The Suburban Strange

by Nathan Kotecki

  “It’s funny how we listen to songs with all these dark themes, but when it happens in real life it’s not so glamorous,” Celia said.

  “What are you saying?” Regine asked.

  “I’m saying it’s one thing when the tornado is on the cover of an album, and it’s another thing when it’s coming toward you, ready to rip the roof off your house.”

  “Of course. Do you think we trivialize that or something?”

  “No. I just wonder what the difference is . . . between art and the real world, sometimes.”

  “I think I prefer art to the real world,” Regine said. “Everything should always be mysterious and beautiful and meaningful.”

  “But what about when it isn’t? This afternoon a sophomore girl whose birthday is tomorrow got her chest burned by defibrillator pads in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”

  “Then I’m a horrible person, because I’m thankful it’s not happening to me,” Regine said.

  “Is that how you’ll feel next week, on the day before my birthday?” Celia asked.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Regine said it sternly, as though that could make it so. “Let’s talk about something else. I wish you and Liz were coming to promenade.”

  “Promenade?”

  “Well, that is its real name. ‘Promenade’ sounds so much more elegant than ‘prom,’ don’t you think? Why don’t you just let someone take you so you can be there with us? Or you and Liz could go as each other’s dates. It’ll be the last time we’ll get to be the Rosary like that at Suburban.”

  “Has Ivo asked you yet?”

  “No, I think he’s planning some kind of surprise to ask me. I’m sure it will be good. I already have my dress. It would just be so much better if all of us were going.”

  “Can I ask you something? I’m only saying this because you’re my best friend.” Celia wasn’t sure that was true, but she hoped hearing it would make Regine more receptive. “Do you ever wonder if your relationship with Ivo is a little one-sided? Every time the two of you do something as a couple, it’s because it was your idea.”

  “Ivo’s not very good at that. Anyway, I like making the plans.”

  “I just would hate it if you were disappointed. Have you talked about next year, when he’s off at Metropolitan?”

  “We’re going to try a long-distance relationship, like Brenden and Marco,” Regine said, but it sounded like she was making a wish. “Why are you making everything so complicated today? Remember when we used to just listen to CDs and talk about the music?” She turned up the volume on the stereo, and Celia looked out the window.

  18. THE DREAMING

  THE DAYS PASSED BY, and the clock ran down, and Celia’s birthday loomed. She knew she was facing a very real danger, and soon it would be her turn in the bull’s-eye. Every day she looked at her mother and tried to figure out something she could tell her that wouldn’t sound completely crazy. At one point Celia had thought she would make up any excuse, or just beg to stay home. But that week a classmate was hospitalized with third-degree burns—something to do with an electrical short and some gas fumes—when she stayed home for her curse day, so school was looking like the safer, if not entirely safe, place to be.

  She didn’t accept Marco’s offer. Or John’s, or anyone else’s, explicit or implied. As scared as Celia was, the idea of losing her virginity was such an alien concept, she knew she just wasn’t ready. She wished she could feel ready. Her feelings weren’t religious, or pure, or chaste; they were messy and incoherent. No matter how she thought about it, having sex now would amount to forcing herself to do something she didn’t want to do, and the risk of a curse day injury actually weighed lighter than rushing into sexual experience. All Celia had was blind hope that something would change the situation and take the problem off her hands.

  She sat at her desk in her room on the night before her curse day, waiting for nine o’clock, the time for her nightly phone call with Tomasi. She had told him more about Mariette, more about the mysteries they couldn’t solve. He asked questions, but it was hard to tell what he thought. Still, talking on the phone was all she could have of him, so she took it.

  “So, tomorrow is my curse day,” she said after they had talked about school.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Be careful, I guess. I’m going to school. At least I’ll have Mariette there if something happens.”

  “I wish I could do something. This is the one time I wish I had powers that could help you.”

  “It’s okay. I understand why you don’t want them.”

  “Do you want to see my admonition?”

  “I’d love to! I didn’t want to ask. Mariette is very private about hers.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t have shown you mine before now . . . but that’s because you’re in it.”

  “I am?”

  “I think you are. I got it last August, and the moment I saw you, that first night at Diaboliques, I was sure you were the one. That’s the reason this is the first time I’ve tried to fulfill an admonition.”

  “Wait, so you are trying to fulfill your admonition?”

  “I was. And then I wasn’t, because everything got so bad at home. I want to, but I can’t figure out how. You should just read it. Do you have your sketchbook?”

  “It’s right here.”

  “I’ll write it to you, but I’ll have to get off the phone because writing like that takes all my concentration, and then I’ll be exhausted. Be careful tomorrow, will you? And call me tomorrow night to let me know you’re okay.”

  “I will.” They said good night, and then Celia put down the phone and watched the blank page in her sketchbook. Soon Tomasi’s admonition began to unfurl slowly down the page, like ivy creeping across bare soil. She wondered what effort it took him to write this way. Was he gritting his teeth? Was sweat beading his forehead?

