by S. Walden
“My mom is big into 80s movies, and she used to make us watch them with her. Well, Beatrice wasn’t allowed to watch all of them. Certainly not The Lost Boys or Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Anyway, maybe it’s kind of like your progressive rock music. Weird that you would listen to it. Weird that I know all about 80s movies.”
Evan smiled. “Clara?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Evan said.
“Yes?”
“Well, I thought if you weren’t busy on April 18th you might be interested in going to prom with me.”
Clara grinned.
“It’s not because of lunch earlier today. I planned on asking you tonight anyway,” Evan went on. “So what do you think?”
Clara’s grin faded. “Aren’t tickets expensive?”
“Clara, it’s my senior prom, and I’d love to take my girlfriend with me. I don’t care what it costs.”
Clara thought for a moment. “Okay.”
“Okay as in you’ll go with me?”
Clara nodded, and Evan leaned over to kiss her. She tasted like butter from their popcorn, and he thought he’d like to snack on her instead. She clutched the popcorn container against her chest as his kiss turned into something more forceful. She was aware of the other moviegoers, the lights that had not yet dimmed, and pulled away.
“There are people all around us,” Clara whispered.
“Oh Clara,” Evan said. “You still haven’t listened to Silver Rainbow?”
***
“Do you know a song called Silver Rainbow?” Clara asked her mother at breakfast the next morning.
Ellen and Beatrice looked at her shocked. It was the first time Clara directed a question to her mother in five days. Ellen didn’t dare to hope, but a part deep within her suggested that maybe Clara was softening. Trying to adjust. Trying to forgive.
“Well, let me think,” Ellen said. “Is it an older song?”
“I don’t know. I think so,” Clara replied. “Maybe progressive rock?” she suggested as she poured Cheerios in her bowl.
“Good morning, Clara,” Beatrice said. She watched as Clara got up from the table for a cereal spoon.
“Good morning,” Clara said tersely not looking at her sister.
“Silver Rainbow. . . wait! I got it! It’s a Genesis song from the 80s. Oh my God, I cannot believe I remember that!”
But of course she could believe it, Clara thought, because her mother knew every song from the year she was born until now. She sang, or at least she used to sing, all the time around the house. That’s where Beatrice got her gift, Clara thought sourly. Why couldn’t she inherit something good?
“Off their self-titled CD. My God, it’s got yellow shapes on the front,” Ellen said to herself. “Wait here, girls. I think I know where it is!” And she hurried off to her bedroom.
She emerged with a CD player and CD—one with yellow shapes on the front. She plugged in the player and set it on the kitchen table then inserted the CD.
“I remember this one,” she said as she hit play. “Brings back a lot of memories,” and there was a note of regret in her voice.
Clara listened as the song played. The opening was strange, like she had been transported to a different planet, like this was the music aliens listened to. And then the rhythm picked up, and she thought she should feel just the slightest bit of panic.
She concentrated on the words, trying for their meaning though at first, it eluded her. Nothing made sense, and then the chorus played, words repeated over and over until she understood. She blushed at the second verse remembering how Evan asked her about this song when he placed his guitar—his expensive prized possession—on the floor instead of its protective case. Right before he kissed her. Right before he did other things to her. She understood then that the guitar didn’t matter to him. Not when she was sitting beside him. He was already there—on the other side of the rainbow—and she wanted desperately to go there with him.
The music stopped, and the girls sat in silence. Clara watched her mother’s face, her eyes focused on a distant memory, remembering something private and painful and wonderful.
“Do you understand, girls?” she said softly, still staring into the distance. “Do you understand that that’s love?”
“What’s love?” Beatrice asked. She didn’t understand the song.
Ellen looked at Beatrice and smiled.
“Love is when you’re with someone and you never check the time, because for you, time doesn’t exist.”
***
She watched him walk towards her. She stood at her locker waiting though she was aching to go to him. He navigated the students until he reached her, and she flung her arms around him, something so out of character that it startled him. Some students watched intrigued. Others bumped into them suggesting they get out of the way.
“Well, hello Clara,” Evan said looking down at the top of her head.
“I listened to it,” she said into his neck. “I listened to the song.”
“What song?” he asked.
“Silver Rainbow,” she replied and pulled away to look up at him.
Evan was silent for a moment before he spoke. He wanted to knock the breath out of her with his words.
“Well, then I suppose you know now how much I love you.”
She felt weak, and he tightened his grip around her waist, letting her slump against him and bury her face in his neck once more.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
“Look at me when you say it, Clara,” he demanded gently.
She pulled her face away, flushing crimson, and looked up into his eyes.
“I love you,” she said, and he bent to kiss her. He wanted to take the words out of her mouth with that kiss, long and slow, stirring a desire in him that was very inconvenient at school. He was aware of her breasts pressed against his chest and wanted to touch them. And then Clara felt him yanked away, heard a “no physical contact in this school” as he was escorted to his next class. But not before he turned around to yell as loudly as he could, “I love you, Clara!” making certain that everyone in the hall could hear him.
