Kat's Fall

by Shelley Hrdlitschka

  She stands and reaches out her hand. “I’m Marie LaRose,” she says. “Darcy’s teacher.”

  “You’re a teacher?” He shakes her hand, limply, but doesn’t try to hide his astonishment.

  “Yes, I am. I’ve brought Darcy his homework.”

  “Hmm.” I can see he’s still trying to get over her appearance. It’s not often we have someone who looks so good in our townhouse. Come to think of it, this is probably a first.

  “So, Darcy,” she says, all businesslike again, “you’ve got your books, so you can get some work done tonight. And I’ll see about arranging that meeting we talked about.”

  “Meeting?” Dad looks to me for an explanation.

  Damn. I wish she hadn’t said anything in front of him.

  “That’s right,” Ms. LaRose tells him. “Darcy and I thought that it would be a good idea to meet with the girls, an interpreter, Samantha’s parents and the police officer and discuss the…the situation.”

  “Darcy and you thought that, did you?”

  “Yes. Yes, we did.”

  I see small red splotches appearing in Ms. LaRose’s cheeks.

  “Well, I think you can mind your own business,” my dad tells her.

  “This is my business. I’m his teacher.”

  “Your business is to teach him. You can stay the fuck out of his personal life.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “You heard me. This has nothing to do with you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  I don’t know who would have won the standoff because the phone interrupts the glaring contest. Dad grabs the receiver.

  “Hello!” he barks into it. He listens for one second and then says, “Darcy’s not taking personal calls.” He slams it down, but before he can go back to his glaring match it rings again.

  “What!” He begins telling the caller off but abruptly pauses and listens.

  “You can take the dog to the pound for all I care,” he says. “Just stay away from here.”

  “Dad!”

  Ms. LaRose must have decided that arguing with my dad is a no-win situation. She starts down the stairs. “Make sure you open your binder, Darcy,” she says. “I’ve included an assignment that’s due very soon.”

  “Right,” I say, but I’m puzzled. There are never due dates attached to assignments when you’re working at your own speed. There must be something else she wants me to see.

  As soon as she’s gone, Dad grabs a beer from the fridge and flicks on the TV. I head to my room with my books. I open up my journal first. Ms. LaRose has written today’s quote on a fresh page.

  To put the world in order, we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must first put the family in order; to put the family in order, we must first cultivate our personal life; we must set our hearts right.—Confucius

  I know one thing for sure; she’s chosen this quote specifically for me. What she doesn’t get is the fact there’s no hope of putting my family in order. Well, maybe she’ll get it now that she’s met my dad. Sorry, Mr. Confucius, but I guess this means the world is screwed too.

  I open my binder and find a sheet of paper folded inside it. I immediately recognize Gem’s handwriting.

  Hey Darcy,

  What’s happening? You looked like you were in a bit of trouble when I left you the other morning.

  I’ve tried to call, but no one answers. I’ve still got Star, but I won’t be able to keep her for long. I have to sneak her in and out of our townhouse complex (no dogs allowed) and my parents are freaked that we’ll get evicted if I get caught with her. She’s not the kind of dog you can hide under your coat. Tell me what to do!

  I missed hangin’ with you at lunch today.

  —Gem

  God. I missed hangin’ with her too.

  I lie on my bed for a while, thinking of Gem, of her face, of her soft brown hands, of her. As much as I hate to admit it, I like her. A lot. Way too much. And I like that she likes me.

  It’s been a day of acknowledgments. I think back to that scene with my mom, of remembering what really happened on that balcony ten years ago. How could I have forgotten something as important as that for so long? Had I really forgotten it? Did I block the memory of it somehow?

  I sit up with a start. If I blocked the memory of Kat’s fall so effectively, am I capable of blocking other things I’ve done…like sexually assaulting little girls? No!

  And how is Kat going to feel when she finds out I am the one who dropped her? I bury my head back in my pillow. It is all too much to think about.

