The Law of Tall Girls

by Joanne Macgregor

The stove top and sinks were choked with dirty dishes, encrusted pots, mugs, used Styrofoam cups and paper plates, and trails of black ants. Overhead, flies buzzed lazily, and I didn’t need to look closer to know that there would be maggots feasting on the decaying food. I lifted my head at a sudden rustle to the side of me, just in time to see a scuttling blur of black disappear behind a tarnished coffeepot. It was either a small rat or a very large roach.

  I shuddered. “I’m sorry. There are no words for this.”

  It was beyond words, beyond comprehension.

  “I can understand why she wants to hang onto your brother’s stuff, but why doesn’t she chuck out the garbage?” Jay asked.

  “She can’t. She feels compelled to make the perfect decision about what to keep and what to toss. And because there is no perfect decision, she gets anxious and keeps everything, just to be safe.”

  “Well, if she can’t make decisions or take action, why don’t you?”

  “You think I haven’t tried? You think I haven’t tried everything? I’ve asked, encouraged, offered to help, negotiated, begged, shouted, shamed, sulked, begged her to see a shrink, and threatened to report her. Nothing works. She ignores or dismisses what I say.”

  “Can’t you just throw out the junk?”

  “If I toss anything out, or even just move it, she goes into a complete meltdown. Then she’s down and out for days, blaming me for making her feel out of control. Like this is being in control!” I swept an arm across a countertop, sending a stacked set of never-used Tupperwares flying.

  “So, nothing works?” Jay said gently.

  I shook my head. “It’s taken years, but I’ve finally realized that she can’t. I mean, she doesn’t want to — I know that — but she also just can’t. She can’t make decisions, can’t prioritize. She has asthma, but she can’t toss dust traps and mildewed books. She can’t distinguish between the value of a working computer and a dead one, between a pair of pearl earrings and a pair of broken shoes, a painting and a cracked flowerpot. Everything is valuable. She once told me that this stuff, all these things, are her ‘friends’. I mean, what do you even say to that?”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her she loved her stuff more than she loved me.”

  Jay winced.

  “You’re just selfish, Peyton. You value empty space over my peace of mind and happiness. You don’t understand what it’s like to be me.”

  She’d been right about that last one, at least.

  ~ 40 ~

  Jay and I retreated into the hallway, where I kicked the pillows ahead of me as we passed the mattress.

  “I used to feel guilty that I couldn’t save her from this, couldn’t help her get better. But I’ve given up. I just live as separately and differently as I can. I’m out of ideas, and I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  I could hear the despair in my voice. Veering dangerously close to self-pity, Peyton.

  “I did once try to go to a Hoarders Anonymous meeting, but I couldn’t get in – the house was packed.”

  Jay ignored my feeble joke. “Does your father know how bad it is?”

  “I don’t think so. He hasn’t been here for years. And I don’t exactly give him updates.”

  “Why not?”

  “He doesn’t want to know. If he did, he’d have to face up to things, own some responsibility, take action. And Dad’s also gifted at avoidance. Denial before dealing – that could be the Lane family motto.”

  I held my breath as we passed the guest bathroom.

  “But living with him would have to be better than this, surely?”

  “Maybe. But I’d have to change schools and move to Blue Crab Bay. I’d miss Chloe.” And now you, too. “And if I left, I don’t think my mom would cope. She’s not good at taking care of herself.”

  “But you’ve applied to college in New York. She’ll be alone then?”

  I sighed. “It’s a real problem. I mean, I want to go. I’m desperate to leave this disgusting dump. And I deserve to, you know?”

  “Hell, Peyton, you don’t have to convince me.”

  “If I’m going to have my own life, I need to get out of here. But that means leaving her alone. And so … I worry.”

  We emerged back into the hall, and I saw that my mother was standing on the lowest step. Had she overheard us talking, heard me saying I planned to abandon her?

  “Oh, hello,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “You’ve got company.”

  “This is Jay, from school. Jay, this is my mother.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Lane.”

