Low

by Anna Quon

  Adriana went to her room. She looked for signs that Samantha, or anyone else had visited, but her things were just as she’s left them. She opened her locker and dug around in a bag of yarn for the knitting needles. They were long and lethal looking.

  All she had were scraps of yarn, and one almost-full ball of the olive green she’d used for her father’s scarf. Adriana decided that would make the main body of the scarf and the ends would be multi-coloured—blue and rust. It might be funny looking, she fretted, but it would have to do. She got to work, the rhythmic clicking of needles like an incantation.

  Samantha knocked on the bedroom door, and her massive head appeared around the corner. “Hey there, girl,” she said, “I brought you something.” Adriana, startled, looked up. Samantha stepped into the room with a plastic bag and handed it to Adriana. Inside was a fuzzy lavender coloured wool sweater. “It’s from the apparel shop,” she said proudly. Adriana knew the apparel shop was a room in the Mount Hope building where patients could go to choose free clothing. Adriana thought the sweater was a beautiful colour, but she felt queasy when she heard where it was from. She’d never taken charity in her life. Samantha sat on the edge of her bed. “What are you making?” she asked.

  Adriana had an idea. “It’s a scarf for Jeff. To cover his…” She put her hand to her neck. Samantha nodded. Adriana fingered the sweater. “Would you mind if I took this sweater apart and used the wool for the scarf?”

  Samantha laughed and clapped her hands. “What a wonderful idea!” she gushed, to Adriana’s considerable relief.

  “Will you make one for me?” Samantha asked excitedly. “I have an old wool sweater, my favourite from when I was…” Samantha gestured at the lower part of her torso with a sweep of her hand, “a man, and I keep it to remind me of the past but I would love it if you could make a scarf out of it.” Adriana nodded, trembling. She felt too light suddenly. It was almost like happiness but with a tinge of anxiety.

  Samantha stood up, and stretched her arms over her head, then bent toward Adriana. “I came to visit Bartholomew,” she said in a confidential tone. She grimaced. “Tony has been off on stress leave, so I am allowed on Mayflower any old time. She grimaced. “I think it’s over between Tony and me,” she sighed regretfully. Her face brightened. “But I am very glad to have met Bartholomew. He is a fascinating, intelligent man.” She fanned her face with her hand. “He told me I have a rare spirit,” she said, her voice full of wonder. “Do you think he’s right?” she asked Adriana, hands clasped ecstatically. “No one has ever said such a thing to me before.”

  Adriana rolled her head, in a gesture between a shake and a nod. Samantha was a rare spirit, but Adriana wondered whether she was reading too much into what Bartholomew Banks had said, or rather, inferring too much. She hated the idea of Samantha being hurt again. She knew what heart break was like, and how it felt to slip down the whorl of a shell into a bottomless darkness. Maybe Samantha was not like her though. Maybe her heart was better protected, more shell than the soft creature inside. But Adriana knew this was not the case. It was just that Samantha was more buoyant, that she didn’t hang on to the hurts as though they were precious objects, but let them pass through her like breath.

  Samantha wiped some hair out of Adriana’s eyes, which made her jump. “You look so sad,” Samantha said, and her eyes were sad too. Adriana tried to smile. Samantha straightened. “You never told me about him,” she said, kindly. Adriana shook her head and let her hair hang over her face.

  The last time she saw Peter, he was walking with the girl with the auburn hair. Adriana couldn’t shake the thought that she was replaceable, forgettable even. That there was someone else filling that place in Peter’s heart, pushing her out. It was as though she were homeless now. And Adriana realized with a twinge of sadness, that she’d been holding on to the idea that his heart was a safe place, a home she could live in, against all evidence. Really, Peter offered her nothing beyond a friendly smile and a casual desire which was gone like a puff of smoke. She had tried to make-believe he was something else, and that had brought her reams of grief.

  Samantha squeezed her hand and smiled. She left without saying a word, but turned at the door and waved at Adriana over her shoulder, her face full of sympathy. But she stepped as lightly as a schoolgirl, and Adriana knew she was happy.

