Invisible Ellen

by Shari Shattuck

  Ellen knew that last part, about every man for himself, was mostly true from her years of observing people’s behavior toward each other. She wasn’t sure she understood the rest of what he was talking about—“common good” was a phrase that escaped her—but she liked listening to Justice talk. She liked the way his eyes got brighter and his face lit up when he was explaining. “But we are alone,” she said to keep him going. “I mean, aren’t we?”

  Justice smiled. “We are individuals,” he said, “unique even, but that’s not the same thing as what I’m talking about. It’s an occupational hazard. Anthropologists see people, and their behavior, not just as individuals, but as part of a larger whole.”

  “But most people just live their lives and don’t see past their own . . . you know . . . stuff.”

  Justice’s eyebrows went up and he nodded approvingly. “Exactly.” Then he laughed and added, “That’s why there are anthropologists. It’s our job to point out to everyone else on the planet where they went wrong. It’s very big of us.” He waved like a prince in a parade.

  For Ellen, who was not comfortable having an exchange with a single human, the state of the planet and all its occupants was beyond contemplation. A gust of wind lifted the hair veiling her face, and her hand flew up to cover her rutted cheek. She shifted her eyes and knew that Justice had seen it, but there was no trace of repulsion in his expression.

  “It’s just different,” Justice said softly. “Everyone is unique. You know, there are societies where they deliberately scar their faces for beauty.”

  Ellen bit her lip. It sounded unlikely. “Not here,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “The truth is, the standard of beauty is variable. Americans, as a social group, pride themselves on being individual, yet most of us are so isolated inside”—he pointed to his chest—“that we try to bond through uniformity outside.” He gestured to a group of four teenage girls, each of them wearing tight jeans, tank tops of similar colors, and those slipper boots that were so popular. They wore the same makeup and hairstyles, but for all their efforts at uniformity, they were each distinctly different.

  Ellen thought of the young man with the bracelet of scars and the officer saying, It’s a kind of gang marking. So that too was a bid to connect, if she understood Justice correctly. It was all very weird and it took so much effort to try and make sense of it. Ellen’s brain felt full of dust, but dust with rays of sunlight streaming in through a small, grimy window.

  “And you can’t agree that something is more attractive without also agreeing that something is less attractive. To make themselves feel better, an unfulfilled person puts other people down.” He shrugged. “The human ego is a greedy beast.” Justice laughed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I get carried away, but I know you like to study the way people act too, so I hope you don’t mind.” He grimaced apologetically, which bewildered Ellen. She might not understand everything he was saying, but she loved listening to it.

  “Come on,” he said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a treat for you.” He stood up and offered his hand. Ellen pretended not to see it. Talking was one thing, touching, another. Also, she was afraid her larger weight might pull him to the ground instead of being helped up, so she kept her eyes down and pushed herself awkwardly to her feet instead. They threw away their trash and walked across the field to the music hall. At the artists’ door, Justice stuck his head in. “Okay, all clear. Come on,” he beckoned to her with smiling eyes.

  Ellen followed him down a long hall, past dressing rooms and rehearsal spaces, through piles of cables and light fixtures neatly stacked, walls of switches and tied-off cables, until they came to a stop.

  They were standing in the wings of the stage. To Ellen’s right the thick velvet of a massive curtain rose until it disappeared into the darkness above. Only a few work lights illuminated the stage ahead of them. Ellen could see the backs of a row of musicians, some seated, some standing near percussion instruments, all of them focused forward on a man she could not see but whom she could hear.

  Justice tilted his head and moved around the very edge of the curtain. She followed, pushing aside the voluminous fabric, and found herself facing the empty house. Rows of upholstered seats rose in a graceful swoop up to the first balcony, and above that, another level, perched in the dim heights. She caught her breath at the scope of it, both awed and frightened, but Justice took her arm and led her down a short flight of black steps and then up the long, carpeted aisle along the wall, ascending until they reached the very back row of the first level. The exit doors were closed and it was dark. Turning sideways, they moved along the last row until they were almost at the center aisle and then Justice motioned that they should sit.