  I long to get out my knife and purge these inner demons, but it’s too soon. I have to let one set of wounds heal before I make any fresh cuts. That damn crying I did today actually seemed to give the same kind of relief, but a guy can’t go around bawling his face off all the time. Cutting is the thing.

  FOR LACK OF anything else to do, and being too restless to sleep, I tackle Ms. LaRose’s quote. I write whatever comes to mind, knowing I don’t ever have to show it to her if I don’t want to.

  How does a person go about cultivating his personal life? How do I set my heart right?

  My personal life has only ever consisted of Kat and myself. Dad’s given us the basics—shelter, food and clothes— but has he ever provided love? Is he capable of loving? How would Dad go about showing love if he did feel it? I can’t even imagine. So even if I did “let my heart right” (whatever that means), I don’t know if my family would ever be “in order.” And Mom? Well that’s another whole story. Order in this family? Not likely.

  I guess you could say Sammy and her parents have been a part of my personal life. Especially Sammy. But now she’s telling everyone that I hurt her. No, she’s saying I sexually abused her. How will I ever set that right? Will she ever be part of my personal life again?

  If I allow Gem into my life, is that a step toward cultivating my personal life? Will that set my heart right? How can it ? With the memories I have to live with, how can my heart ever be set right?

  Is there any hope for me?

  I get up from my desk and stretch. Looking out my second-floor window to the street below, I visualize a much younger Kat, falling, falling, falling. Was she scared? Did I really believe she might land on her feet? She wasn’t even walking yet.

  Hate was far easier to live with than guilt.

  Ten

  Mom shows up early Tuesday morning. My heart sinks when I see her. I’m afraid she’s come back to make me remember some other awful stuff from my childhood. It’s Day Two of my self-imposed grounding.

  “Not going to school again today?” she asks.

  “Nope.”

  “Mind if I make some coffee then?” She investigates our kitchen by opening and closing cabinet doors.

  “Fine with me, but you’ll probably have to go buy some coffee beans first.”

  “Hmm.” She holds up a small lumpy sack of something that she’s pulled out of the far reaches of a hardly used cupboard. “Maybe I’ll just have tea then.”

  I eye the lump that has now been identified as a tea bag. “Suit yourself,” I tell her. “But none for me, thanks.”

  Mom regards the tea bag for a few more seconds. She tosses it in the garbage. “I wasn’t really thirsty anyway,” she says.

  I flick on the TV and make myself comfortable on Dad’s chair. She flops down on the sofa.

  “Your sister’s a wreck without you,” Mom says over the drone of the TV.

  That gets my attention. “She is?”

  Mom nods. She says, very quietly, “I don’t know if I can cope with her much longer.”

  “What’s wrong with her?” I feel my alarm rising.

  “It’s her moods. Hysterical one moment and depressed the next. Between missing you and her dog… and she forgot her medicine on the weekend and then she had a seizure.” She shakes her head. “I’ve got my own stuff to deal with. I can’t deal with hers too.”

  “But you said you wanted
her back.”

  “But I didn’t know how hard it would be,” she says. “I doubt the cop will let her come back here…not now, anyway.”

  Mom gets up and starts pacing. I turn off the TV. “I’m just not used to so much responsibility,” she says. “Weekends were fine. I was building up to it slowly. I think I could’ve done it if I’d been able to ease into it longer. For ten years I had people taking care of me. I don’t know how to take care of someone else, though I’m trying to learn. But right now I’m feeling overwhelmed at the thought of having her full time.”

  Yesterday Mom seemed strong. Today I see her as the weakling she really is. I stand and face her, speaking right into her face. “You’re overwhelmed? What about Kat? What about me? I’ve just found out that I tried to kill my sister when she was a baby. Now I’m being accused of sexually assaulting two little girls. Kat probably doesn’t understand why she can’t come home. And you’re feeling overwhelmed?”

