Lost for Words

by Alice Kuipers

  Mum: “I can’t bear it. I can’t help her. I can’t even help myself.”

  Then I missed a bit because someone put on the coffeemaker, and it whirred and percolated some of the words. As the mechanical whirring sound filled my brain, I imagined the coffeemaker blowing up and shards of glass and grains of coffee spraying all over the room, covering Mum, Katherine, and Mark with residue. I heard imaginary screaming, and I put my hands over my ears. My stomach clenched. Then Lucy scared the life out of me by clutching my elbow and spitting, “Don’t.”

  The tops of her cheeks were red. She looked like she did when she was a kid. Once we spent an afternoon listing all the things we wanted for our tenth birthday, and it wasn’t just material stuff; it was things like nice nails, an end to nuclear arms, a boyfriend. I couldn’t imagine being that close to her again. She’d become a stranger I knew everything about. Like Abigail. Like all of my friends.

  She tightened her grip. “Don’t listen.”

  “I have the right to. They’re talking about me. Why do they think I’m not coping?” I raised my voice. “I’m fine.”

  She gave me a long cool gaze. “Do you really think you’re fine? How could you be?”

  “What do you know?”

  She blushed and lowered her eyes. When she looked back up, she acted like nothing had just been said. “Sophie, come with me. Come and have some fun. Kai’s too good at pool—you can help me.”

  What I wanted to ask Lucy was if she missed Emily. If she missed the hours we used to spend playing together as children in her garden. And suddenly I felt really grown-up. And really, really sad. Mutely I followed her downstairs.

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20TH

  School was deathly. On the journey home I got soaked. Mum was out. I made myself a cheese sandwich with the last of the bread. I finished all my homework. No one called. I was so sick of my thoughts going around and around, I ended up writing a prose poem. It’s a stream-of-consciousness thing. I’ll show it to Rosa-Leigh tomorrow and maybe she can help me with it.

  Burn—the word burn comes from fire, from heat, from lickety hot, flame orange like Halloween, and charred smoke stains like black soil once the forest fire is over, the earthy black remains. I remain turned outside in, the darkest corner of the forest opened to hot, wet light. I remain without you: a glass half full to everyone else, half empty to me.

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 22ND

  I was supposed to hand in a personal essay for English today. The topic could be anything I wanted. Except I didn’t do it. Now I have detention for tomorrow. If I get another detention, Mum will be called in to school to discuss my behavior. I don’t feel like going to school ever again. I wouldn’t care if I got expelled, but if I did, I’d have to deal with Mum, and that would be awful.

  At break I gave Abi a top I’d bought her for her birthday. She said, “Can you come over early for my birthday thing the weekend after this?”

  “You’re having another party?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing. It’s just, I don’t know, you’re having a lot of parties, but no, it’s good. Yes, I’ll be there.”

  She smiled when I said that, like I’d given her a gift voucher for a spa rather than a top.

  I smiled back at her. My clockwork cuckoo smile.

  “Is something wrong?” she said.

  “Nothing. No.” I wanted to ask her how it had been at Dan’s when I was stuck at the Haywoods’. I wanted to moan about being given detention. But it was like the words got stuck along with all the other things I haven’t said to her. To anyone. I thought of what Katherine had said about me being disconnected. But Katherine doesn’t understand that it’s better this way. I smiled brightly, too brightly, judging from the surprise in Abi’s eyes. I said, “Everything’s fine. I just haven’t done that personal essay thing.”

  Megan came over. She must have overheard because she started talking about her stupid essay. She wrote about her dog dying. I couldn’t believe it. Then she and Abi started talking about Dan’s house. Even though I thought I wanted to hear about it, when Abigail said she spent all evening talking to Dan, my stomach churned. I wished she’d shut up.

  Kalila was sitting by herself at the next table. Even though her head scarf shadows her face, I swear I saw her glance over, and she looked sorry for me.

