The Third Eye (11 page)

Why don’t I feel excited?
she asked herself without really caring.
Why does this seem more like an ending than a beginning?

Her cap had slipped forward and was threatening to slide down over her left eye. She reached up surreptitiously and adjusted it. She glanced sideways at Tim, but he was gazing out across the sea of upturned faces, oblivious to her presence, singing lustily. His own cap was sitting exactly where it should sit, wedged down firmly on his head. His hair came springing out from under its edge in a fringe of dark curls.

Karen tried to recall what that hair had felt like beneath her fingers and was amazed to discover that she could not remember. Only weeks had passed, and she had disposed of the memory already. She had managed to block it out in the same way that she had other painful recollections—the image of a pair of sandals on a pebbled beach—a shiny bicycle propped against a cottonwood—the smell of slick wet rocks and fast-running river water.

I won’t let it hurt me,
she told herself.
I will not let it matter.
Her relationship with Tim was already part of another lifetime.

A burst of applause snapped her attention back to the present. The alma mater had ended, and graduation was over. People were jumping up from their seats now: fathers and mothers, grandparents, brothers and sisters. Tim was gone without a word, swept away into the churning chaos. Karen caught sight of him a few minutes later, standing in the far aisle, being hugged by his mother.

Gazing out across the milling crowd, she saw her own parents. Her father, older and more distinguished looking than most of the other parents, was dressed in the same business suit he had worn to the office that morning. Her mother was wearing a blue dress that Karen had not seen before. They were trying to shove their way toward the front of the gym. Her father was greeted by someone he knew and stopped to exchange pleasantries, but her mother refused to be distracted. She kept plowing determinedly onward until she reached the aisle that
ran parallel to the stage and began to work her way along it, pushing people gently but firmly out of her path.

She reached the stairs and had already started up them when Karen intercepted her.

“Mom, you’re not supposed to come up here!”

“Well, you weren’t coming
down
,” her mother said accusingly.

She put her arms around Karen and hugged her.

“I can’t believe it! My baby is all grown up!”

Karen forced a smile. “I don’t
feel
grown up. The truth is, I don’t feel much different from the way I felt yesterday.”

“But you
are
different! You’re a graduate now. You’re at such a wonderful point in life! Everything lies ahead for you! Everything is possible!”

Her mother’s arms were thin and strong like bands of steel wire. They tightened convulsively, and for a moment Karen had the fleeting thought that she might be sliced in two.

“Oh, to be eighteen again!” Mrs. Connors continued. “Won’t you and Tim have fun at the university!”

“College still seems far away,” Karen said evasively. “There’s the whole long summer between now and then.”

“Only three short months, and those will pass quickly. There are so many things we’re going to need to do to get you ready. You’ll have to have a new wardrobe, for one thing. That dress was lovely for the prom, but it won’t be right for sorority parties.”

“There’s Dad!” Karen announced, relieved at finding an
excuse to steer the conversation away from the subject of dating. “I don’t think he sees us. Wait, yes he does! He’s waving!”

“I thought we’d lost him for good,” Mrs. Connors said testily. “That man can’t go anywhere without finding somebody to talk business with.”

As her mother’s arms released her, Karen moved gratefully into her father’s less frenetic embrace.

“Congratulations!” he said, thrusting her out at arm’s length to get a better look at her. “My daughter, the sweet girl graduate! We need to get a picture!”

“I told you to bring the camera,” his wife interjected. “If you’d only pay attention…”

“I meant to bring it,” Mr. Connors said. “I had it all set out and everything, and then, just as we were getting ready to leave, I got a phone call. After that we were so rushed that I forgot and left the camera on the table in the den.”

“You can take the picture when we get back to the house,” Karen told him. “We don’t need the gym for a background.”

“There’ll be time enough for that tomorrow,” her mother said. “You don’t have to come home with us, Karen. There must be parties that you and Tim want to go to. This is a special evening for the two of you.”

