Feels Like Falling

by Kristy Woodson Harvey

  So I nuzzled up to Elizabeth instead. Some days she would’ve been real annoyed by that, but not that day. That day she hugged me tight to her side like she would take care of me now.

  “No,” Charles said, “because if we call the police and they know Momma is gone, they’ll take us away and put us in some kind of home or something.”

  I looked over in the corner. Phillip was rocking back and forth now. It was hard to tell how much he understood, but he knew something was wrong. It made you want to hug him, but you couldn’t hug him on account of he’d get real mad and start hitting you.

  “Yeah,” Elizabeth chimed in, changing her tune on a dime. “And don’t say nothing at school. If anybody asks about Momma, you say, ‘Oh, she fixed us the best supper last night,’ or something like that.”

  Charles nodded. “Yeah.”

  Looking back, this was obviously a plan made by a bunch of kids. We had some cans and some cereal in the house, but that was about it. We scrounged up all our money, and Charles walked down to the 7-Eleven to buy some food. Even though it seemed like all the money in the world at the time, it couldn’t have been more than ten bucks.

  It seemed like we lived that way forever without Momma. We’d get up and Elizabeth made sure we looked tidy and our clothes were clean, and Charles would put Momma’s signature on our papers and everything since he had pretty good cursive. Then we’d get on the bus, and we’d come home and we’d lock the door and, when somebody knocked, we wouldn’t answer it.

  Phillip cried a lot, and Elizabeth and I would try to calm him down. Sometimes we’d put him in front of the TV, but then the TV quit working. And then one day, it must have been a week or two later, we got home and a couple of grown-up ladies were sitting on our couch.

  At first I was real excited when I saw people because I figured one of them was Momma. Maybe she’d come back and it’d all be all right.

  But it wasn’t Momma. Charles tried to run when he realized what was going on, but the police got him right down the street.

  “We only want to help you,” one lady had said. She’d seemed nice to me, but Charles had screamed at her, “No, you don’t! You want to take us away from each other!”

  I remember crying and saying, “Where’s my momma?”

  Phillip, he’d got real quiet and done that rocking-in-the-corner thing again. Elizabeth, she’d put her arm around me and stroked my hair. She said, “Diana, you just remember that no matter what happens, I love you.”

  She was so young. Charles too. All of us. So young. She just left us there like a bunch of stray kittens that nobody wanted. If your own momma doesn’t want you, who could? To this day, I don’t know what happened to my momma. Part of me hopes she’s been dead all this time; that’s the only explanation that lets me sleep at night. I’m sure I could look into it and find out. I could probably find out who my daddy is too.

  But why should I? If Momma got killed in some awful way, it’s only going to make me feel bad. And if my daddy didn’t want me back then when I was cute and little, he sure as hell doesn’t want me now that I’m all grown-up.

  After those ladies showed up, I didn’t get to see Charles and Elizabeth and Phillip anymore. Foster families, they were all right with taking on one kid, sometimes maybe even two. But nobody was going to take on four, especially with one like Phillip. They’d put him in a facility instead. It took me more than twenty years to find him, just up the road. It was my thirty-second birthday. Finding Phillip was the best gift I’ve ever gotten, even better than the sparkly shoes the Salvation Army brought over one year at Christmas.

  I remember how excited I was, going to see him that first time. I knew he’d be grown-up, but I also expected him to be that same Phillip. I imagined that he’d smile and say he was glad to see me even if he wouldn’t look me straight in the eye or anything.

  But then I got there, and, oh my Lord, it almost brought me to my knees to see my sweet brother just sitting in that chair and staring into space. I’d tried to talk to him, but he’d just looked at me kind of blank and turned back to the window. You didn’t have to be real smart to figure out what was going on.

  “What in the hell do you have him on?” I asked the first woman in scrubs I saw.

  “He has to be sedated, ma’am. He gets violent.”

  “Gets violent?” I felt like I was about to get violent. “He’s the sweetest thing in the world as long as you don’t come at him too quick or try to hug him.”