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 26TH

  Last night I went to Emily’s room, opened the door, and stood there for a while before I went in. She has square mirrors all over one wall. I could see myself reflected in all those squares, and it was like lots of TV screens staring at me. I felt like I was waiting for something, like Emily might come out of the little bathroom in there, her hair flipped up in a towel, and yell at me to get out.

  I went to her CDs all lined up on the blue wooden shelf and started looking through them. I hadn’t even had two minutes looking at them when Mum came in. She said, “What are you doing in here?”

  I shrugged.

  She whipped around and started screaming, “Leave things alone. Don’t touch anything. DON’T!”

  I just stood there; I was so shocked.

  She grabbed hold of my arms and pulled at me. I yelled at her to get off and tried to tell her I only wanted to borrow a CD. We got to the doorway, and I held on to it. She tugged at me, but I clung on. She went limp. Then she let me go and stared at me like I was a stranger.

  I sobbed, “I wanted to borrow a CD.”

  She said, “Don’t take anything out of there.”

  “Why?”

  “I mean it,” she said.

  “You wish it was me,” I replied, but really quietly.

  Her face folded in on itself like I’d winded her and she couldn’t catch her breath. Before she could say anything, I ran back to my room, slammed the door, and lay on the bed, frozen.

  Mum knocked gently, and then, when I didn’t answer, said through the door, “You know that’s not true, right?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  She said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about just now. I wish I could make this easier for you.” I thought she said, “For both of us,” straight after, but she must have started crying, because it was hard to make out her words. “Look, I know I need to do better for you. I promise I’ll do better, Soph.”

  I wanted to say something; I really did.

  She knocked again and said, her voice choked, “Can I come in, Sophie?”

  I thought she might push open the door but she didn’t. She didn’t come in. I hate her. And I hate Emily for making all this happen. I can’t believe I just wrote that. But it’s true.

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 28TH

  Rosa-Leigh and I decided to walk home today because it wasn’t quite as cold as it has been. She asked me to come to her house on Friday, but I’m going to Abigail’s thing, so I had to say no. It was a looooooong walk. We came up through the park and went through the maze and got lost, which was kind of fun. Afterward we sat on the grass and watched the grey skies darken. She started talking about how the air glitters with specks of frost in Canmore in winter. She spoke about sun dogs. I made her describe them to me: some weird weather thing where the sky looks like it has three suns. Then she started talking about her mum. She doesn’t remember very much, just stuff from photos mainly. She asked me, “Could you listen to a poem I wrote about her? Can I read it to you?”

  I nodded. She read to me quietly. As I listened, I started thinking about my mum and the terrible fight on Sunday night. Mum is obviously insane. She clearly hates me and can’t cope with Emily not around. She doesn’t seem ever to want to go back to work. She used to love designing. She made people’s homes beautiful with soft fabrics in shades of green and earthy orange. Her style was very organic, Emily told me once. Emily had a jazzier artistic eye. She would mix all sorts of colors and make everything come together; she loved the texture of oil paint. I never knew what to say when they talked “Art” together; I don’t have an artistic eye at all.

  Rosa-Leigh finishe
d her poem. I made her read it to me again, and I concentrated harder. The cold seeped like misery into my bones. The grass smelled damp, composty. With her poem Rosa-Leigh conjured a picture of her mum in the earthy air. I shivered as she finished the poem for the second time. I said, “That was beautiful.” I felt stupid for saying it straight out like that, but it was true and Rosa-Leigh didn’t seem to mind. Then I took a deep breath and said, “My mum collects things that other people have lost.”

  She leaned back on her elbows and said, “Why?”

  “I don’t even know. She’s always done it. Even when my sister was still around. I think even when my dad was alive, but I can’t really remember. She has gloves and a couple of socks, which are disgusting, and she’s really proud of her single earrings. It’s so weird—no one in the WORLD collects stuff other people have lost.”

  “What happened to your dad and your sister?”

