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Kate
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KATE ROUSES IN a foreign, yet disturbingly familiar white room that smells of iodine. There’s a TV attached to the wall by a long metal arm, never a good sign. On screen, a woman warms her hands on a cup of coffee and then proceeds to Irish stepdance around the room.
No, Folgers, the best part of waking up is knowing you’re not dead.
She senses the beginnings of a massive headache and stiffness throughout her shoulders, but it mostly feels like living. The sun is still up. Someone has her hand. She squeezes. Something is stopping her from moving her head. Plastic. Around her neck. She moves her eyes.
Erik turns to her with a smile, but it flattens. He draws a thumbnail down the cleft above his upper lip a few times. Not good. When he used to have a moustache, this gesture indicated impending disaster in his latest business venture or that he was about to confess that one of the kids got injured on his watch.
“I want you to stop seeing Lucy,” he says.
Kate blinks. “I must not be dying.”
“Concussion. And don’t try to move your neck. They want to do a scan as soon as you’re ready. I asked the kids to give us a few minutes too. We need to talk.”
“The van.”
“Totaled. We needed a new one anyway. But, Kate. I saw the blog.”
“You know, I never liked the gold,” Kate says. “Let’s get a red one, so everyone can see me coming.”
“Kate. Lucy’s still in love with you.”
Kate’s lips are crisp, her entire mouth dry, her tongue a foreign object.
Erik sighs. “You didn’t clear the history bar.”
Kate regards the window. “You’re sure good at clearing it I noticed.”
“What does that mean?”
“You think I don’t know you look at porn?”
“Oh come on. I was checking out Jennifer’s new business. It’s nothing. But I figured you’d get weird if you saw it.”
“Erik,” she mimics his stern tone, “Jennifer’s still in love with you.”
“Quit changing the subject. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“What? That Lucy’s still a lesbian? Everybody with half a brain can see that.” Kate rolls her eyes. “Except Lucy.”
“I want to know how you feel.”
“I care about her, Erik. If you read the blog then you know why.”
She feels dirty saying this half-truth.
“What if she’s stalking you? Remember before Dale got divorced? His crazy mistress?”
Who could forget? Dale and Jenny had woken up in the middle of the night to a woman standing over their bed with a lacrosse stick.
“Oh, come on, Erik. She’s got better things to do.”
A familiar alto sing-songs down the hall, “Three oh five? No, no, that’s not it, Bertil. Here we are. What on earth are you kids sitting out here for?” Kate has never been so glad to hear Claudia’s voice. “There she is. Oh my garsh. Do you know how worried I’ve been?”
Claudia and Samantha flank either side of Kate and bend down to kiss her on the forehead. Samantha’s eyes are swollen, fearful. Kate squeezes her hand. Samantha squeezes back. Bert and Brace follow along, chuckling about something. Erik stands and backs up.
“Hey, Mom, how you feeling?” Brace says. His forehead gathers, eyes round and anxious. This reminds Kate of the night he cried himself to sleep, pudgy little arms tight around her neck, after she came home from the hospital with his new sister.
Kate smiles gently at them. “Well, I had this dream, it seemed so real,” she raises a fist and points her thumb around the room, “and you were there, and you were there, and there was a scarecrow, and a lion—”
No one laughs.
“Does this mean we get a new car?” Brace turns to Erik. “’Cause I’m voting for a Jeep.”
Samantha raises a hand. “Prius.”
“Priuses are fugly.”
“Jeeps are destroying the planet.”
“Kate,” Bert says from the end of the bed, his hands jingling the change in his pockets. “I don’t want you going back up there anymore. That bluff is bad news.”
“I can’t believe this.” Kate crosses her arms. Same shit, different family.
Claudia looks to him. “It was near that stoplight where the Robeson boy landed from Squaw Leap, wasn’t it?”
“Mmm, hmm.” Bert’s lips thin and his bushy white eyebrows gather. He shuffles over to the window to gaze upon the hospital campus, his pockets jangling louder.
“Such a dreadful night,” Claudia says. “We were all out cruising Main. Your grampa and I had just started going steady. Marcus landed in . . . pieces. Oh, the pall that boy cast on our prom.”
“Wow, how rude of him,” Kate mumbles. “What was he like, Bert? Mom said you knew him.”
“Oh, not all that well,” Claudia interjects. “You probably barely remember him now, do you dear?”
“No. Hard to picture him.”
“Maybe he thought he would turn into steam like Wicasa,” Brace says faintly.
“In our day, that wasn’t how the tale went.” Bert shakes his head. “It was the same story up until the firing of the arrow. But the way we told it, Chelee was a lightning fast sprinter; he beat the arrow. He grabbed Wicasa and they landed on an outcropping. No bodies were ever found because they escaped, not because they turned to steam.”
Brace scoffs. “Either version is impossible.”
“Not to mention there’s no such thing as an Indian princess,” Samantha says. “So racist. The Dakota say the white man just makes up Native American stories they wish someone would tell about them. And Gramma, we don’t call it Squaw Leap anymore.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Claudia puts an arm around Samantha and gazes wistfully out the window too, “I remember when I used to be politically correct just like you.”
