I wish you’d stay with Mrs. Franklin, Dad says.
I’ll be fine, says Leo. He gets up and hugs Dad first, then me.
Be good, Leo tells me.
We watch until the green car is gone. I’m holding Dad’s cold hand.
Leo gave me his Guinness Book, I say.
That was nice of him, says Dad.
We’re walking back to the house and he’s looking over his shoulder at the driveway where the green car was. I don’t know what he’s seeing.
You know, I say, there’s a parrot named Prudle who knows a thousand words. That’s the most words of any bird, I tell him.
He doesn’t say anything.
Dad, I say, do you want to go out for breakfast?
I’m sitting by the fireplace, making a list. Yesterday Cass found a Polaroid camera in the closet, and my list is of all the things I want to take a picture of: 1) the cat, 2) the yellow bike, 3) the broken pier, 4) Dad’s face.
The doorbell rings and I have to get it because Dad’s in the shower and Cass is still sleeping on the cot we set up for her next to my bed.
I open the door just a little bit and see Jackson.
I’m making a list, I tell him.
Jackson’s playing with the zipper on his coat, pulling it up and down.
Let me in, he says.
I open the door for him and then go back to the fireplace where my list is. Jackson comes and sits next to me. He takes off his coat and drops it on the floor by our feet.
My mom said to ask if you and your dad will come over for dinner, Jackson says.
I nod yes.
You have to tell your dad, says Jackson. He looks into the fire. We could burn something, he says. What’s that? He points at my list.
My list, I tell him. I’m getting a camera.
You don’t need it, he says. He grabs my list and throws it in the fire.
We watch the paper crumple up and burn into black.
I can remember the list in my head: 1) the cat, 2) the yellow bike, 3) the broken pier, 4) Dad’s face.
Where’s your dad? Jackson asks.
I tell him that Dad’s in the shower. I listen then and the sound of running water is gone.
I guess he’s out of the shower now, I say.
Do you want to go to the park? Jackson asks and picks up his coat off the floor.
No, I tell him, I’m going with my dad to buy film.
Jackson stands up and puts on his coat.
Fine, he says. He reaches into his pocket then and pulls out a white piece of folded-up paper.
Here, he says, it’s from Shelly.
I take it.
See ya, says Jackson and he goes.
I open up the white paper. The picture is of the sky with a rainbow and a hot-air balloon. There are also two birds flying. One bird is red and the other is blue and wearing glasses like me. At the bottom of the picture it says, For: Sebastian, From: Shelly.
I fold it back up and put it in my pocket. In my head, I have the list of pictures I need to take and now I think of more: 5) the blue house, 6) Jackson’s mom, Alison, 7) Dad’s scar on his stomach.
I can hear Dad coming downstairs.
Sebby, he calls.
I’m here, I say.
Dad comes into the fireplace room. He’s wearing his jeans now and a different T-shirt that’s dark blue and says WELLESLEY in white letters. He sits down next to me. I lean in close to him and smell by his neck. Dad smells like the white soap.
I have to take lots of pictures, I tell him.
Yeah, Dad says, how many?
Seven, I tell him, but I’m still thinking.
The cat comes over to us. He rubs against Dad’s legs and then jumps up by the fireplace where Dad put a pillow for him. I watch how the cat has to turn in circles before he lies down.
Jackson’s mom wants us to come for dinner, I tell Dad.
He stops petting the cat.
What? he says. Why? We’re fine. We don’t need their dinner. He leans forward and holds his head. For Christ’s sake, Dad says.
Cass is laughing and talking on the phone to Emma. She sees me watching her and says, Come say hi.
I shake my head no and run away upstairs. Dad’s on the floor sleeping with his music playing. The song is one I know, about being eight miles high.
I sit down next to him and take a picture of his sleeping face. The square photo comes out of my camera and I have to shake it and wait for the colors to show up. On the white part at the bottom, I write, Dad’s face, and then I look at my new watch that Dad bought me. It’s black and Velcros onto my wrist. It says the time and the date so I also write, December 4, 1992, 7:14 pm.
