Her Own House

by Kim McCoy

  I start flapping my long arms up and down, hoping nobody can see me. It seems ridiculous that I’m even entertaining this eagle. But then one foot lifts off the ground and the other until I’m about 3 inches above the surface of the nest.

  “I’m flying! I’m flying!”

  The eagle laughs.

  “More like hovering or levitating, but not a bad job.”

  My feet come back to the ground.

  “Now, try it again. This time lean your body forward.”

  I do as the eagle says and miraculously find myself hovering outside the nest. I start to lose my grip on the air, and the eagle grabs me by the blouse and places me in the nest. He encourages me to do it again and again, until I’m making circles around the nest. And eventually flying several yards from the nest and back. It’s natural, as if I have a little bird in me.

  “Now, go back home and show your family what you can do.”

  “No, this is ridiculous. They’d never understand why I’d want to fly like a bird.”

  “They’ll be impressed, I’m sure of it.”

  The eagle kicks me in the rear with his claw, and out the nest I go.

  As I fly over the trees and highway and houses and pools and yards and people, I can’t believe my good fortune to have an eagle teach me to fly. It’s so much more liberating than skydiving. I wonder how long it would take me to fly to the South Pacific or the North Pole. I consider the life of a bird, and flying south for the winter. I could do that. I could just work temp jobs for the rest of my life and fly and travel and never stay in one place.

  I’m back at my 30th birthday party, just as they’re preparing to cut the cake. No one saw me fly into the yard because they were all inside.

  I walk into the kitchen as Zoe lights the candles.

  “Were you in the bathroom this whole time? I thought you drowned,” she laughs and so does the rest of the crowd.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” I say.

  “Well if it doesn’t involve a fork in a piece of cake, I ain’t interested,” she laughs again and the others join in.

  I grab the lighter from her hand and put her slender body in a fireman’s carry across my shoulder. She doesn’t struggle to get away. She’s laughing, too amused or curious or nervous to do anything about it.

  “Stop acting silly. Put me down.”

  I hear whispers of since… from the crowd.

  “Where are you going with my wife?” my brother-in-law says.

  “Put Mommy down,” my niece and nephew yell.

  I go out the front door and in seconds we’re high above the trees, looking down at the family who’s pointing and gasping. I travel about two acres and drop Zoe into a clearing. Now she’s nervous.

  “What are you going to do? Leave me to starve out here? You’re evil. Pure evil.”

  “Oh, calm down. I’ll be back.”

  Next, I go back for Flo. I half expect the place to have cleared out or for my brother-in-law to be on the phone with the cops. When I walk into the room, no one says anything. My mother walks forward, head high as if she’s thinking thoughts of martyrdom and reaches out her hand. I grab it and we walk outside and into the fresh air. She doesn’t say anything, and closes her eyes. I’m pretty sure she’s praying. She smiles when she sees my sister’s still alive and I drop her on the ground.

  Finally, I go back for Joe.

  “Where we going? You haven’t gone nuts again, have you? I know someone over at the church who can help you.”

  “I don’t need your help. I’m going to help you.”

  He looks back at the crowd of people. My aunt shakes her head, my brother-in-law shrugs his shoulders. When we get outside, I lift my dad who’s by far the heaviest at 6 foot 3 and 200 pounds, plus he’s wiggling a lot as if he can’t get comfortable or is trying to free himself from my grip. I drop him off in the clearing with the others.

  “So, what are you going to do? Eat us,” Zoe says.

  They all laugh.

  “I’m going to teach you to fly.”

  Zoe starts laughing. She rolls on the ground for extra affect. Flo and Joe start laughing too.

  “Right,” Zoe says. “Now, please. Take us home.”

  “I tell you I can fly, and you write me off without even hearing me out.”

  “I don’t waste time reasoning with crazies,” Zoe says, as she backs a few steps from me.

  She’s not afraid of me. She’s just trying to prove a point.

  “This is too much,” Flo says.

