Going Places

by Kathryn Berla

  “I wasn’t sure if I was going to turn around at the last minute,” she explained to me. “But now we’re here, and you’re here with me, and I know everything’s going to be fine.”

  “What if she hadn’t been here? If she was out of town or something?”

  “Then we would have gone home,” Alana offered simply. “No big deal.”

  But I knew it was a big deal for her. She was changing before my eyes, becoming smaller somehow. And frail. Is it possible a person can lose size in the face of extreme anxiety? It seemed that way. For the first time that day, I thought about Mr. Pirkle, and my mind clouded with regret. Was I failing him? Would he have another meltdown while I was away? I checked my watch to see how much time I had before Liza’s nightly phone call.

  >>>

  The cabin was quaint and rustic. In front, a thin stream threaded its way through smooth and polished stones. The water was clear and cold. We walked single file across a narrow footbridge, and I thought I saw minnows below us, but it might have just been shadows. Wind chimes tinkled from the front porch where an empty rocker invited the weary traveler to rest underneath a sign that said, “Welcome To Our Home.”

  The door sprung open and out stepped a vision of Alana twenty, thirty years into the future. Her name was Heather. Heather Glen, an obviously made-up name. She took it, Alana had told me, in order to start a new life, away from the husband she claimed was emotionally abusive. Heather Glen. She was, I suppose, a hippie, if those still exist. Alana didn’t believe the part about emotional abuse. In fact, she claimed it was her father who was emotionally abused by Heather. To me it seemed like everyone was throwing that term around too easily. They gave up on each other and then looked for a place to lay blame.

  I could see right away where Alana’s ethereal beauty came from. Heather had that same natural non-pretty prettiness. She was the falling-star, the wounded doe, the one with the obvious crack in her heart. Like mother like daughter.

  So how could she walk away from her daughter, I wondered? It takes a bad parent to leave a child, no matter what Alana said. A child’s natural instinct is to cling to her parent. Look for the good in them even when they’re bad.

  “You two can have Chloe’s bed,” Heather said after I was introduced. “Chloe, you can sleep with me.”

  Heather and Alana were carefully stepping around each other. Sizing each other up.

  “We don’t sleep together, Mom,” Alana offered too quickly. It was strange to hear the word Mom directed at this stranger.

  “Why not?” Heather arched her eyebrows, rippling the smooth skin on her forehead.

  “We’re just friends.”

  “Too bad,” Heather laughed and Alana flushed pink. “He’s a good-looking guy, this Hudson. I thought you said he was your boyfriend.”

  “That’s Bryce.”

  I’m here, I wanted to say. You’re talking about a person who can hear every word you’re saying.

  “Let me look at you.” Heather held Alana at arm’s length, hands on Alana’s shoulders, feasting her eyes on the sight of her older daughter. Then she pulled her swiftly and hungrily towards her. “Give me a hug, won’t you honey?”

  Alana’s arms hung limply at her sides, but they slowly crept up until she was clinging to her mother as if for life. Chloe watched without emotion. It was a touching but somewhat disturbing scene.

  Chloe. She had none of her mother or sister’s charm. Did she take after the father? I’d only seen him in passing, so I couldn’t be sure. Her face was oval instead of round like Alana’s. Laugh lines hadn’t left their mark near the corners of her eyes or mouth. Her hair was dark and heavy. Her eyes slanted upwards and her nose was fine and straight. She was probably more traditionally beautiful than her sister and mom, but she didn’t radiate like they did. She was like a black hole surrounded by brilliant stars. Soaking up energy without allowing any of it to escape.

  When the hug ended, Heather turned to Chloe.

  “Bring a bottle of wine and four glasses. We need to celebrate!”

  A wood stove burning in the corner of the tiny sitting room made this cabin plenty warm, but Heather brought out blankets and tucked them around us as if we were newborn babies. I accepted a glass of wine which made me glow like the corner stove. We hadn’t eaten since morning, so Chloe grudgingly offered to heat up lasagna left over from their dinner. At some point, my watch alarm went off, and I stepped outside to make the call to Liza.

