The Town Crazy

by Suzzy Roche

  Alice’s mother didn’t do the laundry anymore. Her father had taken over, but he rarely got around to folding, and a basket of wrinkled clothes overflowed in the middle of the living room. Alice hoped to find a matching pair of socks without disturbing the silence.

  “Alice,” said Lil, waking. “Come here for just a minute, would you?”

  The area around the couch had a smell now, like some sweet and rotten thing. Alice approached her mother with a gray knee sock in her hand and pushed the pill bottles and poetry books aside to make room to sit on the coffee table. There was a time when Lil had read those books to Alice. The poems were mysterious, even magical, and Alice didn’t worry about her mother then. Now the books and the pads of paper she scribbled on were scattered on the table. “Somewhere in those notebooks is a poem, and the words in that poem will describe this … situation that we’re in. You and me, Alice, we’re in a situation, and it ought to be told, but it’s hard to describe in regular words. I think it has to be a poem.” Lil had said this to Alice with urgency, just yesterday, and Alice had said, “Sure, Mom.” But Alice remembered that her entire class had to write a poem in school last year, and all the kids seemed to manage it, but she doubted that her mother could do much of anything anymore.

  Lil grabbed Alice’s arm with both her hands. “Don’t get married,” she said.

  “Mom,” said Alice.

  “Don’t do it. Promise. Please.”

  “I promised you yesterday,” said Alice, wiping her hand across her forehead.

  “Okay, good,” said Lil. She closed her eyes again and let go of Alice’s arm.

  Before Alice could sneak back to her room, her father bounded up the basement stairs and emerged, holding a briefcase in his hand. He wore a suit and tie. When he saw his daughter, he stopped short, as if she’d caught him stealing.

  “Honey, what are you doing over there? Is she up?” He put his briefcase down.

  Lil turned her face into the pillows of the couch and pulled the sheet and her arms over her head.

  Hi Dad,” said Alice, still holding her sock.

  Her father sighed. “Sweetheart, I’m late, I have to go. Maybe Mom will get up and make you breakfast.”

  “Yes, Mom will,” said Lil from under the sheet.

  “It’s okay, I can get my own,” said Alice.

  “Mom will wait for a minute,” said Lil, curling into a ball.

  Alice watched her father glance at his watch. He smiled—it was a pressed together smile—as if he was trying to say something, but his lips were glued shut.

  Alice shrugged.

  “I’ll try to pick up a pack of baseball cards on my way home tonight, okay? We can sort the last batch, too.” Then, another one of those smiles. “Come on, give me a hug.”

  Alice crossed the room and leaned into his embrace. “Do good today,” he said, patting her on the shoulder.

  “Okay, Dad.”

  Jim O’Brien stopped by the front door and swung an imaginary bat before hurrying out. Alice didn’t catch his invisible ball.

  Once her husband was gone, Lil sat up on the couch, reached for one of her bottles and, uncapping it quickly, popped two pills, no longer needing water to wash them down. She leaned back with her eyes closed and massaged her head with her fingers.

  “Go get me a fork and a bowl and an egg, love,” said Lil. “I’ll mix it up here.”

  When Alice returned with the egg, Lil said, “Look at that poor little thing.”

  “Mom, it’s just an egg,” said Alice, putting the bowl on the coffee table.

  “Alice, this could have been a baby chicken.” She held the egg in front of her face. “How smooth.”

  Lil turned the egg from side to side. She placed it back in the bowl, picked up the fork and thrust it into the egg, cracking it. She stabbed at it repeatedly until the shell mingled with the slimy white and the yoke oozed yellow into the bowl. “Do you see that? It’s like I killed it!” she said.

  “Mom, you’re scaring me,” said Alice.

  “Oh, honey, I’m scaring myself.” Lil lay back onto the couch with a thud. “Can you make yourself something to eat? I don’t feel quite right. You can do it; I know you can.”

  Lil put her arm over her face.

  “I told you I could,” said Alice.

  “Alice,” Lil whispered. “You’re going to do great things someday.”

