Even Hannah feels bad about this, but she doesn’t know how to stop it. Maybe this is the only way out for all of them. Still, she takes Syd’s elbow gently and tries to back her off.
All at once Mitsy rises like a snake, coiled, erect, and ready to pounce. “What is it you want from me, Sydney? What? You want me to say the F word? Will that make you feel better? Is that what you want?”
“Say it,” demands Syd.
Hannah says, “I don’t think we really have to force…”
“FUCK!” says Mitsy. “FUCK FUCK FUCK!”
Hannah and Syd stand there agape.
“Are you satisfied?” says Mitsy. Her face is a giant bing cherry. “Are you? Both of you? Are you fucking happy now?”
Syd breaks into a nervous giggle, and Hannah’s not sure how to handle it…which way it will turn from here. “If only they hadn’t told the mother…” She feels kind of slap happy herself. This seems like a one-way road to hell, but then again, isn’t that where they’ve been headed all along?
She grabs Syd by the shoulders and prods her through the room before they break into the same kind of hysteria that drove them from the wig shop. Laughter is the last reaction Mitsy is prepared to deal with—an emotion without purpose. So frivolous. She probably doesn’t even remember what laughter is.
Sydney
Syd curls up in the soft black leather passenger seat of her dad’s Land Rover stroking the inside of Godiva’s silky ears. “I feel a little guilty,” she says.
Her aunt just nods, flicking the left turn signal on their way out of the neighborhood. “Yep,” she says.
“Maybe we should have asked her to come with us?” says Syd. She flips down the visor and checks out the wig in the mirror to make sure it’s on straight. She got dressed so fast she forgot the little cap thingy underneath, so it itches and slides, which is okay since she only needs it for a minute. That is if she can get her aunt to take her to Z’s house in the first place. She’s been pushing pretty hard for everything. Maybe there’s a limit.
“She wouldn’t have come,” says her aunt.
“I don’t know why,” says Syd. “She’s been stuck in that house every day since you got here. First she was all controlling of every bite I ate or didn’t eat and now she hardly knows where I am. She’s become a cave dweller. She needs to get out.” She scratches under the wig. “Not that we invited her.”
“She’s too afraid,” says her aunt.
“Of what?”
“Of everything.” Hannah slows to a stop at the traffic light.
“Of me,” says Syd. “I did this to her.”
Hannah sighs. “No, sweet pea. You certainly did not do this to her. She’s doing it to herself.”
“Well, at least I got her good and mad just now,” says Syd. “That’s something.”
“She said the F word,” her aunt says, chortling. “I’ve never heard her do that before. I’m not sure what it means, though, in the big picture.”
“It was a goal,” says Syd.
“Getting her to say the F word? Was a goal?!”
Syd grins. “To get her to lose control. To acknowledge how fucked-up things really are instead of pretending everything’s all chill when it’s not. When, you know…”
Aunt Hannah stops her. “I know.”
Syd shrugs. The sky outside is dark and scattered with the kind of charcoal clouds that deliver dangerous things, like rocks and sharp metal objects. Nothing would surprise her. Snow and ice seem too ordinary for what’s going on around here. Not threatening enough. She’s guessing no one bothered to listen to the weather report before they packed up the car. She sure didn’t. Anyway, who cares if they have to drive through a blizzard? There are worse things, like staying.
“Well, anyway, we’ll be back before she knows it,” says Syd.
Aunt Hannah turns to her and smiles weakly. “I’m not sure what she knows anymore.”
“You think she’s cracked up?”
Hannah smirks. “I think we all are. But we made our decision, so let’s get on with it, shall we? No more doom and gloom.”
“You know what would really cheer me up?” says Syd.
“What’s that?”
Syd rocks her wiggy head back and forth. Should she ask? She doesn’t want to push too far. Or does she?
“Come on, cookie. Out with it,” says her aunt.
“Um, well…it would just be so awesome if we could stop at Z’s house for a few minutes before we leave?” Syd exaggerates a grin. “Pretty please?”
Hannah frowns, considering it, then bobs her head up and down. Getting it. She gets it!
