Up High in the Trees

by Kiara Brinkman

  I feel time like it’s growing and growing bigger, like there is so much time and the time keeps pulling me farther away from Mother. But, if my head is a camera, I can make Mother stay. I can make her hold still. And then it is okay for me to be here with Dad and Cass and Leo. I can be here in all of this time.

  Bye, Sebby

  I don’t want to go outside for morning recess.

  Katya says, Are you coming?

  No, I tell her, you go.

  I sit at my desk and eat my Cheerios. Ms. Lambert’s at the front of the room, looking at the chalkboard. She erases the part of the morning schedule that we’ve already done. Then she comes over. She stands in front of me and puts her hands on my desk. I look at her hands. Her fingernails are a little bit long and not painted any color.

  She asks, Did you remember to bring your camera?

  I take it out of my backpack and show it to her.

  Great, says Ms. Lambert.

  I ask her can I take a picture of her face.

  Sure, she says. She stands there in front of me with her hands on my desk and smiles a nice, small smile for the picture.

  Ms. Lambert says, I think you will be okay here, Sebby. Do you think so?

  I think so, I tell her.

  I feel very lucky that you’ve told me so many things in your letters, she says and brushes back my hair with her fingers.

  I look at her gold necklace that has a tiny horseshoe on it.

  I have something to tell everyone, she says, but I wanted to tell you first.

  What is it? I ask.

  I’m pregnant, says Ms. Lambert, I’m going to have a baby in the spring. She takes her black and white Chap Stick out of her pocket and puts it on her lips.

  I look at her stomach. I can’t see it, I tell her.

  She laughs. No, she says, not yet, but look. She walks over to her desk and brings back a shadowy black-and-white picture.

  That’s the baby, she says and points.

  It looks like a strawberry, I tell her.

  She smiles and nods.

  Then Katya comes in early from recess. She says, I’m very boring.

  You mean you’re very bored? Ms. Lambert asks.

  Katya nods and comes over to my desk.

  That’s your camera? she asks.

  Yes, I say.

  I let her pick it up and look at it.

  Do you want a picture of me now? she asks.

  Okay, I say, but I don’t like you to act like I’m your baby.

  I’m sorry, Katya tells me.

  This time the lady wearing hospital clothes takes us to a yellow room. She holds the door open for us to go in. Cass goes first and then Leo and I.

  Dad’s sitting in a rocking chair next to a yellow couch. He puts his hand up to wave.

  I’m coming home, Dad says, on the twenty-second. He’s rocking slow in his chair.

  Oh my God, says Cass and she runs over to hug him.

  I count the days in my head.

  Five days, I say.

  I guess so, he says, and nods. Five days.

  Dad, Cass says, this is great. Her voice is happy and loud.

  I’m sure Christmas will be awesome, says Leo. He doesn’t look at Dad or anyone.

  Don’t be an asshole, Cass tells him.

  Dad puts up his hands. He doesn’t have the bandage on anymore.

  It’s okay, Dad says.

  Cass goes and sits on the couch. I sit next to her, but Leo keeps standing by the door.

  I’m sorry, Dad says, about all of this.

  Dad, says Cass, but then her voice stops and it’s quiet.

  Do you still smell good? I ask Dad.

  Cass and Dad both laugh.

  They keep me very clean here, he says.

  I get up and go to him. I sit on his lap and put my head on his shoulder. I can smell the clean smell on his neck.

  Why do you have this on? Dad asks and pulls on my backpack.

  He won’t take it off, Cass says. He sleeps with it.

  My album’s inside, I tell him, all my pictures.

  Oh, Dad says. His breath smells minty.

  But he won’t show anybody, Cass tells him.

  Hmmm, Dad says and that makes warm air come out of his nose.

  I touch the skin there above his lip. My finger fits between the bumps of skin that go down from his nose to his mouth. Dad pulls my finger away from his face. Then he holds my hand and squeezes it tight.

