Detached

by Christina Kilbourne

  “Hey, you!”

  Without even looking up, I knew it was Gisele. It was getting harder and harder to fake my regular self and even smiling drained me. But as I turned around I somehow managed to transform my expression.

  “Hey, Gisele. Are you working today?”

  “I always work Saturdays,” she said in a tone that implied I was an idiot not to remember.

  “I’ve got my days mixed up. I thought today was Sunday,” I said apologetically.

  Gisele leaned over the railing beside me. She was the kind of friend who didn’t mind silence. Still, I knew I’d need to come up with something to say sooner or later.

  “Have you started your Christmas shopping yet?” It was all I could think to ask.

  “No,” she snorted. “Everyone on my list gets wine glasses or bowls.”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. She worked at a kitchen store.

  “Listen, are you feeling okay? I mean is something bothering you? You’ve been really out of it lately. Ever since the party at the forks.”

  My stomach thumped and I scrambled for an explanation.

  “It’s not just me,” she continued. “Everyone else has noticed too. Aliya, Mariam. Even Kyle said he saw you one day wandering down by the highway.”

  “I wasn’t wandering by the highway,” I said a little too defensively. “I was looking for a box of Joe’s stuff that fell off the moving truck.”

  “Joe moved a year and a half ago.”

  “Geez, Gisele. What’s with the interrogation? He took some more stuff over to his apartment and a box of linens fell off.”

  Our language arts teacher taught us that the key to creating a believable story was in providing believable details. I applied the same theory to my lies. A box of linens seemed much more believable than just a box.

  Gisele raised her eyebrows. “A box of linens?”

  “You know my mom. She’s a shopaholic. There was a sale. She thought he needed matching towels.”

  Gisele didn’t look at me. She kept watching the heads below.

  “What do you think I was doing down there?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I don’t get you much lately. You’re sort of quiet. Not yourself.”

  I took a deep breath. I knew I’d have to pull out an Oscar-winning performance if I was going to convince her everything was okay.

  “Listen, keep it to yourself, but my parents have been fighting a lot lately. I think they might be getting a divorce. They haven’t been the same since, you know, since my grandparents’ accident.”

  Gisele nodded knowingly. “Wow, that’s rough. But still, I never would have expected your parents to split up.”

  I nodded and pressed my lips into a straight line. “Don’t say anything. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. I always thought your parents were so cute together.”

  “I know. It totally sucks. That’s why I’ve been, well, preoccupied lately.”

  Gisele looked at her watch and stood up straight again.

  “Sorry. My break’s over. I gotta get back. Catch you later, okay?”

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  “Talk to me, you know, if you’re feeling, like, sad or something.”

  “I will.”

  Mom arrived at the food court with a large bag in each hand. I was eating some fries and drinking a Coke, even though I wasn’t really hungry. It just made me feel less awkward to be doing something with my hands while I waited.

  “That’s a lot of underwear,” I said and nodded at the bags.

  She laughed. “It’s not all underwear. They had a sale on bed sets so I got Joe a new comforter and two new pillows. I thought we could drop them off on our way home.”

  She looked for my reaction and when I didn’t give anything away she sat down and took a french fry from the carton on the table.

  “Is that okay?” she asked. “It’s not going to put a wrinkle in your plans or anything?”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I haven’t got any plans.”

  I stood up and took a bag off the floor.

  “You don’t want the rest of these fries?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Help yourself.” Then I picked up the second bag so she could walk and eat at the same time.

  I hadn’t been over suicide bridge since the previous summer and I could feel myself tensing up when we got within view of it. The memory of the heat that day was so out of place with the snowy scene outside the car, I felt disoriented. I distracted myself once we were on River Road by looking down the steep banks. The river had started to freeze along the edges. It usually didn’t freeze over completely until late December, when the temperatures dropped low enough. If I walked out past the ice and jumped into the water, I reasoned, the shock of the cold would immobilize me and I’d have a chance at drowning. But I only had a couple more weeks, then I’d have to wait for the spring thaw.

  Jumping in the river seemed so easy. I’d already managed to jump in the river once, so maybe my body wouldn’t be too freaked out about being on the ice. Besides, there’d be no heights, no rigging ropes, no timing traffic. How hard could it be to sneak across the ice? I asked myself. Then I remembered the boy who’d shot his face off, but somehow managed to survive. He was on the same talk show as the legless girl. He’d been so afraid to come out of the closet to his parents that he decided to take his father’s rifle to his head. If you could screw up killing yourself with a gun, you could probably screw up anything. Still, I was starting to feel more desperate as the days went by and I woke up yet another morning to that hollow, nagging feeling that my life was a lie, that I didn’t belong to any of it.

  Mom and Dad had a Sunday ritual of going downtown for eggs Benedict at their favourite bistro. Or rather, Mom had a thing for eggs Benedict and Dad had to make it up to her for being away so much for work. So even though it was snowing hard and Dad tried to protest, Mom insisted they go.

  “It’s our time together. We deserve it,” she said.

  He kissed her and rattled his car keys.

