by E. J. Mara
Karen not nice. Me hate Karen.
Karen have ugly ring and me took ring.
It silver. Silver so ugly! Me like pearls. Pearls beautiful.
When Momma give Karen ring, me watch and feel sad. Momma never give me ring!
Me nothing. Karen everything.
Karen go gymnasticals, me never go gymnasticals.
Karen go fun doing with Nathaniel. Me never go fun doing with Nathaniel.
Me sad.
Today, breakfast finished, me go Karen’s room and me take ugly ring. Me happy.
Now, funeral finished. I sit here, front door, watch people come in house. They bring flowers and food. Many many peoples.
I don’t like. Too many peoples. My head pain.
Now old man with wife smile to me. They carry food under foil paper.
Foil paper look like Momma’s curtains.
Before Momma die in all the blood, Momma say, “Foil over windows good, protect us from I.T.I.S.”
She run around house, her eyes big, foil in her hands, covering windows.
Momma smart, beautiful, and Momma hate me.
Me not understand. Momma hate me why?? Me not understand.
Now front door open, my heart beating. Me hope for Nathaniel.
Me look, wait. Nathaniel?
No. Not Nathaniel.
Allie O’Rourke. Allie fat. Her hair ugly, red color. Red hair ugly.
My hair blonde. Blonde hair pretty.
Allie have small house and cat. Cat brown.
Cat’s tail, I give fire. I watch tail burn. Fire beautiful.
Cat in fire, cat become angry, but me happy. Allie see, become angry. Yell, yell, yell yell.
Front door open again. Nathaniel?
Yes! My heart beats fast!!!
Nathaniel so pretty. His eyes brown like Cary Grant. His hair brown like Cary Grant.
Me love Cary Grant but me love Nathaniel Colbert more!
Me stand, my ring hold, and me go Nathaniel.
His eyes big, he look to me, backs away.
He scared? Why scared to me?
Me hug Nathaniel, he try go away.
Me his hand hold, ring give.
Ring must take! Like wedding. Ring means we married!! If married can kiss!
Nathaniel Cary Grant. Me Grace Kelly. Like To Catch a Thief. We love, kiss!!!
Now Karen here frowning. Ring she takes. Nathaniel she takes.
I hate Karen. Karen take everything.
“Little Tessa has quite the crush on you, doesn’t she?” Ms. Davidson, Karen’s nosey next door neighbor, declares. She laughs and turns to the lady standing beside her, another neighbor who’s serving garlic bread. “She was trying to ask him to marry her. Stole her older sister’s ring to do it! Isn’t that adorable?”
I want to say, ‘No, that’s not adorable. That’s creepy.’ But I smile and glance at the lasagna Ms. Davidson is supposed to be serving.
“Now I know you want a slice of my four-cheese lasagna, don’t you dear?” she finally asks, her laughter dying down.
“Yes, please.”
“Lord, have mercy, listen to that voice!” Ms. Davidson sinks a large serving fork into the lasagna and cuts a hearty slice before plopping it on my plate. “It’s gotten so deep! How old are you now?”
My cheeks warm. “Sixteen.”
“My word. Time flies,” she replies with a shake of her head. “Are you still in gymnastics with Karen?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Karen says you’re good,” Ms. Davidson loudly continues. “She’s always talking about you. Says you’re the best on the boys’ team. Is that what it’s called? A team?”
“Technically, we’re divided into levels. But we also compete as a team.” I glance at the long line behind me.
One of Karen’s neighbors, a heavyset lady named Allie O’Rourke, is giving Ms. Davidson and me the evil eye. “Well,” I say, smiling, “I’ll see you later, Ms. Davidson.”
“You know,” Ms. Davidson says, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head. “I saw your mother at the graveside service, but I didn’t get a chance to speak to her. How is she?”
I blink back at her. It’s like she doesn’t realize we’re holding up the line. “She’s fine. But she got a headache after the funeral, that’s why she’s not here.” I inch away from the table. “I’ll tell her you said hello.”