  My mother gave a tight smile and smoothed her hair with a hand that wasn’t completely steady. She was clearly flustered by Jay’s presence.

  “I hope you forgive my little mess. I haven’t got around to tidying in a while, so things are a bit disorganized.”

  I gave Jay a what-did-I-tell-you-about-denial look. My mother let her gaze skim over the scene, eyes slightly unfocused — all the better not to see reality.

  “One of my resolutions for the year will definitely be to sort and organize my treasured collections.” She pulled a green plastic toy out of her sweatpants pocket and added it to the other Happy Meal toys heaped on the half-moon hall table below the cloudy hall mirror. “Though I don’t know where I’ll find a spot to display them. It’s a bit full down here. I’m thinking of renting a storage unit because I truly do need more space. But in January, I’m definitely going to get everything shipshape and squeaky clean.” Again, the tight little laugh. “I’d be unstoppable if I could just get going — I have a coffee mug that says that.”

  “Watch this,” I whispered to Jay.

  I picked up the broken red umbrella and held it up in my mom’s line of vision.

  “Perhaps we can start with this,” I suggested.

  “Start what?”

  “The sorting and cleaning and ship-shaping. Let’s start by tossing this.”

  The puzzlement on her features was instantly replaced by an expression of alarm.

  “I can’t just throw things away!” she said, in a tone she might use to exclaim, “I can’t just drown puppies!”

  “It’s broken,” I pointed out.

  “There’s still lots of use left in it. All it needs is a few drops of superglue. I’ve got some tubes packed away somewhere … somewhere here.” She gazed around her as if there was a snowball’s chance in hell of finding anything in the mishmash of madness surrounding us. “I’ll fix it later.” She tugged the umbrella out of my grip and carefully balanced it on a towel-covered section of bannister. “It’s not rubbish, Peyton. It still has value. You can’t just cast aside things when they’re a little old or damaged.”

  Was she still talking about the umbrella?

  “Sure, okay. Then how about tossing this?” I said, bending over to retrieve an old newspaper from a collapsing pile.

  “No, I couldn’t do that,” said my mother.

  “Why not? It’s from” — I checked the date printed near the rat-nibbled corner — “four years ago. It’s old news.”

  “But there might be something important in there.” She made to take it from me, but I pulled it out of her reach.

  “Like what?” I challenged.

  “Well, I don’t know — I haven’t had a chance to read it yet, have I? But it might contain restaurant reviews, or perhaps some delicious recipes. Or even some good coupons.”

  “We don’t go to restaurants. We don’t cook. The coupons will have expired.”

  “There may be news that’s important, or information supplements that you could use for a school project.”

  “All the information and news I’ll ever need is online, where I can find it in seconds. We don’t need to store it in our house.”

  She frowned at me. “Now that might be short-sighted, dear. I read somewhere that people who kept physical copies of newspapers from 9/11 made a fortune selling them on eBay.”

  “It’s okay,” said Jay, softly. “Let
her keep it.”

  But I pressed on, reading the headline out loud. “‘Governor plans to cut state budget.’ It must’ve been a slow news day. I can’t think this issue is too valuable.”

  “We might need it one day.”

  Ah, one day, my old friend. I wondered when I would hear from you again.

  “My things are important to me, Peyton, you know that.” She was starting to sound panicky. “Besides, they’re not in your way.”

  I shot Jay another significant look.

  “I think I’ll just toss it for you,” I said, rolling up the paper and tucking it under my arm, like I planned to take it with me when I left.

  “Peyton, I’ve asked you not to do that! Don’t mess with my stuff! I’ll get to it, okay? Just give me some time,” she said, her voice high with emotion. Tears filled her eyes, and her hands patted her pockets in search of her asthma pump. She was on the verge of hysteria. “Just stop! I like it the way it is.”

  “Enough,” Jay murmured beside me. “I get it.”

  I held the newspaper out to my mother. She snatched it quickly, as though she feared I might change my mind about letting her keep it, and laid it back on top of its pile.

