In Sight of Stars

by Gae Polisner

  “I’ve been anxious to meet you. You’re quite the heavy sleeper.”

  “Not usually,” I say. “I think it may be the medication.” She reaches over me with effort to turn on the overhead light. I squint against the onslaught.

  Dunn’s house … the lights in my eyes …

  “Too bright?” She switches it off again. “The TV is fine. Anyway, I’m Sister Agnes Teresa,” she says. “Very nice to finally meet you.”

  Sister Agnes Teresa. Right. That’s what it was. I crane my neck to look past her to the old-fashioned digital clock by the side of the bed, but it’s turned on an angle, so I can’t make it out.

  “Barely nine P.M.,” she says.

  I fell asleep after dinner.

  The dining hall with Martin and Sabrina.

  “It’s easy to lose track of time here,” she says, moving to the end of the bed. She folds her too-short arms across her chest and studies me. I’m suddenly starving. I eye the Twinkies.

  “Well, good, here we are.” She nods at the table. “Go ahead. Eat them. That’s why I brought them to you. Not that they won’t stay fresh for a lifetime.” She chuckles. I unwrap them and scarf one down, enjoying the sugary goodness. “Would you like some water?” She waddles to the pitcher on the table near the head of my bed.

  “Yes. Thanks. But I can get it.”

  “Nonsense.” She works hard to lift the plastic pitcher, stretches to retrieve my plastic cup from the rolling table.

  I don’t mean to stare, but it’s hard not to. Honestly, there must be a dozen things wrong with her. Not just her stature, but her proportions. Her hands are thick—too thick for her size—and her fingers are bratwurst sausages. Her torso is too long for her legs. And her voice, too, has an odd froggish quality to it, as if she’s swallowed both sandpaper and helium. On the other hand, her face is normal. Nice, even. Pleasant and round, and beneath the white hat, her eyes sparkle friendly and warm.

  While I eat the second Twinkie, Sister Agnes Teresa moves awkwardly around my bed, smoothing my blankets. Finally, she waddles back to the window, where the shades are pulled down. She lifts them halfway and peers out over the courtyard, now lit by sodium lamps that bathe it in a yellow, melancholy glow. The brachiosaurus looms stark and lonely in the stillness.

  After another minute, she lowers them again. “All right, it’s been a long night and I don’t want to impose on you more. You be well, Mr. Alden,” she says, making her way to the door and pulling it closed all but those last few inches behind her.

  Day 4—Morning

  “Daubigny’s Garden.”

  I say this aloud to Dr. Alvarez—Daubigny’s Garden—for no other reason than it’s there. Or maybe I say it because it’s art, and sometimes that’s all there is.

  Dr. Alvarez turns to where its blue-roofed house rises into yellow and blue clouds. “So that’s what it’s called?”

  “Yes. But that’s not the real version. Or, at least not the original version.”

  “No?”

  “No. In the original there’s a black cat, there, in the foreground.” I point near the bottom of the print. “Just below the lavender area.”

  “How interesting!” She twists back to take it in again, before turning back to me. “You know your stuff, don’t you?” I shrug. “I’ve always liked it,” she says, “but to be honest, I didn’t put it there. I’d like to take credit, but it was already here when I inherited this office, so, perhaps a bit of kismet at work. Speaking of which, I’m told your mother visited. How was that?”

  I shift, uncomfortably. “Not really visited,” I say. “Just dropped some things off. I was asleep. I didn’t even know she was here.” I don’t elaborate. And I haven’t opened the portfolio since she left it, just shoved it in the corner near the closet. I did open the duffel bag, where she packed me some extra clothes and other necessities.

  “Art can be great therapy…” Dr. Alvarez says, so I’m guessing she knows about the portfolio. “We can arrange for you to get some work done in here if you’d like, and I’d love to see some of your pieces if you’re willing.” I must flinch because she quickly adds, “Only if you want to at some point. I know art can be quite personal. So, how are you feeling? Are you adjusting to the meds any better?”

  “A little, I guess.” If only you wouldn’t keep bringing up my mother.

  “Tell me.”