  Mom sinks back down onto the sofa. I do the same in the chair. “Is there anyone else who could take her?” she asks.

  “Only the Kippensteins, and under the circumstances, that doesn’t seem like such a good idea, does it.”

  She hangs her head. I notice the sagging skin under her eyes.

  “Are you doing drugs again, Mom?”

  She shakes her head, but doesn’t look up.

  “Are you turning tricks?” I don’t know why, but it feels good to accuse her of these things. Like we’re getting even somehow.

  “No!” she answers, her head jerking up. “I only did that to pay for the drugs!” I’m shocked at the defensive tone of her voice. “You have no idea what an addiction does to you, Darcy, what it forces you to do.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But I did see what it did to you. That’s enough to keep me off them.”

  “Well I’m glad I did something for you.”

  We sit quietly for a moment. I think about Kat and what I’d do to protect her, which is just about anything. “How hard is it to give her a pill each day?” I ask.

  She looks me in the eye then. “She doesn’t want me, Darcy. She wants you.”

  “Then why did she tell the cop we had sexual relations?”

  Mom shakes her head. “She refuses to talk about that.”

  I flick the TV back on, disgusted with my mom. We stare at the screen for a while, but I doubt either of us is watching the show.

  “Ms. LaRose said she’d try to set up a meeting with the girls and me. We could try to figure out what is going on.”

  Mom perks up. “She seems like a pretty cool teacher.” “Yeah, I guess she is.” Imagine that. Me acknowledging that she’s a good teacher. Go figure.

  “Well, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  Mom gets up to leave. That’s when I remember the other thing I need to talk to her about. “You sure you can’t take Kat’s dog for a while? My friend has her but she can’t keep her any longer.”

  “Sorry, Darcy. There’s no way.”

  I just nod and turn back to the TV. I hear the latch on the front door click.

  THE PHONE RINGS around noon and I listen to the voice leaving a message on the answering machine.

  “Darcy? Pick up the phone! It’s me, Gem. Your dad won’t let me talk to you but I’ve got to.”

  I pick it up and turn off the machine. “Hi, Gem.”

  “Darcy! What’s going on?” I can’t tell whether she’s mad or worried. Maybe both. But what can I tell her? That I’ve been accused of sexually assaulting two kids?

  “I’m home with the flu or something.”

  “Oh. I thought maybe you’d gotten into trouble. There was that cop…”

  “No. That was all sorted out. Just a misunderstanding.” I hate lying to Gem like this.

  “Then why didn’t you take the dog back? Why won’t your dad let you come to the phone?”

  I never was a good liar. “Oh, that. Well Kat’s at our mom’s and Dad didn’t want the dog. You know.”

  “No. I don’t know. He thinks I should keep the dog every time your sister goes somewhere? What’s going on, Darcy?”

  I slump into a chair. I can’t carry on this charade. “Okay, you’re right. I am in trouble with Dad. Kat’s away. I don’t know why the dog can’t come home. My dad’s just got a wicked temper.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I can’t talk about that. But listen. Bring the dog over right after school. I’ll hide her in my room or something. I’m sorry you got caught up in the middle of my problems.”

  “When does your dad get home from work?”

  Good point. We don’t need Dad finding Gem hanging around. “Okay. If the kitchen curtains are open, it’s safe to bring Star in. If they’re closed, it’s not safe.”

  “Isn’t he going to wonder why you’re closing the curtains in the middle of the afternoon?”

  She’s right. I’m lousy at this kind of stuff. “All right. If the porch light is off, it’s safe. I’ll flick it on when he gets home. He won’t notice from inside.”

  She’s quiet for so long I begin to wonder if she’s still there.

  “Gem?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for keeping her for me.”

  “I wish I could keep her longer. She’s so sweet. But my parents said that today is the last day. Besides, Star seems sad. I think she misses you.”

  Yeah right. “That would be Kat she’s missing.”

  “You think so? I miss you.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel something. I feel a lot, but I don’t know what to make of those feelings.