  To claim the power that you seek

  Befriend the one you see each week

  Make her rich, no money spent

  And kiss her lips—if not, her cheek

  Before the earth eclipses moon

  Your day will darken, though it’s noon

  Remember her—to her stay true

  Her hands must draw you close, and soon

  Beware the one who knows you not

  But tries to change this story’s plot

  Who hopes to kiss her just like you

  And steal the treasure you have sought

  Celia remembered her initial fascination with the Unkind admonition with its instruction to kill a girl when Mariette had shared it with her. Seeing Tomasi’s rekindled that fascination. Celia studied the stanzas, so specific in some places, so vague in others. Did admonitions ever actually spell out what the power would be? If you misunderstood their instructions, what happened? If you missed the deadline, was there a second chance? Did every admonition include something to be won by a kiss and awarded at the eclipse of the moon? Was there always someone who could thwart your efforts? Or were the two admonitions she’d seen similar by coincidence?

  Celia understood why Tomasi thought his admonition described her. For a while they had seen each other once a week. Had he been willing to recommend books because it would enrich her, no money spent? Celia knew now why he had smiled the way he did when his father had caught them: he had kissed her, meeting another requirement of his admonition. His day certainly had darkened after that.

  What was left? Her hands must draw you close, and soon. Was it up to Celia to fulfill the last requirement, then? The night of their date, had she reached for him? She couldn’t remember doing anything like that. She felt the weight of responsibility. What if she didn’t see him again before the eclipse of the moon and she unknowingly had squandered her opportunity to help him fulfill his admonition? Celia swore if she had to break into Tomasi’s house before June to take him by the hands and pull him close to her, she would do it.

  There was the matter of the warning about so
meone trying to change the plot. Who could that be? A busload of boys—including Marco—had offered to kiss her (among other things) in the past few weeks, but that didn’t seem to fit the admonition. Celia couldn’t think of anyone else. Having failed to untie that knot, Celia returned to the most important strand. Tomasi must have chosen to share his admonition with her because he hoped she would help him fulfill it. But in doing so, he had revealed something else. All the things that had entranced her about him up until now—the staring, the books, the kiss—were part of a script. Did that mean he was using her? She couldn’t accept that. Why, after four other unfulfilled admonitions, would he suddenly want to fulfill this one so badly that he would take all the risks he had, and suffer the consequences, just to lead her on? No, it was much easier to believe that Tomasi was doing all this because he really liked her. Perhaps he even loved her. Celia was prepared to invest everything she had in that theory, because she knew she loved him.

  She loved him! It was so simple, but it filled her to overflowing, and she felt the truth creep out of the corners of her eyes and mouth. She loved him. It made her smile from the inside out. She had no idea what was supposed to happen next, but it didn’t matter. Celia loved Tomasi.

  Eventually her head cleared, and the misgivings returned, buzzing around her like gnats. What if he got what he needed from her—if it was just for her to draw him close, how hard could that be?—and then he disappeared again, this time for good? If that was his plan, why would he let her see his admonition? Celia thought of how Regine was deluding herself with Ivo and wondered if she was being just as foolish.

  Where had normal, everyday life gone, and how had this bizarre world come to replace it?

  Celia stood up from her desk, and a movement on the back lawn outside her window caught her attention. She went over to the glass and looked down. A figure crouched on the grass, and Celia could tell immediately from the wild curls who it was. A book and a flask of water lay on the lawn next to Mariette, and the grass undulated in circles away from her, breaking against the rock garden behind her, as though the lawn were a pond and Mariette had been dropped into the middle.

  “She’s trying to protect me,” Celia said. She suddenly felt exhausted and changed for bed. By the time she had crawled under her duvet she barely could keep her eyes open.

  That night she dreamt so vividly, several times she thought she had awakened, only to realize she had moved on to another dream instead. Celia wandered through a city with high walls between the sidewalks and the houses. She bent to look through the keyhole in a door in the wall, and through it she could see the rest of the Rosary walking down a gravel path, away from her. She rang the bell and called out, but when the door opened, she entered a dark hallway. When her eyes adjusted, she was standing outside Tomasi’s house in a snowstorm . . .

  Celia drove a powerful black car, more luxurious even than any of the cars the Rosary owned. Regine sat in the passenger seat, trying to fill in the lines in a child’s coloring book. Strange music played on the car stereo, something threatening and beautiful that Celia hadn’t heard before. When Regine asked her what it was, Celia was surprised to find she knew the answer . . .

  Celia sat at a huge table by herself in the middle of a cafeteria so large she couldn’t see the far side of it. All the other tables were crowded with kids wearing her old clothes. She saw Ivo standing in a doorway, scared to enter the room. She stood up to wave to him but he couldn’t see her, and he stayed where he was, trying to light the candle in his lantern . . .

  Celia lay naked in a huge bed and felt the smooth sheets against her body. She was aroused, but when she turned she found Brenden and Marco next to her. They were having sex, unaware of her. She reached out to touch the sweat on their bodies, and when she put her fingers to her lips, they tasted of cranberry tea . . .

