Saving Cicadas

by Nicole Seitz

  I had some serious thinking to do. For one, I wished Mama had never met my daddy. Things would have been a whole lot easier that way. But she did meet him, and then he came back again, and she kissed him, and now they were having another baby. Like it or not, there were decisions to be made.

  I’d never sat before a list, ready to write, and nothing coming to me. I was finding it hard to keep my list of pros and cons about the baby. Writing what was good and bad about adoption had made me sad. So, so sad. But writing them about abortion nearly did me in. There was a little brother or sister growing inside my mama. Growing little arms, little legs, a little mouth. I kept having flashes of those horrible pictures in my mind. They were worse than anything I’d ever seen in a movie or the newspaper. Anything I could imagine. But they were real. My list was not so fun anymore.

  I didn’t know why my mother had choices anyway. She was having a baby, like it or not. Babies didn’t come from lists or studying or planning. There was magic in making a baby. I may not have known all how it worked, but even I knew that.

  There was God in having a baby.

  My mother didn’t seem to want my help anyway. She hardly looked my way anymore. She was so caught up with having this child, she’d all but forgotten the two she already had. Was this how life would be when she had even less time for us?

  I wanted to go home. Now. Even though I loved this house and the garden and the sidewalks and the flowers and the trees, for the first time, I wanted to just leave this place and get back to how things were before.

  “You ready to go home, sugar?” asked Poppy, touching my hand and squeezing. He had found me sitting by the strawberries. They climbed out of the ground and over my ankles and made me feel loved. Poppy had this smile on his face like he knew every single thought in my head. Made me wonder if he did.

  “Yes, Poppy. Let’s go hop on a bus and go on home.”

  “It’s not time to go yet, Grayson.” Grandma Mona and her supersonic ears came whirling up behind him. “Priscilla still needs us here. She needs all of us.”

  “I’ll say it again, who are you and what have you done with my wife?” teased Poppy.

  Grandma Mona clucked her tongue and said, “Time away from you’ll do that for a woman. Fine. You want mean? I’ll go back to being mean.”

  “No, no,” said Poppy. “I like it. You used to be that way. Before.”

  “Before? Before what?” I ask.

  “Never you mind, child,” said Grandma Mona. “Every family has a few secrets. Every single one.”

  “But I don’t know anything! Every single thing is a secret to me. Why does being eight years old not entitle a person to knowing a thing?” I was being sassy, but I’d been pushed. And they’d pushed me far enough.

  Grandma Mona ignored my backtalk and said to Poppy, “She’s almost ready anyway.”

  “Yes, I am,” I said. “What am I ready for?”

  “Are you sure?” asked Poppy.

  “I’m positive. Coming here has been good, no matter what all’s gone on. My guess is any day now.”

  “What’s any day now? Is there something gonna happen?” But I realized they weren’t even talking about me or to me anymore, so I stomped away, right through the house to the front porch.

  Standing there, leaning over the railing and looking at that old lady across the street at the yellow house, I realized I’d become invisible, hopelessly invisible. What to do about Mama’s new baby had consumed everybody, even me. But I was done with it. I crumpled my list and threw it hard into the lawn. It was white on green and stuck out like a bat in daytime. I didn’t care I’d just littered. So what if it was against the law? I didn’t like laws anymore. They had nothing to do with right or wrong. Looking at those dead baby pictures had taught me all I needed to know about the law.

  I turned around and firmed my shoulders. I was going up to that attic. I was not going to be afraid anymore. I was going to see what was up there, like it or not, and if a ghost just happened to be there, then she best not mess with me.

  “Come on, Rain, let’s go in the attic.” She was on the other side of the porch in the gazebo. She’d found a gold beetle and was sticking it in a tissue box. Bugs seemed to calm her, and since we’d come back to the house she’d been outdoors with a small butterfly net, searching, scrambling for peace. Rainey looked up at me proud and showing off her find, then her forehead wrinkled. “The attic? Uh-uh. Ghost up there.”