  “I need to get home now, Mrs. Lane. Thank you for having me. It was very nice meeting you.” Jay spoke in a gentle voice, like a horse-whisperer soothing a skittish mare.

  My mother said her goodbyes distractedly, and before Jay and I had even turned to leave, she was checking and restacking the newspapers, crouched down in the waste of times past and a life unlived.

  ~ 41 ~

  I was worried — afraid that after the Lane house show-and-tell, Jay would think less of me, despite his reassurances last night. When we’d stepped out of the dusty despair of the house and into the crisp winter air, he’d told me that no, he didn’t think I was dirty or disgusting, and that yes, he still wanted to keep dating me, and that no, of course he wouldn’t tell anyone my secret. Then he’d hugged me tight for long minutes and kissed me goodnight.

  I’d gone to bed, confused and disoriented, like the solid ground beneath my feet had shifted, propelling me into a whole new territory. I’d done the unthinkable, shared my secret, shown someone I cared deeply about the full horror of the way I lived, let him in on the crazy that ruled my mother’s life, which might even flow through my veins.

  And, seemingly, nothing had happened. My life had proceeded this day very much as on any other Friday. Nothing was different, and yet everything was.

  I felt lighter, freer, more hopeful. I’d thought I’d been keeping the secret, but now I realized that the secret had been keeping me. Holding me back, trapping me in mistrust and isolation.

  Yesterday had deepened my feelings for Jay. He must have been shocked and appalled at what he’d seen and learned about my life, but he’d handled it — calmly, tactfully and compassionately. What’s more, he hadn’t run around the school or social media airing my dirty laundry. And he’d been right — I did trust him more now that I had nothing left to hide, or at least not much. I still needed to tell him about the wager, but compared to yesterday’s grand reveal, the wager was a minor thing, just a silly joke.

  Even so, the snatched moments with Jay between classes and at lunch had felt a little awkward, and that had been enough to jack up my fears. By the time I arrived at the theater that evening, two hours before curtain-up on our opening night performance, I was a tightly spun bundle of nerves. I needed reassurance that Jay and I were still good, but I resisted the urge to call him out of the boys’ dressing room. And kept resisting while I applied my makeup, sewed the spaghetti straps of my bra tank top to my top’s shoulder straps, and hummed, hissed and tongue-twisted my way through vocal warm-ups.

  When even the deep inhalations and slow exhalations of my breathing exercises didn’t calm me down, however, I cornered him in a quiet spot in the wings.

  “And now? Do you want to get into character by practicing our kissing scenes?” He asked when I grabbed his upper arms and rotated him until his face was in the light, and I could see his eyes.

  “No.”

  “No?” The disappointed expression on his face was adorable, but I was not going to be swayed from my mission. I was, as Shakespeare had put it, “bent to know, by the worst means the worst.”

  The words were from Macbeth, so I didn’t say them out loud in case breaking the superstition might actually bring bad luck. I didn’t need any of that tonight.

  “After last night, I need to know where your head’s at.” And your heart. “And please be honest, Jay.”

  “You want the truth?”

  Oh, God, probably not. His expression was so earnest that the news couldn’t be good. I swallowed hard and made myself say, “Yes.”

  “Okay, then. The truth is that last night has changed how I feel about you.”

  I knew it. I knew it. So why, if I’d just proved myself right, did I feel so terrible? My heart sank. I dropped my eyes, stared hard at a stray button lying on the floorboards of the stage, trying to force back the tears gathering behind my eyes.

  “Right,” I whispered hoarsely. “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do,” Jay said. He cupped my face in his hands and gently tilted it up to look me full in the eye. “I respect you more,” he said, at the same moment as I said, “I’ll understand if you —”

  I blinked. “Wait … what?”

  “I mean I already knew that you were beautiful, sexy, funny and talented.”

  He had?

  “But now I know that you’re also strong and brave and resilient. And amazingly resourceful — finding a way to live your life your way, despite your circumstances, in the face of them! Plus, you’re there for your mom —”

  “I am not.” I shook my head in denial. “I am mean and resentful. I am only ever unkind to her. I’m a grade-A bitch.”

