by Lisa Moore
Tyrone O’Rourke kisses me. It’s full of tenderness. A thoughtful, tender kiss. I have never really known before now what the word tender means.
When I get home Miranda is slamming pots and pans around the kitchen. She tears off her shoe and throws it at me. She misses by a mile but it leaves a mark on the wall.
She’s never thrown anything at me before.
How dare you get on that motorcycle, she screams. How dare you?
I have never seen her so angry.
You could have been killed. The roads are full of ice. It’s dark out. I had no idea where you were. And he was driving that thing stoned, wasn’t he? I can smell it on you! You are grounded, young lady. You are grounded for the rest of your fucking days.
I thought you didn’t believe in grounding, I shout right back at her. I thought it wasn’t creative fucking parenting?
Don’t you use that language with me, young lady, she says.
I thought it was okay to swear as long as you were creative.
You are pushing your luck, she yells.
You can’t ground me anyway, I say. I’m sixteen. I can do whatever I like. I could leave if I wanted to, and who would take care of Felix while you’re off making art that doesn’t sell?
Okay, you’re not grounded, screams Miranda. You are just a disappointment.
I am stunned. These words, from Miranda, are such a low blow. Does she mean it? If she had smacked me in the face it would have hurt less.
You’re the disappointment, I say. I’m not shouting now. Everything I say is deliberate.
You are the worst mother on the planet. Did you ever hear of a condom? It takes money to raise children. It was selfish to have us. Surprises not accidents, my ass. You shouldn’t have had us.
I can promise you one thing, Flannery, she says. If you get on that motorcycle again, you will not be welcome under this roof.
I can promise you one thing, Mom, I say.
And I lower my voice to say this. If you don’t tell Felix who his father is, I’m going to do it. You’re just not parent enough to raise us alone.
And I go up to my room and slam my door.
I am shaking. What just happened? Then I lock the door just in case.
In the morning I get up early and leave for school before Miranda is even awake.
26
Things remain cold between Miranda and me for the whole week. I do more housework than usual. She puts extra time into cooking. Makes desserts. We are very polite to each other. The sort of polite you might use with a foreign dignitary, if one moved into your house.
On Saturday we head out in the truck for our family swim at the Aquarena. I am hoping the girl with the parrot hair isn’t working. What if she is Tyrone’s girlfriend and she finds out we were kissing?
But the girl isn’t at the desk. There’s a man behind the counter and he prints out the special bracelets for the waterslide without even glancing at us.
I follow Felix into the family change room, and there’s the girl with a bottle of window cleaner and a wad of paper towel. There are children changing out of wet bathing suits, children lined up in the shower stalls, mothers and fathers changing toddlers on the counters, toilets flushing, hair dryers going.
Hey, the girl says.
Hey, I say.
So are you going to that party next weekend? she asks. She spritzes the wall of mirrors over the sinks and starts wiping them clean. The wet paper towel squeaks against the glass.
What party? I say.
That music video wrap party, she says. My heart lurches like an elevator with a snapped cable. It’s hanging by a thread, clanging against my chest. I knew there was going to be a party, but the last time I went to check its Facebook event page, it was gone.
Now it hits me. I’ve been blocked. Gary probably blocked me.
Come on, Flannery, Felix says. He is trying to tear the knapsack off my shoulders. I need my swimsuit, hurry up.
Don’t you know that girl Amber? the girl asks. She’s squirting a spot of glass that has something stuck on it. She rubs it really hard and then scratches the spot with her fingernail. Then she rubs it again with the paper towel until it’s clean. Felix yanks the knapsack open and tears out his swimsuit and a towel. He disappears into a changing cubicle and wrenches the curtain closed.
Hey, do you know Amber too? Felix calls from behind the curtain. Amber is my sister’s best friend. The girl glances up at me in the mirror.
The wrap party is supposed to be pretty big, she says. Everybody is going.
Can I go? Felix yells.
