by Phil Earle
A brown wooden picture frame, Mom, Dad, and me smiling out of it. I remember it being taken, minutes after leaving the theater about five years ago. We’d laughed harder than we ever had, before or since. Mom looked completely happy, not a trace of worry anywhere on her face. I’d always loved it for that reason. Hoped one day I might get an encore.
The presence of the photo stunned me, shouted without doubt that Dora was real, that there’d been no mistake in what I’d learned on the phone. The truth forced the fizzing adrenaline through the soles of my feet as I flopped onto the edge of her bed. After gazing at the photo for another moment, I raised my eyes to meet hers. She was looking at me. It made me jump.
“Hello,” I blurted. “I’m, um…Charlie. Your nephew. Apparently. Remember?” I lifted the frame next to my cheek and tried to re-create the smile in the picture. I was acting like the one with the head injury rather than her, so I put the frame down and smiled apologetically.
She said nothing. Just drilled her gaze deeper and deeper into me. I wondered if she could talk. Had to try and see.
“I didn’t know about you.” I leaned forward, trying to look relaxed when really I was beyond nervous. “Not until this afternoon. They called to say you were sick, which was kind of a shock since I didn’t even know you were alive! Imagine that, huh?”
Her mouth twisted; that was followed by a stream of spit and a strange noise somewhere between a croak and a scream. Was she trying to talk to me or call for help? I had no clue, had to watch as the drool dangled helplessly from her chin.
There was a box of tissues by her chair, so I offered her one. She looked at me like I was crazy. She could move her arms and hands—they were twitching around on her lap—but they didn’t seem interested or able to reach the tissue.
Slowly, I leaned in to wipe her mouth. I don’t know why I was hesitant—it didn’t look like she would bite—but I just wasn’t used to people who were so…I don’t know, sick. And anyway, this wasn’t getting me anywhere. Not in terms of answers.
As my hand reached her, she raised her head slightly, offering me her wet chin.
“Thanks,” I said, wiping the spit away gently. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
She said nothing, just stared.
“They told me you were sick. That you’ve been having seizures. Bad ones.” It seemed crazy talking to her like this, but I didn’t know what else to do. “What happened to put you here? Is it something to do with Mom? Is this why she worries so much?”
Another stream of dribble ran down her chin, but I wiped it away before it fell.
“I just wish I’d known about you, you know. I would’ve come earlier if I had, honest.”
At that moment, I thought I saw something resembling a smile, and my heart leapt. Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to look again, as Sinus pushed through the door and almost landed on top of me.
“Oh no,” he gasped. “Oh no, no, no, no, no…”
I was on my feet already. “What is it? Is someone coming?”
He was out of breath, despite only running a few feet.
“Not anyone,” he gasped. “Not anyone! Your mom!”
Within seconds, Sinus and I became the biggest clichés walking the earth.
Knowing we couldn’t exit by the door without Mom seeing us, we fumbled around the room, yelping and getting in each other’s way, much to my aunt’s delight. Her laughter was the strongest evidence of life within her fragile frame yet.
Dora’s bed wasn’t made for hiding under, too many levers and mechanisms, and if Mom got the sense someone else was in here, then I knew it would be the first place she’d look.
Or possibly the second, after the closet, where Sinus had leapt in sheer panic.
Neither of us was getting points for originality, that was for sure.
It wasn’t exactly spacious under the bed: it took a lot of frantic wriggling to hide myself completely, but somehow I managed it (thank the Lord for my tiny bones), wedged up against a metal pole that adjusted the bed’s height. If they decided to mess with that, I was in danger of being skewered, kebab-style. Still, it’d make it easier for Mom to roast me, wouldn’t it?
The door flew open and my mom’s voice cut in, only just audible above my thumping heart.
“So who did you talk to on the phone?” she asked, the usual panic in her voice.
