In Between Dreams

by Iman Verjee

  ‘Mom,’ he said, without looking at her.

  He knew she was sitting on the bed, glass clutched in her hand, a small white pill in the other. ‘What were you doing?’ she asked. When he looked at her, he saw that her eyes were still hopeful. She was waiting for him to dispute her assumption, to explain it away with a laugh and a joke.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like.’ At the point where it mattered most, he found himself unable to lie. He had been overtaken by a sudden compulsion to tell the truth.

  ‘Then what was it?’ her voice quivered. ‘What were you doing, James?’

  ‘She had a nightmare.’

  ‘That doesn’t explain why your hand was in her nightgown. Why you were half dressed, for Christ’s sake!’

  He kept quiet, staring down at the carpet. He held himself tightly against the wall and seemed, even to himself, like a monster.

  ‘What were you doing?’ close to a shout this time. ‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ holding her head in her hands and he went quickly to her, afraid someone would hear, be alarmed and come over. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she yanked her hand away. The water splashed from the glass and into his eyes. She let it go and it dropped onto the carpeted floor with a dull thud. He reached for her again but she slapped him hard. Her fingers stung his cheek and vibrated in his head. She stepped back, scared of him.

  ‘Please, just listen to me.’

  ‘She’s your daughter,’ she said. ‘She’s just a child.’ She grabbed him by the shirt, shook him. The hastily closed buttons came undone. ‘I can’t believe this. Tell me this isn’t happening.’

  ‘Let’s go downstairs. I don’t want to wake her up.’ He maneuvered her out of the door. It was easy to do—she was as limp as a baby. His mind was racing with lies but they all reached dead-ends. There was nowhere to go from here but to tell the truth. He felt surprisingly at ease.

  He put her in his chair, sitting beside her on the coffee table. She rocked back and forth, moaning something he couldn’t comprehend, so he waited.

  ‘You were,’ she started, but choked on the image. ‘Before I came in, were you…’

  ‘Yes.’ He helped her, tried to be kind and finish her sentence, cringing at his own answer.

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged, not because he was nonchalant but because the question was too big, too vague to answer. It had started for a certain reason and was continuing entirely because of something else. Reasoning wouldn’t make it better for her. ‘I can’t say.’

  She was angry now, disgusted, and when she spoke, flecks of spit formed at the corners of her mouth. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

  ‘It’s just,’ something shut down in him, clamping him up. ‘I’ve never hurt her. You know I would never do that.’

  ‘How is this not hurting her?’ she gestured to him without looking and he saw that his zipper was undone. His face burned with shame; he hated her in that moment. She was taking everything that was precious to him and turning it into poison. ‘Just tell me why and we’ll get you help. You need help.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m not a monster.’

  She was trying to understand; he saw it in her eyes. The same disbelief, the same disgust he had felt about himself so long ago. ‘Was it my fault?’ Her fingers dug into his palm, hurt him, but he didn’t pull away. ‘Did I do something?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Your father.’ Her face sagged. ‘Your father—was it him? Please tell me that you didn’t, that you weren’t—’

  ‘No,’ he said sharply. She wasn’t listening. ‘It’s not that. It’s none of that.’ He thought about telling her about Donna, of when it had first started, but that seemed irrelevant right now. He spoke with surprising calm, as if he had just woken up from a dream and come back into the real world after a long and tired sleep.

  ‘There are people like you,’ she said, suffocated by her words and he saw that what he had said had pushed her away forever. ‘Who are in jail.’

  ‘I’m not like them.’ He was growing impatient with her, furious at her accusation.

  ‘I didn’t say—’

  ‘At least I tried,’ he exploded. ‘I spent a long time fighting it—at least I have a conscience. I never hurt her and I never would. Don’t I deserve some credit, some sympathy for that?’

  ‘What are you saying?’ she asked. ‘Listen to what you’re saying. How can I forgive you for what you have done? How can God forgive you for it either?’