  “There’s no ghost. Don’t you see? There never has been a ghost. They just told us that so we’d be scared and not go up there. But I got a feeling there’s more they haven’t told us. I think everybody’s hiding something in this family, and I’m gonna find out. You coming or not?”

  I didn’t leave her much choice. She put the lid on her beetle and stuck it under her arm. Her face was different than I’d ever seen it. I could tell she was working hard not to think about those baby pictures too. I wondered how she could even process something so awful. It wasn’t in her brainwork to think on things that weren’t good and beautiful.

  I took her hand and said, “It’s just you and me. We’re sisters. We’ll always be together. No matter what.”

  “Okay,” she said, and we went in the front door. Beside me, Rainey climbed the steps, somber but with purpose. Then she took the lead. I watched her and marveled. I was filled with admiration. For the first time ever, Rainey was setting out to face her fears instead of running to a tree hollow to squelch them away. It was the first time I thought I might have a lot to learn from my big sister, Rainey Dae Macy.

  The original staircase leading to the attic in the 1870s Victorian was removed in the 1920s and replaced with a spiral one, or so Poppy had told me. At the top was a narrow door. Rainey and I climbed around and around the stairs with nervous stomachs. We’d never seen a ghost before. What if Gertrude was angry we were coming up? What if she was bent on protecting family secrets? When we got to the top, we swallowed hard because the door was already open.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  THE ATTIC

  The first thing I noticed about the attic was the change in heat. The air was steamy-hot from summer.

  “Mama?” said Rainey.

  My mother looked at us, and a bead of sweat ran alongside her face.

  “What are you doing up here?” she asked.

  “Janie want to come.”

  “Oh, I see. Janie. Well, I thought I told you girls that this attic was no place for you.”

  Mama was on the floor, legs spread out with books in front of her. “What are you looking at?” I asked.

  “Come here, honey, let me show you some photographs of your family. There are some of me when I was little.”

  We sat down on the heart pine floor beside her, and I looked around. There were beams overhead running the width of the room, and a pointed ceiling. There were small windows on the front, side, and back of the house. Boxes and dust were stacked in the corners, and under the back window I saw an old loom, a fake Christmas tree, and two mannequin busts.

  “Have you seen the ghost?” I whispered. Rainey looked at me and then around the attic room.

  “Mama, where the ghost?”

  “What ghost? You mean Gertrude?” Rainey nodded, eyes round. “My guess is she left a long time ago. I’ve been up here a little while and there’s no sign of any ghosts. There’s nothing to be afraid of, honey. I promise, it’s all right.”

  No ghost. All that fear for nothing? I was almost disappointed. I looked up at the rafters and imagined a pot of boiling oil up there, Gertrude waiting for her husband to walk in so she could murder him. I shivered and looked around for a big pot. I saw none. Then I studied the wood on the floor for grease spots, but there were none of those either. Something was fishy. Either the story had been made up or the boards had been replaced. I thought the floor looked younger than one hundred and forty years, so soon my disappointment in not seeing the ghost of Gertrude was replaced with pure relief. I focused on the books and on
Mama’s face as she flipped through them. They were filled with Polaroid pictures.

  “My father was so handsome, don’t you think?” Mama said. “Here we are when I was about four or five at Christmas.” She took her time, rolling a finger along each and every picture. “Oh, and look. You see this? This is when I learned to ride a bike. It was right out there on Vinca Lane.”

  “Where Grandma Mona?” Rainey asked.

  Mama turned some more pages. The photos were all of her and Poppy. “I don’t know, honey. Maybe, maybe she was the one taking all these pictures. Huh. Come on, it’s hot in here.”

  So we took the photo albums down to Mama’s room and spent the next hour looking over them under a cool fan. I learned more about Mama, seeing her as a child. Seeing her with no stress on her face, just happiness. Children were supposed to be that way, happy, I thought. No worries. I watched my mother’s face and saw that something was changing. She was settling into this house, sharing her life, her past with us. She was remembering what it felt like to be happy. And in that hour, sitting on the bed next to her, I almost felt close to her again. Almost. She was still only in her own little world.

