It's a quarter to five the buses will be here in half an hour. Did I confirm with the bus driver? do I have the beach bag do I have to go home again? The buses will be here soon and then everything will be fine everything will be out of your hands Susie it's been a long time coming but now everything is perfect and ready for him. You've been so clever to get this all done when he wasn't in town wasn't looking over your shoulder of course he knows so little of what happens in this office the house is yours not his yours not his and when he comes home and tromps on your world you know that he never knew it was there to begin with. But he deserves something special it is his birthday I do love him after all of course I do.
My phone rings in my bag Scott of course he knows it's me before I pick up even though Molly takes my phone sometimes he knows when it's me.
"Susan! I have the Lawrences and the Kudas here, just got in from New York, yeah? They can't wait to see you. Liz is pregnant again, I'm sure I've told you, and she's turned into a bit of a psychopath but looks fabulous, all things considered. Damn good thing we didn't invite Bill, that'd be one awful scene at the raw bar. You'll see them all tonight, yeah? So the buses are meeting at the hotel at five thirty--"
"Five o'clock."
"Ah, five, right right. Then we'll be there at five, and then we're picking Alan up at your house, yes? All right, just wanted to call and check-- there was something. Couldn't have been important. So I'll see you--"
"Wait, Scott. Do you have the card?"
"The card? Oh, right. No I don't but I'll send Marie out to get it, how's that, she has to earn her wages somehow, right? So I'll make sure to get that done, yes, right away, and I'll see you at five--"
I hang up. I lied to him of course everyone will be there at a quarter past but he's never been on time not once in the thirty years I've known him he was late to our wedding he was almost late to his own maybe that's why Ana hated him so when he and I were in Yalta we missed the last flight out for the day and spent an uncomfortable night in a tiny hotel with a barn next to our room couldn't sleep for the goats bleating so whenever I tell him to meet me it's a half an hour early if I can. He never thinks farther ahead than the end of the road he's on to get him to help with the party was a miracle well not really he has big ideas but leaves them as ideas. He's powerful but utterly useless for anything rational anything with a process. Except for the last minute anything can get done within a day or two with him that's how he lives lives in an immediate world and always has. He's been in a hurry for decades and I can see it on him he's always flushed always sweating just a little his face is always ruddy it shows something about him about the way he lives about how he doesn't sleep and will one day die from intensity. He gets things done when I need him to and that's why he's so exciting that's why he's everything I'm not I think but at least I'm sane at least I'm dependable at least I'm stable that's what they say.
Five o' clock. People should start coming soon you did tell them quarter to five yes of course you did the invitations went out months ago. It's not every day your husband turns fifty no even though I turned fifty last year it's different for him I think he'll take it harder I'm the old one he teases me I'm the older he's only fourteen months younger but he pretends it's two years always two years and it's not except to people he doesn't know with family with friends it can be two years but to others he doesn't want an old wife not that I am because I'm not I've never been but he thinks of me that way sometimes his friends with their beautiful wives in clicking heels slender waists I'm not that but I've aged with dignity aged with pride and they haven't and they won't. I want to laugh at them sometimes when I was your age when I was your age my hair streamed down my back I was tanned slender I was young in an age when to be young was to be exciting to be powerful I can't stand the way you throw it away little girls marrying old this isn't what you want believe me it isn't.
David walks in the door sees me sitting walks over. He looks out of place in blue jeans that boy has been in khakis pressed clean since the day I met him ten years old. When Alan started working with his father we called him David II the littler one we don't have to anymore of course but it suited him not junior but two I don't think he was ever called Junior. In the past year since his mother he's come over quite often come for Thanksgiving for Molly's birthday even. The two of them get on well we all think of him as one of us but of course he's much closer to Molly's age nine years I think he's good for her really Molly can get so moody so distracted it's wonderful to see her talking to someone successful someone who's grown up well he's her kind of person too I think well I don't really know what Molly thinks anymore but David would be fascinating to anyone such an educated man working on his doctorate now, linguistics? I think it's linguistics or maybe languages Sanskrit or something like it regardless I'm sure it's terribly interesting and maybe he's different enough for Molly I would hope so I'd like to see her grow up like that I'd like to see her take some initiative stop being so lazy so moody I try and try to help but it never seems to do anything I want to tell her that I understand that I've been there too but she doesn't seem to grasp that. I'm the enemy I think we're all the enemy when we're all on her side and she just can't see it or maybe I don't understand God knows I don't know what's going through her head half the time. The girl need a good dose of reason.
"Susan!" David walks over and kisses my cheek. "Did you see the kids? They're right outside, with their cousins-- they just got here. How are you?"
"Just fine, David, thank you. Are people starting to arrive?"
"Sure are. There are at least twenty people outside."
"Oh, wonderful."
"So we're going to pick up Alan at your house? Does he have any idea what's happening?"
"You know, I don't think he does. His birthday's not for a week. I made sure that he wasn't in town today, so he wouldn't run into anyone-- I think there's a cousin or old friend at every hotel."
"Wow. You must be really excited to surprise him."
"Hmm. Yes, I guess I am. Mostly I'm just relieved the hard part is over."
I go outside and find everyone there forty people at least finally things come together there's no better feeling than a job completed I see Scott pulling up it's just a quarter past does he have the card? either he's forgotten or he'll have found the biggest most perfect card in the place plus balloons and champagne too at least he's brought people with him and here are the buses perfect perfect. Now where are the kids where's Molly there over by Rachel Alan's secretary of course talking to others from the office the young professional set and Molly look at her fourteen years old tiptoeing around them strolling back and forth pretending to have places to go as if they didn't know she was listening come now Molly don't you see how foolish you look you're not kidding anyone. She's always hovered around Rachel always. With all the strong women around her Molly idolizes the secretary it's so unlike her dangerous too we don't need those kinds of ideas in her head women were not meant to serve and she needs to know that or maybe it's just that she's beautiful and she is I will admit it's her eyes I think quite striking really but Molly you're never going to look like that you look like me now and you will when you're older you're pretty of course you're pretty and so sweet looking but you'll never be striking and that's okay there are all kinds of people in this world Molly and you and I weren't meant to be exotic and eye-catching that's all right we don't want to stand out anyway Molly we're not like that we don't cause trouble don't turn heads it's easier to get by that way you'll learn Molly.
I walk over to talk to her I haven't seen her all day so busy both of us. My hand on her shoulder. "Molly?"
She stiffened looked unaffected her face immediately blank. "Hi, Mom."
I tried to smile be loving Susie be kind and loving she's just acting up. "Have you had a good day, sweetie? Did you get to see your cousins? David says you've been out here with them."
"Yeah. They got in an hour ago." Her face set eyes impatient so impatient go away Mother go away oh Molly this is a conversation I'm not removing your skin I'm asking how my daughter is my only daughter Molly Molly.
"Did Dan get a chance to see them? I know he was so excited for them to come. Just like you were."
"Yeah. He saw them." Her eyes start to dart toward Rachel David the interesting ones the youthful vibrant beautiful passionate world-embracing ones not stodgy old Mother sweetie I'm not so horrible truly I'm not Molly look at me Molly look at me.
"Oh, I'm so glad. Can you find Danny and get him on the bus? He'll wander off if you don't, you know how he gets."
"Um, Mom, can I not? I kind of don't want to sit with him on the way up... you know, he gets carsick. He's impatient. Annoying. Can you find him? Please?"
Can I find him of course I can what do I spend my life doing Molly smile Susie smile. "All right, that's fine then. But keep an eye on him at the beach, okay?"
"Sure, whatever. Bye!" She scampers off shot from a spring so eager to run away Molly I'm here you know I'm still here you don't have to run you always run Molly you can come back it's okay I know you won't but I want you to know you can.
People start getting on the buses. Scott is yelling but with a smile of course no one minds when he's loud herding people aboard deep throated laugh always moving always always. "Ready, Susie? Everyone's on board. You and I will be up front, of course, we can get out to knock on the door, yeah?"
I walk over to the bench to get my bag bring my sweater and the kids' the sun is still up of course will be bright for awhile but we'll be on the beach good thing it's so sunny sunny and clear the air's so warm perfect summer night except for a few clouds oh clouds in the west dark heavy damn damn damn damn damn. Susie. It's all right. Get on the bus now that won't help anything.





























