by APRIL ASHEIM
John nodded, gathered up the empty cans, and made his way home, wondering if his TV would be able to pick up The Wheel of Fortune or if it would be scrambled again.
Three
1997
“Come on, come on.” Spring tapped the little white stick against her knees, willing it to change color.
"I don’t think that’s gonna help,” Jason said. He was standing with his back pressed against the door of their stall, looking down at her. She should have stood too. It seemed like a standing occasion. But after she had peed on the stick her knees refused to make the trip upward. They had just ceased to work. “If you keep messing with that stick you might skew the results."
Spring shot him a look. “Since when do you use words like skew?"
Jason released his brown hair from the rubber band at the nape of his neck, only to gather it back up into a small pony tail and secure it again. He had done this at least a dozen times while they had waited for the results. “It’s one syllable. Don’t be shocked."
Spring looked at the stick again. The little pink cross in the window had darkened, almost to a crimson red. She was not only pregnant. She was really, really pregnant. She thrust the stick at Jason and fell forward, cradling her knees. “Oh God!” Jason went to pat her head but she pulled away. “Please just stop."
He said nothing as he squatted down beside her. She could feel him listening to her, waiting for the sobs to subside. He had no problem fighting her, but he was at a loss when she cried. She took a deep breath to calm herself, a trick Lanie had taught her when she younger. She had suffered anxiety from crowds then, a job hazard for any carnie. “Breathe in, breath out,” Lanie had instructed her. “Find your center. C’mon girl. Stop breathing like you just run a fucking marathon. Slowly. In. out. Release."
Once she had calmed he reached for her hair, letting the baby fine strands of yellow-white ribbon slide through his fingers. She didn’t let many people touch her hair, but she let him. “I suppose,” she said, looking up at him with red, tear-stained eyes. “...That purchasing a condom from a rusted machine in the lobby of Ed’s Guns and Exotic Animal Shoppe was probably not our wisest move.” She sobbed and laughed at the same time and felt a long line of snot fall from her nose. Jason grabbed a wad of toilet paper and caught it.
“You don’t have to do this alone. I’m here."
Spring felt the wail in her throat and fought it. She was angry right now, and she was afraid she would say something she regretted. “I just got accepted into Arizona State,” she said, drying her eyes on the back of her hand. “After three years of struggling to get through Community College so that I could leave this…life behind, things were starting to change for me. Now what?"
“You can still go. This isn’t the 50’s. Girls go to school pregnant all the time. Even on TV."
"I don’t want to go pregnant!” She started crying again and she tucked her face into her skirt, smearing mascara across the hem. He didn’t get it. “I wanted to go…hot."
Jason laughed. “Hot’s what got you into this mess, my dear. You’re too hot for your own good."
Spring snorted and took the tissue Jason offered her. He knew her too well. They had been friends for years, but a few drinks and a slow night slinging cotton candy last fall had changed it all. Now they were bound together, one way or another. As Lanie would say, their fate strings had gotten all jumbled up.
"I got a crazy idea," he said, pulling her up by the arms. He was a good six inches taller than her and smelled like French fries and Old Spice. “Why don’t we get married? We’ve been practically living together in my van for the last 6 months. Why not make it official?” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Just think…you, me, the little Bambino, touring the countryside together. If he’s musically inclined, we could start a family band. Be like the Partridges. Only not so gay."
I could, she thought, nuzzling into him. He was safe and warm and familiar. She remembered the day her mother had picked him up on the side of the road nine years earlier.
“Hitchhiking to Santa Cruz,” he had said, off to pursue his music career. He never made it to Santa Cruz. Once he learned how much money could be made hustling kids out of their allowances to see The Half-Monkey Lady, he had settled in. That was the way it was here. The Carnival was one big roach motel. You check in, you eat a bunch of crap, and you stay until you die. Very few people escaped. They had intentions of leaving, but one by one The Carnival took them all. Heart disease. Obesity. Drugs. Equipment failure. Most of them dead by fifty. There was no fading gracefully into old age here. You just stopped.