  “I went down to the dining hall. And I slept better last night, so there’s that.” Sister Agnes Teresa waddles across my brain, staring out my window into the night. I don’t mention her. I’m still partly afraid I hallucinated her.

  “Glad to hear it. Your body needs rest. Not just emotionally, but physically. You’re healing physical wounds, which takes energy, did you know that?”

  I don’t know what I know.

  I turn and look out her window. It’s April. I’m done with school in the middle of June. Less than three months. But the thought of going back to Northhollow, of facing Abbott and the others, makes my stomach roil.

  Of facing Sarah.

  But if I miss too much time, I may have an issue graduating, and I don’t want that either. I’m already on extension to complete my portfolio for Boston. “Extenuating circumstances,” they noted. But they’re not going to give me much more time. The best thing I can do now is get out of here. Get accepted. Go there. Get away from the Ice Queen and Northhollow.

  Jesus, how I’ve screwed things up.

  No. They were screwed up already. They were screwed up long before Saturday.

  Dr. Alvarez glances up from her clipboard, where she’s been flipping pages. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Klee.” But, that’s the problem. I don’t want to talk about any of it. My father. What happened with my mother. Or with Sarah. “How about we go back to where we left off yesterday?” Dr. Alvarez smiles gently. “You were telling me about that first day in the city with Sarah.”

  The portfolio slips through my head again. Not because of what’s in it, but what’s on it. I saw it yesterday. The little piece of masking tape on the handle.

  K EE HA WOO .

  Her words. Still scrawled there like a faded promise.

  * * *

  Sarah and I take the train into the city.

  Mom lets me use Dad’s car locally, but she won’t let me drive it into Manhattan. “Klee, the taxis … they’re dangerous, and you just got your license when we got up here. Besides, do you know what that car is worth? What repairs cost? And I can’t have anything happen to you…”

  Me, or the car? Always so hard to tell what her real concerns are. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m happy to take the train if I’m with Sarah.

  * * *

  Sarah is waiting near the stationhouse when I get there. I let out a sigh of relief. I was afraid she’d blow me off. But, there she is, looking incredible. Ripped jeans, a white T-shirt, some sort of crocheted green sweater that has holes so you see her skin. Her long black hair, pulled back into a ponytail. She waves as I pull in, dangling a pair of rainbow-colored Vans in her hands.

  October and she’s outside with bare feet. A smile forms at the edge of my lips.

  I park and get out as the train pulls into the station.

  “Hey,” I say heading over, the smile on my face so big now I must look like the Joker from Batman. I nod at the train. “I don’t think they’ll let you on without shoes.”

  “Fuck ’em,” she says, batting her eyelashes, and we head up to the platform together.

  The train is empty, so we have our choice of seats. I slide into a window seat halfway down the aisle, and Sarah slips in next to me and slouches, knees bent up and pressed against the seat in front of us. She smells spicy, like cinnamon, and suddenly all I can think about is kissing her.

  “You got something against shoes?” I ask, trying to distract myself with something, anything, else. “The floors aren’t particularly clean in here, I’m guessing.”

  “I like to live dangerously,” she says.

  Her toenail
s are painted a deep Prussian blue. This, too, makes me want to kiss her.

  I focus on her jeans instead. There are holes in the knees, and she’s drawn flowers on the skin of each in blue ink. I reach out and trace one, and she smiles down at the floor.

  Is this a date? I’m not quite sure what it is.

  It’s weird how awkward I feel around Sarah. It’s not like I’ve never dated before. More than date, actually. I haven’t been a virgin since summer before junior year. But since my father died, I haven’t felt like doing much of anything with anyone.

  But, now, here, with Sarah, I feel different. Or maybe I’m kidding myself. I don’t really know her. At all. And from what I’ve seen, she’s not my usual type. The way she hangs out with the popular kids and the football players. The Keith Abbotts and Scott Dunns of the world. Not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed. At first, I thought the blond one, Abbott, was her boyfriend. He’s always hanging around her, like some sort of lumbering, lost dog.

  I turn and stare out the window as the train pulls out of the station, wondering if I’ve made a mistake even bothering.

