The Evolution of Alice

by David Alexander Robertson

  Her legs obeyed, and she stepped forward. She heard shouting behind her, desperate pleas, felt wind rushing against her skin. And it was in that moment, when she was sure it was too late, that she knew she didn’t want to die. It was the way her body reacted as she started to lose her balance, how she whipped her arms back and forth like an injured bird as she tried desperately to steady herself. If you had seen this from below, where the railway tracks were, you would have seen her body embossed against the wide and uniformly grey sky, her arms flapping up and down. And you might have thought that she looked as though she were making snow angels in a vast and open field. You might also have been surprised to see, in the following moment, her body suddenly straighten and calm, as though one of the people behind her had caught her in time. But nobody had touched her. Somehow, some way, she had found her balance.

  Alice placed her thumb on the photograph so that it covered Grace’s face, so it was just Jayne, Kathy, and Alice. She scanned the photograph, removed her thumb, and scanned it again. She had done this from time to time since the girls had fallen asleep, testing how it felt with Grace not there, how it felt with her beside her sisters and her mother. It felt the same, though. Even with Grace’s face covered, she was there. She looked at her girls, resting quietly on either side of her. There was no doubt. She was worse, they were worse, where they were. Moving to the city hadn’t removed Grace from their life, and it had taken much more from them. Alice couldn’t believe, either, that she had considered taking herself from her girls’ lives, too. What would they have left? No. They belonged together where Grace would always be, and with her the good memories and with her the bad memories.

  Still holding the photograph, she shifted the phone around in her hands and found Gideon’s number. She’d gone to see him after he’d eventually texted back, but he didn’t answer the door, or wasn’t there. But she knew he was in the city too. Why had he come to the city? Was he having the same sort of troubles she was having? She hoped he would respond. She hoped he would be there for her still, even though she didn’t feel as though she deserved it.

  She sent him a text that read: “I want to go home.”

  Alice placed her phone and the photograph on the nightstand beside the bed. She lay back down, nestled between Jayne and Kathy. Carefully, trying not to wake them, she slipped one arm beneath Jayne and her other arm beneath Kathy, and gathered them both close to her body. They felt warm and safe, and they’d been away from her arms for too long. She fell asleep that night listening to a collision of nighttime sounds; the white-noise hum of the refrigerator, the on-again-off-again low rumble of the furnace, and, most of all, the calm breaths of her daughters. She slept so well that she didn’t hear a text notification that arrived deep in the night. She wouldn’t read it until the morning. It was a message from Gideon.

  “I’ll take you there.”

  THIRTEEN

  Sometimes all you could hear at Alice’s place was Grace’s footsteps as she raced from one place to the next. She ran flat-footed, and the soles of her feet slapped against the floor like applause. It was one of the reasons why, in the trailer, she wasn’t the best hide-and-seek player. When Kathy or Jayne closed their eyes and counted to 10, they could hear exactly where Grace was headed. Not only that, but, as Kathy or Jayne looked for her, she would almost always call out “I’m here!” because, to her, the best thing about hide-and-seek was being found. The bigger girls, they’d pretend to look for her to amuse her, often right up until Grace notified them of exactly where she was. When they found her, Grace would cry out in delight and stuff her fingers into her mouth excitedly. Then, they’d do it all over again. The only time she stayed hidden was when Kathy would hide with her. Kathy would carry Grace around the trailer to avoid the announcement of her clumsy and loud footsteps, take her somewhere and put Grace on her lap and shush her. Then it would take Jayne a bit longer to find them.

  In the field, of course, things were different. Grace’s footsteps were the same, but they were silent against the soil. And when she called out ‘I’m here!’ it didn’t matter, because Grace was so small and the grass was so high that it still took Kathy and Jayne forever to find her. Out in the field, Grace was the best hider, despite herself.

  These days, Kathy and Jayne still play hide-and-seek. Not in the trailer, mind you. They never play there. But when they’re allowed to go out into the field, they play like they used to. Kathy and Jayne, they never hide from each other, though. They count to 10 together and go off, hand in hand, to search through the long grass for Grace.

  STONY MOUNTAIN SERENADE

  ALICE SAT NERVOUSLY. She stared at her own reflection in the thick glass in front of her, the seat on the other side empty and waiting, and carefully inspected her face. She tried her best not to care but did wonder, despite herself, what Ryan would think of her appearance. She was nothing like before. She’d felt alive, and her face reflected that vibrancy. She had felt so much prettier then, and she must have been. Otherwise, Ryan would’ve had nothing to do with her. He was that kind of guy back then. He was probably still that kind of guy. But why did she care what he thought, damn it? Why were her palms so sweaty? Why was her heartbeat so quick?

  In the reflection she saw every tired, deep line on her face. She thought of when they first met and how she looked now after everything that had happened, the hurricane that was their relationship, the relief of seeing him gone, and, finally, the pain of losing Grace. She looked away, down to her hands, her fingers clasped desperately, shaking and sweaty and cold. She worried about holding the telephone receiver, if she’d be able to keep her hands still when he arrived. Perhaps it was better to think about that than what he would think about seeing her. But, God, why did she have to be so unsettled in the first place? He always did this to her. He always broke her down. He always changed her.

