Downside Up

by Richard Scrimger

  Izzy shook her head. “It still sounds like crap.”

  —

  We were walking east on Wright Avenue. The look of the street changed at Sorauren. Houses on this side of the street, old factories and offices on the far side. Elvira’s hair looked silver under the streetlights. Izzy hadn’t said anything in a while. Now, out of nowhere, she shouldered me into a parked car.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I didn’t know what to say to my big sister. She wouldn’t have believed me. She didn’t even believe me now.

  “You never liked Casey,” I said.

  “Did you tell anyone? Dr. Nussbaum?”

  I shook my head.

  “Did you?” she asked Elvira.

  “I told my parents, but not like it happened. I knew how weird it sounded, so I made it seem like I was making it up. Like it was a story, a dream.”

  The pressure was increasing. Something was about to burst out of me.

  We crossed Sorauren. A man walked toward us, pulling a wagon with two little kids in it. The man was making barnyard noises and the kids were guessing them wrong. He went baaaaaa, and the little boy said chicken. Then he went moooo, and the little girl said chicken. Then he went pawk, pawk, pawk. The little boy paused and then said cow. And they all giggled hysterically. They turned down Sorauren and the giggles faded.

  We passed the shoe factory. That’s the sign painted on the brick—WATSON SHOES. It’s an old sign. They don’t make shoes there anymore. The bottom of the park was on the other side. Without anyone saying a word, we turned in, away from the circle of light from the streetlight. You could just see the top of a swing set and the roof of the factory outlined against the gray sky. The rest of the place was in shadow.

  Still no one said anything. We walked forward in the dark, listening to the city—traffic noises, birds saying good night, music playing from an open window. I felt like you do when you pull an elastic band until it’s about to snap.

  We came to the drinking fountain. The sewer drain was in the bushes behind it.

  Izzy stood next to me. Her shoulder touched mine. I could feel her shaking. I realized that she was crying. She said something. I didn’t understand her.

  “What?”

  “I want to go. I want to go.”

  I still didn’t get it. Elvira did, though. “You want to go to the upside-down world, Isabel?”

  “Yes.”

  So she did believe us after all.

  “Why?” I said.

  “You know why.”

  Her voice changed. She had her chin pushed out, and her lips clamped together.

  “No I don’t,” I said.

  She pushed me, sudden, fierce, her hands on my shoulders, knocking me backward onto the grass. She jumped on top of me, sitting on my chest, pinning my arms with her knees.

  “You know why I want to go!” she screamed, her face an inch from mine. “You know why!”

  I squirmed. Her tears, sweat, snot, fell on me. Her sorrow was so close. Elvira pulled her off.

  “Whoa, there,” she said. “Whoa.”

  I thought back to my first visit to Dr. Nussbaum, when he asked me if I knew why I was there. And I said, “No I don’t.”

  Izzy was on her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. Elvira was beside her, still talking to her like she was a horse.

  “It’s not fair!” Izzy was saying. “Fred gets to see him and I don’t.”

  “So you miss Casey too, eh?” said Elvira. “That’s too bad.”

  “It’s just not fair.”

  I looked up at the sky. A couple of stars were out now. I never understood what was so cool about them. Little dots of light a long way off. Big deal. I sat up.

  “Sorry, Fred,” said Izzy.

  She was turned away from me. I didn’t say anything.

  She took a deep breath.

  “So how’s he look?” she asked quietly.

  “You know, the usual,” I said. “Like you remember him. Black and brown, floppy ears. That chipped tooth that makes it looks like he’s—”

  “Not Casey. Daddy.”

  “—smiling.”

  I stopped. Felt something inside me give way. The floor falling.

  “You saw him, didn’t you? That world is the same, except for what’s missing here, right? You said that. You both said that. So Daddy was there, right? Right?”

  We were on the sidewalk in front of our house. I didn’t know how we got there. Like there was a scene missing. There was a traffic jam inside my head. Horns honking. No thoughts could move.

  Dad.

  “Who do you think I’ve been talking about all this time?” Izzy was saying. “Did you think I meant Casey? I didn’t.”

