for Fiona Grace
… the sound of a human voice.
There is no sound like this in all the world.
—Scott O’Dell, Island of the Blue Dolphins
This Is Not Adolescent Hyperbole
This is my reality.
Alone in this place
where I’ve been
surviving on my own
for over three years
with no one but
a big, smelly
rottweiler who farts
and hogs the covers.
(You might think
I’m exaggerating but
I’m not. I’m not just
“being dramatic,” like
my grandma might say.)
I figured by the time
I was a teenager I’d be
thinking about
getting my driver’s permit
going to dances
playing varsity soccer
and kissing.
But instead
I’m thinking about
where to find food
and fuel
and water
and whether to use Mountain Dew
to force flush the toilet
or to drink
even though it’s the color
of radioactive urine
and it’s probably toxic
when ingested over
long periods of time.
Better to be radioactive
or dehydrated?
These are the questions
that plague
my daily existence.
At least for now.
At least
until
my parents
come back.
Heaven
(n.) bliss, ecstasy, paradise, dreamland
Back When My Life Was Heaven and I Had No Idea
“Shoes off before you come in!”
Mom hollers as I open the kitchen door.
“I mopped today.”
She wipes orange slop off the baby’s face.
“Honey, I know you have different rules
at your dad’s, but could you try
a little harder to make an effort
when you’re at our house?”
Sometimes
the way my mom talks to me
feels like a scratchy shirt tag
on the back of my neck.
I kick off my tattered silver Converse
and calculate how much more
I need to save before
I can special-order a custom pair
for my thirteenth birthday.
Mom hugs me.
“Sorry, sweetie.
I’m just rushing to get ready to go.
So glad you’re home.”
Hands me a mug filled with
chopped carrots and celery.
“I bet you’re starving.”
I squeeze an empty Twinkie wrapper in my pocket.
I’ll have to remember to throw it away later.
Before middle school
I was never even tempted to lie.
Lately though
it just seems to make things
so much simpler.
Mom
“Are you going out like that?”
I make my horror obvious.
Mom has on the paisley embarrassments
she calls her “meditation pants.”
She always wears something mortifying
to the Tuesday-night dharma talks.
They all just sit still and
learn to breathe.
Like breathing is something
you have to learn.
Mom does that thing
where she pulls my hair
to get me to smile.
“Oh come on, honey.
It’s called a ‘sitting meditation.’
If I wore jeans like yours
I’d lose circulation in my legs.
Come to think of it
did your dad see you wearing those
when you left this morning?”
Seriously?
My jeans are not even tight.
So what if the shape
of my cell phone
is permanently embossed
on one pocket?
Sometimes just being
in the same room with my mom
even the sound of her voice
makes it hard to be a person.
Paul’s car pulls up.
Mom grabs her wallet
out of the diaper bag.
“Thanks for babysitting, sweetie.
We should be back early
unless they’re stopping people
at the checkpoints.
We’ll definitely be home
before the curfew.”
She kisses Trevor.
Calls to the twins.
“Hey, guys, bedtime at
the usual time tonight.
No messing around!”
She signs I love you
toward the dining room
blows me a kiss
and is gone.
Brothers
Trevor smiles from his high chair.
Reaches for me.
I lean in.
Pretend to steal his nose.
He erupts in belly laughs.
Smears pureed carrots in my long hair.
I pull it into a ponytail with
a twist tie.
Sigh.
I adore my baby brother
but
I want to get upstairs.
Check on The Weekend Plan.
“You couldn’t pay me enough to eat that.”
Elliott surprises me.
Unnaturally quiet.
Never hear him coming.
I try to bribe him to feed Trevor.
(I have another Twinkie
in my backpack.
In the gluten-free economy
of my bizarre family
Twinkies are worth a lot
on the stepbrother
black market.)
But he’s helping James.
Science project.
Can’t be bought.
They have one of those
freaky twin connections.
Can read each other’s minds.
Plus the fact that James is deaf
makes me feel awkward.
Even after all this time.
I know it’s not cool
to say that, but there it is.
I said it anyway.
Doesn’t help I live half-time
with Dad and Jennifer.
I used to love the regular breaks
from gluten-phobic diets and
silent dinner conversations.
