Dreamsleeves

by Coleen Murtagh Paratore

  We talk for a few more minutes and then I say I have to go. I poke my head into the tent and the campers all have their eyes closed.

  Up on the roof, soaking in the sun, I feel pretty proud of myself. The little ones are safe and sound having an imaginary campout in the kitchen and I’m getting a tan for the party. I think about Mike calling me. How comfortable and fun it is talking with him on the phone. Maybe, just maybe, at the party, he’ll hold my hand.

  I start to hum “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

  Ahh, this is the life, a nap on the beach. The roar of traffic on the road below almost sounds like ocean waves.

  Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,

  Starlight and dewdrop are waiting for thee.

  — STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER

  My first clue there is trouble comes as soon as I come down from the beach and quietly open the kitchen door so as not to awaken the campers and I hear Beck shout-whisper, “Hide them, C, quick…. She’s back!”

  Hide what, I wonder. I pull up a side of the tent.

  Beck and Callie stare out at me looking guilty as convicts. Callie is chewing something quick, quick, quickly, gulp, swallow. Beck’s got one hand behind his back.

  “Give it to me, Beck,” I say.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Now!” I shout.

  Head hanging low, Beck hands me a plastic bottle — the one that was filled with little pink baby aspirin just last week. I remember the bottle was full when I saw Mom give two to Dooley because his gums were hurting from a new molar coming in.

  I hold up the bottle. There are only three left.

  My head starts pounding. Oh, no.

  Beck and Callie are looking at me, scared.

  “We’re sorry,” Callie says.

  “It was my idea,” Beck says.

  Dooley’s asleep. Please, God, let him be alive. “Did you give him any?” I ask.

  “No,” Beck shakes his head.

  “Are you sure?” I demand.

  “Yes,” Beck says, eyes filling with tears. He crisscrosses his finger over his heart. “I swear, A. Scout’s honor.”

  “Me, too,” Callie says, reaching over to grab Beck’s hand in hers.

  “Did you eat all of them?” I say.

  Mmm, hmm. Beck nods yes.

  Oh my God. What should I do?

  “I’m tired,” Callie says, her eyelids drooping.

  “Me, too,” Beck says.

  “We’ll take a nap now, A,” Callie says, laying her head down on her pillow.

  “NO!” I shout, yanking her arm up. “You have to stay awake!”

  They stare at me, small and scared.

  From what I know from television shows, you’re not supposed to let someone fall asleep if they’ve ingested something poisonous. You’re supposed to make them throw up.

  “Throw up!” I shout. “Throw up!”

  B and C look at me, terrified.

  “You’ve got to throw up, right now!”

  “No,” Callie cries. “I don’t want to.”

  I quick stick my finger in Callie’s mouth to try and make her vomit, but she bites me. “Stop it, A!”

  “Leave her alone!” Beck says, punching my arm. He hugs Callie close to him. They are both crying now.

  I run to the phone and dial Mom’s work number.

  The lady who answers sounds annoyed, but I say, “It’s an emergency!” and she puts me on hold to get my mother.

  “Stay calm, Aislinn,” Mom says. “I’ll call an ambulance and get someone to drive me home. Try to keep them awake. It will be all right.”

  Please let it be all right. Please let it be all right. Let it be. Let it be. Let it be. Oh my God, what if I’ve killed my brother and sister all for a stupid tan? Oh my God, when my father finds out, he is going to kill me!

  “Beck,” I shout. “Callie,” I shout, loudly to keep them awake. I race to my room, pull off the bathing suit, and change into my clothes fast as Superman back into Clark Kent. I rub the oil off of my face and race back to the kitchen. “Let’s play tap, tap, goose,” I shout, yanking them up to standing position. “Come on, it’s a new game. You’ll like it.” I gently slap Beck’s cheek “tap” and then Callie’s cheek “tap” and then Beck’s cheek “tap.” I keep slap-tapping them and shaking them and slap-tapping them, singing “up, up with people” as loudly as I can. Dooley’s clapping his hands, believing the game. Eddie’s starting to wake up.

