by S. E. Burr
Goblin
Fruit
S.E. Burr
DEDICATION
To the wall you scolded for running into me,
To the wheelchair-bound turkey who gave us its drumsticks,
To the duck-billed dinosaur bones in your backyard,
and to you, Frank.
Also to my mom, who knows I couldn't have done it without her.
1
My breakfast—watermelon chunks, apple slices, green grapes, blueberries, and a dollop of bright orange yogurt—sat forgotten beside my sketchbook, as I watched my mother eat. Looking down at my sketch, I drew in her hair, the long, flowing tresses of my imagination, not the short, drab, buzz cut she wore now. Her hair was cut that way because it was easy to maintain and keep clean, but it wasn’t attractive. It didn’t look very good on the male patients; on women it was awful. I drew her the way Dad said she had looked that night, sixteen years ago, her face peaceful in sleep, her shining, golden hair forming a halo around her on the pillow.
My mom and dad, Sara and Frank, met when they were twelve years old when they lived together in a group home. Overcrowded, under-managed, drab, and lonely, to Dad it was a “home” in nothing but name. His parents had been killed in a car accident, and his only other relative was a grandmother who had dementia and was living in a home herself. Mom’s parents were probably alive but didn’t want to be bothered with raising her. She’d never known her father, and her mother had gone on a South American vacation, met a man there, and never come back.
Mom was Dad’s only friend in the group home. He said her golden hair and bright, hazel eyes were his only lights in that dark place. She was friends with all the kids there, always smiling, always ready for the next adventure, and always getting in trouble with the adults who ran the place. After Dad was adopted—rescued—he thought about Mom all the time. He wondered what had happened to her, but he never knew, never saw her again, for over fifteen years.
I drew what Mom looked like the moment Dad and she were reunited, when he looked through an open hospital room door and saw her there sleeping. In that first startled moment of recognition, when he gasped and said her name, he didn’t notice that there was someone else in the room, a child in a plastic bassinet. I was three hours old.
2
Audrey walked along the sidewalk feeling exposed. It was too open—flat sidewalks, flat streets. Even the buildings were flat—single story stucco houses, made to look like adobe, flat roofs and all. The landscaping consisted mostly of gravel and cacti; the only trees were spindly, twisted, and small, like stooping old men. A chilly wind sent strands of hair blowing into her face, but the sun was shining too bright, adding to her feeling of exposure.
Pushing the hair from her eyes, she wondered when she’d last had a haircut. It had been a while. Her roots were showing; her hair was brown at the top and dull orange at the bottom. When she'd dyed it, it had been a surprising, vibrant orange, but it had since faded. She'd gained weight, too. She’d always considered herself a bit chubby. Now the word “fat” would probably be a more apt description.
As the sidewalk led her past a schoolyard, she stopped and looked in at the playing children. The school was faux adobe like everything else in Organo, and so seemed alien to her, but the playground equipment was familiar—swings, monkey bars, a slide—the same things she’d played on in elementary school. She closed her eyes and listened to the children's shouts and laughter, and then something else. With a start, her eyes popped back open.
Supposing themselves unobserved, a group of children was chanting, "Red rover, red rover..." but before they could call someone over, a teacher came running toward them. "Stop it!" she said. "Don't you know how dangerous that is?”
Audrey turned and walked away. On the corner, just beyond the school and looking utterly out of place in this stucco and cement neighborhood, stood a large, two-story brick house in a gated yard. The house had a new looking, metal roof and an old looking front porch with a white porch swing. The yard was occupied by two massive trees, and beneath them were actual patches of grass. Signs on the gate and the house identified it as "Harman Catatonia Center."
Carefully pushing open the gate—it didn't squeak—she walked up a narrow stone walk, climbed the porch steps and stood before the door, wondering if she should knock or just go in. Before she’d decided, it swung open, and a tall, Hispanic woman in scrubs came out, nearly bumping into her.