Until Paul and Mom had Trevor.
Now it feels like I’m missing out.
I want my own freaky connection
with someone who can read my mind.
Pocket vibrates.
Click on Ashanti’s name.
6:55 p.m.
WEEKEND MISSION IS GO
Our Weekend Plan (or, How I Got Myself into This Mess)
We are going
to lie
to our parents
and have
a
secret sleepover.
Emma and Ashanti
will say
they are spending
the night at
each other’s house
and I will tell Mom
I am with Dad
and tell Dad
I am with Mom
but
we will actually
sleep over at
my grandparents’ empty
summer apartment.
We will:
make popcorn
watch glamorous old Katharine Hepburn movies
lounge on the king-sized bed
sleep as long as we like
No one nagging us to:
get up
do the laundry
clean your room
change (stinky gross) diapers
We. Are. Geniuses.
Thesis
After dinner, Elliott sneaks up on me again.
“Can you please help me with my book report?
I’m having trouble with my thesis.”
Thesis?
He’s in fourth grade.
What does he know about drafting a thesis?
“I’m in Accelerated.”
(my family is a freak show)
He takes a deep breath.
Launches his explanation.
“It’s called Island of the Blue Dolphins
and it’s about a girl who lives alone
on an island for eighteen years.
She jumps off a boat and stays behind
to save her brother but then he dies
and she tames a dog and later she makes a friend
but really she’s pretty much on her own
until she’s totally grown up and—”
“ELLIOTT.”
Sharper than I intend.
His hands flutter.
He shifts his weight.
I tweak the brim of his hat.
He relaxes.
“I have to prove whether her biggest challenge is to
defend herself against the wild dogs
provide food and shelter for herself
or
learn to trust a friend.”
Plot details are sketchy in my memory.
I ask him what he thinks.
“Her brother dies and she’s left alone.”
Elliott’s eyes fill with tears.
“The wild dogs get him.”
He glances toward the dining room
where we hear James working.
Jeez. Why do they let little kids read stuff like this
even if they are in Accelerated?
“Listen, Ell,” I say, “wild dogs can be scary for sure
and it sucks what happens to her brother
but if she doesn’t have a place to live and
food to eat, she can’t exactly survive, can she?
I think her biggest challenge is B, definitely.”
Elliott exhales.
“Really? I kind of thought so too
but I wasn’t positive. Thanks, Maddie!”
I smile.
And think of the upcoming weekend.
Our very own Island of No Brothers or Parents.
All alone with unlimited fun and freedom.
Cannot wait.
Paul
I wrangle the boys into their bunk beds.
Trevor finishes his bottle and falls
asleep in the crib across the room
from where I lie on my own twin bed.
I don’t love sharing my room
but at least for now he’s quiet.
Log in to my laptop.
Kitten videos.
Tumbling around on
a patient golden retriever.
Adorable. So precious.
Hear garage door.
Switch computer to online history textbook.
Open binder.
Stretch out on stomach.
Pretend to study.
After a few minutes, Paul peeks in the open door.
“Hey there, how’s it going, kiddo?”
He crosses to Trevor’s crib.
Tucks in the baby blanket.
I grunt.
Frown at my Cornell notes.
Draw an elephant in the margin.
(My friends all say I draw really good elephants.)
Paul tries again.
“It’s nice to have you here. We miss you
on the weeks you’re at your dad’s.”
Not even sure why I’m being so rude.
Paul’s gentle voice brings out the meanest part of me.
“Well, we really appreciate you babysitting
so we could have a little date. Thanks.”
He pauses.
A few awkward moments.
I keep drawing.
“Okay. Sleep tight.”
Paul leaves the room.
Closes the door.
exhale
slam the computer shut
roll onto my back
stare up at the ceiling fan
trace the pattern of blades moving in lazy rotations
weekend can’t come soon enough
Friday
Feeling fine.
New striped top and denim leggings.
Jean jacket. Floral backpack.
I even let Mom kiss me
as I leave for school.
Language Arts
(autopilot)
Pre-Algebra
(autopilot)
Study Hall
(shopping list)
Social Studies
(lockdown drill)
Fine Art
(progress on vanishing-point project)
Spanish
(autopilot)
Earth Science
(autopilot)
Final bell!