  After a while my stomach was filled. My senses were blurred by the fire and wine and closeness to Alana, and the soft blankets wrapped so tightly I felt almost fetal. The women talked and I listened. The fly on the wall. Only there to make Alana feel safe. It wasn’t about me, so I did my best to melt into the overstuffed cushions on the couch. I didn’t see a TV but I saw lots of books. I recognized Alana’s artwork on the wall, framed with rustic, unstained natural wood. I saw ashtrays, but no cigarettes. I think I may have nodded off for a few minutes because I had a vision of Mr. Pirkle. Demented. He’d followed me all the way there.

  After a while I tuned back into the conversation and heard Heather say something about dessert, and then Chloe appeared with a plate of brownies Heather said would help us sleep.

  “Don’t take one,” Alana hissed a warning. “They’re weed brownies.”

  I laughed to be in on the joke, but nobody else was laughing.

  “You don’t partake, Hudson?” Heather asked as though I had just come out against tooth-brushing at a dentists’ convention.

  “No, not for me,” I said, and then quickly added so as not to appear judgmental, “it’s fine, though. I have no problem with anyone else doing it.”

  Heather guffawed softly and, I thought, a little rudely.

  Alana broke off half a brownie and picked at it for about twenty minutes. After that she got quiet and said it was time for us to go to bed.

  Bed for me was a heap of cushions thrown on the floor by the side of Alana’s bed. I brought along the blankets that covered us earlier. We didn’t bother changing out of our clothes; we just collapsed with what we had on. No brushing teeth, no shower. Just a quick trip to the one and only bathroom to take a piss. When the lights went out, Alana went out. I lay awake for a long time listening to a hooting owl just outside the window and the faint answer of its mate in the distance. The whispered breaths of sleep sliding through Alana’s parted lips.

  >>>

  When I woke, Alana was gone. I put on some clean clothes and ran my fingers through my disheveled hair. There was no mirror in the room, but I had a good idea of what I looked like, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. I grabbed my toiletry bag and made for the bathroom only to find it locked and occupied. I went back to the bedroom and blew into my cupped hands, testing for bad breath. Positive. With no other recourse, I wandered out to find the others.

  I followed the sound of low voices into the kitchen. I couldn’t hear the words, but I knew Alana well enough to recognize not only her voice but her mood. It wasn’t happy. When I stepped into the kitchen I saw Heather and Alana sitting at the tiny table, coffee mugs in hand.

  “Morning sleepy-head,” Heather chirped. “Want some coffee?”

  “I’ll get it for you,” Alana rose from her chair. “Sit. You want oatmeal? We could make pancakes, but oatmeal’s easier.”

  “Oatmeal’s fine,” I said, allowing her to wait on me as compensation for my being there.

  I could hear water running in the bathroom. A shower? I wondered how long it would be until Chloe was done. And if I could hold off, or be forced to find the nearest bush outside. It was kind of like camping, without the actual fun of camping.

  After breakfast, Heather suggested a walk, so the three of us bundled up in jackets and set out along one of the deer trails that crisscrossed the vast open area surrounding the cabin. Chloe chose to stay home. From what I’d witnessed, she and Alana
had exchanged less than a handful of words since our arrival and no physical signs of sisterly affection.

  “Tell me about yourself,” Heather said after we’d been walking for a while.

  “Hudson’s an amazing artist. He’s working on a graphic novel,” Alana answered before I could open my mouth.

  “What’s a graphic novel?”

  “It’s laid out like a comic book, illustrated that way. But it’s like a novel in terms of the length and maybe the seriousness of the topic.”

  “Fiction? Non-fiction?”

  “It can be either. Mine will be fiction.” There was no novel yet, but that much, at least, I knew would be true.

  “Will be?”

  “I haven’t really started one yet. I’m still thinking through what I want to write about.”

