The Ceiling Man

by Patricia Lillie

  “No.”

  “Time to come see me.”

  “Go away,” I say.

  I think maybe my mom is asleep, but she is standing up. People should lie down when they are asleep. She pulls and pulls. I do not want to get out of my bed.

  “Leave us alone,” I say and the Ceiling Man laughs.

  My mom is quiet but her fingernails are sharp and I think they might cut my arm and I think she needs to let go.

  “I’m hungry,” the Ceiling Man says. “If she hurts you, I’ll punish her for you. She’ll never hurt you again. Promise.”

  Sami’s mean bark hurts my ears. My mom pulls and I am on the floor. The blue numbers on my ceiling say 2:11, but blue is better than red. I think I need my dad. I think I need the Woodsman.

  “Get up. Come on,” my mom says.

  Sami barks and growls. I see her teeth. I think I need to scream but my scream is stuck.

  “What the hell is going on?” Daddy turns on my light.

  The Woodsman is here, but I cannot answer him. My words are stuck in my chest and I cannot even say Idunno. My mom is hurting my arm. Sami is hurting my ears. The light is hurting my eyes. My words are hurting my chest, and I cannot breathe.

  My mom would not hurt me if she is awake. I think she is asleep and it is the Ceiling Man.

  “Your mom is mine,” the Ceiling Man says.

  I do not think he has a mom and I do not think he should have mine.

  “We’ll share, Little Bunny.”

  I am a banana. My mom loves bananas. A lot.

  “Bananas bruise easy,” the Ceiling Man says.

  “Daddy will stop you,” I say but not with my mouth because my mouth does not work. Daddy is a policeman. He catches bad guys. He is shaking my mom and she is shaking my arm.

  “Carole, wake up!” Daddy yells and hurts my ears. My mom lets me go. Daddy is the Woodsman.

  “Abby, are you okay?” Daddy says. My mom does not say anything.

  “I am not a little bunny,” I say. My words are not stuck anymore and I use my mouth, but I do not think Daddy hears me.

  “Shit,” the Ceiling Man says.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing?” Daddy is yelling but I do not think he is yelling at me.

  “It is not my mom’s fault,” I say. “It is the Ceiling Man.” Nobody is listening to me.

  The Ceiling Man laughs. “I’m listening,” he says.

  My arm hurts. There is yelling and barking and my ears hurt. It is the Ceiling Man’s fault and I think I am angry.

  “Unnnggh,” I say.

  “Now see what you did?” Daddy says. He should use his soft voice but he does not.

  I cannot breathe. My arm hurts and my eyes burn and I should hurt the Ceiling Man.

  I am crying. I hate crying and I cannot stop.

  “Sami, hush,” Daddy says. Sami barks and does not stop.

  “He is here,” I say. “He should go away and leave us alone.”

  “Who?” Daddy says.

  I look for the Ceiling Man. His friend is laughing too.

  “You are a bad man,” I say.

  “Abby. Who are you talking to?” Daddy should stop hurting my ears.

  My head fills with red and I do not like red. I push the Ceiling Man and he falls down.

  “Whoa. How did she do that?” the Ceiling Man’s friend says.

  Nobody is laughing anymore.

  “I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in,” the Ceiling Man says.

  “No you won’t,” I say.

  “Abby!” Daddy does not stop yelling.

  The blanket is stinky and I do not want it on me but I cannot push it off. I scream and the red disappears. The Ceiling Man is gone.

  I am not a little bunny.

  • • •

  “ABBY, BREATHE.” MY mom’s face is wet and her words are trembly but she does not hurt my ears.

  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?” Daddy hurts my ears.

  “Lower your voice,” my mom says.

  “He is gone now,” I say. I get off the floor and into my bed. “No blankets,” I say.

  “You go to bed. I’ll stay here,” Daddy says. He does not hurt my ears.

  “I am in bed,” I say.

  “No,” my mom says.

  My dad frowns. I do not think it is a sad frown. I think he is Mad Dad. He leaves my room.

  “Abby, I am so sorry,” my mom says. Her face is wet and she is whispering.

