Black Eyed Susan

by Elizabeth Leiknes

  “I’m reinstating the program,” I said, motioning for everyone to get in the car.

  The mayor was mad. It had not been a good day for him. A mental patient had named himself the wizard, and been taken away on a stretcher. He’d lost his one good witch to a love-struck Tin Man. He was being abandoned by his Munchkin-turned-lion. And I had a strong suspicion that the coroner had sexual harassment suits pending against him.

  Everyone got in the car, except for Leo, who was standing with folded arms next to the back passenger’s window. “Sorry. I can’t get in there.” He stared at Eternity, then snuggling in Will’s lap, as if he were a ferocious beast. “Not with that thing.”

  The mayor was getting closer and angrier. “I’m ordering you to come back here right now, Leo. If you’re not back to work in two minutes, you’re done here, Leo. Fired!”

  “Come on, Leo. Get in,” I begged him. “Are you gonna let a little dog stop you from breaking away from this freak show?”

  The mayor had reached Leo and was standing eye-to-eye with him. “Go ahead and leave. You’re the freak, Leo. You’re weak. Always have been … always will be.”

  Leo held the door handle, paralyzed by the mere sight of Eternity.

  “Look at you. Afraid of a little dog,” the mayor laughed. “You’re a disgrace to all little people. You won’t get in that car. You don’t have it in you.” The mayor looked into his eyes and waited for him to retreat.

  Leo took a step toward the mayor and took a deep breath.

  “Now that’s more like it, Leo.” He put his arm on Leo’s shoulder. “Come with me. You belong here. Remember when I got rid of Toto for you? We accept you and your idiosyncrasies … Others won’t.”

  At the very moment the mayor said that, something happened to Leo. His posture changed, and he removed the mayor’s arm in one quick, deliberate move. He stood as tall as his mini-frame would allow, and he spoke in a calm, intentional voice. “Larry?”

  The mayor said, “I don’t like the tone of your voice, Leo.”

  And then Leo did something he hadn’t done since we’d met him. He smiled. “Shove it, Larry. You’re a despicable person.” He lifted his head when he said, “We may both be little people, but you’re just … small.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, but damn it, it sounded good. And with that, Leo opened the door, shut his eyes, hiding from the horror that was Eternity, and felt his way into the car.

  I peeled out because the moment called for drama, and when we’d arrived safely on the gravel road that led back to town, Will made a request of Leo, who was hugging the inside of the car door.

  “Scoot closer, Leo. He won’t bite.” Will stroked Eternity’s limp body. “He only attacks when I ask him to.”

  Leo didn’t laugh. He just looked at them through the corner of his eye.

  “Dude, lighten up. Did you have a bad dog experience or something?”

  Leo, still hugging the door, kept still. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

  “That’s cool,” Will said. “Man’s gotta have his privacy. I respect that. No more questions.”

  Leo nodded as if to say thank you.

  But Will couldn’t resist the urge to try to fix him. “Did it happen when you were little, because there are some hypnotherapy techniques that work for stuff like this. I bet I could—”

  “Enough, Will!” I said. “He doesn’t want to talk about it.” I glanced back at Leo, and it looked like he couldn’t decide who was scarier, the dog or Will. “Leo, I’m sorry it got a little ugly back there, but that place wasn’t for you.”

  I tried to keep from tearing up, thinking about how it wasn’t my place anymore, either. I was still in shock over what I’d just found out, but I was going through the motions, trying to move forward. I had found my mother. I had a sister out there somewhere. I couldn’t believe how alone I felt having just found two new members of my family.

  “That’s right, Leo,” Will said. “you are officially invited to accompany us on our big adventure. Freaky dog phobia and all.”

  Leo relaxed just enough to remove his cheek from smooshing the window. “Where are you going?” He smiled. “Where are we going?”

  I knew he was ready to move on, and in spite of the emotionally draining day I’d had, I was excited for Leo. And jealous. He was starting a new life.

  “I gotta tell ya, I don’t usually invite change. A you can see, I haven’t exactly been living an adventurous life,” Leo said. “But maybe that’ll change. Count me in. Everything I need is right here in this bag … I can give you some money for gas.”