I have to take a picture of Dad’s scar, too. I lift up his T-shirt to see it. I know his scar will be there forever.
I take the picture and wait for the colors. On the bottom I write, Dad’s scar, December 4, 1992, 7:15 PM. Then I put Dad’s shirt back down over his stomach.
Now I’ve taken all the inside pictures.
I stand up and look at Dad sleeping on the floor. He looks small. His socks are stretched out funny and they’re falling off his feet. I take a picture of his feet like that and then I write the time and the date.
In Dad’s room, I find clean socks rolled up in a ball. I bring them back to where Dad is sleeping and I sit down by his feet. It’s easy to pull off his dirty socks. The new socks are tight and hard to pull on.
I crawl over to Dad’s sleeping face. He can’t see me, but I am here and I can see him.
Dad, I whisper, I need to be with Mother.
His arm has a little scab. I pick it off and a dot of red blood comes out of Dad’s skin. Just a dot of blood.
I don’t hear Cass coming, but there she is standing at the top of the stairs.
Sebby, she whispers, let him rest.
I go over to her. She takes my hand and we walk downstairs to the kitchen.
I made hot chocolate, she says.
We sit at the table and Cass tells me she’s going to visit Emma for the night.
I’ll leave her number right over by the phone, says Cass, in case you need to call me.
She gets up then and pours hot chocolate into two mugs.
Marshmallows? she asks.
Yes, I say.
She brings the mugs and a bowl of marshmallows to the table.
Will you sleep here tonight? I ask her.
I don’t want her to go yet, because Dad already fell asleep and I like her being next to me in the cot by my bed.
How about I go after you’re asleep, Cass says. I’ll be back tomorrow.
I drop marshmallows into my hot chocolate and watch how they melt.
You could come with me, she says.
No, I tell her.
I try to take a sip, but the hot chocolate’s too hot.
At night, when Mother was a girl, she walked in circles around the outside of her white house. She couldn’t walk around inside because the floor made spooky creaking noises. So she waited in bed and watched the white numbers on her clock. When the clock said 11:30, then Mother got up and she walked in circles and circles. She didn’t go away from the house where the dark was really dark. I know why. Because the dark far away from the house is different. It feels cold and empty. I know how it feels.
In her head, Mother made a decision. She didn’t want to sleep anymore. Sleeping made the time go too fast.
To find Mother, I have to walk in circles and then she will take me with her.
It’s snowing on me. I don’t feel cold.
The snow is quiet. If I hold very still, I can’t hear any sounds and then I have to make a noise so that I know I can still hear.
Circles and circles make the time go slow. There is too much time. I want to run to make the time go faster, but I’m so tired.
What happened? Dad’s asking me. He keeps asking.
I don’t remember. I don’t remember going to the shed and falling asleep.
My feet and hands are in bowl
s of warm water. Dad’s walking back and forth. He’s walking and looking down at the floor.
You’re very lucky, says Dad.
I can feel the bones inside my feet and hands, hurting. I have to keep them in the bowls of warm water.
You gotta stop this shit, Dad says.
I tell him okay. Don’t tell Cass, I say, please.
Dad doesn’t say anything.
Please, I say.
Dad sits down. Then he gets up again and walks back and forth. He stops and hits the table hard with his fist.
Dad, I say.
Dad’s holding his fist.
He’s screaming, Oh fuck, shit! He bends over and falls forward on his knees.
Dad’s screaming, Fuck! His forehead is on the ground and his shoulders are shaking. He’s crying. He’s crying and saying, Oh fuck. His voice is lower now, like a whisper.
Dad, I say again, but he doesn’t hear me.
Dad’s sitting with me at the table. He’s watching me write. I’m showing him that I can do it.
See, I say. My hands are working. I can use my hands. I can wiggle my toes, too. My hands and feet are not hurting anymore.