  “I am a banana,” I say. My mom loves bananas.

  Daddy is back. He carries his pillow and a blanket and puts them on the floor and sits down.

  “No blankets,” I say.

  “I guess we’ll all spend the night here,” Mad Dad says.

  Daddy is the Woodsman.

  My window rattles and my mom jumps, but it is only the wind. The Ceiling Man is gone.

  “Our house is strong,” I say.

  • • •

  “YOU ARE NOT driving this morning.” Daddy does not hurt my ears but I think maybe he is still Mad Dad.

  My mom is quiet. Her elbows are on the table, and her head is in her hands. I think her head hurts.

  Gramma says, “No elbows on the table.” I do not think I should remind my mom about elbows.

  I will ride the bus to school.

  I get out the peanut butter and put two slices of bread in the toaster.

  “Abby will take the bus home too,” Daddy says. “I’ll call my mother. She can come over this afternoon and stay with both of you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” my mom says. I barely hear her. I do not know if Daddy hears her.

  Mad Dad did not give my mom her coffee and I think she needs it. The sunflower mug is my favorite. Sunflowers make my mom happy. There is no red on the sunflower mug. I only put coffee in it. No milk. No sugar. Daddy puts milk in his coffee. Gramma Evelyn does not put anything in her coffee. My mom and Gramma are alike.

  “No elbows on the table,” I say and put my mom’s coffee on the table.

  “Thank you, honey,” she says. She takes her elbows off the table. Her mouth smiles, but I do not think she is happy.

  Smiles should not be slippery.

  Daddy watches us. I think he is still Mad Dad. Devon should write Mad Dad goes away on his list.

  “Bananas bruise easy,” I say.

  “Abby, let me see your arm,” Daddy says. He looks at both of my arms all the way up to my shoulders. “No bruises here,” he says. “This banana’s all good.” He does not look at my mom. He tries to give me a hug but I do not want one.

  “Where are you going?” my mom says.

  “Daddy says I can ride the bus.”

  “Wait in the porch,” my mom says.

  I think she wants to cry. I think her head hurts. I should tell Daddy it is not my mom’s fault.

  “Sunflowers make you happy,” I say.

  Devon rides the bus. I will tell Devon to write No more Mad Dad on his list. When Devon writes it on his list, it is final.

  “It’s awfully windy,” Daddy says. “Why don’t you wait inside?”

  “It huffs and it puffs,” I say.

  “But it won’t blow our house in,” Daddy says.

  “The Ceiling Man did it,” I say.

  “Abby, who is the Ceiling Man?” Daddy says.

  “Idunno.”

  I do not know who he is. I only know he is.

  [27]

  The Ceiling Man

  “THAT WHOLE FAMILY IS FUCKING NUTS,” Blevins said. “Especially the dog.”

  Nuts was the wrong word. Nuts, he could control. Mom was close to nuts, and she was his. She would have brought him the brat, if not for the dog. And Daddy.

  “Told you I hate fucking dogs,” Blevins said.

  Time to return to Plan A. Get rid of the brat. Make that Plan A Plus. Mommy, Daddy, and the dog were goners too.

  He hoped they enjoyed their last day. He was fed up, but not fed, and there wouldn’t be
enough left of the brat and her parents for a snack, let alone a meal. Not one he wanted, any way. Once they were gone, he’d pay Grandma another visit. Maybe he’d drop in on Twyla too. One for the road.

  “I know what you’re gonna do,” Blevins said. “Can we bring marshmallows?”

  [28]

  Carole

  I DIDN’T REMEMBER ANY OF IT. I only knew what Jim told me.

  I hurt Abby.

  It was the Vicodin. I shouldn’t have taken three. They were gone. It wouldn’t happen again.

  I drugged Abby.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It is not your fault,” she said.

  My headache was gone, and I missed it. The pain might have blocked out the self-loathing.

  After Abby left for school, Jim went to the living room and called Evelyn. From the kitchen, I couldn’t make out his words, but the tone was nothing like the cold, controlled voice he’d used on me all morning.

  “You get some sleep. Mom will be here before Abby gets home.” For me, he brought back the ice.