  “Ma’am,” she said like I was an idiot, “I’m not equipped to fend off an unpredictable grown man.”

  I was mad as hell—but I did have to put myself in her shoes. I really didn’t know what Phillip was like, much as it pained me to admit it. But I was determined to prove her wrong. From then on, I’d drive there every week on my day off. I’d hold that docile hand, and I’d talk to Phillip. I mostly told him stories about when we were kids.

  Sometimes I’d tell him about Harry’s latest stunt or some funny photos at work. He didn’t smile or respond, and maybe I’m crazy, but I swear something about him changed when I got there. He seemed almost happy.

  Now that I was showing up regularly, things had gotten a lot better. When we were kids in the ’80s, no one knew a whole lot about autism, so they kind of wrote him off as never being able to do anything. But once I found him, I worked so hard to get him moved. It took three years and a lot of paperwork, but I did. And a really nice doctor at the new home started working with me. We got him on some good medicines to help him control himself, so maybe he wouldn’t get so angry, so maybe he didn’t have to rock so much or flap his hands. We even worked on words, and he was back to talking some. Sometimes it was scary, and sometimes it was hard, but Phillip was my family, and I had to step up. I had to be his voice.

  And that morning, with my tooth waking up and my job lost and Harry gone and everything in the world feeling like it was falling apart, I needed to see my baby brother. I drove to Cape Nursing just like I did every week and parked my car in the parking lot. The first time, the nursing home smell and fluorescent lights and cracks in the floor had bothered me. But now I was used to it.

  Karen was at the reception window just like every day, her brown hair in a knot on the top of her head that I never could quite replicate on my own, dressed in navy-blue scrubs like always.

  “Well, hi there, Miss Diana.” Karen handed me a clipboard so I could sign in and said, “Mr. Phillip’s in the solarium.” She smiled at me conspiratorially. “He’s doing so good now, isn’t he?”

  I nodded. My head was too full of everything that was going wrong to even pretend that it could be right again. Even so, that made me smile. I’d been seeing Phillip every week for eight years now, and let me tell you, those first three, when I couldn’t do anything for him, I was about to pull my hair out. But when I finally got him transferred here five years ago, it had made all the difference in the world. I saw progress at least every few months.

  “He really is doing good, Karen.” It brought tears to my eyes. She came around from behind the counter and hugged me tight. “I love y’all so much for helping him,” I said, wiping my eyes. I shook my head. “You can’t imagine how bad it used to be.”

  Karen said, “That’s what we’re here for.” She squeezed my arms, the fabric of my Sam’s Pub and Grub T-shirt wrapping tight around them. I actually kind of liked Sam. He was a decent guy. Smart. Hardworking. But there hadn’t been much of a spark there. Although maybe things would be different now. Maybe I’d look him up, at least to see if I could get my old waitressing job back.

  As I walked down the hall to see my brother, I felt lighter somehow. Things were bad, but they weren’t the worst they had ever been.

  Solarium was a pretty grand word for a place that was nothing more than a small room with some fake ficus trees in the corner, a row of windows looking at the parking lot, and a skylight. But whatever. I saw Phillip right off in his wheelchair at one of the windows. He was wearing gray drawstring pan
ts and a sweatshirt, and they weren’t much to look at but they were clean. Even though I wasn’t able to take care of my brother, I was grateful somebody was.

  I knelt in front of Phillip’s wheelchair with my hands on his knees. “Hey, buddy,” I said. “It’s me. It’s your sister, Diana.” And with no warning whatsoever, hot tears started rolling down my cheeks. Not just because I was alone again. Not just because I was broke again. But because I had always dreamed that I would save up and get Phillip out of here. I checked out books on autism at the library, read articles on the computers there about his medicines, techniques to help him control his anger, exercises to help with his dexterity and his emotional responses. I knew he was in there. I had always known it. I would get him out one day. I would give him the life he deserved.

  But, damn, how was I going to take care of him now?