I don’t think so, the girl tells him. I think it’s going to be pretty wild, she says to me. She squirts the faucets on one of the sinks and starts polishing those.
Your friend Amber has some strange taste in boyfriends, she says. She pauses to wipe her magenta bangs out of her eyes with the back of her wrist. Then she leans a hip against the sink with her arms crossed and really gives me a good looking over. Her eyes are the blue of colored contact lenses. Swimming-pool blue. Eerie and unnatural blue.
I decide I like her. Maybe she and Tyrone are just friends.
Tell me about it, I say.
He’s got her wrapped, don’t you think? Talk about controlling. I heard he knocked her phone out of her hand one night at a party and it smashed. All because she was texting someone.
I hadn’t heard that, I say. She sort of stopped talking to me.
I’m not surprised. She’s not allowed to talk to anybody, the girl says. I used to see her all the time here at the pool, practicing. She was pretty fast too. Everybody was saying Olympics, definitely. But she’s hardly been around lately. I’ve heard that boyfriend is jealous of some coach who’s practically old enough to be her father. And that guy, what’s his name? Gary? I’ve seen him hitting on other girls. He’s a total sleaze.
Felix bursts out of the change room in his shorts and goggles.
Come on, Flannery, hurry up! he says.
I have to hit the pool, I say. I’ve got my bathing suit on under my clothes and take everything else off and jam my clothes and the knapsack into the locker. The girl turns back to cleaning the next sink. I press the locker closed and drop a coin in the slot and remove the key and pin it on my strap. Felix has already gone through the showers and he’s heading out onto the pool deck. I catch the girl’s eye in the mirror.
I really like your hair, I say.
Thanks, she says. I’m Evelyn.
Flannery, I say. And she turns back around and we shake hands.
I hope to see you at the party, Flannery, she says. I’m going with Tyrone O’Rourke. You guys know each other, right?
Yeah, I say. When we were kids. Our moms knew each other.
And the last elevator cable snaps and my heart drops about a thousand floors.
But I have to hurry to catch up with Felix. Out at the pool there’s that song by Blondie coming from a tinny-sounding boom box and a very muscled coach is pacing the deck, calling instructions to a Swimmercise class consisting of three elderly women with flotation belts on their waists, one of whom wears a swimming cap with plastic flowers, her eyeglasses jutting from the tip of her nose.
The Swimmercise coach plays the same eighties hits every Saturday morning. After “Heart of Glass” it will be “Love Is a Battlefield,” “Bette Davis Eyes” and “Paradise by the Dashboard Light.”
I feel cold on the side of the deck and I have to tell Felix not to run. He wants to run.
Stop running, I say. You’re not allowed to run on the deck. You want to get us thrown out of here? Can’t you just behave for once?
I’m wondering why Tyrone would kiss me if he has a girlfriend. Was it just because he was stoned? Though Evelyn could still be just a friend, not a girlfriend. Friends go to parties together. But he hasn’t texted since that kiss. And Miranda was right. I could have been killed on the motorcycle. Tyrone ran a few red lights on the way home.
I said stop running!
Sorry, Fla
nnery, Felix says.
Why am I always stuck with you? Tell me that, I say. You never listen.
I can see I’ve hurt his feelings but I don’t care.
I’m listening, he says. See, I’m walking.
Look, go play in the baby pool, I say. That’s where you belong.
For some reason the song “Heart of Glass” seems to be playing on an endless loop and it’s making me feel like my own heart is going to shatter.
Everybody is going to that stupid party. What did Evelyn mean that Amber is not allowed to talk to anyone? I can’t believe my chest is hurting so much. My heart is actually hurting. Is that really a thing?
I decide I want to jump off the ten-meter diving board. I can see Felix looking at me from the baby pool while I wait in line for the ladder.
When I get up there I gaze around for a minute and I can see Miranda. The treadmills are on the mezzanine level facing a giant window that looks out over the pool. We are both way above the world, on opposite sides of the pool. The air up here is dry and smells of cedar and the big ceiling lights are pink-tinged.
