by Rachel Klein
“So, why doesn’t she go to the infirmary and get a note? Everyone does it.”
“She doesn’t want to go there. She’s afraid they’ll make her stay. It’s not like she’s sick or anything. She’s just feeling worn out.”
“Well, Miss Bobbie’ll never lighten up. She doesn’t like her type.”
“But it was so easy for me to get excused from gym, and there’s nothing really the matter with me. It’s not fair.”
I don’t believe any of this about feeling exhausted. Ernessa is incredibly strong. She just wants to get out of gym. And Miss Bobbie doesn’t fall for it. Lucy buys into everything Ernessa says. Everyone does. It’s ridiculous. Lucy’s so concerned about Ernessa being tired when she’s the one who was in bed for a week and still isn’t completely recovered.
Lucy is no longer the helpless victim lying on her white bed in the infirmary, counting her breaths and weeping. She doesn’t have to let Ernessa take anything from her. She can resist. And if Ernessa takes, it’s because Lucy has offered.
February 11
The night is so long. In the middle of the night, I’m certain that it will never end. I usually fall asleep as the sky begins to lighten, and when the bells ring for breakfast, I’m sound asleep. My head feels so heavy and dull all day long. It’s a struggle to hold it up.
Lucy is all right. Some days she’s stronger than others, but basically she seems okay. Having her in the next room makes me edgy. I’m up all night long, listening for noises, tossing from my back to my front and then to my back again, trying to get comfortable. I can’t. I must get up to pee five times a night. It’s like a nervous tic.
When I was a little girl and woke up during the night and was scared, I used to get my father. I would go and stand by his bed. He was always lying on his back. He looked so peaceful asleep that I didn’t want to disturb him. After a little while, he would open his eyes, sit up very slowly, and follow me silently down the hallway to my room. His feet shuffled on the rug in the hallway as he walked behind me because he was half asleep. When he lay down next to me on my bed, I instantly calmed down and fell asleep. I didn’t like to do this too often, only when I was desperate. I was afraid he would say something during the day. He might tease me about being such a baby. But he never did. And when I awoke in the morning, he was gone, back in his own bed. Only the impression left by his sturdy body convinced me that he had really been there during the night.
Now there isn’t even an impression.
After my father died, my mother took me to a psychiatrist a few times. I told him that what I missed most about my father was that if I wanted him during the night, he couldn’t be with me. Even though I hadn’t gotten him out of bed for years, I needed to know that I could do it. The psychiatrist said that he felt it was inappropriate for my father to share my bed. He spoke about him as if he were still alive and his real crime were helping me to fall asleep rather than killing himself. When the doctor said that, I wondered if he had forgotten the reason why I was there. He had so many patients that he might get their problems confused. After that, I wouldn’t speak to him anymore. I refused to tell my mother why. I didn’t know if she ever noticed that my father was sometimes absent from their bed in the middle of the night. She sent me off to school anyway. I didn’t want to think about my father sleeping in bed next to me ever again. The doctor ruined it.
Last year at this time, I was getting ready for the spring dance and secretly dreaming that I was going to fall in love with my date. I never told anyone. And then he was so ludicrously boring and pimply faced. I kept thinking what a waste it was that I had bought such a beautiful dress. But still I was much happier then.
February 12
Can anyone know the exact point where reality ends and something else, completely unfathomable, takes over? If you look at two parallel lines, you know that you’ll never be able to see to the point where they actually touch, only the point where they appear to converge. But that point exists, theoretically, and there everything is possible.
This morning we were supposed to go to the library to research our history term paper. I decided to practice instead. If I sit down in one of the comfortable chairs in the library, I fall asleep right away. At least in the practice room, there’s no place to sleep except the floor. I played for a while, but the smell coming up from the basement was bothering me. Again. I’d forgotten about it, but today I couldn’t stand to be in the room. I decided to look for the janitor and had just opened the door, when I saw someone coming out the basement door. I caught a glimpse of a navy blue sweater and a long gray skirt at the end of the hallway. I pulled the door half shut and waited for the girl to pass. I already knew who it was before I actually saw her face. She passed by quickly, not exactly running, rather skimming over the ground. Her face was dark reddish-purple and bloated. Slick with wet. She tried to wipe her face with her sweater sleeve. It was awful.
When I was sure she was gone, I walked down the hallway to the basement door. I was afraid to touch the knob. I was afraid that it would scorch my skin. The door was locked. I’m sure I saw her coming out of the basement. She’s managed to get a key. Or maybe the door was left open. That still doesn’t explain anything.
Last fall, I let myself get sucked into stories, and the stories killed Dora. I won’t let that happen now. I won’t let myself believe things that I don’t think are possible. I skipped class and snuck up to my room and crawled under the covers of my bed. I needed to be in my own room, on my own bed, with my own smell around me, not the wretched basement smell. If Mrs. Halton caught me, I was going to tell her that I had terrible cramps. When I calmed down a little, I forced myself to read. I held the little turquoise book open under the covers and looked at the words on the page. I have no idea what I read.