  He was up and over her in a second, a scream in his throat. ‘This is what he made me,’ a rage in his voice that shook the windows. ‘This is not my fault. It’s not my fault.’ He released his grip on the sofa and stood back from her, his body clenched and waiting for a fight. ‘I told Marienne I never wanted children. I never asked for this—it was forced upon me.’

  She stood up to leave and he caught her.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Are you going to the police?’

  They struggled but she was too weak for him. ‘You’re going to report me?’ He was incredulous, beside himself with panic.

  ‘I’m going to do what’s right.’

  ‘No.’ He pinned her arms behind her, forcing her back down. ‘No, please, you can’t do that to me. I’m your son!’

  ‘What about my granddaughter? What about Annie?’

  ‘And what are you going to tell Marienne?’ He cocked his head, was astounded at the sneer in his voice. ‘You’re the one who convinced her back into this marriage. Are you going to apologize? Are you going to make up for the thirty years she’s lost? For everything she’s going to lose after you send me away to rot in a jail cell?’

  She started to shake and he took her hands, softening his voice. He put his head in her lap even though she tried to pull away. ‘We’re family, you can’t do that to me. Please, I’m sorry. I won’t do it ever again.’

  ‘Get off me.’ A choked sob. ‘Please,’ and with one last shove, she pushed him to the floor and stood up. ‘This can’t be real,’ reaching out to shake his shoulders. ‘How could I not have known this? You’re my son—it can’t be true.’

  ‘Then let’s forget it happened. I told you, I’ll never do it again. We can move on from this.’

  ‘How can I trust that’s true? After all this, how can I believe that?’ She straightened out her nightgown and this time, he didn’t have the energy to stop her as she stepped away.

  ‘You’re going to the police.’

  ‘No.’

  He turned his surprised eyes to her, couldn’t help but ask, ‘Why?’

  ‘I won’t ruin two other lives because of what you’ve done.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Relief washed over him; he felt weak. ‘I never meant to hurt anyone. I’m still your son—I’m still the same person.’

  ‘Don’t think I’m doing any of this for you.’ She started walking to the stairs. ‘You stop this right now. And you tell her it’s wrong—you fix her.’ He felt a fleeting panic at the thought of never kissing the back of her ear again; never telling her another story and watching her eyes brighten with interest. But he nodded. ‘And don’t expect me to ever believe anything you have to say again,’ she told him. Her face had darkened, closing him off for good. ‘I’m only protecting you because of the two of them. Because they need you and because I’m the one who brought Marienne back.’

  He stayed silent and she felt a compulsion to keep talking. ‘He was so proud of you, you know. We both were. You were everything to us.’ Her voice was hard, emotionless. ‘I’m glad he’s not here to see this. To see what you’ve become.’ And those were the last words she ever spoke to him.

  He didn’t watch her leave. Instead, he went back to his chair, sank into it and pulled his knees up to his chest, cradling himself, swinging back and forth slowly, looking out of the window and watching the night stretch on. And though he stared and searched, he knew it was hopeless. No matter how hard he tried, a young boy once again,
wishing his life and luck away, he would never be able to find the point where the darkness ended.

  ‌36

  ‌Whitehorse, Yukon. January 1993

  The wide, open room gathers up the sound of my rapid footsteps, collects them and throws them back down so that my ears fill with them. I run with all my might, pushing my heels off the floor, head-on, using the power in my shoulders, dodging in and out of girls. I hear someone calling my name, Frances, pass it here, over here, but I ignore them and keep going. My thoughts are being left behind, discarded, and they cannot catch me. The stick is simply an extension of my hand, the ball just something to toy with; someone comes in my way and I charge right through them. They fall to the floor, a loud whistle and finally I stop; red-faced and panting. I see that it’s Victoria on the floor; she is clutching her wrist and looking up at me in surprise.

  ‘That’s enough.’ Sister Ann drops the whistle around her neck. ‘Okay girls—go get changed.’