  She shakes her head, as if she’s trying to figure out where she went wrong. Joe’s eyeing his surroundings, possibly planning an escape route. He grabs me by the elbow and for a minute I fear he’s going to try to put me in a chokehold and knock me out.

  “You’re a late bloomer,” he says. “You need to grow up before you start trying to teach anyone,” he says.

  I yank my elbow away from him. I wish I could spit at him, at all of them.

  Flo gives Joe the same “Don’t go there” look that she gave Natalie earlier. I grab Zoe by the hand and she pulls it away. I grab it again, tighter, and she can’t free herself.

  “You’re cutting off my circulation,” she says.

  “Shut up.”

  I’m sure she can’t remember the last time no one was willing to listen to her whine. I stand behind her and tell her to stretch her arms so they’re parallel to the ground. I grab her elbows and force her arms up and down.

  “Think light thoughts,” I say.

  “This will never work.”

  “It worked for me.”

  “Yeah, but you’re weird.”

  “You’re thinking about the wrong thing. Close your eyes and concentrate.”

  Her feet lift about an inch off the ground, and she opens her eyes, and comes back down.

  “I did it! Mom, Dad did you see that? I flew.”

  Flo rolls her eyes.

  “Zoe, dear, all you did was jump. That’s nothing.”

  Zoe continues to flap her arms and I suggest she lean forward as the eagle had instructed me. She continues to make it an inch off the ground.

  “Now, you two better try,” I say to Flo and Joe. “We’re not going back to the house until you at least try.”

  They start moving their arms and running around, like two rhythmless people on the dance floor. I can’t control my laughter and Flo smiles.

  “This is impossible,” Flo says.

  “This has to be some crazy joke,” Joe says.

  “Excuse me,” Zoe chimes in. “It’s no joke. I’m flying over here.”

  My parents keep trying and each is able to get both feet about a half-inch off the ground. I’m not as clunky and I’m not sure why. I fly into the air and circle above the clearing, looking down on them as they attempt to do what I do. I see if I can make my way back to the eagle’s nest and somehow I find it.

  “I’m a natural,” I say.

  “I knew you would be.”

  A light breeze, good flying weather comes through the nest.

  “You know I’m 40. That’s old for an eagle like myself.”

  “Forty doesn’t sound so bad, especially when you can fly.”

  “It’s not bad at all.”

  I look into the direction of the clearing and I see Zoe above the trees, looking a little shaky but holding her own. She waves at me and heads down for a landing.

  Intervention

  I had a feeling it was coming. They’re all here. Mom, Dad, Uncle, Aunt, Grandma, Sister, Best Friend Since Kindergarten, and someone I don’t know, I assume he’s Counselor. All seated on Mom and Dad’s L-shaped leather couch looking stern faced. It’s just the way I’d seen it on TV.

  I don’t know what I should do. I consider shouting, ‘No, No! I won’t go!’ and running out of the
room and down the street. Or dropping to the floor and crying. Or demanding to know why Cousin, of all people, hadn’t bothered to come. But instead I let Sister lead me by the hand, and take me to an empty spot on the sofa next to hers.

  “Mary, your family loves you so much,” said Counselor who’s sitting in the La-Z-Boy across from me. “They have come here today to ask you to receive the Lord Jesus Christ into your life. Will you do it?”

  “No.”

  Mom drops her head into her palms, but looks up as if she expected it. Counselor nods her way. Mom takes a piece of notebook paper from her purse, unfolds it, and starts reciting from her scribbles.

  “Mary, you’re my oldest child and my life became so perfect and complete when you came along. Your father and I named you Mary after the mother of our Lord and Savior because we knew you’d be special. We knew you’d walk in her light. I remember when you were a Girl Scout and you’d go visit the old folks home. You had a way with

  them, you know. Once, I saw you brush some crumbs off some babbling, drooling old man’s lap. Even I, a grown woman, didn’t dare do that. Then when you were in high school everybody praised you because you got up extra early to walk those first graders in our neighborhood to school. And you later became your school’s first Super Valedictorian instead of regular valedictorian because your grades were so unbelievably high. And your father and I were so proud. But we weren’t surprised at all. That was simply you. But then you went to that Ivy league college, we thought it was the best thing for you. You got around those artsy fartsy folks, and said you believed in ‘Zen’ and you got a silly yin and yang tattoo in the small of your back where the bad girls get them. But we know you’re not a bad girl, we know our beautiful Mary is still in there. So, will you accept Jesus Christ into your life?”