  “Where’d you go, Alden? You disappeared on me.” Sarah sits up straight and bumps her knee against mine. “Have you gone all broody on me again?”

  “No. Not at all. Sorry. I’m really glad you’re here.”

  “Could have fooled me.” She slips her Vans on as the conductor makes his way down the aisle, and says, “Here, I’ll be good and follow the rules.” She’s quiet while he checks her ticket. “So, is this a date?” she asks when he’s gone, and flutters her eyelashes.

  “I don’t know. You tell me … I wasn’t sure if maybe you were with someone already.”

  “I’m not. So is that why all the brooding? Because seriously, what is with that, anyway?”

  “With what?”

  She gives me a look. “You know, the whole dark and mysterious dude from the city thing. The whole—I don’t know—emo artist thing. Is that for real, or put on?”

  “Emo? I am so not emo,” I say, offended.

  “I wasn’t being mean. I guess I figured maybe it was protective, or something. Because that I would get.” Heat rushes my ears, spreading down my cheeks to my neck. “I’m just saying, super cute guy sweeps in senior year, all artsy and shit. Talks to no one. So, I’m just wondering?”

  Now I look at her. Maybe it’s the word “cute,” or maybe it’s the half smile on her face, like she wants me to know she’s partly egging me on. But I want to set her straight, too, make it clear that I’m not emo. I’m not anything. I’m just your typical kid who’s been through hell, who didn’t want to be here, didn’t ask to be here. I’m just trying to get through the days.

  Instead, I say, “Do people do that around here? Put things on for effect? Abbott, and those guys? Act one way when they’re really another?”

  “Aw, don’t make this about them. Abbott is a decent guy, really. Maybe not a brain surgeon, okay. But, we’ve been friends for a long time, since we were little. He sticks up for me … he doesn’t ask anything of me. Unlike…” She closes her eyes, exhales, then says, “Well, unlike everyone else. Trust me. I’m just saying, they’re not like you think they are.”

  Our eyes meet, and I want to be sarcastic, but there’s something in the way she looks at me that tells me she needs me to let it go. She wants to be here with me, and I’m acting like a jerk. Getting defensive. Of course she has a right to know what my deal is.

  “Seriously,” I say, “I’m just trying to be me. You have no idea. It’s been a fucking rough year.”

  “So, tell me, then.”

  I swallow hard, choosing what information to give. It’s not really something you want to share with a girl you barely know and are trying to impress. That your father killed himself, that you don’t even matter enough for your own dad to want to stick around.

  The train lurches to a stop, and the doors chime and open, letting a handful of new passengers on. When the doors close again, I say, “My father died. Unexpectedly. Last January. It’s still hard to talk about right now.”

  “Oh, that sucks! I’m so, so sorry,” she says. She bumps her shoulder against mine, feeling badly. This is why I don’t tell people the full truth. It makes me seem pathetic. I don’t want her pity. I just want her to like me. “So, that’s why you’re up here, then?” she asks.

  “To tell the truth, I’m not sure why we’re here. My mother wanted a water view.” She looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “You know, a ‘fresh start’ and all that. Not me. But she didn’t care. So, I’m here, just biding my time.”

  “Well, fair enough. I take it back. You may go ahead and keep on brooding, then.” She reaches out and runs her thumb along the top of my hand, then pulls her hand back again.

  I wish she’d leave it there.

  I wish she’d keep it there forever.

  * * *

  I pause and look up. Dr. Alvarez stops jotting notes down on the clipboard.

  “I’m listening,” she says.

  “I know. I’m just thirsty. Could I get a drink of water?” I stand, anxious to walk, to move. To leave the room and stop thinking about it all. Because it makes me want to believe that she meant what she said. What she wrote. It makes me want to believe that everything wasn’t a lie.

  “Oh, right, give me a sec. I almost forgot!” Dr. Alvarez is up and bending down next to her desk, where she drags out a case of Poland Spring water.

  She brings two bottles over and hands one to me.

  “Let’s keep going. I know it’s hard. But we’re making some progress here.”