  I wasn’t angry anymore about my daddy, though, or about Mama not telling me he’d been back a month ago. She was a grown-up, and grown-ups had reasons for doing things I couldn’t understand. I got that. “When did life get so complicated?” Mama said at one point.

  I told her I didn’t know, but it must be sometime after eight and a half.

  When it was time for Rainey to go to work at the grocery store, Mama left me and the albums on her bed, and I spent the whole afternoon soaking up my history and feeling I had roots for once. I remember that feeling because it didn’t last but for a few days—when everything I thought I knew was finally put to the test.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  THE BURDENS OF APPLE SNAILS

  We’d settled in to a little routine in the blue house. Mama would wake first and get breakfast started. It was simple, mostly using up the big container of grits in the pantry with little pats of butter on top, or sometimes a piece of toast with jelly. Occasionally, a sausage patty. Mama was happy all of the sandwiches were gone. Rainey and I would wake up smelling Mama’s decaf coffee, and every morning we’d have this tinge of excitement itching just under our rib cages. We spent our days exploring the yard because we weren’t allowed to leave it on our own. We learned every square inch of the front and sides of that house, but our favorite place was the garden in the back.

  One afternoon, Rainey and I were out back with Poppy when I found an apple snail on the trellis. Rainey pulled it off and held it in her hands. She was squealing and cooing and petting the little thing.

  “He sure is cute,” I said. “Look at his little eyes, how they poke out. Hey there, buddy, hey there.”

  “I gon’ name it Snaily,” said Rainey.

  “That’s a fine name, Rainey,” said Poppy. “And look here. You see this trail of snail slime? He leaves a trail wherever he goes.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Maybe so he can find his way home,” Poppy said, with crinkles at the edges of his eyes.

  “Nah-uh,” I said. “Really?”

  “I’m just teasing, sweetie.”

  “Oh no!” said Rainey. She’d been lifting the snail up to check the slime trail on her finger when she’d dropped it on the walkway. She leaned down and picked it up. “Look!”

  That poor snail had lost part of its shell on the back.

  “Oh goodness, that’s too bad,” said Poppy, studying it. He was so close I could smell his aftershave. Smelled like pine.

  “Is it okay?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid not for long.”

  “Oh no.” Rainey was trying not to drop it again. She was getting ready to tear up and kept hopping from one foot to the next as if she was in pain. “Okay, Snaily, you okay.”

  “Poppy? He’s gonna be fine,” I said. “See? He’s still crawling along.”

  “Rainey, honey, you see that? See that hole right there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well that’s where the snail breathes. Without that shell, he’ll suffocate.”

  Rainey looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language. She was trying to make sense of this suffocate word.

  “It means it cain’t breathe,” I said. “It’s gonna die.”

  Rainey starting rocking her arms like she was rocking a baby and not just a slimy snail. It was sad to watch. She never meant anything any harm.

  “An apple snail can’t survive without its shell,” said Poppy in a slow, smooth voice. “Even though carrying around that big weight on its back looks hard to handle, it’s his home. Without it, he’ll suffocate and die a slow death.”

  “Well, what do we do?” I asked. “Can we take him to the vet? Can we put some tape on it?”

  “ ’Fraid not, honey. Best thing to do would be put him in the freezer . . . or smash it with a rock. Put him out of his misery.”

  “No, no, no, no!” Rainey started hollering and crying and ran off with that snail in her hand. “I sorry, I sorry, Snaily!” She took off, running around to the front of the house and then down the sidewalk, away from the yellow house and the library. She ran and ran and I ran after her, calling, “Rainey, wait up!” but she wouldn’t stop.

  Her gait was heavy, so I finally caught up with her. She was already six houses down the street and I said, out of breath, “Rainey, it’s me! Hold on. Let me walk with you.”