If it didn’t take them entirely, it took some of their best parts. Just two months ago, a young man had given up a limb to a roller coaster. He had climbed the steel mountain to fix a dangling bolt when the car ran over his arm. They say he may have saved some people with his bravery. But the papers never heard of it. Bad for business. Now he’s quietly employed as the ticket taker at the back of the lot.
"What do you say?" Jason pulled her in tighter. “I bet I’m damned good at changing diapers."
She took a deep breath. Though she cared about Jason, he had nothing more to offer her than his body, his guitar, and the eternal belief that someday he would roadie for Phish. “It wouldn’t work," she whispered. “We’re too different. And besides…"
Jason released her from his arms and narrowed his eyes, ready to battle. "And besides what? Oh, never mind, I know. I’m not good enough for you." He pushed through the stall door and into the empty bathroom. "Afraid you will end up like your mother?"
Spring lowered her eyes. Yes, she was afraid of that, and why not? It was a legitimate fear. But there was more to it. She followed him into the bathroom. “We just aren’t right for each other Jason."
"Oh, I see.” Jason fell forward over the standalone sink, slamming his hands into the mirror. “We were right for each other a few weeks ago weren’t we? And even a few nights ago. But not for the long haul. No, Spring reserves that spot for someone more worthy. Am I right?"
"Stop it. That’s not fair."
"Isn’t it? Don’t think I don’t know about that little fairy tale you believe in. You get one love in this lifetime and that’s it right? Don’t waste it on the Ferris wheel guy."
Spring felt her knees give and her stomach roil. She moved back into the stall and fought the nausea. It seemed too early for morning sickness. “Jason, please. There are many reasons we aren’t right for each other. You’re my best friend but…"
"No, I get it. What could I possibly offer you?" He turned the water on and shut it off again. "I hope for your sake that fairy tales come true. Or you’re in for a long, lonely life." Spring heard him pull a paper towel from the chute, wipe his hands, and toss it into the waste bin. “When you decide what you want to do let me know. I will be there for the baby if you decide to keep it. And I hope you do keep it."
Spring listened as Jason stomped across the bathroom and out the door.
2005
Please pick up the boys from school. Sorry. Flat tire. Oh yeah, they have a counseling appointment today. If you take them I’ll owe you one.
Jason’s voicemail irritated Spring. Jason knew that Sam was coming home today, which was probably why he had conveniently gotten a flat. She couldn’t call Jason back to tell him he should make other plans, either. Jason didn’t own a phone.
"Oh yeah, I’m living the dream," she said, clenching her teeth and glancing at the bumper sticker on the car in front of her that read Casey Condom for President: To Protect and Serve. The condom was waving and smiling. Spring pulled into the empty parking lot of Cooper Elementary School and cursed Jason for the hundredth time since she had gotten his phone call.
"Mrs. Felding won’t be happy,” she thought as she raced down the corridor to the twins' classroom. When she reached her destination, Mrs. Felding was holding the boys tightly in the crook of her arms while both children struggled to break free.
"It’s abou
t time you got here,” Mrs. Felding said, releasing the boys, who immediately began racing each other around the desks. “You’re almost as unreliable as the father."
Spring cringed. She was a taxpayer. Sort of. Mrs. Felding could be nicer to her. “I’m so sorry, I had to work late. Long story I’m sure you don’t care to know about.” Spring scooped the boys up in her arms as they made a pass and headed towards the door. “We’re going now. Sorry.”
"Ms. Ryan, Jason says you are taking them to the counselor for their attention deficit problem today."
Spring stopped. Mrs. Felding had been harping on her for months now, about the boys' problems in school. High energy. Inability to sit still. Wanting to do things their own way. Though Spring had never attended formal classes herself growing up, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. "I’m no expert but I still don’t think we need to involve a counselor in this. Can’t we just work this out between ourselves?"