  “Your mother’s condition robbed you of your childhood, yet you’ve busted a gut to keep the family secret. You’ve mothered your mom and protected your dad from the truth so he could be free. That kind of self-sacrifice comes from love, Peyton. And a kind heart.”

  The ground was rippling beneath me again. It was as though someone had recognized parts of me I hadn’t known existed. In that moment, I felt real, whole — less a collection of fragments and more solidly myself. The warm glow of love for him deep in my core blazed white hot, pulsed through my body, and radiated from my eyes as I stared into the golden-green depths of his.

  I wanted this to be just us, to be private, but other members of the cast were moving onto the stage, and I could hear Doug issuing last-minute instructions nearby.

  So I stood on my toes, pressed my cheek against his, and breathed into his ear, “I love you.”

  I felt his cheek curve into a smile against my own, and then he pulled his face back to touch his lips to mine, where they moved in four silent but unmistakable words.

  “I love you, too.”

  “Places, please!” the stage manager shouted beside us, making us jump, and laugh, and spin away to our separate sides of the stage.

  I waited for my old fears to nibble away at his words, for the familiar voice of doubt to shake my belief in him, but instead, I felt a deep sense of calm spreading out from the center of me, filling me with joy and confidence. With hope.

  Not even Wren’s snide “Sure you’re up to it tonight, Big P?” could dent my exhilaration and self-assurance.

  “Peyton,” Doug pleaded just before the curtain went up, “give it your all tonight, okay? I beg you, please give it all of you.”

  And I so did.

  I became Juliet. I felt intoxicated with excitement and happiness. I felt just like a giddy, light-hearted young girl at a ball, dancing and flirting. For the first time, I felt just like Juliet.

  There were still undercurrents of the old caution and reticence, but only in my interactions with Mom and Pop Capulet and the others, which was just how it should be. When I was playing against Jay, however, when Juliet was wit
h Romero, it was easy — effortless — to be fully present and completely open, to show my true emotions, to trust him without reservation.

  I was a girl in love. My face glowed and my voice thrummed with the emotion of it. My body was relaxed in Jay’s arms, my hands were comfortable in reaching out to touch him. The connection between us crackled with chemistry. I’d thought I’d seen the best of Jay’s talent, but tonight — with me giving him more, giving him everything, plus the energy flowing from the audience — he soared. And for the first time, he wasn’t acting around me, lifting my performance with the magic of his. Instead we acted together, played off each other’s energy, elevated each other’s performance.

  We were the star-crossed young lovers, blissfully unaware of the tragedy that threatened.

  I was so immersed in my character that when we got to the passionate kiss in the last scene, I lost myself completely in the moment. I forgot that I was on a stage, with images of me projected on enormous screens; lost all awareness of the audience. I was so in the moment that I was oblivious to everything except this amazing, crazy-sexy guy who seemed wild about me, too.

  The remaining barriers of clothing between us frustrated me. My hands itched to touch his skin, and without my consciously willing it, they peeled off his button-down overshirt and flung it aside, leaving him in the tight white T. A split second of surprise flickered across Jay’s features, but when I ran my hands up the muscled length of his arms, he shivered with pleasure. His eyes grew heavy-lidded, and those beautiful lips twisted into a sexy grin.

  “All right,” his expression seemed to say. “You want me? You’ve got me. Let’s do this!”

  He lowered himself slowly back onto the flat top of the fake rock, pulling me right along with him. When I lay almost on top of him, he turned his head to nibble on one of my earlobes, while the hand that the audience could see wrapped around my back to pull me tighter against him. The hand they couldn’t see roamed slowly down my side and came to rest on the side of my ass. Goosebumps rippled over my skin, and my nipples were pebbles against his bare chest.

  My body pulsed with need, my head swirled, and my heart lifted. I only came back to a vague sense of reality when the curtain dropped, and the roar of applause penetrated my fog of desire.