  Mom leans back into the sofa, eyes hopeful. She must have forgotten that I’m a social worker. I still help people. I make sure kids have someone to take care of them and a roof over their heads and a school to go to. I don’t make much money, but I do it anyway. And so I was a Buddhist for a while. So what. I was also a Bahá’í, a Unitarian Universalist, a Jew, a Catholic, a Rasta and a Presbyterian. See I do believe. I believe in a right to believe.

  I fold my arms across my chest. “No.”

  I see Sister’s head drop in my peripheral vision. Mom starts to sniffle, but never cries. Dad pats her hand. He looks different than I remember, a bit worn, skin tinted gray. Death, which came too soon, must not be easy for him. Nobody seems surprised that he’s in the room. I’m certainly not.

  Counselor peers through his thick glasses and makes eye contact with Sister who picks up an envelope from the table, turns toward me, and begins reading. She has a habit of making notes on any piece of paper she finds lying around the house.

  “Mary, you’ve been my best friend ever since I was born. Remember how we used to get those lollipops from the bank, and once we sucked off a couple of layers we’d switch. And Mom would say we were so gross. Or remember that infomercial we made up for our very own make-believe shampoo that smelled like candy? We’d lie on the bed and let our ponytails dangle over the side, and sing Jelly Bean Maaaaagic, as our hair filled with imaginary suds. That was so much fun. But I also remembered when you started to change. I remember when Mom wanted you to sign that True Love Waits paper at church when you were 16 and I was 11. And you said no because you’d already had sex, so there was no point. And Mom said, it was okay, no one would have to know, you could start all over, sex was a special gift. And you said, No thanks. A gift is worth giving. You thought you were so funny. But I didn’t laugh. I wanted you to be an example for me. But you weren’t. But I know I can forgive you, Mary. Will you accept Jesus Christ into your life?”

  Funny Sister should mention sex. I fucked this guy from work last night on my living room floor. After three hours of mingling and eating cold shrimp at the company Christmas party, we needed something fun to do, so we went back to my place. It was consensual. We used a condom. No animals were harmed in the process. No one got shot or stabbed. Sister wouldn’t believe it, but I prayed that night. I asked God if he had been watching, but I didn’t get an answer. I’m supposed to be able to talk to Him about anything, right? I wanted Him to see. I want Him to know. Fornication is so Old Testament. Not worth sending anyone to hell over anymore. But then I got paranoid. I’m not supposed to talk to Him like that. Some type of 21st century stoning would be on its way. My unfortunate demise would be broadcast on YouTube and used to turn sinners into believers.

  The ceiling fan whirs overhead. Sister’s dark shoulder-length hair blows around her face. She takes a section of hair and chews on it.

  I look into her eyes, “No.” She looks away.

  Grandma doesn’t wait for Counselor to nod. She’s the smallest person in the room and seated on the other side of Sister. She adjusts her glasses, but doesn’t read from a sheet. She goes from memory.

  “I remember when you used to drive me to the grocery store on Saturday mornings and help me pick tomatoes from the garden. Then you killed all those people and ate them. And life was never the same. But God forgives. Will you accept the Lord Jesus Christ into your life?”

  “That wasn’t me, Grandma. That was Jeffrey Dahmer. Next.”

  She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head, as if I’m the one who doesn’t know what’s going on.

  Uncle plucks an index card from his front pocket. He’s seated next to Aunt on the smaller half of the L.

