The Oshkosh Trilogy 01 - The Dark Lake

by Anthea Carson

  "Well, I'm not seeing anything right now. But earlier today I saw something … can I get a drink of water?"

  "Go ahead," she gestured, still getting herself settled.

  When I got back, she'd turned on another small lamp by my table. It looked like a bedtime-story lamp. I sat in the rocking chair with a blue and white polka-dotted cushion with frills on it, and immediately began playing with the frills.

  "You want to tell me what you saw?"

  No, I sure didn't.

  Then what am I doing here?

  Better get serious.

  "Okay, here goes." I shut my eyes tight. "I was leaving my job interview and…"

  "And how did that go?"

  "Well, that was strange in and of itself."

  "How so?"

  I thought back to the interview.

  "I hate to think this, it really hurts, but I think—"

  "Go ahead, get it out. Dysfunction hides in the dark."

  "Okay,” I began. "I think she just called me in there for that interview to laugh at me."

  "Why on earth would she do that?"

  "Well,” I said. "It would be a ludicrous assertion were it not for the fact that she said that's what she called me for."

  "Be serious."

  "I am."

  "What did she say?"

  "That."

  "What were her exact words?"

  "Oh come on, don't ask me to remember that."

  "But at the end of the interview it was clear that you would not be getting the job?” she asked.

  "Well, actually … that's one of the things that made it so weird. She actually is considering me. At least that's what she said."

  "But you thought you were there for her to laugh at."

  "That's what she said. Actually, her exact words were, lemme think a sec,” I imagined her face, "she said something rude."

  "Hmmm."

  "And then I left there, and I drove home, and that's when I saw it.”

  My leg started shaking up and down.

  "Saw what?” she asked.

  "My yard was overgrown."

  "That's all?" she laughed.

  "No, you don't understand, it was really overgrown. Like three or four feet."

  "It sounds like your mother could use some help keeping the yard.”

  "But that's just it,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief again, and sitting back against my chair. "My dad's been mowing the lawn consistently. Every couple of days."

  Miriam stared silently at me. Her face was very still.

  "Jane?” she began. "Would you like me to sign you into the hospital for a while, to maybe get your bearings?"

  "I can't do that though. I am on probation and have to attend classes and they make no excuses. I might end up in jail."

  "Well, there might be some kind of way around that if you really need the help. But maybe if you talk about things. There are things you refuse to look at; these may be causing your delusions."

  "Maybe I'm schizophrenic and need medication?"

  "Maybe. Certainly that is a possibility—or you just did too many drugs. But my theory is that you are hiding something from yourself. And in my opinion, as long as you refuse to look at something, it can grow and cause other … misperceptions."

  I had my eyes closed while she was speaking but I was listening. I wanted a cigarette. I felt around in my pocket for matches. It made me feel secure to know they were there.

  "I am willing to try," I said, and felt tears dampening the lining of my closed lids.

  "Okay. Should we try hypnosis?"

  We had tried this before, but I was willing to try it again. We had also tried rapid-eye movement.

  "Why don't we try the rapid-eye-movement technique? That seemed to work the best."

  "Good idea. See? You are so intelligent. That's what you have going for you."

  She grabbed a pen.

  “Okay, sit up and look at the pen.” Then she moved it back and forth in very rapid strokes about ten inches in front of my eyes.

  "Follow the pen,” she said. "What is the last thing you remember about the night of the Beatles versus the Stones contest you had with your friend Krishna?"

  "Falling on the floor."

  "You had more than seven hard drinks."

  "Yes, in great big kitchen glasses. The kind you drink lemonade from."

  "Then you remember nothing, is that correct?"

  "Well,” I started.

  When my eyes were moving back and forth like that, emotions just came up out of nowhere.

  Every now and then she would pause to give them a rest, and then start again.

  "I remember clenching my fists, the keys in my fists. I remember that I was very angry."

  "Why were you angry? Who were you angry at?"