Well, I'll be damned. A party. Happy birthday Alan look darling it's your whole damn life here to confront you here in front of you surprise these people I've vowed never to waste my life with again surprise aren't you happy Ally aren't you happy. She means well. She always means well. I was surprised of course I was she was acting strangely but this I didn't expect no this I didn't expect of her of course I'm happy Suz this is wonderful and I am happy really these people here for me it's not something I get often not with the kids around with the conference every damn Father's Day it's nice to be appreciated God knows it happens little enough with all that I do. And it's not the business the marriage the kids it's for me I don't know what the hell I've done to make half these people show up but there they are the idiots and the family both.
I have to say though the woman knows how to make me happy in this respect at least dinner on the beach clambakes lobster and white wine this is what I've worked for all these years it's the summer evenings it's spilling a bottle of wine eating two lobsters and no one cares it's not the luxury it's the not caring the ease the informality. Well Scott helped she said and Scott would too we've been brothers from the start old boys together he's what I would have been if I didn't settle down what I would have been without Molly and Dan with a traveling job with divorce papers and a damn good lawyer back in college we ran around the cities together bars women hitchhiking and nothing's changed well for him at least I've just moved on from that Susan laughs says I'm jealous but of course I'm not I could have taken that route but chose not to chose the family chose her for God's sake chose to provide for others Scott yes that could have been me but what the hell life would that have been it's enough to see him to laugh over stories of his life and thank God it's not my own.
I walk over to the raw bar set up right on the beach under a tent perfect really Rachel is there she's a strange one there's a lot we don't see eye to eye on she's one of those overly moralizing types at least to herself she is it's not that she won't do things I ask her to oh no she will she's perfectly obedient there's just this look in her eye whatever you say Mr. Sheldon just don't blame me I'll do it but don't expect me to like it. I hate that like hell it'd be better if she'd just disagree speak up a little it might do her some good the meek little thing I can't stand that maddening superiority how she sees herself taking the moral high road the silent accusations I can't argue with people who don't speak. She's one of those religious types impossible to reason with I have problems with people who think faith is the answer to everything you can't talk with people like that everything they say comes back to their illogical unverifiable basis of thought not that we've ever talked about religion God knows the office isn't a place for conversation but I can sense it on her the way she reassures herself she's right always right. God. If there's a God he sure as hell never gave me a leg up.
She smiles at me like she always does it's not that she doesn't mean it it's that maybe she means it too much she's too genuine. "Hi, Mr. Sheldon. Happy birthday."
"Thank you, Rachel. Thanks a lot."
"Were you surprised? Susan's been working so hard to keep this a secret from you."
"Very surprised. I didn't know a thing was coming. Do you want an oyster?"
"Oh, no thank you." That superior smile again a vegetarian for all I know can't bring herself to murder the endangered shellfish these young people defying everything as a matter of principle stick to the damn food chain not everything has to be a social issue there's a point at which it's just ridiculous. "Does she plan things like this often? It seems like the kind of project she'd really enjoy."
The kind of thing she'd really enjoy since when is my secretary friends with my wife these women can't leave them alone or they'll start ganging up on a man I don't need my two subordinates joining forces. "Susan? Well... yes, of course, this is her kind of thing. She is good with the... ah, organizing, isn't she. She's good with people, you could say."
Rachel eyes me again that reply was too stilted she's looking don't you know your own wife wipe that smirk off your face you don't know her either you don't know her as well as I do I don't give a damn about this female solidarity thing Susan's not that complicated a person doesn't take a lot of intelligence to figure out it's just whether you decide to pay attention to her and I do usually just not constantly.
David comes up glass of white wine in hand thank you David go ahead entertain Rachel she's tolerable at work I have no problem with her as a person I don't have problems with many people but I have no intentions of getting to know her actually why she's here I've no idea well because of Susan yes the two of them arm in arm why I can't imagine including the workforce aren't we slumming a bit dear. Now David's a good sort one of ours been like a son to me these few years since his mother died orphaned at twenty and he shows it rugged competent he's done well for himself studying at Harvard now working in the city a job he got on his own no connections in some respectable field lower management putting himself through school though God knows he doesn't have to with the money left him not touching it admirable it's that kind of discipline that's going to take that boy far.
"Alan! " Firm handshake impressively so. "Happy birthday to you. How's it going?"
"Going well, David. Good to see you. Glad you made it down. How long's it been? Christmas?"
"Not quite... I was down here for Molly's birthday, so that's make it the middle of April. It's been awhile, though. Good to see everyone looking so well."
"Here through the weekend?"
"Driving up Sunday night, yes. I've got a class early Monday, or I'd stay longer." He turned to Rachel still standing there slightly foolishly. "Rachel, is it? David. Nice to meet you."
I took my plate stepped aside. "I'll talk to you later, David, I'm sure. Glad you made it." Nod to Rachel.
It’s getting colder Susan didn't bring my jacket how could I have known I'd be at the beach she can plan but she can't think of everything she needs to she brought her own I'm sure brought the kids' it's like I'm not a part of this family.
She comes running up stumbling slightly either the sand or a second glass of wine her shirt coming untucked Susan pull yourself together for God's sake skipping around like that you're older than I am. I turn my cheek for the kiss I know is coming whenever she gets like this giggly girlish none too often and always at the wrong time.
"Happy birthday, Ally! Oh, are you having a good time? This all turned out perfectly. Did you see the Joneses? and your brother Mark? They're all here for you, you know. And there are more surprises to come, just you wait! Have you said hello to everyone yet? They all couldn't wait to see you!"
"Yes, I saw Mark... and Tom, unfortunately. I can't believe he brought him to this. Had to bring a little flavor to the family, eh? Parading him around as if this were a-- come on, I'm only joking, of course I don't mind that he's--- don't look so offended, I don't have a problem with my own brother. You can't take a joke, can you. And why did you invite the Lawrences? You know I haven't spoken to Rob in about seven years..."
She shrinks back a bit like she always does that woman would shy away from an angry child no spine I'm telling you she's never had a bit of strength in her. "Because you and Rob used to be so close. I thought you might want him here, with all your other old friends..." Her voice falls. "I didn't want to make you angry. I thought you'd be pleased." Her voice starting to get whiny cloying for sympathy pretending to swallow tears it's impossible to say anything to her impossible to take her seriously these women how the hell can you treat them as equals whimpering like children like little pets.
Easier to shut her up swallow my pride I hate doing it but whatever's for the good of peace in this family. "Come on, Susan. Of course I'm happy he's here. Just wondered how-- how you got in touch with him. Let's go talk to him-- I haven't said hello yet."
She pulls away like she's afraid of me. "No, it’s all right. Go ahead, Alan. I wanted to talk to Scott. Go ahead, and say hello for me..."
Talk to Scott it’s always Scott sure he’s good company but would it hurt to spend time with your own husband once in awhile my other half sure only when you’re getting something out of it I know my name’s useful but at least walk around with me what do people think when you skip around like that. We’re married God damn it and you could at least show it I don’t care how remote you are at home but there’s a part of the bargain you’re not upholding.
I stand there for a moment watching her move away she turns her head as if to look back but doesn’t. I don’t want to fight with the woman. I swear to God I don’t and I know she sees things differently but I don’t want to antagonize her just to bring her to my level just to deal with her as a person just to get her to grow up a bit. I married a sparkling young thing long hair and she acted like it she was free we both were and she’s older but hasn’t moved on lets herself age but doesn’t recognize it.
I walk into the tent it’s getting colder colder every minute and not even a sweater. The smell of butter. Lobster. Yes I’ll have a claw maybe two and then I’ll go find Scott Scott or perhaps Mark have to talk to them now or they’ll get away.