  Finally I hear a siren. I run to the window to check. The ambulance pulls up just as another car is turning off into our driveway. The man driving must be my mother’s boss. Thank God Mom is home.

  The ambulance people are kind to Beck and Callie as they lift them onto stretchers. Beck smiles at me and makes the little one-finger wiggle good-bye sign I taught him when he was a baby. That nearly cracks my heart in two.

  “They’ll need to get their stomachs pumped,” Mom whispers to me. “Take care of Dool and Eddie.”

  “Dad said he’d be home late because he has a meeting.”

  “Good,” she says. “That keeps him out of the way.”

  Sitting on the bench looking out the window, I cry as I watch them putting B and C in the ambulance. What a horrible, awful sister I am. My stomach clenches. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “Are they okay?” Dooley asks, climbing up on the phone bench to look out the window with me, a race car in each fist. He’s just now realizing this isn’t a game.

  “Yes, Dool,” I put my arms around him. “They just have a little tummy-ache.”

  If there were dreams to sell,

  What would you buy?

  Some cost a passing-bell;

  Some a light sigh.

  — THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES

  My father is going to kill me.

  Fear as bitter as cough syrup slide-burns down the back of my throat. Poor B and C are in the hospital getting their stomachs pumped. I can’t imagine how awful that must feel. Please, God, let them be okay.

  I stick Dooley and Eddie in front of the TV to watch a soap opera. I call Maizey. No answer. I take down the campsite and remake all the beds. I finish another load of laundry and hang the towels and sheets out on the line to dry. The flowers in Nana’s garden are drooping. I haul out the green snake hose, turn the faucet on, and spray them. Oh, Nana, I wish you were here.

  Back inside, I think about starting dinner, but I don’t know how long they are going to be gone and Beck and Callie probably won’t be able to eat anyway.

  The phone rings. Please be Maizey.

  “Hi, A.” It’s Mike. I gulp, my heart caught in my throat. He sounds so nice. I want to tell him what’s happening here and so I do.

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he says. “Don’t worry, A. My little brother had to get his stomach pumped one time when my mom thought he ate some holly berries. Pete kept swearing he didn’t eat them but my mother, she’s a nurse, doesn’t take chances with stuff like that. It wasn’t any big deal. I’m sure they’ll be okay.”

  This makes me feel better. “Thanks, Mike.”

  “Can I do something to help? I’ll come over if you want….”

  “No!” I shout.

  “Whoa,” Mike says. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “I’m sorry. It’s just my father’s really strict about boys.”

  “Oh, you mean you can’t have me over when your parents aren’t home?”

  “Yes,” I say, not telling him the whole truth. No, I mean you can’t come over, ever, period. My father would kill me. That’s after he kills me for Beck and Callie eating the pills. I don’t want Mike to know about my father. He might get scared and stop liking me. I’ll have to find ways to sneak out and see him, keep him a secret. “I’ve got to go now, Mike.”

  I need to talk to Maizey. Sitting on the armrest of the telephone bench, perched in the window like a bird where I have a good view of the driveway so I can see when my father gets home, I dial Maizey’s number again, starting to cry at th
e hope of hearing my best friend’s voice.

  Mrs. Hogan answers the phone. “No, sorry, Aislinn. She’s out.”

  “Do you know where?” I ask.

  There’s a pause. “She went shopping,” Mrs. Hogan says.

  “With who?” I ask.

  Mrs. Hogan hesitates. “Sue-Ellen,” she says. I hear pity in her voice, like she doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. “But I’m sure she’ll be back soon, sweetie.”

  “Oh, okay. Just tell her I called and it’s important.”

  Hanging up the receiver, the tears come like Niagara Falls. Who else can I talk to? Nobody. Maizey’s the only friend who knows about Dad. The only one who knows the truth. I wrap my arms around myself and stare out of the prison tower window, the old familiar feeling raining over me.

  All alone again.

  After a bit, the phone rings. Mom is calling from a pay phone at the hospital. “They’re going to be fine,” she says.

  “Thank God,” I say, and start to cry.

