Eating the Cheshire Cat

by Helen Ellis

  Except on August 25. That was the Carlsons’ wedding anniversary. Throughout camp season, it was the only day the two of them left the campgrounds. They checked into the Moonwink Inn. They registered under Big Jack’s mother’s maiden name. They were gone. Unavailable. Under-cover-lovers. Do not disturb. The twenty-fifth was for making whoopee, fireworks, home-churned love.

  The field trip was on August 26.

  During the campers’ breakfast, laundry and maintenance were already at work. Big Jack showed up at Bitty’s cabin to fix the fuse. Later, he told Bitty and her mother that the cabin seemed empty. The front lights were out and he went inside. He headed toward the bathroom and opened the fuse box. As he unscrewed the blown fuse, he heard a noise in one of the wooden stalls. He didn’t see any feet. He thought it was a raccoon or a mouse. Maybe a snake. He pulled his flashlight from his tool belt. He raised it above his head and took two silent steps and peered over and into the stall.

  There was Sarina.

  She sat cross-legged on the toilet. Her wet hair curtained her face and clung to the shoulders of her terry-cloth robe. Big Jack could see the disarranged part down the center of her scalp. Her bangs stood up straight from where she must have wiped her forehead. She was moving her head methodically. Up and down. Slowly then quickly. Big Jack thought she must be one of those bulimics he had seen on TV. He did not know what to do. Should he stop her mid-heave? And then she started making those sounds. Not throw-up sounds like his wife had made when she was pregnant with Bitty. Sounds like that girl was choking on something.

  Big Jack said, “You okay?”

  Sarina lifted her head and caught sight of Big Jack. Her lips lodged at the fat cheeks of the blow dryer, she quickly withdrew the nozzle from her mouth. Unlike his daughter’s hues of embarrassment, Sarina looked like she just might kill him. This was not a look he’d ever gotten from Bitty Jack. But then, he had never caught his daughter trying to lick the life into a Vidal Sassoon Model 2000.

  Sarina cried, “Go away!”

  Big Jack said, “Sorry.” He stepped back from the stall. He slipped the flashlight through a loop on his tool belt. He returned to the fuse box.

  Sarina pushed open the door. It slammed against another stall and the lock stuck from her force. In front of the toilet, Sarina stood, knees slightly bent, robe tied tight, hair heavy, hair dryer in her fist, by her side like a gun. “Go!”

  Big Jack fished for a fuse in his pocket. He said, “Look, I got to fix this for you. Hold your horses. Hold on a minute.”

  Sarina said, “Get out of here, now!”

  Big Jack produced a new fuse. He held it up for her to see. He said, “All I have to do is screw this in. Hold on. Give me one minute.”

  Sarina stomped her feet. Her shame lit to anger. She screamed, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

  Big Jack sighed. He would not humor her hissy fit. He turned his back to her and screwed in the fuse.

  Sarina ran out of the bathroom, through the rows of bunk beds, onto the porch. All the way, screaming, “Get him out of here! Get him out!”

  On the path back to the cabin, Bitty heard Sarina go nuts. When she saw Sarina, mouth agape, hair limp, fists pounding the paint off the porch banister, Bitty slowed her pace to lag even further behind the other girls.

  “What happened?” asked the red-headed counselor as she helped Sarina back into the cabin.

  “What?” asked the girls as they walked Sarina to her bed.

  The red-headed counselor sat beside Sarina. The girls huddled around. Her route to the top bunk blocked, Bitty stood in Sarina’s firing range.

  “Her father’s a perv!”

  Big Jack stepped out of the bathroom.

  Bitty said, “Daddy?”

  Sarina said, “Get him out of here! He’s a perv!”

  Bitty looked at her father. Again, she asked, “Daddy?”

  The counselor said, “What happened, Jack?”

  “I came to fix the fuse. I accidentally walked in on her. She was fully clothed. I didn’t see a thing.”

  “I was on the toilet,” Sarina bawled.