“You do that. It looks like she finally put on some weight, thank heavens. She’s such a pretty little thing, but then Mexican women usually are.” Ms. Davidson points her serving fork at me, jabbing the air with it as she says, “Be proud of your heritage, Nathaniel. Or should I say, Nathanĩel? Is that how you say it in Mexican?”
“Well, my mom’s not Mexican. She’s from Nicaragua.” Continuing to back away from her, I force a smile. “And I never learned Spanish.”
“You don’t speak Spanish? You should. That’s your heritage, boy. Lord, have mercy! Next time I see your momma, I’m going to tell her she needs to teach you Mexican, and that’s all there is to it.”
Ms. Davidson laughs and I continue to grin like an idiot because what else am I supposed to do? Tell an old lady she’s being rude? “See you later, Ms. Davidson.” I offer her a nod and duck out of the Lyles’ kitchen as quickly as possible.
I make my way through Karen’s house and head for the porch. If I know Karen, she’s either alone on the porch or alone in her room. She’s a huge fan of solitude.
The back door that leads to the porch is open, but the screen door is closed. I ease it open and there she is. Her back to me, Karen sits with her legs dangling over the edge of the porch.
She turns around and her brown eyes light up, but she doesn’t smile as she says, “Hey.”
“Hey.” I step outside and take a deep breath. The rain’s finally let up and the air smells great, like fresh wet grass. “Can I sit with you?”
“Yeah, always.”
I make myself comfortable beside her and she glances at my food, her eyebrows going up as she says, “I bet Coach Peterson didn’t see that lasagna on your plate.”
I grin. “I need this. Not to knock my mom’s gallopinto, but a guy can only eat so much beans and rice.” Karen smiles and I notice that she doesn’t have a plate of her own. “Want me to grab you a plate of food?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good. And I wanted to apologize for my sister and the ring thing earlier.”
“It’s no big deal.” I take a bite of my lasagna.
“I still don’t get why she wanted you to keep my ring,” Karen says.
“I think she was trying to ask me to marry her,” I chuckle. “I’m not going to lie, Tessa had this …look in her eyes, and it was a little scary.” I glance at Karen to make sure I haven’t offended her.
She’s super protective of Tessa and I get why, I would be too. In fact, I am. It’s just that sometimes Tessa really does scare the crap out of me. She’ll get this glassy-eyed look, start staring at me without blinking, and before I know it she’s trying to hug me or even bite me.
In the distance, an owl hoots while I assess Karen’s reaction. Her shoulders are hunched, which is unusual for her normally straight-as-a-rod posture. But nothing like offense crosses her features as she looks straight ahead, sort of blindly staring into the backyard.
“Autism works in mysterious ways.” Karen speaks softly, and without any warning whatsoever, swipes a slice of garlic bread from my plate.
I grin. I thought I had good reflexes until I met Karen. She’s always sort of reminded me of a mosquito: tall, skinny, and stealthy until she attacks. Of course, mosquitoes don’t have big brown eyes, long brown hair that always smells good, or soft skin that’s been bronzed by the sun.
She brings the bread to her mouth, and instead of eating it, looks at it and mumbles, “Honestly, I don’t understand why anyone in my family does what they do.”
I swallow my food and watch her carefully. Her voice, like her posture, is way weaker than usual.
When we first
started hanging out, her definite tone of voice really struck me. Everything she said was laced with a reassuring confidence that made me want to slip my hand in hers and never let go, but at the moment that confidence of hers isn’t making an appearance.
She tears her garlic bread into tiny pieces, eating them one miniscule bite at a time. Her dark eyes void of warmth, she stares into the cornfield beyond her family’s backyard.
I set my plate in her lap and she turns to me in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“You can have the rest, I’m not hungry,” I say, hoping my stomach won’t give me away by growling. With that, I turn my attention to the lightning bugs that are beginning to gather in the distance and realize that I probably have cheese all over my mouth. I run the back of my hand across my mouth and wipe my fingers on the edge of the porch.
“That’s okay,” Karen says, her voice small, “you can eat it.”
“Did you even eat anything today?”