  On the phone, Jackson says he’s coming to visit for Christmas. His Mom and Shelly and Baby Chester are coming, too. I listen and when Jackson stops talking, I hand the phone back to Cass for her to hang up.

  Now what are we going to do for dinner? Cass asks me. She goes over and opens the refrigerator. It hums and breathes out cold air. Cass makes a clicking sound with her tongue while she looks.

  Did the doctor take a picture of the baby inside Mother’s stomach? I ask.

  What? says Cass. She looks at me and pushes the refrigerator closed with her foot.

  I want to see the picture of Sara Rose and put it in my album, I tell her.

  Sebby, Cass says, why? Why would you want that? She was never born, Cass says in an angry voice. We never even knew her.

  I want to know her picture, I say.

  She walks over to me. I don’t understand, she says. Her voice is quiet now.

  I want to see the picture, I tell her again.

  Stop, Cass says. She steps closer. Her face is too close to my face. I look down, away from her eyes.

  Look at me, Cass says. Her voice is loud again and she shakes my shoulders. I can’t move. I can’t make my eyes look at her.

  What’s wrong with you? she asks. Why don’t you think about other people?

  Cass lets go of me and I step backward. She sits down and looks out the window.

  You don’t think, Cass says to the window. The window is dark, dark blue because it’s almost night.

  I don’t understand, says Cass. She talks to the window like I’m not here anymore.

  Our tree in the front yard is white now and thicker with snow. I sit down on the big rock in the dead garden that used to be Mother’s and I wait. I’m waiting for a cab to bring Dad home.

  Cass opens the front door and says, Sebby? She sees me sitting on the big rock. It’s too cold to sit outside, she says and then she comes out and stands next to me.

  Leo’s not waiting for Dad to come home. He’s upstairs in his room reading a book called The Origin of Species by Charles Darwin. Leo told me this book is about how we evolved from a tiny speck of life.

  I asked him, What’s a tiny speck of life?

  Like an amoeba, a one-celled organism, he said. Life started in the water and then slowly, slowly made its way onto land. He showed me a picture of a turtle crawling out of the ocean and onto a beach. Leo said, Dad is the turtle. I keep thinking about Dad being a turtle.

  Cass blows a bubble with the piece of pink gum she’s chewing. Her bubble gets almost as big as her whole face.

  How’d you do that? I ask her. She pops the bubble and pushes the gum back into her mouth.

  Four pieces of gum at once, Cass says. She puts her hand on my head. I quit smoking, she tells me.

  Why? I ask.

  She lifts up her foot so she’s balancing on the other one. Her hand’s still on my head and feels heavier now.

  Because, Cass says, Dad didn’t like it and it was harder to breathe. She puts her foot back down and lifts up the other one. Her hand feels lighter and then heavier again.

  I think there’s something wrong with my lungs, says Cass, Maybe they’re too small or something. You know, she says, like how some people have a small bladder?

  I don’t say anything. Cass stomps her feet on the ground.

  My legs are going numb, she says.

  I’m not cold, I tell her.

  Cass starts humming. I don’t know what song her voice is making.

  I tell her, Shhhhhh, listen. I can hear a car sound coming. We’re
quiet and the sound gets louder and then I can see the black-and-white Checker cab. It turns into our driveway and I run over to where it stops. Dad gets out of the backseat and hands the driver some money. Then Dad picks me up. I wrap my legs around him tight and hold on. Cass comes over now, too. She gives Dad a hug and I am there in the middle. It’s nice and warm.

  The driver gets a blue duffel bag out of the trunk.

  I got it, says Cass and she takes the bag from him.

  We walk to the house. I’m holding on tight to Dad so he won’t put me down. Over his shoulder, I watch the black-and-white cab go backward down our driveway and out onto the street. I watch it drive away.

  Cass holds the door open and then locks the latch behind us. She sets Dad’s blue duffel bag on the couch.

  Dad’s home! she yells up the stairs to Leo.

  Dad walks with me into the kitchen and back out to the TV room. He looks in the downstairs bathroom and then he looks upstairs. I rest my head on his shoulder and Dad walks around the house, seeing everything again. Then he sits down on the couch and I am there on his lap.