  Adriana was wide awake but didn’t want to leave the room. Marlene would be going to bed soon and Adriana wanted to sit with her thoughts for a moment before she appeared. She sat up and picked up the sweater that Samantha had left for her. Where to begin, when unravelling something that was made not to unravel? Adriana thought she would start somewhere at the bottom. She took a knitting needle and poked around at the hem of the sweater. She soon realized she’d need scissors, and she’d have to ask for them at the nurses’ station. It could wait until tomorrow, until she had the will to present herself to the world again. She lay the sweater out on her bed, arms extended. It made her think of someone lost at sea, floating face down in the water, arms outspread.

  Chapter 35

  The next morning, Dr. Burke wanted to see Adriana right away. He smiled at her with all his teeth—she hadn’t seen him do that before. “Adriana,” he said, “You seem to be doing better.” She thought about that. Did she feel better? She felt normal. That was better, she supposed. “You were able to visit your friend in the hospital and come back on time. And you are eating regular food again.” The doctor was clearly pleased. “I’m making you a voluntary patient. We’d like to allow you a weekend pass to your father’s house, to see how you do. Does that sound good? And if that goes well we’ll start working on discharge.” Adriana tingled around the edges. She was getting out—it was hard to believe.

  She took a lot of things out of her locker and put them on her bed. She needed her knitting and a change of clothes. An origami crane fluttered to the ground. She picked it up and examined the crisp creases. Would Marlene like such a thing? Adriana placed it on Marlene’s bedside table which was covered with Styrofoam cups and candy wrappers. The crane sat among the debris as though in a cozy nest.

  Adriana stood in the hallway, trying to think what to do. Her meds for the weekend would take a while to come up from the dispensary. She had to call her father to come get her at lunch time. Beth was probably at school. At least, where else would a Grade 6 student be? Beth had started school just before the hurricane, her father had told her, almost as an afterthought during their last conversation. Adriana was glad for Beth, and she hoped she’d have the house to herself for the afternoon.

  When Mr. Song answered the phone, breathlessly, Adriana wondered whether it was always like that for her father now. Was he always worrying he’d get a call that something had happened to her or to Beth?

  “Hi, Dad,” she said in the calmest and cheeriest voice she could muster. It took more energy than she had.

  “Adriana! How are you?” he cried. Adriana kept her breath even and told him she had a weekend pass.

  “Could you come to get me at lunch?” she asked. She heard her father hold his breath, shocked.

  “Of course,” he said, “of course.”

  Adriana wasn’t sure she was ready to face her father’s excessive emotionalism and Beth’s gloom. But she knew she had to, in order to reclaim her life. She ate her breakfast slowly, taking a long time to peel the hardboiled egg. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go home, to her father’s home, she just wasn’t sure what it meant. Would things go back to the way they were, and if they didn’t, what would have changed?

  Jeff came into the kitchen with Melvin stuck to his side like glue. What did they get from each other, Adriana wondered. They made themselves a couple of Styrofoam cups of instant decaf and sat at the table farthest from her, talking quietly to one another.

  “I’m going on pass,” Adriana blurted. They looked at her, as though they hadn’t noticed her before.

  J
eff nodded. “That’s good,” he said solemnly. Melvin’s smile flashed across his face. Jeff looked down for a moment then said, “I’m sorry I thought you were a spy. I know you’re just sick like me.” He looked slightly let down.

  Adriana stared. Was she really just like Jeff? It felt like someone had cuffed the back of her head.

  Melvin rocked in his seat. Adriana wasn’t sure if he was upset or feeling good. Jeff spoke to him quietly, and he calmed down. “Let’s go for a walk,” Jeff said, hooking his arm through Melvin’s. They stood up together, making Adriana think of Siamese twins. They really did seem to have some kind of connection that went beyond friendship or even brotherhood. Despite their different skin colour, they could be one flesh.