  Her mother saw something in Alice that she couldn’t see for herself. Ever since Alice could remember, her mother had told her she hadn’t just been born but broken off the moon, which didn’t sound great to Alice. “You’re not ordinary, which is good, because the world can’t bear another ordinary girl.” She told Alice that someday they’d run away to New York City, and all their friends would be writers and painters, they’d stay up all night long and watch the stars and go to bed when the sun came up. “I’ve been to New York City. You’ll see.”

  All Alice really knew about New York was that the Yankees played there, and she would have been happy to go to a game someday. Her mother said that by the time Alice grew up, she could be a Yankee because girls would be allowed to do whatever they wanted. “Dream monstrously, Alice. Don’t just be some girl, be a man.” But Alice didn’t want to dream like a monster, and everyone knew a girl can’t be a man. The things her mother said embarrassed her, and often she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to have a more regular mother, but she loved her mother more than anyone, and she hoped her father didn’t know that because his feelings might get hurt.

  Lil fell back to sleep and Alice sat for a moment, watching the thin sheet rise and fall with her mother’s breath. What if she did die? There was a girl in Farrow’s Corner named Penelope Frost, whose mother had died of the flu. Her picture was in the paper, and Alice had seen it. She thought about what her father had asked her to do—say a prayer for Mom—but Alice doubted anything would work.

  She went to the kitchen and took a powdered donut from the bread bin. She sat at the table looking out the kitchen window, her feet dangling from her chair. It was there that she communicated with Sneedler.

  Back when things were normal, Alice used to tell her mother about Sneedler, and his peculiar ways.

  “It’s okay to have a good imagination,” her mother had said.

  But Sneedler was not imagined, he was real; he often lingered in the tree outside the kitchen window. Why couldn’t anyone else see him? Soft around the edges, and like a ghost, he bounced around, weightless, his head changing shape and color depending on his mood. Sneedler didn’t use words, but somehow, he communicated in a way that pleased Alice so much she would find herself smiling, and her mother would say, “What’s so funny?”

  The problem was that Sneedler had no other friends, and it fell to Alice to keep him company, which could be a burden when she had other things to do.

  “Now look, Sneedler, it’s time to go to school. You can walk me there, but you can’t come in.”

  Sneedler’s face turned purple, and it crumpled, like it always did when things weren’t going his way. But tough. It was too nerve-racking to bring him into her classroom, and he’d just have to live with that.

  When Alice’s donut was gone, she wiped the sugar from her mouth with the back of her hand and placed her glass beside the kitchen sink, where last night’s dinner dishes were still soaking. Baked beans and small squares of pork floated in the cool, soapy water.

  She organized her book bag and left for school, careful to close the front door silently. Sneedler and Alice walked to school side by side through the quiet streets of Hanzloo. They had taken to leaving the house late in order to avoid seeing other children walking to school with their mothers.

  It was a bright, cool day, and Sneedler’s colors were constantly in flux, as if every leaf and shadow affected how he felt. When they reached the school, they stood before the iron playground gates and a wordless goodbye passed between them. She watched him fly into a tree and disappear into the leaves.

 
As soon as he was gone, nerves gathered in her stomach.

  This being the second week of classes, Mrs. Dickson had determined who the troublemakers were, and she was anxious to split them up. Alice had been relocated in front of Felix Spoon, who sat in the last seat of the third row. Now she had a hard time concentrating during the math lesson, and worried about what he was doing behind her. She could feel the rim of his desk bump into her chair. Why couldn’t he sit still? Twice she thought she felt him poke her with his pencil.

  Midmorning, between math and reading, Mrs. Dickson gave the children two minutes to stretch their legs, and Felix tapped her shoulder. “Can you have a private meetup with me?” he whispered. She turned to look at him. It was the first time she’d seen his face up close, and her eye was pulled to a tiny freckle on his nose. Alice considered telling on him, but she realized he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  “Huh?” she said.

  “Wait till you see what I have. I’ll meet you in the cafeteria after school. Will you come?” said Felix. Alice slipped back into her desk without a word.

