The Town Crazy

by Suzzy Roche

  “Give it!” said Dawn in a low whisper, and Alice handed over the crucifix. Dawn stomped back to her bed. “Everybody, go to sleep,” she snapped. Fawn scurried across the room. None of them said a word, as they turned in their beds, and Dawn switched off the light.

  AN HOUR later, Alice lay awake. With Dawn’s scratches sore and puffy on her cheeks, she tried to suppress her tears, and the result was a kind of quiet sniffling. In the darkness, terror gripped her. Dawn had morphed into a monster, lurking at the far end of the room.

  She wanted Sneedler. But he would never come into a house like this, even if he were alive.

  He had been her best friend, and she never treated him the way she should, making him wait outside of school, thinking of him last, considering him a bother. No wonder he died. It must have been from sadness because she left him on his own. Alice imagined him curled up and stiff, with a trickle of blood coming out of his nose, like a dead cat that the neighborhood kids had found in the woods.

  Her cheeks were hot, and she covered them with her palms. The ridges of blood had hardened. Across the room, the twins’ light snoring was steady, and a reminder that they might wake up at any moment. Alice dared to open her eyes to the darkness as images of the Halloween party raced through her head. The two-headed monster, Felix Spoon in his devil’s suit, and even some nuns tumbled through her brain in chaos.

  She sat up, swung her feet to the floor, and saw by the light of the moon that her clothes lay folded on the end of the cot. I’m going home. She’d have to walk in the dark, but the streetlights would be lit.

  Careful not to wake the twins, Alice stepped into her pants and pulled her shirt on. She clutched her shoes in one hand and crossed to the stairway. By the dim glow of a night-light, she grasped the railing with her free hand, and tiptoed down the stairs, stopping short when the third stair creaked. More slowly now, she reached the bottom step.

  She had to make it past Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy’s room without disturbing them. Their door was ajar, and a slant of light confronted her as she turned the corner, giving her a start. She held her breath until she was safely past them, and down several steps to the living room.

  Opening the front door could be a problem. If it slammed or squeaked, Mr. McCarthy might think she was a thief, and he’d come bounding down the stairs, mad enough to hit her. She gathered her nerve and turned the knob, relieved to find the door unlocked. It opened easily, and a cool gust of night air blew in against her. Her arms began to tremble as she stepped outside.

  Night had no borders. The vast darkness offered little to rely on. Now she was in a wilderness. She sat down on the porch steps to put her shoes on, feeling the cold concrete against her feet and bottom. With her ragged nerves, it was hard to tie the shoes, and she left the right one undone, impatient to get home.

  All she had to do was walk down the driveway, turn left, and make it past the Chinskys’ house. Her parents would be glad; they’d think she was brave. She hoped her mother would make a cup of Ovaltine and wipe her face with a warm cloth. She hoped her father would say that Dawn McCarthy was in big trouble now.

  Alice made her way down the driveway, running her hand against the McCarthys’ station wagon to steady herself. It was hard to see anything, even her hands. By the time she reached the end of the driveway, she had nothing to hold on to, and she stood where the driveway met the cul-de-sac, peering into the darkness. To her right were the black, silent woods. Across the street, the Contes’ house was dark. As far as she could tell, not one light was lit on Mundy Lane; even the streetlamp was off. Only the moon offered its glow.

  A rustling of leaves in the trees on the edge of the woods to her right startled her, and fright propelled her out into the pool of darkness toward home. She hurried down the street, clutching her arms. On her left, the outline of the Chinskys’ house reassured her, but when their mailbox seemed to dance, as if it were alive, she began to run, and she tripped on her loose shoelace. Falling to her knees, she curled her face into her lap, and rocked back and forth, gasping for air.

  “Alice! Turn around!”

  Who’s voice was that? Like a talking doll.

  “It’s me! Sneedler.”

  Alice lifted her head. Had she imagined this? She knew that Sneedler never spoke with words. Was it a trick? She dared to turn toward the voice, and there, as clear as he had ever been, Sneedler stood at the mouth of the woods, waving.