After getting a drink talking to Alan I walk across the sand wanting to find her to have one of our talks it's been so long and I know she enjoys them so much. Alan the guest of honor. He's been like a father to me these past few years yes a father in the sense of overly controlling invasive abrasive perhaps but he's roped me into the family in some way and I can't say I'm not grateful. Molly despises him and I see where she's coming from but I don't exactly agree the man is decent enough sure he's arrogant everyone except him can see that but no bad intentions there and I've always thought one should be judged by one's intentions judged within context people generally mean no harm and who are we to say if one transgression is worse than another.
I walk over the sand shiver a bit clouds creeping forward threatening to ruin someone's night but right now just coloring the sunset. Where is that girl running away maybe it wouldn't surprise me I can't imagine she's enjoying the party the socializing much though she's quite good at faking it when she wishes she's lived with her parents long enough to know how to avoid conflict to know when to give up. Though she doesn't give up really not her she's-- there.
She’s sitting off on a dune. Watching the waves I'm sure maybe not seeing them but watching her hair blown lightly back her hair's grown since her birthday it makes her look older not as cute she's a dreamer and it shows now the way she's running the sand through her fingers slowly not looking at it lost somewhere where are you my darling come back down to us come back down but she won't she can't always and that's fine really it is. She hasn't been trampled down yet. She's disarmingly beautiful right now especially the sun's just grazing the water and making her hair glow aflame and she knows it now she's running her fingers through her shining hair carefully is that me she's saying is this me this doesn't look like me oh yes it's you it's absolutely you and I want to let you know it. She has this wildness about her in her eyes sometimes even now I can see her heart racing she's an Aries oh and it shows one day she's going to step out of her body and burst into bloom one day she's going to fall in love one day she's going to one day she's going to she doesn't know what's impossible yet. It's not that she's stupid not that she's young because she's not she's wise beyond her years or maybe because of them she knows something the rest of us don't the girl is fascinating she's got a mind of her own one hell of a mind of her own but she hasn't hardened yet she's still malleable still fluid.
And as I watch her I can see her contentment the delight she's taking in the sun in the waves coming up to meet her close closer but never quite touching I can see her cheering for each one wanting it to lick her toes but she's not giggling she's smiling at herself she's taking the laughter and putting it away not tonight not tonight she saying remember this feeling Molly remember this feeling and I saying remember this feeling David remember this feeling. Remember this moment oh David remember as a long string of marching unbroken time oh David remember as moments you did not have oh David remember.
On her birthday after presents cake atonal singing I went up to her room bringing up the last of her presents knocked softly entered she sat by the window crying softly her fingers out in the rain and I said to her oh Molly what's the matter and she nothing David nothing and I sitting on the floor come on Molly you can tell me and she looking up face streaked do you ever feel like you don't deserve all that you have and I yes constantly and she it's just so unfair I don't want this I don't want any of it I'm in this house and I don't want to be I'm surrounded by new things and I don't want any of them I'm fourteen years old and I don't want to be not at all twelve maybe twenty maybe but not here not stuck in the middle and I it's so hard to be able to see all that's out there and not have a part in any of it and she yes exactly that's it exactly it's like I'm tied up and the world's dangling before me and I don't forget it Molly and she what do you mean and I don't let that feeling leave you don't ever forget how it feels to want everything that's real to want everything you can find for yourself and she when you were my age did you feel like this and I when I was your age you could say the world had found me already and she but that sounds wonderful and I it wasn't.
I watch her for a moment longer look around then climb up to the dune the sand falling away under my step clumsy too clumsy. She turns her head to see me there the light shifts falls in her hair streaming through it.
Smiles. “David.”
“Molly. How are you? Enjoying the party?”
She shrugged looking back out over the water shutting herself off don’t say things like that David she doesn’t want to hear them doesn’t want you of all people to say them. “Kinda. I don’t like most of these people. And I don’t like lobster. But I love the ocean, and it’s a beautiful night. It’s prettier because the clouds are coming, I think...”
“It is. You’re right. It’s the nature of sunsets to be varied and streaked. There’s nothing interesting in gradations of pink, is there.”
“Mmm.” She didn’t turn her head deep in thought I suppose come back down Molly come back down. I wonder if she’s seeing the same thing I am or something else something the rest of us can’t see it wouldn’t surprise me if she could see past all this. What does she see. I sit down next to her lightly slide off my shoes lean back a bit let the warm breeze roll over me. We’re about five feet up high enough for a jolt in the stomach far away enough to hear the waves to close off the party the people except I shouldn’t I shouldn’t but Molly has no problem doing so. The water’s becoming dazzling hard to look at light flying everywhere making the beach unearthly in color golden almost against the roll of the sea. And Molly Molly staring straight out Molly not flinching not looking away the light and the water coming together in her eyes Molly breathing more deeply Molly a world away Molly somewhere I can’t reach. Molly who is now staring into the spotlight taking it in oh she made of liquid sunlight looking at her own yes blinding herself and blinding, herself.
“I feel bigger here.”
I turn to her she speaks speak again bright angel for thou art as glorious to this night being o’er my head she moves not turns not she did speak yes she did.
“I just do. It fills me up somehow. They say you’re supposed to feel small when you stand beside the ocean but I don’t think that’s right.”
I open my mouth for a second lean forward this is what we go on about for hours but then I look at her. Molly speaking to herself no not to me Molly doesn’t know I’m here.
I pick myself up carefully take my shoes in one hand walk carefully down the dune not upsetting the slope this time not a grain out of place not disturbing anything.
The year I was twelve my father took me to the beach not something he did often he didn’t like the heat the sand didn’t like to get his hair out of place but the two of us went to the beach that day. He rented me a surfboard bought Cokes and hamburgers potato chips I had never eaten anything with sand in it before it doesn’t taste different just makes things crunchier the chips especially. We sat in chairs together slightly stiffly sweat dotting our brows both in T-shirts in long shorts as well matching too-white skins turning pink together as laughter boomed around us children splashing colored balls flying. After maybe an hour of moving little saying little I took my surfboard down to the water and crawled onto it not used to the weight not used to the size of it. I’d never been surfing before only been in the ocean twice but thought I could teach myself I did everything that way headstrong always logic not tempering my brashness. My first wave. I stood up somehow at the front of my board and in an instant I knew what I had done wrong.
My toes curled over the edge. The board moved decisively forward onto its nose with a sickening lurch. The tail came up and I started to slide off slide forward. Time stopped. I perched on the very front of my board for a seeming eternity as fifty pounds of fiberglass swung up behind me and fifty million gallons of water rushed below me. I do not remember falling.
It was my father who hauled me out of the sea who pulled the surfboard off of me pounded the water out of my lungs. I will never forget his face. Livid. Ruddy blotchy pure fury coming from his eyes.
“David, what the hell do you think you’re doing? You almost got yourself killed! You can’t screw around like that, do you understand me? You’re a child, David. A child. You can’t surf like the rest of them. You can’t pull yourself out when you fall. That board’s too big for you. You’re a child. And you’re going to start acting like it, God damn it. Now stay on the beach where I can watch you.” Deep heaving breaths heaving shoulders. “Are you all right?”
I don’t think I answered him I don’t think it would’ve made a difference really.
Susan walking towards me. Should say hello such a nice woman dull perhaps but a good person a good wife to do all this she doesn’t understand Molly no not at all and I’ve never really talked to her but I can say nothing against the woman. Usually so cheery so gracious but she looks strangely somber tears at her eyes even should I talk to her yes perhaps.
“Susan!” She looks up quickly startled out of something.” Are you all right? Can I help with anything?”
She shrugged her shoulders down still. “I... no, David, you can’t. I just...” She looked up at me sized up my face. “I wanted so much for Alan to be happy with this. I want so much for him to be happy with everything. And he isn’t. He says he is, but he isn’t...” Trailed off as I watched her waited for her to go on. “I’m sorry, David. Forget it. Have you talked to Molly tonight? I know you always want to see her.”
“Oh, yes, I did. Found her just a minute ago.”
“Good. Oh, good. David, I never tell you this. But I’m so glad the two of you are friends. Between you and me, Molly needs more people like you in her life. People who show her that she’s allowed to care about things, that the real world isn’t so bad after all. You’re just so wonderful for her. I hope you don’t stop coming to things like this. We loving having you here.”
Her eyes wide imploring even.
“But of course. I love being here-- love being with all of you. And don’t underestimate your daughter, Susan. Molly is such a great kid, you know. She brings me just as much delight as I hope to bring to her--” Stop talking David stop talking. “Yes. Are you sure there’s nothing I can help with?”
“Oh no, dear. I just--” Her voice broke off suddenly her eyes darted over my shoulders and back. “I’m sorry. Have you seen Scott?”
“Scott? Alan’s friend? Last I saw him was over by the tent, about ten minutes ago.”
“Wonderful. Wonderful, thank you.” She totters off looking slightly lost in her sweater and windblown hair.
Windblown hair like her daughter like the daughter who will never grow up like her the daughter who will never grow old the daughter who will never leave this moment never leave Molly never leave.



Gosh it’s pretty up here. The sun is setting and I’m up on a cliff or a dune I think it’s called and it’s all perfect. They can’t see me up here all them at the party and I like it that way all a bunch of snobs people who call me Mary or Margaret people who don’t understand anything. It’s not that I don’t like my family because I do even Dan who can be such a brat it’s just that they think I’m about ten years old they think I don’t understand anything and I do I swear I do even if I can’t quite say what it is yet.
Mom’s been so uptight about this whole thing the party Scott’s been over at our house constantly even more than usual. Scott’s funny he’s so much more laid-back than Dad is but he’s got a side that they don’t think I’ve ever seen a side that can just snap he lives this life that I’ve tried to figure out but I can’t he’s never the same place two weeks in a row lives in London sometimes I think. I’m so jealous of him jetting around like that sometimes I think there’s nothing I’d like more then to just leave when I want to and leave little bits of myself all over the world and sneak into my friends’ houses yes the way he sneaks in behind Dad’s back to help Mom with all this. But I’ve seen Scott other times I don’t know if he drinks or what but once I saw him just go off on Dad scream at him fly into a rage they didn’t think I saw but I did and I didn’t go near him for two weeks even though he was staying with us then. I’ve never seen anyone else do that I didn’t know people could flip out like that in movies sure but when do grown men just lose control. I don’t understand it.
And he’s not happy. I really don’t think he’s happy. Sure he’s rich sure he’s completely free but I don’t think he is really he has an ex-wife he fights with constantly he’s always in court maybe he can go to Paris any time he wants but he can’t let go of everything the way he wants to. The way I want to.
When I’m sitting up here I feel like I could suddenly straighten my legs and I could just fly fly straight up and maybe never come down again. I’m constantly on the edge of tears and I don’t really know why I think of things and they make so much sense but then I lose them completely and there’s nothing more terrible. Up here I feel suspended floating in the air with nothingness on all sides of me and I like it that way there’s room to move room to explore really. I want to do something irrational and impossible and unexpected and have no one know or maybe have everyone know. I can’t decide when I’m up here if I’m on a pedestal on display or just hiding in the sunlight. I think maybe I’m both. Because no one can find me up here even though I’m right in front of them well no one except David I guess. David’s a great guy because he understands things sometimes in a way the rest of them don’t and he talks with me talks with me even though I’m fourteen even though I’m not wearing heels in the sand even though he’s sort of like them and I’m really not. Or maybe we both are maybe we’re both the misfits and that’s why we talk. But sometimes he bothers me more than I’d like him to. I think he’s lonely maybe looking for someone to connect with and that’s nice just not all the time.
I roll over on my back forehead toward the ocean my hair spread out in a fan beneath me. Should I go back down there? I guess I should say hello to Dad it is his birthday after all and it wouldn’t hurt me not really. Rachel’s probably down there too I wanted to talk to her earlier before we got to the beach but she was busy and I didn’t want to interrupt. Rachel is wonderful she’s Dad’s secretary but doesn’t act like a normal secretary she’s not boring not like the rest of them Rachel’s different she’s beautiful I mean really beautiful striking looking she’s not just pretty she’s something else entirely. But that’s not what matters it’s that she’s smart she gets things and Dad doesn’t understand that he makes fun of her all the time too quiet he says too meek but that’s only because he doesn’t talk to her. Rachel gave me a journal for my birthday dropped it by the house didn’t give it to Dad to give to me and she gave me a pen too but it wasn’t all fancy just a blue liquid ink pen and an elegant spiral notebook simple dark lines no frills it was a book not a diary. And she wrote inside the front cover. For Molly on her birthday. “You want to be a writer? You don’t know how, or when? Find a quiet place. Use a humble pen.” -Paul Simon. Rachel tells me things to read things to listen to tells me about people who think the same way I do. She tells me about other worlds I didn’t even know about about the places she’s been the way she lives she invited me to her apartment once they wouldn’t let me go but I wanted to so much she lives in the city a little room to herself she said she shares two rooms and a kitchen with two roommates and the whole place is just the way they like it with postcards on the walls and flowers always there even when there isn’t food they have flowers and one little room is just Rachel’s. They go to a little market right where they live and buy exactly what they need they don’t need millions of cans of anything. And I want that so much. I want that all so much and I didn’t even know it was out there before.
I get up slowly breathing in the ocean the heights one last moment and then go down to the tent. Mom’s in a corner talking to Scott looking like she’s about to cry oh great thanks Mom cry in public even I don’t do that. Mom doesn’t seem to know how old she is sometimes she’s fifty and too motherly like I’m ten years old smothering wanting to know everything and sometimes she’s about twelve and I can’t deal with her when she’s like that there’s nothing scarier than a mother who doesn’t act like a mother even though I don’t like her being nosy and old and not understanding anything it’s better than when she tries to be cool or just can’t grow up. Over with Scott again I wonder if Dad minds that if I were him I think I might. But Dad doesn’t really show much emotion when he’s angry he clenches his teeth and gets really sarcastic but he’s not usually angry at least I know where I’m at with him at least he respects me a bit doesn’t pretend to know me. And I like it that way he asks me things about my life like whether I’m dating anyone what classes I’m taking because he doesn’t know those things and he knows he doesn’t and he admits it. Mom can’t admit anything.
I don’t hate all the people here. Rachel’s over with her friends and David’s kind of by himself and even Scott’s all right at least he’s interesting and he is he always is. But the rest of them I don’t know and they don’t want to know me and I don’t mind it that way but I sure don’t want to be around them.
There’s a cake in the middle of the tent but I don’t see Dad anywhere. Mom and Scott are talking in hushed whispers Mom’s kind of hanging onto his shoulder but Dad’s not anywhere in sight. Maybe they got him away so they could plan the rest. I don’t really know. But the atmosphere is strange all of a sudden strange tense like someone said something they didn’t mean or someone screamed or someone did something horrible. I shiver a little even though it’s not cold at all. I walk out of the tent back outside a few steps toward the ocean. I really don’t want to be in there. Not at all.














