The Kitty Committee

by Kathryn Berla

  I stared into the darkness, trying to bring myself slowly back to the world where logic and reason prevailed over animal lust and instinct. I had opened the door a crack for Nathan but I didn’t let him in. But by leaving the door slightly ajar, I allowed the monsters to come rushing back.

  That March, another letter came, this time finding me at the coffee shop where I worked. I had given up the lease on the room I was renting and was living full-time with Nathan. I expected the letter this time. This time I didn’t open it. During my break, I went into the back and burned it in the sink.

  “What are you doing?” Carlos asked, when he came back to locate the source of the burning odor.

  “Getting rid of an old love letter,” I said. “I don’t want Nathan to find it.”

  “Aaaah. Don’t know how I feel about that,” Carlos said. “But I guess it’s a good thing as long as the dude’s out of the picture for good.”

  “He is,” I said and somehow felt that by burning the letter, I’d put an end to it.

  I didn’t call Carly. I didn’t call Maggie. I was certain that I had not only survived, I had triumphed.

  But a week later, when Nathan came home with a bouquet of daffodils, I’m sure he didn’t expect the reaction he got. I’m sure he thought their stark, bold beauty would bring cheer to the gray, drizzling day.

  Instead, I burst into tears and, claiming a migraine, took to my bed for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Four

  Indian Springs

  I continued to visit the pool, almost daily. I bought a pass for the entire month so as not to be dependent on Luke to let me in. Mom paid for half, reasoning it was a healthy summer activity for a young girl. Not surprisingly, Alice never went back with me; in fact, we’d barely spoken since that day. I missed Alice and tried to catch her eye at church one Sunday, thinking I’d extend an olive branch. But she either pretended not to see me or she really didn’t. And I didn’t want to run after her, potentially humiliating myself.

  Mom also agreed to buy me a new swimsuit after examining the loose elastic around the legs of my old one.

  “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “This won’t do, will it?”

  It was still a one-piece, but at least it fit me and could pass for current fashion.

  The first week I went to the pool by myself, Carly and Maggie were only there three times. The first time I saw them, but they didn’t see me, and I was too nervous to go over and talk to them. The second time, I purposely walked right past them, and when Maggie called my name, I acted surprised to see them. They invited me to sit with them, which I did. The third time, I worked up the nerve to invite myself.

  “Can I sit here?” I asked obsequiously, and they scooted over to make room for me.

  After that, it just became a thing. Either Maggie or Carly would wave me over when I came out of the girls’ changing room. If I got there first, I claimed their spot and waited for them to arrive. On days when they weren’t there, I lay poolside just as I’d seen them do, jumped in for a quick dip, and was usually on my way home after less than an hour. I didn’t chat with Luke while he was working, but I knew he always had his eye on me—Mom probably told him to do that. I think Luke was trying to make sense out of Alice’s sudden disappearance and my two new friends, but he never asked outright.

  One day, Carly, Maggie, and I were lying on our towels, placed like three dominoes, side by side facing the sun. I was wearing a pair of cheap sunglasses I’d gotten from the drugstore and a floppy hat pulled over my face, just the way Carly and Maggie did when they were tanning. Carly propped herself up on her elbows to reach for a drink.

  “Wow, Grace, you’re so lucky. Your stomach is so flat,” she said.

  Maggie, who was in the middle, removed her sunglasses and turned her head to look at me.

  “You really are lucky, Grace. Your belly’s below your hipbones. Look at me—I practically look like I’m pregnant.”

  Which she didn’t.

  I felt a warm glow that wasn’t from the sun. To think these two girls envied something about me . . . something physical. Well, they were goddesses in my eyes—Carly especially. I struggled for a way to respond that would make me seem impressively oblivious to my physical attributes without seeming ungrateful to them for their compliment.

