Julia's Daughters

51 days, The Witching Time

Hamlet is the one who first came up with the idea of the Witching Time, in a soliloquy. I remember the words from English class:

Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world

Thank you, Billy Shakespeare. Mary Shelley is the one who changed it to the Witching Hour in Frankenstein. Most people don’t know that.

It’s supposed to be midnight.

For me, it’s eleven o’clock. Probably around 11:03.

At 11:03 p.m. on February 17th, hell breathed its contagion on me and my whole family. I was chewing Caitlin out about her irresponsible behavior. The party. The guys. I was trying to decide what I was going to do with her, take her home or drive around for a while until she sobered up. That’s what I was thinking when I missed the stop sign.

I stare at the digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed in our hotel room. The numerals are red. It’s 11:01 now. In about two minutes, Caitlin will have been dead fifty-two days. Fifty-two days since my heart was knocked out of my chest by a Ford pickup truck and splattered on the pavement.

I rub my forearm on the spot that’s crusty. I got some Band-Aids at Walmart tonight when we got the crap for the cat. I got big Band-Aids. I’m hoping that covering them up will make me want to do it less. I kind of want to cut myself now, but I don’t have anything to do it with. And I know I shouldn’t do it. And I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be crazy. Of course, does anyone?

I glance at the other bed. There’s a little bit of light coming through the curtains from the security lamps in the parking lot. Mom and Izzy are sound asleep. I can see Mom lying on her back with her blond hair all around her head on her pillow. Kind of like a halo. She’s so pretty.

Izzy’s curled up in a ball beside her, with Mr. Cat sleeping in her arms. Her red hair is all tangled and in her face. Mom said Mr. Cat had to stay in his carrier and that he couldn’t sleep in the bed. I guess Mr. Cat wasn’t going for it.

Izzy looks so young when she sleeps. Like when she was a toddler and she used to fall asleep on the couch with her head on my lap while I was watching TV. Mom would say she should go to sleep in her crib, that I was spoiling her, letting her fall asleep and then carrying her to bed. But I never minded. I liked the idea that I was so trustworthy, in Izzy’s eyes, that she could relax and fall asleep on me. I know Izzy doesn’t remember, but when she was little, I was the one who gave her snacks and played on the floor with her with her toys. I was her favorite sister. Caitlin was never mean to her or anything. I would never have allowed that. But Caitlin was never all that interested in her. She was always too into herself.

I glance in the direction of the window.

I texted Todd earlier. He said he was on his way. I gave him the address of the hotel. I asked him when he’d be here, but he didn’t answer.

I check the iPad again. Nothing.

I’m thinking I should leave the hotel room now. Wait for Todd outside. Mom and Izzy are sound asleep. I don’t think they’ll hear me and if they do, I’ll lie and say I’m just going down the hall to get a Coke.

Mom’s going to be so upset when she wakes up and realizes I’m gone. I feel bad. But . . . this whole idea of driving to Maine with her and Izzy and that stupid cat? I’m just not into it. I don’t want to talk about Caitlin. I don’t want to talk about the accident. I get where Mom’s coming from, but I don’t want to feel better. I deserve to feel this shitty. I deserve it forever.

And they’ll be better off without me, won’t they? I mean, this is all my fault. Mom wouldn’t have spent the last two months of her life crying in her bed if it weren’t for me. And Izzy wouldn’t be doing weird stuff like talking to herself, hiding under her bed, and smuggling cats across state lines in a Toyota.

I slip out of bed and look quickly at the other bed. Neither of them has moved. I think about changing into my jeans. Right now I’m wearing one of Caitlin’s old T-shirts I like to sleep in and a pair of Izzy’s sleep pants with Little Mermaids all over them. I didn’t bring anything to sleep in. Mom didn’t either. Izzy brought like six pairs of sleep pants. I have no idea why. So we all went to bed wearing Izzy’s sleep pants. I got Little Mermaid, Mom got SpongeBob, and Izzy, Looney Tunes. I told her that was because she is a Looney Tune. She didn’t laugh.

I decide to just put the jeans I wore today into my backpack and wear the sleep pants. It was stupid of me not to have packed more stuff. Talk about cutting off my nose to spite my face. I didn’t bring stuff to take to Maine to annoy Mom. Now I’ll be driving to Alaska with nothing to wear but two T-shirts, jeans, one set of underwear, and Little Mermaid sleep pants. Serves me right.

Standing by my bed, I feel around to find my black Converse low-tops. I slip one on, then the other, keeping an eye on Mom and Izzy. I grab Izzy’s sweatshirt off the chair; I didn’t even bring a hoodie. As I snag my backpack off the floor, I look back at the iPad lying on my bed. I should leave it here for Izzy, but without a phone, how will I get on the Internet or text anyone or anything? I guess Todd has his phone, but he’s always doing dumb things with it like dropping it in a toilet or leaving it on the roof of his car and driving away. I don’t like the idea of relying on his ability to hang on to his phone. I pick up the iPad and close the pink cover over the screen carefully.

I think about leaving Mom a note. There’s a notepad and pen next to the TV. I saw it earlier. But what would I say? I’m sorry? For what?

For everything.

I skip the note. Lame.

At the door, before I sneak out, I look back at the bed. Mom and Izzy haven’t moved, but I catch a glimmer of light. Izzy’s eyes. She’s awake. And she’s watching me.

My heart is suddenly banging in my chest. I don’t know what to do. Do I just get back in bed? Pretend I was in the bathroom?

With my backpack and the iPad and wearing her sweatshirt? Izzy’s a pretty bright girl. Smarter than me. She knows what’s going down here.

But why doesn’t she say anything? All she’d have to do is reach over and shake Mom. After that, even I can’t guess what would happen. Would Mom call the cops and have me committed like she’s threatened? Would we go back to Walmart and get some of those zip ties the cops use for disposable handcuffs? I wouldn’t put it past Mom to handcuff me to the car, to the bed, to her.

I watch Izzy watching me and I realize she’s not going to say a word. She’s just going to let me go. I’m glad, obviously, because this will be better for everyone, long-term. But as I open the hotel room door and step out into the hall a profound sense of desolation comes over me and I walk to the elevator remembering what it was like to hold baby Izzy in my arms.