“I have no idea. I should have realized it wasn’t you when the questions started. I’m so sorry, Shelly. I’d tried your cell phone umpteen times, so I didn’t know what else to do.” I recognized who this was: Pauline, the woman I’d spoken to on the phone.
“Don’t worry,” said Mom. “You must have called the wrong number.”
“But why did they pretend to be you, then? I just don’t understand it. There’s some sick people out there.”
Yeah, I thought. You’re talking to one. A devious, conniving one.
I didn’t like this Pauline and her endless questions either. What was she? A nurse or a private eye? I lay there, thinking how she should be devoting her time to helping Dora instead of piecing everything together so neatly for Mom.
The footsteps stomped closer, stopping at Dora’s chair, a few feet from my head.
I had no idea how they couldn’t smell my panic.
Mom began to speak to her sister, her voice softening instantly, a tone that was new to my ears.
“Hello, Dor,” she cooed. “Sorry I didn’t get here earlier. I didn’t know you were sick again. How are you feeling?”
I slid my head in line with the very edge of the bed frame. Risky, but it got their faces to sneak into view. It was weird to see them, two sisters, almost nose to nose. It was like they were both looking into a fun-house mirror.
It killed me, everything about it: that Dora was sick, that I hadn’t known, that Mom was so sad, but also that she was devious enough to lie to me. All of it. I felt my shoulders tense as tears started to gather, but I told myself to quit it. I didn’t know enough, or trust Mom enough to give me the truth if I gave myself away. Besides, there wasn’t room to cry under there. Not without drowning in a salty puddle of my own making.
I had to hold it together, wait until Mom left, and then work out what to do. Then I could be angry or sad or confused: whatever helped.
“So how severe was the seizure?” Mom asked Pauline, her eyes never leaving Dora.
“I won’t lie to you, Shelly. It was a prolonged episode. The sort we’d hoped the new medication would control. But it looks like we’ll need to reassess. Find the right dosage.”
Mom rubbed her eyes. She looked terribly tired.
“I’m so sorry, Dor,” she whispered. “You don’t deserve this.”
Dora made her own sad sound, like she was agreeing with her.
“It should be me lying there, shouldn’t it? Not you.”
My head was on the verge of exploding now. I didn’t need another bombshell on top of what I was already trying to process. What did she mean? Why should it be her? I was so confused I had to bite my lip to stop myself from asking why.
“So what have you been doing today, hmmm?” Mom asked as she tucked a blanket over Dora’s lap. “Have you watched some TV?”
A stream of noises came from Dora—words, I guessed—and although they made no sense to me, they definitely did to her, and to Mom too, it seemed.
She listened patiently, watching as her sister’s hands twitched in her lap. “Really?” It was like she was answering a toddler. “And how was that?”
Dora’s words got harsher, louder, her arms waved like a windmill.
“Okay, okay, calm down, honey. There’s no point getting yourself in a state. I’m here now, aren’t I, and the doctors will sort out these problems, I promise.”
But I didn’t think Dora was telling Mom about the seizures: Dora was telling her sister about her nephew under the bed and the big-nosed kid in her closet.
Not that Mom understood this time. Instead, she clicked into overbearing mode. This was th
e Mom I knew.
“Now calm down, Dor. There’s no point in getting yourself all worked up. Not after the day you’ve had.”
She had stamina, though, did Dora. Wouldn’t stop grunting and waving for the next fifteen minutes as my legs slowly went from cramping to sleeping to a deep comatose state. I dreaded to think how long Sinus would be able to keep quiet, unless he’d fallen asleep in there. I had to presume he had, dreaming weirdly about the world’s biggest wall.
I thought Mom would never leave. That in the end I’d give myself away by my growing hair snaking from under the bed and up her crossed legs.
Mom sat for eons, sometimes talking, sometimes silent.
They were obviously very comfortable in each other’s company that was for sure. In the end it was Pauline who saved us, a beeping on her pager causing her to turn back to Mom.