  “I . . .” I sat up while keeping my stomach sucked in to maintain the appearance of my most precious asset. I either heard, or felt, a whoosh pass through my head from ear to ear. Then I felt an odd sensation as though someone was closing the door to my brain. A flash of unreality, an out-of-body experience. I looked for Luke to reassure myself he was still there. The lifeguard’s seat, with Luke sitting in it, lurched to my left. The grass and towels and all the half-naked bodies on either side of him began to spin slowly until I couldn’t get a steady fix on anything. I closed my eyes and fell backward, feeling the thump on the back of my head. My world went from bright to a pinpoint of light to darkness. My hearing went from muffled noises to total silence.

  Later on, they told me I resurfaced after about three minutes. When I did, it was in reverse. First the muffled noises and pinpoint of light, and then finally the bright lights and confusing noises. Luke was kneeling on the grass, holding my upper body in his arms. I smelled his sweat and sunscreen and became terribly dizzy. I turned my head to one side and threw up. Then Luke was standing with me cradled in his arms, and I don’t remember much else between that time and when I was home lying in my bed.

  Late that afternoon, the doctor, who attended our church, made a house call.

  “Dehydration,” the doctor pronounced.

  “Dehydration? Grace, aren’t you drinking enough? Is it too much time in the sun, Doctor?” my dad asked.

  The doctor looked at me meaningfully, as though we shared a secret. “Grace, have you had any sudden weight loss?”

  “No, I mean—”

  “She’s a growing girl,” Dad interrupted. “I mean—she just recently went through the change, kind of late, my wife said. So she’s been shooting up and slimming down. That’s natural, isn’t it?”

  I was beyond embarrassed to have two grown men discussing my menses in front of me.

  “You’re eating right though, aren’t you, Grace? No funny business,” the doctor went on without acknowledging my father.

  “If you mean dieting, Grace eats like a horse,” Dad said.

  I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, not that I wanted to.

  “Okay, let’s just say you take it easy for a few days,” the doctor said. “Stay out of the sun. Get lots of rest and drink lots of liquids. And make sure you’re making healthy choices in your diet,” he said again in that conspiratorial way. “Give me a call if there are any more . . . episodes.”

  As soon as the doctor left, I threw the candy in the garbage. My golden ticket wasn’t worth losing days spent in Carly’s company. I drank about a quart of water and then tried to convince Dad that I was well enough to go to the pool the next day, but he wasn’t having any of it.

  “You’ll stay home through the weekend, and then we’ll see how you’re doing.”

  All I could think about was how Carly and Maggie would move on from me during that brief period of time. I had to be there in person to constantly reinforce whatever it was about me they found interesting in the first place. If not, I’d be forgotten, or they’d find some new friend to take the spot where I’d become accustomed to laying my towel. Or worse yet, I’d humiliated myself by throwing up on their poolside sanctuary. Would they even want me to sit with them anymore? This was a distinctly possible calamitous outcome of the golden ticket, and I needed to have an immediate answer. But no amount of arguing with Dad would persuade him and, I think for the first time, he wondered what had happened to the sweet and docile daughter who had never exchanged an angry word with her parents. I imagined he was chalking it up to my menses and the strange and unfa
thomable ways of women.

  The next day was Saturday, and I was pouting alone in my room, having refused breakfast as somewhat of a protest hunger strike. Mom was having nothing to do with this after my “episode,” and to entice me she’d left a pitcher of lemonade and cookies on my dresser.

  A few minutes later, she was back.

  “There’s someone here to see you,” she said, and I expected Alice. I was almost gleeful, thinking about how word had gotten to her about my fainting spell, and she was arriving with her tail between her legs to beg my forgiveness. But it was Carly.

  “So this is where you live?” Carly plopped down on the bed beside me.

  To say that I felt uncomfortable was an understatement. Up until then, Carly only knew I had a hot brother and a flat stomach, nothing more. But now she was in my cramped bedroom, surveying my meager wardrobe in the tiny closet, which had unfortunately been left open. An old Barbie I didn’t have the heart to get rid of was perched beside the cookies and lemonade on my dresser. Another one sat sideways on my windowsill, her legs primly straightened in front of her, her head cocked to take in the outside view, her hair obviously recently groomed. My plain-spoken and unglamorous mother had greeted Carly at the door and ushered her to my room. It was a worst-case scenario.