  She is staring at me and I know it’s because she is wondering why I am so active today, having never shown an interest in playing hockey, or any other sport, before. But I find it helps with the anger, the panic that is under construction in my body, that will be complete by the end of the month when I watch them drive away from me. But right now, it is watered down, parts of it exiled through the sweat forming at my neck and running down my spine, drowned out by the exertion of my heart.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask Victoria.

  ‘I’ve done something to my hand.’ She tries to move it in a circle but winces. ‘Shit, that hurts.’

  Sister Ann comes up to us. ‘Everything alright?’

  ‘I think I’ve done something to my hand.’

  ‘Let me see.’ She gets Victoria to stand up, gently easing the pained wrist into her palm, massaging it around the bone. She pushes the palm up and Victoria grimaces.

  ‘That really hurts.’

  ‘Sister Margret has a first aid kit in her office—let’s go get you a bandage. It’s probably just a small sprain.’ She starts to move toward the front door. ‘Come on.’

  Victoria stands completely still, holding her wrist to her. ‘I’m sure it’ll be okay,’ she says. ‘It feels better already. It’s probably just a bruise.’

  ‘Still, it’s better just to make sure.’ She looks at me. ‘Well done today, Frances.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I didn’t know you played.’

  I shrug. ‘It’s just one of those days, I guess.’

  ‘Come on, Victoria.’

  Victoria has no choice but to follow her. She cannot argue anymore without raising suspicions. She looks back at me and I nod to reassure her. I will keep him safe until you come back, and then I turn and go out the back door, instantly swallowed up by the four o’clock darkness.

  I find him already there; sitting on Victoria’s bed, tapping his foot up and down nervously.

  ‘Hi,’ I say and he jumps in surprise.

  ‘You’re not Victoria.’

  ‘Really? I hadn’t noticed.’

  He smiles at this. ‘I wasn’t sure I had the right room.’

  ‘Who says you do?’

  He laughs. ‘You’re funny,’ he says. ‘Frances, right?’ And I nod. ‘Vic never mentioned that about you.’ There is a lilt in his voice, a slight teasing, that draws me closer, makes me lean against the bed frame.

  ‘What did she say about me?’

  He slides closer; his eyes are long-lashed and feminine. They are out of place on his otherwise large, muscular frame. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ He looks me up and down, brazenly, and when his eyes hold mine again, they are on fire. ‘Definitely not how pretty you are.’

  I stir under the attention. It has been too long since someone has looked at me that way, and it starts up an old emotion in me that I have missed. That I thrive on. I sit down next to him; have to press my leg against his thigh because there isn’t enough space between him and the end of the bed. I know I shouldn’t. I know how much Victoria likes him; how hurt she would be if she were to walk in right now, but I need him more than she does.

  ‘Where is Vic?’ he asks.

  ‘She hurt her wrist so she’s gone to get it checked out.’ I put my hand on his thigh, feel his leg jump. I move it further up.

  ‘What if she—’

  ‘She won’t.’ I am tired of this talking, overcome by hot desperation.

  ‘I thought you had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Not anymore.’

  And I don’t have to say anything else; my head is jerked back, his mouth is on top of mine, over-eager and searching. It is a natural state for me to have someone’s body on top of mine, their hands covering me and it feels safe. His hands go down to circle my waist, they pull the ends of my shirt out from my gym pants. ‘Someone might come in,’ he says breathlessly and I’m saying that I don’t care, falling on top of him, trying to drown myself in him. Trying to feel something for this boy who is good looking and smells nice—who is my age and who is attracted to me. But his tongue is too clammy and his fingers too clumsy, too young. There is no depth to him and I start to pull away but I’m too late.

  The door has already opened. I hear a girl shout something and I am scrambling off the bed, pulling my clothes around me, saying, ‘Victoria, Victoria, I’m sorry, sorry,’ but then I turn around and it’s not her. I see thick black glasses and teeth protruding from thin lips. Library books hugged to a chest.

  ‘What are you doing in my room?’

  ‘Taylor.’

  At first, I am relieved, but then her eyes dart to the bed, where Leo is smoothing out his hair and her face curls in disgust. ‘You’re not allowed boys in here.’

