Leap

by Jodi Lundgren

  This morning I acted like nothing happened. I’m walking around under a veil. This must be what they call denial. It means things are too screwed up to deal with so you pretend they never happened, that you didn’t notice. You gloss over the facts with little half-truths like “Sasha’s mom was sick.” You avoid looking each other in the eye because you’re both hiding what you know. It deadens you. Layers of something like gel separate us. All we’re left with are secrets and shame.

  August

  Sunday, August 1st

  When I joined her in the kitchen this morning, Mom announced that she had just called Sasha’s house to talk to her mom about Sasha staying with me. That was bad enough, but then she explained that Kevin had answered. “He sounded like a very nice young man.”

  Kevin? The kicked-out Kevin was at home answering the phone? “What did you tell him?”

  “I asked him if I could speak to one of his parents. He said his mom was visiting her sister and might be away for a few days. He wasn’t sure where his dad was.”

  “Then what?”

  “I said that Sasha was invited to stay with you this coming week while I’m away.”

  Does she know what she has done? Informed a homeless sexual predator that her fifteen-year-old daughter will be home alone for a week?

  “He said he’d be sure to pass the message on, but that he didn’t see a problem. He said he would keep an eye out for you girls.”

  “How nice of him.”

  She registered my sarcasm. “Natalie, I think he recognizes that he’s too old for you. I mean, it’s been a month since he asked you to the fireworks, and he hasn’t asked you out again, right? I really got a good feeling from him.”

  I wanted to blurt out everything to let her know how clueless she really is, but my mouth felt dry. What was there to say, really?

  I never did invite Sasha to stay here. Mom just assumes I have. She’s obviously desperate to be alone with Marine, or she wouldn’t be so hasty. Fine. I won’t burst her horny little middle-aged bubble. I guess it’s about time she got laid. Who knew, though? Who knew this was the reason she never showed interest in men after she and Dad split up? God. Wouldn’t Dad be shocked? Or does he know? Does he know and is that one of the reasons they got divorced?? I’m going to go insane if I don’t get my mind off this.

  Night

  Mom came into my room just now to reassure me that I’m welcome to join her and Marine if I don’t feel comfortable staying here. Or at any point during the week, to just call and they’ll come pick me up, even though it’s a three-hour drive. She doesn’t mean it, though. I can tell. She wants time alone with her lover.

  I haven’t felt this unwanted in as long as I can remember. Even Paige hasn’t returned my call, and it has been two days. I suppose she is having the time of her life with Dad and Vi—that Dad has made this the year he finally learns how to take a vacation. Go, Dad.

  Monday, August 2nd, 11:00 p.m.

  I spent some time snooping as soon as Mom left for the cabin. In the drawer under her bed, I discovered a small set of books with words like “lesbian” or “coming out” in the title. One was called Gay Parenting. Does that mean Mom isn’t the only one? How reassuring. I slammed the drawer shut.

  The fridge paid better dividends. I found a carton of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream at the back of the freezer and planted myself in front of the TV. I spooned it straight from the carton as I flipped channels, in a trance, numb. When the phone rang, I ignored it.

  The pit of my stomach rebelled. I glanced down to find the carton three-quarters empty. I ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet as my bowels rumbled and fussed. Diarrhea, sort of. I felt sick to my stomach and my head swam. I’m still spinning out on sugar now.

  Abusing food isn’t that much fun. How ’bout another vice?

  Tuesday, August 3rd

  You must have been expecting me.

  Did you miss me?

  I stayed away as long as I could.

  He arrived on the doorstep tonight with Chinese take-out and white wine. Five-o’clock shadow didn’t hide the dimple in his cheek. My guts churned. They always churn when I see him. He makes me feel.

