Past Perfect Life

by Elizabeth Eulberg

  “Yeah. That would be great.” I go into the fridge and get the milk. Sarah pulls out the bowls while I find the spoons.

  We’re so busying pouring ourselves cereal, milk, and juice that it takes us both a few minutes to realize that tears are sliding down Paula’s cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “It’s something I never thought I’d ever see. The two of you. Together. In my home.”

  I give her an awkward pat on the hand. Will there ever be a time when she can look at me and not be sad? I inadvertently hurt her by going missing for years, and I sometimes feel that maybe having a walking reminder of what happened hurts her just as much.

  “I’m making toast,” Sarah states as she ignores her mother. “You want some?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Sarah puts four pieces of bread into a big toaster. “Butter’s over there.” Sarah gestures at the counter, where I find a ceramic butter dish that matches every other item in the kitchen.

  Sarah pulls out the plates while I put our bowls of cereal on the counter.

  I could get used to this kind of relationship with Sarah. Just two sisters having breakfest before school.

  Dad was usually gone by the time I got up during the week, but I’d often wake up to him making breakfast on Sunday mornings. Pancakes were his specialty. When I was younger, he’d make them look like Mickey Mouse, complete with berries to dot Mickey’s nose and eyes and a banana for a smile. If he’d had a good week at work, there would be chocolate chip pancakes. Even as I got older, the pancakes continued. In the winter, he’d drink coffee, while I had hot chocolate. In the summer, we’d sit out in the backyard. Iced coffee for him, chocolate milk for me.

  I miss those breakfasts. I miss our routine. I miss him.

  Craig comes down and helps himself to a cup of coffee. “How are you feeling about your first day of school?”

  Like a hammer, I’m brought back to my new reality.

  “I’m a little nervous,” I admit.

  “You know you can call me if you need anything,” Paula offers. “And I will leave work if you need me to get you.”

  “She’s going to be fine, Paula,” Craig assures her. I wish I were as confident as he is.

  “We should leave in about ten minutes,” Paula says as she glances at her watch. “Will you be ready?”

  “Yeah.” I’m technically ready: book bag packed, lunch made, and map of the campus studied so I’ll, hopefully, have a clue where I’m going.

  Am I emotionally ready for this new adventure?

  I have no idea.

  When it comes to school, I’m an expert about devising a plan of attack and sticking to it.

  The plan to survive this new school: study, keep my grades up and my head down, talk to Ms. Pieper about how this will affect my UW–Green Bay application, and try to blend in.

  The students here aren’t like back home. Everybody basically looked the same in Valley Falls. We were like 95 percent white and Christian. Julia started a gay-straight alliance when she found out there was a closeted member of the Student Council. But that was it for diversity.

  Here the hallways are filled with so many different types of people. And there are clubs and organizations for everything and everyone. Part of me wants to embrace the opportunity to branch out of my small comfort zone. The other part wants to hide away from it all.

  I felt good in my classes this morning. I’m probably the only one who was excited every time homework was assigned. It would be something to distract me.

  As I walk to lunch, I realize that I haven’t really had to make any friends since we moved to Valley Falls. It can’t be that hard. I just need to find a familiar face from one of my classes and say hello.

  “Oh, hey,” a girl with bright red hair in braids calls out to me. “You’re the new girl. We’re in Calc together.” I remember her not only from her bright hair but also from her black-and-white-striped leggings.

  “Yes! Hi, I’m Ally … Johnson,” I reply with my new name.

  There are only three people in this school who know my true identity: the principal, the vice principal, and my assigned guidance counselor.

  “I’m Jordis,” she says. “I used to live in Chicago.”

  “Cool,” I reply, since I was introduced as “recently moving here from Chicago” by all my teachers this morning.

  “I do not miss the weather.” Jordis wraps one of her braids around her finger as we walk in the direction of the cafeteria. “We were in Bucktown. What part did you live in?”