  “If I’m still asleep, she can let herself in.”

  “Don’t push me.”

  I didn’t mean it the way he took it. “Look—”

  “No. No more discussion. We’ll talk tonight.” He spoke to the cupboards. He wouldn’t look at me.

  I shut up. Anything I said would be a spark to the powder keg. It wasn’t like I had any words to make things better. I hurt my daughter.

  And she forgave me.

  I held myself together until he left, but when the door slammed behind him, the tears flowed.

  • • •

  I CRIED MYSELF to sleep, but the sleep didn’t last. I tossed and turned and tried to remember what I’d done. I’d settled into my chair and wrapped myself in my blanket, but after that, nothing until Jim shouted at me and. . .

  I hurt my daughter.

  When Sami barked, I dragged myself out of bed and to the window. Evelyn was in the driveway. As much as I wanted to go back to bed, I had to face her sometime. I had no idea what Jim told her, but I deserved anything she dished out.

  By the time I made it downstairs, she was already in the kitchen. Sami had no problem with Evelyn letting herself in. Her butt was going a mile a minute while Evelyn petted her and cooed.

  “Now I know where Jim gets it,” I said.

  She jumped. “I didn’t hear you come down. I knocked, but—”

  “It’s okay.” I poured a cup of cold coffee and stuck it in the microwave.

  “I’ll make fresh.”

  “This is fine.”

  “You look. . .”

  I knew what I looked like. I didn’t need her to tell me. Red nose, swollen eyes, I didn’t cry pretty. But, whatever she had to say, I deserved it. Whatever Jim told her, I deserved it.

  She switched tracks. “Have you eaten?”

  “Abby made toast this morning.” My eyes burned, and I blinked away the tears. Not in front of Evelyn.

  “I brought vegetable soup.”

  I sat at the table, watched her heat up a bowl, and wondered why she was being nice to me. Jim must not have told her, at least not everything. Maybe he did, and she thought she was getting rid of me.

  The soup was delicious.

  Evelyn and I waited for Abby in the sun porch. With Evelyn watching, I couldn’t bring myself to go out and stand at the curb.

  Abby was sweet and forgiving in the morning, but she’d had all day to dwell on what happened. Had she told Ms. Colley? Mommy tried to hurt me.

  Evelyn yammered away, but she was background noise.

  “Is that okay?” she said.

  “I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.”

  “I said I would make dinner before I leave. Anything in particular you would like?”

  The bus pulled up. “Ask Abby,” I said.

  Abby walked right past her grandmother and gave me a big hug. A real one. Not one of her lean in for a split second and jump away duty-hugs. “It was not your fault,” she whispered before she let go.

  She couldn’t have made me feel worse if she’d tried. It was all I could do not to fall apart in front of Evelyn.

  I curled up on the couch and listened to Abby and Evelyn laughing in the kitchen. I wanted to join them—even Evelyn—cooking, having fun, being a family. Instead, I pulled the afghan over my head and tried to shut them out.

  When Jim came in, the giggles increased. I could almost hear the hugs.

  “Smells wonderful,” he said. “Let me get changed and I’ll help.”

  By the time he passed through the living room, I was sitting up, blanket off my head, trying to look human.

  “How was your day?” I asked.

  “Quiet.” He still wouldn’t look at me.

  When he came back downstairs, I didn’t try talking to him. He didn’t speak to me, either.

  • • •

  I SHOULD HAVE enjoyed dinner, and not because it was delicious. Evelyn made her Extra Special Deviled Eggs, one of her holiday dinner staples. She didn’t know, but Jim hated them. When we were first married, she gave me the recipe and told me they were one of his favorite things.

  The first time I made them, he took one bite and looked at me like I had two heads.

  “Please. Never again. They’re disgusting,” he said.

  “Did I mess up the recipe?”

  “No, they taste just like Mom’s. I can’t stand them.”

  “She said you loved them.”

  “I never told her.”

  I never made them again, but I enjoyed watching him find ways to pretend to eat them whenever Evelyn did. I wondered why she’d made them that night. It wasn’t a holiday. Maybe Abby requested them.

