by Roth, Judith
You look like a pile of socks
someone should put
in the wash.
I thought I only
took my eyes off Serendipity
for a second
but when I look up from the page
she’s gone.
I scan the yard.
I call her name.
Does she know her name?
I walk the edges in a quick-step
looking behind bushes
up into trees.
How could she disappear
so quickly?
I think she’s too little
to climb the fence
but then I see something
that makes my heart bang:
a kitten-sized hole in the fence
the side that leads
to the front of the house
and the street.
She could be anywhere.
It’s close to dinnertime.
Somehow the light changed
while I’ve been searching.
No sun.
The gray of dusk is closing in
and a feeling of impending fog.
I race out the gate
for a quick look in the front yard
but no one is there
no little white shape
to turn and greet
or even startle and dash
only silence and emptiness.
Dad! I start to yell
before I even get in the front door.
I find him in the kitchen.
He turns with the phone in his hand
and a strained expression on his face.
I can’t find Serendipity.
He doesn’t seem to take this in.
When were you going to tell me
that Taylor wasn’t taking the cat?
What?
He hangs up/bangs up the phone.
Taylor’s mom just called to say
you left your sweater at their house.
I asked her if she’d made her mind up
about Serendipity
and she thought I was kidding.
He throws out his hands.
She’s allergic, Sara.
There was never any chance
they were going to take the cat.
I’m not sure which disaster is worse—
Serendipity’s disappearance
or the uncovering of the plot.
Dad, she’s gone.
Dad looks at me
then shuts his eyes.
I can’t abide lying
he says.
Maybe now
things will get back
to normal.
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
Normal? You want things back to normal?
I can feel my voice rising
like a crazy person’s.
What was so great about normal, Dad?
I don’t remember that
making you happy.
Dad’s face drops, but his eyes stay stern.
She is not your cat.
You knew that from the start.
How could you sneak around
behind my back?
That is too much.
You’re a great one for talking
about sneaking around.
I know about you and Mom.
Dad closes his eyes like he has a headache.
You’re a child.
You don’t know anything.
That’s because you won’t tell me anything!
He shakes his head hard and turns
the usual cowardly direction
toward his room.
It’s becoming clear—
he’s not going to help me find her.
He doesn’t care if she’s lost forever.
He doesn’t care how scared I am.
I reach for the doorknob.
I will go outside
and find her myself.
He hasn’t done
his standard disappearing act yet.
Sara, he says, go to your room.
My mouth drops open.
No, I have to find her.
Go to your room. Now.
I think my heart has just become
a dumping place
for sharp and heavy rocks.
How can he be so mean?
She’s lost.
What’s so wrong about wanting
a cat in my life?
I shouldn’t have to lie
in order to get one.
Serendipity is lost
and I’m being sent to my room?
I stand at my window and look out on the street
hoping that I’ll see her.
But even the trees are disappearing
in the fog.
Soon I won’t be able to see anything.
It’s another stupid Tule fog.
Well, I’m not going to stand here
and let it kill Serendipity, too.
I’m not going to stay here
while she’s out there
alone.
My dad showed me
how to remove the window screen
in case there was a fire.
Knowledge is as powerful as fairy dust.
I’m gonna fly.
I try not to think of the trouble
I’m going to get into.
I’m not sure what’s happened to me
since Serendipity showed up.
I used to do everything my dad told me to
just to keep him from losing it.
But things are different now.
I feel like Joan of Arc.
I know I’m on the side of right.
I won’t give in
even if I’m burned at the stake.
Fortunately, that’s not going to happen.
I’ll probably just be grounded
for the first time in my life.
But it will be worth it
because I will know
I’ve put someone else’s life
before my own.
Someone soft and sweet
who needs my help.
I will be a hero.
I struggle a bit with the screen.
I hope Dad can’t hear me.
When the final clip is turned
I pull the screen toward me
and lean it against my bed
leave my soft pink room
for the spooky night.
It’s easy to climb out of the window
no prickly plants to scratch me
no leap to the ground
since it’s only one floor
no shaky rainspouts to climb down.
If I were my dad
I might think about planting a rosebush
right here
so it wouldn’t be so easy
for my daughter
to escape.
As I slip out the window
I see the fog slipping in. . . .
I start with a wide sweep
around the fog-shrouded yard.
No Serendipity.
I look toward the street
and hope-pray she’s still close by.
I need to look deeper.
I’m searching under the bushes
at the side of the lawn
chanting, Please, God<
br />
please, God please, God
when I hear Dad’s voice
coming through my window.
Sara? And then he must have noticed
the open, screenless window frame
because his voice sounds panicked
as he calls my name out into the dark.
And I realize he can’t see me
through the blanket of fog—
has no idea how far I’ve gone.
Maybe he thinks I’ve run away from home.
My gut tells me, Answer him
but my brain says, No.