  “Portage Park,” I answer with where Dad and I once lived. I really hope she doesn’t ask too many details, since I haven’t been there in years.

  “I don’t think I’ve been there,” she says while I relax slightly. “My stepdad has our entire basement decorated in Bears gear. You a fan?”

  I may not have figured out much about Allison Johnson, but I can guarantee that no matter what name you call me, I will never, and I mean never, be a Chicago Bears fan.

  “Not really,” I reply evenly.

  “Yeah, not a big sports fan. I’m more into poetry.” She glances at me. “So what’s your deal?”

  “Um,” I start.

  “Yeah. Why’d you move? Who’d you move with? You know, all the boring get-to-know-you stuff I was asked when I moved here last year,” she says with a laugh.

  I freeze.

  I had assumed that I’d make a couple of friends here, but now … How can I possibly get to know people when I’d have to continually lie to their faces about anything from my past? What happens if they want to come over to the house? Will they recognize Paula? Could I ever trust anybody here with the truth?

  I’m one person, one click of a phone, away from having my real face plastered on the news.

  Everything is going to be harder here.

  “So …,” Jordis says quizzically.

  “Oh, I moved with my mom, dad, and sister,” I lie. “Dad, ah, got a new job here.”

  The instant the fake story comes out of my mouth, I make a mental note to write it down. I have to keep everything straight. God, this must’ve been what it was like for Dad. He had to do the same thing.

  “Cool,” Jordis replies. Her face lights up as she waves to someone across the crowded cafeteria. “See ya later,” she says before walking over to a table without another glance over her shoulder.

  I’m left holding my lunch bag without anywhere to go. No matter who I talk to, I’m going to have to answer the same questions. I’m going to have to lie. So I keep my head down as I walk outside to the courtyard and find an empty spot underneath a tree in the far corner. I don’t want anybody to wave me over or sit next to me. I don’t want to have to keep making things up.

  All I want is to be me.

  I take a picture of my crossed legs with my lunch bag in the middle and send it to Marian. Lunchtime.

  How’s school? she texts back right away, even though I know she’s in Mr. Sulikowski’s History class right now and would get in so much trouble if he knew what she was doing.

  Meh.

  Made any friends?

  Not yet, I reply, even though I now think it’s going to be really hard for that to happen.

  How many stars is today?

  Six. I’ve survived six days.

  How many until I see you?

  Too many, I reply, then quickly text her, 8.

  I’m aware that I’m spending too much energy wishing the time would go faster instead of living it.

  But what’s a life worth when you don’t want to be part of it.

  Chapter

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I somehow make it through the week.

  Day nine in Tampa.

  I see Marian in five days.

  Despite Paula’s offer to give me a makeup tutorial, I don’t put in a lot of effort in the morning to do my hair and makeup before school. But I find myself putting on a coat of mascara and some lip gloss after dinner. I examine myself under the b
right fluorescent lights in the bathroom and figure it’s as good as it’ll get.

  It’s Friday night, after all. And I have a date.

  I tap on my phone. Before I have a chance to get a good angle, he picks up.

  “Hey!” Neil greets me.

  “Hey.”

  “Do you have everything we talked about?”

  “Of course!” I show him my popcorn and soda. I’ve got my TV muted since the movie doesn’t start for a half hour.

  “Here’s to winter break!” He gives me a cheers with his can of Coke.

  “Cheers!” I take a sip of Diet Dr Pepper, since it’s the only soda in the refrigerator downstairs.

  “And you don’t mind spending a Friday night like this?” he asks.

  “Because you know how rockin’ my Friday nights were back home.”

  “Hey, you were a hard girl to pin down, which is why I had to wait until you were a million miles away before I could get you to have a date with me. Now, remind me again, what was Friday night in the Smith household? Arm Wrestling and Hot Pockets Fridays?”

  “Ha ha. We’d watch a movie or some TV on the weekends.”

