Hiro Loves Kite

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  “Miss Nora!”

  My father’s just a lost shadow in the dark. “Get out of here, Marie!” he snarls as he sends my head into the dumpster again. My head will be blue. I’m becoming part of the painted metal with every thump. I will have Smith and Co. Garbage Disposal tattooed across my back.

  I find my voice. “Marie. Help me,” I gurgle. My vision is closing like a cartoon hole. Narrowing. Light escaping. Darkness prevailing. Another bang. I seem flatter. Like paper. I can hardly feel it now.

  I’m slipping. Slipping. Slipping.

  The circle of light comes closer. A small sun. The smallest. “You’ll kill her!” Marie’s high-pitched voice is pure panic.

  He releases me, and I hear thuds and soft ruffling. Growling and panting.

  I can’t feel my legs. They’re wooden. I guess wooden is better than pain. I close my eyes. A door closes. Marie has left me. I’m not surprised.

  My body relaxes, and I fall. Dirty water in my ear. Coldness covering me like winter. I think he’s gone. Or if he’s still hitting me, I can’t feel it. That’s good. That’s something.

  I always believed there would be a limit. A limit to my suffering, to my pain. Maybe that limit was here in the alley with my death.

  37

  HIRO

  She rolls away from the platform with my heart in her trembling fingers. She said no. No. Though the look on her face was so conflicted, I know there must be more to the story. I stand still on the platform, waiting for the next train.

  Krow takes my arm. “In my experience, sometimes a girl just needs time to think it over.”

  I shouldn’t be so hopeful, but I look to Krow’s beak-like face and say, “You think?” Even though, his ‘experience’ would be pretty damn limited.

  He shrugs. “Sure.”

  “Shouldn’t I follow her?” I ask, my feet want to run. To search.

  He shakes his head. “Give her some space. I bet once she’s had a couple of hours to mull it over, she’ll come home.”

  I know I hurt her before. Maybe she’s just letting me stew for a while. I guess I kind of deserve it. I slam my hands in my pockets. My legs glued to the ground. “Women are strange creatures,” I mutter to the floor. Strange, beautiful, unpredictable.

  Krow slaps my back. “You said it!”

  The Kings are frantically collecting armfuls of paper stars. Collecting them in their shirts and throwing them in the trash. It makes me smile. They’re good kids. Keg nudges me. “Wanna play poker?” He rattles the box of buttons and paper clips. They slide around in the oversized container. My heart feels like that right now. Like’s it’s shrunk two sizes too small and is rattling around in my rib cage.

  I nod. “Sure.” I take a seat at the table, and Kricket comes to my side.

  “Nor-ah was jest surprised. She don’t like being surprised.” Krow clears his throat and sits on a corner, asking to be dealt in. Cards skid across the vinyl surface, and we catch them before they slide off the edge.

  “How about we teach Kricket here how to play poker like a King?” He pats the crate next to him and she eagerly jumps over to it, distracted for the moment.

  My Kings crowd around in support. They don’t bring it up. They don’t commiserate nor humiliate. They know to leave well enough alone.

  Besides, what would they say?

  I’ll give her some time. Just not too much.

  38

  KITE

  A flicker over my eyelids. Red, white, and blue.

  Red the color of blood. White the color of starlight. Blue the color of a bruise.

  The barest touch to my temple, two fingers, a little shaky. Very soft. “Sh,” she hums. “Sh, dear, sh.”

  “Mother.” My lips form an impossible word when I hear the care in the voice. The guilt.

  I try to move. “Sh, stay still, dear. Stay still.”

  My eyes open to broken angles and crooked limbs. My hand. I squint as I stare at the broken skin on my knuckles, the blood and the white flakes melting to pink water. Ice kisses on tiny freckles that are ripped and not where they should be.

  Boots crunching on new snow. I shiver. I want to pull my knees to my chest. I want to… Run. Crawl… Feel the stones bite my knees. I was crawling. I was searching for the light. Floating like fireflies. Fireflies. Fireflies. My breath starts coming in fast and panicked.