  Fears of meeting Felix Spoon in the cafeteria consumed her, and she made a mistake in her English workbook. The word of the day was kitten, and though she spelled it correctly, she colored the kitten bright yellow.

  When Mrs. Dickson bent down, surrounded by a perfume cloud, her gold locket knocking against the face of the desk, she frowned and told Alice that cats were not yellow. With her ballpoint, she made an X beside the kitten, and continued on her way. Alice tried to erase the yellow, but the eraser ripped the page. She made matters worse by trying to cover up the rip with her black crayon. The cat, in its confusion of yellow and black, was a perfect expression of the way she felt, but when the teacher came by for a second look she didn’t bother to lean over. “I can’t give you a sticker for that,” she said. Alice watched her move down the aisle and stop at Cathy Lawrence’s desk. She licked one of her coveted silver stars and put it on Cathy’s page, with a flourish. Cathy had colored her kitten pink, but everyone knew that kittens weren’t pink, and Alice’s feelings were hurt.

  After lunch other bad things happened. Mrs. Dickson stunned the whole class by dumping the contents of Felix Spoon’s desk on the floor.

  “You are a human garbage pail! How can you think straight when you’re so disorganized?” Mrs. Dickson’s gleeful rant rang out as she turned his entire desk on its side.

  The class watched as Felix got down on his hands and knees and crawled around. Slowly, and with great care, he put his things back in his desk. He seemed interested in the things he found in his own desk, as if he’d never seen them before. Among his books were a small net bag of blue marbles, several crushed figures made of pipe cleaners, and a plastic statue of a gorilla. Alice’s cheeks blushed with shame, as if her own desk had been poured all over the floor.

  After school she lingered on the playground, hiding by the church wall, arguing with herself about whether to go to the cafeteria to look for Felix Spoon. She searched the trees for Sneedler, but he wasn’t there, so she waited until the other kids made their way out of the gates in groups of twos and threes. The sun slipped behind a cluster of dark clouds, and the wind picked up, as if rain was on the way. Alice hugged her sweater to her neck. When the playground emptied, she edged along the wall of the church to the side door of the school.

  The door was heavy, and she pulled it open with both hands. Her saddle shoes clicked on the floor as she made her way down the deserted hallway where she caught sight of Mr. Lorton, the janitor, who smelled of cigars, and had a hump on his back. He was cleaning out one of the fourth-grade classrooms, his broom leaning up against the big gray garbage can that rolled around on wheels. He didn’t notice Alice sneaking by.

  In the cafeteria, one dim light was on, and the room, still and empty, had the scent of sour milk and old ham sandwiches. The long, smooth tables and benches, which at lunchtime were jammed with children, now vibrated in stillness.

  “Alice, over here,” called Felix Spoon in a loud whisper. She spotted him underneath a bench over by the silver steam tables, where each day nameless, aproned ladies in hairnets, who were somehow less than their mothers, heaped macaroni and cheese and soupy meat on children’s plates.

  “Felix Spoon?” she said.

  “Shhh! Come on over.”

  “I can’t. I’m … scared.” The word popped out before she had a chance to stop it.

  “Cripes’ sake, what are you scared of? Nobody’s here but me,” he said, poking his head out from under the bench.

  “What do you want to show me?”

  “You have to come here.”

  Alice hesitated at first, but when she reached the bench, Felix said, “Come on, get under.”

  “I don’t want to,” said Alice.

  “You have to. Come on, don’t you want to see?”

  Alice put her book bag down and crouched down to join Felix under the bench. Her heart was thumping.

  On all fours, Felix crawled down the length of the table, like a raccoon. “Hurry,” he whispered, looking back at Alice. She followed him, her knees hard against the floor. Her socks fell into bunches around her ankles. By the time they came to rest, both of them were breathing hard, their clothes were mussed, and Felix Spoon’s face was rosy with sweat. He tore open the collar of his shirt and a button fell off. He looked at her and smiled, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Okay, you ready?” A harsh but silent flash of lightning came through the windows. “Whoa,” said Felix. Seconds later, thunder growled in the distance.