  “It’s okay, A,” she says. “Accidents happen.”

  “But it’s all my fault,” I say.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Mom says. “I’ve been telling your father we’re putting too big a burden on you. Watching four little children all day long is way too much responsibility for a twelve-year-old. We need to hire a babysitter.”

  Mom’s best friend, Ginny, drives Mom home from the hospital with Beck and Callie. B and C look shaken-up, but excited from all the attention, each holding three lollipops from Ginny in their fists. I hug them tight. “Welcome home.”

  Mom snuggles B and C together on the couch to watch TV, giving them each a Popsicle to soothe their throats, which are sore from the tubes slid down them to pump the pills out of their tummies.

  I hug Beck again. “I love you, B.”

  “Love you, too, A,” he says.

  I hug Callie again, looping loose strands of her wispy thin blond hair behind her ear. “I love you, Cal.”

  “Love you, too, A,” she says.

  “We’re sorry, A,” Beck whispers. “You told us to stay in the tent.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Just don’t ever eat pills again. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes,” they say, nodding their heads as sincerely as if they just put their hands on a Bible and took the oath to testify in a courtroom.

  Mom is in the kitchen filling a pan with water. “Macaroni and cheese, tonight,” she says. “It’s soft and will be light on their throats.”

  She looks up at the clock. “Did he say what time he’d be home?”

  “No,” I say. “Mom … I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know how they got that bottle.”

  “It’s my fault,” she says.

  “What? How?”

  “I didn’t put the top on tight enough, and besides, we ought to have a real medicine cabinet.”

  “But …”

  Mom swings around from the stove, comes up close to me. “Listen, Aislinn. You do as I say. I am going to explain what happened to your father. All he needs to know is that B and C snitched the bottle, thinking it was candy, and I called an ambulance….”

  “But you weren’t home when it happened. I was in charge.”

  “Stop,” Mom says firmly. “I will handle this my way, A. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Mom. I hear you.”

  I go to my room and unlock my diary and pour it, pour it all in … all the worries, all the fears, all the tears, tears, tears, until I finally feel calmer, more hopeful.

  Frisky is feeling pretty frisky today, standing on his back feet, tippy-toes. He looks like he could climb right over that wall today. I pick him up, hold him in my palm. “No, Frisky. Bad turtle. You need to stay in your house.” I place him on the bridge, roll a few marbles around the bottom for a little excitement, and off he goes swimming again.

  There’s a soft knock at the door, a little-hand knock.

  I quick hide my diary. “Yes?”

  Beck pushes the door in, then restuffs the sock down lower where he can reach and pulls the door closed. He must not want Callie to hear.

  Beck sits on my bed. He’s holding one of the name labels and a pen.

  “Don’t be mad, A, but I wrecked two of them already. I tried to sound out the words and I got some but then they all wouldn’t fit.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Beck. I’m proud you tried. Let me help.” I put the label on my desk so we’ll have a hard surface for writing. “Okay, now. What’s your dream?”

  “Go see a baseball game, just me and Dad.”

  I gulp and swallow. In that second it occurs to me that Beck and Dad never go anywhere together just the two of them. At least Dad takes me to Hoffman’s and confession and the liquor store, but Beck just gets lumped in with “the little ones.” Of course he wants some time to have Dad to himself.

  “Okay. Let’s start with ‘go.’ What’s the first letter? Gu, gu …”

  “G,” Beck says, “that’s easy. I know ‘go’… G… O.”

  “That’s right.” I hand him the pen. “Print small so all the words will fit.”

  The door pushes in. It’s Callie.

  “Can you please wait a few minutes, Cal?” I say. “This is something I just need to do with Beck.”

  “O … kay,” she says, “but hurry.” She props the sock back and pulls the door shut.

  “All right,” I say. “Next word. ‘See.’”

  “S!” Beck shouts, “then double E, you taught me that, A.”

  “You’re so smart. Are you sure you’re not in second grade already?”

  Beck laughs. “I’m sure, A. You’re a good teacher.”