  Adriana sat with her coffee and watched the sun pour through the kitchen windows. It was October, and the sky was a soaring blue, the geranium’s petals glowing red against it. Adriana looked out on the world and felt, for the first time in a long time, that she was a part of it, but that she was looking out at it from the container of herself, a living and breathing creature who could distinguish her mind from the world outside it.

  Someone sat down at the end of the table. It was Bartholomew Banks. He looked more ordinary to Adriana today, his eyes no longer burning coals. Perhaps he was tired, or maybe the meds were knocking him out. He ran his hand through his hair, which needed a wash. He looked troubled.

  “Your friend,” he said. “Samantha? We had a bit of a fight today.” He was clearly upset. “I think she might have got the wrong idea about me… my intentions,” he said. Adriana felt the pain in Samantha’s heart. “She seems to think of me as more than a friend,” he said, shaking his head wearily. “She’s a nice lady and all, but this is no place to start a romance,” he said.

  Adriana took a sip of coffee. Bartholomew Banks looked like a man defeated, and Adriana felt a little surge of sympathy and generosity toward him. She shook her head. “Samantha is prone to falling in love,” she said, almost apologetically. “She really is fond of you. And she admires you.”

  With his elbow on the table, the spiritualist stroked his chin. Adriana, startled, realized that he reminded her of her father. “Can you… will you tell her…” Bartholomew gave up. “Well, I should tell her myself,” he decided. Adriana could see he felt resigned to a terrible fate, and it was impossible to tell how it would all end.

  Adriana tapped the table in front of her with her fingertips, as though she were asking for more tea at a Chinese restaurant, a soundless gesture of politeness. “If you write a note, I can give it to her,” she said. Adriana felt surprised that she had said such a thing. Normally she hated being a go-between. In high school, Jazz used to ask her to ferry notes between herself and whatever boy occupied her thoughts, and Adriana felt awkward and miserable in this position. Jazz finally caught on, and her romances became a secret even from Adriana, who wished now that Jazz had told her about her secret boyfriend and the pregnancy. She felt cut out of an important part of Jazz’s life.

  Lunch came and went and although Adriana waited, Samantha did not appear. Mr. Song arrived, breathless and happy, to take Adriana home. She collected her clothes for the weekend, a brown paper bag with her meds for the next two days, and hoped to say goodbye to Marlene but she was fast asleep, the white hospital issue blanket covering her like a snow bank.

  On the drive home, Adriana kept her eyes on the scenery while her father talked a stream of news about how Beth was doing well in school, how Madeleine’s car had been crushed by a tree during the hurricane and how happy she was with her new vehicle, which had GPS. His voice was soft, almost melodious, and he kept glancing at Adriana for a response but she was quiet and seemingly mesmerized by the passing houses, telephone poles and sidewalks. Beneath the balloon of happiness that floated above him, Mr. Song felt a residual sadness, and wondered whether it was inside Adriana too.

  The house looked the same to Adriana, an old bungalow painted a faded grey, with black shutters. It was unremarkable, except for the leaves and branches that still lay in the front yard since the hurricane. Adriana had expected to feel something when she saw it, but in fact, it was almost as if the month in the hospital had never happened. She felt like she was coming home after a morning class, except that there was something funereal about the place, and even her return could not change its air of mourning. It was almost like a smell, and Adriana wondered whether it had always been there, and she was noticing it for the first time.

  Inside the house everything was as she remembered it, except for a few objects she could not place—a pink Barbie tent perched on the arm of the sofa, and Barbie sitting half naked in front of it with a fishing rod. Adriana hadn’t even know there was such a thing as a Barbie tent.

  Mr. Song closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths. “Home,” he said. Adriana nodded and made an effort to smile. Her father squeezed her shoulders. “Do you want tea?” he asked.

  Adriana nodded. “I’ll put my stuff in my room.” Mr. Song froze. He had forgotten to tell her that Beth had been sleeping in her room. But Adriana was halfway down the hall. She passed the study with its desk full of folders and paper, which her father was trying to sort out before making it into a bedroom for Beth. When she opened the door to her own room, it dawned on Adriana that things were not as she’d left them. The bed had different sheets and was a rumpled mess, and the books on her desk were being used by a couple Barbie dolls as a lawn to sun bathe on—or were they supposed to be dead? Adriana noticed a cut-out paper tombstone with the lettersR.I.P. propped up against the spine of a psychology text.