She shrugs and her long bangs fall over her eyes. They’ve been annoying her for a while. She says they’re at an awkward stage because she’s trying to grow them out. But I like the way she’s constantly flicking them out of her eyes. Sometimes I have to stop myself from reaching out and brushing them away.
Karen pushes them out of her face and says, “My stomach’s still weird. So, here.” She sets what’s left of her garlic bread on the plate and, giving me a wobbly half-smile, returns the plate to my knee.
“Still?” I ask. “My mom said if the pain lasts more three days, you should see a doctor.”
She frowns. “You told your Mom?”
“She’s a nurse and you were in pain. So, yeah I asked a nurse what she thought you ought to do.”
“Well, I’m fine. I’ll just wait it out.”
I glance down, Karen’s words ringing in my ears. My breathing labored and my heart racing, I try, unsuccessfully, to get a grip. What Karen’s said shouldn’t a big deal. She’s only being her usual stubborn self. But my brain is like a former war-zone, one wrong turn, initiated by a particular phrase or word, and a landmine of anxiety erupts. And at the moment, I can’t help but remember Mom saying, ‘I’m fine. I’ll just wait it out…’
I was eight when she said it and I know I was eight because I’d had a huge Batman-themed birthday party the day before. The cost of the party was most likely why she and my dad were arguing. Of course I can’t be a hundred percent positive about that; I was at gymnastics when the fight erupted. But after practice, when Mom didn’t show to pick me up, I got sick to my stomach and I had a feeling Dad was the reason she wasn’t there.
Coach Peterson had been waiting with me, and when he offered to drive me home, I could tell he knew too, though he didn’t say anything. We pulled into my driveway where Dad’s truck was noticeably missing, and Coach insisted on walking me in.
Our back door was half-opened and a trail of blood greeted us. It started from the bottom of the stairs where one of Mom’s slippers lay upside down and continued on to the upstairs guest bathroom. We found Mom standing over the sink, tending to her broken nose, busted lip, and black eye. She was trembling more than I’d ever seen, but no matter what Coach Peterson said, she wouldn’t go to Peake General. She kept saying she’d be fine, that she’d wait it out.
I cringe at the memory, my mouth going dry and the Lyle’s backyard disappearing around me.
At the time I didn’t understand her reaction. Now, in retrospect, I get it. Mom was in shock and when you’re in shock, you don’t see things as they are. Instead you become one-track-minded about some tiny thing that doesn’t matter. So, having been a nurse at Peake General for over six years, Mom was focused on not allowing herself to be taken to work. No matter how beat-up she was, she didn’t want her friends and colleagues in the ER to see her so ‘weakened’.
That, I can relate to. There are few things worse than showing up to school the day after a complete pummeling. Of course not everyone knows why your face is a mess, and most people believe you when you lie and blame it on gymnastics practice. But your friends know the truth and when they give you those pitying sideways glances, it makes you feel …I don’t know. I guess defeated is the word.
Another owl hoot sounds in the distance and I try to focus on the plate of food I’ve been staring into. Robotically lifting my fork, I shove some salad into my mouth. My pulse slows and reality settles into place around me.
“You should go to the doctor,” I say, gazing into the cornfield, “and if your dad can’t take you, I will.”
“Geez Louise.” Karen snorts. “Thanks, Mom.”
“I just care about you.”
“I know.” She folds her arms across her stomach and mumbles, “Which actually proves that you’re nothing like my mom. To be like her, you’d have to forget who I am and then kill yourself. So thank God you’re nothing like her.”
Helplessness washing over me, I scratch the back of my head.
I have no idea what to say or do to make her feel better. I’ve never lost anyone close to me. Dad being hauled off to jail was different, that wasn’t death.
“I’m, uh, I’m sorry about all of this happening to you. It’s not fair …” My voice trails off and I feel about as eloquent as a potato.
“It’s alright,” she mutters. “I’m fine.” Her tone and body language, however, say she isn’t fine.
“Okay.” I set my plate on the porch and scoot closer to her. “So, don’t freak out like your dad would, but I’m going to hug you. I just have to.”
She freezes, immediately bristling, and I hesitate. I meant for this to be helpful, not awkward.