  She had felt brave walking into Stony Mountain Penitentiary. She had walked in confidently, with her chest puffed out and proud, her chin high. It had been a good day, and good days were rare. Alice cherished days like today. Gideon had come by in the morning to pick Kathy, Jayne, and her up. The girls were happy to see him. It had been too long since they’d spent time with him. She regretted leaving the rez like she had, even though, at the time, it felt necessary. She saw what it had done to the girls. They were lonely and empty from the loss of Grace, and then she’d moved them away from their surrogate uncle. She wondered what it had done to Gideon, too. But he’d loaded up the truck in good spirits, and they left. It felt good when the city was in the rear-view mirror, like she could breathe again.

  The farther they went, the smaller the city got, and soon the penitentiary loomed on the horizon. Despite everything that had happened with Ryan, she’d always felt drawn there, ever since he’d been convicted. Just like each time he hit her and she wanted to leave, but stayed. It was different this time. She wanted to see him of her own volition. She knew she had words for him, just not what those words were. But she was sure they’d come in their own time, they would be said, and he would hear them. She had trusted in that until she’d sat down to wait for him. Then the trust faded.

  She unclasped her fingers and rested her hands, palms up, on the desk in front of her. She looked at them carefully, inspecting the lines on her palms as though they were a roadmap, as though she were lost somewhere. Her hands—they always got shaky and cold when she was scared or nervous. For no particular reason, Alice thought of when she’d been afraid to get onto the plane to Anchorage to visit relatives. She’d never flown before. Ryan had seen her hands clasping the sides of her seat and had sung a song he wrote for her—he always sang that song to calm her. She heard his voice:

  Walk on down the side of the road,

  Walk until I see my soul.

  But I can’t stand

  The sight of my life tonight.

  She was never sure if it was the lyrics or his voice that calmed her. All she knew was that later, when Ryan started to scare her, when Ryan made h
er nervous, there was no song any more, and so there was no calm.

  A knock against the glass brought Alice back. She looked up to see him sitting down. She noticed immediately how the blue prison jumpsuit brought out his eyes. She tried hard not to look at them. It was an odd feeling—being drawn to them but feeling sick to her stomach at the same time. It was always in the eyes. Always, after he had beat on her and had returned from one of his walks, he would talk sweet to her, strike her with those eyes, and she’d take him back, forgive him. And hate herself a little more. He pointed to the telephone receiver at her side. She nodded and fumbled with it just as she had feared. Her fingers felt as though she’d been out in the cold. She held it to her ear.

  The two of them sat with the thick pane of glass between them and didn’t say anything for a long time. Alice closed her eyes. It was like the first time they’d spoken on the phone before they started dating, when they didn’t say anything for the longest time, just listened to each other’s nervous breaths. They spoke in breaths now, and their breathing said enough. Her breath was quick and quivering. She didn’t want it to be because she didn’t want him to know how she felt, or that she felt anything at all. She listened to his breath carefully and tried to hear how he felt. His breath was steady, measured, and it disappointed her. She opened her eyes.

  “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me again,” he said.

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I don’t.”

  He didn’t look away from her, nor did he blink. How could he not blink? Alice took a deep breath that didn’t calm her. Even through the murky glass his eyes were clear blue. She tore her eyes away from his and looked at a deep bruise on his forearm.

  “What’s that from?” she said.

  “Don’t mind it,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said.

  He rubbed the bruise, then crossed his arms to cover it. The phone receiver rested between his shoulder and ear.

  “It gets rough in here,” he said.

  She scanned the rest of his body. She didn’t see any other bruises. She was surprised that this disappointed her.

  “Do you have lots of those?” she said.

  “Some,” he said.

  She involuntarily rubbed her own skin—her cheek, her neck. There were no bruises for her to cover any more. She looked him in the eyes again.

  “How does it feel when you get hurt?” she said.

  Ryan shifted in his seat, let out a sigh, and looked away. He didn’t have to answer her; she knew damn well how it felt and she could only hope that he knew then how she’d felt when he’d put his hands on her. The way she was then, meek and small and damaged, is how he looked now. She started to say something but stopped herself. She wanted to see the bruises he had been given, but it was not like her to want something like that.

  “Are you afraid in there?” she said.

  “Sometimes,” he said.

  He sat up straight. He looked at the desk in front of him. There was nothing on the desk. She inspected his face. There were large bags under his eyes and deep lines like cracks on a windshield. He looked older than he had been before he was arrested. He looked older than he should have. She looked closer. There were tiny cuts on his lips, but not because his lips were chapped.

  “What’s wrong with your lips?” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Nothing?” she said.

  He took a deep breath. She saw his chest rise and fall.

  “I was eating glass,” he said quietly, perhaps hoping she wouldn’t hear him.

  “You what? Why would you do that?” she said.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Ryan, why would you do that?”

  He slumped forward on his arms and his head dropped. She hadn’t seen him like this before. She sat up a bit straighter.