  Me and Charles, we’d talked about getting him out a couple of years ago. But Elizabeth, she’d come down from Indiana and said, “How are y’all possibly going to take care of him? We can barely take care of ourselves.”

  Except, well, Elizabeth could. She was real lucky. Her very first foster family was a nice, rich one. They had one kid they’d adopted when he was a baby, and they hadn’t planned on having any more, but Elizabeth, sweet and smart and pretty and helpful as she was, she’d won them over right off.

  They put her through private school and college. She’d married a guy who’s a lawyer, thank God, because, good as Charles grew up and nice as his wife and kids are, the boys—well, you can’t escape genetics. They’re always getting a drinking ticket or smoking a little pot in the park. Nothing dangerous, but they seem to need a lawyer more often than not, so it’s a good thing we’ve got one in the family.

  I’ll always love Charles because, as soon as he turned eighteen, he got himself a job, and he went to court and tried to get me back, out of my latest foster home, bless his heart. He didn’t win, but I’ll tell you what, I’ll never forget that.

  Phillip turned his head to look down at me, as he said slowly, “Hi, Diana.” Then the best thing in the world happened: he moved his hand on top of mine. Some days he wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t talk to me, would back away if I tried to lay a finger on him. But not today. Today he put his hand, pale from years without the sun, on my tanned one, and I squeezed it quickly as he put it back in his lap. I looked up into his green eyes, just the same as mine. Irish twins. Irish eyes too. When I looked in his, I was looking into my own. I think that’s what got me most. But while my face was starting to line around the eyes and mouth from smoking and stress and too little sunscreen, his was as smooth and unlined as a child’s.

  I cleared my throat and stood up and said, “Buddy, that hair looks like a squirrel tail on a windy day.” I got a comb out of my purse and fixed his thick chestnut hair for a few minutes longer than it took to get it straight because I thought it must feel good to have somebody take care of you. I knew it’d feel good if somebody’d take care of me. He didn’t try to stop me. Just like me, he had a few grays at the roots, but nothing to speak of, nothing noticeable enough to give away his real age.

  I sat down in the chair beside my brother. “I’m never going to leave you, Phillip,” I said. “Not ever.” And then I said the thing I said every time I visited, the one I wondered if he knew, the one I wondered if he believed: “I’m going to get you out of here one day. And me and you, we’re going to be a family again. The way we were supposed to be.”

  The promise made me happy, but it made me sad too. Because I’d had dreams, big ones. I’d known real love and had high hopes for a family of my own. But now, broke and alone and past my fortieth birthday, I had to face the fact that my brothers and sister were all the family I was ever going to have.

  * * *

  I can’t tell you why I drove from Cape Nursing to Gray Howard’s house. It’s not like me. I’m the kind of girl who stands real still in the background and doesn’t make too much noise so nobody’ll notice she’s there. But when I saw Gray’s address on the outside of that envelope at Meds and More, I’d realized that I used to clean that house way back before she lived there—way back when I cleaned houses. It made fire burn in me. I’d done nothing but work my tail off my entire life. I would bet my last dollar that she’d never had to work for anything.

  I didn’t have a plan, really. I didn’t have any money, anyplace to stay, and now I didn’t have anything to do. So I guess I thought I’d just drive by, maybe get a nice look at her big house on the water, its cedar shakes and perfect painted shutters and pretty flower boxes filled with yellow and white blooms. And I could think how ironic it was that she had everything, I had nothing, and she’d managed to take away the one thing I had.

  I lit a cigarette. My last one. I guessed it’d be easier to quit now that I didn’t have cigarette money anyway. On the bright side, my tooth felt better.

  I sat on her front steps, feeling beads of sweat forming on my back. I hoped they wouldn’t show through my T-shirt. There was a nice breeze over here on the water, but, sitting in the full sun like I was, it was still hotter than the hinges of hell. But I needed vitamin D and fresh air. They were good for me and the right price: free. Still smoking away, I started thinking about what I would say when Gray got home. You walk around here in your big, rich house with the million-dollar view, and you don’t even think about the people you’re hurting. You don’t give a damn about anybody but yourself and what you want and how you feel. You just sit over here on your high horse and don’t even think about the little people like me.