Mrs. Felding crossed her arms and gave Spring a hard stare. “I’ve been an educator for twenty-seven years, Ms. Ryan, and I have to say these two have the worst case of hyperactivity I have ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot! I’m going to tell you just what I told their father. If you don’t get them some sort of help I will be forced to contact child protective services again and let them know of your parental negligence. Is that clear?"
Spring’s throat tightened and she nodded. Mrs. Felding fetched a large spiral notebook from her desk. “I’ve written up my observations to help expedite the process,” she said, shoving the notebook at Spring.
"The whole thing?” Spring shuffled through pages of frantically scrawled notes complete with stick figure drawings.
"If you thumb through it fast enough it becomes a flip book.” Mrs. Fielding explained. “That’s in case the counselor doesn’t have enough time to read it in its entirety."
"Thanks,” Spring smiled half-heartedly and slunk out the door.
Spring watched the twins through the rearview mirror. They were identical in every way except for the perpetual cowlick on Blaine’s head and the two missing front teeth in Shane’s mouth, courtesy of a basketball hucked by his brother. They were thin for their age, almost frail-looking. But looks were deceiving. They were scrappy little guys who had no trouble standing up to anyone if they felt their pride, or their toys, were threatened. It had taken the both of them, but they had even wrestled down Jake Turner, the fifth grade bully, when he tried to load up his pockets with their hot wheels. They had either gotten that from their father or their grandmother.
Spring cringed as Blaine picked at the holes in the knees of his jeans. Jason never paid attention to what he dressed them in. No wonder Mrs. Felding thought they were negligent.
Spring clawed at the side of her face, trying to stave back the itch that was creeping across her head. This was a new development in her body’s repertoire of stress management. At least the eye twitch had gone. Mrs. Felding had threatened to call child protective services on her and Jason again. She had done so at the beginning of the year when she thought the boys looked abnormally skinny and were being starved at home. She had done so again around Christmas-time when Blaine had admitted to the class that his daddy’s home was sometimes a tent. And again after spring break when Shane had come to school with a black eye, courtesy of a mock sword fight with his brother, but ‘highly suspicious’ according to their teacher.
Though child protective services did not find any evidence of abuse, it was always on Spring’s mind that someday they could snatch her children away. She had seen this happen with some of the parents in the carnival circuit––kids taken away in unmarked station wagons for being dirty or missing school as their frantic parents chased behind, promising to get them back. The memories of childhood friends being snatched up by badge-wearing adults still made her get up at night and check to see if her own boys were still in their beds.
"Shane’s making faces at me,” Blaine tattled from the backseat. The hair on the back of his head stood up extra high today, as if wanting to call attention to itself.
"Am not, you stupid-head,” Shane defended, sticking his Kool-Aid coated tongue out at his brother. Their father was always touting the healing effects of Kool-Aid and often sent the boys to school with a packet for snack-time. He argued that this would give them each a full day’s supply of vitamin C, according to the package.
Spring stared in quiet fascination as a French-fry was launched across the backseat, hitting its mark. “Ouch!” Blaine said. “You hit me with the pokey end!"
She parked the car and sat for a moment, collecting her thoughts. “This is how people go insane,” she mumbled as something larger and fuzzier flew within her peripheral. When she had counted to ten she turned to give them a stern look. “Boys, please be good for Mommy when we see the counselor. Pretty please?"
The twins paused, a ketchup packet poised for assault. “Counselor?”
That caught their attention. They had seen many school therapists during their two years in Elementary School and knew the drill. “I love counseling,” said Blaine, the schemer of the two. "They give you candy and toys and you get out of class."
"We aren’t in class, dummy,” Shane, who loved to be right, corrected his brother, leaning over to stab Blaine with the foot of a G.I. Joe.
"Mommy. Shane’s being disruptive!"
"Boys please?” Spring pled, her voice heavy with desperation. She hated bargaining with the twins, but wasn’t sure what else she could do. The only punishment that seemed to work on them was Time Out, but they were already buckled in. "If you are good we can go to McDonald's after, okay? But if you are bad then there is no McDonald's. None."