When I saw her later on this afternoon, just before dinner, she looked normal. I made a point of looking straight at her and meeting her eyes. She acted as she always does, basically ignoring me, so I don’t think she knows that I saw her this morning.
February 13
Today I didn’t go into town with the others to meet Charley. I didn’t feel like it. I was tired, and I was getting the kind of headache that I sometimes get before my period. There’s a tightness in my head, and my tongue is thick and swollen. It’s a strange feeling for which there are no words. It used to frighten me when I was little.
I have to lie down in a dark, quiet room. I can’t even read. All I can think about is my headache. The whole world is my throbbing head. Sometimes, it’s so bad that I have to throw up. I sleep for hours, and I wake up tired. When my headache goes, the tiredness is almost pleasurable. My arms and legs are too heavy to lift. Everything flows out of me. I never dream when I have a headache.
As soon as I could stand to sit up in bed and to let some light into my room, I got my journal and pen to keep me company. I feel so alone with my headache.
Lucy didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t coming.
I don’t have the strength to fight Ernessa. She goes where she pleases. She appears unhoped for, uncalled for. She moves through doors and walls and windows. Her thoughts move through minds. She enters dreams. She vanishes and is still there. She knows the future and sees through flesh. She is not afraid of anything.
February 14
Today my headache is even worse, and I’m spending the day in bed again. Sofia came and visited me and brought me something to eat from lunch. She’s going to see her father over spring vacation. He’s taking the kids skiing in Vermont. Skiing in Vermont – that sounds so normal, even though her parents are divorced and live three thousand miles apart. At least they inhabit the same planet. She’s really excited about seeing her father. I can’t write anymore.
February 15
Last night after dinner, Lucy came into my room.
“Sofia said you were really sick,” she said. “Are you feeling better?”
“A little. At least I have my period, finally. I’d rather have cramps than a headac
he.”
“I’ve never had cramps,” said Lucy, as if she were missing out on something. “When I have my period, I hardly even bleed. And I haven’t had it since last fall.”
Lucy sat down on the edge of my bed and stroked my cheek. I wanted to tell her to go away, that I had been sick for two days before she even noticed and the only reason she noticed was because Sofia told her. I wanted to tell her that I knew she didn’t really care how I felt. I’m so weak. I didn’t say any of the things I felt. I let her stroke my cheek in the dark.
February 17
I couldn’t get to my journal until now. I skipped lunch and came straight to my room. I’m afraid I’ll forget something of what happened last night. It already feels like a dream. I’m beginning to lose it. My cramps were really bad, like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The blood poured out of me. I pulled back the covers, and there was a huge dark stain spreading over the white sheet. I stumbled into the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. That felt better, so I stayed there for quite a while, just letting the blood run out of me. I rested my head on the back of a chair and dozed. There was low droning sound coming from Lucy’s room. I didn’t pay attention to it at first, but then it became louder and more insistent. It separated itself from the night’s silence. It rose and fell of its own accord. When I stood up, I felt dizzy. I had to lean against the wall as I turned the doorknob. The door to Lucy’s room swung open. The moonlight was streaming in, the blinds were up, and I could see everything clearly. Lucy was lying on her bed, on her back. Her skin was silver. I could see that her eyes were closed and her lips parted, exposing the tips of her white teeth and her pointed tongue. She was so still she might have been asleep if it weren’t for the sounds coming from her. Those were her moans, rising and falling with her breath. Alongside her lay Ernessa. There was no distinction between the two bodies. They touched from head to foot. Ernessa was propped up on her elbow. She brought her head down, pressed her lips around Lucy’s nipple, and began to suck hard, pulling the flesh into her mouth. Lucy’s nightgown was open to the waist, baring her other breast, with the skin pulled back tautly and the little bump of a red nipple. Ernessa’s arm was wrapped around Lucy’s naked waist. Their bodies, their hair were mixed up, black and silvery gold. The moon passed behind thick clouds, and the room grew dim. I was afraid I would pass out. I couldn’t focus on the bed any longer. It disappeared into the night. I shut the door quickly and hurried back to my room.
This is what Lucy and I always used to make fun of. We were always so careful not to be like that. Girls who go too far. Girls who pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Girls who can’t grow up.
Are they happy? Does that word describe them? Blissful? Ecstatic? Oblivious?
What is love?
After dinner
Lucy never got out of bed this morning. I was late for breakfast myself. Mrs. Halton brought her to the infirmary, and later on, when we were all in class, an ambulance came and took her to the hospital. She was so weak that she couldn’t walk. They had to carry her up to the infirmary. Of course, Claire found out everything, and she told me. I could barely make it through dinner. I was too upset to eat anything. I know I should only be worried about Lucy. But all I can think of is the two of them, bathed in that moonlight, like dust. Tonight at dinner Ernessa looked fine. Her face was a little flushed. She came down to the Playroom after dinner for a smoke, but she sat off by herself and didn’t speak to anyone. We all sat together on the sofa and talked about Lucy. Ernessa held her cigarette up to her mouth and puffed on it without stopping, as if she were too keyed up to put it down for an instant. She was alone with her cigarettes. Ernessa has made Lucy sick. It’s so clear. It’s been her all along.