I’m writing,
Dear Katya,
I live in a white house that’s very far away from you.
A cat lives here, too. He is my cat and also my dad’s.
Remember, we were sitting on the brown carpet and you asked me what I do in the day instead of school. I’m taking pictures with my camera.
I have new friends. Their names are Jackson and Shelly.
You were not nice to me and I don’t want to love you anymore.
From, Sebby
Dad says, Katya is your friend.
I shake my head no.
We’re not sending the letter, says Dad, you have to be nice to people.
I put down my pencil and it rolls off the table. I watch it land on the floor and roll away until it stops.
She’s not nice to me, I tell Dad.
That doesn’t matter, he says. He goes and picks up the pencil with his good hand. His hurt hand is wrapped up in an old white T-shirt.
I don’t say anything. Dad’s looking out the window now so I look out, too. It’s snowing outside. Pieces of snow stick to the window.
Then Dad starts saying the words to the song that Van Morrison sings. He says the words about girls rhyming on their way home from school. Dad talks like he’s saying something mean. His voice is hard and he’s looking out the window at the snow. He says the words about leaves falling and not being able to speak.
The words get stuck in Dad’s head and then he has to let them out. This has happened before.
He’s standing up with his arms crossed against his chest and his head rocking back and forth. He’s saying the words faster and louder.
Dad says the words about cherry wine. His head is rocking and his hand bangs against his chest with each word.
Dad! I yell at him.
He stops then and looks at me.
I’m sorry, he says and he goes.
I follow him and watch him run fast up the stairs. Dad holds out his hand to tell me not to come.
Sebby, he says at the top of the stairs, leave me alone.
I stop and then the house gets quiet. I want Cass to come back from Emma’s now.
I look at my new watch. It says 4:57 pm. I don’t know what to do.
I walk outside. The sky is low and flat with no clouds. There’s snow everywhere. In my head, a line connects the house where I live to the blue house where Jackson lives. I follow the line that goes straight, then right, then straight, then left—the line makes a shape like a hook.
The blue house is sad today. I stand by the mailbox, looking. The upstairs windows are white from pull-down shades. Nobody’s home. In front of the door, a newspaper is waiting.
I reach out and put my hand on the cold, black mailbox. I leave my hand there until my hand is cold and I watch the house look sad. The roof is white from snow.
I put my cold hand in my pocket and then walk up to the blue house. What I do is just sit on the front steps. I know I can’t stay for very long because I promised Cass I’d come back soon. She made me look at my watch. Thirty minutes, she said.
I take the letter out of my pocket. Dad gave it to me.
I can’t, he said, I can’t keep this anymore. He said, I’m sorry.
I unfold the letter again and look at it. I know all the words. The letter says,
Feb. 14, 1984
To my Sebastian,
Today, you are five days old. I have to tell you this now. When I hold you, I get a strange feeling inside. I feel like I am missing you even when I’m holding you, even when I’m looking at you right there in my arms. I don’t know what this means. Maybe you will understand. Please, try to understand. You’re sleeping right now. I watch you sleeping and I miss you. I need you to know how much I love you. I need you to know and hold on to my love always.
Yours, Mother
I look at the words. Then I fold the letter and put it back in my pocket, but I can still see all the words in my head. The words are just words from reading them too much and I don’t know what they mean.
Snow is falling again, hiding the houses and the trees and the street. I run. If I stop, the snow will cover me up and make me disappear. I run the line that is like a hook all the way back to Dad and Cass.
Dad wakes me up late at night. I can hear Cass talking and laughing on the phone downstairs.
John Lennon died exactly twelve years ago, Dad says and carries me into his room. The TV whispers and flashes colors. I want to touch the warm screen.
Dad points to the black alarm clock next to his bed. The green numbers are blurry without my glasses on, but I can read them. The clock says 11:02 pm.
This is when it happened, Dad says, five shots.