Bike to store.
(snacks, soda, frozen pizza)
Grocery bags on handlebars.
Fifteen-minute wait at intersection for
military trucks to roll through town.
Convoys come through every day now.
Mom always has the news on
listening for information
about checkpoints and delays
and “protective action” curfews
whatever that means.
I personally don’t get why everyone is so uptight.
It’s just a bunch of trucks moving stuff around
not World War III.
Pedal to grandparents’ empty apartment.
(Easy to get the key
since Dad had an extra set
hanging on a hook
in the laundry room.)
Soda in fridge to chill.
TV on.
Feet up.
YES
Tangled Web
to Mom 4:46 p.m.
plan changed
staying over at dads for help with huge history project
back tomorrow afternoon xo
to Dad 4:47 p.m.
babysitting tonight for P and Mom
c u sunday after church? I’ll make the waffles this time!
from Mom 4:50 p.m.
Please ask Dad if he might be able to get us two tickets to the concert next Thursday? I’d like to take Paul for his birthday.
Good luck with the project and don’t stay up too late.
Concert tickets are a good idea.
Dad conducts.
Jennifer plays flute.
Paul doesn’t play anything
but loves music.
from Dad 4:53 p.m.
Sounds good. I want bananas and walnuts on mine! Make sure you charge Paul time and a half for working on a weekend! ha ha.
love you.
Everything is going perfectly.
Monkey Wrench
Emma 6:40 p.m.
no sleepover.
ashanti threw up in her moms car
Me 6:40 p.m.
gross! can u still come?
tell ur mom ur sleeping over at my house
Emma 6:41 p.m.
tried but she called ur mom who said u were 2 busy w/ur dad doing history. sux! maybe next week?
Me 6:41 p.m.
A banquet of junk food spans the coffee table.
All that money and risk and
no one’s coming after all.
At least there’s no crying baby to wake me up
and I can sleep in tomorrow.
I settle into the couch and scroll through channels
until I find an old black-and-white movie.
Ginger Rogers tap-dances with Fred Astaire
around a big empty dance studio.
An invisible orchestra plays somewhere offscreen.
Ginger lifts her wrist and her skirt swirls around her
like the petals of a tropical flower.
Her perfect hair falls to her shoulders
in smooth, elegant waves.
I tug my fingers through my curly tangles
and reach for a Twinkie.
Disruption
middle of the night
trucks rumble
loud voices outside
grab remote
TV off
glad lights aren’t on in the apartment
something BANGS against the front door
I jump
footsteps move down the hall
unfamiliar voice speaks
outside the door
“What about this one?”
“They’re part-timers,” says a neighbor
“only here for summers and holidays.”
voices move away
doors close and open
and close
I creep across the floor
crouch by the door
hear people talking downstairs
dogs barking outside
someone having a party?
curious
but can’t risk being seen
avoid windows
sound
light
if I get caught here alone
I’ll be grounded forever
worry infects the room
eventually sounds fade
crawl back to the couch
pull up Grandma’s afghan
sit in the dark
wide awake
Forsaken
(adj.) deserted; abandoned; forlorn
Saturday
Bright sun shines
high in the sky.
The sofa cushion is embossed on my cheek
and my teeth feel fuzzy.
I rub sleep crumbs from my eyes.
Reach for the last of the popcorn.
Plug in my phone to charge the dead battery.
Messages and missed calls light up the screen.
Oh crap.
Text Message
EMERGENCY ALERTS 12:01 a.m.
IMMINENT THREAT ALERT. INCREASED PROTECTIVE ACTIONS ARE BEING TAKEN. FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS OF LOCAL AUTHORITIES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
VOICE MAIL FROM DAD
“Hey there, sweetheart. I’m sorry this happened so fast and we didn’t get a chance to touch base, but we’ll reconnect when we arrive, and then your mom and I will work out a plan for the next few weeks, okay? In the meantime, don’t be scared, I’m sure this is all just precautionary. And Jennifer says not to worry, because she’s packing your earbuds and your purple jeans, and she’ll give them to you when we see you. Okay, Peanut? I love you and I’ll see you soon. Be sure to help your mom with the boys and try not to worry. Bye now.”
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