***
Clara wasn’t ready to forgive her mother. The tension in the house was unbearable. She watched helplessly as Ellen took back her role as mother, meeting with Beatrice’s teacher, working at her new job, setting up dentist appointments, cooking dinners every night that Clara could not pretend to dislike. Her mother was the best cook, even better than Ms. Debbie. And Ellen took over the bills. She worked out a payment plan for the property tax, and suddenly, there was nothing for Clara to do apart from being a regular seventeen-year-old girl. It was disorienting, and it made her angry.
Ellen knew she had to be patient with Clara. She asked Clara to help with chores around the house, and sometimes Clara was agreeable and other times not. Ellen was gentle with her but never let Clara get away with being disrespectful or not doing her chores.
“I’m not washing the clothes!” Clara screamed one morning.
“Okay, Clara,” her mother replied, and the clothes stayed put in a basket on top of the washing machine until Clara had no clean underwear. She stalked into the laundry room and threw in a load, and Ellen went about cleaning the kitchen as if nothing had happened.
“I’m not vacuuming the floor!” Clara screamed another morning.
“All right then,” her mother said, and the vacuum sat beside her bedroom door for a week and a half before the hardwoods collected so much dust that Clara had an allergy attack. She promptly vacuumed and mopped the whole house, sneezing intermittently between strokes.
Clara felt like a bitch, provoking her mother to argue every time she felt the small urge to forgive. She didn’t want to forgive. There were still so many things that had gone unsaid, and Clara couldn’t let them go.
It was also hard for her to give up the mother role. She took care of herself and Beatrice for five straight months, and then all of
a sudden her mother came back to reassert her authority. Clara was afraid of letting Ellen be the parent, afraid of forgetting what it was like to be the adult in case her mother deserted them again and she was left to take on the role once more.
And Beatrice. Clara was still so angry with her little sister. She couldn’t understand her, why Beatrice ran into Ellen’s arms the moment she saw her. Wasn’t there any hurt, any anger over what Ellen had done? Beatrice forgave her instantly, settled back into a life with her real mother within minutes of her coming home. It was as though she forgot all about what Clara had done for her, how Clara had taken care of her all those months, the sacrifices that Clara made to keep them safe. Now she recognized Clara as only the big sister, and the fierce bond that was forged between them vanished in a flash the moment Beatrice saw Ellen sitting at the kitchen table.
Clara wiped her eyes. She didn’t want to cry over Beatrice. She wanted to stay mad at her. It seemed easier that way, to punish Beatrice silently, not to ache for her.
Clara lay back on her bed and thought about her new life. She knew she would have to accept it eventually. Her mother didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon, and while Clara didn’t really want her there, she also had to admit that she didn’t want her to go either. For the first time in ages, she didn’t have to worry about money, or at least not the way she used to. She could be a teenager.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Yes?” Clara called, wiping away the last of the tears.
“It’s Beatrice. May I come in?”
Clara hesitated before saying yes.
Beatrice walked in tentatively and sat on the end of the bed. She was careful to keep her distance from Clara knowing Clara was angry with her but not understanding why.
“I learned a new word today,” Beatrice said. She waited for Clara to ask.
“That’s nice.”
Beatrice’s face fell. “It’s a really good one.” She tried to make it as tempting as possible.
“Well, what is it?”
“‘Innocuous’,” Beatrice replied. “Do you know that word, Clara?”
“Yes, I know that word, Beatrice,” Clara said. She stared at the ceiling. What the hell does ‘innocuous’ mean again? she thought.
“Don’t you think it’s such a lovely word?”
“It’s a lovely word.”
The girls grew quiet, Beatrice trying to work up the courage to ask Clara why she was so mad, and Clara trying desperately to remember what “innocuous” meant.
“All right,” Clara huffed. “What does it mean?” and she felt Beatrice plop on top of her and wiggle her arms under Clara’s neck to squeeze her tightly.
“Oh Clara! I knew you had forgotten the word and you were just so mad at me that you pretended to know it!” Beatrice cried into the pillow.
Clara smiled and wrapped her arms around her sister.
“May I tell you, Clara?”
“Yes, Bea.”
Beatrice rolled off of Clara and lay beside her in the bed. Clara turned to the side to face her sister.
“It means innocent or harmless,” Beatrice said. “She got her feelings hurt even though he meant for the statement to be innocuous.”
“Very good,” Clara replied. “Did you make up that sentence yourself?”
Beatrice nodded.
“It’s a very nice sentence,” Clara said, and Beatrice grinned.
“Clara?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you so mad at me?” Beatrice asked. Her blue eyes looked like they would drown in tears at any second, and Clara finally understood.
Beatrice was just a little girl. For all her big vocabulary words and declarations of being born an old lady, she was just a ten-year-old girl. How could Clara be angry with her for wanting her mother? She was a little girl who needed her mother, and suddenly Clara felt all of the anger and hurt over being forgotten by her younger sister melt away. Beatrice never intended to hurt her. She was only behaving in the way that any child would.
“I’m not mad at you, Bea,” Clara said tenderly. “And I’m sorry that I’ve been treating you badly. I won’t anymore. I promise.”