  Then we were sitting at the kitchen table with drinks in front of us. Elvira had her arm around my shoulders. “Hey there, Fred,” she was saying. “Hey, there.”

  I hadn’t said anything in a while.

  She turned to Izzy. “I’m so sorry to hear about your dad,” she said. “When did it happen?”

  Izzy swallowed. “Last year.”

  “Not very long ago.”

  “No.”

  “You must miss him a lot.”

  Him. Dad.

  —

  Izzy was talking about him. Elvira was listening, hand on her chin. Nodding her head. Paying attention. I was…I don’t know what I was doing. Wondering. Trying not to cry or be sick.

  “He was a sales manager. Paper suits—you know that stuff that looks like nylon, zips up? Painters wear them. And doctors. Anyway, he traveled all over eastern Canada and the States. He was on his way home from Ottawa and there was an accident, a huge pileup on the highway. Daddy’s car got hit by a tanker truck. It exploded and…” she swallowed, shook her head. “By the time the fire rescue people came, it was too late. There was nothing left. Nothing. Daddy and the truck driver were just…ashes. Did you hear about it? It was in the news.”

  Elvira sniffed, blew her nose. Said how horrible it was. Horrible.

  Izzy glared across the table at me.

  “So how was he? He was there, right? That’s the point of this stupid world. It’s where everything isn’t lost yet. Casey, Elvira’s horse. And Daddy.”

  I was adding up the differences. Freddie’s mom didn’t work like Mom did. She had a car; Mom didn’t. I remembered her bedroom with all the stuff in it. More than one person’s things. I felt stupid for not realizing what was going on.

  Freddie’s mom laughed more than mine, had more fun than mine, didn’t worry like mine.

  Stupid, stupid.

  “I think he was there,” I said. “I just didn’t see him.”

  —

  I don’t know how I got to my bedroom. More scenes missing. But here I was, staring at the ceiling.

  Dad.

  All the things that Dr. Nussbaum kept talking about. All the times I couldn’t answer him. The family of dolls I had played with. Mom and Sis and Brother and Dog. And Dad.

  I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. Stunned, not sad. Well, sad. But stunned too. It’s hard to cry when you can’t even catch your breath.

  —

  I remembered when I tried to teach Casey to shake a paw. Shake, I said. I reached for his paw. Like this, I said. Now shake. Shake. He yawned. I tried again. Shake. Shake. Shake. There was a Christmas tree in the living room. Casey backed away from me, bumping into the tree, knocking ornaments off. He didn’t want to learn the trick, but I kept at it. Shake, Casey, I said. Shake. Shake—until Izzy screamed at me to stop, but I wouldn’t. I don’t know how long that went on. Days, I bet, maybe weeks. I must have used up two boxes of treats. Such a vivid memory. How come I could remember the smell of the Christmas tree, but not Dad?

  “Fred?”

  I was lying on top of my bed with my clothes on, hands behind my head, staring up at the ceiling. Izzy stood in my doorway.

  “Huh?”

  “Di
d you really go to this world? Or was it a dream?”

  “It’s real,” I said.

  “Are you sure? Because I dream about Daddy, sometimes,” she said. “I’m on the highway, and I’ll see him drive past, waving. Or I walk into the kitchen and he’s there with a cup of coffee, you know? Or just standing there. I’ll come in and be so happy to see him, and he’ll smile at me and open his mouth to say something. And I’ll wake up.”

  Her hair was messed and straggly. She sniffed like she’d been crying. My digital clock said 9:45.

  “It’s real,” I said again. “That green hoodie came from there. It’s not mine, it’s Freddie’s.”

  She caught her breath.

  “The house isn’t exactly the same as this,” I said. “But it’s close. Your room has different wallpaper. The kitchen cupboards have new handles.”

  “Wait—I’m there? Me?”

  “I don’t talk to you or Mom much when I’m down there,” I said. “I’m busy with Casey and Freddie.”

  “But Daddy’s there.”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  My window was open an inch at the bottom. My blinds shifted in the wind.