  I was, I was, I was… Dead.

  A deep voice, brassy like a gong, sounds above me. “She’s in bad shape.” Rustles and slides. A board is pushed underneath me with force and care.

  “Will she be all right?” Focus. Unfocus. An apron heaving. Blood like a butcher’s streak splashed across it.

  “I hope so, ma’am. Do you want to ride with her?”

  Small again. Meeker. “No, I can’t.” Regret running in rings.

  The hand falls from my temple. There are so many voices. All men. All serious and somber, except for one. One is fighting and spitting and is as unhinged as castle gates blown open. I’m lifted from the ground. “You’re making a mistake,” he shouts. “Marie. Marie. Come here and tell the policeman the truth. Tell them we found her like this. You tell them now!” His voice is pungent with desperation.

  Sit up. I push up on one elbow. My other arm smarts like exposed wiring runs from my hand to my shoulder. I have to see this.

  Forcing my eyes open, I watch as my father is handcuffed. He struggles, sweat covering his face, blood covering his hands and shirt. This image can’t be real. I still feel a little like I’m floating between this life and the next. Is that my blood on him? It seems like a lot.

  Marie’s round shape comes into focus. She solidifies like she’s a rumbling mountain that’s coming to rest. The policeman towers over her, but she stands sturdy and sure as she points at my father. His eyes like dead coals as another policeman presses down on his head and shoves him into the back of the car. She nods sharply. He writes something down. Her face is different. Where I always saw soft, malleable skin, terrified mouse-like eyes, now I see something harder, tougher. I also see a modicum of reprieve. Like she’s let something go. A bat curled in her hand that’s been scratching and scraping to be free.

  I’m caught in a whirl. A tempest of pain and dizziness that’s playing catch up around my body. “Marie,” I say. “You did it. You spoke up.” She became the shield. Faced the danger, not hid from it.

  “I couldn’t watch him kill you, Miss Nora.” Her eyes fall to her lap, to her fiddling fingers.

  I try to reach for her, wanting to pat her hand and tell her it’s okay. I understand. I’ve always understood the power Christopher Deere held over the women around him. I hated it, but I understood its monstrous form.

  Crackles in my throat. Air slipping. Thinning. He’s gone, yet I’m being crushed.

  Marie’s expression is horror. Stretching. Stretching. Stretching.

  It stretches until I see nothing but white.

  Not starlight. A burning empty nothing.

  39

  HIRO

  I curve around the cold space where Kite should be lying next to me. A ball of energy and hope. Someone who has managed to tape herself back together using nothing but found things. Just like me.

  Sitting up, I glance at my watch. It’s after midnight. She should be back by now.

  Sliding the curtain aside, I step into the space between the rooms. So many things have happened in this small passage. Compromises. Feet swishing across dust and dirt in a dance. A kiss that shook the subway foundations. It has always been the bridge. It is the place to gather courage and be brave. I stand there, wondering what happens next. How do we move forward? Can we cross the bridge now? Or did I burn it?

  Kricket coughs and I walk to the divide, pushing the curtain aside loudly, thinking Kite’s probably here, with her sister. She didn’t want to come to me after all that has passed between us. It’s understandable.

  I scan the bed. Kricket is sitting up, her small hands wrung and fretful. “Where’s ma sister, Kettle? She sh
ould be here.” I take her inhaler and hold it to her mouth. She breathes in, and I feel like I’m breathing out flecks of glass.

  Yes, she should be. No matter what is between us, she’s still a King and she should be here. A lurking fear pulls itself further from the lake.

  I shouldn’t have let her go. I should have looked for her.

  Reaching out, I pat Kricket’s hair and get her to lie back down. I add an extra blanket to her bed. “She’ll be home soon, kid. Just try to get some sleep.” I listen to her breathing. Make sure it’s even and calm.

  I hope I haven’t pushed her so far that she won’t come back. I run a hand through my hair, gripping the ends in my fingers and frown. I thought this was what she wanted. It doesn’t make any sense.