  "Krishna."

  "Why?"

  Silence.

  "Why, Jane?"

  "It was those two songs. "

  "What two songs, Jane?"

  "First I had played something, I can’t remember the name of it, some silly love song. And then she played ‘Cocksucker Blues,’ a bootleg copy Ziggy had given her. He bought it in New York.”

  "So what?"

  "So I tried to rip it off the stereo. I lunged toward it. Ziggy had been just sitting there with his arms folded staring out the window all night. He looked like a goddamned mummy. Then he gets up and comes toward me to stop me from ruining that record. If it meant so much to him, why did he give it to her? And if he gave it to her, why did he care what happened to it?"

  "So is that why were you angry at her?"

  "I don’t think so. But I remember that. I distinctly remember that now."

  "It humiliated you?”

  I started to feel angry again, and then tears came up.

  "Okay, is that it then? Just that I felt embarrassed? Is that what this is all about? Then I grabbed the car keys and started to leave. I do remember screaming at her and Ziggy. I was just really drunk. I remember that the reason I was angry made no sense to me even at the time."

  "Of course not. Your blood-alcohol level was—"

  "And I remember somebody else was angry too.”

  "Right."

  She started the eye movement again. I sighed and looked back and forth. After a while my eyes seemed to get stuck. Or just too tired.

  "So I grabbed the car keys and said I was leaving, and some of the people at the party tried to stop me from driving. They tried to grab the keys out of my fists. They tried to unclench my hand. I don't know who was doing this, actually. Then I remember being in the backseat of my car. And somebody was standing there. One of her ex-boyfriend’s."

  "Let's de-escalate a little. Let's calm down now. Take some deep breaths. Close your eyes. Imagine your garden café in Paris.” Her voice was soothing.

  16

  I slept late the next morning. Had peaceful, nonsense dreams. I got up in a good mood and went downstairs on a sleepy Saturday to make myself some coffee. My mom wasn't home, but if she had been, I think we'd have gotten along fine, since I was in such a hopeful mood. I took my coffee out back and stared at the beautiful, green, well-manicured lawn. I looked way in the back past the white-picket fence at the neighbors’ lush backyard full of trees, and even though the leaves had turned colors and were falling, and I knew the winter was just around the corner, it looked so perfect I nearly held my breath for a moment.

  My maple tree stood so proudly, always the last one to lose its leaves. The old rope swing I used to play on swayed heavily in the wind. The trees made that sound like waves in the ocean. There was a rhythmic quality to the breezes. I sat in my bathrobe at the table on the porch in such peace and privacy. I felt lucky.

  I had the possibility of getting that job. I was learning a lot about myself in therapy. Even the anger-management classes were turning out to be a good thing. I was really having to face some stuff, and I think it was helping. Clearing out the cobwebs. Clearing out this baggage I carried.

  I went to
two meetings that day, voluntarily. One in the afternoon and one in the evening. When my mom came home later that day, we had a pleasant conversation that did not turn into a fight. I told her about my hopes and dreams, and she seemed supportive. Then I lay down on the couch and relaxed and just watched old sitcoms. The Donna Reed Show. That pretty housewife always filled me with hope. Bewitched. I'd been watching that since I was six. The Andy Griffith Show. I loved that homespun wisdom. Mr. Ed.

  I fell asleep after a very nice day, not quite perfect but almost.

  On Sunday the weather took a turn for the winter. It was Halloween. The wind whipped up the leaves and they swirled around the yard, and the sky looked dark and bleak.

  "Would you mind going to the store and picking up some candy for the kids tonight? Just get the black and orange kind, you know, in wrappers? It's the cheapest,” Mom said, and handed me some cash.

  "Oh God, I always hated that kind of candy as a kid. I'm sure the kids all hated it."

  "Oh, I don't care. Get another kind if you want to."

  I did end up buying that kind. It was almost a tradition. And we always had that same conversation about it, too.