“I see.” She poofs her lips. “Dane in the picture.”
Syd glances out the side window. “Maybe.” But she can’t keep a straight face, so she goes for it full bore, grinning. “Can we?” she says. “It’s Saturday, so they should be practicing. And anyway, he leaves tonight.”
“Welllll…okay, but just for a few minutes. Can you promise me that?”
“Pinky swear,” says Syd, offering her pinky, linking it with her aunt’s. She squirms in her seat, adjusting her position with Godiva. “Plus they haven’t even seen Godiva yet. Think how deprived that is!”
Hannah makes two lefts to get them back on track for Zelda’s house. Syd just wants to hug her, but considering she’s driving, it’ll have to wait.
“So the plot thickens, eh?” says Hannah. “With drummer boy?”
Syd shrugs. “Uh…yeah?”
“What’s the main topic? Music?”
Syd pets Godiva anxiously. This conversation’s got her nerves all switched up and churning, mainly in her stomach. “He’s different,” says Syd quietly. “He’s chill. Philosophical.”
“Philo-sophical!” says Hannah. “Who knew you wanted a philosophical boyfriend! Wow!”
“Well, you know. He’s had a kind of a rough deal growing up, too. His mother left them, and his brother was really sick once, so he understands.”
Hannah smiles. “So he knows.”
“Yeah,” says Syd. “But he also knows it’s temporary. With me, that is. With my…whatever. My stupid condition. He says it doesn’t matter. That I’m a winner and winners win.”
“I like him already,” says her aunt as they pull up Zelda’s driveway. “Winners win. Yes they do! And you’re definitely a winner.” She parks the car in front of the garage. The doors are closed, and there’s no obvious music coming out. “You sure they’re here?” she says.
“Pretty sure,” says Syd. “I’ll go check though. I didn’t text cuz I wanted to surprise them.” She releases the seatbelt, opens the door, and lugs Godiva with her.
“I’ll wait here,” says Hannah. “Be as quick as you can, cookie. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”
Syd nods and walks to the side door with Godiva who’s getting heavier by the minute. Won’t be able to carry her much longer. Or maybe Syd’s joints are having hissy fits from all the stupid corticosteroids they’ve been giving her, which is more likely. It happens. She puts Godiva down gently and grabs her leash.
Inside, she looks around. Nothing obvious. So maybe they’re not here? Mrs. Rodriguez’ car is gone, so maybe they all went out, hard to tell. She should’ve texted. She walks past the flimsy platform stage that holds the microphone and speakers and says, “Anybody here?” Her nerves are break dancing in her throat.
Seconds later she hears a kind of hushed, “What’s that?” from somewhere in the back. But maybe she’s making it up. She walks around the platform behind the drum set and random old stuffed chairs to the storage room in back. Everything’s all piled up; there are stacks of crap everywhere. It’s like the old Highlights magazine puzzles—trying to find the image of a shoe in the face of a giraffe. Something’s going on, but what? What is it? She focuses on movement in the right corner under the window below the tool table.
What? “Oh my God!” leaks out of her mouth, and Godiva barks, yip yip yip.
“Oh my God,” she says agai
n and darts out of the room, aching joints and all, then tripping on the corner of the drum set and catching herself against the back of a chair before falling on her ass.
Godiva’s leash wraps around a speaker and Syd pushes herself forward, rushing like hell to unravel it. “Get me out of here,” she whispers desperately under her breath. Hot tears cloud her vision and it takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r. Everything is slow-mo. Did she really see that? Zelda and Dane in the corner, all over each other?! What the hell!
Moments later she hears, “Syd?” which is Dane’s gravelly voice calling out from the back room. “Syd, wait!”
Syd unhooks the leash and grabs Godiva under her arm, only to trip again on the edge of the platform, falling forward and losing her wig in a box of gardening tools. She can’t think. She has to get out of here.
“Syd, wait!” he says.
She pushes to her knees then up, collects Godiva and high-tails out of the garage to the car and opens the door.
Her aunt says, “Hey, Syd, where’s your…”
Somehow Syd manages to throw Godiva and herself inside before Dane and the worst best friend ever show up at the garage door. “Get me out of here,” says Syd, all crouched under the dash. “Reverse. Fast! Please! As fast as you can.”