  “We’ve been lucky with money, Leo. Don’t worry about it,” Calliope said, leaning into the backseat. “Susan likes to be in charge of our little game, but I’ve got our next stop covered.”

  “What’s up your sleeve, Cal?” I asked.

  “I saw her having a little chat with the Lollipop Guild when we were waiting for you,” Will explained, looking at Calliope. “Did you guys discuss local hangouts or what?”

  “It’s a surprise,” she said. “Just drive back into town. I’ve taken care of everything.”

  The place I used to call home disappeared behind us, and when we turned on the radio, we heard “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” The car became silent. Leo finally said, “Well, that’s weird.” When Will explained the radio game to Leo, it struck me: Were we playing the game or was it playing us?

  “There’s something I need to do,” I said.

  Calliope leaned forward to look at Will, who in turn looked at me. “Is this about what you dug up?”

  I nodded and drove straight to the Grand Rapids Mental Hospital. It didn’t have one of those Hallmark card names like Sunny Village or Pine Meadows. Its name reflected what it was: a hospital for sick people. I figured I’d fit in just fine.

  When I pulled into the parking lot, Will put his hand on mine. “Want me to come with you?”

  I smiled. “Why don’t you and Leo go gas up and get something to eat? Cal can come with me. We won’t be long.”

  In typical Will fashion, he chose action over words and handed me a card, as if to say, “In case you need me.”

  Trying not to look surprised that he had a business card, I looked at one side:

  And then the other:

  As I pocketed the intriguingly bipolar card and watched the car drive away, I noticed another car and cringed. Two blocks up the street sat Mono and Clyde in their Taurus, waving at me and reminding me of their presence. Damn it, I thought, how did they find me?

  “Come on,” I said, leading Calliope across the parking lot and through the front doors before she saw them. A doorman behind a desk tipped his hat. “Afternoon.”

  I nodded and gave him a short smile. “Hi. We’re here to visit Ruby.”

  Looking surprised, he picked up the phone on the wall. “And who should I say is visiting?”

  I had to think fast before Calliope could answer. If we told them our real names, they wouldn’t let me see her. “This is Ann,” I said, pointing to Calliope, “and I’m, uh, Nancy.” He waited for me to say a last name, so I gave him the first one I could think of—“Wilson.”

  Calliope whispered, “I wanna be the skinny one.”

  “We’re doctors,” I told him, and folded my arms in an attempt to look professional. “Drove up from Minneapolis.”

  “I thought we were singers,” Calliope continued in a whisper. “Are we at least heart doctors?”

  I gave her a “just play along” glare, while the man at the desk hung up the phone and pointed to the elevator. “Second floor.”

  When we stepped in the elevator, I pushed the second floor button, and when Calliope couldn’t stand the suspense anymore, she said, “Droppin’ in to say hello to someone?” Something told me she knew why we were there.

  “Goodbye, actually.”

  “I see.” She looked up into nothingness and said, “I don’t know about you, but I hate goodbyes,” then checked to see if I was paying attention. �
�So did my father. He had this rule. Never, under any circumstance, could you say the word ‘goodbye.’ He always created some sort of diversion to avoid the actual parting.”

  The elevator stopped, the doors opened, and we started down a long, narrow hallway. “What kind of diversion?” I asked.

  When she smiled, I saw how much she loved her father. “When I went off to camp every July, he’d get really sad, and as I was getting ready to leave the house, he’d make up something for me to get upstairs. When I came back downstairs, he’d be gone, leaving my mother to take me. And I fell for it every time, every year. The day he died, he seemed to be recovering fine from a routine operation, so when he asked me to go get him a hot fudge sundae, I didn’t hesitate. I was all the way to Dairy Queen before I realized he was gone.”

  Calliope stopped in the middle of the hall and looked straight at me. “The trick, Susan, is to never, ever say goodbye.”