  Friday, August 6th

  hope floats

  trees finger the sky

  waves lap the dock

  smoke in my throat

  heat in my belly

  a hand between my thighs

  relaxed at last

  warmth spreads

  do it again

  This week is a stolen jewel. We don’t answer the phone. Mom calls once a day and I return her call when things are quiet and I’m sober. Kevin shops with the money she left for groceries, and we borrow his friend’s car to get to the lake. That’s what the poem is about. Kevin says it reminds him of haiku. I got stoned for the first time—Kevin brought weed—and now we do it every day. We sleep in the nude in Mom’s double bed. We haven’t gone all the way, but we, how should I put this, pleasure each other. Pretty much all we do is drink and smoke weed and laugh and fool around. Kevin answers the door for the pizza guy with a towel wrapped around his waist. One time I heard a woman’s voice at the door. He came back without pizza. “What happened?” I asked. He looked embarrassed. “I must have scared her off!” When the doorbell rang again, it was a man.

  I’ve discovered I have a strong sex drive. What I mean is, I feel all tingly and hot below the waist most of the time. It’s delicious. Kevin is dying to go further but he doesn’t pressure me. I’m not ready. I’m discovering all these new sensations. Like tickling, but better. So much better.

  Night

  Kevin and I snuggled on the couch as we watched Spinal Tap. I haven’t done that in years! Mom stopped cuddling with me, or maybe I stopped wanting to cuddle with her, when I was about eleven. We barely even hug anymore. I forgot how good it feels. We didn’t drink or smoke or make out. We were both tired and content to just sit there. I think I’m falling in love with him!

  Saturday, August 7th

  According to Kevin, we’re broke. He asked if I could get more money from Mom and that made me mad. I know she left enough to last a week but if we’ve gone through it on “extras,” then that’s not her responsibility. Mom isn’t there to support Kevin’s habits. He got pissed off and left. I’m going to spend the afternoon cleaning up this pigsty. Things have gotten out of hand in the past few days. We’ve left pizza boxes and dirty plates and wet towels all over the house.

  Sunday, August 8th, 2:30 a.m, post party

  Party, property damage, police.

  And not only that.

  What have I done?

  I’m going to take a bath.

  9 a.m.

  Mom will be here by noon. It seems like she called just after I’d drifted off to sleep. The owners of the resort had woken her up at 8 a.m., frantic, saying the police were on the line. So these are my last few hours of independence. It’s probably just as well.

  Yesterday, Kevin came back to find the house cleaned up and called me Martha Stewart. I said maybe he needed to find another couch to surf. The honeymoon was definitely over.

  He told me he wanted to have some friends over. I didn’t think it was a good idea.

  We argued about it for a long time and then we made up because he came up behind me, nuzzled my neck, and slid his arms around my waist. My knees practically buckled. I twined my arms around his neck, he sucked my earlobe, and we ended up in the bedroom again. The sun slanted across the bed, and after the fight I felt extra emotional. We were both sober. He looked into my eyes, and, well …

  Afterwards, I still didn’t want him to have the party. He said it was too late, his friends were already coming over, but not to worry, they were all mellow.

  I worried. I tried to party-proof the whole house by hiding valu
ables and breakables. I piled dining room chairs on the stairs to block off the top floor. Kevin thought I was overreacting. The one thing we agreed on was that everyone would smoke outside. People are used to that, anyway, Kevin said. Smokers like to hang outside, especially on beautiful August nights.

  I dressed up a bit and put on makeup before the party so I’d look older. Kevin said I looked sexy and sixteen and a half at least. When his friends showed up, he presented me with a six-pack of citrus coolers. He said I was a good sport about drinking beer, but he knew girls liked girl drinks and these were all mine. I kissed him on the cheek in front of his friends.

  The stoners really were pretty mellow, though I was nervous the smell of weed would carry to the neighbors’ yard. I refused to toke, wanted to stay clear. When the three guys from The Ice Cream Place parking lot showed up—good old Tyler, Steve, and Brad—things got a little rowdier. They changed the music to heavy metal and had beer-chugging contests in the living room. I don’t think they recognized me. They didn’t make any pedophile jokes, anyway.