  I console myself with the fact that she won’t leave her sister behind. When she comes back for her, I can talk to Kite, explain. At least the weather has been milder. She may get wet, but she’s not going to freeze to death tonight.

  I should never have listened to Kin. He made me think I could have this. I was fine before he started putting stupid ideas in my head.

  I’m lying to myself, and it doesn’t make me feel any better. Because the truth is, when she said no, I felt like someone had pulled the floor away. Like I was one second away from falling into nothingness. A horrible, bottomless place where no one would hear me scream.

  The other truth is I expected it.

  And there’s nothing more disappointing than getting exactly what you expect.

  I stalk back to my room, then throw myself on the bed. It puffs with dust and disillusionment.

  If she’s not back by morning, I will bring her home myself.

  40

  KITE

  I’ve been here before. So many times. I have a blackboard in my mind, covered in white strokes that count the times. The hours. The days spent. I sweep across the chalk with my hand. Leaving a streak like feathered clouds.

  A man’s shadow in the corner of the room approaches.

  Yes, I’ve been here before.

  It’s always. Always. Always. The same.

  I tense, bracing myself for either a threat or a threat veiled as an apology. His menacing body comes closer. Fuzzy as a storm cloud that’s breaking apart. Ends pulled and teased. I could run. I could almost laugh if that wouldn’t cause my bones to dismantle. My body is a handful of broken parts. My skin is thin and splitting. I can’t even sit up.

  He’s got me right where he wants me.

  “Miss Deere,” an unfamiliar voice whispers with deep, deep pity. “I am so very sorry.”

  I try really hard to focus. To see through the clouds to the face behind them. “You’re sorry?” Sorry can be a nonsense word. A hand-over-the-mouth word.

  The man puts his fingers to the pulse at my wrist. “I am. Truly.” Concentrate. But concentration leads to being awake, which leads to pain.

  But pain at least means I’m alive. I’m alive, and I didn’t tell him where Frankie was. “What happened?” I ask, waiting for him to feed me my story. Expecting him to tell me that I fell or tripped. My head banged on the counter, and my memories are confused.

  “You don’t remember?” he asks, eyebrow rising. Face sharpening. He looks the same age as my father. Broad with brown eyes that know and have seen all kinds of awful things. But he is not Christopher Deere.

  One small firework shoots into the sky. A burning hope.

  “Can you help me sit up, please?” He adjusts my bed. “I remember.”

  I remember bad news blackening everything around me. I remember Hiro’s heart. A devastating question. And then, him. The dark end of everything.

  The doctor sits on the edge of the bed. “So, you remember that your father beat you to within an inch of your life?”

  My heart rate escalates, and my breath quickens. I feel heavy and dry like I’ve been force fed a sack of rice. I try to shift, but I’m pressed down in the bed. Every part of my body is a hotplate of hurt. “Who are you?” I demand. “Did he send you here to make sure I get my story straight? I’m not lying anymore. You tell him I’m not going to let him do this to me again. Ever.”

  Standing, the doctor pushes a button by the bed. A plastic click, click, click. My head swirls with a gooey feeling, and I put my hand up. “Please. Tell him I won’t come near the house again. It was a mistake. I won’t bother him. If he would just leave me and my sister alone.”

  The doctor’s face tears open to reveal such sympathy I don’t know where to put it. “Nora, I read your file.” His expression turns to regret and a pinch of irritation. “I know you’ve endured more than anyone should ever have to, and that no one has helped you in the past. But you can trust me when I say your father will never be able to hurt you ever again.”

  Never is a nonsense word, too. It’s a promise no one can keep. “What are you saying?” This is a dream. A strange, beautiful, and painful dream.

  The gooeyness eases, clarity just on the other side. “I’m saying, your father has been arrested. Your housemaid called the police during the… incident, and he was caught violently assaulting you. My understanding is that she has agreed to testify to not only this, but also a long pattern of abuse stretching over ten years.”