  I knew she just wanted some dedicated face time to talk about the Christmas cruise, but I didn’t let on. I knew if I had the house to myself, there wouldn’t be anyone around to ask questions about why I was going for a walk on such a miserable morning. Another opportunity might not come up again before Christmas, or the cruise, whichever came first.

  I watched out the bay window until their car turned at the end of our street, then I bundled up and headed out the door. It had been snowing since before dawn so the streets were a mess and every time a car drove by it threw slush across the sidewalk. I pulled the hood of my jacket up over my head and trudged through the wind. Icy pellets stung my face so I looked at my feet, except at intersections where I glanced up to get my bearings and check the traffic. I didn’t want to get plowed over by a car.

  I had the sidewalk to myself and punctured fresh wounds in the snow with my boots. As a child I would have found satisfaction in breaking trail, but small pleasures like that had been eluding me for years.

  I knew exactly where I wanted to join the river — down at the forks where I’d dragged myself out earlier in the fall. It was the only level place I’d be able to walk out onto the ice. I turned onto the bike trail at the top of River Road and headed down into the steep ravine. It was slow going since the path was covered in ice and the snow was falling so hard I could barely see. I’d ridden the length of the city along the bike trail with Dad before, winding beside the river all the way. In the summer the trails were busy, but I could tell nobody had ventured down all morning.

  When I got to the bottom of the riverbank, I looked upriver, then down. Ice had formed ten or fifteen feet out and the water beyond that was black, but not still. The gusting wind tormented the surface into a frenzy of choppy waves and
drove prickles of ice into my face. Other than the tree branches moaning in the wind, everything was quiet. I leaned down and dug a stone out of the snow. Then I threw it onto the ice. It bounced twice before slipping quietly over the edge. The ice was thicker than it looked, which was good. If I fell through near the bank, I’d be able to touch bottom and would just end up with wet, frozen legs on the walk home.

  As I climbed down the last few feet to the edge of the river, my feet slipped. I had to scramble to get standing again.

  I put one foot on the ice to test it. There wasn’t a sound — not a crack, not a snap. I put my whole weight on that foot and waited, then slid my other foot to the front. I transferred my weight slowly. A raven screeched from the trees behind me but I didn’t turn to look. It seemed fitting that there would be only the one witness. The farther out I got the smoother the ice was, and twice I had to stop to catch my balance. The smell of the cold, black water filled my head, but I refused to think of anything more than taking the next step. When I got to the edge, with one step left, I hesitated.

  Could I really do this? I wondered. But I knew it wasn’t the time to stop and think. Thinking always got me in trouble. Just one more baby step, I told myself. My pulse sputtered and I felt my body pulling back. My mind though, it was in a completely different mode. It was excited, edgy, and the contrast to the sudden drag in my feet made me feel like I was going to topple over headfirst. I was standing about fifteen feet from the bank of the river, trying to convince my feet to take that one last step, when the ice gave out under me and I plunged into the icy river.

  I gasped at the shock of the cold. I had meant to sink silently to the bottom and not struggle, but again my body took control and my arms started flailing. My lungs struggled to breathe and my arms struggled to keep my head above the water. Then I felt the weight of my wet boots sucking me down and I cheered for the water, begged it to pull harder, faster. You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you are about to die? Well, that’s not what happened to me. What I saw was my grandparents trapped in their car the day they died and the cold water rising up around them. I saw the panic on my grandmother’s face and I imagined her screaming and calling for help. I saw my grandfather trying to break a window or open a door, but without any luck. I felt their intense fear, followed by a flash of calm, and that’s when I knew they were so close I could touch them if I just reached out my hand.

  “God almighty, lady! Grab my hand!”

  The voice was impossibly near and even though I didn’t mean to reach out, I swear I didn’t, a hand found mine and pulled against the force of the river. It pulled and pulled and I felt like I was caught in that tug-of-war for hours, wondering who was going to win. In the end he won, the homeless guy who’d been tucked up in the undergrowth in his makeshift shelter when he heard a splash, a scream, and a cry for help. Or so he told the police when they arrived on the scene to wrap us both in emergency blankets and drag us to their cruiser.

  The car heater was on full blast, but still, I shivered so hard my muscles screamed in pain.

  “We’ve got the ambulance on the way,” the police officer said over the back seat.

  “I’m fine. Hardly even got my arm wet,” the homeless man said. “This young lady though, she’s shaking something terrible. She needs to get out of those clothes.”

  “I’m fine,” I managed to gasp through my chattering teeth. I just wanted to go home and crawl into bed. The homeless man smelled of smoke and sweat and I was embarrassed to see a small crowd gathering outside the car. Why on earth were so many people out on such a terrible day? I wondered.

  When the ambulance turned down River Road, the police officer stepped out of the car and moved the onlookers away. The homeless man turned to me.

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what the hell were you doing down there?”

  The skin on his face was red and cracked and his two front teeth were missing.

  “I dropped my ring … and it landed … out on the ice. I was just trying … to get it back….”

