She stepped back and looked at it. Strange, but beautiful.
Emilia started another chain. Then another, and another.
With each linked clip, she felt a small bit of relief.
Emilia Jumped
Emilia jumped, looked over, and saw Ian’s car had pulled up next to her. How had she not heard it?
“Come on,” he said, and smiled at her. “I just got off work.”
Emilia slid into the passenger seat, feeling disoriented. Ian leaned in to kiss her, and the warm kiss felt both familiar and unreal on her lips.
“Where are you coming from, anyway?” he asked, looking at the bag in her hands.
Emilia’s mind was filled with strange images of shiny gold pinwheels. Of every beautiful thing she’d left behind in that classroom. She looked down at her hands, suddenly remembering the peanuts.
“Getting peanuts,” she said, holding up the bag. Ian laughed and kept driving. It seemed so strange and normal to be riding in the car with him, the way he was glancing over at her, the same as it used to be.
They got the wrong person, Ian. I accused the wrong person. The wrong person went to jail. The real guy is still out there somewhere.
The car screeched and the thoughts that had invaded her mind were silenced.
“So Anthony and Jane were wondering if you wanted to hang out again,” he said. “Jane keeps asking about you.”
Emilia turned to Ian, tried hard to keep her tone light, their conversation normal. “Why would she ask about me?”
“I guess she just really liked you. Says you two could be great friends.”
“Really?”
Ian laughed. “Yeah, really. She’s all right, you know.”
“I guess you’ve gotten to know her a little better?” Emilia asked, trying not to let the idea bother her.
“A little.”
Another date with Ian, Anthony, and Jane. She didn’t really want to go. Just the thought of it made her stomach churn again. She could almost picture them—laughing and having fun. Oblivious and normal. Except her.
But maybe it’ll make everything seem okay again, Emilia thought. Maybe it’ll make you feel okay.
Ma’s face loomed in her mind as Emilia remembered the doubt and uncertainty she’d seen when she’d tried to convince Ma she could be left home alone.
Will she always look at me that way?
Emilia wanted Ma to see that she could be okay, that she could be normal. And she wanted to feel that way, too.
“What do you think? You up for it?” Ian asked.
“Sure, sounds fun. When?”
“I have tomorrow off, but we’ll be at my aunt’s because she’s throwing her annual family Christmas party,” Ian said. “But sometime after that?”
“Sure,” Emilia said again as they pulled up to her house. He leaned in, kissed her, and smiled.
Yes. Maybe she could get lost in her boyfriend’s smile. Maybe she could tuck herself into him, into his car, into his bed, and she’d never have to tell him. Maybe she’d never have to say the words, to anyone, not ever. Maybe she could forget about all of this, and everyone else would, too.
“Call you later?” he said.
She nodded, got out of the car, like she’d done so many times before. This was how life had been. This was normal.
The sound of cawing crows up in the trees caught her attention. Emilia clutched the bag of peanuts and slowly walked up to her house.
Who Is It
“Who is it?” Tomás called out, biding some time as he gathered what he’d been working on in his bedroom and quickly shoved it all into his junk drawer.
“Me,” Emilia answered. Tomás scanned his room one last time before he opened the door.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” she said, sitting at the foot of his bed near him.
“You okay?” he asked. She nodded.
He wanted to hold her. But he knew she would hate that, so he said, “It’s going to be okay.”
She nodded again, but didn’t say anything. His stomach flip-flopped as he remembered his sister, back in those early days. How silent she became. How her mouth had seemed to become hollow. When he was younger, the phrase Cat got your tongue? haunted him. It went through his head repeatedly whenever he looked at his sister. Like some horrible thing came and snatched her tongue away and rendered her mute forever.
“I’m reading this book,” he said to her, and began telling her about it. She lay down. “Want me to read you some pages?”
She nodded. Tomás read. He used to do this when they were little. The way they seemed to slip right back into the past startled him and he was relieved when, after a while, she finally spoke. A part of him was afraid she wouldn’t.
“Is he really still in town? Or is Ma just . . . trying to protect me from the truth?” she said.
She meant their father. Tomás wanted to tell her to forget about him, they didn’t need him, but he shook his head.
“He’s here. He’s just being himself. I think he’s afraid of us, you know.” Tomás looked over at Emilia and saw the confused, hurt look on her face. He’d let too much of his own thoughts slip out. “I mean, Ma. I think he’s afraid of her. I heard her on the phone with him. Told him it would be best if he . . . gave us a little room. Time to adjust. She was pretty direct.” Now he sounded so clinical. He wished he’d said it better.
“Oh,” Emilia said, but he could tell she was still hurt. By her mother keeping him away or by her father listening or by the way he had explained things, Tomás wasn’t sure.
“Don’t worry. He’s still in town.”
She nodded. A minute later she said, “I haven’t told Ian about any of this.”
“It’s okay, take your time.”
“We have a date. With Anthony and his girlfriend again. He’s back in town.”
Tomás looked at Emilia. She stared at the ceiling.
“You don’t have to go.”