  But apparently Tyler invited the whole Canwest soccer team. Even Kevin got nervous when he heard that. Once the team started streaming in, half of them still in their red-and-white tracksuits, all we heard about was the game. They had won, but with controversy. One of them had body-checked an opponent without being penalized, and the other side resented the victory. The Canwest players themselves were divided about the call. The body-checking teammate didn’t even come to the party. The few girls who came weren’t very friendly. One of them, named Vanessa, warmed up a little bit when I complimented her auburn and blonde streaked hair. (I didn’t mention that she could be the Canwest mascot: red and white!)

  Then tires were squealing out front; the other team showed up looking for a fight. People swarmed the lawn. Someone threw the first punch, and a rumble broke out. They snapped a sapling in half and trampled flowerbeds. By the time the police showed up, most people had scattered. The place was strewn with beer bottles. The stoners slipped out back and down the alley with their stash just in time.

  Kevin vanished.

  I faced the police alone as a few remaining partiers gathered their things and left.

  When the cops questioned me, I fell apart. I blubbered and couldn’t get words out. They finally called Mom’s resort, but she was in a cabin with no phone and the main office was closed. They couldn’t reach her. They called Dad in Oakville and left a message. His cell phone was turned off (he’s obviously taking this vacation stuff seriously now), and I’ve lost the number for Vi’s family cabin, if that’s where they are. They asked me who my local guardian was. I thought of telling them: Kevin Varkosky.

  After all, he’s nineteen: legally an adult.

  I overheard the cops talking about calling the detachment in Parksville and getting them to send someone out to Mom’s cabin, but when I pictured an officer banging on the door and surprising Mom and Marine in bed, I pulled myself together. “Please don’t disturb my mother in the middle of the night. I’ll be fine on my own. Really.” They said they’d follow up in the morning.

  Mom’s on her way. What do I tell her?

  There’s stuff I can’t think about.

  Night

  I stripped the sheets from Mom’s bed just before she arrived. No time to do laundry. A couple of Kevin’s dark hairs clung to a pillow. I pulled off the case, the size of my torso, and held it in front of me. Fists level with my heart, I yanked hard, tearing fabric to my abdomen, making rags from where his head had lain.

  She pulled into the drive in her green Volvo just before noon. I opened the front door and waited. Kermit’s engine rumbled and sputtered before it died down. Mom lumbered out of the car as if she had forty extra pounds strapped to her back. I’d never seen her look so old. She hadn’t combed her hair and when she pushed her sunglasses up, her eyes had sunk in their sockets. Marine wasn’t with her and I was glad.

  She reached the porch and I stayed in the door. “Natalie, what happened?”

  “Sasha’s brother threw a party here last night.”

  She hung her head. “Was anyone hurt?”

  I joined her in looking at the door mat. “No.”

  “Thank God!”

  She flung herself at me and scooped me into a hug. I let her hold me for a little while but then I started thinking about Kevin and Marine and it felt gross and confusing. I pushed her away.

  “I’m sorry if I gave you too much responsibility. I forget that you’re still just a kid sometimes.”

  “I am NOT a kid!” I shouted.

  “No, well, I mean, a teenager.”

  “I’m a WOMAN!”

  Mom just looked at me. I burst into tears. I could tell she wanted to comfort me but was scared to touch me again. “Let’s go inside,” she said. She led the way to the kitchen and we sat facing each other at the table.

  “Did anything happen that you want to tell me about?” she said at last.

  “No!” I shouted. I kept sobbing.

  Mom made some chamomile tea. She boiled the water, scalded the pot, and set the cups in their saucers as I wept. Seeing as she wasn’t asking me any more questions, I calmed down and pulled a cup towards me. She patted my hand. It was like she knew, she instinctively knew, and she sympathized.

  I was thinking of telling her what happened with Kevin when an image flashed of her and Marine kissing. She doesn’t deserve to hear my secrets, she hasn’t earned them. She keeps secrets from me. I scowled and snatched my hand away. I wanted to say that I hoped she and Marine had lots of “adult fun” at the cabin.

  “It’s the garden!” I said finally. “They wrecked the garden.”