  On the stage below them, bathed in soft light, the orchestra members sat in an expanding semicircle on the polished wood of the wide stage. Far above them, a massive chandelier hung. Its bulbs were dark, but its crystals reflected the lights from the stage far below, the thousands of tiny glints hinting at its grandeur. Ellen had never been in such a splendid place in her life. But what fascinated her most was the fact that, even from this distance, with his back to them, she could hear everything the man on the stage said as though he were standing just in front of her.

  Justice smiled at her obvious amazement. “Acoustics,” he whispered. “Amazing, huh?”

  The man, who must, of course, be the conductor, was saying, “. . . allegretto beginning in the fourth bar of the second movement, and building until the crescendo. The first movement, with the duet, must be piano, piano. We do not want to overwhelm the cello and the violin. They must play softly for this piece. Okay? Here we go.” He tapped a long, narrow stick on the stand in front of him and raised both arms.

  Now Ellen noticed that two chairs had been placed out in front of the others and in one of them was the unmistakable form of Temerity. Next to her was a red-faced man not one iota less circular than Ellen herself, and wedged between his thick thighs was a cello. The idea that someone as big as her could be sitting up there, in front of this many people when the hall was filled, was hard for Ellen to even assimilate, much less accept.

  “. . . three, four . . . and . . .” The stick swished and, like the sun rising, the violin and the cello began to play.

  The two instruments combined in this space had a quality of sound that she had never heard but that she instinctively recognized. It had the same timbre as something she’d felt inside herself all her life but never named. The music pulled at that part of her with an ebb and flow that called it out, and she had to put both hands over her mouth to keep from sobbing out loud.

  She clamped back her tears and tried to shush the voices inside as the sound outside multiplied, the orchestra coming in, blending and mixing, until something entirely new was created. Just like the tribes Justice was talking about, Ellen thought. Each member was unique, but they all needed one another to make this. She felt oddly proud of the comparison, which only strengthened the tide inside her until her shoulders shook with the effort of containing it.

  When it ended, Ellen realized that Justice’s arm was resting softly across her shoulders, and she did not move away.

  “Very nice.” The conductor’s voice broke through the ringing stillness. “See you all tomorrow.”

  There was the rustle of sheet music and a murmur of activity, starting low and then breaking out into laughter and conversation. But still Ellen cradled her face in her hands and would not look up.

  “I’ll go get Tem,” Justice whispered. “Wait here.”

  Ellen was happy to do so. She stayed, inert, feeling deconstructed, as though she’d been sucked down through a sieve into a muddy bog. This thing, this having experiences, was every bit as exhausting as she had always feared it would be; that didn’t surprise her. What she had not anticipated was the inexplicable combination of fatigue and exhilaration. The thing she hadn’t known, had never
dreamt, was that she was capable of feeling so much, and, far more astounding than that, that it could be worth it.

  Then she heard the tapping of Temerity’s approach, felt her arm slide around her shoulders and squeeze, felt her seat rock as Justice sat down on the other side of her.

  Still hiding from everything, Ellen mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

  Temerity’s hand patted Ellen’s hair as she whispered, “Don’t be. Are you sad?”

  Nodding her face and hands as a unit, Ellen said, “And happy. I’m not used to these . . . feelings. It’s like a . . . one of those . . . horrible carnival rides I’ve seen, that go up and down and spin and jerk, and, well, usually I’m so . . . on the ground. I’m not sure I can take it.”

  “You’re just a little overwhelmed,” Temerity said, “and that happens to everyone sometimes. You know what helps? Thinking about someone else. That takes the pressure off of you. Trust me.”

  The suggestion was like a light in a distant window, a path through the fog that Ellen could follow out of this mire. Someone else, she thought vaguely. Yes, it would be a relief to look away. She raised her face slowly from her hands, took a deep breath, looked from sister to brother, and said, “Then I think I know what to do.”