  “Any ideas?” Heather asked.

  “Mom, we’re only eighteen. Give him a break.”

  “I just meant . . . is there anything compelling you want to write about?”

  “Mom!”

  “Yes,” I answered. I didn’t need Alana to run interference for me. “Lots of things.”

  “Like?”

  “Lots of stuff,” I muttered. “I just have to get it organized in my head.”

  I was right about that. “Stuff” was exactly what I had a lot of in my head. Lots of it.

  “Do you and Alana have any classes together?”

  “We’re in yoga and AP Art.”

  “Yoga’s a wonderful way to exercise the body and mind.”

  “Hudson runs two businesses,” Alana blurted out. I wondered why she was so intent on building me up.

  “Two businesses! At your age, that’s very impressive.”

  “At any age, Mom.”

  “At any age. Absolutely. What types of businesses, Hudson?”

  I felt uncomfortable with the focus on me. I was supposed to be the fly on the wall, not the elephant in the room.

  “I have a dog-walking business and another one . . .”

  “Called Distress Dial,” Alana interrupted, “where older people call him 24/7 for any emergency.”

  “How admirable. Really.”

  Two squirrels raced across the path just in front of us before scampering up a tree. I leaned over to retrieve a pine cone that tumbled down in their wake. I turned it around in my hand. It was flawless.

  “His dad died when he was young so he and his mom have to manage on their own.”

  I accepted that my life had been temporarily hijacked. For whatever reason Alana displayed it like a trophy for her mother’s benefit. But she was also waving it around like some kind of a sword that could cut her mother in two. She was transforming into a girl-child before my eyes, begging for her mom’s approval and then attacking her when she got it. I didn’t want to be anyone’s model. I’d run off from responsibilities and friendships just to chase after a girl who cared nothing for the real me. The real flawed me. I hadn’t even told Alana about Mr. Pirkle’s private nightmare. I hadn’t told her about how I’d flaked out on Fritzy’s invitation to the youth retreat. The one Fritzy was so looking forward to. I tossed the pine cone into the underbrush.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Hudson,” Heather said. By the lack of real emotion in her voice I knew she was wise to what was happening. “It must have been hard on you.”

  “His mom’s great. She’s really strong.”

  We’d arrived at a place where it was impossible to ignore the obvious. It either had to be dealt with or we all had to go off on our own separate deer trails. We’d been walking for a while so I didn’t have a clue where we were or how to get back to the cabin. If I’d known, I would have left, claiming the need to use the bathroom or shower despite the disturbing thought of being alone with Chloe. Heather got right to the point.

  “You know, Alana, I wanted to take both you girls with me when your father and I split up, but that wasn’t possible.”

  “Well, I guess it might have been possible for you not to leave in the first place.”

  “No, that wasn’t possible either.”

  I wondered how I should act under the circumstances. Should I pretend to admire the landscape? Pick up another pine cone? Stare at the sharp blue sky filtered through millions of pine needles? I sneezed.

  “Bless you,” Heather said.

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything’s possible. If you want to make something happen, you can. You just make that choice.”

  Heather sighed deeply. “Alana, my dear, I’m aware you think you know everything at the tender age of eighteen, but believe me, you don’t. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

  “Oh, I will? What will I understand, Mother? How old do I have to be? Why don’t you just tell me now and save me the trouble of having to figure it out on my own?”

  Thankfully, the path had narrowed enough so I could drop back a few steps and get out of the line of fire.

  “You’ll understand that relationships don’t always work out the way you hope they will. And sometimes you have to walk away for the good of everyone.”

  “Maybe you should have figured that out before you had kids,” Alana muttered.

  “What about you, Alana? Where’s Bryce? Why are you here with Hudson instead of your boyfriend?”

  Yeah, why are you? I thought. Don’t answer that, I thought immediately afterwards.