  “Hi!” he called, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night, as if he wasn’t worried, as if everything was fine. Her heart flooded with relief at the sight of him skipping down the street. He smiled with big rubbery lips and knelt before her. But when he saw the scratches on her cheeks, his head crumpled, like a wrinkled beach ball. His face turned blue, and red sparkles floated in his eyes.

  “What happened to you?” he asked, taking her hand.

  Alice noticed that he had a dark bruise on his chin.

  “What happened to you?” she said, reaching for his face, but her fingers went right through it.

  “Don’t worry, I fell down in the woods is all. Why so sad? We’re back together again.”

  “How come you can talk now?” she sniffled.

  “I’ve always been able to talk, but I never had to, because you were listening.” And for a moment, Sneedler disappeared.

  “Please, don’t go!” she said. “I’m scared!” When she opened her eyes, he was there again.

  “Easy. Easy. Relax,” he said. “Tell me who scratched your face.”

  “Remember Dawn? Remember how I got sent away?”

  Sneedler looked at one of her cheeks and then the other. “Ouch,” he said. “I don’t like Dawn. I know what, let’s get out of here,” and his head ballooned back up.

  “But, I want to go home. I’m homesick.”

  He sucked air into his balloon head. “Yeah, but you belong with me,” he said, sadly. “I’m the only one who can take care of you.” His lips puckered up.

  Alice looked up at him. “But, you’re …”

  “What?” asked Sneedler.

  “You’re … imaginary,” said Alice, trying not to hurt his feelings.

  Sneedler’s head collapsed again. “But you could say that about anybody. What’s wrong with being imaginary? It doesn’t mean I’m not real.”

  Alice almost understood what he meant. She studied him in the darkness. Sneedler, with his plastic face, was like a toy. No doubt his clothes were painted on. Yet he was real as the moon. There’d been many days that she’d been impatient with him because he was hard to understand—he was there, but then he really wasn’t there. She thought about the time she’d forced him into her bottommost dresser drawer and left him for hours, even though she knew it was mean. She told him he was dumb. And, now, all this time, it turned out he could have said something to her, but he didn’t, and that was confusing, too. Certainly, he was smarter than she’d imagined, and what if he was right about being the only one in the world who could care for her? She spoke up, not sure she wanted to hear what he might say next. “But … I want to see my mother. Can’t she take care of me?”

  Sneedler’s head formed a parallelogram. “Alice, you’ve got to listen to me. Your mother is …” He paused here and clasped his hands. “She’s like a trampled flower; it’s as if her stem got broken and the flower part of her is face down in the dirt. It’s hard to take care of anyone if that happens to you. You see what I mean?”

  She searched his face, trying hard to understand.

  It was then that a bleary-eyed Hedda Chinsky, at her wit’s end, having spent the night in intensive care holding the hand of her dying husband, came barreling up Mundy Lane in her 1955 pale yellow Oldsmobile. Hedda didn’t see Alice O’Brien kneeling in the middle of the dark road.

  Alice heard the car and turned in time to see the wide vehicle and its bright headlights, like a spaceship that had landed on the street.

  Alice felt a terrible pain, she felt it deeply; it was everywhere, all over the world, and he
r heart exploded like a bomb. For a split second, she thought she saw her mother; but it was Sneedler. He took her hand, and the pain stopped, as if she, too, had turned into a rubber toy. Sneedler knew her inside and out, and he was her friend. He was the one who told her the truth, and though she didn’t want to hear it, she felt it wash over her like a warm bath, and her cheeks felt better, and her breath slowed down, and she and all her tears evaporated into the cool autumn air. “Hold on,” said Sneedler.

  Alice watched—wide-eyed—as her street got smaller. She saw the whole town of Hanzloo shrink below her, and shortly, the entire state of Pennsylvania took its long rectangular form. And then, the United States, like a puzzle map with different colored states, appeared in its entirety, and the earth eventually rounded into a blurry distant orb.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  ALICE O’BRIEN’S DEATH changed the town of Hanzloo in ways that would only become clear in time.

  The tiny cemetery, out on the county road a half mile from Ginty’s Stables, had twenty-five plots, and couples crammed under umbrellas in the drizzling rain that Friday to watch in disbelief as Alice’s small casket was lowered into the muddy grave.