Her aunt doesn’t ask questions, which is good because Syd can’t talk. Tears course down her cheeks onto Godiva’s head. Out the driveway, she struggles back up to the seat with Godiva, leans forward and pulls the red wool cap out of her backpack onto her freezing cold head. The seat belt alarm goes bing bing bing, and she manages to strap it across her chest, jamming it into the slot like she’s murdering it.
This is just too much. But she doesn’t want to freak out Hannah in case her aunt decides it’s officially too much and drops her back at the house. She wants to go to Virginia. So she boxes the shit in her heart and locks it up with the other huge pile of unnamable crap that’s crammed into her tight little footlocker of a life.
Ten minutes later they’re on the highway and Hannah says, “Wanna talk?”
Syd swipes her cheek, her dripping nose, and shakes her head no.
Her aunt nods. “Okay then.”
Syd could just hug her again. Hannah’s the only one who gets her. The only one.
Syd’s phone starts beeping, buzzing and ringing like a carnival, so she shuts it completely down, nearly throws it out the window, but instead tosses it into the back seat. She won’t give them the satisfaction. Fucking traitors.
Syd falls deeply asleep, drifting to far-away places like she’s under anesthesia again. Anyway it feels like that; like empty space. She stands on the edge of the cliff in the dark, waves of salty sea banging repeatedly against the lower jetty. Moonlight skims the waves as they crash. It’s cold. She’s wearing a black cloak with a hood, her arms spread akimbo like bat wings. She has the feeling that she could fly right over the ocean if she wanted to. She waits, watching, admiring the wildness of it all.
And then she leaps.
No sooner does she take off into the midnight air but she hears Godiva barking underneath her in the car, all scrunched up under Syd’s boots. She must have been sleeping a lot longer than she thought because they’re driving across a really long bridge, and Syd has no clue where they are. “Where are we?” she says in her sleep fog.
“Almost New Jersey,” says Hannah, whose phone buzzes in her groovy new purse. “Pull that out for me, sugar?” she says. “With the earbuds?”
Syd checks the read-out. “Uh oh,” she says. “It’s Dad.”
“Uh oh, nothing,” says Hannah. She reaches for the earbuds and plugs them in one at a time while Syd presses ‘accept’. “Hello, Aaron,” Hannah says pleasantly, like he’s calling to see what’s for dinner. Maybe he is.
“Uh huh,” she says as she moves into the right lane. “That’s right.”
Syd shifts restlessly. She leans down and pulls Godiva back up on her lap.
“Well, no,” says Hannah. “That isn’t at all what happened. Jolie’s foaling, and I have to be in Virginia; it’s that simple. Syd’s got full endorsement from the docs to come with me, and frankly, Mitsy is in no shape to be looking after her anyway.”
Hannah’s face screws up, and Syd is so tempted to press speaker she almost forgets how depressed she is about Dane and her so-called friend. But then again, her aunt’s got the earbuds in, so the speaker wouldn’t work anyway.
“I understand that, Aaron, I do,” says Hannah. “Don’t think I don’t.” She rolls her eyes.
A minute later, she says, “I’ve got a better idea, Aaron. Why don’t you go home and take care of your wife? Eh? What a concept! You taking care of your wife!”
Her eyes bug out, and Syd feels a little bad because her dad doesn’t usually piss Hannah off like this. Usually they’re on the same team. So now everything’s up in the air.
“I’m not turning this car around,” Hannah tells him. “Not doing it. Uh uh.”
She’s steaming mad. Now that they’re on the other side of the bridge, Syd wishes they’d pull over. It all seems kind of perilous.
“So arrest me,” Hannah says real low. “We’ve already crossed the Hudson River. By the time I turn around and drive all the way back, you could practically be there yourself.” And then more softly, she says, “She needs you, Aaron. Face your problems, for God’s sake. Go home.” She hands the phone to Syd. “You talk to him,” she says.
But Syd just ends the call.
“What?!” says Hannah, wide-eyed. “Why’d you do that? Don’t you want to talk…”
“Let them arrest us,” says Syd, smirking.