  “Nice try, Mom.” Alana practically spat out the words. “I’m eighteen and he’s my boyfriend, not my husband. I don’t have kids, and besides, I’m not even going to be with Bryce after graduation. Hudson and I are going to travel to Europe for a long time. Years maybe. Maybe forever.”

  “Oh, really?” Heather, suddenly noticing I was no longer next to them, turned around to look for me. “You okay with that, Hudson?”

  “Umm . . . yeah. We’ve talked about it.” I shoved my hands into my pockets.

  “That’s why we’re here. I came to say goodbye because I won’t be seeing you and Chloe for a long time. Who knows when?”

  “Your father’s okay with this?”

  “I’m eighteen, Mom. I do what I want. Dad’s always been supportive, and I’m sure I’ll see a lot of him since he travels to Europe all the time.”

  “Oh, yes. Very supportive. Well, good for you he’s so supportive. I’m sorry if you think I haven’t been.”

  Oh, man! Why am I here? Anything would be better than this.

  We all fell silent and, other than the muffled sound of footsteps on thick dust and dead, crackling pine needles, only a birdsong was audible. Once again, Heather broke the silence.

  “You know why Chloe’s with me and you’re not? It’s because she needed me more. I knew you’d be fine without me, but Chloe would never have made it with your father. She’s not strong like you, Alana.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “That’s not nice.”

  “Well, it’s true. It’s bullshit. You were always so busy worrying about Chloe, you never bothered about me. You think I didn’t need a mother? You think I’m some kind of a fucking robot?”

  Alana was borderline losing it.

  “You’re self-sufficient, Alana, in a way she’s not. And your father was going to fight me for custody of one of you.”

  “So that was your Sophie’s choice, I guess. Nice.”

  “You and your father always got along.”

  “I know. And thank God I stayed with him instead of you, or I’d be living like some kind of a freak out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Be careful what you say in anger,” Heather said, without raising her voice. “Don’t say anything now you might regret when I’m gone.”

  “When you’re gone? Gone where?”

  “When I’m dead. Don’t harbor regrets the way I have with my own mother.”

  “You’re already go
ne, Mother. You were never there to begin with. This is bullshit.”

  Alana turned around and marched right past me in the direction from which we’d just come.

  “Hudson, we’re leaving. Let’s go home.”

  Heather looked at me as though somehow I was going to make everything all right. Produce a Band-Aid to patch up all those years of frustration and resentment that had rubbed them both emotionally raw. I kind of shrugged my shoulders and held out my hands. Then I turned around and trotted after Alana, the obedient puppy that I was.

  “Are you sure you know the way back?” I asked the back of her head, but she didn’t acknowledge the question.

  I turned around to look at Heather, but she just waved me on. She sat down on the ground and pulled her long skirt tight around her ankles. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead on her knees. Her shoulders shuddered and I knew she was crying.

  >>>

  Back at the cabin, we quickly gathered our things and shoved them into our overnight bags. Chloe looked up from her book as we were just about to make an exit.

  “Where’s Mom?” she asked.

  “She’s coming later. I guess she wanted to walk some more,” Alana answered, her voice somewhat softened. The lie itself was an act of compassion at least.

  “Why are you leaving?”

  “Hudson just remembered something he had to do back home. Something with his business. So I guess we’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Chloe said. She stood up awkwardly as if unsure of how to say goodbye to this alien sister of hers. She chose instead to say goodbye to me. Apparently, I was everyone’s stand-in.

  “Bye. Nice to meet you,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you too. Thanks for everything. Thanks for giving up your bedroom last night. Sorry it didn’t work out that we could stay longer.”

  “C’mon Hudson, let’s go.” I knew Alana was anxious to leave before her mother got back.

  “No problem.” Chloe followed us out the door and watched as we climbed into the car and pulled out onto the dirt road which would eventually lead to the main road back to the highway.

  Her long, thick hair, parted in the middle, hung like a curtain over her narrow white shoulders. For one brief moment, I could swear I saw all the sadness of the world contained in those slanting dark eyes from which nothing ever escaped.