  Lil O’Brien, seeming lifeless in a pale pink raincoat, stood with Jim at her side. His arm was curled around her shoulder, and he held an umbrella above her head. It was odd the way she didn’t react much, and Father Bruno droned on, reciting prayers for the dead.

  Earlier, at the wake, Jim hung around the entrance to the funeral home unable to stop weeping. He chain-smoked on the steps while Lil sat in the parlor with her head down. Sister Annunciata claimed the chair next to hers, and served as a sort of guard dog, waving people away who lingered too long.

  It was only when Felix Spoon arrived with his parents that Sister A. got up. The Spoons had heard about Alice and postponed their trip back to New York City. Felix was the only child there. He was dressed in a little suit and wore a red bowtie. His hair was slicked back from his face with some kind of gel. Who would bring a child to another child’s wake? Mourners looked askance at the sight of the boy who was holding his father’s hand as he approached Lil.

  He stood before her in silence. Lil took his hand. “I’m sorry about Alice,” he said. Finally, and for the first time, tears flooded her face, but she could not speak.

  “May I see her?” asked Felix, turning to Sister A.

  Sister Annunciata took hold of his elbow, gently leading him to the open casket.

  The two of them knelt at the coffin, and Felix rested his fists on the white satin cloth that fell in ruffles over its edge.

  “I’m not afraid,” he said.

  “Good,” said Sister A.

  “What happened to her cheeks?” he asked. The scratches remained visible under the waxy makeup. “Did the car do that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sister A.

  “She looks like a doll,” he whispered reverently.

  “She’s asleep,” said Sister A.

  “She’s dead, Sister.”

  Sister A. put her hand on top of his.

  “It feels like she’s still here, though,” said Felix. His eyes moved slowly from her orange braids, down the length of her green velvet dress, and all the way to her shiny patent leather shoes. “I tried to be her friend, but it never really worked,” he said. “Don’t cry anymore, Alice.”

  “Hmmm,” said Sister A.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” said Felix.

  Sister A. tilted her head to hear his secret.

  “I wanted to grow up and marry her,” he said.

  “Oh, Felix,” said Sister A.

  “And look,” he continued, opening his palm. “I have the rock. Do you think it would it be all right if I put it in the bed with her? When I showed it to her, she kept her promise. I want to give her something that’s important.”

  Sister A. lifted her arm and cloaked the boy with her heavy robe. “Okay,” she said. “Do it now.”

  “Yes?” he said. He slid the rock under Alice’s satin pillow. “Is that good?”

  “There,” said Sister A. “And now starts your new life.”

  THE MARKS on Alice’s face were a much-discussed mystery. The police had concluded that the scratches were self-inflicted, adding to the general assumption that Alice had been troubled and perhaps couldn’t handle winning first prize in the contest. No wonder, considering her mother’s recent difficulties.

  Lil would not allow an autopsy; even the mere mention of it sent her into hysterics.

  But many questions lingered, and when asked why Alice might have wandered out into the street in the middle of the night, the twins looked confused, giving no indication that anything had been wrong when they went to sleep that night. In fact, Dawn, with a whimpering Fawn beside her, told the police officers the story of how Alice had traded prizes with her. Clarisse repeated to anyone who would listen: “I wish you could have seen how happy Alice was.”

  In the following weeks, the leaves fell off the trees, and winter crept in. Lil felt like a snowman, melting in the sun. At first her feelings had been frozen, but with every passing day, the painful thaw set in, and chunks of her seemed to disappear. Jim kept his distance.

  And what does one say to a mother who’s buried her child? Her sisters called from faraway cities but were relieved when no one answered. Eventually the phone calls stopped, a deadly silence gripped the house, and one day the door to Alice’s room, slightly ajar, beckoned, and Lil went in.

  Alice’s orderly room had little clutter, and the bed, with its soft white quilt, was neatly made, just the way she’d left it. Alice’s legless doll lay on the pillow with its head cocked to one side. Lil picked up the doll and buried her face in its hair, smelling it frantically, like a dog might.