The woman looked her up and down, seeming entirely unsurprised about their near accident.
"Sorry," Audrey muttered, nervously.
The woman nodded. "Audrey," she said, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug. After a moment, she pulled back, but she kept her fisted hands on Audrey's shoulders, looking into her face. "I haven't seen you since you were eight years old."
"Hi, Maria."
The woman's smile grew, but then faded, and she sighed. "I have to go. I'm sorry. I wish I..."
"It's okay," said Audrey.
“I’m sorry,” Maria said again, and Audrey wasn’t sure if she was talking about having to go or something more.
Maria went on. "Anna will be right with you. She'll take you to your brother." With a final sigh and a look back, Maria hurried away.
Audrey turned back to the door, but before she could step through the open doorway, another woman in scrubs appeared, this one a redhead in her early forties. She'd grabbed hold of the door, about to shut it, when she noticed Audrey standing there.
"Oh!" she said. Startled, she covered her mouth with her hand. A large diamond engagement ring and gold wedding band gleamed conspicuously on her finger.
She smiled awkwardly. "Hi. You must be Audrey, Andrew's sister. I'm Anna." She laughed. “Aren’t’ we a bunch of A’s? Come on," Anna said, turning and leading her into the house. "I'll take you to see your brother."
The front door opened into a large living room, its walls a pale yellow except for the molding around the doors which was white and intricately carved. The floor was hardwood, with a few floral throw rugs. To the right, there was a staircase leading up to the second floor. Couches and chairs were arranged in the center of the room around a small television.
In the midst of this, Audrey was startled to see a man in very simple patient-like garb, hands covered by surgeon’s gloves, lurching like Frankenstein's monster as he walked in place.
"That's Kevin," said Anna, "our early riser, getting his morning exercise in."
"He can move?" Audrey said, staring at him.
Anna nodded serenely. "They all move if you guide them. All our patients get some daily exercise."
"But he's doing it on his own."
“Mmm-hmm,” said Anna. "I had to get him started, get him moving in a rhythm. Then he'll keep at it for a while."
Audrey watched, eyes wide, as Kevin continued to lurch in place. "They all can do that?"
Anna nodded. "More or less. Kevin used to be an athlete, and he likes to move. He's the most active."
Watching Kevin a moment more, Audrey turned and faced her. Swallowing, she said, "How does Andrew do?"
"Alright," Anna answered. She smiled sadly. "He can be hard to get going in the mornings. He likes to sleep in."
Audrey laughed, bringing a little unexpected cheer to the somber atmosphere. "He always did."
"This way," Anna said with a chuckle. She led her across the room, toward a hallway, but before they reached it, she stopped at an open doorway and peered in.
A pretty teenage girl, about Audrey’s age, with long, curly, dark hair sat at a dining room table. Beside her was a woman dressed as a patient, her hands, like Kevin’s, in surgical gloves. The girl wore a black T-shirt from a rock concert and pink pajama pants with strawberries on them. She had a sketchpad before her on
the table and seemed to be drawing the patient, who was eating oatmeal in a mindless, repetitive way, the spoon held in a closed fist.
"Clarity," Anna called through the doorway. "Go get dressed, and wake your father up.”
Looking up, the girl smiled toward Audrey and then rolled her eyes. "OK. I'm going," she said.
The patient finished her oatmeal, and, not noticing, continued shoveling the empty plastic spoon into her mouth.
"It's all gone, Mom," the girl said, grabbing the woman's gloved hand and taking the spoon from her.
Anna walked on, but Audrey hesitated in the doorway, staring at the girl and her catatonic mother. As she watched, the girl gathered up her mother’s empty bowl, and dropped it and the spoon into a trash can marked “biohazard.” The girl turned back, and her eyes met Audrey’s. Audrey flushed and looked away, then quickly followed after Anna, who led her down a hall and into Andrew's room.