  He spoke without lifting his head. “You know, when I was younger, my dad used to lock me in his closet. He did worse stuff, I guess, but I hated being in that fucking closet. I think I’m, like, claustrophobic or something. I always felt like I was getting crushed in there.”

  Alice nodded. This was news to her. Ryan had never talked about his childhood. He never really opened up about anything.

  “Being in that cell reminds me of being in my dad’s closet. I need to get out of here, but there isn’t any getting out. Not for a while.”

  He lifted his head up. He rubbed at his lips. He chuckled.

  “I heard that if I started bleeding inside they’d bring me to the hospital, so I ate a fucking light bulb. Figured it would get me out of here for a bit,” he said.

  “Ryan,” she said.

  He chuckled harder. He laughed without smiling.

  “I didn’t get anywhere though. Tried it a few times. Didn’t bleed once where I needed to.”

  Alice turned away because she didn’t want him to see her face, didn’t want him to know she felt bad for him. She wished she didn’t care at all. She wanted him to think she was strong and resilient, that she was getting on fine without him, that he wasn’t needed, not by the girls, and not by her. But then her hand, which had settled down, began to shake. Her breathing was short, and she began to tremble. She held the receiver away from her mouth so he couldn’t hear it.

  “Do the girls ever ask about me?” he said.

  She shook her head without looking at him.

  “No,” she said, “they don’t.”

  The silence returned. Alice closed her eyes. She remembered the silence after he would return from one of his walks, the silence after he told her he was sorry, after he kissed her bruises. He used to wait for her forgiveness, and she always forgave him, and maybe she meant it. Maybe she’d meant it each time. She was never sure what she was more afraid of: being with him, or alone.

  “I have that picture of you and the girls still,” he said. “The one where you’re all in the field.”

  She nodded. She was still hiding her face and she needed to calm herself.

  “I have it tacked up on my wall. It’s the only good thing in my cell, that picture on my wall,” he said.

  “That’s nice. That’s a nice picture,” she said.

  “Everybody looks so happy,” he said. “When I look at that picture, I can just see everything happening right then. It was so windy. The girls’ hair all whipping around in the wind. It was so fucking windy. You looked happy too,” he said.

  Alice looked at him and saw that he was looking right at her with those perfect blue eyes.

  “We weren’t happy,” she said.

  “Sure we were,” he said. “Sure you were.”

  Alice shook her head.

  “Do you remember what happened before that picture? Right before that picture?” she said.

  He shook his head.

  “No, I don’t remember,” he said.

  “Of course you don’t,” she said.

  There was another silence. Alice closed her eyes. She thought of when the RCMP drove away with Ryan in the back seat. She had wanted silence for a long time—the silence in the breeze, in the endless field of grass behind her house, within the walls of her trailer. She opened her eyes. She had done the same thing with that picture; pretended it was something other than what it was. She couldn’t really blame him for doing the same.

  “I miss Grace, you know,” he said.

  She looked away. Her hand started to shake even more. Her chest felt hot. She felt like slamming the receiver against the wall.

  “What about the other girls?” she said.

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “You never see them. They may as well all be dead. Kathy, Jayne, and Grace. Do you miss all of them?” she said.

  “Of course I miss all of them. I miss you too,” he said.

  “Don’t tell me you miss me,” she said.

  This time, she couldn’t hide her shaking hand from him. She was looking at the floor, at her camouflage Converse sneakers
, when she heard the first notes of the song, his song. She kept looking at her sneakers when she heard his voice.

  Walk on down the side of the road,

  Walk until I see my soul.

  But I can’t stand

  The sight of my life tonight.

  Walk on down the side of the road,

  All these memories getting old,

  And I guess that

  All I have is what I had.

  She looked up suddenly. She looked right at him.

  “Walk on down …”

  “I don’t want you to sing to me. You can’t sing to me anymore.”

  When she said those words, her hand stopped shaking and her breath evened out. Perhaps that’s what she had wanted to say to him all along.

  She started to stand, but Ryan called out, “Alice, wait.”

  “What?” she said.

  There was silence. She kept her eyes trained on him, and she held his gaze. She’d seen this look before, after his walks, each time he had asked her to forgive him, each time he had waited for an answer.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything,” he said.

  She knew what she’d said too many times before. She nodded her head and hung up the receiver.

  “I know you are,” she mouthed.

  She walked away.

  FOURTEEN

  Morgan got off the 17, relieved to be alone when the bus pulled away from the curb. She always felt the same way at the end of bus rides. Why did she feel lonelier when she was around people than when she was actually alone? She could only reason that the memories kept her better company, as painful as they were.

  She crossed the street toward Central Park and once inside surveyed the scenery as though there might be something different to see. The splash pad to the right was shut down and unoccupied. She’d rarely seen the water turned on or children playing in it, or children playing anywhere else in the park for that matter. She always chose the right time for her visits—the fewer people the better. She followed the cement pathway through the park, walking between the splash pad and the field with its cheap artificial turf, the kind of green shit she remembered stapled to the roof of her adopted father’s nativity scene. It made her sick to look at it. When she finally made it across the park and hopped over the black wrought iron fence, she was once again relieved.