I didn’t tell anyone what I saw last night. They wouldn’t want to believe me. It doesn’t matter anyway. All that matters is that Lucy is in the hospital. I looked back in my journal. Just a week ago I wrote that Lucy was much better.
February 18
I went to Mrs. Halton’s room during quiet hour to ask if she had any news and when I could visit Lucy in the hospital. She said that Lucy is very weak and they are doing a lot of tests. No visitors are allowed for now. Her mother is with her. She promised she would tell me as soon as she heard anything. She only pretended to be nice to me.
Midnight
There’s no moon tonight. There are no clouds. The sky is black. But the moonlight was streaming into Lucy’s room. It was so bright I could see the pores of her skin.
February 19
Still no news about Lucy. I thought about calling her house to find out what’s happening, but I don’t want to talk to her father.
I know that something killed Pater. I know I saw a cloud of moths swarming in Ernessa’s room. I know someone walked along the gutter the night before Dora died. I know Charley is gone and Dora. One by one. I know the person leaning over Lucy was real.
Those are facts.
After chemistry, it was snowing hard, and everyone wanted to walk back in the snow. Ernessa headed in the opposite direction, toward the Passageway. Kiki called after her to come with us. She’s the only person, other than Lucy, who gets along with Ernessa and spends any time with her. Ernessa is always getting stoned with Kiki now that Charley is history. She seems to like blond, shallow Waspy types.
Ernessa said, “No, I don’t feel like it,” without even turning around and pushed open the door that leads to the Passageway. No one thought that was strange.
I’ve hardly ever seen Ernessa outside. One time Lucy mentioned that Ernessa’s skin is extremely sensitive to the sun. She has some strange skin condition. But it was snowing. No one’s going to get a sunburn in the snow.
I started to walk toward the Passageway, too, but Sofia grabbed my hand and pulled me out into the snow with the others.
We scooped up handfuls of freezing snow and stuck them down each other’s backs and shrieked. We lay on our backs and swept the snow away with our arms and legs and made snow angels. The snow was soft and thick, and the wings of the angels were perfect. We made up snow dances. Everything was white, dim, veiled.
I stood up, and the wet snow clung to my clothes in clumps. I realized I had forgotten all about Lucy while I played in the snow.
In the Passageway, there was a face pressed close to the window. She was watching us play in the snow. Through the thick glass, we must have looked like ghosts.
I remember the time she turned away from the sun when Miss Norris opened her door.
February 20
Finally, Mrs. Halton has some news about Lucy. They’ve done all kinds of tests, and the only thing the doctors know is that she is incredibly anemic. They think it’s some kind of blood disorder where the immune system turns on the red blood cells. Mrs. Halton said that Lucy’s blood cells were immature. It sounds like some kind of character weakness, not an illness. She has been getting lots of blood transfusions. They are basically replacing all the blood in her body. As soon as they can stabilize her, her mother wants to take her to a hospital near home. She can’t have any visitors now. It’s not just that she’s very weak and needs to rest. It has something to do with her being very upset and crying all the time.
Lucy’s not the type to have a nervous breakdown. She’s not complicated enough for that. And before this year, she was always happy. I’m the one who’s always anxious and upset. Even if she knows I saw her with Ernessa, shame can’t affect the blood cells.
I wish I could see her, just once, before she goes home. She might never come back to school again. That would be the best thing. I just need to see her once more, to look into her face, to see if there’s a sign of anything there, or if it’s blank.
February 21
Wordsworth: “‘Oh mercy!’ to myself I cried, ‘If Lucy should be dead!’”
I thought of Lucy when I first read that line.
Today I begged Mrs. Halton to let me visit Lucy in the hospital. I said I was so worried about her that I couldn’t concentrate on anythi
ng. I couldn’t sleep or eat. I could see her relenting a bit, so I poured it on.
“She’s been my best friend since I came to school,” I said. “She’s helped me so much with my own problems.” Then I began to cry. She said she would talk with Lucy’s mother tomorrow.
It’s true; I can’t concentrate on anything. I spend most of the time sitting in my window seat and looking outside. I’m not even thinking about anything. I’m studying the bare branches of the oak tree that grows in front of my window: the forks in the branches, the twisted shoots that meander into nothingness, the dark furrows in the gray bark. The glass in the window is very old, like everything in the Residence, and it twists the images on the other side. It’s like looking at the world from underwater. I’m looking up through green water at the trees and sky. The sounds are muffled. The light is liquid.
I have lost interest in my books. Before I couldn’t live without them. There’s a pane of glass between me and everything.
February 22
I was supposed to go see Lucy, but last night she got much worse. Now it’s impossible. As far as I can tell from what Mrs. Halton says, which I don’t entirely believe, the doctors don’t really know what’s the matter with her. They just keep doing the same thing over and over, giving her new blood, and hoping it will work. She’s better for a while; then she gets weaker. Today I realized that Mrs. Halton enjoys telling me bad news. It makes her feel important.