“The doctor’s finished his rounds now, Shelly. Do you want to try and talk to him about Dora’s meds?”
Mom nodded enthusiastically and gathered her stuff, pausing to kiss her sister gently on the forehead.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” she whispered. “Try not to get yourself overexcited.” I recognized the force in her voice.
Dora grunted once more as the door closed behind Mom.
No sooner had it shut than the closet door flew open, a sneeze from Sinus almost blowing it clean off its hinges.
“Freakin’ dusty in there,” he moaned, using a coat hanging inside to wipe his nose. “I’ve been holding that in for twenty minutes.”
“Sounded like it,” I groaned as he pulled me from under the bed, my shoulders scraping against the frame as I emerged. “I thought she’d never leave.”
“Me neither. I’m starving. You got anything in that basket on your bike?”
I didn’t answer. Food was the last thing on my mind.
I crouched in front of my aunt and tentatively, gently took her hand. Her bones crackled beneath my fingers. It was like holding a piece of hundred-year-old tissue paper.
“Sorry about that, Aunt Dor,” I whispered, shivering at how strange those words felt. “We didn’t mean to freak you out. I’ll talk to Mom, I promise. Sort all this out. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Just get yourself well.”
The words sounded hollow, stupid. This was clearly as well as she got.
“I’ll come back soon. Next week or something. Okay?”
She groaned and let her head fall back to the headrest, eyes already closing. She was tired. And I suppose I should’ve been too. But there wasn’t time. We had to get on the rhino and back home pronto, as I knew now what I had to do. It wasn’t a great idea. But then again, it was all I had.
I had to talk to Dad.
The wok hit the ground a second after I said Dora’s name.
It spat angrily in my direction, annoyed at the size of the secret I’d dug up. Noodles scattered across the floor. I expected them to spell out the word “panic,” the emotion etched across Dad’s face. His expression told me everything: that he knew all about her, that it was all true. I felt the last disbelieving cells in my body collapse and held on to the door, tight.
He didn’t move at first. His mouth twitched as if it wanted to form words but had no idea what they were.
Then he did something he’d never done before.
In the middle of his dinner rush, he turned off each of the burners in turn, the woks hissing their disappointment, this time at him.
I loved watching Dad cook. It was the one time he came to life, the one time he looked truly—or even vaguely—happy.
He was octopus-like, spinning a dozen things at once: knives, woks, pans, graters. He was never fazed when orders came in thick and fast. He just stepped up to the plate. That was when he was most alive.
But now, with the mention of one name, he fell apart.
The hands that could dice an onion in fifteen seconds fiddled nervously with his apron strings, failing to untie them.
“Charlie,” he mumbled. “Where did you hear that name?”
Maybe he hoped I was asking about another Dora. One who didn’t mean a fourteen-year-old lie.
“On the phone this afternoon. Some woman called. She thought I was Mom. She said Dora was sick, which was strange, because I had no idea who she was talking about! Turns out Dora is Mom’s sister. Imagine that, huh?”
Dad said something in Chinese that I presumed was a swearword. I hoped it wasn’t an explanation—he’d have to do a lot better than that. I suddenly wished I still had Sinus with me, that I hadn’t insisted he jump off the rhino as we passed his house. He was so pumped by the mystery of it all that he hadn’t looked at a single wall all the way home. Instead, he came up with elaborate, implausible, and highly inappropriate reasons for Mom hiding Dora away: her sister had been possessed by aliens or lost her mind in a top-secret pharmaceutical experiment. I chose not to listen. Whatever the reason, it made me feel sick.
Back in the kitchen, Dad walked slowly toward me, trying to put his hand on my shoulder as he passed. Irritably, I shook him off. I didn’t want a hug or calming down; I just wanted answers. Today. Now.
But Dad was in no rush. He sheepishly dispatched the other delivery guy without anything to deliver, flipped the sign on the door to Closed, took the takeout phone off the hook, and pointed me toward the lounge.