  “Darcy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You didn’t say anything.”

  “I didn’t know what to say.”

  “You could say thanks for having the dog.”

  “I already did.”

  “Okay, how about saying that you miss me too.”

  “I miss you too.”

  I can’t believe I said it. My brain had wanted to, but my mouth and vocal chords wouldn’t do the job. I’m so glad she put the words in my mouth, allowing them to spill out.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Me too.” Oh yeah. That was real cool.

  She doesn’t seem to notice. “Hopefully your dad won’t be home after school so we can have a few minutes together.”

  “Yeah. Hopefully.”

  “Darcy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not too good with words, are you.”

  “You noticed.”

  “That’s okay. I can do the talking for both of us.” She laughs, and I’m blown away by how wonderful the sound of her laughter is in my ear.

  “See you later,” she says.

  “Later,” I say.

  IT' S THE LONGEST afternoon of my life. I pace the living room, watching out the window for Dad’s car. I can’t bear the thought of him coming home before Gem can bring the dog over.

  Eventually I see Gem coming up the sidewalk with Star. I open the door and the dog gallops in, nearly knocking me over in her excitement to be home. I’m surprised at how happy I am to see her, too. It feels like a connection to Kat, pathetic as that is.

  Gem and I stand awkwardly on the landing, watching Star charge up the stairs to look for Kat. I want to invite her in, yet I’m scared Dad will come home.

  “I know I have to leave right away,” she tells me.

  “I’m sorry…”

  Suddenly her hands are on my shoulders and she’s kissing my cheek. “Get back to school soon!” she says and slips back out the door.

  I stand there, stunned. The only people who have ever kissed me before are Kat and Sammy. Maybe Mom did when I was little. I don’t remember. I follow Star up the stairs and watch her sniff out each room. I realize I won’t be able to keep Dad from finding out she’s home. Right now I don’t care. Gem kissed me.

  Eleven

  Don’t ask me how she man
aged it, but she did. Ms. LaRose phoned to tell me the meeting between the girls, myself, the Kippensteins, an interpreter, a social worker and the cop is to take place Thursday afternoon, at the Kippensteins’, as soon as Kat gets out of school. Apparently the girls were enthusiastic about seeing me, which is what made the cop and the newly appointed social worker agree to the meeting. They must have sensed that something wasn’t quite right.

  I spent all day Wednesday at home, agonizing over the meeting. Maybe I really did do what the girls said I did. After all, I had successfully blocked the memory of dropping Kat off the balcony. Had I forgotten again? Am I really a teenage pervert?

  In the end, Dad didn’t say much about Star’s sudden reappearance. In fact, he isn’t saying much of anything at all. He comes home from work, drinks beer in front of the TV and sleeps. Star and I may as well be invisible. He and Mom were informed of the meeting with the girls, but I’ll be surprised if Dad shows. Kat is still with Mom, but I don’t know how they are coping. I miss Kat so much. So does Star. We both spend a lot of time staring into space, pining for her.

  The cop arrives Thursday afternoon to escort me to the Kippensteins’. When we pull into their driveway, I see The Rose’s car, as well as a couple of unfamiliar ones. A sudden wave of panic grips me. What if the girls stick to their stories? What if they accuse me of doing those things to them in front of all these people? What if I suddenly remember that I really did do those things to them?

  The cop is studying my face. “Ready?” she asks.

  I draw in a long breath and nod. I follow her to the front door. She knocks lightly and then enters. Directly in front of us, in the living room, the “jury” awaits. The Kippensteins’ sit together on the couch, holding hands. They won’t look at me. Ms. LaRose and my mom, sitting on chairs, both smile brightly, but I can see they are forced smiles. The Rose is wearing a crisp white blouse with a scarf tied at her neck and a knee-length, navy blue skirt. Very conservative, yet I notice that she still looks as hot as ever. Maybe she just can’t help herself.