  Jim slipped one off his plate and passed it to Sami. The dog loved eggs.

  He saw me grin.

  “Pass the eggs, Mom.” He took one and stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

  My smile, weak to start with, died. Evelyn would eventually leave, and Abby would go to her shower.

  When Jim and I were alone, things would get ugly.

  [29]

  Abby

  MY TIMER SAYS, “BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEP.”

  I turn off the water and get out of the shower. It is the only way to make my timer shush.

  Mom and Daddy are fighting. They do not know I hear them.

  “I can’t deal with this anymore,” Daddy says. “What the hell did you think you were doing last night?”

  “I don’t know,” my mom says.

  It is not my mom’s fault.

  “Where were you going? You could have hurt her.”

  “I said I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.”

  “You need to see the doctor,” Daddy says, “and you need to get some sleep. Real sleep.”

  “I’m getting enough sleep,” my mom says.

  I do not think she is telling the truth. Lying is bad, but my mom is not bad. Maybe she is not lying. Maybe she does not know she should get more sleep. If she does not know, maybe it is not a lie.

  “I asked Mom to keep coming over in the afternoons,” Daddy says.

  “What did you tell her? My wife’s a little crazy? Hang out and make sure she doesn’t hurt the kid?”

  My mom is not crazy. It is the Ceiling Man’s fault.

  My mom would not hurt me. She loves bananas.

  The Ceiling Man says, “Bananas bruise easy.”

  My mom loves grapes too. I do not know if grapes bruise easy, but I should ask her if I can be a grape. I do not think I should be a banana anymore.

  If I tell my mom and Daddy I can hear them fighting, they will stop. I think I need to listen.

  I cannot hear what Daddy says. His voice is very low and very soft and I think that means he is very angry.

  “How can I stop?” my mom says. “Haven’t you noticed how scatter-brained and full-strength-Abby she’s been lately? Ms. Colley says she’s out of it in school too.”

  “Has it dawned on you that she’s picking that up from you?”
Daddy’s voice is not so soft but I think it is still angry. It is Mad Dad time. No more Mad Dad is not on Devon’s list. I will tell him again.

  “I’m fine,” my mom says.

  “Is that why you forgot to pay the bills?”

  My mom does not say anything.

  “Didn’t think I knew about that, did you? Were you planning on telling me?” Mad Dad says.

  “I took care of it,” my mom says.

  “You need to stop obsessing over Abby and start paying attention to real things. And get some sleep. This isn’t good for any of us,” Daddy says.

  “Can’t deal with a crazy wife along with a crazy mother and daughter?”

  “That about sums it up,” Mad Dad says.

  My mom does not answer. They are both quiet, but I think the quiet is still fighting.

  They do not know I hear them. I should tell them so they will stop fighting.

  I think I must listen.

  “I’m sorry,” Daddy says. He is not Mad Dad now.

  “You said it,” my mom says.

  “Promise you will see the doctor,” Daddy says.

  “It’s on the list,” my mom says.

  Devon should write it on his list. He should write:

  1. Abby’s mom sees the doctor.

  2. The doctor says Abby’s mom is just fine.

  When Devon writes it on his list, it is final.

  “Tomorrow,” Daddy says. “Call her first thing tomorrow.”

  My mom needs to call the dentist. It is time for my check-up and I did not get a postcard. I will remind her tomorrow and she will call the dentist and the doctor and we will all be just fine.

  “I will. I promise,” my mom says.

  “And get some sleep.”

  “I’ll add it to my list.”

  My mom has a list. I do not have a list.

  Devon says, “The list is my thing. I am the List Maker.” He will write my list in his notebook. “Because I am a Good Guy,” he says. “Devon is a Good Guy is on my list.”

  Devon should write:

  3. Abby’s mom sleeps.

  “Abby? Are you still in the bathroom? What are you doing in there?” My mom’s voice is full of extra happy. That means she is pretending. When my mom uses her extra happy voice, Daddy says, “Uh-oh. Perky. We’re in trouble, kid.”

  I do not want to be in trouble.