“No, I mean I want to. I have to act normal and I think it would be good for me . . . I just, I should tell Ian about it. Right? It’s just so . . .” Emilia closed her eyes.
“Do you want me to tell him?” Tomás asked.
She took a deep breath. “No . . . I’ll do it. Just not yet.” Emilia got up and headed toward his door.
“Wait,” Tomás said. She turned.
“You don’t have to, Emilia. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. And you . . . you don’t have to pretend like everything’s okay.”
“I’m not pretending,” she said. “Really, I’ll be okay.” Emilia smiled sadly then and looked at her brother. “You’re such a good person, Tomás. Always there for me.”
His heart broke. And a sense of guilt and unworthiness hit him. He was relieved she didn’t notice.
“You want to . . . talk? More?” he asked carefully. But she shook her head and he didn’t push. She left his room, and moments later, he heard the click of her door.
Tomás got up and stared at her door for a moment. Then closed his own and locked it, feeling unsettled. He returned to what he had been doing before Emilia knocked—gluing together the bones of a bird that had been dead for seven years. He’d gathered them from the shed the morning after his father suddenly showed up and his sister cried herself to sleep, when Tomás had stood staring out their kitchen window, trying to make sense of them, their family, their past. That’s when he found himself staring at the rusting white shed in the corner of their backyard. And he remembered.
* * *
*
When Emilia was nine and he was twelve, Tomás found his sister in their backyard, in the black coat and hat she’d asked Ma for. Ma didn’t know it, but Tomás knew it was so she would look more like her black birds. That was when Ma got Emilia anything she wanted, as long as she asked.
As long as you use your words, Emilia.
But that day Emilia wasn’t flapping around like usual. She was staring at an almost dead bird, crying. Her head was bent in grief and her long black hair fell around her face like a mourning veil.
Tomás crouched down. It was terrible. The bird’s little head twisted at an odd angle, its legs limp against the ground. A small streak of white was coming from beneath it. The small bird quivered and shook, and with each quiver, Emilia cried harder.
It was alive, but so damaged. So irreversibly damaged, and in its final throes.
Tomás had been jealous of all the things Emilia got from Ma. Of the attention she received, and the way she absorbed their mother’s energy. It all went to Emilia, only Emilia. He’d once not spoken for a day to see if Ma would notice, if she would turn her attention to him, but she didn’t. And their father made himself so scarce that even when he was home, he might as well not be.
So he was left without Ma or Dad, and Emilia, too, had left him. Gone somewhere after the attack and never fully come back, even when he tried to reach her. He’d try to make her laugh. He remembered sitting next to her, watching Tom and Jerry, and how he’d put his arms up like they were paws, and meow. But Emilia would only sort of smile, reach for his paw, and hold it.
He’d laugh at the funny parts, but she wouldn’t, and then he felt so guilty. How could he laugh, exist even, when his sister felt this way? And what would she think of him if she knew what he had been doing as she lay near the playground dying?
Each day he grew more ashamed. He kept more to himself, so as to not bother anyone. He found ways to not need anyone or anything.
But that day, it broke him to see his sister crying over the small bird that wouldn’t stop quivering. How Tomás wished it would stop quivering like that.
You’re upsetting her, he wanted to tell it. But of course, he could hardly expect the bird to understand.
I want to keep it, Emilia cried. I have to keep it. Find a box, Tomás, please, please find a box.
You can’t keep him, he told her. It will rot and smell. Come on, we’ll bury him. We’ll have a bird funeral for him. Is that okay?
Emilia nodded. A bird funeral, she repeated. For her.
What? Tomás asked.
She’s a girl bird.
Okay.
So Tomás went inside, found a box of Ma’s tea, and emptied it. He ran back outside, picked up the bird, which, finally, in his hands, stopped quivering. Tomás swallowed the lump in his throat as he placed her in the box. How sad it looked, she looked, with her little eyes closed.
Tomás found a garden trowel in their dad’s shed and dug a small hole. He and Emilia buried that bird by the shed and he said some words he remembered from church when they would sometimes go. Together they stared at the ground in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Emilia didn’t want to leave the gravesite, and Tomás didn’t want to leave her, but he worried their mother would come out soon. He put the trowel back on the high shelf as his stomach growled.
Come on, Emilia, he said.
Okay, she said. But she didn’t move, and Tomás finally went inside.
Their mother was in the living room. Emilia okay? she asked when he came inside.
Fine, Tomás said. Me too, he thought.
He went to the bathroom to wash his hands. He looked at himself in the mirror of their medicine cabinet as he lathered, startled like he always was now at who he saw there.
Don’t, he said to the person just below the surface. Please, don’t.
He tried to look past the image, pictured instead the bottles of ibuprofen and cough syrup lined up just behind the mirror.
When he went back to the kitchen, his mother called out to him from the couch, where she was nursing a headache. Tomás? Check and see if Emilia’s okay.
I was just out there. He grabbed the ham and cheese from the refrigerator, the bread from on top of the toaster.
Please, Tomás, his mother called. He could hear the weariness in her voice.