  Cass sits down on the couch, too.

  Dad says, Albert King died last night.

  I smell Dad’s minty breath.

  The blues guy? asks Cass.

  Yeah, says Dad, I heard it on the radio in the cab.

  Leo comes in with his fat book under his arm.

  How’d he die? Leo asks. He sits down on the floor and puts his elbows up on the coffee table.

  I think they said heart failure, says Dad.

  Leo nods.

  Your mother saw Albert King once at the Blues Festival in Newport, Dad says. I wish I’d been there with her.

  Where were you? I ask him.

  I wasn’t there, he says, I don’t know where I was.

  I look at the soft spot of skin under Dad’s chin. I reach up and touch it with my finger.

  Stop, that tickles, he says and grabs my hand away. He wipes his face with his sleeve. Then he looks up at the ceiling and yawns. Albert King is dead, Dad whispers.

  I wake up in the night and walk to the room that’s just Dad’s room now. Dad is sleeping on his side of the bed with the covers all kicked off and the cat curled up by his feet. He’s wearing new white socks from the hospital. They’re bright in the dark.

  I lie down next to him and put my hand on his chest. I close my eyes. It’s okay to close my eyes because I can feel Dad next to me. I can feel his chest breathing up and down, up and down. I count in my head until I fall back asleep.

  The room is full of light. Dad’s not with me anymore and the cat’s gone, too. Someone put the covers back on the bed and tucked me in underneath. I can hear the TV on downstairs and Cass’s voice talking loud.

  You don’t know what you’re doing! Cass yells. Those are Mom’s private things and you can’t just give them to him like they’re nothing!

  I wait for Dad’s voice. I wait and then I can hear the sound of Dad’s voice, but I can’t hear the words he’s saying.

  I get up and stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom. Today is Saturday. I know that today at two o’clock I’m supposed to ride my bike to the playground at school to meet Katya. Tomorrow, Jackson and Shelly are coming.

  I put my face very close to the mirror so I can see better, because I’m not wearing my glasses.

  Hello, I say to my face. My breath makes the mirror foggy wet. I wipe it dry with the sleeve of my pajama shirt.

  Sebby, says Dad’s voice.

  I’m in here, I tell him.

  Dad comes and stands in the bathroom doorway.

  I have something for you, he says. He turns and goes into the bedroom and I follow.

  Cass told me, says Dad. I found this for you. He picks up a brown yellow envelope sitting on the dresser. He opens it and shows me.

  This one is you, he says.

  The picture is black and gray and I know what it is. It’s a picture of me inside of Mother’s stomach.

  This one is your sister, Dad says. He lays the pictures on the bed for me to look at.

  I bend over close so I can see more. On the bottom of both is a piece of white-colored tape. The pieces of tape say, Sebastian at two months and Sara Rose at two months.

  She looks like me, I tell Dad.

  He reaches out his hand and touches the top of my head. Then he puts both of his hands in his pockets and stands like that, looking at me.

  The pictures make me think of my photo album.

  Where is it?

  I have the question in my head, but the words are stuck.

  Dad says, What’s the matter?

  Then I ask him. I say the words, Where is it?

  Dad scrunches his face. What? he asks.

  I run past him into my room. My backpack is there, a lump under the covers on my bed. I dig it out and my album is still inside. I have to look at all the pages and count the pictures to make sure everything’s right. Dad’s watching me with his arms crossed in front of his chest. I can see him watching me even though I’m not looking at him.

  Then Dad leaves me. I’m alone and I count twenty-six pictures in my album. That’s the right number. I feel better. I close my eyes and tell myself I am okay.

  I hear three quick knocks on my door.

  Sebby? says Dad.

  I’m okay, I say.

  He comes in and hands me the new pictures.

  I want to tell you something, says Dad, it’s very important. He stops talking.

  What? I ask.

  My glasses are on the little table next to my bed. I reach over and put them on.

  The baby died before your mother, he says. Three days before. The baby died inside your mother’s stomach.