  Mom hurried outside. Images of the snapped sapling and trampled pansies looped in my mind as my shoulders shook and tears landed in my tea.

  She stayed out there long enough for me to get the first round of sobs out of my system. The phone rang until the machine picked up. “Denise? Natalie? Are you there? I just received a message from the Victoria police and I want to know what the hell is going on.” Dad paused and softened his voice. “I mean, I want to know if everything is all right. I’m going to call the police in ten minutes if I haven’t heard back from you. Please call me.”

  The front door opened and closed. Mom shuffled into the hallway and took her time getting back to the kitchen. She was stooping. I blew my nose and told her she had better call Dad. Serves him right if he feels helpless and worried when shit happens, living that far away.

  I’ve got to call Lisa.

  Monday, August 9th

  A book lay open on Mom’s lap as I passed the living room, but she was leaning back in her armchair and staring into space.

  I rolled my eyes. “Good book, Mom?”

  She blinked rapidly several times. “I can’t seem to focus, actually.”

  “Wonder why,” I said under my breath.

  Now she’s unloading the dishwasher, folding laundry, and bundling the recycling. She does domestic chores when she’s upset, so the sound of her bustling always unsettles me. Especially tonight.

  I’m huddled as small as possible on this single mattress. I’m trying to compress my spirit, like a tightly-packed snowball. I want to shrink, to take up as little space as possible. Can a person will her uterus to contract? How much muscular control do we have over our internal organs, how tight can we squeeze them?

  Listen here: anyone trying to find mooring in there, forget it. There’s no room at this pier. Keep floating until it’s time to leave.

  God, this is exhausting. My muscles clench like this when I’m cold, as if trying to keep the heat in. I feel cold right now. Peppermint tea?

  Made myself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Mom wandered in and asked me if I’d been on the phone. I snapped at her that I hadn’t. She picked up the kitchen phone to check for a dial t
one. She looked so sad when she realized that, yes, of course the phone was working. It just wasn’t ringing. She’s so transparent. I should have offered her some tea, but there was only one bag of peppermint left, and frankly, I wasn’t in the mood to share. Now she’s watering the garden.

  Peppermint smells so clean.

  I’m still stiff with worry.

  Before, I glossed over what happened the afternoon of the party. I want to get it out, I want the relief.

  Fighting had stoked our emotions. We hadn’t made out for almost two days after doing it nonstop. We hadn’t drunk or smoked weed. Kevin’s touch alone made me high. I felt an urge to get even closer to him. I could tell he felt it too. He was there, more present than ever, really seeing me. He raised himself on his elbows and looked down—half-smiling, half-questioning. I gazed back. Nothing was said. He started pressing himself between my legs. At first it felt good. Then he started thrusting, like he was hammering at a locked door, and I got scared. My muscles tensed and it hurt. He said, “Just relax.” I was about to say “Stop” when something gave. He pushed in and came to rest, as if, after all that struggle, he had found a hold. And I held him.

  He groaned and pushed more, in and out, sliding deeper each time.

  I was getting alarmed. “Kevin!”

  He didn’t respond. His eyes were closed, lips apart, as he pumped. Finally he swore, “Oh, God, oh, Jesus.” He yanked away and liquid spread over my stomach and thighs. He rolled onto his back as I sat up. Semen glistened on my belly.

  “Don’t worry, babe, I was careful.”

  It stung between my legs. I patted my stomach and thighs with a sheet.

  “Lie back down and cuddle with me,” he said. It came out as a whine.

  I balled up the soiled sheet and carried it to the laundry hamper.

  He was “careful.”

  But how does he know?

  Tuesday, August 10th

  I called Lisa’s house and her mom answered. She was proud of her daughter for landing a job at an insurance company (as an “administrative assistant”). I agreed that it was hard to get any kind of office work right out of high school. I admitted that it wasn’t simply luck; Lisa deserved it. I couldn’t comment on the organizational skills Lisa displayed as a toddler, but I seconded the idea that landing this job boded well for her entire career.