The room was simple and bright with a large window, hospital bed, armchair, and nightstand. On top of the nightstand was a picture of the family—Andrew, Audrey, their parents. It was an old picture. Their dad had died several years before. They were all smiling, standing in front of the dolphin tank at the aquarium. On the wall was taped a poster of Andrew's band, Benjamy. Andrew had been the front man and lead guitarist. Audrey had played bass.
"Dr. Harman thinks it's important for the patients to have familiar things to look at," said Anna, "things to remind them of their lives."
Audrey nodded mutely, taking it all in, looking everywhere but at the patient in the bed. The room was nice enough, better than what she’d expected. It was homey, not like a hospital. It smelled clean and lemony, without the harsh tang of antiseptic chemicals. It was strange to think of Andrew in a place so neat and tidy, though. He was a messy person. She supposed he wasn’t capable of messiness anymore.
Finally, stealing herself, she looked down at her brother. Andrew’s eyes were open, his expression vacant, and his mouth hung open, a stream of drool running down his chin.
"Good," said Anna, looking down at him. "You're awake. Your sister's here to see you. Oh no, you've lost a glove."
Audrey's gaze flicked to Andrew's hands, laid out on top of a handmade quilt, one of their mother's creations. One hand wore a surgical glove; the other was naked and pale. It was a small thing, but oddly, Audrey found it a little encouraging. Her brother could still be messy.
Anna turned to a glove dispenser on the wall. “Oops,” she said. “Empty. I'll get some more. I'll be right back.”
Turning to leave, she hesitated, and then turned back to Audrey. "Don't touch his hand."
Audrey scoffed.
"I know," said Anna. "I'm sorry, but I'd feel terrible if I didn't say anything and something happened."
Audrey shook her head. "I know better than to let something happen.”
The nurse sighed. "Everyone knows better, but no one is perfect. We can all make a mistake."
Audrey nodded.
Anna launched into a lecture. “None of us knows how susceptible we are to goblin fruit. Some people use it continually and never become catatonic. Others fall into catatonia the first time they try it. You share the genes of a cataleptic, so you may be more vulnerable than most people. You can’t ever forget.”
As Anna continued speaking, Audrey began to picture the things she was saying. She imagined Anna leaving the room to get the glove and imagined herself moving up close to her brother, staring down at his uncovered hand.
“Traces of goblin fruit leach out through the pores of your brother’s hands,” said Anna.
Audrey saw large drops of bright orange moisture appear on Andrew’s palm.
“You touch him and become contaminated.”
She saw herself touch her brother’s hand and then stare at the orange liquid running down her own fingers until it was absorbed into her skin.
“You crave the drug,” said Anna.
Now she was pacing back and forth in her apartment, beating her fists in agitation.
“You try it,” Anna said.
She approached a dealer on the street and bought the goblin fruit, a large clear capsule filled with the orange liquid. She shoved it in her mouth and the juice ran down her chin.
“Right away you’re addicted,” said Anna. “You keep using it.”
Audrey saw herself consuming the drug again and again.
“Until suddenly a day, or a week, or a month later, it happens.”
Audrey shoved a capsule into her mouth one last time, and then began to convulse, falling down and lying in the street.
“Your body stays but your mind is gone.”
She stopped twitching, and lay still, her eyes wide, but unmoving, her mouth hanging open.
Blinking, Audrey looked at the nurse. “That’s not going to happen to me,” she said.
“I hope not,” said Anna. “I’ll be right back.” She left to get the glove and Audrey stared at Andrew’s empty face, trying not to look at his bare hand. It was all too much for her. Seeing her brother had, amazingly, been even harder than she expected.
When Anna came back with a new box of surgical gloves, Audrey was hurrying out of the room. “I have to go,” she said, running past.
Anna looked after her, shaking her head sadly. “Poor girl.”
Putting on gloves herself, she removed Andrew’s remaining glove and picked up the one which had fallen to the floor. Glancing briefly out the open doorway, she turned her back to it, and dropped the gloves into a specimen bag, then labeled and sealed it before tucking it into the front pocket of her scrubs. With a second glance out the doorway, she took fresh gloves from the box and put them on Andrew’s hands.