  * * *

  By the time we reach Grand Central Station, I’m feeling more like my old self again. The “before” Klee. The one from before my father died.

  “I forgot how awesome it is here,” Sarah says, spinning as we climb up out of the terminal.

  “You forgot? You barely live an hour away.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I can’t remember the last time I was here. We used to come a lot when I was little, to see shows for our birthdays. The last one was Lion King. Not since the split, though.” She sings the opening line from The Lion King’s theme song, the “Nants ingonyama” thing, then skips ahead of me. I run to catch up. “I used to love that movie so much,” she says when I reach her. “I still watch it with my little brother.”

  “You have a brother? Does he go to Northhollow?” I don’t know why I sound surprised. Obviously I don’t know much about her. But I want to. I want to know everything.

  She laughs. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, I have a little brother, but, no, he’s not at Northhollow. He’s only eight. And he doesn’t live here. He’s my half brother. Tyler. He’s super adorable. And, yes, if you’re doing the math, that is older than my parents’ divorce, which was when I was twelve, so you figure it out. Anyway, they’re not here. He went to work for his new wife’s brother in Pennsylvania, so it’s not like I get to see him much. They moved there right after the divorce.”

  “Nice,” I say sarcastically.

  “Right?” She wraps her arms to her chest. “My mom went apeshit when she found out, and not just because he had some other kid, but because the new wife is practically my age. So, you can imagine how happy that made her.”

  “Ugh, seriously? Do you hate her?”

  “Well, close. She’s twenty-four. And, actually, no, I don’t. In fact, I kind of like her. Better than my mother anyway, because my mother is a miserable, insane witch. Depressed insane. Needs-to-be-medicated-but-isn’t insane. So, it’s hard to blame him. She wasn’t fun. Ever. You should’ve heard the crying jags she used to go off on … which pale in comparison to the ones she can go off on now.” Sarah smiles sadly and shrugs. “I wouldn’t have wanted to stay with her either.”

  “So, why didn’t you go with him?”

  She jams her hands in her pockets. “Because she may be a miserable witch, but she’s my mother? And, anyway, my older sister wasn’t going to … Well, never mind. Forget that
. She’s already gone and never coming home.”

  “Wait. Older sister?”

  “Got pregnant. Dropped out of Northhollow. Went to hair school,” she says, ticking items off on her fingers. “Left for California with her boyfriend. In a nutshell. ‘Nut’ being the operative word. In case you think your life is a mess.”

  “So you’re an aunt, then?”

  “Nope,” she says. “Miscarried. Which I guess was maybe a blessing. But my mother went batshit anyway. So now my sister is in California, my brother is in Pennsylvania, and I’m the one stuck here with the loon. Anyway, now you know everything there is to know about me. More than you’d ever actually want to know.”

  “Not true,” I say. “I’m sorry about all of it, but I like knowing.”

  “Well, great, whatever. So, basically, if I had gone with him, it would have killed her. I may hate her, but there’s no way I’m going to be responsible for killing my own mother.” I get that, but don’t say it, because, that’s pretty much what I’m doing here in Northhollow. “And, by the way, Alden, now we’re done. Seriously. Enough of this drama and self-pity. Starting now, we make a pact. No more talking about bad things for the rest of the day. No parent shit, or home shit, or school shit. And no Northhollow, either. Northhollow sucks, so we’re totally agreed on that one. And, it’s Saturday and we’re free, right? So, let’s have a happy day in the city.”

  “Good with me,” I say. I want to forget everything, everything except spending a day in the city with Sarah Wood. She lets me take her hand, and we walk through the corridor until we reach the marble walls and high, ornate ceiling of the Main Concourse. In the center, I stop and say, “Look up,” and I point out the constellations in the blue-green ceiling.

  “Wow,” she says. “I never realized those were there.”

  “And, see that?” I indicate the westernmost corner of the ceiling. “The crab, Cancer, over there?” She nods. “Now, look at its left claw, then follow that straight ahead to where the green part meets the cream.” She squints, confused, like she can’t see what I’m pointing to, and I say, “Do you see that small dark square?”