On TV, there’s John Lennon, not dead. He’s saying, Everything we do is aimed at peace.
I hate these retrospectives, Dad tells me.
I watch a blurry picture of John and Yoko sitting together in a big, white bed. The picture changes to another picture of John and Yoko lying together on the floor and then the pictures flash faster and faster so you can hardly see them. The TV screen goes black for a second and there’s a still picture of John Lennon’s face with dates too small for me to read.
What’s it say? I ask Dad.
Nineteen forty to nineteen eighty, says Dad.
I scoot down off the bed and touch my hand to John Lennon’s warm face. It pops with static.
Come here, Dad says.
I lie down with my head on his leg and close my eyes. Dad puts his hand on my back.
Cass helps Dad get ready for dinner at Jackson’s house. She straightens his collar and fixes his hair and gives him Tylenol to make his hurt hand feel better.
Try to be friendly, Cass says.
Before we go, Dad unwraps his white T-shirt bandage. He sees me looking at how his hand is dark purple blue and swelled up.
I’m fine, Dad says.
It’s snowing again. The sky is sinking down low and turning dark for night. I’m walking, looking up. The dark is coming lower and closer. Snow lands on my face and stings when it melts.
At the blue house, I knock on the front door and I can feel Dad standing there behind me.
Jackson lets us in.
I have to take Dad’s good hand and pull him inside.
Hi, Jackson says and then runs away.
Jackson’s mom comes out from the kitchen. She’s wearing a white sweater. I look down at her feet. Today she’s wearing socks. Thick, white socks.
Hi, Sebastian, she says to me, how are you, honey?
I don’t like your socks, I tell her.
Sebby, Dad says. He grabs my arm and squeezes too hard.
It’s all right, she says. She’s looking at her feet and then she looks up at Dad. We’ve never met, she says. I’m Alison.
Stephen, Dad tells her.
Shelly comes running
out of the kitchen then and hides behind her mom.
This is Shelly, their mom says, and you’ve already met Jackson.
Dad nods.
We go sit down in the room with a tan-colored couch and chair. The TV’s turned on and there’s a JELL-O commercial with Bill Cosby’s big, squishy face. Jackson’s mom reaches for the remote on the table and clicks it off. In the empty screen, I can see Dad and me sitting next to each other on the couch. Dad crosses one of his legs on top of the other and shakes his foot.
Jackson! their mom turns and calls into the kitchen, come out here and bring your brother. She’s sitting on the tan chair and Shelly’s on the floor in front of her.
Hang on! Jackson yells back.
Their mom looks at me and Dad and says, I’m so glad you two could come.
Dad coughs and clears his throat.
You’re Sebby’s dad? Shelly asks.
Yes, he says to her, yes I am.
Shelly stares at Dad. I look at his face, too. His skin is very white and I can see that he’s sweating. There are dots of sweat around his nose and above his lip and also on his neck.
P-p-p-pleease, says a funny voice from the kitchen. Jackson comes out then. He has on a plastic Roger Rabbit mask and Baby Chester’s wearing a Jessica Rabbit mask. They’re walking over to us, but slowly, because Baby Chester takes tiny steps.
Oh, Jackson, says their mom.
Baby Chester’s a lady, Shelly says and she laughs.
Take those masks off now, their mom says.
Jackson pushes back his mask so that the plastic Roger Rabbit face is on top of his head and then he pulls off Baby Chester’s. Shelly runs over to him and grabs the Jessica Rabbit mask. She puts it on and jumps up on the coffee table in front of the couch and starts dancing.
Okay, their mom says, that’s enough. She stands up and takes off Shelly’s mask.
Get down, she says to her.
Shelly sits on the table and looks at me and Dad.
Did you see the movie Roger Rabbit? she asks us.
I think so, Dad says.
I’m not allowed to, but Jackson saw the video of it at his friend’s house, she says, and Jessica Rabbit has enormous boobies.
Up High in the Trees Page 15