  “How often do you go?”

  “I don’t know. Most days.”

  “Elvira thinks the place is there to help us. She was sad about her horse, and when she came back from visiting it down there, she felt better.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said.

  “And visiting Casey has made you feel better. Right, Fred? Mom said so. That’s why she felt like she could go on this trip. Remember how weird you used to be? Teaching Casey tricks? Not talking? You’ve been happier this past week or two.”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Except you keep going back. Elvira doesn’t. One trip was enough for her. You still feel bad, I guess.”

  “Huh,” I said.

  And I hadn’t seen Dad yet. That had to have something to do with it. I wasn’t done with upside-down world.

  I lay with my ankles crossed, left over right. My left sock had a hole at the top. My big toe was poking out. Not the whole toe—just the outside corner with the nail. I wiggled it, thinking about…nothing.

  “I still wear the shoes Daddy bought me last year,” said Izzy.

  I don’t remember going to bed. My hair was wet when I got to the kitchen, so I must have washed after I got up, but I didn’t remember doing that either. Our lunches were in paper bags on the kitchen table. With our names on them. Elvira was frying eggs.

  After breakfast I went over to the piano. On top of it was a family photo. We got it taken a couple of years ago. The photographer was a woman with a lot of gray hair and a voice like a hammer. She yelled at us, told us where to stand, how to hold our hands. “Now look happy!” she screamed at us. “Happy, dammit!”

  Next thing I knew I was on my way to school. Izzy was with me. She didn’t say anything about last night, and neither did I.

  —

  Velma and Debbie were playing some kind of clapping and catching game with a beach ball. Velma wore tight pink pants and a shirt with ruffles at the collar and cuffs. I didn’t go over.

  Purvis Stackpole was chasing a small white butterfly. He ran awkwardly, hands cupped together, his face clenched in concentration. He almost got it a few times. Other kids moved out of his way, shaking their heads and smiling. Purvis was, well, the kind of guy who chased butterflies. When he blundered into Velma, making her drop the beach ball, he apologized and she kicked him in the ankle, hard enough to make him cry out. The look on her face was empty, calm.

  —

  I kept coming back to it. Whatever subject we were doing, whoever I was talking to, listening to, I’d suddenly remember I had a dad. An old man. Mr. Berdit. My past had another character in it. It was like discovering a huge new room in your house. And yet the memories were not there, as if there was a lock on the door to the new room, or the lights wouldn’t go on. My dad. I couldn’t see him.

  I thought, is he tall, like Mr. Sagal from down the street? Does he have a big smile, like Mr. Ottley who taught eighth grade? Does he have bunches of hair on his fingers, like Dr. Nussbaum?

  Sorry, not does he. Did he. He doesn’t have anything now.

  —

  Miss Pullteeth gave us a page of problems in math. The words blurred in front of me. I remembered a baseball game. It was clear as anything in my mind. A sunny summer Sunday, Blue Jays and Rangers. I could picture the ugly statues outside the stadium. I could smell the popcorn and hot dogs. Hear the announcer: Next up, the shortstop, number fifty-seven…. The dome was open. There was blue sky above me, blue shirts and bright green field far below. But I couldn’t see Dad. Every time I looked over, he had his head turned away.

  “Are you okay, Fred?”

  Lisa looked concerned.

  “You were pounding your fist on the desk.”

  “Was I?”

  She nodded. “Is it that third question? I don’t get it either. How can Stephanie be four times as old as her sister was two years ago?”

  “Quiet,” said Miss Pullteeth.

  “Sorry, Miss P.,” said Lisa, then to me, in a lower voice, “It’s frustrating when you can’t see something, isn’t it?”

  —

  I went into Mom’s room when I got home from school. Where had she put the picture of her and Dad? I remembered it had a silver frame, and it showed the two of them on their wedding day, with Niagara Falls in the background. Mom had strange frizzy hair, and Dad had…I couldn’t remember what Dad had. The picture wasn’t on the desk or dresser or bedside table. Had she put it away? I opened a drawer and found jewelry—bracelets, necklaces, earrings, pins that she stuck in her lapel. And, buried at the back of the drawer, a stick of men’s deodorant. I opened it and the smell was like an electric shock. I burst out crying.

