by E. J. Mara
“For example, when I was about seven,” she goes on, “I happened to be with my best friend Bobby when he saw his dog get hit by a car and die.”
I wince and glance up at her.
“He was devastated. He cried for days. It was very traumatic for us both.” Her eyes still on me, she twirls a curly strand of hair around on her finger, pulls it taut and then releases it, letting it spring back to its original state. “By the time we were sixteen, Bobby had three dogs and he knew he wanted to be a veterinarian when he grew up. I, on the other hand, had never owned a pet because I was afraid that if I got one, something terrible would happen to it.”
“I get it,” I blurt. “You both saw the dog get hit, but it affected you in different ways.”
“Right,” Ms. Greenich agrees. “Part of the reason why we were affected so differently had to do with our personal decisions to react. I could’ve decided to let what I saw strengthen my resolve to take care of animals, the way Bobby did. But I didn’t. I decided to let it make me afraid.”
I turn Mom’s ring around on my finger, thinking hard. “How am I supposed to see my mom’s death as a good thing?”
“There’s nothing good about it.” Ms. Greenich arches one of her eyebrows. “And it shouldn’t have happened, but it did. What I’m saying is that because it happened and you can’t change that, eventually you’ll need to make a choice about how you let it affect you.”
I glance at Mom’s ring. “Like a choice to not punch people.”
“That’d be a good start,” Ms. Greenich agrees, her voice softening. “What happened with Esther today was a bad decision. But it was made by your pain, not by you. That girl out there who went after Esther, that wasn’t the real you.”
“I don’t know,” I say, fighting back the lump that’s forming in my throat. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“That’ll change, you’ll find yourself,” Ms. Greenich says, “and mark my words, you’re going to be the sort of person who lets her past strengthen her. You’ll become more compassionate and you’ll look out for people who can’t look out for themselves, all because of how you let your past effect you.”
My left eyelid twitches and I can’t decide if I’m annoyed by my guidance counselor’s slightly preachy tone or if her words are fueling some empty space in my heart. Conflicted, I shift in my seat.
“You’re not the sort of person who’ll let her past change her into just anyone.” Speaking quietly, Ms. Greenich says, “You’re strong enough to shape your own identity.”
I tug at Mom’s ring, considering this. Shape my own identity? I like the way that sounds; it’s like saying I have a choice. I don’t have to be one thing; I can be more than the daughter of a suicide victim, more than a lonely CODA, more than a weird science teacher’s kid. I have the choice to be whoever I want.
I nod, afraid that if I say something, my voice will break and my temporarily dammed tears will be released.
Ms. Greenich smiles. “You’re a good kid, and I honestly believe that, even though I’m going to have to recommend to the principal that he suspend you for three days.”
Suspend me? The word stings and I gulp so loudly I’m sure Ms. Greenich hears it. I’ve never gotten detention, let alone a suspension, but I’ve also never hauled off and punched another student in the face.
“And in a way I think the three days will be good, because you probably don’t need to be here with all of these annoying kids right now. Am I right?” Ms. Greenich asks.
My gaze still on the edge of her desk, I nod.
“So stay home for three days, try to get some rest, and go see the doctor about your stomach. Okay?”
I know it’d be polite to say something, but afraid I’ll burst into tears, I just nod.
“I’ve called your dad and he should be here any second. So can you hang out with me for
another few minutes?” she asks.
She’s being so nice …I should acknowledge her by saying something, even if it makes me cry. I lean forward and open my mouth. But as a rush of hot tears fill my eyes, I shut my mouth and nod for the billionth time.
“Great.” Ms. Greenich’s voice is soft as she walks around to the other side of her desk, returning her attention to her computer.
Blinking back my tears, I try to get a hold of myself.
If I stop thinking about myself, that’ll help.
I shift my focus to Ms. Greenich’s desk, examining it and its tiny figurines more carefully. Near her computer screen is a cute little bear in a cap and gown, holding a diploma. On the other side of the figurine sits a picture in a wooden frame. The picture shows Ms. Greenich with a little girl who looks like a miniature version of herself. They aim happy smiles at the camera and based on the trees, crowd, and line of people leading to some kind of ride in the background, it looks like the photo was taken at an amusement park.