  My lip quivers. My heart beats in strange staccato. “It can’t be true. No. You’re lying.” I don’t believe it. Anything this man tells me will float through my mind and out. It can’t be true. I shake my head as tears drop mercilessly down my cheeks and onto my chest. “It can’t be. It can’t be.” My hand turns to a fist, and I thump the mattress weakly. I look to him, eyes wide. Imploring him to stop toying with me. To stop torturing me. “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t lie to me.”

  A nurse comes in, and her eyes look the same as his. She is familiar. Her expression, kind of satisfied. She comes to my side and says, “You may not remember me, but I was here the day your sister was brought into the ER with a head injury and bleeding from the ears.” I gulp. Nod. This is too much. “You always stuck in my mind, dear. So young to be so tough. So guarded. We’re not lying to you. It’s over. Your father is going to jail.” She puts a hand on mine, and I freeze. I am the thin layer of ice skaters could fall through. “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “He can’t hurt me anymore,” I repeat woodenly.

  “You’re safe,” she says.

  “I’m… safe.”

  The words have too much meaning, they sucker on the inside of my throat, and I can barely get them out.

  The doctor clears his throat. “You are safe from further harm, but you’ve also sustained many injuries you’ll need to overcome.” Again, he clicks a button by my head and I drift away. “You need to rest.”

  I can rest. Finally. I can rest.

  41

  HIRO

  My head is splitting. Like an axe through my skull kind of splitting. A night I will never forget working its way deep and painfully into my brain.

  The boys are dispersing for the day and Kricket bounds onto my bed, rattling me awake. “We should find No-rah. I bet she’s changed her mind, Kettle. I bet she’s gonna say yes.”

  Kelpie hangs back, leaning against my shelves. He looks disappointed. I know they all are. I think that’s why they all seem anxious to leave. “See ya tonight, Kettle,” he says forcefully casual. I nod.

  The ring we found in a drugstore that seemed perfect at the time sits heavily on my wooden chest. Burning a hole through the timber. I was such an idiot. The remaining crushed paper stars on the ground are a path leading to nothing. All the air squashed out of them. The cuts on the tips of my fingers from all the folding are a better feeling than what’s going on inside me. Kricket grabs my shoulders with a pincer grip, shaking me hard. I grimace.

  “Okay, okay, I’m getting up. Geez.” I brush her hands from my body, but the angular little bug keeps flapping in my face.

  “Kettle, Kettle, Kettle.” She doesn’t get it. Kite said no. I don’t think I can ask her again. I don’t think she wants me to. God, t
he look on her face.

  I sigh. I know there’s a reason. Something new. But I’m scared to ask. The most likely answer is that she finally realized she’s too good for me. That the challenges we’d face aren’t worth the aggravation. I groan and flop back into bed, which sends another scurry of elbows and pointy knees at my poor defenseless body.

  It’s why I’m dragging my feet. Getting up means getting out and facing the truth. And I’m not sure I’m ready for it.

  Kricket grabs the covers, then yanks them from my legs. My eyes narrow, and I snap at her before I can stop myself, “Goddamn it, kid, will you just leave me the hell alone!”

  I want to pull the string of anger back, but it’s too late. Little Kricket’s eyes water. She folds up and scuttles away like a frightened beetle. The flash of her hair as it disappears behind the curtain is a flag of regret. Great. Now I’ve upset her, too.

  Taking a deep breath, I swallow my heartache. A twin emotion stands beside me. A memory that’s not my own, but I feel it all the same. This must have been what it was like for Kite every time I said no. I swallow the pain. Put on a brave face. Hide the devastation for her sister’s sake.

  Except my pain is just my pride. My pain is giving up on something I took too long to want. It’s my fault it happened this way. I did this.

  After I quickly dress, I splash some water on my face. I bury my hurt underneath boxes and blankets before walking over to talk to Kricket.

  She’s curled at the end of the bed, rummaging through a suitcase. Chin on knees. She throws things on the bed as she goes. She doesn’t look up when I enter.

  “Ya didn’t need ta yell tat me,” she says. She finds her hearing aid and slides it into her ear, struggling with the mess of wires, pulling them apart like warm taffy.