3
I went out the door of the catatonia center dressed in jeans and another rock band’s T-shirt. My hair was pulled into a ponytail, and I was wearing some makeup—lip gloss, mascara—nothing much, but more than I usually bothered with. Zipping up my jacket and dropping my purple backpack down beside her, I sat next to Audrey on the porch steps.
“Hey. I’m Clara. Clarity.”
Audrey wiped at her eyes with her sleeve before answering. “Audrey.”
We sat quietly for a minute, birds chattering and cawing in the trees. A breeze blew, sending leaves swirling around us.
“It’s hard,” I said. “I know.”
Audrey looked away, blinking back tears. She cleared her throat. “So you live here?”
“Yeah,” I answered, “with my dad, Dr. Harman. Anna works days and then our new nurse, Maria—I guess she's friends with your mom—is here nights. It works out pretty well.”
“It doesn’t freak you out?” said Audrey. “Being around all those…” She couldn’t say it. Her voice trailed off.
I shook my head. “No, but I’m used to it. My mom’s been cataleptic my whole life.”
She looked at me. “How…” she began.
I grimaced. I didn’t exactly like talking about it, but at least this part wasn’t a secret. “Doing drugs in the hospital the same day I was born. Some great mom, huh?” (The part that was a bit of a secret, though Dad had never kept it secret from me, was that my parents had never actually been a couple, and my dad was not my biological father.)
“Huh…” Audrey said.
I sighed. “But to be fair, she couldn’t have known what would happen. She was the first goblin fruit catalepsy in the U.S.”
“Wow.” Audrey picked up a leaf and crushed it in her hand. “Andrew knew what could happen, and he did it anyway.”
She opened her fist, holding the little pieces of leaf in her open palm, letting a few of them blow away. “He took it at a party I made him go to. He didn’t even want to be there.” She blew on her hand, sending the remaining pieces flying.
I hated that, the way the families were always blaming themselves. “That’s not your fault,” I said. “It may not have been the first time he took it. They usually don’t go catatonic the first time.”
Audrey laughed
bitterly. “That doesn’t make it better. We were together all the time, and I didn’t even notice that he was using fruit?”
I looked down. I’d said the wrong thing. I wanted to kick myself. I changed the subject. “Your mom's been here a lot. I'm surprised you came by yourself...to see your brother.”
“It's weird enough around my mom already. I couldn't see him with her here...”
The door opened behind us, and Dad came out onto the porch. He looked rumpled and sleepy, like always in the morning. His dress shirt was a little wrinkled, and a not-yet-tied necktie hung around his neck. “Ready, Clara?” he said. Noticing Audrey, he stopped short. “Oh, hi. I’m Frank. Doctor Harman.”
We stood up, and I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder. The thing was full of textbooks and weighed a ton.
“Hi. I’m Audrey Ortiz,” Audrey said to Dad, brushing some crushed leaves from her pants.
He nodded. “Right. Andrew’s sister. Your mom said you'd be stopping by. It's a pleasure to meet you.”
“You too, Sir.”
Dad smiled awkwardly. “I’ve got to take Clarity to school now. She’s not allowed to drive on her own yet, but I’ll be back in a few minutes if you want to talk about your brother.”
“No, that’s ok,” said Audrey, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. “Another time. I'll be back. I should have come sooner.”
“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Dad said. “Your brother's only been here a couple of weeks, and you're here now.”
She nodded.
“Are you getting settled?” he asked. “Have you started school?”
“My mom's taking me to get registered today.”
I smiled at that. I liked Audrey. I’d heard her address when her mom had registered Andrew, and she lived in an apartment complex about a mile away. We’d go to the same school. Maybe we’d share some classes. “Try to get Mrs. Nelson for English,” I said. “She’s awesome.”