Walking. All right yes I am walking walking on sand sand falls away to cement yes now concrete good hard stable good. Why. Party is over there noise people I am on cement why. Cars. My car yes Susan yes Susan yes Susan's voice Can you get it out of your car Scott we'll need it in a minute thank you why why my car walk to car feet step step step on concrete step. Feet carrying me I can not see blinded sun it must be sun unbearably horribly horrifically bright the lights outside inside close my eyes makes no difference lights swirling all around step step car.
Open trunk head inside blessed relief no sun all right now trunk blankets folded chairs pile of sweaters and pink box. Open. Ah yes the cake Happy Birthday Alan huge cake blue letters puffy frosting a bit off on the box finger lick explosion of sweetness good good. Now think you cannot think sit down and think.
Sit. Cake. I'm sorry Scott I'm so sorry I don't want to bother you with this we don't have time anyway. You did bring the cake? Wonderful. Can you get it out of your car Scott we'll need it in a minute thank you. Her face gone slides out of focus falls away I remember no more. Cake. Just cake? Why why can you not remember why when she told you she told you remember now just cake? Sit think but nothing comes back I can not see her can not hear her.
Up. Stand steady. Trunk blankets folded chairs pile of sweaters pink box brown bag. Brown bag? Candles plates matches knife long shining sharp knife. No she did not tell you told you nothing of candles of knife relief sweet sweeping relief I have found it I have done well by her.
Party. Voices laughing all sounding same far off you can not walk back there get in car hold bag backseat lie down. Lie down. Eyes focus soft gray roof black buttons. Better better better much better.
Why this why now why the swirling the not there thoughts I was fine until well until I was fine earlier today and I did not drink I know that nothing not a drink not one and I can take more than one but I didn't I won't let that happen again no I'm sure I would've remembered. But this happens. This happens without cause without drink without anything the lights pushing my eyes back the thoughts falling away the images yes I know it has happened I don't know when but I've seen the lights before. What is it what is it eating away in my brain what is it.
Close eyes. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Silence complete silence breathe let it drain out breathe everything falling away breathe breathe breathe. Things better when breathing. Forget everything Scott forget the lights forget the party forget her the one here forget the way he treats her forget the way she cries and breathe breathe and maybe you can think. Maybe I should go back there talk to her I know she's upset and I don't blame her not that I do him but the way he--
Buzzing. Buzzing. Eyes fly open what is it what is that buzzing what is it what is it what is it knife grab knife from bag slash there blood on roof gash in roof fall back drop knife dead dead dead it is dead.
Dead.
Breathe.

Minutes later. How many minutes I don't know. Get up slowly slowly take cake take bag cake bag that is all walk sand stay steady good good.
Turned away like this away from the sun I can see the tent again see the people tables blankets see Dan running after Molly good names good. Alan talking to his brother yes Susan at the bar yes David watching Molly on the sand watching her run with her brother behind her convinced no one can see through him I don't know maybe he's right I'd tell Susan and Alan but I think it might kill them Alan's protégé watching his precious girl. It wouldn't surprise me if he meant no harm David if he didn't even realize it yes that man has enough on his back to cripple anyone but I've been watching out for Molly my goddaughter and if he makes a false move he's going to-- breathe Scott stop walking stop look away breathe don't fall breathe breathe. Breathe. Better.
They might think that I wouldn't find out but no and it's not that I don't care it's that if I laid a hand on the boy I might not be able to stop it's that if I don't keep myself off David yes David it'll be him next it'll be David washing up on shore David the red marks around his neck the bloated waterlogged body his eyes bulging and open appearing on the beach a mound of sagging flesh oozing out of his clothing who who they say who and maybe they know but they never do they have not yet and they will not this time David gray David limp dark hair dragging plastered on his face and then they ask who who could do this a man with no enemies everything going for him who could do this to a poor orphan who could strange fingers on neck who the strength the inhumanity who who could watch a grown man die take his last gasping hoarse horrible horrible breath who who and they would not know.
These are my women and I watch over them.
Susan coming over yes Susan. "Oh, thank you, Scott. We'll do cake in just a minute." She opens box leaning over sniffing it like a child like she used to. "Chocolate cake, right? He does like chocolate. I think. He doesn't seem to like much of anything tonight." Silence. Silence. "But that's all right, I suppose, it is his birthday and his party and he can do whatever he damn well pleases. And if he wants to ignore me I have plenty to keep me busy, don't I..." Silence. Silence. "Scott? Are you all right?"
She's talking to you come on Scott words normal conversation this is what you do. "Oh, sure I'm fine, just a bit tired from entertaining everyone, and I think the walk tired me out a bit. Cake looks delicious, Suz, good choice. Where can I put this? I'll just head over to the tent, try to stay away from Alan..." I leave her smiling a bit good just keep doing that good they notice nothing people notice nothing.
The light easing up a bit clouds crawling over the sun good I can see again red receding from my eyes the sea starting to turn angry well why not. Susan follows me in with the bag knife candles motioning to people as she comes in. The defining moment of a party any moment now.
Candle lit. Susan hands me the knife. Alan comes in feigning surprise a satisfied smirk on his face. Crowds forming.
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday dear Alan
Happy Birthday to you.

Cutting the cake. Small even pieces cutting small even pieces.
Alan. Muttered. "Daniel, stop shoving. You'll get your cake."
Dan. "I'm not. I'm not shoving. I just want a piece.
Alan. "You'll get a piece when it's damn well time."
Dan. "I know, Dad. Stop yelling."
Alan. Gruffly. "Don't talk back to me. And don't cause a scene."
Susan. "Alan..."
Alan. "Stay out of this, Susan."
Susan. "Alan, you can't yell at him like that. Not here."
Alan. "I'll be damned if you're going to tell me what to do--"
Don't talk that way to her don't talk that way to her don't talk that way to her
Knife brought up knife crumbs falling grab Alan's shoulder still the weaker grab raise knife grab blood pounding fingers up around throat his eyes bulging knife pulled back knife--

"Scott!"
Her scream.
Drop knife fall
I fall
Face down on sand I can feel the nonbreathing of a hundred people feel the deathly silence feel something warm on my hand. I lick it.
Blood.
And chocolate.

A Little Green Ball.


It was Saturday night. I was lying on my former best friend’s floor with her and three others. A pan of half-eaten brownies and the last two slices of cold pizza lay on the floor beside us. The radio played music of loud summers past. Everything was eerily normal.
Her bedroom walls were as familiar to me as my own. She hadn’t taken down the hundreds of pictures of the two of us which smiled from every corner, every surface. The brightness of the ocean, of red and white picnic tablecloths, her hair, and our matching grins lit the room more than her Chinese lanterns or Christmas lights did. We grew up somewhere between the door and the two windows.
On the far wall was a picture of me, the best I think anyone’s ever taken. It was almost two years ago, in a white tent on a beautiful summer day. I was looking up towards the camera as she stood on a chair. We were both laughing: my wide smile showed in the picture, hers in the slight blurriness of the image. The magic of that day was evident in the carefree tilt of my head, the surprise in my eyes. Directly across from it was a sketch of her-- well, of the top part of her. She hated the way the bottom of her face came out, so she had torn it off, leaving only her eyes and hairline. Everyone commented on how beautiful it made her look, in only a few simple lines. I didn’t really find it surprising that she was the prettiest with two eyes and no mouth.
As I gazed at these pictures, holes in time, the others debated whether brownies had calories if you ate them straight from the pan, choked back laughter and made exaggerated sounds of disgust at the decisively masculine banter of the DJ, and went over questions from the SAT they had taken that morning. Abdicate and abjure. Chocolate and sexism. After awhile I could feel them all sink into the floor, stop holding in their stomachs. Grammar and syntax went out with thoughts of healthy food and school on Monday. This was the very purpose of a weekend, for them.
I lifted out of my body and floated up over them, helped along by the warm breeze coming through the windows. I watched from eight feet above. We were messy people, sprawled out on the floor, on beanbags and each other; a lazy shape centered around food and dotted with cans of diet soda. When something funny was said we would roll over or fold up, contracting, moving toward the center and toward each other. Then, as the minutes passed, we would lie back again, retreating a bit. I looked at myself down below. As the conversation turned to boys, some of whom they knew, some of whom they pretended to, that girl in my body nodded encouragingly and laughed at all the right moments. My body seemed to remember the routine when I didn’t. That girl took a sip of Diet Coke, even though she had sworn off soda. Her gaze drifted idly to the owner of the bedroom, who sat in a desk chair above the others. What was she thinking, that girl inside me? Was that remorse in her eyes? Loathing? Contempt? Curiosity? I didn’t know. I wondered if she did.
The one she watched was not the best friend I remembered. Her smile was tighter; her eyes had an expression of disdain which just wasn’t there a few months before. Both hands gripped her diet root beer can with impressive force. What was she capable of, now? And did I want to find out?
The song on the radio changed seamlessly, changed to something right and perfect and I fell, fell, fell down with a sharp breath and was swallowed up by my own body.

I blinked, twice. The ceiling looked back at me.