  ‘Look, let me explain.’

  ‘And this isn’t even your room!’ She is backing out. ‘You’re not allowed boys in here, it’s the rules,’ she repeats and I chase after her, grab her arm, but she pulls away and I’m struggling to fix my clothes.

  ‘Taylor!’

  She runs down the stairs, shouting as she does, ‘there’s a boy here—Frances has a boy in my room!’ and I’m sprinting after her, still hoping that I can shut her up, that no one has heard what she is yelling, but by the time I reach the foyer, she has disappeared into Sister Margret’s office. Leo skids to a stop beside me.

  ‘Got to go,’ he says, pulling his leather jacket on. ‘Shit, what a mess,’ pausing to hold my eyes. He isn’t even apologetic. ‘Tell Victoria I’ll call her,’ and he has pulled open the door and is running back to his car.

  And I stand in the middle of the foyer because there is nowhere else to hide and I wait for the voices to stop in the office. Hear the chairs scraping back, the loud bang as the door is thrown open. See the thunderous face of Sister Margret. Victoria and Sister Ann are behind her. Taylor is red-faced and pointing at me. Sister Margret tells her to be quiet and we all stare at each other. I don’t look at Victoria.

  ‘Frances, Taylor told me you have a boy upstairs.’

  ‘You can go and check if you want.’ I will not admit it. She hasn’t seen it herself; she will never know the truth for certain. I can convince her. I have to convince her.

  ‘She’s lying.’ Taylor’s voice is high-pitched and warbling. I have caused ripples in her clean, religious mind. Disturbed the waters there. ‘She was on the bed with him. They were—’ she blushes. Stops. I have to laugh at her expression.

  ‘You think this is funny?’ Sister Margret turns to me.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What were they doing?’

  ‘Kissing.’ She hisses the word. ‘More than kissing.’

  Victoria gives a little gasp; her eyes grow wide. Up until then, she thought that Taylor simply walked in on Leo and me in the room. In her mind we were probably just sitting beside each other, making conversation to pass the time until she showed up. Sister Margret turns to her. ‘Did you know about this?’ she asks.

  And Victoria looks at my face and knows everything I have done because I cannot hide my g
uilt from her. She stands straighter, her face goes blank. ‘She’s been seeing him for a while.’

  ‘Victoria,’ I start toward her, but am stopped by Sister Margret. ‘That’s not true!’ I’m shouting, wildly glaring from one to the other.

  ‘She said she was going to try and sneak him in,’ her lie is smooth, unbroken. She doesn’t even pause to blink. ‘I told her it was against the rules. I warned her and thought she would listen. But obviously she didn’t.’ She meets my eyes straight on. You deserve this. It’s all your fault. ‘His name is Leo.’

  I hear a breath being sucked in behind me. I turn around. A group of girls has gathered behind us, watching with interest. Judy is at the center of them. She has recognized the name—she knows who he belongs to. I hope that she will step forward and tell the truth and save me. But she doesn’t want to get involved—doesn’t want to spoil her reputation with the teachers and so she keeps silent.

  ‘You know the rules, Frances,’ Sister Margret says. Everyone falls silent. They don’t believe she’ll do it. It has never happened before; no one has ever got caught. Sister Ann moves forward, touches Sister Margret’s shoulder.

  ‘Surely we can talk about this—decide an appropriate punishment,’ but she is stopped as she is shrugged off, dismissed.

  ‘You’re sure about what you saw?’ Sister Margret asks Taylor.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go and pack your bags.’ She is addressing me again. ‘You leave tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Please.’ I am close to crying now. I don’t want to go home—I can’t go back. ‘It was a mistake. I’ll never do it again, I swear. Please don’t kick me out.’

  She turns to the group of girls. ‘Everyone back to your rooms.’ And eyes travel over my body, my disheveled hair, my swollen lips. I hear snickers and whispers, all saying the same thing, it’s over. There’s no choice. You’ll never see them again. And Victoria passes me, hisses in my ear.