by S. Walden
Clara shook her head violently. She was horrified at the places her mind took her—the desperate thoughts of desperate means because she could think of no other way out. She had to purge the thoughts, the ugliness from her mind and her heart.
She flew into Beatrice’s room in a panic and tore off her comforter.
Beatrice sat up startled. “Clara?” she asked dazed, her voice thick with sleep.
“We have to pray, Bea,” Clara said frantically. “Hurry, get on your knees. Like me, beside the bed. Please hurry!” she screamed as Beatrice sat immobile.
Beatrice scrambled out of the bed and knelt beside her sister.
“I don’t know how to pray, Clare-Bear,” she said, the fear permeating her voice. She had never seen her sister so frightened.
“Me neither,” Clara confessed. “But we have to try.”
The girls folded their hands and bent their heads.
“Dear God,” Clara began. “I . . . don’t know you. I hope you know me.”
Beatrice listened as her sister’s voice quavered.
“I need help,” Clara continued. “I need you to help us in any way that you can. I need you to forgive me for my bad thoughts.”
“What bad thoughts, Clara?” Beatrice interrupted.
“It doesn’t matter,” Clara said quickly. She continued her prayer. “Please bring our mother home. Please help us.”
She cried outright, unable to hide her fear from Beatrice. She wished she could be strong for her little sister, but she didn’t know how. The fear gripped her, and she felt herself melting into the darkness of depression.
“Say a prayer, Bea,” Clara whispered urgently.
Beatrice grabbed her sister’s hands and held them tightly as she talked. “God, this is Beatrice. My sister woke me up to talk to you because you are supposed to help us. I know that I’m not always good. I have bad thoughts sometimes, just like Clara.”
Clara smiled wearily through her tears.
“They’re mostly about Angela who is my best friend but who I’m jealous of because she has things I wish I had.”
Clara felt the rapid beating of her heart slow as she listened to Beatrice’s voice. It calmed her.
“The point is that I know I’m bad, but I would like to be better. I can make a deal with you if you want,” Beatrice went on.
Clara laughed and it surprised them both.
“I will be good if you do the following: bring Mom home, give us more money to pay the bills, and help Clara to not be scared.”
Clara tensed.
“Amen,” Beatrice said.
“Amen,” Clara echoed.
The girls looked at one another.
“Do you feel better, Clara?” Beatrice asked releasing Clara’s hands. Her eyes were large and round and expectant. Clara knew Beatrice needed her to say “yes.”
“Yes, Bea. Thank you.”
Clara went back to her room. She lay in bed thinking she should feel better. She had talked to God, and for some reason, she thought she should feel a peace about that. She thought she should hear him say something to her, guide her in the right direction, or at least give her a hint. She waited, but the fear still lingered in her chest. The peace was not there. God’s voice did not echo in her room.
She thought that maybe God expected her to discover the solution to her problem on her own, and that was why he was silent. She searched her brain remembering a woman she saw once when she was riding in the car with her mother. It was years ago, and they were traveling down a street in downtown Baltimore and had come to a stop at the intersection. Clara saw the lady wrapped in a skin tight red dress and sporting tall heels. She hung around the intersection, head swiveling from side to side as though she were searching for someone.
“Is she looking for a ride?” Clara asked her mother.
“Something like that,” her mother replied.
Chapter 10
“Happy birthday, Clara!” Beatrice squealed running into her sister’s arms.
“Thank you, Bea,” Clara said hugging her.
She wondered, though, how happy turning seventeen really was. For any normal teenager not experiencing her trials, turning seventeen was probably a big event. They would most likely go out to eat. Definitely celebrate with a birthday cake decorated with those twisty yellow, blue, and pink candles she loved. And she was positive there’d be a few special gifts. Clara’s gift came folded in an envelope marked “Dated Documents Enclosed.” A few days after receiving the letter, she treated herself to an emissions test and new car tag. Happy fucking birthday, she thought as she looked at the ten dollars remaining in her checking account.
“I did a good thing and a bad thing for your birthday,” Beatrice said.
Clara furrowed her brows.
“Remember that money you told me to spend at the movies on my ticket and snacks?” Beatrice asked.
“Yes,” Clara replied.
“Well, Josey’s mom paid for everything, so I kept the money to buy you a birthday present,” Beatrice said. “Are you mad? I know I probably should have given it back to you to pay a bill or something.”
Clara couldn’t believe her instant tears and averted her eyes to hide them from Beatrice. She walked over to her book bag and pretended to look for something.
“I’m not mad,” she said quietly. “But you didn’t have to do that, Bea.”
“I wanted to, Clare-Bear,” Beatrice said. “It’s your birthday!” she squealed again. “And in addition to your present, I have another surprise for you.”
Clara wiped surreptitiously at her face and took a deep breath. “You do, huh?”
“Mmhmm,” Beatrice replied. “When do you get off of work today?”
“I’m only working until six thirty,” Clara said. She grabbed her car keys along with her purse and book bag.