A little less than a year ago the five of us lay on the floor listening to this song. We watched the sun set, long rays streaking into the bedroom, her air conditioner making the experience safer somehow. They sang This is my sundown and we echoed them. The building guitar reminded me of early summer, of blissful nothingness, of pure contentment. I looked back at her. Her expression hadn’t changed, but the muscles in her face tightened, stood out quite a bit more. I knew it.
And then I was shrinking. I was shrinking until I was but a little green ball, a pea dropped in the black interior of my skull.
I uncurled and walked over to my eyes, huge clear windows, and looked out at an unchanged picture. Inside I leaned against a soft membrane and watched thoughts flicker by. Flashing lights, laser streaks of pink and of bright blue. A whole picture flew by, of verdant hills shining golden in the early morning, stretched out like a wave. My favorite brownie recipe, in index-card handwriting with my mother’s abbreviations: the letters flew by my little face, and I scooted farther back. Images of each of my four friends, blurry as if seen through peripheral vision. A bad sketch of her mouth, the top torn off. Something dense and heavy, perfumed smoke, descended on everything. It hurt my shoulders and I rolled into a rubbery crevice to escape it. Music flowed through, like the rolling of a radio dial, the soundtrack of my life overlapping itself, mixing with the smoke. My friend’s eyebrows, alone, moving around and moving across my vision as I continued to watch.
The lasers again, streaming points of light. This time they ran into each other, crossing in brilliant patterns. Then they contracted themselves into string and became a knot. A boxing ring, a match in full swing, rolled slowly by. The smell of her shampoo.
In an instant everything went black and clear. A projector bulb came on, alone in the darkness, and I was watching that night all around me, the picture sent into every dark corner, all-encompassing. The image was grainy. But I didn’t need much aid to know what I was watching... it had played in my own mind enough times. A huge image of me turned to him and laughed-- we both laughed-- and she turned away. The tape started again. It was out in a parking lot, under a neon sign advertising donuts and car repair. I had gotten out of her car and seen him standing there. I’d walked over-- we both had-- and he had come over and said something which I didn’t remember. I turned to him. Then he and I laughed and she turned away. And walked away.
The tape started again. Turn, laugh, walk away. Turn, laugh, walk away. Then it became simpler. We were blocks, dolls, reflected in a mirror and joined with a rod. As I turn away she turns the other way. Both away from the mirror. Perfect reflections. Turn. Turn. It could have been a dance. Turn, turn. Then the music started. My favorite song ran in from the left. She sang, as the movie played out further, A slight betrayal of the self, that won’t quite wash away. Rewind, to the dolls, the mirror. Music followed. Only a few seconds played, over and over. I sat mesmerized as the turns began, turn away, turn away, turn, turn, betrayal of the self, betrayal of the self, betrayal of the self... I tried to shrink back, crawl into the soft flesh around me. Betrayal of the self... My eyes closed, I curled into a ball, plugged my ears. Betrayal of the self, betrayal of the self ... it wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop...
I screamed, screamed from somewhere near my heart, screamed in a way that consumed me completely. Golden waves shot out from my mouth, shot out on all sides, and shattered the image; glass cracked, sharp pieces fell and lacerated the membranes and flesh I lay on, shards fell onto my own little arms and tore into them, bits of my own image falling like a shower of death, tearing through everything, everything--
I ran blindly to my gaping eyes, flung myself through the openings, feet first; I stretched, stretched and then rotated, growing into my body as my head remained and expanded--

A thump.

I lay on her floor, fully intact. Conversations continued unimpeded around me, as did the laughter, the pizza consumption. I trembled.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?
I sat up slightly. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re pale as anything. And you didn’t answer my question.”
I struggled to get my thoughts in order. Be nice. Be nice. “I’m sorry. I must not have heard you. I think my brain’s fried from this morning. What did you say?”
She studied me with one eyebrow raised. “I said, do you want to see the pictures I added to my journal?” Her journal-- more of a scrapbook, really-- was her pride and joy. She let her friends read it and look through it; too many hours went into it to keep it locked up. “I got the ones from last month in, finally.”
I shook myself, slightly. “Sure. I’d love to.”
“Good. You’d better.” She paused. “Oh, wait. Close your eyes. I changed its hiding place.”
“But... I’ve always known where it is, haven’t I?”
“Yes. But are you stupid enough to think that things are the way they used to be? Close your eyes. No, just you. The rest of you are fine.”
Her face was resolute. I sighed and closed my eyes. Be nice. Be nice. It’s worth it. Be nice. Be nice.
“All right. Here you go. I know, it’s beautiful. I spent all of last week on this. Isn’t it perfect?” She passed it around. The others nodded obligingly, admiring the pictures and the pencil- drawn captions. I let them look.
She stood over me, a suspicious glare crossing her eyes. “You want to see it, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Here you go. But only these two pages. I don’t care if you’ve seen the others before, you can’t. Go ahead.”
The pages were beautiful: a mélange of cropped photos, newspaper clippings, train maps, and her own captions. Images of smiling girls, parties long forgotten, nights that never would be.
And then, right in the middle. A picture of me.... of my back. It was trimmed right over my left shoulder. Behind it she had put a picture of him. It was that night. It was that image.
And the caption.
the night of ultimate betrayal. pretty revolting, huh?
“Oh, you like that one? That’s my personal favorite. I love the way I took completely different pictures and made it work. I must be a genius. What do you think?”
“What do I...” I stared down at the page, my most-regretted moment displayed for the world to see, immortalized as a piece of her property. “What do I think?”

Later that night my hand hurt a bit.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that. Perhaps it’ll be filed away in my ever-augmenting list of regrets. Perhaps I should have heeded advice and been the nicer person. Maybe it’d be easier to wake up this morning if I did.
But damn, did that feel good.

India Ellis (I’m trying it out...)

Coffee with the Devil

She was trying to read the newspaper, but stole a glance over the top of the limp page every few seconds. The words wouldn’t run together in her mind; at least, not enough for her to make sense of the New York Times. The letters just jumped around on the page. Down the street? Was that him? She leaned towards the window. No, he had red hair. And no beard. Though he used to own that shirt... Stop. Stop. Be composed. Breathe. Take a sip of tea. She did, her hand shaking slightly as she brought the paper cup to her mouth. Wipe your mouth. Breathe. And don’t look nervous. You got here first for a reason. Be the strong one. Be ready. Don’t look like you’re waiting. Sit up straight. Stomach in. Read the paper. Look intelligent. Be able to quote. Breathe. Breathe.
Slowly, slowly, she made her way through the front page and deliberated over whether to open the paper. Might it look like she had been waiting too long? Best to not turn the page. She studied the pictures on the newsprint, crossed and uncrossed her legs, sat up taller. Was that him? No, he must be at least a few inches taller. Damn. She looked at the clock on the café wall. Four-ten. He was late, of course.
But then she looked out the window again and knew instantly. He came down the street with an easy saunter, his hair catching the sunlight, the ground moving him along. He removed his sunglasses with a practiced flourish, and held the door for a glamorous young woman with three coffee cups in her two slender hands. Typical.
Just in time, she tore her eyes away from the picture windows and went back to her paper, effecting an expression of concerned interest in world affairs. Posing. An upward glance told her he was looking around casually. Then she felt his eyes on her and knew she was being examined. She counted to five in a shaky silent whisper, and then turned her eyes upward to meet his in a manner of feigned surprise.
“Hello, Sean.”
An easy smile crept over his face. “Christy.” He glided over to the table and leaned down to her. She turned her head slightly and he kissed her cheek. Unfazed, as always, he pulled out a chair across from her and sat down. “My God, you look stunning. How have you been?”
She smiled suddenly. Dammit, Christy, don’t let him do this to you. “I’ve been really well. Keeping busy. And you?”
“Never better, never better. I see you got yourself a coffee.” Tea, she thought. “Can I get you anything else? Cinnamon roll? I know you love their cinnamon rolls. I’ll grab you one. Be back in a mo.” He left his jacket on the chair and got in line.
Christy brushed crumbs from her first cinnamon roll off the table and watched Sean warily. He ordered a nonfat decaf mocha latte with perfect diction and a comfortable smile. He dropped a handful of change in the tip jar, laughed warmly with the woman behind the counter, and took his coffee, letting his receipt fall to the floor.
“Here you go, gorgeous. It’s warm.” He set the cinnamon roll down in front of her.
She unwrapped it slowly, smelling the butter and brown sugar. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
He watched her carefully, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “So what’s new in the world? Hey, I’m late, but at least I gave you a chance to catch up on your reading.”
She shrugged. “Well, the Security Council shot down another resolution. There are still five swing votes, but France is holding out for the veto. They think Bush is going to give up and go at it alone. Scary.”
He brushed that aside. “Yesterday’s news, Christy.” He flipped over her Times. “In fact, yesterday’s paper.”
Shit. She looked down, blushing furiously. Sean laughed, with a hitch in his voice. “Always one step behind , eh? It happens to the best of us. Well, it happens to you, anyway.”
There was a silence. Christy carefully let out her breath.
Sean kept going. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Christ, you look like you’re about to start crying. Don’t start that again. It’s so selfish.”
She looked up, her eyes narrowed. “Selfish?”
“How do you think it makes me feel when you’re sitting there whimpering? You used to do this all the time. Get a hold of yourself, for crying out loud. I wasn’t being rude. You still can’t take a joke, can you.” It wasn’t a question.
Christy sat up straighter, steel in her spine and in her gaze. “Forget it, Sean. Just forget it. Now, can you please tell me what I’m doing here?”
He considered her for a moment, running his fingers around the rim of his coffee cup. “Christy.” Said slowly, silkily. A pause. “Christy. A question.”
“Yes?”
“Why did I break up with you?”
She looked at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”
“Answer me this. Why did I break up with you. I certainly made it clear, at the time.”
His eyes were calm, his face neutral as he waited expectantly. What on earth was he doing? “I don’t understand...” His gaze was unnerving, eerily steady. “Okay... Why did you break up with me? You said... you said that I was selfish. That I had time aplenty for myself but none for you. That you weren’t going to put up with my... scheming, was it? That I was trying to make you be around for me while not reciprocating. Making you into my pet, I believe. At least, I think those were your reasons. Tell me if I missed any.” She didn’t try to keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Yes, yes. You do remember.” He watched her face carefully for a reaction. “You remember well. What did you think of all that?”
“Sean, what the hell are you trying to do?”
“Christy. Answer me. What did you think of all those things I said?”
She spoke reluctantly , trying to hold back. “I was hurt. Offended. Mostly because I never... never tried to manipulate you. Never tried to make you into something you weren’t. Never wanted the relationship to be unequal. And it killed me that you could misread me so horribly. I wanted the chance to redeem myself, after everything you said. Because that... that wasn’t me.”
“Well. And what do you think now, a month later?”
“What do I think now?”
He smiled slowly. “Now that you’ve had a chance to reconsider. You do know that you’re wrong, of course.”
“I’m... excuse me?”
“You’re wrong. Incorrect. You can be a horrible judge of situations, you know. You personally. And you were a selfish person all along. Please don’t deny it. It just makes things difficult.”
“Don’t try to...!” She could hardly open her mouth.
“Yes. We don’t get anywhere when you’re being stubborn. Please admit that you’ve done wrong, and we can move forward.”
“Sean, this is... I admit that I wasn’t perfect. I’m not perfect, clearly. But I... say whatever you want about me, but don’t doubt my intentions. Because that’s not your place. I never meant anything but goodwill towards you. And I always, always tried to make things the best they could be. Maybe I screwed up, sure. I don’t have any great powers of oversight. But I tried. I’m not perfect, but I always tried.”
Sean sat in his chair, static in manner and appearance. Waiting for the attack. Or was he.
“You tried, Christy. I know you tried. I’m asking why it didn’t work.”
“Because... because I’m human. I can’t give you a better answer than that, Sean. I tried to be unselfish. And I apologize if that didn’t come across... if that didn’t happen.”
“So you admit that you did wrong.”
“I... yes, I do.”
“And that you were selfish?”
“At times, yes, but-”
“Wonderful. Thank you.” He took a sip of coffee.
Christy was struck dumb. His perfect calm and controlled speech terrified her.
“Now, Christy,” he said, leaning forward slightly. The first sign of emotion in minutes. “The point is not to dwell on your faults, but to overcome them. I only want you to recognize the selfishness within you for your own good. It was an act of love. The world sees you as selfish and I am helping you to exist within the context of the world. Now, you can become a more pure, perfect person. You see, I’m prepared to take you back.”
She could not move. Something in his eyes spoke of hunger, of horrible seduction.
“I could take you back, Christy, and things could be the way they were. You will live under my roof. I will let you live as lavishly as you wish, though within the limits of modesty which you will be exerting. I will love you and you will do the same for me.”
“Sean-”
He held up a hand which somehow silenced her. “Ah, my impertinent Christy. Speak carefully, I advise you. Your headstrong nature will get you nowhere. Yes, you are headstrong.” An angry flash in his eye. “Though you pretend to be meek and compliant. Deception. Deception is from the devil, Christina.” He stroked the syllables of her name carefully, drawing out the s.
She remained silent, staring in horrified fascination.
“What have these weeks been like for you, Christina? For me, they have been filled with you. I love you, you know. Your image remains with me. Have you not seen me? When you were walking to work last week? When you entered your apartment this Friday night? When you sat at this table fifteen minutes ago, eating your first cinnamon roll, pretending to read the paper, watching for me? You have been waiting for me too. I saw it as I watched you this afternoon. Christina.” A chill ran down her spine. “I knew when I saw you here that you were impatient to see me, to have me back. Now you are cleansed. Now your sins are forgiven. Now you are pure and awaiting your salvation. And I have arrived. I am here. Come with me, Christina. Christina.”
A silence. Sean sat leaning forward on the table, his eyes gaping abysses, open farther than should seem possible. His hand lay outstretched, inches from hers. Christy remained motionless, afraid to breathe, thoughts racing through her head in a controlled frenzy.
Then.
She ripped a fine gold chain from her neck. A chain. A cross. And she plunged the cross deep into his hand, between the bones of his knuckles. There was no resistance.