“Not really,” said Karen. “I mean, there aren’t any parties I want to go to.”

“Now, don’t try to tell me that. This is your graduation night!”

“Mom, I’m grown up now, right? You just said it yourself,” Karen said. “I should know if I want to go to any parties. If I say I don’t want to, then I don’t
want
to.”

“But what about Tim?” Mrs. Connors asked her. “Surely he must have planned something.”

“Tim can take care of himself,” Karen said. “If Tim had wanted to take me to a party, he would have invited me. And he didn’t.”

“But I thought…” Her mother paused, digesting Karen’s statement. She seemed to reconsider what she had been about to say and stopped herself. “I see. I didn’t realize… that you were having problems.”

“We’re not
having
them,” Karen said. “We
had
them. It’s over between Tim and me.”

“But he took you to the prom! And tonight you walked together!”

“We signed up to be graduation partners back in April,” Karen told her. “That was a preset thing. There’s no rule that says that if you walk with a partner you have to go out together afterward.”

“You could still have fun at the parties,” Mrs. Connors said. “Your other friends will be there.”

“I told you, I don’t want to go,” Karen said.

“There’s no reason, then, that you have to,” her father said. “Lovers’ quarrels tend to work themselves out. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

“You’re probably right,” Karen said, avoiding her mother’s eyes. There were questions there that she didn’t want to have to answer.

The parking lot was jammed full with cars. There were people everywhere—graduates still in their caps and gowns, graduates changed into street clothes, friends and relatives hugging and laughing—all of them in a state of exultation. The continual flashes of light that spattered the darkness proved that there were many who had not forgotten their cameras.

Because they had arrived late, Karen’s parents had been forced to park at the back of the lot next to the football field. Now it took over ten minutes to work their way into the line of cars that was inching toward the street. Traffic from both sides of the lot merged at the exit gate, and the car that pulled into line directly ahead of them was a familiar Honda filled with teenagers. Karen could not see into the front seat to identify the driver, but when one of the girls in the back turned to make a laughing remark to the boy beside her, she recognized the profile of Lisa Honeycutt.

So Tim was attending the graduation parties without her. Karen accepted the knowledge without real surprise. Although it was impossible to see whether or not he had a date sitting next to him, the mere fact that he was providing transportation for so many people showed that his plans for the evening had not been made on impulse.

These were people whom Karen had begun to think of as her friends as well as Tim’s. It was painful to realize that she
had been mistaken. It was doubtful, she knew, that she was being deliberately excluded and someone had actually suggested, “Let’s go off and leave Karen.” Still, no one in the group had cared enough to insist that she be with them. She had been accepted as part of a unit—“Tim-and-Karen”—and if that unit no longer existed, then Karen didn’t either.

I will
not
feel hurt,
she told herself.
It doesn’t matter. I’m no worse off now than I was before Tim and I started dating. For a while things changed, and now they’re back to the way they used to be, that’s all.

Her parents did not seem to have recognized Tim’s car or, if they had, they restrained themselves from commenting. The conversation during the drive home was confined solely to the topic of the graduation ceremony.

When they reached the house, Karen’s father retrieved his camera from the table in the den and set out to make up for his earlier forgetfulness by turning the photography session into a professional-style undertaking. First he took formal close-ups, using the white drapes in the living room for a backdrop; then he shot a batch of full-length poses of Karen standing on the stairs, holding her diploma.

After those had been taken, he turned to his wife.

“Why don’t you go stand on the step beside her? I’ll get a shot of the two of you together.”

“Oh, no,” Mrs. Connors objected. “This is supposed to be Karen’s night.”

“Come on, Mom,” Karen said dutifully. “We haven’t had a picture taken together since I was a baby.”

“Well, if you really want me to.” Her mother sounded pleased.

She ascended the stairs and took her place next to her daughter. They stood there stiffly, shoulder to shoulder, directing their smiles toward the camera lens. The flash exploded in their faces.