“Perfect,” Beatrice said excitedly.
“Would you like me to drive you to school today?” Clara offered.
“Nope,” Beatrice said. “I’m taking the bus. And yes, Clara, I’ll remember to lock up.”
Clara still wasn’t used to Beatrice riding the bus home from school and letting herself into their house. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it, Beatrice having her own house key like she was a little adult. It didn’t matter that she acted like one. She was still a child. Clara worried on the days she worked late, with Beatrice all alone in the dark, candlelit house. She made Beatrice go over a safety plan with her, making sure she was in the house before dark and keeping all of the doors locked until Clara got home. Several times Clara came home to no one. The first time it happened, she went out of her mind with panic until she saw Beatrice skipping across the street back to their house from visiting with Ms. Debbie.
“Jesus Christ, Bea!” Clara screamed at her that night. “Tell me when you’re not going to be here!”
“I’m sorry Clara,” Beatrice replied hurt. “I go to Ms. Debbie’s house all the time.”
“That’s fine,” Clara said exhausted from worry. “Just tell me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And answer your phone,” Clara snapped.
“Okay, Clara.”
Clara checked the time on her cell phone. If she left now, she could still make it to school for breakfast. She looked over at Beatrice.
“Do not be late for school,” she said.
“Am I ever late for school, Clara?” Beatrice asked. She stood with her hands on her hips.
“And lock the door when you leave,” Clara reminded her.
Beatrice let out a loud, dramatic sigh. “And call you if I’m going to be at Ms. Debbie’s. And lock the doors if I’m going to be home alone. And don’t light the fire in the fireplace. And don’t do anything but stand perfectly still until you get home.”
“Precisely,” Clara said grinning, and walked over to kiss Beatrice’s forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too, birthday girl!” Beatrice said, then ran to her room to change into her school clothes
.
***
Clara scooped another forkful of scrambled eggs as she sat reading her latest library book. She wanted to try something completely different and opted for a memoir. She had a hard time finding an essay in the book that didn’t make her burst out laughing. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself and realized that she might not be able to read this particular book at school. She turned the book over and read the top review: “Sidesplitting”—The New York Times Book Review. Now why didn’t I notice that before? she thought.
“Do you have that list for me yet?” Evan asked approaching her. He never came to school for breakfast, and she couldn’t understand why he was there now.
“List?” she asked looking up from her essay.
“Yeah. List of fiction books for me,” he clarified.
“Ohhh,” Clara said. “I do, actually.” She never thought he would ask for it. Not really. But she made the list anyway hoping that he would.
She dug around in her book bag and pulled out a full sheet of paper. She handed it to him.
Evan laughed out loud. “Man, I better get started right away. It’ll take me the rest of my life to read all of these.”
“Too many?”
“No,” he replied. “I just had no idea you read this much.” He scanned the list. “Hmm.”
“What?” Clara asked.
“I just think this says a lot about you,” he replied. He looked up at her. “Thank you for making this list for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Should I read them in order?” he asked after a moment.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He looked at the opened book sitting next to her food tray. “What’s that one?”
“Just something different,” she replied, and after a moment added, “How awful do you think your life would be if you had tics? You know, from being OCD?”
“Like checking the lock five times before going to bed?”
“No, more like licking light switches and kissing garden gnomes.”
“What the hell are you reading?” he asked as the first period bell sounded.
***
Evan stayed near Clara all day, or at least as much as he could. He met her in between classes at her locker and walked with her to lunch. He sat across from her as they ate, and talked with her about his interest in science—physics, in particular—and she had no idea what he said throughout most of the conversation. She didn’t care. She thought of the time she spent with him as her secret birthday present, a gift he gave her without even knowing it. Students still stared at them, but she started thinking that it didn’t matter.
“Did you know that warm water actually freezes faster than cold water? It’s called the Mpemba Effect,” Evan said.
“I had no idea,” she responded, and looked down at her tray to hide her grin.
“And did you know that no one understands why?”
Clara giggled.
“This doesn’t interest you in the slightest, does it?” Evan asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Clara replied. “It’s just hard for me to understand. That’s all.”
“Well, like I said, nobody understands,” Evan said. “That’s what makes it interesting.”
“I see why you don’t read fiction,” Clara replied. “It’s the exact opposite of all this science stuff.”
Evan smiled. “Why do you like made-up stories so much, Clara?”
Clara flushed. “I just do.”
“Well, I hope it’s not because you imagine yourself as anyone other than you. That would be a shame,” Evan said.
The flush burned deep in her cheeks, and she bent her head to hide her face from him.
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked. “Do you wish I’d leave you alone?”
Clara’s face shot up. She almost yelled, “No!” but controlled herself.
“No,” she said quietly. “Why would you ask me that?”
“I don’t know,” Evan replied. “I feel like I’m always embarrassing you.”
“Well, you do,” Clara said grinning.