a scream which engulfed her completely
a wind which blew against her bones and smelt of death
a vision of flames swirling around her eyes
she was screaming too but could not hear herself

And Christy sat alone at the table, with a half-finished cinnamon bun lying before her.
She picked it up, along with her purse, and walked out of the coffee shop.

Nadia sat cross-legged in front of her floor-length mirror, staring into her own eyes. A sketchbook lay open and forgotten in her lap. Only the closet she sat in was lit; the bedroom behind her was as black and void as the night outside. She sat unmoving, intent on her own reflection. Was she vain? Perhaps. Vain, or just searching. Trying to capture something.
She raised an eyebrow, lowered it again, then laughed scornfully and pushed the mirror away. Letting the book slide off her lap, she rose and walked into her dark room. She would have looked beautifully silhouetted, had there been anyone in the room to see.
Nadia plucked a scarf from her dresser and twirled it around her hands as she walked to her bed and threw herself on top of it. Her bedspread was perfectly smooth. Pale green light from the clock beside her punctured the dark: one fifty-two. Insomnia. Or something like it. Nadia hadn’t exactly made the effort to sleep; she still wore stiff jeans and heavy black boots. But she hadn’t seen the reason to sleep, recently. She dreaded the time inevitably spent awake in bed: the vulnerable moments between caressingly soft sheets when the world was silent except for the ticking of a clock she forgot during the day and she was left lying awake like a child, her pajamaed self so small in the empty blackness. Unconsciousness was all right, but sleep was not. Usually, she would stay up nights, out as late as possible, then alone in the enclosure of her bedroom, writing or sketching or lying on the floor or trying to curl her long dark hair until she simply collapsed and slipped into a dream. She would wake up with seams pressed into her sides, leaving deep red marks on her skin. Foggy mornings and puffy eyes, but much easier nights. She liked to think of death this way. No transitions. Just living, right up to the end, then... nothing,
When she neared sleep the thoughts would come, insidiously seeping into her mind. Memories she wanted to forget, words she couldn’t believe she said, disembodied faces which now elicited only fascinated revulsion. Nightmares weren’t supposed to be so seductive. There was a certain appeal to the horrible, the painful, the haunting. Masochism made sense. Nadia liked herself better when hurting; she did it well, and concealed it better. In daylight she was blandly cheerful in a way she couldn’t remember afterwards. Days ran together in her mind like October, chilling monotony, whole eras of her life combining in a cold breeze of time punctuated only by the candle-in-the-darkness existence she led in the confines of her bedroom.
Nadia was startled out of her daze by a phone ring: Mozart’s Symphony #40. She rolled off her bed and groped around on the floor for her phone. She found it quickly.
Hello?
Nadia?
Of course.
You at home?
I am.
Hold on. We’ll be right there.

She stared at the phone in her hand, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth. She tossed the small phone onto the bed. Then she slid into a long sweater, took her purse from the back of her chair, and went to the window.
A sleek silver car pulled up to her house. Nadia didn’t recognize the car but she knew who must be in it. And he was. A tall shape emerged from the back passenger door, opened the gate noiselessly, and came up the walk. His form moved easily, lit by the half moon.
Lucas.
She had opened the window, and though she spoke softly her voice strode through the night. He looked up at the sound of his name, unsurprised.
Nadia. Are you ready? She nodded. Come down.
They’ll hear. Their room is right by the stairs.
He smiled. Then what the hell is that for? He pointed to the rope tied firmly to the gutter, just outside her window, running along a corner in the wall.
Nadia laughed. Just testing you. Catch this. She tossed her purse down and climbed through the window, hooking her legs around the rope.
Lucas watched as she slid down easily. Do this often, Nadia?
She jumped to the ground and brushed her hands against each other. Often enough. Who’s out there?
Tristan. Lauren. Does it matter?
Not at all. She coiled the end of the rope and hung it on a tree branch. Let’s go. I’ll take that. She reached for her bag.
Lucas held it just out of her reach. This must weigh fifteen pounds. You moving out?
I don’t know. Are we?
She said it intentionally, a challenge in her eyes, but she looked away after a second, blushing slightly against her will. She hadn’t meant to be taken seriously.
He studied her, then hung the bag over her shoulder gently and opened the gate for her. Here you are, m’dear. She hesitated; he saw. Are you ready?
The night was much bigger once outside. The air was warm and soft, a breeze pushing her hair back slightly, smelling of the day’s warmth and tulips. Nadia looked up and saw the half moon, sharply edged, shining onto Lucas and onto the car. It looked like a beacon for something.
I’m ready.

The car. Sleek, streamlined in the night. The inside was warm, from an impressive heater and hours of use. Nadia climbed in and Lucas shut the door behind her. Two heads turned from the front seat.
Nadia? Tristan was illuminated only by the lights on his dashboard. This was clearly his domain. He spoke softly, but with an edge.
Yes, that’s me. You’re Tristan? Lucas climbed in the other back door.
Tristan smiled. Absolutely. And this is Lauren.
Lauren leaned over her seat. That’s me. Hi. It looks like I’ll be your navigator... any requests? We can take you anywhere. The word anywhere sent a chill through Nadia’s spine.
Do you know where you’re going?
I do.
Then I trust you. Take us wherever. But make it... make it all right. You know?
Lauren smiled. I do. And I can do that. She turned around and said a few words to Tristan, words which Nadia didn’t understand. He nodded and shifted gears.
The car hummed and slowly pulled away from the curb, smoothly, carefully. The four moved slowly down the street. Nadia shivered. It’s like taking off, she said softly.
Lucas looked at her. You’re right.