  We are such stuff as dreams are made on;

  and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

  — SHAKESPEARE

  After Beck leaves my room, his dream on his sleeve, I lay in bed thinking until Mom calls us for dinner. Thinking and worrying. What will happen when Dad comes home, when Mom tells him about B and C and the baby aspirin? Why didn’t you call me back, Maizey? I’m sure your mom told you I called. Just when I need you the most. You’re probably having too much fun with Snoop-Melon. You probably don’t even care.

  Every time a car horn beeps outside on the highway, I feel fear. Every time I think I hear tires in the driveway, I cringe.

  When will he come home? How will he react?

  Even if he believes Mom when she says it was her fault, will he still be mad and blame me and say I can’t go to Maizey’s “camp”? I’ll never get to that party now.

  My father doesn’t come home for dinner. He’s not there when the little ones get their baths and go to bed. Mom and I watch TV. “You should go to sleep now, A.”

  In bed I hug my doll Clarissa, my ears wide as Easter bonnets, listening for him to come home. It’s embarrassing to admit since I’m almost thirteen that I still keep three toys on my bed. Jeffrey, the elf; Clarissa, in a red velvet dress and black patent-leather shoes, long white hair and blue eyes with dark lashes that flutter open and shut when I shake her head up and down, “yes”; and Flop, my one-eared bunny. My cousins’, “the saints’,” dog Brute chewed off the other one.

  When I was little and Mom and Dad and I lived down in the basement and I didn’t have any brothers or sisters or school friends yet, I used to have a bunch of stuffed animals and dolls that I pretended were my children. I took excellent care of them, telling them stories and singing them to sleep. I loved all of my children, but my favorite was Bo, a big brown furry teddy bear with a green bow around his neck.

  After Beck was born and the “old Polish couple” moved out of the top floor and Nana said we could move up, my father gave me two black plastic garbage bags and told me to pack my stuff. I put my Tinkertoys, Lincoln Logs, Play-Doh jars, books, puzzles, and games in one bag. I put all of my children in the other.

  After the big move up, the bag with all of my children was missing. I searched and searched, crying. Where were t
hey? In the basement? Maybe a robber stole them?

  Mom helped me look everywhere, but that bag was never found.

  I cried and cried and cried and cried enough tears to make a river.

  Two days later, Jeffrey, Clarissa, and Flop showed up on my bed. Where was Bo? Where were all of the others? I lined Jeffrey and Clarissa and Flop up in a row and questioned them every night for clues, but they just stared back at me, silent.

  A few years later, I was nine or ten then, I heard my Mom and Dad fighting one night in the kitchen. I snuck out of bed and hid by the refrigerator to listen.

  “Can’t you do something about her wetting the bed?” my father yelled. He was talking about me.

  “The doctor says she’ll grow out of it,” my mother said in a quiet voice.

  “There must be pills or something. Her whole room stinks like pee.”

  “The doctor said some children wet the bed because they are afraid or …”

  “I should have gotten rid of all those dolls,” he said.

  My heart started pounding. I leaned in closer to hear.

  “What?” my mother said.

  “Didn’t you know that?” Dad said with a proud-of-himself chuckle. “I threw out all those smelly things when we moved. I knew we’d get her new ones for Christmas. But then she cried so much I dug three of them out of the garbage to keep her quiet.”

  I quick clapped my hands over my mouth so they wouldn’t hear me scream.

  He threw my children in the garbage? How could he?!

  “How could you, Roe?” Mom was as shocked as me. “How could you be so cruel?”

  That night I cried harder than ever in my life, enough tears to make an ocean.

  After I discovered what my father did with my toy friends, with only three left, I decided to keep Jeffrey, Clarissa, and Flop close as I could, lined up, one-two-three, right by my pillow, between my face and the wall, where I can keep them safe. And every night I rotate them, so that they all get even chances to be hugged.

  I’ve forgotten the other dolls now, except for Bo. I decided Bo was found by a nice garbage truck worker on Christmas Eve who brought Bo home to his bedridden daughter who loves him very much and feeds him spoonfuls of honey. And Bo is happy.