Evan laughed. “Is it terrible of me that I like making you feel uncomfortable sometimes?” He couldn’t believe he said it out loud. What did that say about him, his person, his psyche? More importantly, would it upset her?
Clara thought for a moment. She could say it, and it would make him uncomfortable. Maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine. “You like the power it gives you.”
Evan never averted his eyes. When he looked at Clara, he looked at her. He never looked anywhere else. But in that moment, her words—the flat, bare truth of them—forced him to look away. He was embarrassed.
“I think I’m an asshole,” he said quietly, staring at his food.
Clara felt the transfer of power for the first time. He had it for so many weeks, but now it was hers. She took it from him with those few simple, honest words. She felt heady with a mixture of giddiness and sexual energy. She understood and welcomed the giddiness, but the sexual energy was strange and unnerving.
She tried for a balance. “You shouldn’t feel like that,” she said. “Human relationships are always a power play. It just so happens that right now you’ve forfeited your power.”
Evan looked at her then and grinned. “I want it back,” he said playfully.
Clara shook her head. “I don’t think so. I like the way this feels.”
“And what do you plan on doing with it, Clara?”
She wanted to say that she planned on making him suffer the way he constantly made her suffer, but she didn’t know what that meant. She felt the power slipping as she searched for a clever reply.
“I plan . . .” but her voice trailed off. She realized she couldn’t keep up with him. She couldn’t flirt like he did. She couldn’t find the witty remarks as quickly as he could, and felt herself fading into her old person. Quiet Clara with never the right words.
“I like that you don’t know what to do with it, Clara,” Evan said finally. “If you did, I don’t think I’d like you nearly as much.”
And with that, the power was transferred back to him.
***
Clara reached the front door and saw the note attached:
Over at Ms. Debbie’s. Come as soon as you get home.—Bea
Clara sighed. She really liked Ms. Debbie, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend her birthday evening with her. She was prepared to take a simple bath and call it an early night, but she remembered Beatrice telling her she had a surprise. And she couldn’t help but be a little curious about her birthday present, though she was certain she already knew what Beatrice bought for her.
She walked across the street. She could see Beatrice’s face in the living room window before she got to the front door. She knocked softly. Beatrice threw open the door and screamed a loud “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” right in Clara’s face. Clara drew back instinctively and smiled wearily.
“Thank you, Bea,” she said as Beatrice grabbed her hand and pulled her into Ms. Debbie’s house.
There were balloons and paper streamers everywhere, attached to chairs and end tables and hanging from corner to corner of the living room and kitchen ceilings. Helium-filled balloons tied off with shimmery ribbons danced around the ceilings. There were so many that Clara had to wade through them like vines hanging from jungle trees. She followed Beatrice into the kitchen where she saw a huge chocolate cake sitting in the middle of the table. And next to it sat Evan grinning from ear to ear.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Your sister invited me,” Evan replied. “Is that okay?”
“When? How?”
“At dinner the other night,” Evan explained. “When I brought over Chinese. You went to the bathroom and she told me about your birthday.”
“Oh.” Clara felt a little embarrassed. She wasn’t one to make a big deal about her birthdays. In fact, she preferred quiet ones, and this year she didn’t want one at all. She looked all around
her at the balloons and streamers, Ms. Debbie hustling about in the kitchen preparing her birthday dinner. Beatrice standing smashed against her side, watching her every reaction and grinning with delight that she surprised her sister with a birthday party. Clara couldn’t help but smile. It was kind of all of them, and she forgot all about one person missing who should have been there.
“Happy birthday, Clara,” Evan said softly.
“Thank you,” Clara replied, and watched as he took something off of his lap.
“Nope!” Ms. Debbie said. “Dinner and cake first. Then presents.” She shooed Clara and Beatrice out of the way as she set the table.
“Happy birthday, honey,” she said to Clara on her way back to the stove.
“Ms. Debbie, thank you for all of this,” Clara said blushing. “You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“It wasn’t any trouble, Clara. You only turn seventeen once. And anyway, Beatrice had the whole thing planned out,” Ms. Debbie said. “All I had to do was follow orders.”
“Follow orders, huh?” she asked looking at Beatrice.
Beatrice was dying to tell. “Okay Clara, so first I tricked you by telling Evan about your party when you were in the bathroom.”
“I know. He just told me.”
“And I gave him the task of bringing over all the balloons and streamers. He had to make a lot of trips because he couldn’t fit all of the balloons in his car at one time, right Evan?”
“That’s right,” Evan replied. He kept his eyes fastened on Clara.
“And so he was in charge of hanging the streamers, but I showed him where to put them because I don’t think boys decorate as well as girls,” Beatrice said.
Clara smiled.
“And I asked Ms. Debbie to make you dinner and a birthday cake because I don’t know how to cook,” Beatrice said.
“That was wise of you,” Clara replied looking over at Ms. Debbie. She was standing at the stove smiling down at the spaghetti sauce as she stirred it.
“And my job was to keep everything a secret which was really hard because I’m not good with keeping secrets,” Beatrice went on.