  Celia danced in the middle of the floor at Diaboliques, and she was a foot taller than everyone else. Everyone was dancing to the song that had been playing before in her car. She saw Tomasi and strode across the room to him, feeling herself growing taller, or maybe he was shrinking. When she reached him she picked him up easily and kissed him hungrily. For a moment she was outside her body, and she saw that her eyes were silver and sparkling . . .

  Celia stood in the bed of ivy on the Fourads’ front lawn. Skip was with her, and Liz was looking down from a second-floor window. Celia turned to Skip and pulled his orange shirt off, then stripped off the rest of his clothes, tossing them into the ivy. Liz wouldn’t come out of the house. Celia turned to Skip, who looked down. There in the ivy between them lay a sophomore girl, her eyes closed, her body twisted . . .

  Celia led all the girls in her class in a fearsome march through the school. They stormed the halls, carrying burning torches and shouting. Celia ripped locker doors off their hinges, and charms of hummingbirds flew out of each one. The girls herded the boys in front of them, finally trapping them all in the chemistry lab before they set the school on fire . . .

  Celia stood onstage in front of the entire student body. Everyone was wearing graduation robes. The students who were virgins wore white robes, and the rest wore red. She looked down and saw that her robe was white, but at the hem a red stain was creeping upward, like a drop of blood diffusing in a glass of milk.

  19. SHOULD THE WORLD FAIL TO FALL APART

  WHEN CELIA AWOKE, SHE felt as though she had been asleep forever, and remnants of her dreams still clouded her mind. It was fifteen minutes before her alarm was set to ring. She turned it off and sat up in bed. Something was different. She felt like a different person. “Who am I?” she asked herself. Then her apprehension about what harm the day might bring to her pushed all the other thoughts aside. She got up and went downstairs.

  “Happy birthday, sweetie!” her mother sang out when she entered the kitchen.

  “My birthday’s tomorrow,” Celia said, confused.

  “What do you mean? Today’s your birthday.”

  Celia looked at the newspaper on the table and saw that her mother was right. “What happened to yesterday?” she asked herself.

  “What did you say?”

  “Did I go to school yesterday?”

  “Of course you did, didn’t you? Well, I don’t think I saw you yesterday morning.” Her mother stopped stirring her coffee. “Why wouldn’t you have gone to school?”

  “Did you see me at all yesterday?”

  “You know, I don’t think I did.” Her mother looked confused. “Where did you have dinner?”

  “I don’t remember,” Celia said. “I don’t remember yesterday at all.”

  “Are you sick?” Her mother felt her forehead. “You feel fine.” She gave Celia a curious look and went to put the cream away.

  What a long sleep I’ve had, Celia thought in astonishment. Clearly Mariette had done something, but what?

  Regine was no help. When Celia asked her in the car if Regine had picked her up the previous day, Regine panicked.

  “Oh my god, I completely forgot! How did I forget to pick you up?”

  “It’s okay,” Celia said. Something had happened—something from the secret side of her life, something most people weren’t supposed to notice or understand. She had better let it go, lest it turn into another bell she would have to try to unring, as she had tried to do after she had mentioned her suspicions about Mariette to the Rosary, as she had tried to do when Ivo had found the Unkind admonition.

  “But that’s so weird! You weren’t in school, but I didn’t realize it until now! How did I not notice? What did you do?” Regine had slowed down so much the car was practically stopped in the middle of the road.

  “I don’t think I did anything,” Celia said, thinking fast. “I wasn’t feeling well. I must have slept all day.”

  “I am completely freaked out. Wait—today’s your birthday! Do you think it was the curse?”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t get hurt. I just skipped the day.”

  “And nobody noticed you were g
one . . .” Regine said. “Celia, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe it was for the best.”

  “Well, happy birthday!” Regine returned to business as usual. “You have to wait until we get to school, because we got you one gift from all of us. I can’t wait for you to see it!”

  In the parking lot the Rosary gathered around Celia to wish her well. She couldn’t tell if the rest of them had noticed anything unusual about the day before. They were amusing themselves by singing lyrics from birthday songs. Marco sang “Happy Birthday” by Altered Images, and when Ivo launched into “Unhappy Birthday” by the Smiths, Liz punched him in the arm.

  “Isn’t this festive? Having your birthday party in the parking lot? Sorry we don’t have a great big cake.” Brenden laughed. He lifted a gift out of his trunk and presented it to her. When Celia opened it she found an antique box made of dark wood. A pattern of leaves and blossoms was carved on the lid and around the sides.

  “This is beautiful!”

  “Do you recognize the flowers?” Brenden asked. “The round fruit are pomegranates.” He pointed to them. “Which means the flowers are . . .”

  “Balaustines!” she laughed. “That’s perfect!”

  “There’s something inside, too,” Regine said impatiently. Celia lifted the lid and found a gift certificate to Chris & Cosey’s, their favorite clothing store.

  “Thank you so much!” She hugged them all. Even Ivo embraced her warmly. “I love it.” She carefully wrapped the box back up and put it in Regine’s trunk for safekeeping.