“How old is your daughter?” I hear myself ask. Ms. Greenich looks at me in surprise and my face warming, I point to the photo. “I just saw the, um, the picture.”
“Oh.” Ms. Greenich bites down on her bottom lip and blinks quickly. Realizing that I must sound incredibly nosey, I start to apologize for prying into her business, when she says, “Karin was seven there. Unfortunately, she went missing shortly after the picture was taken.”
Oh my God.
Ms. Greenich’s eyes meet mine, but it’s clear she’s a million miles away. An awkward silence passes before I manage to stammer, “I’m s-so sorry.”
Seeming to return from the fog she’s temporarily lapsed into, Ms. Greenich acknowledges me with a nod. “Thank you, Karen …” She tilts her head, a weak smile forming on her lips. “That’s funny, you and Karin almost have the same first name.”
I’m not sure how to reply and a knock on Ms. Greenich’s door saves me from having to.
“Excuse me.” She glances at her door and calls out, “Come in.”
The principal’s administrative assistant steps into the office. “Hey, Nancy, Dr. Lyles is here to pick Karen up. He says he’s going to check Tessa out too.”
“Great, thanks.” Ms. Greenich stands and reaches out to shake my hand. “Well, Karen, remember that I’m always here if you want to chat. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am. And, uh, thanks,” I stammer. Getting to my feet, I shake her hand. As I withdraw my hand, Ms. Greenich’s gaze goes to my fingers and she freezes, her expression tensing.
I look down at my hand, wondering what’s caused this reaction.
“Did your mom give you that ring?” she asks.
Her eyes are still on my hand as I say, “Yeah. How’d you know?”
Without a word, she points to her desk. I follow her gesture to the photo I’ve just asked her about, and the same cat’s eye ring is on one of her daughters’ small fingers.
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. After a moment’s hesitation, I decide on, “Cool.”
Ms. Greenich’s face is drawn, even sad, as she says, “Yeah. Okay, well, see you later.”
I feel bad for her, so I return her smile. “Bye, Ms. Greenich.”
“…WHEN THEY TOLD me you’d punched her, I thought they were joking!” Dad says, talking loud enough to wake the dead as we make our way to Peake High’s parking lot.
The wind picks up, and pulling my jacket on more tightly, I glance around, hoping no one’s out here to listen to him chew me out. Thankfully, the sidewalk that leads to the parking lot is devoid of anything except for cars, foraging squirrels, and sparrows.
“Since when do you go around punching people?” Dad’s walking fast and he’s a few steps ahead of me. He, ever so briefly, turns around to look at me as he asks, “What’s wrong with you, Karen?”
Tessa elbows me in the ribs and my left eye twitches. She’s been signing nonstop since we came from the principal’s office. But I’ve been ignoring her because I thought she was just having one of her little tête-à-têtes with herself. Now, though, I rub my ribs and glance at her.
He
r eyes are full of so much joy you’d think she’d just gotten a batch of Ms. Davidson’s gingersnap cookies. Radiant, Tessa signs, “That hearing girl dead?”
I blink.
“She dead?” Tessa repeats, a smile blossoming on her pretty face. “You hit her, she died?”
Oh. My. God. My little sister hopes I murdered Esther? I pause in stride, Ms. Greenich’s words coming to mind: ‘That’s why I think it’s important, we don’t excuse Tessa’s bad behavior by saying it’s all because of her disability.’
I stare at my little sister’s smile, realizing how right Ms. Greenich is. Tessa needs to be taught what’s right and wrong, not excused when I’m in a good mood or just snapped at when I’m too tired to excuse her. Otherwise she could end up becoming some kind of psychopath.
“Karen! I’m asking you a question!” Dad shouts, his voice so loud that I jump.