  “Oh, so we’re keeping up with tradition, nice! What are the McMullens up to?”

  I shrug. “Every night has been all over the place. Craig has some meeting or Paula has to take Sarah to one of her activities.” Whenever I’d sit down with any combination of people at this house, it’s all boring family conversations. Like, “How was your day, dear?” Nothing of substance.

  I’m partly to blame for any stilted dinnertime conversations, since I haven’t been particularly forthcoming or chatty. I’ve started to shut off the part of my brain that feels. Every day this week, I’ve gone through ticking my boxes. Breakfast is done. Check! Up next, school. All so I can get to the end of the day, when I can add another star to my calendar.

  I could put more effort into things. Join a club or make a friend, but that would just lead to more questions about “Allison Johnson.” There’s also a part of me that feels like I’d be betraying not only my friends back home but Dad, too. As if fitting in here would mean that he made a mistake for taking me away.

  “Ally?” Neil asks, his brow furrowed.

  “Sorry, zoned out for a second. I have something to show you,” I say, changing the topic, shoving any negative thoughts away. This evening is about Neil and me.

  I flip the phone camera around so he can see the room. I walk over to the large dresser to show him a photo of him, Marian, and me that’s in a frame. Paula bought me some picture frames yesterday so I could make the room more “homey.” I went through all the photos in my computer and printed out the one with Neil and Marian, another group photo from Homecoming this year, one of Marian’s family in Door County, and one of Dad and me at Lambeau. When Paula came in later to see what I did, she was all smiles, but I could tell the photo with my dad upset her.

  “I made the room!” Neil says with a fist pump. “So now you can look at all this anytime of day. I like it! Although I think a life-sized cardboard cutout might be even better.”

  “Don’t make me turn the photo around,” I tease.

  “Well, I’m honored. So, tell me about this scary, big school.”

  “The senior class alone has over six hundred people.”

  “What?” Neil’s eyes bulge. “That’s insane.”

  “It is.”

  “Have you made any friends?”

  “Not really.” Four days in, there are a few people who say hi to me in class. Jordis will give me the occasional wave in the hallway, but that’s it. Making small talk while I’m hiding this big secret makes me too anxious to build any kind of relationship.

  A smile spreads on Neil’s face.

  “Oh, so you’re happy I’m a lonely loser here?”

  “No, no!” His cheeks redden. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this or anything, but I sometimes get worried that you’ll forget about us here with your new life.”

  “I could never forget you guys.”

  “But you have the beach and the sun there,” he counters.

  “The water in the Gulf is too cold to swim in.” Craig did bring us by the beach the other day so I could dip my toes in. The bite of the cold water barely made it to my ankles before I ran back to the warmth of the sand. “So the score is still a gazillion to zero, advantage Wisconsin.”

  “Phew, good.” Neil’s face falls for a second. “But I want you to be happy. Maybe you should try to make a friend. But not a guy friend. Unless he doesn’t have an ounce of charm and is hideous.”

  “I already have enough friends, including hideous guys.”

  “I’m going to tell Rob you said that about him!”

  It feels so good to laugh. To talk to someone who I have inside jokes with. Someone I don’t have to censor myself with.

  “No guys, then. You don’t have another FaceTime date this weekend?” Neil bites his lip, like I’m honestly going to tell him that, yeah, I’m beating the guys away with a stick.

  “No, none. You should see the girls I go to school with. They’re tall, gorgeous, and somehow all seem to use the same shampoo that makes their hair glossy and perfect. I’m invisible to guys here. Nobody sees me.”

  Neil moves closer to the camera so his face takes up the entire screen. “I see you.”

  There’s a beat between us. He does see me. He’s always seen me.

  I touch the screen, wishing there wasn’t this distance between us.

  “I see you, too.”

  Chapter

  THIRTY-NINE

  Day twelve. Christmas. I knew today was going to be hard.