The car hurtled down the freeway. They were out of dollhouse suburbia and into the hills, wide, gently rolling expanses of black sitting calmly outside the windows. Everything was clearer. Inside, Nadia leaned against her own window, her shoes off, legs crossed. She breathed deeply, felt herself let go a bit. It was hard to think of anything out here, anything else when these fields filled her mind and her vision. The night was so expansive...
Lucas took her bag from the seat between them and started playing with the zipper. Now what would the great Nadia carry with her? Charcoal? Dark eyeliner? A doctoral thesis on the metaphysical problems of the world? Bottled angst? Nadia smiled, turning from the window.
Bottled angst? He was laughing. Go ahead, look.
He opened the bag and set it in his lap. Her wallet, of course. Duct tape. Very stylish. Did you make it? She nodded.
Years ago. It’s falling apart.
But easy enough to fix, right? Let’s see. Eight dollars. A driver’s license. Gorgeous picture, of course. How old are you there? Twelve?
Fifteen. They take the picture when you get your permit.
You’re hardly recognizable. Don’t worry, that’s a good thing. What else... a phone card, a New York boating license-- what the hell do you need that for? we’re three thousand miles from New York--, about fifty receipts, and... a thousand lire. Sweetie, these aren’t even legal currency anymore.
Nadia shrugged. I know. But they’ve been in there ever since I was in Italy. I don’t want to take them out. I don’t know why I would...
Lauren turned around. She and Tristan had been talking almost silently for nearly an hour. They formed an effective wall for Nadia and Lucas. You were in Italy? I spent all of last summer in Orvieto. I worked as a waitress while taking an art course at the university. Isn’t it spectacular?
Nadia nodded earnestly. I was in Orvieto, for half a day. It’s up on a hill, isn’t it? All I remember was getting lost in the tiny streets, and not minding, because it was so beautiful. Worn stone and tile roofs...
Lauren nodded slowly. That’s it exactly. She turned around, gazing out the windshield once more.
Unaffected, Lucas continued to empty Nadia’s bag. Car keys. A ballpoint pen. And another. A marker. A pencil. Write much, Nadia? Advil. A plastic spoon. He looked up at her, grinning.
You’re going to make me explain the spoon? I thought it might be useful... someday. Haven’t you ever needed a spoon? She could see him trying to hold back laughter, his lips tight. Go ahead, laugh... don’t come to me if you ever need a spoon...
He tossed it at her. There. What else. Oh, your baby... Lucas carefully lifted Nadia’s camera out of the bag. Don’t you get nervous, carrying this around?
No. Not at all. And if I did, it’d be worth it. She took it gently from his hands and ran her fingers over it. Do you think, if I used a flash...
No. Lucas’s voice was sharp. She looked up in surprise. Not tonight, Nadia. You don’t have to capture everything, you know.
Nadia saw the resolve in his eyes, saw how it changed his usually smiling face. It shook her. All right. I didn’t... all right. She set the camera in her lap. I won’t.
Lucas looked at her gently, then went back to her bag. No phone, I see. Good idea. Very good idea. Sunglasses. And at the bottom... what’s this? He took out a piece of paper, folded twice, very well creased.
Acid coursed through Nadia’s veins. Lucas, don’t. She grabbed it from his hands, not noting the look of surprise on his face, and clutched it in her right hand, away from him. She turned to the window, her heart pounding.
Nadia, I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...
Tristan and Lauren sat unmoving in the front, looking ahead quietly. The car went over a bump in the road and all four shook.
Forget it, Lucas. Please, forget it.
She leaned her forehead against the cold glass. The white lines of the freeway flickered by her eyes, one after another, so quickly she couldn’t distinguish between them. They made her dizzy.

They were climbing now, climbing in the hills. On all sides were trees of staggering height, and as they went around curves in the highway and the car leaned into the center the trees seemed to be above them as well as around. Nadia stared out the window, not really seeing anything. The letter lay beside her, its presence strangely imposing. It wasn’t supposed to be there. Not tonight. Not tonight, which was blind flight and adventure and running to something else entirely, when the night was a drug and enough to encompass her completely if she so chose. It wasn’t fair.
You had to come along on this too, didn’t you. You ruined me completely, you took off for nowhere and when I try to do the same you won’t let me. I don’t want you here. I don’t want you as this leech, this presence I can’t get away from. As if you could come along for the ride.
But you could’ve, and that’s what’s so horrible. This could have been us. So easily. We’d be like those two in front, exactly like that, but with no passengers because they wouldn’t have understood. We could have fled for anywhere and it would have worked. You understood that as well as I did. You knew that we were on the edge of breaking through everything, the edge of achieving something so amazing and so perfect that nothing could be the same, ever. We were about to challenge everything either of us had ever believed, and we were about to win.
And so what if all of that went to hell. It’s not that I care, it’s just that...
Nadia brushed away one tear, only one, and pulled her sweater over her shoulders. She curled up into her seat and closed her eyes.

She was awakened by a sharp dip in the road. Lucas noticed immediately. Sleep well?
Yes, actually. I did. She stretched to the extent the car allowed. Lauren? Where are we?
Lauren turned around. Still on 580. Headed west, about twenty miles from the city. Tristan wanted to drive through tonight. There’s something amazing about the city at four in the morning. Is that all right? Nadia nodded, trying not to show the excitement she felt.
Perfect, she said, a little too quickly. Lauren spoke a few words to Tristan, who smiled.
Nadia leaned back in her seat. Lucas? Do you have any idea what we’re doing here?
He met her eyes. I thought you needed this. Really. You’ve been so... so closed lately. I wanted to get you to open up a bit.
Really?
Well... yes. And I wanted to be with you when you rediscovered the world. And I thought it would be awesome to... it just felt right, Nadia. Look at this. We’re miles from home, miles from anywhere, driving away from everything at seventy-five miles an hour. The night is ours, isn’t it? Isn’t this fantastic?
Is it... Lucas, I don’t know what I’m doing. I snuck out of my house and I’m being driven along by people I hardly know and I don’t even have enough money to get home if I needed to and it’s insane, I’m absolutely crazy-
Nadia. His voice was gentle. Does it matter?
She looked at Lucas, saw the earnestness in his eyes, the care in his speech. He meant it. Nadia felt suddenly warm, felt the darkness come into the car and expand, felt the clarity of everything out on the road. She sighed, deeply but not unhappily.
No. It doesn’t. A smile threatened to cross her face. It really doesn’t.

Tristan broke the contented silence. All right. We’re coming up to my favorite spot. If you’ll all do what I tell you, I promise it’ll be the greatest thing ever. Okay?
The music changed, his intricately played guitars becoming upbeat techno music. Lucas laughed with surprise. Tristan? Regressing a bit?
Shut up. This song’s amazing. Now close your eyes.... tightly.
Lauren did so, an expectant smile on her face. Nadia looked at Tristan skeptically. You want us to...
Please. It’ll be worth it.
Why did she trust him? She hardly knew him, hardly knew him at all, but there was something in his voice... Nadia closed her eyes, feeling slightly silly. The music continued, its constant beat more compelling than she cared to admit. She felt the car climbing, nearing the top of the hill.
Ready? Open your eyes... now.
Nadia opened her eyes just as the music exploded in a chorus of exhilarated noise. She gasped. They were flying. They had just rounded the hill- she could feel the lightness in her stomach- and the entire city lay before them in lights, perfectly clear against the black of the water and the sky. The bridge was there, traced in tiny dots of white. Everything was right there in front of her. And they were moving so quickly, absolutely flying down the hill and coming ever closer to the lights, to the city. Signs rushed by them, as did cars, moving as fast as the music which brought together everything. Nadia felt reality dissolve.
Lauren recovered first. Awesome.
Simple, but perfect. It was awesome.
Nadia couldn’t take her eyes off the road, the lights. She felt laughter rising inside her. Faster, Tristan, faster!
He laughed. You got it, babe. The car responded easily.
They went tearing down the hillside, unimpeded in the left lane, whizzing by everything in an instant. They had made it, Nadia felt sure. They had made it.

Exhausted by the city, by the endless buildings and stoplights and people, even in the still of the morning, Nadia lay back against the car door, using her sweater as a blanket. Was it starting to get light? No, but dawn would be approaching soon.
Lucas? He turned. What if we didn’t go home?
You’d have a hard time two weeks from now.
I know, but...
That’s not the point. Of course. He smiled. Well, if we want to run for it... I have forty-two dollars, a pocket full of change, and a granola bar.
Nadia smiled back. Eight dollars and a thousand lire.
I’ve got the most beautiful car in the world, half a tank of gas, and the next three weeks.
Map of the US Interstate System, a pack of gum, twenty-two dollars, and the next three weeks.
I brought a jacket. It’s in the trunk. If we’re headed into cold weather.
Eight CDs. All of them amazing. And one hell of a sound system.
Can we get to New York, Tristan? I know how, if we have enough gas money. I have a frequent buyer card at Minestrini’s. I’ll get us a free sandwich and a Coke.
Hey, if we get to New York I can legally take you out on a boat... I told you the boating license would come in handy. I also have a spoon.
There should be some emergency money in the glove compartment. Oh, I have a pack of matches.
I have a camera.
I have Nadia.
She turned to him, taken aback. He was smiling. Oh, really? And how far will that get you?
He shrugged. Far enough.

Tristan pulled off the highway, an offramp marked Vista Point. Spend the night here? The sunrise is amazing.
This isn’t legal, is it?
Well, not from sundown to sunrise. It won’t be dark much longer.
Nadia shrugged. All right. But don’t tell me that. I like the night.
He drove up the steep hill, and parked on the very top. They could see over the ridge they were on, to the city below, and to the water on the other side. Far to the east, the sky was lighter, with a tinge of green. Nadia shivered, and turned away from the window. Inside the car was still dark, blessedly and completely.
She leaned back, half across Lucas, who was slumped against the door. Lauren produced a blanket from the front and handed it back to them. Nadia pulled it over them both.
Hey. She spoke softly, though she knew Tristan and Lauren weren’t listening.
He smiled. Hello, Nadia.
She leaned her head back, so she could see through the window. Stars still dotted the sky. If I watched the stars for long enough, do you think they’d start moving?
She could feel him laugh. Absolutely.
Lucas...
Yes?
Thank you. For all this. For everything.
Don’t thank me, Nadia. Not now. It’s not over yet. Nothing’s over yet.
Yeah. Maybe you’re right.
There was a contented silence.
Nadia? I’m sorry about... earlier. The letter. I should’ve known better. I mean, not tonight.
She stirred, slightly. It’s all right. It’s just that... She sighed. I couldn’t decide if tonight was like that, or not. Like him, I mean. We could have done this. We could have escaped. But we never did. We were on the brink of something miraculous and it never happened. So was that a fall from grace, or was there a reason? I don’t know... A deep breath. It doesn’t matter, though.
You don’t have to lie, Nadia.
I know, I know I don’t. But I don’t think I am. Not this time.
A few minutes’ silence. The stars disappeared. Rain began to fall on the roof, to streak against the windows.
Lucas spoke softly. Nadia?
Silence.
He shook her slightly. Nadia?
Hmm?
Good night.
She yawned, and turned over.‘Night, Lucas.

all right. short story (pfft. short?) in two installments 'cause it didn't want to end. read and devour.

