water by the minister. When he came back up, his white robe soaked and see-through, everyone clapped. Norma Jeane had nudged Ida and whispered to ask what had happened.

“Baptism signifies being cleansed and made new,” Ida had said, still clapping.

Now Norma Jeane tugs on Ida’s skirt. “Could I get baptized?” 

Ida breaks into a smile. “My, what a big girl you are. I’d be happy to make the arrangements with the church.” 

Norma Jeane slips her other hand into Ida’s and squeezes. Whenever she feels like it, she might still call her Mama in her mind. 

That evening, for the first time ever, Tippy doesn’t come home for supper. When the neighbor claims he hasn’t seen him, swearing he hasn’t laid a finger on him, Norma Jeane suspects he’s the real liar, not her. 

~

The following Sunday, the minister dips Norma Jeane back into the cool water, and the entire congregation of the Unified Pentecostal Church watches as her ugliness, every last bit of it, is washed completely away.