“Is that it, then?” asked Karen, relieved to have the ordeal over with. “If it is, I’m going to get changed. This outfit is sweltering.”

“It’s not as bad as what I had to wear at
my
graduation,” her mother said. “My gown was made of wool, and it gave me a rash, but at the party afterward I wore a red silk dress.” She reached over suddenly and placed her hand upon Karen’s. “It’s all been worth it.”

“What has?” Karen asked. “Renting the gown?”

“Having a child. Devoting my life to raising and protecting her. Seeing you up there on that stage tonight, standing so straight, looking so beautiful, so much a real
part
of it all, I felt very proud.”

“Mom!” Karen exclaimed, surprised and touched. The flash went off again, momentarily blinding them. Startled, Karen swung back around to confront her father.

“I thought the picture-taking was supposed to be over!”

“That was one final shot,” Mr. Connors told her. “I’m finished now. You can go change your clothes if you want to.”

“I do want to,” Karen said. “Actually, I guess I’ll say good night. I’m tired out from all the excitement. I think I’ll take a shower and read in bed.”

“On your graduation night!” her mother exclaimed incredulously. “Honestly, there are times when I just don’t understand you, Karen. I was sure that once you had a chance to think things over you’d change your mind about going out with your friends. You could take the car and be on your own, you know. You wouldn’t have to be dependent on Tim for anything.”

Karen sighed. Her mother was back in character. The surge of affection that she had felt for her only moments before was replaced by exasperation.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” she said. “I don’t want to go out. Why does that bother you so much?”

“I didn’t say it bothered me,” her mother said. “I don’t appreciate it when you use that tone of voice. You make it sound as if I were out to wreck your life. You know perfectly well that all I want is for you to have a good time.”

“I do know that,” Karen admitted. “It’s just that sometimes…” She couldn’t think of a way to complete the sentence without antagonizing her mother further.

Her father came to her rescue.

“How about some TV?” he suggested. “Or maybe we could watch a DVD?”

That night, Karen dreamed. This had not occurred for so many weeks now that she had begun to dare to hope that this phase of her life was over.

This dream, like the earlier ones, was about a child. This
time, however, the subject was one she had never seen. She was small and blond, and she stood next to a backyard swing set. Beyond that, there was a wooden fence that was bordered by a line of rosebushes. The bushes were in bloom, spilling over with great clusters of pink and yellow blossoms. The little girl stood facing them. All that Karen could see of her was her back and a pale, silken torrent of hair.

The sight of the child stirred an emotion in her that was more intense than anything she ever had experienced. It was a surge of caring so overpowering that it was as though a steel blade were being twisted in her heart.

Who are you?
Karen called out to the dream-child.
Please, turn around so I can see you! I want to know you! I want to see your face!

But the girl did not hear. She was busy with the roses.

Turn around,
Karen begged her.

A surge of fear shot through her, for abruptly she knew that this child was in danger. How the knowledge came to her, she could not have said, but she was as certain as she had been of the fate of Carla Sanchez.

Be careful!
Karen cried silently.

The little girl bent and kissed a rosebud.

Karen awakened, shaking and drenched in sweat.

In the clear light of morning, she was able to put
the dream into perspective.

“It was a nightmare,” she assured herself. “Just a regular nightmare, like anybody in the world could have. Just because I had a dream doesn’t mean it was a vision of some kind. I was hurt and mad about Tim, and, because I wouldn’t admit it, my feelings showed up in my dreams.”

The explanation was reasonable, especially in light of the fact that the child in the dream had been fuzzy and featureless, as compared with the images of Carla and of Bobby Zenner, which had seemed real enough to touch.

It was just a dream. It didn’t have any deeper meaning.
Eager as she was to believe this, Karen nevertheless forced herself to leaf carefully through the morning paper, flipping the pages
apprehensively, alert for news of some small blond girl whose family might have reported her missing. There was no such story, nor was there any such report online or on the morning news.