  I wandered the aisles of the Red Owl grocery store, mindlessly looking at products. I bought a few things I didn't really need. It was comfort stuff. You know, magazines with articles about how to decorate. Mascara. Intense hair-repair conditioners that you had to leave on thirty minutes—a peel-off mask.

  I spent the day using them, and reading the articles until evening, and then set out the candy and turned on the TV Halloween episodes of all my favorite shows. How fun.

  I waited for the doorbell to ring.

  I saw groups of little gypsies and clowns and Batmans and princesses roving the streets. But none of them stopped at our house. I checked to see if I'd left the light on. Granted, we had no jack-a’-lanterns, but our light was on indicating we were home. Why weren't they stopping?

  I stepped outside for a moment.

  A group of children looked at me, frozen in their tracks. Then they all started giggling and running.

  I checked myself out in the mirror. Oh, the peel-off, green mask and the thirty-minute hair repair. Guess I'd forgotten about them.

  I rinsed my hair, but it hadn’t been quite enough time for the mask yet. I lay back down in front of the TV; after a while the doorbell did finally ring. I went over, grabbed a handful of candy. I opened the door but no one was there. I opened the screen door to see. After all, children were short.

  I stepped outside the door holding my big bowl of orange and black candy. I saw one child in a clown costume running toward a group of five other kids—a pumpkin, a ghost, two princesses, and an indefinable getup of random clothes.

  "Hey,” I shouted.

  They turned around startled.

  "What's wrong with our candy?” I yelled, forgetting my mask was still on, and chased them a few feet.

  They ran giggling.

  The doorbell never rang again, and after eleven o'clock I turned off the porch light and ate practically the whole bowl of the candy. That had to be it. The children all knew what kind of candy we served. I left a rather large pile of black and orange wrappers and went to bed.

  I lay there in the dark with my window open, but after a while I got up to shut it. The first few flakes of snow were now falling, and what had been just a mild chilliness in the air had turned to bitter cold.

  17

  "You seem really angry at her,” Angela challenged me.

  "I do?” I looked over at the mouse that led the anger-management group.

  "Mm hmm,” he nodded, "I must say I agree with her."

  "I don't see how."

  The group members looked at each other and laughed knowingly. Oh, goddamn them all.

  I crossed my arms and sat back. I just wouldn't talk any more.

  "You don't see it,” Angela smirked. That fat-ass, red-headed piece of shit. Go home to your lazy husband and bitch at him, why don't you, and leave me alone.

  "Not only do you seem angry with this—Krishna person, you seemed obsessed with her. Like in Fatal Attraction. Did you see that movie? Only she's a girl. Are you gay?"

  "No."

  "Ahaa, I think this bitch's a dyke!”

  It was one of the other scumbags there. They didn't even deserve names. When would I be getting out of here? Was this going to be an eternity?

  "Well, let's not speak for her sexuality," the mouse leader said.

  "Give me a break; but you can speak for everything else about me, my feelings, my thoughts. What do you people know about the inner workings of another person's mind? You especially.” I glared at Angela.

  She gasped.

  "What are you saying about me?"

  "Let's not start—" said the mouse.

  "Oh let's. She's been dying to sock it to me ever since I got here. Although why I don't know,” I said.

  "Let's stay off the subject of each other, shall we? After all, we are not here to…"

  "Me? You're the one! You roll your eyes every time I speak; you interrupt me…," she said.

  "Hah! Is that a joke?"

  "I don't mean to be harsh here but, you two will both have to be quiet,” interceded the mouse.

  "Not only that, but you’re a loser. You live in the past of twenty years ago! Who does that?"

  "Pull your claws in, honey. You gonna need 'em when you get home to the loser on your couch," I said.

  At this, fat-butted Angela actually got off that fat thing and climbed across, literally got on top of the table and started crawling across it toward me! I couldn't believe it. I actually started laughing.