It’s an Olympic-sized pool and there’s a whole fiercely flickering artificial blue stretch, with squiggly black lines on the bottom, between my mother and me.
Miranda’s wearing a blue Lycra body suit and a red headband and she has a silver weight in each fist. Her chin is tilted up and the weights are close to her chest and she is strutting, jerking one shoulder forward then the other — a very, very fast walk. I know she will keep increasing the speed as the hour goes on until she is running hard.
This is Miranda. Determined to get somewhere, throwing herself into it with all her might, even when there’s no hope of getting anywhere at all.
I wish she’d give up on her great work of conceptual art and go back to university for a teaching degree. I’m tired of worrying about money and stealing Internet from somebody who calls himself bubbaspleasurepalace.
I jump and Felix is waiting for me on the side of the pool and he wants to try the Tarzan rope. It’s a thick green rope knotted in a couple of places so you can grip it without your hands sliding down.
There’s a big lineup but we wait our turn and Felix watches the girl ahead of him climb up on the platform for the Tarzan rope and lower her goggles over her eyes. She turns and gives her dad, who has been waiting with her, a little wave. She grips the rope, leaps off the platform and flies through the air, legs kicking hard.
The rope almost seems to stand still before it begins to swing back and the girl drops into the water with a big splash.
Felix steps up onto the platform. He glances back at me and I can see he’s scared.
The girl is swimming out of the way of the rope and she gets to the side of the pool and turns to watch Felix through her green-tinted goggles. A lineup of seven kids has formed behind him.
The lifeguard hands Felix the rope, and everybody is waiting.
Hey, Flannery, the lifeguard says.
It’s Kyle Keating.
Oh, hey, Kyle.
I’ve been reading your mom’s parenting blog, he blurts.
What? I say.
Yeah, it’s cool, he says. Your mom seems great. Then he says to Felix, No Brussels sprouts for you, right, kid? Felix doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s staring, transfixed, at the spot on the surface of the pool where he will probably land when he lets go of the rope. He looks like he’s about to walk the plank into shark-infested waters.
Listen, Flan, are you going to Amber’s party? Kyle asks.
He’s wearing a bathing suit and a tank top that says Staff on the back in white letters. He seems to have absolutely no problem standing around in public under very bright fluorescent lights nearly naked.
I can feel myself blush. I cross my arms over my chest.
If that kid’s not going to go, he should get off the platform, a parent behind me says.
Okay, Flannery, here I go, says Felix. But he just grips the rope tighter and doesn’t move.
I see that Kyle Keating has no reason to be ashamed of standing around in public with hardly any clothes on. I try to keep my eyes on his face so it won’t look like I’ve been staring at his body. But his eyes are just as hard to look at. They’re honest is the word. And he looks honestly very happy to be talking to me.
Because I was thinking, Kyle Keating says.
Here I go, yells Felix. He moves his hands on the rope, holding even tighter, but his feet are still stuck to the platform.
Is this kid going to jump or what? says the parent behind us. Now there are about twenty kids waiting in line. I realize I have never seen Felix frightened before. He needs me to say something.
Go, you big baby, I say.
I am going! he shouts.
Well, go then! I say.
Flannery, he says. He says my name in a gentle way, the way he used to say it when he was a really little kid and he’d wake up from a nightmare and beg me to get in with him and he’d fall back into a deep sleep as soon as I did and his little hand would feel around on top of the blankets for me and he’d end up slapping his little palm down all over my face.
He looks back regretfully at the lineup behind him.
Just go, I say. I stamp my foot.
Here I go, then, he says. I almost don’t hear him. And then he yells at the very top of his lungs, Hiiiyaaaaa!
He runs a few steps and goes flying through the air. He swings far out over the water.
Because I was just wondering if you’d like to go to the party with me, Kyle Keating says. We could go together.
Felix has reached that stretchy moment when the rope seems to go completely still, just before it heads back toward the platform.