  It wasn’t far to the downtown Macy’s. Justice drove while the two women sat in the back and decided what to say. Actually, Temerity decided, and Ellen wrote, but she felt that they were her words too. When they’d finished their note, Ellen read it back.

  Janelle,

  You don’t know us, but who we are is not important. There is someone who needs you very much, and maybe someone else who can help you as well. Your brother, Sam, is a father. He had a little girl, not even a day old. She is at Saint Vincent’s hospital. Her mother, Cindy, is desperately in need of a friend. She cannot take care of the baby, so she has decided to give it up for adoption. She did not know of your existence either until last night, just before she went into labor. She is confused and alone, and she misses Sam very much. Perhaps you can help each other.

  It was signed simply, “Two friends.” Ellen wanted to make it “three friends” but Justice begged off. “This is your good deed,” he said.

  “Okay, we’re here. How do you want to do this?” Justice asked as he slipped the car into an available parking space.

  “I kind of thought you’d take it in,” his sister said.

  He sighed. “Of course you did. Okay, what does she look like?”

  After a brief pause, Ellen realized that she would have to answer that.

  “She’s tall, slim, dark skinned, with pale gold, almost greenish eyes, very beautiful, and one leg is shorter than the other,” Ellen said.

  Justice frowned. “Can you be more specific?”

  “I don’t remember anything el—” Ellen began, but Temerity cut her off with a smack to Justice’s arm.

  “He’s joking. Go on,” she told her brother. “Just give it to her and leave. Tell her you’re the messenger, or something like that.”

  “Don’t they always shoot the messenger?” Justice asked, switching off the engine and unbuckling his seat belt.

  “That’s only when it’s bad news,” Temerity said brightly, earning herself a look that only Ellen could appreciate. He got out of the car. They sat in silence for exactly three seconds and then Temerity blurted out, “What do you think she’ll do?”

  “What do you think she’ll do?”

  Temerity hummed for a second and then said, “She’ll go, right away. Of course she will. And I think we should be there.”

  “Wh . . . wha . . . what?” Ellen stuttered.

  “Don’t you want to see what happens? How she reacts?” Then before Ellen could answer, she said, “I do! And that means you’re coming, since, you know, I don’t have the ability to process light and whatnot.”

  Justice returned within five minutes and told them that he’d handed over the note and gotten the heck out of there.

  “Great, to Saint Vincent’s,” Temerity said.

  But Justice protested. “Okay, now you’re crossing the line into creepiness. It’s one thing to find out someone needs help and make a connection for them to get that need met, but it’s another to spy on the event.” Temerity opened her mouth to object, but he went on. “No, I won’t. I’ll tell you what I will do. You know my friend Amanda?”

  “Sure, the one who finished premed and actually became a doctor?”

  “Yes, her, smart-ass. Guess where she works.”

  “Tell me it’s Saint Vincent’s,” Temerity begged. “Say the words.”

  “The words.” Justice snickered.

  “Give me strength.” Temerity clasped her hands and raised them to the sunroof. “Don’t make me kill my brother. He doesn’t mean to be so stupid, he just can’t help himself.”

  “It’s Saint Vincent’s.” Justice smiled broadly.

  “Thank you.” She dropped her hands and turned toward Justice. “You may now sleep without immediate fear of reprisal,” Temerity said.

  Justice rolled his eyes at Ellen. “And she’s interning in obstetrics, so guess where Amanda works at Saint Vincent’s.”

  “Ellen, you want to take this one?” Temerity turned in Ellen’s general direction.

  “Um. The baby place?” she suggested.

  “The baby place,” Justice agreed. “Exactly. I will call her and ask her to check in and let me know what the status is of both of your adopted characters. Okay?”

  Ellen couldn’t have been more relieved. As much as she wanted to see the outcome of their machinations, she didn’t think she could take one more moment of being out in the world. Besides, she had to get to work in a few hours, and she needed a nap first.

  “Fine.” Temerity crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. “Typical. I miss all the fun.”