  "Look who's got an anger problem."

  "You better watch your ass in the parking lot," she said.

  "But what did they mean, I was angry at Krishna?” I said to myself in the bathroom after class. It wasn't that I was scared to go out to the parking lot. I could take that bitch. But, I was staring in the mirror at myself. "Are you angry at her?"

  "Hey, I can't stand that Angela or whatever the bitch's name is either,” said a new girl as she came out of the stall. She had long, black hair, blue eyes. She was young and pretty. She came over and started washing her hands. "I couldn't believe it when she climbed up on that table,” she said, laughing and shaking dry her hands into the sink.

  "I know,” I laughed. "Must be some show for your first night."

  "Yeah."

  "What'd you get put in these classes for?"

  "Stabbing my boyfriend in the neck,” she said, putting on her eyeliner.

  I didn't know what to say to this, so I said good luck and see ya next week and went out to start my car. It was dead.

  I tried a couple of times. Was it the battery?

  "Hey, what's up?” said the girl.

  "I think it's the battery. Do you have jumper cables?” I asked. I was shivering, even with my winter coat on. It was freezing, like in the middle of December.

  "Sure, let me get them; they're in my trunk. Here, I'll pull over next to your car."

  "What's your name again?” I asked.

  "Laura."

  "I hope Angela went home already. I don't want to have to fight her out here."

  "Oh, don't worry. She's a coward for all her talk."

  Laura pulled her car up. It was strange; there was no one else around. How could they have all gone home already? Was I in the bathroom that long?

  We both lifted our hoods, and she hooked up the cables. I got in the car and waited for her to start.

  Nothing.

  "It's dead,” I said. "Must be something else."

  "Sounds like your starter."

  "It does?"

  "Yeah. You need a ride?” she asked.

  "You bet I do. I don't want to be stuck out here in the cold at night. And it doesn't even look to me like the building's open anymore."

  "It ain't. Get in."

  Here we go.

  She squealed her tires and we peeled out of that parkin
g lot at 90 mph at least. I braced, hands suddenly against the dash to keep from falling sideways, and looked over at her in shock, but she didn't see me. She had cranked up the car radio.

  "Hey, grab that bag behind you. I got party stuff,” she yelled over the radio.

  It had been snowing and the roads were slick. I looked around, unsure of which direction she was going.

  "I live that way,” I pointed, and grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat mess. "Is this it?"

  "Uh huh, open the zipper and get me a beer."

  Oh, great this is just what I need.

  "You want one?” she shouted.

  "No thanks. You need to turn right here!"

  "What?"

  "You need to turn right here!” I screamed.

  She skidded a right turn, barely slowing down, and nearly tipped the car over.

  "Oh my God, could you slow down? Here, let's turn this down.” I reached over and turned the radio down.

  "Hey that's a great song!” She turned it right back on. Some rap music. I hated it. God, what a nightmare.

  "Left now, but slow down first!”

  "Give me another one of those beers!” She rolled down her window and threw her can out. "I got some weed in there too; why don't you get it out and roll us a joint?"

  "I can't, I need to get home."

  "For me then, for me."

  I handed her another beer.

  "How can you drink these; they must be frozen?"

  "Don't need to be warm to give me a buzz.” She laughed.

  We were finally nearing my area of town. For a while I thought she was never going to stop going to the west end. We were on High Street, Ziggy's street. She had to laugh at the sign, like we all had to I suppose. Then she pulled over and insisted upon smoking a joint in honor of the name and rolled it herself, since I refused. I sat staring out at the old stomping grounds with a mixture of annoyance and nostalgia, but more annoyance. We were about two miles from Lake Winnebago. I didn't even like looking out there it was so bleak. And I imagined how I was going to feel when I had to get out of the car.

  "Brrr. Turn up the heat would ya? How did it get this cold?”

  "It's Wisconsin,” she laughed, looking up briefly from her tiny, red tray of deseeded pot.