Unless you are already going with someone else, Kyle says.
How long does it take, you might well ask, for Kyle Keating and me to realize that the Tarzan rope has swung back and that Felix isn’t hanging onto it anymore? Nor has he swum to the side of the pool.
The answer: Actually, it takes quite a long time.
The answer: Too long.
The answer: Not very long at all. Maybe fifteen seconds. Maybe a half a minute.
There is a lot of noise in the pool. Lots of splashing and kicking and the boom box is now playing “Love Is a Battlefield” and the old ladies are swaying their arms over their heads in the Swimmercise class and people are shooting out of the waterslide like human cannonballs.
Okay, maybe it is even a full minute. Maybe longer. Like an eternity? I have been fiddling with my locker key and the pin comes undone and it falls off my bathing-suit strap and drops to the deck of the pool, and Kyle and I both bend for it at the same time and our foreheads bump.
And for some reason Felix doesn’t call out for help. He is out there kicking as hard as he can but he keeps going under and swallowing half the pool. He becomes panicked. The little girl with the green goggles is trying to get my attention, yelling at me, Hey, hey, girl!
Kyle Keating and I understand what is going on in the very same moment.
It is the same moment in which a lifeguard whistle tears through the whole building and everybody in the pool turns toward the Tarzan rope. Two lifeguards dive in and the boom box is keening heartache to heartache but it shuts off with a clunk and a hush falls.
Simultaneously, I understand why Miranda is always going so fast on the treadmill. She is full of fear. She’s afraid of us not having money, she’s afraid of the pipes bursting when they cut off the heat, and she’s afraid of what will happen if her welfare check doesn’t arrive in the next few days because we are low on food again.
She’s running as fast as she can, even if she’s just running on the spot, because that’s all she can do, and she isn’t about to sit around and do nothing.
And what happens is all that running bursts her out of the normal space-time continuum and before I know it she is at the poolside, just as I notice that Felix is in trouble out there.
Of course Miranda doesn’t really break through the sp
ace-time continuum. What really happens is that she sees from her perch on the treadmill that her baby boy is going to try the Tarzan rope and she knows he isn’t a strong enough swimmer to get to the side of the pool and she has been banging on the big glass window with her hand while I’ve been talking to Kyle Keating. When I don’t glance up she runs down the stairs, vaults over the concrete deck and jumps into the pool at the exact same moment that Felix starts to sink for real.
So in that moment, yeah — I understand the extent of Miranda’s fear, though she tries with all her might to keep it hidden. Miranda is afraid of whether or not there will be enough nutrition in our diets, and she’s afraid she’s going to accidentally kill Spiky and/or Smooth and that I’ll never speak to her again, and she’s afraid that her art isn’t any damn good at all, because she really believes in that stuff, and it means a lot to her, and she’s sacrificing a lot to keep making art, but she’s thinking maybe she doesn’t have the right to sacrifice so much when she is a mother with two kids to feed.
She’s afraid that Felix and I will be made to feel ashamed because we don’t have much money and it will affect the way we think about ourselves and the way others think about us. She’s afraid people will be prejudiced against us, and she’s afraid for our hearts, that we’ll end up hurt. She’s afraid I’ll get killed in a freak motorcycle accident. And she’s afraid she’ll be alone and nobody will fall in love with her because she has two kids to take care of and can’t take off to Hawaii on a whim, and the truth is I am very much afraid for her too.
She leaps into the pool in her blue Lycra suit and running shoes with the neon orange stripes and somehow swims down to grab the arm of her thrashing son.
Her baby.
Lifeguards take over and get Felix onto the pool deck. He is spewing pool water and crying and very weak.
I think of those hours when I used to play with him, making up stories, acting them out as we went along. Troll, bring me some wood for the fire. Yes, Master! Not that wood, you stupid troll, the golden boughs! Yes, Master, right away, Master. And, Troll? Yes, Master? Tonight we will visit the lair of the silver dragon and steal the magic fang. Oh goody, Master!