  I couldn’t believe she didn’t know about Emily. My insides became a fist. “Dad died when I was little. He had cancer, but I was too small to really know him. I was only two. It was always just me and Mum. And Emily…” I had to pause before I started the next bit. I said, “My sister…” I didn’t finish.

  She was quiet. I heard a rustle as she lay back completely. She said, “Look up.”

  I copied her and lay down. The sky spun with my dizziness.

  She said, “Can you see the stars coming out? You don’t get so many stars in London.”

  I said, “I miss her all the time.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I stared straight up, blinking back tears. “I think so. I’m fine.”

  “What else does your mum have in her collection?”

  “Newspaper articles about stolen babies and about people who’ve gone missing. There’s a gold medal, and I don’t know what else. I haven’t been in there for ages.”

  Rosa-Leigh said, “I wonder what my mom was like.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She was hit by a drunk driver. I wish that I could remember her. Joshua and Jack talk about her sometimes. That’s how I could write the poem.”

  “It was really good.”

  “Thanks. It makes me feel better when I write.”

  I didn’t say anything. It started to drizzle. When we sat up, the rain looked liked slivers of glass in Rosa-Leigh’s hair. Eventually we were so cold, we decided to pull each other from the ground and finish the walk home.

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 1ST

  Mum went out tonight to some support group thing that she suddenly announced she was joining, smiling at me like I’d be pleased. I still haven’t forgiven her for yelling at me the other day, so I didn’t say anything, but I was surprised.

  After talking about her collection with Rosa-Leigh, I wanted to go and sneak a look once Mum had gone. I opened the door to her office. She used to have all her interior design work on her desk, but now her collection has taken over most of the room. I couldn’t even see the desk for the jumble of things. I swear she didn’t have that much stuff before. The room is TOTALLY full. It’s chaos in there. Scattered everywhere are raggedy bits of clothing. A teddy bear with one eye lies on the floor, and a jar full of pennies sits on her chair. Mum is obviously losing the plot.

  I can’t stop thinking about what the Haywoods said. They said we should go and stay with them. I don’t know if that would help Mum. Should I be worried about her? Maybe the Haywoods should know that her collection is getting out of control. I closed the door behind me and hurried down to the living room.

  I fell asleep on the sofa while watching TV. I dreamed I was in a small dark space with a fire coming closer and closer. I couldn’t get out. I woke sweating.

  Mum still wasn’t home. I clambered up the stairs to my room. My head felt like it might explode. I have to stop myself thinking about anything. If only I knew how. At least our half-term holidays start tomorrow. I couldn’t face going to school.

  5

  The witches of sunlight

  FRIDAY, MARCH 3RD

  Abigail called and told me Dan called HER last night. She was so excited—just gushing. I’m too depressed to write. And JEALOUS. Why would he call her and not me? Although he told her he wasn’t coming to her party so maybe that’s a good thing, right?

  I’m just about to go to Abi’s house for her birthday thing. I’m staying the night. I’m going to have to listen to her going on and on about him all evening.

  Abi gave me a huge hug when I arrived and pulled me upstairs to her room. She whispered that her mum had been drinking. “Even though she promised she’d go out, she’s in bed sleeping.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She pulled a face and said, “I’m fine. What are you going to wear tonight? Do you want to borrow my black jeans?”

  I fingered through her clothes and listened to her chatter. I tried on her jeans and decided I didn’t like how they looked, so I took them off and put my own jeans back on. She smoked and the air in her room grew thicker. She kept saying how skinny I was and how great I looked. In the end I just gave her a look to tell her to stop.

  She said, “What?” but she stopped. She put on loads more makeup than she usually does. Zara came in. I was surprised because it was still early and Zara is always late. She wore a black hat and a fantastic purple dress that would make anyone else look overdressed. I wish I could wear hats and look cool but I can’t.

  So, Zara came in and said, “I had to come early because I had to get out of my house. My mum is crazy.”