  “Just this past summer, you spent a week at our house when some work was being done on your place. We played Gin Rummy and Spades and had ourselves a good, wholesome time. But when you went to bed, you changed. You screamed and kicked in your sleep like a banshee. Aunt and I checked on you. You were lying on your side, but your legs were moving like you were riding a bicycle. You were trying to get away from your demons, I know you were. And you can. There’s a way. Will you accept Jesus Christ into your life?”

  He makes a paper airplane of the index card before returning it to his pocket. For the first time I notice that his head is balding.

  Uncle is much smarter than I thought. How did he know I was dreaming about demons? There was some speculation that Dad might have ended up with the devil. He wasn’t even a bad guy, as far as I could see, but nobody tells me anything. I guess my subconscious was trying to figure out what Dad’s eternal life might be like.

  But I’ve been dreaming about the dark side since I first heard about the devil when I was five. The devil was everywhere, under your bed, in your cubbyhole at school, and in your friend’s pantry next to the peanut butter. He wanted to tempt you and mess you up so you’d spend eternity with him.

  When I was in high school, I prayed to the devil once. I told him I would do whatever he wanted as long as he didn’t make hell too bad for me. He came into my room once, and sat on the edge of my bed. He didn’t have red scaly skin or a pitchfork. He was just some guy in a business suit. He made a lot of promises, promises that seemed too good to be true. I didn’t know what to believe. I’ve seen him on the edge of my bed a couple of times since then, and shut my eyes and put the covers over my head like a little crybaby.

  I stretch my legs and then my arms.

  “Nice try, Uncle. But, no.”

  Uncle looks toward the ceiling, that’s what he does when he’s thinking about something. I assume he’s thinking about me. I wonder if he thinks I’m crazy.

  Best Friend Since Kindergarten, who just barely fits on the small part of the L with Uncle and Aunt, starts crying and blowing her nose. She looks almost as sad as she did a few years ago at her mother’s funeral. I held her hand in the limo that day. That was the first time I felt like an adult. It was the first time I felt like I needed to take care of someone.

  “Remember when we went hot air ballooning and you used too much hairspray and we both caught on fire. Remember in kindergarten when you craw
led under the table and showed Tommy your vagina. Remember when we got into that big fight and didn’t speak to each other for three days and almost died. Remember when my cat coughed up a hairball and you said you could do it too, and you did. Remember when I kept pouring my Bacardi Limon into your cup and you got drunk and I didn’t. Remember when we bet on that cockfight in Mexico. Remember when we saw that UFO land and take away the president of the Spanish Club. Remember when you made the winning catch in the big softball game. Remember when remember when remember when remember when remember when...”

  I can’t remember all the things Best Friend Since Kindergarten is talking about and I’m not sure all of them are true. She’s no angel. She better watch it, or I’m going to be at her intervention. She forgot to mention we got baptized on the same day. We were both 11. How could she forget that in a time like this? I almost drowned. I swear I did. Best Friend said she almost drowned too. That was the point, she said. You think you’re going to die and then the Holy Spirit comes along and saves you. How do you think Jesus felt when He died on the cross for everybody, she said. Scared, but he got over it because he was doing the right thing. Made sense. Still makes sense.

  I stretch and look toward the ceiling. They lean forward in their seats.

  “Don’t be mad. But, no.”

  Counselor nods to Aunt who looks as stylish as usual in her oversized sunglasses and freshly flat-ironed hair.

  “Why do you call yourself an atheist? Such a dumb word for such a smart girl. What kind of fool doesn’t believe in a higher power?”

  Counselor clears his throat—really loud.

  “I mean do you think we just appeared on this Earth out of thin air? No, let me guess you think we came from monkeys.”

  Aunt scratches her underarms and, jumps onto Uncle’s lap, and pretends to pick lice from his hair.

  “You think human-freakin-beings are the be-all, end-all? Well, I certainly hope not. I certainly hope there’s something out there bigger, better, smarter, cuter, and more interesting than us. Actually, I don’t hope. I know. And you don’t want to end up like that father of yours.”