The Year of My Miraculous Reappearance (13 page)

She said after a while I would figure out which sounded better, not having to work or not getting to call Bill. She said I didn't have to decide today, which was a relief. I was thinking maybe this sponsor thing wasn't so bad. I figured Zack was right about Pat.

“What'd you do today?” she asked.

“Nothing much. Just been around the house all day.”

Then she hit me with it. She said, “I want to talk to you about Zack.”

My stomach got all icy really fast. “What about him?”

“If you'd said you went for a ride on his motorcycle today, maybe there'd be nothing to talk about. But you just lied to me, so I expect we have a problem. He's a grown man, first of all. And you're a fourteen-year-old girl. And if you're trying to get him to cross a line, you're doing a bad thing for both of you. It's really important not to start any new relationships or
make any big changes in your first year. And that's even with somebody your own age.”

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I was outraged. I never used that word before so far as I know, but boy, that really says it. “Were you spying on me?”

“Hardly. I got better things to do. I was coming out of the hardware store when you two went buzzing by. Care to tell me why you felt you had to lie about it?”

“This is none of your business.”

“Look. There's a very unflattering name we have for any guy in the program who would take advantage of a newcomer— just when they're most vulnerable—and it's the business of any other member to gently remind that guy how it'd be the wrong thing to do. I already talked to Zack and he seems to be in a good place with it, but I'm warning you—out of caring for you, Cynnie—I'm seeing trouble here. Either way.”

I was so tied up in a knot, I could hardly answer. “You … talked to Zack? You talked to Zack … about me? Oh, my God. How could you do that? You had no right. You had no right to do that. I can't believe that.”

I know she said a couple more things. I remember her voice sounding really flat and even. Just the opposite of mine.

Then I hung up on her.

I climbed up into my tree house for the first time since the accident and sat there fuming. I didn't know where she got off. I didn't know what to do to feel better again. But one thing I knew for damn sure. I was never talking to Pat again. Never, not as long as I lived.

The day after that, my mom and I had this incredible fight. The kind where you feel like it's picking you up and carrying you along with it, like a tornado, and you start feeling like the fight is in control, like it's a real thing, it's bigger than you, and you couldn't stop it if you tried.

It all started when I tried to call Bill, but I couldn't make the phone dial the number. It came on with this weird fast busy signal before I even finished dialing.

My mom was in the kitchen, eating some leftover something right out of the casserole dish.

“There's something wrong with the phone,” I said.

She didn't even look up at me. Just looked right into that goop she was eating and said, “Only if you're trying to call long distance. I had it blocked.”

“You
what
?” It came out like this shriek, and then I was already in that part of the thing that takes over for you. Suddenly I knew what people meant when they said they hit the ceiling. I felt like some force, like steam escaping, was going to send me straight up in the air until I banged my head.

“I told you, Cynthia. I told you we couldn't afford this. We only have your father's Social Security and—”

“Oh yeah?
Why
do we only have that? Why don't you work at a job like normal people? You're not sick. Your arms aren't broken. Why don't you work and take care of us, so we have money for basic stuff like calling my little brother who got sent away? He's my brother—do you get that? He's your son. Flesh and blood, Mom. He's our flesh and blood. Our
family.

Does that mean anything to you at all? It's your fault I can't see him, and now you won't even let me talk to him. Because you didn't feel like taking care of him. But you
had
him. So you
have
to. It's your job. Are you going to give me away, too, if I'm too much trouble? Is that what you do when you get tired? Throw your kids away? And tired from what? You don't
do
anything. Except drink. And sleep around.”

My throat was starting to hurt from the yelling. She looked up at me, and she didn't even look mad. Her eyes looked empty and dead. It was like she shut down and locked the doors and put out a sign that said “nobody home” so I couldn't get to her. I could see she was going to be this big brick wall, and I was going to bash myself into pieces on her and never hurt her one bit.

All she said was, “You try working for a living and then come back and tell me how easy it is.”

“I will. I'll get a part-time job and raise my own money for the phone bill.”

“Good. Fine.”

“But it sucks. It sucks that I should have to. You're the mother. And you don't do anything. I mean, what do you actually
do
?”

She just got up and wandered off toward her bedroom. She left that nasty casserole sitting out on the table, and I sure wasn't going to put it away for her.

I stomped off—as best you can stomp when you've just gotten a big cast off your broken leg—to the back patio and sat staring up at my tree house. Thinking about going up. But
I felt too shaky. The whole middle of me was shaking, I was so mad. I couldn't believe she fixed it so I couldn't call Bill. My hands were shaking, too. I had to do something to stop feeling like this, but I didn't know what. I actually even thought about calling Pat, but only for a split second.

I went inside and called Zack instead.

He sounded really surprised to hear it was me. “What's up?” he said. I think he could tell that I was upset.

“Can I come over? I need to talk to somebody.”

“Oh,” he said. “Uh. You should call your sponsor. You should call Pat.”

“Please,” I said. “Just for a few minutes. I just want to see you and talk to you for a few minutes.” I kept it to myself that I was never going to talk to Pat again in my whole life.

“Oh, I …” I waited for him to finish, and my stomach started getting lower and heavier, because I could hear him trying to say no. “I can't tonight.”

“It'll just be a few minutes.”

“I can't tonight, Cynnie. I have a …” I waited. I didn't know what else to do. “A … you know … sort of a date. It's not for a couple of hours, but I just got home from work and I need to get ready.”

I could hear this weird buzzing in my ears, like a swarm of invisible bees just outside my head. And my skin felt strange—tingly, like someone threw me in the ocean really suddenly and I was shocked from the cold of it, and my whole body went numb, just like that.