If I go in now, I won’t have Serendipity
and I’ll still be in trouble.
I keep searching.
Fog water collects on the leaves and washes my hands
as I rifle the bushes hoping for a glimpse
of bright white.
My sweatshirt sleeves and my tennis shoes
are getting wet
making me feel cold and squishy.
I focus on finding Serendipity.
Still I can’t help but hear him.
I can’t help but hear him
crashing out the front door
his footsteps racing away from me
toward Mrs. Whittier’s lit-up house.
He knocks normally at first.
I can imagine him
trying to keep it together
trying to be calm and rational.
But Mrs. Whittier doesn’t answer
and soon he is banging on her door
and calling out to her.
Still no answer.
She must have left lights on
when she went
to pick up her stepdaughter.
Dad stops banging and shouting
but I can hear him breathing hard
and I hear him gasp, Sara
and I hear him pounding to the curb
and calling my name out through the fog
louder and louder
in his terrible panicky voice.
Sara, he cries over and over
and something in my chest cracks
but I stay stubbornly by the bushes
and think of Serendipity
and how much she needs me.
Then I hear Dad moan
Not you too
and that is more than I can bear.
I run to his voice.
Daddy, I’m here.
I’m sorry.
He wraps me in his arms
and breathes Thank you
into the top of my head
only he’s not talking to me.
And he sobs like I haven’t heard
since those hopeless nights
the first few months after Mom died
and that makes me cry.
We’re an awful wet mess together
sodden by the heavy fog
and our tears.
Don’t ever do that again, he gets out
and I shake my head.
Never, don’t ever do that again.
I won’t.
He pulls my face up in both hands.
Why is that cat
so important to you?
It’s not just the fog
that feels like it’s suffocating me.
I tell him the hard truth.
I get so lonely, Dad.
I need someone to hold on to.
Dad’s whole body seems to droop
and I realize I’m finally telling him—
he hasn’t been there for me.
He sighs and reaches his arm
around my shoulders.
Then he walks me through the fog
back into the house.
There’s something
I have to tell you.
Dad sits me down on the couch.
Your mother died
driving in fog like this.
I know, Dad.
He puts up his hand like a stop sign.
But you don’t know about before. . . .
We had a special cat—that orange one.
When MacLeish died—
He closes his eyes.
Mom cried for three days.
I didn’t ever want to
go through that again.
So for years when she brought up
getting another cat
I just refused.
Dad looks at me.
Your mom finally convinced me.
And she wanted to surprise you.
She was on her way to get a kitten
when the accident happened.
That explains a lot.
Now I miss her even more.
But wait.
Dad, she wanted us to have a cat.
Dad nods.
This is what I’m telling you.
He’s quiet for a minute.
I’m also telling you
why I couldn’t have a cat here. . . .
I thought it would remind me too much
of what I lost.
I thought having a cat without having her
would be too hard.
I don’t want to ask but I need to know.
Is it?
Dad’s voice cracks.
It’s hard, Sara.
This is a tragic story
and the rocks in my heart get sharper
but I can’t help but hear
he didn’t say Too hard.
Does it make me a bad person
to hear hope
while we’re talking about
my mother dying?
Dad, I start
but I don’t know what to say.
He gets up for a box of tissues.
When we’re drier he says,
She’s scared and hiding right now.
I doubt we’d ever find her tonight.
But tomorrow. . . .
This is not a good time
to argue.
I wasn’t finding her outside
anyway.
I stare at Dad
afraid to ask.
He stares back.
You were wrong
to lie to me, Sara.
And you were wrong
to look through my things.
And you were wrong
to leave your room.
But I was wrong, too,
not talking about Mom
not letting you have a cat.
I wait
hoping, hoping.
Your punishment is
you are grounded for two weeks.
My punishment is
you can have a cat.
I jump into his arms.
I love your punishment,
I tell him.
Thank you, Daddy.
I can finally have a cat
but the one I want
is gone.
Dad tells me not to worry
but how can I not?
She’s a baby
out there alone.
I finally drift off to sleep.
Am I dreaming?
She is calling at the back door
and sharpening her claws
on the doorjamb.
She wants in so badly
she flings herself
like sticky tape
at the screen door
claws hook and hold
and she is stuck
clinging
hanging
singing a sad song
impossible to ignore.
I wake up suddenly.
Was I dreaming
or did I really hear something?
I go out to the kitchen
and there in the morning light
hanging on the screen door
is Serendipity.
Serendipity!
I run to detach her.
Her body swings out
when I open the door
but she is truly stuck.
Dad comes to the rescue
lifting each claw
from the tiny steel squares.
See? What did I tell you?
She knows a good thing
when she sees it.
I cradle Serendipity in one arm
and use the other
to give Dad a hug.
I know a good thing
when I see it,
too.
How to hold a sleepy kitty . . .
. . . in the nap of your arm