  After sneaking through the first closed door we came to, which turned out to be a workroom with a kitchenette area, I stole two lab coats hanging on the wall. Calliope inhaled someone’s half-eaten sandwich from the mini-fridge, and then grabbed two clipboards sitting on the counter.

  When we walked back into the hallway, we held our heads high, emerging confident, in charge—and in uniform.

  “Doctor?” Calliope said, and it took me a few seconds to realize she was talking to me. “Can we switch? Your coat is cuter than mine.”

  I shushed her, which prompted the muse to return. In a flash, she cradled my face in her hands, lulled me into submission, and raised her finger.

  “No battle fought is won by only one,

  A soldier on her own is just alone.

  Respect the loyal friend who has your back,

  For she may offer something that you—”

  “Just take it,” I said, handing her my coat.

  “Cool.” She put it on with pride. “So who are we saving, Doc?”

  “Just follow my lead,” I said, approaching the nurse’s station.

  A woman in scrubs, who had just hung up the phone, asked, “Can I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Ruby Newton. My people set it up with Dr. Harris—we’re conducting some field research on patients with personality disorders and—”

  “Is she with you?” the woman said, now sporting a suspicious look and pointing behind me. I turned around to see Calliope, clad in her doctor’s coat and clunky high-heeled shoes, wiping lip gloss off her teeth while staring at her reflection in a mirror on the wall.

  “Yeah, she’s with me, she’s a … resident, in training.” I said. I changed my voice to sound more doctor-ish. “We won’t be long. Just a few questions.”

  The nurse stared me down. “Ruby doesn’t usually have visitors. We try to keep her in an environment that’s stress-free.”

  “Yes, we know her history. We’ll be very conscious of that.” The nurse was still skeptical, so I lifted up the phone receiver and chuckled. “You can page Dr. Harris if you like. You know how much she likes getting calls when she’s on vacation.” I rolled my eyes, trying to look as if I knew Dr. Harris intimately.

  After a pause, she said, “Room eight, fourth door on the left.”

  With Calliope by my side, I focused on putting one foot in front of the other until I reached my mother’s room. The door was cracked, so I peeked in to see her, sitting in a rocking chair by the window. Her blonde hair formed a loose bun in the back of her head, and the smell of lilacs filled the room. On her bed was a rainbow quilt, and on her nightstand was a worn copy of the Holy Bible.

  My mother turned her head around when she heard Calliope and I walk in. “Hi,” she said, still rocking. Her face was soft and pretty, like it’d just been dusted with shimmery powder. She was calm and matter of fact. “Can I help you?”

  I stood frozen, unable to speak.

  Calliope rescued me with a lighthearted voice. “Hey, Ruby, we’re here to make sure these folks up here are doin’ a good job,” she said, motioning for me to get closer.

  “Okay,” my mother said, turning her rocker so she could see us. I soaked up every bit of her, and finally stopped staring when Calliope raised her eyebrows.

  I didn’t want to risk her recognizing me, so I picked up a magazine sitting on the windowsill and tried to get her to focus on something other than me. “Ms. Newton, I’m going to show you a few pictures, and I want you to give me your gut reaction to them. This is a really cool test named after Ror—”

  “I know what a Rorschach test is, darlin.’” She smiled at me. “Aren’t you missing the ink blots?”

  “No, this is much more diagnostically sound,” I said, turning to the first page, an advertisement. Expecting something deep, I asked her what she saw.

  She laughed, like a mother does when her child wants to play a silly game. “Well, I see a model selling lipstick.”

  I turned the page. “And this one?”

  My mother rocked back and forth with a rhythm both strong and consistent. “Two women sitting at a table.”

  I probed further. “What are they thinking, Ms. Newton?”

  With her folded hands resting in her lap, she continued to rock. “Probably something like when is this damn photo shoot gonna be over? It’s my tenth cup of coffee and I have to pee.”

  Calliope laughed, and I could tell she felt the same way I did: Ruby Newton didn’t seem crazy at all.

  Then I tried something I’d once seen on the Discovery Channel called thematic apperception, where you ask someone to create a story in response to a picture.

  I turned the page again. “Who do you see here, Ms. Newton?” The picture showed a mother holding a baby.