  She’d probably call the police. Then at least I’ll have a cell to spend the night in, I thought. Oh Lord. I really was spiraling now.

  This is why people have kids. Then they have somewhere to stay the night when they leave their boyfriend. Although my kids probably would’ve been no good and wouldn’t have jobs or anyplace to stay because they’d be half Harry’s DNA. Then I’d be struggling to look after them too. Sometimes, on your own isn’t the worst way to be. I got a familiar pain way down in my belly, knowing that I couldn’t have had a baby even if I wanted to.

  Gray’s white convertible, top down, pulled into the concrete driveway, and I rolled my eyes. She was yammering away on her phone. “I know, Dad, and I’m so sorry, but I have so much work to do today. I promise we’ll do it next week.” She sighed loudly. “Dad, I know. I get it. But he’s my kid, not a chess piece.…” Pause. “He’s taking the kid to Europe, not enrolling him in Al Qaeda training.” Sigh. “I know I’m his mother, but Greg’s his father, and while I think he is the scum of the earth as a human, he’s a decent dad. I think it’s only fair to Wagner.…” She got out of the car, paused, and leaned over the door, looking like she was stretching out her hamstrings. “Yes, Dad, I know. My attorney has informed me of that.” She laughed ironically. “And you think I don’t want to save my company? I put myself through grad school with that company. I bought our houses and our cars with that company. That company was my first baby. Trust me, if anyone wants to save it, it’s me.” She paused one more time, then said, “Hello, hello, I can’t hear you. I think I’m losing—” Then she ended the call with an exaggerated click.

  Still standing in the driveway, Gray let out a tight-lipped, low, frustrated groan.

  It was kind of funny because I’d pictured her having this perfect life. Knowing that she really didn’t, I sort of felt less mad. “That yell there for your husband or your daddy?”

  She let out an actual scream that time.

  I looked at her, glued to my spot, and crossed my arms. So she had some problems, but I had problems. As in, I was getting hungry for a dinner that might never come.

  She looked confused at first and then, putting two and two together, said, “Oh my gosh. Are you here for the release? I can go get it right now—”

  “That ship has sailed, sweetie pie,” I said as I crushed the butt of my cigarette with my flip-flop.

  “What do you mean?”

  Gray wa
lked toward me, her bare feet leaving prints in the grass. Her toenails were perfectly shaped and shiny with no polish. I curled my own toes to hide them. My red polish was chipped and fading, and you couldn’t see it much, but underneath it my nails were yellow in places with some white spots. I could never have let them be bare like that. It was one more way she was better.

  “Mr. Marcus fired me for not getting that release.” So, no. That wasn’t technically true. He’d fired me because all the photos I developed sucked, and we both knew that wasn’t changing anytime soon. But making him look bad in front of a woman who anyone with eyes could see he had the hots for had been the final straw. No matter how you sliced it, Gray Howard was the reason I no longer had a job.

  She caught her breath and put her hand up to her mouth. “No. You’re kidding me. Oh my gosh.” She sat down beside me on the brick step—not too close—putting her elbows on her knees like a kid. “Well, listen, I know Bill really well, so I’ll go down and talk to him and get him to give you your job back.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

  “I’ll just take him the release and explain that I didn’t give you a choice.”

  I nodded, but I knew that the chances of him giving me my job back were slim to none. But now that I had Gray on the hook, now that she felt responsible for all this, I knew I could squeeze something out of her guilt. I looked back at her big house again. If she couldn’t get me my job back, well, she could at least get me another one.

  I’m not proud of it. But I’m a girl who grew up with nothing. I know how to manipulate people. I know how to work the system. It’s the only way to survive sometimes. I said, making my voice shake the slightest bit, “I had to move out of my boyfriend’s house this morning because he—”