“Let’s sit,” he said, suddenly looking as old as Dora had.
I followed him, flopping down on our saggy sofa as he perched nervously beside me.
“I’ve been expecting and dreading this conversation for a long time.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. I could feel the heat from the woks pouring off him. “Tried to work out in my head what I would finally say when you found out.”
“And?”
“I don’t know what to say. I never worked it out. What do you already know?”
I was fuming now, more confused and angry and hurt than I thought it possible to be.
“Oh, you know, just the usual stuff that happens on a Wednesday. That I have a long-lost aunt, that she’s seriously ill, that my parents have lied to me ALL MY LIFE!”
He nodded and looked me right in the eye. “Yep, all of that’s true.”
There was a calmness to his voice that I couldn’t cope with. It was the opposite of everything I was feeling.
“Well, were you ever going to tell me, or was all this planned? Was it easier for me to find out from a complete stranger than for you to tell me the truth? I mean, what was going on in Mom’s head?”
“She’s your mom,” he said for the millionth time in my life. It was one time too many, the straw that broke the camel’s back, even though I had no clue what a camel was doing here anyway. They weren’t on Dad’s menu.
Tears escaped from my eyes, which only made me angrier.
I wanted to be livid, not weak.
“But that’s not good enough!” I yelled. “Do you really think that’s enough? That it explains how she—you—could possibly hide something as important as this from me?”
“Of course it’s not enough.” He looked close to crying himself, which was hugely worrying. A sentence was a huge achievement for Dad, but tears? Really? “I don’t know where to start. How to explain to you.”
I jumped to my feet, heading for the door. “Then I’ll go back to the hospital and ask her myself.”
“The hospital? You’ve seen Dora?”
“Seen her? We chatted, we’re best friends. We’re going bowling next week to get to know each other better. I even hid under her bed while Mom talked to her.”
Dad leapt to his feet and guided me back to the sofa.
“Wait, Charlie. Before you go rushing off and upsetting your mom, just wait….”
“Upsetting Mom!” I hollered. “Upsetting Mom? What about me? What about how I feel? I think I might be a teeny bit peeved myself. Can’t we think about that for a second?”
“Of course we can. I’m just trying to keep the peace here. Trying to work out what to do for the best.”
Dad looked shell-shocked, like I’d pounded him on the head with a wok. He was way out of his depth.
“I don’t know what to say, son,” he said, and I believed him, I really did.
“Just tell me the truth, Dad,” I begged. “That’s all I want to know. The truth. All of it.”
So that’s what he gave me.
“Dora was thirteen when the accident happened,” Dad began. “Two years younger than your mom.”
I thought of my tiny aunt, perched in her chair, of how much older she looked than Mom or Dad. Twenty years at least.
“They were very close. Always had been. Your grandma and granddad were…strange people. Never showed either of their kids much love, so Dora and your mom looked after each other. Know what I mean?”
I didn’t, but it wasn’t important. I just wanted him to go on.
“They did everything together, and as a result didn’t have a lot of friends. They didn’t need them when they had each other.”
My legs were bouncing nervously on the sofa, shaking us both.
“Dad, this is all very nice, but what happened?”
He coughed nervously, clearly not wanting to go on, but he had no choice.
“It was an accident. A stupid accident that could’ve happened to anyone.”
I made a circular motion with my hand: Come on, come on.
“They only had one bike between them. Your grandparents were too cheap to buy them one each, and as a result Mom used to carry Dora everywhere on her handlebars.”
I thought of Sinus crammed into the rhino’s basket and felt kind of sick. Maybe I didn’t want to hear this after all.
“Your mom was riding them both to school one morning, and they were late, as usual—no one had bothered to wake them up. Mom was going really fast, but because Dora was sitting in front of her, she didn’t see a pothole in the road. The bike hit the hole and both girls hit the pavement. Dora first, Mom second, on top of her.”