  To Carly’s credit, she didn’t look horrified.

  “I just wanted to see how you were,” she said. “Maggie couldn’t come but she says hi. I was worried about you.”

  I believed her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “For barfing. Hope I didn’t get any on you.”

  “Not on me,” Carly said. “But you got it all over Maggie’s towel. Don’t worry, she’s not mad.”

  “Oh, yuck. Tell her I’m sorry.”

  “Actually,” Carly’s mouth turned up in a mischievous smile. “It was hilarious. I mean, Luke acting like the knight in shining armor, sweeping you into his arms—the look on Maggie’s face before she started screaming her head off.” Carly laughed, an unexpectedly vulgar sound so at odds with the reserved, ladylike persona she displayed to the world. It startled me, as though I’d suddenly become aware that someone else was in the room with us. “Too bad you were passed out and couldn’t see it.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess it must have been pretty funny.”

  I didn’t really think it was funny, not even in hindsight with Carly’s take on it. But I was glad she saw it that way. Better that than to be repulsed by me.

  Mom popped her head in. “Can I get you girls anything?” she asked. She eyed the pitcher of lemonade, still untouched. “Carly, if you can get Grace to drink something and have a few of those cookies, I’d be much obliged.”

  “Yes, Grace. Have some, please.” Carly stood and walked to the dresser where she poured a glass of lemonade and picked up a cookie. “Here. Be a good girl,” she said, handing them to me. She winked at Mom who smiled back and then left us alone, closing the door behind her.

  “By the way, I think your mom loves me,” Carly said. “Parents always do. Eat and drink so she has a good impression of me. Like I’m your miracle worker.”

  She laughed again. That ugly bark that seemed to come out of nowhere. I downed the lemonade and gobbled the cookie. Truth was, I was starving and thirsty, and the need for my hunger strike was over.

  “Don’t make yourself sick,” she said as she was leaving. “Just in case you’re being a naughty girl.”

  By Monday, I’d been released by my parents to do as I pleased. By Monday afternoon, I was basking in the warmth of sun and friendship, cemented by Carly’s foray into my private life.

  Chapter Five

  Even in July I could feel the summer slip away and, along with it, the naïve girl I’d been only six months earlier. Nothing’s quite as treacherous as a small town cradled at the bosom of that month, lush with intoxicating earth aromas sent airborne on waves of heat; the sounds of children drunk on slip-and-slides and cherry popsicles; grandfathers hiding under floppy canvas hats, pruning rosebushes and checking on the well-being of dormant daffodils.

  Into this heady mix, add roving bands of youth on the cusp of independence, looking for their own version of happiness in a small town. Unsure exactly what happiness is supposed to mean as hormones transform them daily, hourly, springing surprises that constantly catch them off guard. Coping with baffling mood swings that arrive without warning and at unexpected times. Carving out a space for themselves somewhere between the idiocy of childhood and the conformity of adults, while rejecting both adult and child. Looking for a way to amuse themselves while keeping a foot in both worlds.

  These kids, like me, were never sure what the rules of the game were. They knew what their parents said on one hand and what their peers were saying on the other. They mostly faked it each and every day. And if they faked it wrong, they went home and spoke rudely to their parents, slammed the doors to their bedrooms, and cried into their pillows. These were the kids who looked to hitch their wagon to someone giving the appearance of strength. Someone like Carly. Someone who made it look easy.