I adjust my book bag on my shoulders and sign, “No,” to Tessa. With that, I turn to my father and say, “Sorry, Dad. Tessa was talking to me and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, maybe it has something to do with the fact that my mother just committed suicide.”
He pauses in stride and turns to me, his eyes wide.
I stop walking too, my heart plummeting. “I-I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and I can’t help but notice the sagging bags under his eyes. Dad’s so worn out, there’s no need for me to say things that make him feel worse.
“Karen.” His tone lowering, he says, “Your mother did not commit suicide. Do you understand me?”
“Okay, yeah. Sorry.” The words have barely left my lips when Tessa elbows me so hard I nearly stumble off of the curb. She shoves me and screams, a high pitched wail, directly in my ear. “Oh my God, what?!” I sign, “What do you want?”
“Hearing girl dead?” she demands, her fingers impatiently speeding through every sign.
I turn to Dad, wondering if he’s seeing what his youngest daughter is asking, but he’s already ahead of us, headed to our station wagon.
Following him, I sign, “No, Esther’s not dead, and I was wrong to hit her. You should never hit anyone. And you do know that it’s wrong to kill people, don’t you?”
Hoping Tessa understands me enough to be able to answer the question, I turn back to her and a black Buick that’s just behind her catches my attention. Parked beside the curb with its tinted windows all rolled up, I see a silhouette in the front seat. As we pass it, I glance at the license plate.
LOUISIANA.
“Hearing people stupid,” Tessa signs directly in front of me, forcing my attention to her.
This response to ‘You do know that it’s wrong to kill people, don’t you?’ bothers me, but honestly, the black car with a Louisiana plate bothers me even more.
I take another look at the vehicle.
Tessa starts to sign something, but telling her to hold on a second, I run and catch up to Dad.
He’s unlocking the driver’s side door as I ask, “Why were there so many cars with Louisiana plates at Mom’s funeral? Who were those people?”
“Why?” Dad freezes, his expression darkening.
“Because I want to know. Do we have family in Louisiana? Did Mom used to live there?”
Dad turns away from me, opens the car, and mumbles, “Let’s just go home.”
“Whatever, Dad.” Frustrated, I wave Tessa forward.
She greedily accepts the front seat and I greedily slip into the relative space offered by the back. I actually don’t mind a moment to myself wherein I can think for five consecutive minutes without having to interpret for Tessa, remind Dad that he’s talking too loudly, or answer a million questions about what’s wrong with me.
Closing my eyes, I try to relax while the car shakes as Tessa and Dad get settled, slamming their doors shut. Tessa grunts and claps. Dad laughs, and I wonder what she’s signing, but don’t bother opening my eyes to check. Based on the clap, I assume it’s something about school.
I take a deep breath, enjoying the noise of their signed conversation. But when Dad starts the car, I open my eyes and turn to my window so I can watch the scenery fly by.
The lane beside ours is occupied by a sleek Maxima. Inside are two girls, probably a few years older than me; they car-dance and sing along with whatever music they’re listening to.
What if I could switch lives with one of them? Or better yet, what if I could switch lives with Julia or Esther? All they have to worry about are things like who their next boyfriend is going to be or whether or not they feel like going shopping this weekend. Those two have no idea how difficult life is. They probably never will. When you’re born rich and beautiful, it’s like you’re born into life with a force field surrounding you. Bad things bounce right off of you.
Sighing, I glance at Dad’s driver’s side mirror and the black Buick is right behind us. A jolt of fear zipping through me, I sit up.
Is it following us?
I whirl around in my seat to make sure I’m looking at the same car. Yeah, unless I’m completely nuts, it’s the same car that was sitting in the school parking lot a few minutes ago!
“Dad!” I lean towards the front seat. “Why is that car from Louisiana following us?”
Dad’s eyes widen and his gaze darts from me to the Buick, but his voice remains calm as he says, “No one’s following us, that’s your imagination.”
“No it’s not,” I retort. “I saw it at Mom’s funeral, I saw it on our street, and now it’s following us home from school!”