  I never fathomed how impossible it would be. Last night after Christmas Eve mass, I smiled along and played the part as Craig and Paula welcomed their family over for drinks and snacks. I answered questions, but mostly I stayed in a corner, trying to be invisible.

  It’s become my new go-to setting, at school and in this house: tuck myself away.

  As the morning sun slowly started to lighten the room, I threw the duvet over my head, hoping I could delay the inevitable.

  I turned on the TV, but “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” greeted me, and it started my breakdown. It caused my entire body to shake. It unleashed an unsteady breathing until I got up and locked myself in the bathroom so I could have some privacy as I sobbed.

  That’s where I am now. Lying on the bathroom floor, I let the cool tiles soothe me as I ache for what I used to have. Memories burn into my head of Thanksgiving, merely four weeks ago, with the Gleasons and Dad. The laughter. The joy. The kind of peace you have when you truly belong with people.

  As much as I try to bury certain thoughts deep in my mind, I can’t forget about Dad. How we’d come home from Christmas Eve mass and immediately put on our Christmas-themed pajamas. Dad wore a Wisconsin Badgers sweatshirt with green-and-red-striped pajama bottoms. Mine were flannel with reindeer and Santas on them with Ho! Ho! Ho! printed throughout.

  I forgot to pack them since they were in a holiday box in the garage that I never thought about going through. The image of that box—filled with ornaments we’d collected through the years along with all our holiday decorations—gathering dust brings more tears to my eyes.

  I feel guilty that I turned my back on my father the last time I saw him. Even though he knows I’m sorry, I want to tell him. It’s Christmas, and I can’t talk to my father.

  How can you be so angry with someone, be so devastated by their betrayal, yet still love them?

  I pull the yellow-and-white bath towel from its hook near the shower and press it against my mouth as I let out a sob, trying to mute myself. I don’t want anybody to know the condition I’m in. I want to stay in here all day.

  There’s a knock on the bedroom door. “It’s present time!” Paula’s voice calls out.

  I reach up and lock the door to the bathroom.

  “Hello?” she calls. Her voice is louder, so I assume she’s in the bedroom now. “Sweetheart?
”

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” I manage to call out. “You can start without me.”

  “Nonsense.” I can see her feet under the door. I hold my breath, not wanting to make a sound that would tip her off there’s a problem.

  She’s hovering, so I flush the toilet.

  “Okay, well. See you soon. Merry Christmas!”

  I drag myself up from the floor and study my blotchy red face and bloodshot eyes in the mirror. My hair is a complete disaster. I pull out my ponytail and try to comb it into submission. I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t help.

  Maybe it’s no use pretending. Maybe I need to stop pushing everything down and let Paula know how miserable I am. I don’t want to hurt her anymore, but I can’t keep pretending. It’s eating me up inside. She wants us to be this big happy family, but I can’t simply disregard the person I was before.

  I take a deep breath and start heading downstairs. Laughter and music drift up the hallway. I pause when I realize “White Christmas” from Holiday Inn is playing on the stereo. It’s the movie Dad and I would watch on Christmas Eve.

  You get to see Marian in two days, I remind myself. Hold out for two days. You can do that. Suck it up and get through today and tomorrow.

  “There she is!” Craig greets me, a Santa hat placed on his head. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas,” I try to say brightly. I sniff since all the sobbing did some major damage to my sinuses.

  “Are you sick?” Paula comes up to me and places the back of her hand to my forehead. “You’re really warm.” She takes a step back and looks at my face. “And red.”

  I see my opportunity and take it. “I’m feeling a little under the weather. Do you think it would be okay if I stayed here today?”

  The thought of having to spend the day with Paula’s family is too draining. All they see in me is the kidnapped girl they don’t know how to act around. And I have no clue how to behave around them.

  She grimaces. “Well, let’s see how you feel after presents.”

  “Paula,” Craig says as he shakes his head. “Ally, if you’re not feeling well, you should stay home. You’ve got your friend coming in a couple days. Got to be up for that!”