  She had tears all down her face and a fixed grimace on her mouth. She stopped, and I looked at that snail in her hand. With all the running, she’d wadded it up in her fist and completely crushed its shell. When she opened her fingers and saw the poor mangled thing, she wailed and flung it into somebody’s grass. She wiped her hand off on her shorts and shirt and looked down at her bare feet. They were filthy from all the running. Then she put her hands up on her ears and closed her eyes.

  “Come on, Rain. Let’s go on home now. Mama’s gonna be worried.”

  She shook her head.

  “She’s gonna be mad too.”

  Rainey opened her eyes and searched around. “I go up there,” she said, pointing to a big oak tree. It was plopped smack-dab in the middle of the yard of this gray house with bright white trim. The tree was old and big, and the branches at the top did a loop, so even though there was no hollow in it, there was a place for Rainey to want to crawl into. I thought I understood it, and seeing how upset she was, I thought it wouldn’t hurt for her to have a rest and find a quiet place to listen to the wind. And maybe God too.

  We climbed that tree. It wasn’t easy with no shoes, and it being an oak we didn’t know real well. It took some time learning where all the places were to put your feet. The only tree we ever climbed was this one with a low branch on it about a foot off the ground. It was at a playground at the Y back home in Cypresswood. We’d climb up and jump off, over and over. After a few minutes, we were high up in that tree in front of the gray house and watching the cars go by. Rainey was perched on a branch about a gazillion feet up, squatting like a bird. Her head was resting on her knees. I was up one branch from her, sitting with my bare feet dangling by her ears. The height was making me dizzy.

  “It was just an accident, Rain. The snail, I mean,” I said.

  “Uh-huh. It dead. Bitsy dead. I no like dead.”

  “Me neither. I don’t ever wanna die. Do you?”

  “Huh-uh. I not gonna die.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.”

  We sat in that big tree, for how long, I don’t know. But after a while, we heard Mama calling. She was frantic. “Rainey? Rai-ney!” She kept calling and it was getting louder. We knew she’d be up on us any minute.

  “Time to get down, I guess,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Rainey.

  And before I could say boo, she jumped.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  THE PROMISE

  To be honest, I don�
�t know how I got down out of that tree, whether I jumped, climbed down, or what. All I knew is I wasn’t hurt at all, and I was sitting there on the ground with Rainey’s head in my lap when Mama came up on us. She had an apron on and curlers in her hair. There was no makeup on her red-smeared face. “Oh good heavens, Rainey!” She ran up to me and touched Rainey’s face. “Rainey! Are you okay? Rainey?”

  Rainey’s eyes were closed and she wasn’t answering Mama.

  “She jumped,” I said. “Just flat-out jumped from way up there. I did too, but I’m okay, Mama.”

  Mama started wailing, and then I saw what she was looking at. Rainey’s left arm was twisted under at an odd angle and turning purple. “Help!” Mama screamed, looking around her. “Heeeeelp uuuuus!” It was a scream I knew I’d never get over. In fact, for the next several days I’d wake in the night, hearing that same scream for help and looking up at Rainey’s bunk to see if she was okay.

  Her arm was broken in four places and her ankle was sprained. She had to stay off her feet for a while and got a crutch. Once the cast was on her and her head checked out okay, Rainey was enjoying that crutch, except for she couldn’t get up the stairs real well. Mama showed her how to scoot up on her rear end and push with one foot, one step at a time. And she absolutely forbade her to slide down the banister, which is what I’d suggested, as it just made good sense, seeing as she wouldn’t have to hop.

  Mama was doting on Rainey’s every need. During the day, she got all her books propped up around her and read Corduroy I don’t know how many times. She kissed her on the forehead a lot. She smiled at her in a sad sort of way. She sat with her, sang to her, made me feel like I was absolutely nobody. I was starting to wish I’d broken my whole body in that tree. Maybe then Mama’d pay attention to me.