Samantha eyes bulge.
Now seems a good time for Kate to feign unconsciousness. The voices grow hushed but continue discussion as to what new vehicle to procure. Bert offers to take the kids out to Pannekoeken for supper. And soon enough, the soreness, the horizontal posture, the dark, all of it envelops Kate. The bed seems to turn counterclockwise and she slips back into sleep.
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WHEN SHE WAKES again, the room is darker, sun going down. To her side sits Claudia, slowly blinking at her.
Kate swallows. “Where’s Erik?”
Claudia fills a Styrofoam cup with a straw in it with water from a Styrofoam pitcher. “Went to grab something at the cafeteria. Grampa took the kids out for a nice dinner.” She hands the cup to Kate and rubs her own arms. “It is absolutely freezing in here. Aren’t you freezing?”
“No, I’m burning up.” Kate downs the entire glass. “Here, take my blanket.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Maybe if you sat up.”
“I’m okay—”
Claudia reaches out and grabs the bed remote. The bed rumbles to life and folds Kate into an upright position.
“Um, thanks.”
“I blame myself.”
“What? How could this be your fault,” Kate asks with an exhaustion that belies the fact that she’s now crammed with energy, enough to catapult from the bed and sprint home. “I wasn’t paying attention. I never drive that direction.”
“All this with Mark and Ray has been way too upsetting. You know, one can take this PC thing too far. They are grown men after all, capable of handling themselves.”
“Well, of course.” Kate’s voice rises. “But it was pretty cruel to march Lucy into that rally. I told you how worried I was about her.”
Claudia’s eyelids flutter. “She came to me, Kate.”
“Huh?”
“I thought you wanted me to embrace her?” Claudia shudders. “Do you know how hard that was to do? When I knew she might be, you know, wanting me?”
“Oh, brother.” Kate holds her head in a vise grip. “Please don’t make me laugh.”
“Listen, I was on the school board in the eighties. I remember very well when that girl was suspended. She was a spitfire if ever there was one.”
“Wha?”
“Oh, yes, I was one of those who decided that case after her parents tried to fight it.”
“You never told me that,” Kate says, her eyes locking onto Claudia.
“Mmm.” Claudia tsks. “Mr. Van Buren thought it was unfair, said he could discipline his own daughter. That if we suspended her, her scholarship chances would be ruined. As if. Lord, I’ve never met such a belligerent man in all my life. I was studying for the bar at the time, and it felt like my first big case. And now I know we did the right thing. For you and all the other girls. That’s the problem with public schools, all the angry unfortunates dragging down the ones with potential. Damaged children are a contagion, Kate. Every parent knows this, even the liberal ones pretending it isn’t true. Still, with prayer, look at her now—”
“Oh my God. Claudia, you know Lucy didn’t graduate with her class. She had to get her GED later on.”
“Well, it was her own doing. She set fire—”
“Nobody ever proved that.” Kate’s fingers tremble as she palpates her dried lips. “Did she—does she remember you?”
“Oh, I doubt it. I was blonde back then. Natural, you know.”
“So you knew about her and me?”
Claudia raises an eyebrow. “Well, when Erik first brought you to meet us, I didn’t make the connection. I’d forgotten all about it. And then, by the time I remembered—well, Erik was so crazy about you. And you were such a nice, quiet girl.”
Kate blinks hazily. “So much for that, eh,” she mumbles. “Did you ever tell Erik?”
“No, and he doesn’t need to know, Katie. Sweetheart, I love you as my own daughter. Everything I have done, I have done to protect you and my son and my grandchildren—and their children too. Even before I knew you I protected you. Just imagine that.”
A young man in burgundy scrubs enters pushing a wheelchair. He crosses arms, stands by the closet, and smiles politely. “We have an order for a scan on Mrs. Larson.”
Kate’s mind goes soft. Something is wrong here.
“Ah, middle age.” Claudia commandeers the bed remote again. “It’s all about making sense of the stories you were told.”
B L O G G I N G M Y S O J O U R N
One Woman’s Journey from Gay to Straight
I am giving the local hospital one star on Yelp.They won’t even let you inquire about the patients, let alone visit them if you’re not family. And if you ask a few simple questions, if you challenge the staff, well, out come the orderlies.
So Vicky was in a car crash and I know it’s down to me. She had come to visit, to talk, but something stopped her. She’s frustrated with this ex-gay thing, much more than I expected her to be. I thought she’d filed me away years ago. But she still cares and now I’m really screwed.
When I returned to the hospital this morning to drop off some flowers, she’d already been released. So, at least she is going to be okay. But it was my fault. I know it was. Everything I touch seems to burn. Why does this happen to me? I used to let it go. I used to move on. But I feel myself slipping, falling, dragging everything down with me.
Do not touch the hot grate. Do. Not. Touch!
Posted by Liesl ~ 11:00 AM - 2 comments
Patrice commented:
I’m out.
Rolf68 commented:
Oh, Liesl, my dear girl. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.