Cornflakes and Champagne

The day my father killed himself I had cornflakes for breakfast. It was March seventh, about six forty-five in the morning. The weather promised to be unseasonably warm, sunlight already filtering horizontally through the trees, brightening the wood of the breakfast table. My mother had left for work, taking my brothers to elementary school and day care on the way; my mornings were spent alone, just as I liked them. I ate slowly while gazing outside, golden light warming my face, my thoughts full of peaceful nothings. I was pouring another bowl of cereal, to use up the rest of the milk, when I heard the gunshot. It ripped through my body like it ripped through his skull. I dropped the box and cornflakes scattered over the table. No one cleaned them up for days.
I ran upstairs and found my father sitting upright in his desk chair, impeccably dressed in his usual jacket and tie. His hair was perfectly gelled and combed, except for one spot near his right temple, matted with blood. There must have been an exit wound but I didn’t want to look for it. His collar was still white and starched; it wouldn’t turn red for another few minutes. A handgun lay on the floor, about a foot from his right hand, which hung limply over the arm of the chair. Except for the gun, and the trickle of blood coming from his head, my father looked quite normal. Had I not heard the gunshot, I might not have known he was dead. I stared at him in shock and in morbid fascination. I was home alone with my father’s warm body. The next week I would turn fourteen.
The policemen and social workers agreed that the circumstances of his death were extremely unusual: a long-married, successful man attempting suicide, in the early morning, with his daughter home. They were wrong, of course. Everything about his death was perfectly in character; except that he left his body for us to find. I’d have thought he would have jumped off a bridge, or skied into a ravine. It was very unlike him to leave his body there with us, vulnerable, even in death. He would have hated any of us looking at him without his knowledge. But if someone had to find him, I knew that it had to be me. The shock would’ve destroyed my mother; she was much too weak to withstand something like that alone. It would have killed her, too, and he wouldn’t have wanted that. He was gruff, not murderous. My brothers were much too young. And everything in that house was always a power struggle between him and me. We sat at opposite ends of the dinner table, each nightly conversation a battle of wills, fighting for influence over my brothers, control over every issue. My mother occasionally came down sharply on issues related to her children, but it was clear from the time I entered third grade that there were only two forces of contention in the family.
My father was one of the most contradictory people I knew. To those he worked with, he was the ruthless CEO, clawing his way up the corporate ladder. He was ethical, always, but not kind. All through his career he was enormously competent; according to the papers, he knew what the hell he was doing. And he did. With his companies, like with his investments, like with his children, he tolerated no bullshit and no fluff. Everything he did, and everything his employees did, had to be researched and supported and credible. He was a bitter realist, and had very little time for visionaries or lofty thinkers. He wasn’t the get-rich-quick type. His money was solid. When the markets turned he rode out the recession amazingly well; I knew as well as he that this wasn’t luck. The bubble had burst, but Dad didn’t do bubbles. He worked with steel, with stone.
At home he was frequently moody and sharp. The standards of his workplace seemed to transfer to us; dinners had to be warm and punctual, we had to answer his questions clearly and honestly, be pleasant around him. He’d often get angry if we didn’t act the part of a “nice family.” After a few harsh words, we’d affect smiling facades, resume choreographed conversations and proceed with a forcibly pleasant meal, for his sake. Dad never did see the irony in this. My father was an authoritarian. My father was a patriarch. My father was the alpha male. And my father did all of these things extremely well. If nothing else, he could succeed, and make damn sure his family did too. He loved us. I guess that’s how he showed it.
But my father was once a free spirit. He was thrown out of a hotel in college for setting off the sprinkler system with incense smoke. He spent his weekends hanging around private airports, trying to hitchhike by air down to Florida. On the door to his office still hangs an authentic Presidential seal; he stole it from the Kennedy Center while staffing a reception there. He’d had a bit too much champagne from the senators’ unfinished bottles and decided that he needed the seal more than Nixon did. These stories I learned from his brothers, from his old roommates, on conditions of confidentiality which never lasted.
But my father’s wild days were not totally lost. In the summers of my own childhood, he spent half his days on a surfboard. He was a much better surfer than I was, better than any of my friends, though he tried to teach me. The beach regulars adored him. Out in the waves, with a wetsuit stretching over his deeply tanned skin, my father was just one of the guys-- even if the guys were thirty years younger than he. Dad was never happier than when running out of the ocean, water cascading off of him, having just caught a few amazing waves. In times like that I could see the man my mother married.
Sitting on the beach during these summers, I watched my father with a mixture of admiration and apprehension. Sometimes he was so terrible that I had to close my eyes and wall myself off from the things he said, the people he hurt. But in the summers he was tan and athletic and human, laughing with my brothers while throwing them around in the waves, paddling into the surf as his friends lay in beach chairs. I was proud of him. Proud that my dad was the cool one, proud that he was still energetic and free and young. And even proud of the things he had achieved, the places he had gotten. Watching the sun glint over the huge waves, and watching the tiny figure of my father amongst them, I knew that I had inherited his drive, his might. I could feel it when I argued my way through something important, or had a heated conversation with him. And that scared me. I wanted my father’s force of personality, but not his tyrannical nature. I wanted to be forty-five and surfing. I wanted to stay young.

That morning I called 911, not my mother. I could deal with professionals but I would rather have died myself then tell my mother what had happened. I didn’t want to hear her voice when she found out, I didn’t want to explain anything to her, and most of all, I didn’t want to be comforted by her. Her first concern would have been me: how I found out, if I was okay. And I didn’t want that. She didn’t need to worry about me, for one thing. She had enough to recover from herself.
When I was in second grade I got a black eye trying to run down a slide standing up. It had rained the day before, and my shoes met the wet metal too quickly. I slipped, half-falling, half-sliding, and hit my face against the edge of the slide. My mother saw the whole thing. She ran over to me, but I wouldn’t let her pick me up or look at my eye. She asked if I was all right and I said “Yes, Mother,” as irritably as my young quavering voice could manage. I stood up shakily, ignoring the throbbing pain around my eye, and ran over to the swings. That night I stole a bag of strawberries from the freezer and put them on my swollen eye. I cried myself to sleep, the side of my face numb. When I woke up in the morning my pillow was sticky with strawberry juice.
I never wanted my mother to be concerned about me. Something in pain seemed too personal for her to witness. Her intentions were always good, and I know her desire to help me was genuine. We didn’t have a horrible relationship, the two of us. She probably could have understood anything, and would have been sympathetic, if I had let her be. But I couldn’t. Talking to my mother was like sinking into a feather bed; too soft, too accommodating, and fundamentally ineffective.
After the ambulance arrived there were several minutes of frenzied action: taking my father’s vital signs; a quick investigation of the house, looking for an intruder or signs of a struggle; a storm of questions directed at me, which I answered without thinking. The ambulance workers took my father’s body away almost immediately: whether for an autopsy or an attempt to revive him, I didn’t know. It didn’t matter. I knew he was gone.
Within ten minutes I was left with two policemen and no father. One of them had the presence of mind to call my mother, as the other tried to talk to me, get me water, pat my shoulder. He was kindly looking but clearly not trained for situations like this. I didn’t want to talk to the police. I had told them all I had seen and all they needed to know. After assuring my comforter I wouldn’t leave the house, I walked into my room and closed the door carefully. I stared at myself in the mirror on my wall, stared into my eyes, ordering myself not to cry. My breathing became slow and regular. My eyes, like my mind, glazed over, and I felt nothing but empty.
When my mother ran in the door I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to Simon and Garfunkel’s Scarborough Fair over and over. The undulations of the music, the gentle guitar pluckings and shadowy voices, the melody circling around and around my head as I couldn’t tell the repetitions from each other, as if I cared to; the song was like my thoughts, subdued and indistinguishable and unending. I did win one small victory in those moments. I didn’t cry.
Simon and Garfunkel weren’t loud enough to drown out my mother. She burst into the house, demanding to see her husband, asking about me, clearly in an uncontrolled frenzy. When she threw open the door to my room I sat up slowly to face her.
“Natalie! Natty, Natty, my darling, you’re all right, what happened, what happened?”
I stared at her forehead, unable or unwilling to see her pained and panicked eyes. My voice was calm and dry. “He shot himself, Mom. You know that. They took him away, to the hospital or somewhere. I don’t know, really. They do.” I gestured to the policemen, standing at a discreet distance from my door.
“Are you all right? You can’t be all right! Did you see it? Did you hear it? My God, Natty, did you find him? You must have. How could he do this? What did you see, Natty? What did you see?” Her eyes darted everywhere. I knew she didn’t hear the words coming out of her mouth.
“Mom, I’m fine. Yes, I found him. No, I didn’t see him with the gun. Maybe you should go to the hospital. Let one of the police drive you. You can’t drive yourself.” She couldn’t. Her whole posture, her whole manner was affected. I hardly recognized her.
“Yes, yes, I think I will. Are you sure you’re all right? You’re all right.” She whipped around wildly. “Will you drive me, sir? Yes, yes, thank you, I don’t know where I’m going, I know that you do, thank you... And you? Will you stay with Natty?” She clawed at the front of the policewoman’s blue suit. “Take care of my Natty, please, please watch her, don’t let her...” My mother was led down the stairs and out the door. I heard car doors slam as they drove away.
The policewoman showed considerably more tact. She looked at me steadily. “Can I get anything for you, Natalie?” I shook my head. “Do you want to talk about anything?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be all right here.”
She nodded. “I’ll call the hospital in a few minutes, and your brothers’ teachers. Do you know where I’d find those numbers?”
“The school numbers are on the sheet by the kitchen phone.”
“Thank you, Natalie. I’ll be downstairs.”
I nodded to myself and lay back down on my bed, slightly dizzy. As soon as the door shut I heard Simon and Garfunkel, steady as ever. They sang on for hours.