  And then, without warning, my mother became someone else. The rocking chair came to an abrupt halt, and her eyes lost all life. “It’s a mother and her child. She has to leave her.” She became agitated, and said in a stern voice, “But she doesn’t want to leave her—”

  “I’m sure her baby knows she loves her.” I tried to calm her down by putting my hand on hers. “What is the mother trying to say in the picture, Ms. Newton? What would she say if she could?”

  She spoke in a soft voice. “She would say that family is the most important thing … It saves us. Family heals us.” She swallowed hard, as if she were trying to rid herself of sadness. “The mother would tell her to never give up.”

  I held her hand and looked into her eyes, but she broke her gaze and stared out the window. “He was left by the river, you know,” she said

  “He?” I asked.

  “My baby—I saved him. He was abandoned.” She turned back to look at me, and when she did, I could tell my eyes caught her attention, and she focused on them one at a time. Her voice got louder. “But sometimes, I have this dream that there were others, too. Baby girls.” She started to talk in a controlled panic. “And I dream that I just left them.”

  I squeezed her hand. “It’s just a dream, Ruby. Why don’t you talk to these babies in your dream? What do you want to say to them?”

  Sunlight connected with one lone tear as it made its way down her cheek, and in a dreamy confession, she said, “I would tell them I’m sorry I let them down.”

  After a moment of silence, I grinned at her, letting her know it was okay to smile, and gave her rocker a nudge, to get her going again.

  And then, finally, I turned the page … for good.

  As I looked at my mother for the very last time, I decided she was a miracle, and without thinking, I did something as automatic as a breath or a heartbeat—I prepared for one final farewell.

  But just I was about to wave goodbye, Calliope stopped me by touching my hand for a brief moment and then walked out the door. I said nothing, my non-goodbye and, as I walked away, all I heard was my mother’s rocking, slow and steady and strong.

  I wanted to sit down and have a good cry, but I didn’t have time to mope. My work there wasn’t finished yet. I told Calliope I needed important information from Ruby’s file, and
then pointed to Dr. Harris’ office, which I’d seen on the way to my mother’s room.

  “So what’s your plan?” she asked.

  I took a deep breath and explained, “Okay, you’re gonna call the nurse’s station, pretending to be Dr. Harris, and tell the nurse you need her to go get something from her office. After she goes to unlock it, distract her so I can sneak in and steal the file.”

  Calliope stared at me, not saying a word, then glanced down the hallway to make sure no one was looking. She took a credit card out of her purse, walked over to Dr. Harris’ office door, unlocked it with one swipe, and then, using her free hand, stretched just far enough to pull the nearest fire alarm.

  “I’d say you have about five minutes before they catch on,” she said, as everyone on the floor began buzzing around in a frantic mess. Calliope gave a nonchalant look at a nail she’d chipped in the process of breaking and entering, then said in a calm voice, “I’m gonna go make sure our getaway car’s primed and ready.” She winked. “Don’t be long. I’ve got a big evening planned for us.”

  Amidst all the chaos, I tore into Dr. Harris’ office, shut the door behind me, and headed straight for the first filing cabinet I saw. I got lucky. In the “N” file was a big brown envelope with Ruby’s name on it. I took out the only component of the envelope, a worn folder with a rainbow on the front. Inside were five letters. I read the one on top.

  blue

  (adj)

  Definition:

  1. having the color of the sky on a cloudless day, or any similar shade.

  My definition:

  1. the sensation I get when I hear Marvin Gaye.

  February 29, 1988

  Dear Ruby,

  Today I turned sixteen. And today I also learned that you existed. I’ve always suspected that I came from somewhere else. I don’t exactly look Chippewa. My blonde hair pretty much makes me the resident freak. That, and the fact that last year I got struck by lightning and now everyone on the whole reservation thinks I’m some sort of holy girl. Woman. Whatever. Anyway, today I asked my mom where I came from, and she said that I came from you. I don’t know where you live, and I don’t even know if you’d want to hear from me, but I thought I’d write a letter to you—maybe you’ll read it.