  I dropped the deodorant back in the drawer and ran. I was out the door and down the street before I knew it. It started to rain by the time I got to Sorauren Park. Small, fierce, hard little drops stung like flies and mixed with my tears, soaking my face.

  I had to see Dad, talk to him. I was scared, but excited and sad too. I felt everything. All the emotions, all together. I was in a frenzy. I tugged at the grate like a crazy person. I got it up onto its side, then kicked it so hard it fell right away from the sewer opening. Panting now, I let Casey’s ball fall from my pocket, climbed halfway down the metal ladder and dropped, closing my eyes.

  —

  Upside-down world felt totally natural to me now. I climbed the ladder and ran out of the park as easily as I came in. It was raining in this world too. I puffed and panted to Freddie’s place. I didn’t want to risk running into anyone, so I leaped onto the drainpipe. I got a few feet up and felt myself slipping. The rain, I thought. I slid to the ground and wiped my hands on my pants. Izzy came to the side door and asked what I was doing. I ran past her and upstairs without answering. No Freddie. No Casey either—they must be on a walk. I wiped my eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

  “Hey, Izzy,” I called down to her, “where’s Mom? And, uh, Dad?”

  I tried to make this sound natural. She came into the hall and peered up at me, like I was from Mars. She was wearing the same clothes as my real sister Izzy.

  “What is with you, Fred?”

  Fred. Not Freddie. And then the front door opened and Elvira came in. She said hi and asked if we wanted a snack.

  Crap, I thought.

  “I’m home, aren’t I?” I said. “I mean, really home. I’m Fred.”

  Izzy and Elvira stared at each other.

  Of course I was home. Izzy’s room had her old wallpaper. The bathroom tap dripped. Casey was nowhere. I stood in the middle of the upstairs hall and jumped as high as I could. I did not touch the ceiling. Did not come close. Yup, I was right side up.

  Why hadn’t I fallen? What was wrong?

  I went downstairs and explained what happened to Elvira and Izzy.

  “That’s why you were asking about Daddy?�
�� said my sister. “You thought you were in the upside-down place?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But—I don’t understand. You dropped Casey’s ball down the drain and nothing happened? Why not?”

  Elvira made a snack of peanut butter and crackers. My mind and heart were breaking, but I was still hungry. I took one.

  “You’ve been there a bunch of times,” said Izzy. “Casey’s ball always worked before. So why not now?”

  I shook my head. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The rain was coming harder now. The maple tree in front of our house was swaying in the wind. Elvira’s eyes sparked. Her twisted nose poked up and down as she nodded. She looked like an intelligent fox.

  “Sit down, Fred. Don’t pace around. Relax. You too, Isabel. Let’s see if we can sort this out.”

  Now that I couldn’t get to the upside-down world, I missed it. I felt trapped here in the right-side-up place. I missed Freddie. I missed how much he talked, how easily he laughed. I missed the way he thought I could do stuff. I missed…I missed….

  What did I miss?

  Elvira poured fruit punch. Asked the same question I was asking.

  “Do you miss your dog, Fred?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I guess.”

  “You guess. But you really missed him when he died, didn’t you?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Izzy. “He missed Casey like crazy. Should have seen him. Sad droopy eyes, moping around. Not talking. Bouncing that stupid ball. Mom was so worried. Casey was always Fred’s dog.”

  Dr. Nussbaum and the doll playing—did he know I’d forgotten about Dad?

  Elvira swallowed some juice.

  “Now you guess you miss Casey, eh Fred? It’s not the same, is it.”

  I didn’t say anything. More thunder.

  “So maybe his old tennis ball isn’t strong enough to pull you to him.”

  “I do miss him,” I said. “But…”

  Elvira was quiet, looking at me. A flash of lightning split the window. The crack of thunder followed right away. The lights went out. We all jumped a bit. Even Elvira. I spoke into the dimness.