  Lil sat rocking back and forth on the bed clutching the doll and looked around the room. On the dresser, Alice’s baseball mitt lay folded like a big brown butterfly.

  “By the time you grow up, girls will be able to play baseball. They will. You wait and see. When I’m an old lady, you’ll be pitching at Yankee Stadium in New York City, and I’ll be in the bleachers cheering for you.”

  “How do you move to New York City?”

  “It’s easy enough,” Lil said. “When the time comes, we’ll go there, and you can have your pick of things to do. In New York City, you can be anything you want.”

  “You’ll come with me, right, Mom?”

  Lil closed her eyes, her nose nestled in the dress of the legless doll.

  JIM GAINED six pounds by Christmas. Every night, when he came home, a hot meal awaited him. Lil avoided conversation.

  “This is delicious,” Jim would say.

  “Thank you,” Lil would answer.

  The only person Lil saw was Sister Annunciata. She first came two weeks after the funeral and then once a week after that. An odd ritual developed between them. The first visit had been awkward. Lil welcomed her into the living room and offered her a cup a tea, but there was little to say after that. Sister A. noticed a copy of the children’s book Charlotte’s Web on the coffee table.

  “Are you reading Charlotte’s Web?” Sister A. asked.

  “Sort of,” said Lil. “I don’t know why.”

  “Well, it’s such a great story, isn’t it? Would you read a few pages to me?” asked Sister A. “Just to refresh my memory. It’s been a while.”

  Lil sat down beside her on the couch and began to read. After the first chapter, Lil closed the book.

  “Oh, I loved that,” said Sister A.

  “I read out loud sometimes,” said Lil, shrugging.

  The conversation wandered to other things. Sister A. told Lil that Joni had sent some postcards from New York City. “I grew fond of that boy, I really did.”

  “You must feel sad,” said Lil.

  “Sad, yes.” Almost everything was too painful to discuss with Lil.

  “I never really said goodbye,” Lil said, vaguely.

  From that day on, their visits began with a cha
pter from Charlotte’s Web, as if all that passed between them lay nestled within the unlikely friendship of the pig and the spider.

  ON A cold January day, when the doorbell rang at the usual time, Lil wondered why Sister Annunciata would be coming again so soon. She opened the door and saw Clarisse McCarthy instead. She almost slammed it shut.

  Clarisse, bundled in her winter coat, wore no hat, and her blonde hair flew around in the bracing wind. She cradled Alice’s crucifix in her arms.

  “May I come in?” she begged.

  Lil reluctantly opened the door. Once inside, Clarisse stood there, lost. “Oh, it’s just so cold out there,” she said, blowing on her fingers.

  She offered Lil the crucifix with both hands. Lil noticed that some of her nails were broken.

  “It was hard for me to come,” said Clarisse, nervously looking around the room. “But this belongs to Alice,” said Clarisse, as if the crucifix was a simple box of crayons.

  “Are you crazy? I don’t want it!” said Lil.

  “Well, neither do I.” Clarisse raised her hand defensively. “I know you’re hurting, Lil. How are you?”

  The two women stood awkwardly in Lil’s living room.

  “My family suffers too. Fawn is afraid of everything all the time, and Dawn … has been off the deep end with rage.”

  “Dawn has been off the deep end with rage since the day she was born.”

  “Please don’t insult my children, Lil. I realize this is terribly difficult, but I didn’t come here to fight,” said Clarisse, looking down at the crucifix as if it were a small sacrificial animal.

  “Why did you come?” said Lil.

  “Well, this … it’s an accomplishment of Alice’s,” said Clarisse, meekly.

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “It’s a prize,” said Clarisse. “I don’t know. Something to take pride in.”

  “Clarisse, Alice is dead!”

  “Don’t say that! I feel so bad.”

  Lil stared at the crucifix. “Did you come here to be forgiven? Is that it?” Her arms began to shake.

  “For what, Lil? What are you saying? I took her in. You weren’t able. Alice wanted to come to my house that night. Why is everyone picking on me, dammit, I made the costume. She wouldn’t have won if it weren’t for me. She was so happy, Lil. You remember that.” Clarisse was pleading.