  They sat cross-legged facing each other with their hands folded in their laps. He pulled a red velvet box from his backpack and held it in his palm. Come on, close your eyes and give me your hand.”

  Alice hesitated. “Where did you get that box?” she said, thinking he might have stolen it. It looked like something that a rich person would own.

  “It belongs to my mother,” said Felix.

  “It’s really nice.” Alice closed her eyes and allowed Felix to draw her hand across the top of the box. Alice concentrated, letting her fingers feel the soft velvet.

  “Well?” he said.

  “Feels like the fur of a tiger,” she said.

  “You felt a tiger before?” he asked.

  “No, how could I have felt a tiger? Who has ever felt a tiger? Not anyone in Hanzloo, that’s for sure.”

  “I like you, Alice.”

  “What?” she said.

  “That’s why I chose you out of everybody in the whole school. You’ll understand. But first, you have to put one hand on your heart and swear. Say, ‘I—Alice—won’t tell a soul.’”

  Alice had never sworn.

  “OOOOJOOO!” said Felix, pointing two fingers at her. His eyes seemed to double in size, and she snapped to attention.

  “Why are you saying that?” she asked, pulling away.

  “I’m pretending I’m Houdini. Don’t you know who Houdini is? He can control the world! You have to swear because it’s important to keep this promise.”

  “I—Alice O’Brien—won’t tell a soul,” she said, with her hand on her heart.

  Felix opened the box and held it out for her to see. “This … is from God’s cave.”

  The jagged gray rock sat on a small pillow of tarnished satin. To Alice it looked like something you’d find in a parking lot. “Really? Are you sure? Where is God’s cave? I never heard of it before.”

  “I don’t know. You don’t believe me.” Felix lowered his eyes, and Alice felt bad.

  “No, I do. I guess.”

  “I haven’t been able to find out where the cave is yet,” he said.

  Alice stared at the rock.

  “Want to touch it?” asked Felix.

  Alice opened her hand, and Felix placed the rock in her palm.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. “And don’t pretend you think it’s an ordinary rock.”

  Alice couldn’t remember a boy ever saying the word beautiful
. Closing her eyes, she tried to feel something from the rock, half hoping that it did come from God, that it might protect her from getting into trouble, because now she had a creepy feeling that she was doing something wrong.

  They heard footsteps, and the florescent lights in the cafeteria clicked on in a harsh, uneven succession. Teresa Sepolino, Sister Annunciata’s secretary, peered into the room.

  “Who’s there? Who’s under the tables?”

  As she neared, Felix grabbed the rock from Alice and put it back in the velvet box. He scurried out from under the table, and snatched his book bag, leaving Alice. “Run!” he yelled, as he raced past Mrs. Sepolino toward the door of the cafeteria. He turned before he left the room. “Don’t be stupid, run!” But Alice froze.

  Teresa, despite her bad back, got down on her knees and pulled Alice out from under the table. She took her by the arm and shook her. “Alice, what was he doing to you! Tell me, dear.”

  “Nothing. He showed me something is all.”

  But Alice, rigid as a board, wouldn’t say what, and Teresa eventually sent her home, suspecting that the something Felix had shown her was his penis. First, the peeing on the floor, and now this. Did the boy have a compulsive need to expose himself?

  SEVEN

  TERESA SEPOLINO FRETTED for hours. Reporting this incident to Sister Annunciata was unimaginable. She didn’t think she could utter the word penis to the nun; it was that simple. And forget about the priests; out of the question.

  But Clarisse McCarthy would know what to do. Approaching her would entail putting pride aside, as Clarisse had never given her the time of day. Teresa decided to call Clarisse for the sake of the child.

  “I’m sorry to bother you at night,” said Teresa. And she unburdened herself.

  “In the cafeteria? That’s disgusting,” said Clarisse. “You can’t be serious. Oh my God.”

  Clarisse, Stephanie, and Teresa sat in Clarisse’s kitchen the following morning around a tray of Fig Newtons. Clarisse didn’t waste any time with small talk.