  “It’s not what it looked like to me. I mean, I’m no expert, but —”

  I cut him off. “It … it was my … grandmother’s…. She died …”

  It was true, I did get my grandmother’s wedding ring when she died, but it was safely tucked away in my bedroom. I shivered and watched while he decided whether to believe me or not.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother,” he said warily. “But next time just let it go. You almost got yourself killed. No ring is worth dying for.”

  I nodded through my shivering.

  He pulled off one of his ragged gloves and held out his left hand. It was covered in dirt and sores. On his ring finger there was a gold band.

  “This here is all I got left of my wife. She died of cancer ten years ago. Love of my life. Next to my cellphone it’s all I got of value in this entire world, and I wouldn’t risk my life for it, no matter what.”

  He pulled the glove back over his hand and opened the door. Before he left he looked hard at me and said, “You take care of yourself. You got your whole life ahead of you and you might not be so lucky next time.”

  Then I passed out.

  I don’t know if it was the cold or the shivering, or maybe just the disappointment, but a comfortable blackness took over. I remember thinking maybe I did it after all, and then there was nothing. Nothing, that is, until I woke up in a hospital, wrapped in hot blankets.

  “She’s going to be fine. She’s just in a bit of shock. We’ve got her temperature back up to normal. Her heartbeat and breathing are strong.” It was a doctor talking to my parents. “The police said a man pulled her out just before she went under. They’re taking his statement now.”

  The face of the homeless man came to me and I hoped, in a sleepy, vague way, that he wouldn’t blow my cover.

  The next time I woke up, Mom was sitting beside me, watching me.

  “Anna? Sweetie? How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” I managed to say. I closed my eyes again. I couldn’t stand to see the worry on her face.

  She didn’t say anything more, but I knew I wouldn’t be so lucky the next time I opened my eyes. Eventually, I knew, I’d have to talk about what had happened.

  “What were you doing down there in the first place?” my father asked when we were back home. I was tucked into my bed sipping hot chocolate, wishing everyone would go away, but accepting my punishment as patiently as I could. Sherlock was lying at the foot of my bed by the heating vent. He hates the cold.

  “Taking pictures for my media class. We have to do a photo journalism project and I thought I’d do it on the river.”

  “But why did you go out on the ice?”

  “I was on the bank and I slipped. The camera, like, skidded across the ice. I thought I could reach it okay, but I think it went in the river when I did.”

  “The police said something about you losing Granny’s ring,” Mom said.

  Damn. I’d forgotten about the ring and now I had to toss out a perfectly good camera as well. I turned to look out the window. I couldn’t look her in the face and see all that worry pooling there.

  “It must have come off when that guy pulled me up.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know how much that ring meant to you.”

  I didn’t know which was worse, the sympathy or the worry. I put my mug of hot chocolate on the table beside my bed. “I think I’m going to sleep now,” I said. “I’m really tired.”

  “Of course,” Mom said, and she and Dad turned off the light and left.

  When I heard them down in the living room, I snuck out of my bed, over to my desk, and took out my digital camera. I tucked it into my school bag so I could dump it in a garbage can on the way to school. It had been a birthday present and I hated to throw it out, but I couldn’t have it showing up and prompting questi
ons either. Next I went to my dresser and took Granny’s ring out of my jewellery box. It felt heavy in my hand. Sherlock didn’t even lift his head but his eyes followed me across the room. I lifted the heating vent out of the floor, reached my arm as far as I could down the duct, and dropped the ring.

  Anna’s Mom

  Our meals were just being delivered when my phone rang. I assumed it was going to be Anna telling us she made plans with one of her friends or asking us to pick something up on the way home, but it was the police. The blood drained out of my face so fast when I heard them say Anna’s name, I would have been camouflaged if I’d been outside in the snowstorm. The next few hours are still a blur. I can’t quite sort out the order of events, but I remember the police saying they were taking Anna by ambulance to South River Hospital. I also remember my husband watching me from across the table while he tried to figure out what was wrong.

  “Who is it? What are they saying? What’s going on?” He spoke louder with each question.

  I waved my hand for him to be quiet, but he couldn’t stop the stream of questions.

  “Is it Joe? Anna? It’s Anna? Is she okay? Where is she? Who are you talking to?”

  I don’t know if it’s just my memory, but everyone in the restaurant seemed to freeze and the silence was painful. I stood up and turned my back to the room for privacy. I plugged one ear with my finger and started repeating the information.

  “South River Hospital. Emergency. Five minutes. Anna. Yes. Sixteen. River. Hypothermic. Yes. My husband and I. Yes. Right now.”

  When the police officer hung up, I ripped my coat from the back of the chair. I didn’t even tell my husband to follow, I just knew he would. The waitress opened the door so we could get outside faster and asked if we needed a ride, if we were safe to drive. I nodded without even offering to pay for our untouched meals. We ran to the car. My husband shouted questions at me the whole way, but I didn’t have the mental capacity to talk and think at the same time so I didn’t say a word.

  By the time we arrived at the hospital, Anna was stable. She was unconscious but they assured us, with great confidence, that she was going to be fine. She’d been awake and alert until the ambulance arrived and probably passed out as much from the shock as anything.