“You should call Pat. That's what she's for.”

“Right,” I said.

And then I was off the phone, but I couldn't remember if I'd said goodbye or if I'd just hung up. That time was a blank.

I went up to my tree house and got that bottle of gin out from under the mattress where I'd stashed it. No more of this working hard while my mother did nothing. From now on I wouldn't care. Send me to juvie, force me to go to meetings, I don't care. Expel me from school, no big deal. No more caring about anything from this point on. From now on I let everything slide, like my mom does. If she could do it, so could I.

This is the part that might be a little hard to explain. The part where I decided I was going over to Zack's anyway. Maybe “decide” is the wrong way to say it. Maybe it's more like something just pulled me over there. I just know I'd been sitting there sipping on that gin for a long time, and when it hit my gut, it started to warm things up, and then I was more awake inside. Not quite so numb and frozen. And I kept thinking there was still time. He had a date coming, but she wasn't there yet. Once she got there, it would be too late. But right now there was still time. Maybe if I told him how I felt about him. Maybe I could still change the way this all worked out.

The part where it started to sound like a good, right idea— that's the part I still can't really explain.

I changed my clothes first and put on a little makeup, even though I thought I didn't have much time. But also, this had to be perfect, so there was a lot that was important, and I had to try to balance it all, like a juggler with torches that are on
fire. I had to get this right. I didn't have dresses or anything, so I just wore this skinny little tank top that didn't cover my whole middle. I even snuck into the bathroom and stole some of my mom's red lipstick.

I walked to Zack's house as fast as I could. It was starting to get dark, and it was cold. I should've worn a jacket. But there was nothing I could do about that, so I walked faster to try to stay warm. Even though my leg was feeling kind of achy.

When I knocked on his door I could feel this pounding in my ears, but it felt far off, like it was happening to somebody else.

He opened the door. He had this big, sweet smile on his face, like he was expecting something wonderful, and when he saw me, his face just fell. He was wearing a sports jacket, and he smelled good, like aftershave.

“Cynnie,” he said. Disappointed. “You've been drinking.” I was surprised. I didn't think he would know. I didn't think it was that much, that it would show on me that fast and that easy. “You need to call your sponsor. You need to call Pat.”

I had no idea what to say, so I just came right into his living room and put my arms around him. Put my head against his chest and smelled his aftershave. I don't think I said anything at all.

He pushed me away. “Cynnie,” he said. “My God. You're fourteen years old.”

I tried not to let on how much I was feeling stung. “So? My mom was, like, way older than you. We're closer than you two were in our ages.”

“Yeah, but your mom and me, we were both adults. Cynnie, a guy my age and a fourteen-year-old girl? That's not even legal. It's not even right.”

I just stood there with my head down. I felt like I needed a big blanket to wrap up in or something. I felt all exposed.

Zack looked at me like he could hear me think that. “Aren't you cold?” he asked. It sounded like he was accusing me of something. I didn't answer.

Bad news is, he kept talking. “God, Cynnie, look at you. Look what you're turning into. You hate your mom so much. You have no respect for her. You look down on her. Because she drinks too much and she sleeps with a lot of men. And now look at you. If you hate that so much about her, why are you going all those same places yourself?”

Then I remember running down his driveway. I don't remember running out the door. I know I did, but it's a blank. I just remember running as fast as I could.

I ran all the way home. My chest felt like it was about to explode but I kept running. I knew I was hurting my leg but I didn't care. It hurt more and more but I kept running until I was home. I leaned on my tree trying to breathe again. I wasn't thinking anything. I was careful not to think. I wasn't sure how long I could keep that up.

I climbed up above it all. I sat on my mattress and tried to finish the bottle. If I could drink enough, maybe I'd never have to come down. Maybe I could disappear for real. That's all I'd ever wanted, all along. Just to disappear. It really didn't seem like too much to ask. I sat there in the dark, trying to
make my mind go blank. Trying to make it this black sea, like a dark night with no moon. I didn't want to think anything at all.

One thought did break through, though. Well, it wasn't a thought, really. It was a feeling. Not the kind Pat said I didn't have. An actual physical feeling. It was the lump of Harvey's pocketknife, pressing against my leg. I was sitting on it.

I opened it out and looked at it as best I could in the dark. I touched the tip of it, and it was still sharp enough to make my finger bleed. I sucked on the end of my finger, and it wasn't that much blood, but enough, and I was really aware of the taste of it.

I thought, You want to disappear? You're a big girl now. You know what that really means. It's not a pretend thing where you close your eyes and wish. If you really want to disappear, you can.

I got outside myself in a weird way then, and thought about what would happen when I had to tell somebody about this later. If there was a later. Like Pat, or whoever that person is in your life that you have to cough up all your secrets for. She'd ask how serious I was.

So, how serious was I?

I could feel that old part of me, the part I'd been trying to leave behind. The real me. The broken me. I could feel it waiting for me. Calling, even. Trying to get me back. I pictured it like a coyote howling at the moon. That lonely calling.

Then I remembered I didn't have to tell anybody anything,
ever again. There would be no Pat. No program. No working on myself or trying to get fixed. I never had to do that again, and it was such a relief. It's like I'd been holding my stomach in for months, worrying about the way I looked, and I finally got to let go and relax.

Before I even had time to enjoy that feeling of letting go, I heard somebody climbing up the ladder steps of my tree. A head came up through the hole in the floor. I couldn't see who it was. I wasn't sure I cared. So long as it wasn't Zack.