  Adriana stood in the doorway, stunned. Behind her, Mr. Song said, “I’m sorry Adriana, but it’s only for a little while.” Adriana looked out the window over the desk. Even the view had changed. The dead maple had blown down in the hurricane and where it once stood, there was a mess of branches. Firewood, Adriana thought. A nice big pile of firewood, that a person could make a bonfire with.

  Mr. Song went to the desk and fingered the green construction paper that had been placed over the thick textbooks. It was covered with lines by a green marker pen, indicating grass. He didn’t seem to notice the tombstone, but smiled at the two Barbie dolls, one of which was wrapped up like a mummy in toilet paper. “She’s still a little girl, Adriana, isn’t she? Still playing with dolls.”

  Adriana didn’t feel the need to respond. She stood in the doorway, making no move to enter. It was occupied territory now, this space which had once been as close to her as her own heart. She barely recognized it. But it was okay. She had a sick feeling but it was actually fine. With a small smile, she said “I’ll sleep in the study”

  The study was clearly a male’s room. It was plain and painted white, except for the wooden baseboards and trim, and much lighter at this time of day than Adriana’s bedroom on the east side of the house. The desk was piled high with folders and papers, and a single white cot, which reminded Adriana of something from the hospital, lay against the opposite wall. Adriana put her bags of stuff at the foot of the cot and sat down on the edge of it, looking around her. Just like the room at the hospital, there was nothing here that spoke to her of herself.

  Mr. Song stood in the doorway. “I’ve been going through some papers,” he said “and photos.” He looked shy. “I wanted to put something together for you and Beth about your mother.” Adriana looked up at him. There were no photos of her mother, she thought to herself. Her father pushed a box in her direction, and Adriana saw on the very top of the pile a yellowing snapshot of a young woman, holding a baby swaddled in white. Her mother looked young, almost as young as Adriana was herself. She squinted at the camera, unsmiling. Adriana wondered whether the baby was crying, whether her mother looked so grim because she hadn’t slept the night before, and whether she could remember that feeling of being in her mother’s arms. It seemed to Adriana that her body remembered something about this moment, although her mind was blank.


  Mr. Song smiled sadly. “Your mother hated having her picture taken. She said the camera made her look like an old frump.” Adriana thought about it for a moment. Her mother hadn’t been far off the mark.

  Mr. Song shuffled a few of the photos around till he found what he was looking for. “This is from before I knew your mother,” he said. There was a yellowed colour photo of a girl who reminded Adriana of Beth, except that she was coquettish in a way that Beth was not, and might never be. She was sitting on a beach towel, among the tanned arms and legs of other teenagers, her head tipped sideways, her long curls swinging forward. Adriana saw that there was no bitter twist to her mouth, no veiled anger in her eyes. This was a girl she’d never known.

  She thought it was likely her dad could tell the difference, between this girl and the one he was married to. Did it hurt him, she wondered? She looked up at him, his gaze shining. She knew her father’s eyes were coloured by love, and he could only see what his heart, blind as a newborn kitten, could see.

  “I’ll make tea,” Mr. Song said, and wiped the hair from Adriana’s eyes. She blinked. Her father had always been mystified by her haircuts. Who wanted crooked bangs, he asked, shaking his head. What purpose did they serve? But today he simply smiled and said, “I’m glad you’re home.”

  Adriana looked around. This room was not home to her. But she nodded and bounced a little on the cot to indicate her enthusiasm.

  Chapter 36

  Adriana slumped forward. This was not what she’d expected it would be like coming home. Everything felt unsettled, as though the hurricane had struck not only outside, but at the heart of her family. Adriana felt she had no control over anything, including her own life. She reached for her knitting needles, yarn and Samantha’s sweater from the bag she’d brought from the hospital. At least there was knitting.