Blaine unfastened his safety belt and leaned over to whisper something in his brother’s ear. Shane nodded. “Okay,” Blaine said, extending a hand for his mother to shake. “Deal."
The counselor was a prune of a woman who introduced herself as Ms. Droll. Her hair was graying and secured in a neat bun near the nape of her long neck and her skin was the color of skim milk diluted by water. She had the look of something that had been left in the freezer too long. In stark contrast to her own appearance, her office was warm and colorful. The walls were painted a soothing lavender and the windows were large and smudge-free. Smiling pictures of children hung on the wall and classical music played tastefully in the background. Spring sat on the beige couch across from Ms. Droll and nervously tapped her hands in her lap.
"There are some plastic dinosaurs on the floor that you are welcome to play with,” Ms. Droll informed the boys, motioning to a small plastic bucket in the corner of the room.
"Yay!" The twins cheered, racing towards the dinosaurs. Spring resisted the urge to remind them that they were toys, not weapons. There was no need to cause Ms. Droll to think of them as violent before she saw the proof.
"Now, what brings you here?" The counselor asked, turning her attention to Spring.
"A car,” Spring laughed uncomfortably. When Ms. Droll did not respond she shifted her weight and considered her words carefully. She and Jason were not the most conventional parents and Spring had learned that some people had trouble with that. "Their teacher wants us to do something about their attention deficit problems."
"I see," Ms. Droll snorted, her long nose twitching. "And what sort of symptoms do they have which would lead you believe they have ADHD?" She glanced at the twins who were calmly debating which dinosaur was the nicest, Triceratops or Brachiosaurus.
"They never sit still. They lose everything. They are impulsive. And they can’t focus on anything for very long." Spring felt her face redden. Blaine was giving his brother a hug and Spring regretted telling them to behave earlier. Ms. Droll probably thought she was either neurotic or a liar. Perhaps both.
"And have they been diagnosed?" A smug smile played across her thin lips. "Or is this mother’s intuition?"
Spring suddenly realized why some people stab other people with G.I. Joes. It was frustrating to feel that her worth as a p
arent could be determined in ten minutes. "Their teacher first commented on it, then it was diagnosed three weeks ago by their pediatrician."
"A medical doctor," Ms. Droll snorted. "It figures. They are getting into the mental health field lately. It’s a very lucrative field." Spring nodded and Miss Droll continued. "Have you tried anything at home to help them?"
Spring had attempted everything from every parenting book ever written. "I’ve tried behavior modification and positive reinforcement. Sticker charts. Time outs." And bribing. "It just doesn’t seem to be enough."
"Ms. Ryan, I’ve been working with children a very long time and I have to admit, they don’t seem hyperactive to me. Not that I don’t trust your pediatrician." Ms. Droll wrinkled her nose. "...But I’d like to do a little digging myself before making an official diagnosis. If you could step out of the room for a moment, I will have a brief chat with the boys myself. Sometimes children open up more without Mommy around."
Ms. Droll opened the door and ushered Spring out into an overly-air conditioned hallway where Barry Manilow’s Mandy played on a continual loop. Spring pressed her ear to the door to try and hear something over the music. It was no use. After a few minutes Ms. Droll emerged and the look on her face told Spring that it had not been an entirely uplifting conversation.
"Were they bad?" Spring asked anxiously, peering inside. The dinosaurs had been cleaned up and the boys were grinning mischievously in her direction.
"Children are not bad or good, Ms. Ryan. They are either behaving or misbehaving. As for your boys, they were very well-behaved." Ms. Droll gave them a fond smile and turned her attention back to Spring. "You may return to your children. I will be right back," said Ms. Droll as she vanished down the corridor.
Maybe I should switch schools and doctors, Spring thought, glancing at the exit sign. She wondered if she would appear on America’s Most Wanted for being a fugitive from therapy. "Okay, boys. New plan," Spring said. "Mama needs you to act normal now. Okay? I know I said no McDonald's if you were bad, but you can be bad. You won’t get in trouble. I promise."