Hannah nods. “Thelma and Louise,” she says.
“Ha!” says Syd, adding, “If only they hadn’t run away…”
At this, Hannah’s jaw practically drops to her feet. “What? What did you just say?”
Syd shrugs. “Just…you know. I don’t know. Like we’re in some kind of movie and someone says…”
“No, I know,” says Hannah, shaking her head in disbelief. “You took those words right out of my head. Out of my throat! Oh my God! Well, not even my head, really, but the head of my main character, Annoya. That’s what she says…if only. That’s the name of my book!”
Syd grins. “I’m a thief!”
“A psychic thief!” says Hannah, overly impressed.
“And we’re bandit fugitives,” says Syd.
“If only they hadn’t robbed that gas station,” says Hannah.
“Ha ha, yeah,” says Syd, pointing to the gauge. “But we might have to.”
“Whoa,” says Hannah, “I’ll say. And I’ll bet that poop machine could use a walk.”
While her aunt gets gas, Syd trots Godiva around the perimeter of the station. It still hasn’t actually snowed yet, but the sky is threatening. From the corner of the property she can see the wild river churning underneath the bridge. Big chunks of ice float on the dark surface, and a giant red boat jams through it, back and forth, trying to break it all up, maybe. Who knows? She’s glad she’s not on it.
Hannah closes the gas tank door and yells, “I’ll get that, cookie! Leave it for me!”
She’s talking about the poop, which is crazy, since Syd knows even a molecule of dog poop is enough to make Hannah gag. She has no idea how her aunt took care of horses for so long. But she must’ve had help. Just batted her eyelashes probably. She’s the prettiest woman Syd has ever seen. “If only…I looked like Hannah!”
“I mean it,” Hannah says. She hops in the car, drives over, parks it, and jumps out with a yellow newspaper bag. “Get in the car.”
Syd hops on board, watching her aunt lean down with the yellow bag, her elegant cashmere back to the car. She’s too dressed up to be picking up poop, anyway, which makes it funnier. After she stands, Aunt Hannah makes a big show of tossing the bag into the dumpster. Syd’s chuckling since the poop is still right there in front of them, but that’s the least of anybody’s problems. Hannah must think she’s blind.
When he
r aunt gets back in, she says, “The doctors don’t want you handling poop. Too many germs. You leave the dirty work to me.”
“Ha ha, sure,” says Syd.
Hannah frowns, but doesn’t pursue it. Instead she says, “Let’s do lunch on the river, shall we?”
They find a funky river joint that serves burgers, BLT’s, and soup. Everything’s so different here in New York or New Jersey or wherever they are—New Yorksey—looking out at the water from the restaurant on the cliffs. Syd’s just glad to be out of town. She makes an attempt to eat, even though she’s not that hungry.
“This is good,” she says about the chicken soup. “Nice and hot.”
“I’m glad to see you eating,” Hannah says. She bites into a cheeseburger. “Mmmm,” she moans, catching drips of ketchup with her napkin. After she swallows, she says, “You haven’t seen Uncle Jonah in a while, have you, cookie?”
Syd never thinks of Jonah as her uncle since she’s really only met him twice. Aunt Hannah always visits by herself. Syd says, “Nope. I barely remember what he looks like.”
Hannah’s eyes grow real big and she says, “Well, get ready to feast your eyes on one hunk of a man.” She widens her eyes for emphasis.
Syd says, “I never think of you as part of a couple. You don’t need a man. You’re enough on your own.”
“Is that a compliment?” Hannah says, raising her chin.
“Hell, yeah,” says Syd. “And I’m gonna be just like you.”
“Oh?” says her aunt, lifting a french fry. Then she says, “Ready to talk?”
“Not really.”
“But can you at least tell me what happened to our expensive little hair piece?” She pops another fry in her mouth. “Your dad might ask about it at some point since it was practically a capital investment.”
“I lost it,” says Syd. “But I know where it is. Sort of.”
Hannah puckers her mouth. “That’s all I’m gonna get out of you today?”
The Anesthesia Game Page 11