  Justice shook his head. “You’ve been having more fun than even monkeys should be allowed to have,” he said. “Ellen, can we drop you off somewhere?”

  “Home, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “You don’t have to be at work for a few hours. We could go do something,” Temerity suggested.

  But Ellen felt so twisted and wrung out that the only “something” she wanted right now was semidarkness, four walls and her bed. Justice seemed to understand. “Home it is,” he said.

  Ellen climbed the stairs to her apartment feeling spent but softer, more pliable, as though if someone poked her, it would leave an indent. She went to the back window and looked out. The scene hadn’t changed and the courtyard was deserted. Ellen didn’t even get anything to eat before she took off her shoes, curled up in her bed, set her clock radio alarm to ring in two hours, and dropped off to sleep.

  When the jangle of the phone woke her, Ellen picked it up automatically, as though she’d been doing it all her life, and murmured a sleepy, “Yeah?”

  Temerity’s voice was eager. “It’s me.” Even half-asleep, Ellen smiled at the irony of the pronouncement. Who else would it be? But Temerity was already on a roll. She was saying, “Okay, so here’s the deal. Janelle went to meet Cindy. I guess that went pretty well, because according to Justice’s friend Dr. Amanda, Janelle has now taken charge of Cindy’s care, and the baby’s.” Trying to clear the fog in her head, Ellen sat up and asked, “Is that good?”

  “Have you ever seen someone who needed taking care of more than Cindy?”

  The question was a difficult one for Ellen. She hadn’t ever evaluated the level of “need to be taken care of” in anyone before, much less compared one to another. So she just made a noise she hoped sounded like she agreed with whatever Temerity thought.

  “What about those other people?” she asked.

  “The Newlands? Not sure.”

  “Oh.” Ellen was undecided if she felt anything about that, though the memory of Susan Newland’s face streaming with tears left a
rough spot just under her collarbone. Having an opinion was more of a nuisance than she’d expected.

  “And while we’re making our rounds through the hospital wards, T-bone, I mean J.B., is not as sprightly as we would wish. In fact, he’s pretty much spright-less. I wish there was something we could do to help him.”

  “Like what?” Ellen asked.

  “Give blood, or, I don’t know . . . catch the guy who shot him might be good.”

  Ellen had a brief image of the man in the hooded sweatshirt with the pierced eyebrow in the ICU waiting room, but she kept it to herself. Both of Temerity’s suggestions sounded substantially more demanding than slipping someone a note, and Ellen was doubtful that she was capable of any undertaking that involved either the gathering of clues or the giving of bodily fluids.

  “You going to work?” Temerity asked.

  “Yeah, I have to get ready now.”

  “Okay, call me in the morning, I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”

  Ellen stumbled to the shower, wondering how her life could possibly have changed so much in seventy-some-odd hours. But while the tepid water splashed over her, the answer came so clearly that she spoke the words out loud. “Because I got involved.” Something she’d arduously avoided, with truly remarkable results. She’d done one thing, tripped one guy, and it had snowballed into expecting phone calls and visiting people at hospitals and being ambushed by music that made her weep. That last one she really hadn’t seen coming. She almost—not quite, but almost—longed for the numbness of the good old three days ago.

  Instead, as she dried herself with a thin, practically nonabsorbent towel, lifting her breasts and stomach to dry beneath the overlapping skin, she found herself thinking curiously about Irena. She felt . . . she searched for the right word . . . invested in the woman. And there was something, something reassuring, in a very uncertain way, about the fact that she would speak to Temerity tomorrow. She ran the sentence through her brain again to try to interpret it. She would speak to Temerity tomorrow, and she found it impossible to decipher accurately without any point of reference. She’d never, as far as she could remember, been committed to “speaking to someone tomorrow” just to exchange ideas or information. That deceptively simple sentence could mean, or bring, anything, because it meant plunging into the sea of unknown, especially with Temerity, and the unfamiliarity felt like a thrown rock that sent up a disruptive splash.