“Calm down, Karen!” Dad yells, startling me. “You’ve caused enough excitement for one day. Just calm down and be quiet.”
My stomach starts up with another fire-fit, and I simply can’t find the strength to argue. Clutching my stomach, I glare at the back of my father’s head. He’s hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is.
“No!” I yell to teddy bear.
Beside teddy, my green and purple dinosaur, and beside dinosaur, my Buzz Lightyear doll. But teddy bear bad.
“Bad! Bad!” I sign.
I hit bear’s head.
It falls.
I kick bear.
I pick bear up, stretch it.
It strong! I break it cannot!
I throw bear on floor.
My mama …she died on floor, her eyes closed. Her hair wild, her nose red, bleeding.
Now, I sit on floor. It cold.
Maybe when Momma died she feel cold?
I don’t know.
Now, my teddy bear smiles.
I grab it.
“Bad, you bad.” I sign.
I hug my teddy bear and close my eyes.
The floor shakes.
I open my eyes.
Floor always shakes if Daddy or Karen leave go through front door …if Karen leaves go, her ring I take can!
I drop teddy bear, run to front door.
Karen leave not.
Ms. Davidson, fat woman from next door stands in doorway with large metal pot.
Cookies!
I happy.
I try take cookies but Karen stop me.
Always stopping me!
Karen mean.
“No.” Karen signs, shaking her head. “Those aren’t cookies, it’s cabbage juice, Ms. Davidson was nice enough to bring it to me for my stomach.”
I not understand. I want cookies, Karen mean!!!
MS. DAVIDSON COME again, bring gingerbread cookies.
Now, me and Karen watch Cary Grant movie. I eat cookies!!!!
Karen not eat cookies.
Karen drinks ugly green drink named “Cabbage Juice”.
I sign, “My cookie, share? Yes?”
Karen smiles and signs, “No, thank you. My stomach hurts and the cabbage juice helps it feel better. But a cookie would make it worse. You understand?”
I not understand.
I nod and sign, “Yes, I understand.”
I eat cookie and watch “To Catch
a Thief.”
Grace Kelly and me blonde. Grace Kelly and me so pretty!
Blue eyes, blonde hair beautiful!
I look to Karen and point to TV, sign, “Me!”
“What?” Karen signs.
“Me!” I sign.
Karen not understand.
Karen stupid sometimes.
“Me, me, me, me, yes. Me…” I sign.
Karen too stupid. And mean.
Karen stands and signs, “I have to go to gymnastics. Be good, okay? Dad’s in his workroom if you need anything. You understand me?”
I ignore.
Karen mean.
Karen go gymnasticals with Nathaniel. Not fair.
I want kiss Nathaniel.
Cary Grant and Grace Kelly kiss.
Me and Nathaniel, we will kiss.
I’m starting to think that the universe, or someone, is out to get me. Soon as I left Mom’s job, determined to talk to Karen, my car died. After two hours of me and some Good Samaritan named Buddy taking a look at the Jeep’s alternator, I got back to school at one in the afternoon and Karen was nowhere to be found. So, if the universe isn’t completely against me, she’ll be here at practice, meaning I’ll be able to talk to her in a few short hours.
Hopeful and nervous, I leave the boy’s locker room and catch sight of Brad by the pommel horse. He’s in deep conversation with Esther Reams, gesturing wildly while Esther nods and occasionally gets a word in edgewise.
I can’t help but grin. The poor guy’s been into Esther since forever, but when he’s around her, he gets nervous and talks too much. I want to see her reaction, but she’s got her back to me.
“Hey, Esther, this guy bothering you?” I call, jogging their way. The two of them turn to me, Brad grinning and Esther …whoa. I stop short and stare at her. A swollen black eye distorts the right side of her face and a Band-Aid covers the upper part of her nose. Stunned, all I can do is stand there and stare.
“So, I guess you noticed,” Esther speaks dryly as she points to her hair, “my new highlights.”
“Jesus, Esther,” I finally manage to say, “what happened?”
She grins. “Oh, you know, Ninjas. The usual.”