  I wanted to say that if she thought her mum was crazy, she should try mine, but I didn’t say anything.

  She took a cigarette from Abi’s pack, lit it (apparently she smokes now), and continued, “My mum caught me and Alec”—they’re back together; she’s forgiven him—“in bed together.” She blew a smoke ring. “She’s furious.”

  I was glad I hadn’t said anything, because Zara obviously meant crazy angry, not crazy crazy like an insane person. Then she went on for ages about stuff she’d done with Alec. I both wanted her to shut up and to tell us more. Everyone has done it EXCEPT ME—even Abigail, but she used to say she regretted it. Now she acts like she knows EVERYTHING. She shared all these knowing looks with Zara.

  Zara said, “Where’s Megan?”

  I shrugged.

  Abi said, “She’ll be here.” She smiled at Zara. Because I felt so excluded, I ignored them. Then Abi got it into her head that we had to make cupcakes for the party. Zara and I were like, “We’re not five years old,” but Abigail insisted. Then Zara decided it was a good idea (which surprised me because usually she’s so cool and aloof), so we went downstairs and whipped up this mix and made cakes and put them in the oven. It was kind of fun, but by the time we had to ice them, we’d had a couple of drinks. I ended up icing all the cupcakes by myself, because Zara and Abigail went outside to smoke pot. I felt kind of tipsy and didn’t want to get stoned, too. I poured myself another vodka. Then Megan came in from the back. I didn’t know she’d arrived. She said, “You’ve been making cupcakes.”

  I nodded.

  She said, “God, I wish I could have one.”

  I said, “Have one. I don’t know if the icing has set yet, though.”

  Megan shook her head and put her hand on her stomach. “I don’t think so.”

  I finished covering the cakes with this neon yellow icing, and I scattered sparkly sugary things over them. People started showing up, but no one ate any of the cakes, so it had all been a waste of time. I got into a conversation with Zara, which never happens, and she talked about boys—surprise, surprise—and was midway through telling me a story about Alec when her phone interrupted.

  I went outside. There were some guys there, and I stood around watching them smoke a joint but refused it when they passed it to me because I was still feeling a bit drunk. I wished for a moment that Dan were there. I remembered his blue eyes and his smile. I went back inside because it was freezing outside and saw there were some more boys smoking p
ot inside.

  I went to let Abigail know. Her mum is pretty laid-back—or just doesn’t care—but she won’t let anyone smoke pot inside her house. Just as I found Abigail, her mum appeared at the top of the stairs all bleary-eyed and wobbly. She used to be a ballerina, and she’s very elegant and thin. She normally wears her black hair in a bun, but because she’d been sleeping, it was loose and frizzy, sticking up on one side. Her red lipstick was smeared. She started yelling, “Get everyone out! I can smell marijuana. Abigail, get them out.” It would have been funny if it was on TV, but it was really happening. Everyone stared.

  Abigail yelled at her mum, “How could you do this to me on my birthday?” and she was crying.

  “This isn’t a drug den, it’s my home!” Abi’s mum screamed. The muscles in her skinny throat tensed and her collarbone was sharp and angry.

  Then they were both yelling. People emptied out of the house like rats leaving a sinking ship. There was no one left, not Zara, not even Megan. I stood there unsure what to do with myself. Abi turned to me and said, “Please go. I don’t want you here. This is so embarrassing.”

  I felt tears springing to my eyes, and I turned away before she could see. I got my coat, but then she grabbed me and said, “I’m sorry. Please stay. I need your help.” She gestured at her mum, who was now sitting slumped on the bottom step. We got her up to bed, which was like leading a staggering foal, all long limbs and falling over.

  When we finally got to bed, I wanted to talk to Abi, but she went straight to sleep. I lay there for a long time, unable to drift off.

  SUNDAY, MARCH 5TH

  DAN EMAILED ME!!! I thought, since he hadn’t called back, I wouldn’t ever hear from him again. Maybe he sensed I was thinking about him!