  Once I’d been accepted by Carly and Maggie, my social world expanded beyond just the swimming pool. In reality, what we did was hardly any different from what I’d done with Alice. None of us could drive, although Carly would have her license in October and Maggie the following March. I wouldn’t even turn fifteen until weeks before our junior year was over but I took personal pride in the onset of Carly’s approaching adulthood. She already had a learner’s permit, although that wasn’t helpful to us that summer. So we walked to places where we could hang out. The drugstore where we could stock up on cosmetics and test out shades of lip gloss. I’d finally gotten Mom’s permission to wear a conservative amount of makeup. She didn’t like it, but she didn’t stand in my way. Sometimes Maggie’s mother dropped us off at the mall and returned to pick us up hours later. Occasionally, we saw other groups of girls from school there. Carly and Maggie would wave or say hi, but we never hung out with them. We kept to ourselves.

  I was a quick study so I listened and learned as Carly and Maggie passed judgment on what was or wasn’t “cute” when it came to fashion. I didn’t have the wherewithal to buy like they did. But I could amend clothes that Mom and I found on the cheap. I could mold myself into someone who could believably be seen with girls like Carly and Maggie.

  Once we went to a movie, and Carly pulled out a flask of alcohol she’d stolen from her parents’ bar. She tipped it to her open mouth and then passed it to Maggie. When Maggie passed it to me, I shook my head. I wasn’t there yet, although I would be soon. Some boys we knew from school walked into the theater and spotted us. They took seats directly behind us and spoke loudly enough to attract our attention. It was stupid-talk, harmless flirtation.

  “Share some with us, Carly,” one of them said right as the trailers were starting.

  Maggie giggled, and I didn’t dare look, but Carly turned around to face them directly and unafraid. She was pretty buzzed by then.

  “Go find your own, loser,” she said and then turned back and shared a rude laugh with us. I was afraid of what would come next. These boys certainly wouldn’t let that insult go unanswered, would they? Carly had surely provoked a war and I was afraid to be caught in the middle. But it only elicited a few whiny complaints, and I thought I heard the word bitch murmured at least once. It was the first time I’d ever heard a boy say that about a girl.

  “Who’s that, Carly? Your little sister?” one of them finally blurted out, a pathetic comeback to Carly’s insult.

  Carly turned around. “Who’s that with you? Freddie Krueger?” She laughed again and then turned back and put her arm around my shoulder. Maggie giggled hysterically into her cupped palms.

  “Hey, little sister,” Carly said, and I blushed furiously.

  “Are you gay for her?” the first boy howled.

  “She’s my little sister, idiot!” C
arly answered loudly without turning around. It sent Maggie into another fit of laughter and provoked an angry rebuke from an older couple sitting to the right of us.

  After that, I became Little Sister or Lil’ Sis to Carly and Maggie. It lasted about a month—long enough for them to quit laughing about it and for me to quit pretending to laugh about it.

  One day Carly summoned us to her house. A stray cat that had wandered into her backyard a week prior had given birth under the back-porch steps. Only three kittens survived.

  “Will you guys each take one?” she asked. “I’m going to keep the orange one.”

  I sized up the two remaining kittens. We’d never had a real family pet although we fed plenty of stray cats and dogs in Guatemala. A cat would be fun and would bond me to Carly and Maggie forever. I’d have to ask my parents, of course.

  “I’ll take one,” I volunteered. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. I’d worry about Mom and Dad later.

  “Me too,” Maggie said. “If my mom lets me. They’re so adorable. Are you going to get the mother fixed?”

  “As soon as the kittens are weaned, we’ll take her to the pound.”

  “Aww, that’s kind of sad. Won’t they just kill her?” Maggie’s smile dropped.

  “We can’t keep a fully grown cat. We don’t know anything about her. She’s pretty much wild,” Carly said.

  I watched the three kittens pumping their tiny paws against their mother’s teats. She didn’t seem wild, so content at that moment, her kittens safe under the porch steps of humans who brought her bowls of food and water. What if she knew that in a few short weeks her kittens would be taken from her and she’d be handed off to likely death? Still, it seemed reasonable, what Carly said. How the cat was wild, and they couldn’t take in a wild cat. But why can’t they just continue to feed her outside? I wondered. Then I imagined asking my parents if we could take in a feral full-grown cat, and I knew what their answer would be.