  “You weren’t on the toilet.”

  “Was too and you saw everything!”

  Big Jack put his hands on his hips. He hung his head. He shook it. He said to the counselor, “She’s overreacting.” He walked past the girls, stopping to rest a hand on Bitty Jack’s shoulder.

  “Daddy,” Bitty said.

  “Pervert!” Sarina yelled.

  “Pervert!” the girls chimed in. “Pervert!” they repeated as he walked through the room. On his way out the door, the girls dispersed from Sarina’s bunk and ran to their own. From pillowcases, they pulled ammo and pelted Jack’s back with Tootsie Rolls and Hubba Bubba. Big Jack slumped his shoulders. He just kept walking.

  Candy flying past her, Bitty trailed after her father. She watched him walk down the porch steps and out onto the road. The chants died down as Bitty shuffled forward.

  “Bitty,” said another counselor, the group leader. “Wait.”

  Bitty Jack kept still. She fought with all she had to keep from shaking and showing the other girls she wanted to cry. She felt as if the bunk beds were creeping up behind her like a tidal wave. At any second, it would crash down upon her, spilling the other girls like seaweed and shells.

  Bitty felt the group leader wrap her arm around her shoulder. She took her glasses off because they pinched her temples. She stared at the floor. She choked her glasses with both hands, her tiny pink nails threatening to break the lenses.

  The group leader said, “Let’s take a walk.”

  On the path to the lake, Bitty Jack let the group leader keep her arm where it was. She missed her mother’s hugs and holds. Her mama’s warmth could calm grief and fear.

  Bitty Jack said, “I want my mama.”

  The group leader said, “I know. But let’s give her some time. I bet your father’s with her now and the bus for the fair trip will be here any second.”

  “I don’t want to go any fair. I want my mama.”

  “Come on,” said the group leader as they reached the bleachers by the lake. “Let’s sit for a second and maybe you’ll change your mind.”

  They sat on the first row, but Bitty Jack knew she would not change her mind. She did not want to go, but she would anyway. She would go and sit next to that boy with a deformed baby’s hand. They would not talk, but they would not bother each other either. They would pile off the bus and Bitty Jack and the deformed kid would hang out with the group leader who would rather hang out with the boy counselors, but was too nice to make them stay alone. Bitty would reluctantly have fun on the rides. When she got on the Tilt-A-Whirl, she might not feel like crying. When she rode the Matterhorn, she would scream for more speed. If she was good, she could probably see her mama after dinner. Her mama would surely make sense of it all.

  Her mother did her best.

  After chicken nuggets and spaghetti, Mrs. Carlson took Bitty Jack to the laundry room on the ground level of the Arts & Crafts barn. They each sat on a washing machine and folded thin white towels in their laps. They stacked them on a butcher’s block in front of their knees.

  Mrs. Carlson said, “Your daddy wasn’t at dinner ’cause he didn’t want to start any trouble.”

  “He didn’t do anything,” said Bitty.

  “You’re right. But the owners have their noses out of joint. Sarina called her mother from the fair. Her mother called the office and the office called us.”

  “Is Daddy gonna lose his job? Will we have to move?”

  “Baby girl, not if we can help it.”

  Bitty Jack stopped folding. “What should we do?”

  Mrs. Carlson said, “Just lay low. Camp ends in two days. From what I understand, that Summers girl is just here ’cause her parents are splitting up. I don’t think she’ll come back and your father’s the best worker those owners ever had. I think if we just keep our heads down, this too shall pass.”

  “This too?”
/>
  “I hate to tell you this, but worse things could happen.”

  “Oh,” said Bitty Jack.

  “Oh, what?” said Mrs. Carlson.

  “Oh-kay,” said Bitty.

  “Good, baby. Tell you what. Let’s say we sneak into the cafeteria and grab ourselves a leftover brownie.”

  “What about Daddy?”

  Mrs. Carlson smiled at her daughter. She hopped off the washing machine and stretched her arms out like when she taught Bitty Jack to swim. She said, “Jump, baby girl. We’ll bring him one too.”