Fine, he said. But Tomás started making himself a sandwich instead. He was hungry and he’d just stood out there with Emilia forever.
Tomás? his mother called. Is she okay?
Yes, I see her. She’s just playing, he insisted, even though he hadn’t looked out yet. He took a bite of his sandwich, then another. And only when he was done did he bother to look outside.
That’s when he saw Emilia standing by the shed, that little box in her dirty hands.
She’d dug it up. She’d clawed it out with her bare hands.
Tomás ran outside, grabbed the box from Emilia, and hid it in the shed. Emilia, why’d you do that? You shouldn’t have done that.
But she just kept crying.
Why? she asked him. Why?
He told her to be quiet, to stop crying so Ma wouldn’t worry. Come on, I’ll help you wash your hands and make you a sandwich. Okay? And . . . I’ll figure out a way for you to keep the bird, I promise, just stop crying, please.
He’d just told Ma she was fine and now she was filthy and crying and Ma had a headache, and oh, she would be upset at him. Not Emilia.
His sister nodded and they went inside. Tomás breezily told his mother, I’m going to help Emilia wash her hands. And he quickly wiped her face and scrubbed at her hands with so much soap. The dirt was almost all off when Ma knocked and then came in. She stood behind them both, looked at their reflections in the mirror.
You’re a good brother, Ma told him after a while, kissing his head. He returned his mother’s gaze in the mirror and instantly felt bad about not checking on Emilia sooner.
I’ll make her a sandwich for lunch, he told Ma. She smiled and went back to the living room.
Tomás dried Emilia’s hands, took off her coat and hat, and whispered to her not to tell Ma about the bird.
You can keep it, he said. Just don’t tell Ma about it. She won’t understand. And don’t go looking for it again. I’ll . . . I’ll give it to you when it’s ready.
Her, she said.
Tomás nodded and Emilia hugged him so hard. When she smiled, he could almost see the Emilia of before, the one he missed so much. He just about cried right there and then.
Go, he told her.
He hung up Emilia’s coat, tucked her hat into its pocket. Made her a sandwich and went upstairs. He had to think of how he could keep his promise to Emilia. He had to think of what he could do to make her happy again, like she used to be. Because he owed it to his sister. And because he couldn’t shake off the phantom sensation of that small bird quivering and then becoming so still right in the palm of his hand.
Tomás stared at his ceiling a long time before it finally occurred to him. He’d keep the bones. And put them back together again. Like they do in museums.
His stomach turned a little as he realized he’d have to let it decompose as much as possible first, then clean the bones carefully.
But he’d do it, for Emilia. He’d put that little bird back together and give Emilia a tiny bird skeleton she could keep forever.
And maybe, in some small way, it would heal his sister and bring her back, too.
* * *
*
Tonight, in his room, Tomás opened his drawer and looked at the bird bones and the various photocopies of bird skeletons he’d made from a book at the library. And when he reached in to retrieve them, he caught a glimpse of pastel checkered material—the dress his grandmother had given Emilia for her eighth birthday. The dress he’d loved so much it hurt, so he took it from her closet. The dress that never would have possibly fit him, but that he took one day and didn’t return anyway. Instead he’d crumpled it into a tiny ball and shoved it back there in a drawer his mother never bothered to look in.
He thought of the nights he would wait until everyone was asleep, lock the door, and hold t
he dress up to his body while he looked at himself in the mirror. How he’d lie in bed afterward, confused and angry and scared. Then later, after Emilia’s attack, he thought about the word suicide. He’d go to sleep thinking of all the horrible ways people did it, how some hanged themselves, others slit their wrists. He learned people shot themselves and gassed themselves by running a car engine in an enclosed space.
All the images so horrific he couldn’t imagine himself ever going through with it. But he used to think about it, too much, on those nights he was alone and Emilia was downstairs, sleeping in their mother’s arms, protected like a baby bird.
Tomás returned his focus to the bird bones in front of him.
Emilia.
Life had been unfair to her, cruel. He wanted to do something. But those bird bones looked so frail and gave him second thoughts about what he was planning. How would this possibly help? Emilia probably didn’t even remember that day. And if she did, would she understand why he was giving this to her? Did he?
He was sure he would get it all wrong anyway; he didn’t even know what kind of bird this was.
But Tomás stared at the pastel checkered material and the bird bones and he remembered his little sister. Lately, all he saw every time he looked at Emilia was that girl, the one who had cried her eyes out that day in the yard and clawed at the earth to scoop out this small dead bird. The girl he’d taken this dress from.
Tomás wiped away the tears in his eyes.
He had to give both back to her.
Emilia Closed the Door
Emilia closed the door to her room and lay in bed, willing the heaviness and pain in her head to soften. She knew she could deal with this; she knew she had to prove she was strong, but it all made her feel like someone had whacked her hard on the head.
Her head thumped and an old song from a game she played with her friends came into her mind.
Concentration. That was the game.
She and her friends would pretend to crack eggs on one another’s heads. They would give one another a big whack on the head and then laugh like it was the funniest thing.
The Fall of Innocence Page 14