  No, I tell Dad, the baby was with her when she ran into the lights.

  The lights? Dad asks.

  The car, I tell him.

  No, Sebby, Dad says, Mother lost the baby three days before the car. We didn’t tell you because there was just too much, Dad says, too many things. He stops talking again.

  Why did the baby die? I ask.

  Something happened, an accident inside your mother’s body, says Dad. It’s called a miscarriage.

  I don’t say anything.

  Dad sits down next to me on my bed.

  Mother was by herself running and then she ran into the car? I ask.

  The car hit her, says Dad, I don’t know how it happened. The driver said she came out of nowhere.

  I sit very still and think about Mother and the baby. Sara

  Rose wasn’t inside of Mother, watching, when the car came. Mother was alone when she died.

  Come on, Dad says.

  I close my album, zip up my backpack, and pull it on. Dad stands up and then helps me off my bed. On the way downstairs, he puts his hand on my backpack and I like that.

  Cass and Leo are sitting at the table. Leo’s working with his different-colored folders everywhere and Cass is reading one of his books about math.

  Leo looks at me and nods.

  Hey, says Cass, I saved you some French toast if you want it.

  I sit down at the table.

  I hated calculus, Cass says and pushes Leo’s math book over to him. Then she scoots back in her chair and gets up. Milk? she asks me.

  Yes, I tell her.

  I turn around and look at Dad. He’s standing there, very tall behind my chair. I tell him to sit.

  Oh, he says and pulls out the chair next to mine.

  Hey, Cass, says Dad, where’d I put my coffee?

  I don’t know, she says. She opens a cabinet and takes out a black coffee cup. It makes a clinking noise when she puts it down on the counter. Here, she says, start a new one.

  Dad gets up and I watch him pour the coffee.

  Maybe we could go for a drive later today, Dad says. There’s that lake where people ice-skate.

  Dear Ms. Lambert,

  Dad is home. Now everyone is here, but Mother is not.

  I have to tell you what happened to Mothe
r, because I know. First, the baby died in Mother’s stomach. Then she went running by herself in the night. A car came around the corner with its lights shining. Mother closed her eyes and she ran into the lights.

  Dad said, We still have to be a family. He took us to the lake. It was dark when we got there. Leo was sleeping with his head back and his mouth open. Dad woke him up. It was dark outside, but there were tall yellow lights. Cass put on her skates and we watched her. She skated in loops like the number 8. Then Leo went on the ice in his shoes. He doesn’t have skates. Dad and I don’t either. Leo tried to skate in his shoes. It was funny. Then Dad tried to do it, too. Cass held my hands and pulled me onto the ice.

  Mother is not here. She’s a picture in my head. She’s laughing with her eyes closed.

  I fell asleep on the way home. I lay down across the backseat and Leo held my feet on his lap. When we got home, Dad carried me inside. I was awake, because I could hear things, but I didn’t open my eyes. The cat was meowing.

  Dad said, Will somebody feed the cat?

  I got it, Cass said.

  Dad carried me upstairs and I could feel my chest getting warmer and warmer and I knew that was all of the life inside of me.

  I’m going to live for a very long time.

  Dad tucked me into bed and I pretended to be asleep and then I really was asleep.

  Now it’s Christmas Eve morning. Merry Christmas to you.

  Bye, Sebby

  Cass brings in a big, white tray with a tinfoil cover.

  What is it? I ask her.

  I think it’s a ham, she says.

  Jackson’s mom comes in after Cass with another tray.

  They’re carrying stuff in from the van. Dad’s in the kitchen moving everything around to make more room. He brought the toaster and the blender and all the kitchen plants out here and set them on the couch in front of the TV.

  Is that everything now? Dad asks Cass.

  Almost, she tells him.

  Jackson and Shelly are riding their bikes in circles around the driveway. I have to get my bike from behind the house, but I’m looking at the toaster and the blender and all the kitchen plants sitting on the couch. They look funny there, like they want me to turn on the TV so they can watch.