Beatrice’s face lit up. “Clara?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for taking care of me while Mom was away.”
Clara’s heart swelled. “You’re welcome.”
***
“I’m going to prom with Evan,” Clara said at dinner three nights later.
Beatrice squealed with delight. “Oh Clara! How very romantic! When did he ask you?”
“A few days ago. I’m going tomorrow after work to shop for a dress.”
“May I come, Clara?” Beatrice asked.
“I’m actually going to do this one on my own,” Clara replied. She watched her mother’s face fall, but Ellen remained silent.
Clara decided to try a consignment store she found online at school. It was a shop that catered to economically disadvantaged girls, so Clara knew she could afford a dress. She still functioned the same way with money even after her mother came home. Part of it was habit, but more of it had to do with an underlying fear that her mother would leave again. Clara didn’t trust Ellen, so she kept working her two jobs and saving her money, waiting for the day that she would have to drain her account all over again to pay the bills because her mother would be gone.
“I’m not working tomorrow afternoon,” Ellen said tentatively. “We could all go together. It might be fun.”
Clara tensed. “I don’t think so.”
Ellen let out a sigh. Beatrice noted the tension between her mother and Clara and tried for a different topic.
“I’m a finalist for the regional spelling bee,” she offered.
Clara never took her eyes off her mother’s face as she responded. “Way to go, Bea.”
Beatrice thought it was a distracted reply, like Clara really wasn’t interested in her accomplishment.
“Clara, I wish you would let me go with you,” Ellen said seemingly unaware of Beatrice’s statement.
“Don’t you want to congratulate Bea, Mom? She’s a finalist for the regional spelling bee. That’s a big deal. A very big deal,” Clara added with emphasis.
Ellen’s anger intensified. “How much longer do you plan on punishing me?”
Beatrice slunk out of her chair and headed for her bedroom.
“Punishing you?” Clara asked. “Hmm, let’s see. How long have you been back? Around three months? And you left us alone for five. So I’d say you’ve got another two months to go.”
“Watch the way you talk to me,” Ellen warned. She dropped her fork on her plate.
“You’re acting like a child,” Clara spat. “You’re angry that you can’t have your way and come dress shopping with me. Why on earth would you ever think I’d want you to come with me?”
Ellen got up from the table and walked to the sink. She all but threw her dishes in and wheeled around to face her daughter.
“I’m trying, Clara!” she screamed. “I’m trying to be better! To be a good mother!”
Clara looked at her mother with disgust. She felt it everywhere inside her, coursing through her veins to replace her blood, pumping in her heart to make it contract with darkness, inflating her chest as she breathed, filling it with the black smoke of hate.
“Try harder,” she said, and left the table.
Chapter 21
Clara hung around her mother’s bedroom door. It was open, and she watched Ellen sleeping. It was still early, but Clara was up because she hadn’t slept. She feared today, what she would learn, but she had to ask it. And not with Beatrice around. Ellen was going to tell Clara why she disappeared because Clara would make her.
She felt a surge of anger the longer she watched her mother sleeping peacefully. You don’t get to come back into this house and take over like nothing happened and then sleep soundly at night when I’m going crazy with insomnia, Clara thought bitterly.
“Mom!” she sho
uted at the top of her lungs, and Ellen jerked awake startled. She jumped out of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” she cried looking all around her.
Clara folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorway. “We need to talk.”
Ellen drew in a long breath. She exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to strike her daughter in the face. “Jesus Christ, Clara,” she said flatly. “You couldn’t get me up any other way?” She sank down on the bed and rubbed a shaky hand over her forehead.
“No, I couldn’t,” Clara replied pleased with herself.
Ellen grunted.
“Where did you go?” Clara demanded.
Ellen was silent.
“Where did you go, Mom?” Clara insisted. “I won’t tell Beatrice. She’ll never know. But you owe me an explanation. You know you do. All of the shit you left me to deal with! My birthday you missed! Christmas! You owe me! How about no heat? Or electricity? We had no money! No food! You left us with nothing!”
Ellen ran her hand through her hair and sighed. “Okay.”
Clara walked over to sit next to her mother.
“I suffer from severe depression,” Ellen began.
“Me too,” Clara said. “At least I think I do.”
Ellen looked at her eldest daughter and burst into tears. Clara was stunned. She simply let her mother cry, not touching her, not saying soothing words, just letting her cry. Ellen took deep breaths and tried to steady herself.
“I was so depressed, Clara. I felt overwhelmed. I missed your father. I missed my mother. I felt like I destroyed everything around me. I didn’t want to destroy you, too. You and Beatrice. I thought you would be better on your own.”
Clara blinked her disbelief. “Did you think about the bills, Mom? The responsibilities I’d have to take on? The possibility of being turned over to the state?”
“No, Clara,” Ellen replied. “I really didn’t. When you’re out of your mind, you don’t think about things like that. All I thought was that I needed to get far away from you. If I got far enough away, you would be safe from me. You would be happy. Remember how sad and angry I was? How I took it out on you girls?”