A slow smile forms on her lips, and I relax as she says, “Okay.”
I drape an arm around her shoulders and gently pull her towards me. “You can talk to me about things. You know that, right?” Karen’s cheeks turn red and she glances down.
Aw.
I lean in towards her and get a whiff of her shampoo, which smells great, like fresh flowers.
“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”
“So, come on,” I say, “talk. What are you thinking right this minute?”
“That you’re annoying.” She laughs and keeps her gaze on the backyard, as if she’s afraid to look at me. She then takes several halting deep breaths, which is exactly how I breathe when I’m having one of my frozen-in-terror moments on the high bar.
Okay…maybe the hugging is too much. I begin retracting my arm, but Karen scoots closer to me and rests her head on my shoulder. My breath hitches in my chest and I gulp nervously. Funny how I told her not to get freaked out. I run my palm along her left forearm and focus on calming my heartbeat and breathing.
There’s a rustle of movement in the cornfield beyond the Lyles’ backyard and grateful for the distraction, I turn my attention to the direction of the noise. A pair of large, glowing eyes peer back at me before disappearing into the field.
“Dang. You guys have monster-sized raccoons.” I utter a low whistle.
“We don’t get raccoons around here, maybe you saw a rabbit.”
“Too big to be a rabbit. Maybe it’s…” I stop speaking as the eyes reappear, but this time as part of a nearly seven foot tall silhouette. The shadow glances backwards and then quickly turns away from the house, running even deeper into the field.
I retract my hand from Karen’s shoulder and stand.
“Nathaniel? What’s wrong?”
Barely able to believe what I’ve seen, I whisper, “What was that?”
“What? What did you see?” Karen gets to her feet and touches my shoulder.
“It had glowing eyes …it was huge.” I strain my neck, peering into the distance as the cornstalks rustle.
“Seriously?” Karen hops off the porch and heads to the cornfield.
“Wait, no!” I panic. “Don’t go after it, Karen!” I jump off the porch and catch up to her as she approaches the edge of the field. “Hey!” I grab her arm and pull her towards me. “What are you doing?”
&
nbsp; She looks down at my hand and then at me. “I’m seeing what’s in my backyard.”
“Whatever that was, we don’t want to mess with it. Trust me.” Chills running down my arms, I glance ahead to make sure the thing hasn’t come tearing out of the field to kill us.
In the distance, some of the stalks rustle. It’s still out there.
Karen shifts under my grip and realizing that I’m still clutching her arm, I let her go. “Sorry. Let’s just go inside and tell your dad, or Ms. Greenich, or somebody.”
She arches an eyebrow at me, says not a word, and heads into the cornfield.
“Karen!” I reach for her.
“Grab my arm again, Nathaniel,” she barks. “I dare you.”
I drop my hands to my sides and, against my better judgement, follow her into the field.
I STAY AS close to Karen as possible, making sure to keep track of what’s happening behind us as well as to our left and right. The ground is still wet and my good shoes sink deeper with my every step. “My mom’s going to love the way I track mud all over the house when I get home.” I mumble.
“Then clean off your shoes before you go home,” Karen says, pushing a stalk aside. “Duh.”
I’m too nervous to roll my eyes at her …or at myself for sounding so whiny.
The moon casts an eerie glow on the stalks, some of them still glistening with rain as we push them out of our way.
“Do bears’ eyes glow in the dark?” Karen whispers.
My breathing intensifies to the point that I’m sure Karen feels like she’s got a heater blowing on the back of her neck. “It wasn’t a bear,” I say, choosing not to add that the shadowy thing couldn’t have been a bear because it had defined shoulders, as well as a neck and head that looked human.
“Are you sure it had glowing eyes?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, even as I silently begin to doubt myself. After all, what kind of creature is seven feet tall with glowing eyes? Am I seeing things?
The crunch of a foot landing on a stick sounds a few feet ahead of us and I grab Karen’s hand. A loud “thud!” rips into the field’s relative quiet and the ground shakes, all of the stalks around us swaying as their leaves rustle.
“What was that?” Karen says, coming to a halt.