  Big Jack was upbeat and thanked Bitty for thinking of him. He ate the whole brownie she brought and let her watch Wheel of Fortune before he sent her back to her cabin.

  During the final puzzle, Bitty said, “Daddy, what’d she say you did?”

  Big Jack kept his eyes on Pat Sajak who, with only minutes remaining, spun the wheel of fortune to determine the worth of the remaining consonants. Eighty-five dollars. The audience went Awwuh!

  Big Jack said, “She said I was spying on her.”

  Bitty said, “On the pot?”

  Big Jack shook his head. He said, “Yeah.”

  Bitty said, “Oh.”

  Big Jack said, “Oh, what?”

  Bitty smiled, “Uh-oh.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  Bitty said, “But, you weren’t, Daddy. Why’d she get so bent outta shape?”

  Big Jack watched Vanna turn over two purchased vowels. He said, “I caught her doing something she’s embarrassed about.”

  “What?”

  Big Jack said to the TV, “The kindness of strangers.”

  The returning champion repeated his answer. The bells went off and Pat shook the contestant’s hand.

  “Yes!” said Big Jack. He turned to his daughter. “Bitty, I don’t know how much you know about things,”

  “I know plenty.”

  “She was playing with herself.”

  Bitty felt her face turn red. She said, “Okay.”

  “Well, with something,” Big Jack struggled. “I’d ask your mother to tell you, but I couldn’t explain it much better to her.”

  “That’s fine, Daddy.”

  “It’s sexual. She was doin’ something sexual with a thing not meant for sex.”

  Bitty stood up and again she said, “Okay.”

  On her walk back to the cabin, the sun was already gone.

  In the cabin, the girls were getting ready for the Friday night disco up the hill on the outdoor basketball court. They swarmed around the wall-length bathroom mirror. They watched each other dress. Coordinating earrings, they moved from bunk to bunk.

  On her bed, Bitty Jack felt invisible until Sarina caught her eye.

  From the bathroom, Sarina hollered, “You stepped on my bunk!”

  Bitty Jack froze as Sarina stomped into the main room.

  “You stepped on my bunk!”

  “Did not.”

  “You sure as shit did too!” Sarina marched forward and grabbed Bitty Jack by the ankle. “You put your nasty pervert toes on my bed. You got your daddy’s germs all over my sheets!”

  Bitty Jack said, “Let go.”

  Sarina said, “Make me, Pizza Face!”

  The girls went, “Ohhhh!”

  Sarina gave Bitty Jack’s ankle a tug.

  Bitty drew back her leg. She kicked Sarina in the chin. Sarina collapsed and hit the back of her head against the bunk beside Bitty’s.

  The girls said nothing.

  Bitty looked down at Sarina. She made the meanest face she could. She stared at that girl for what seemed like hours. Sarina put one hand on the back of her head. She brought her other hand across her chin to cover the mark left by Bitty’s tennis shoe. Bitty Jack noticed that Sarina’s pinkies were not as straight as normal. She felt bold and blurted, “What’d you do, get your fingers stuck while you were picking your ass?”

  Sarina’s face reddened. She whipped her hands away from her face. She made two fists, then shot double birds.

  The girls went, “Ohhhh!”

  The red-headed counselor came in from the porch. She said, “What the hell is going on in here?” She put her hands on her hips and made everyone shut up because she had said the word “hell.” She looked at Bitty Jack and said, “Well?”

  “She kicked me!” Sarina cried. She stood up and showed off her goose eggs. “Here,” sniff, “and here.”

  The red-headed counselor touched Sarina’s bumps. She said, “Bitty Jack Carlson, is this really what happened?”

  Bitty Jack lied for the first time in her life. The excuse entered her mind before the redhead had finished asking her question. “It was an accident,” she said. And the lie felt good.

  “You’re going to jail!” Sarina threatened Bitty Jack. “Your father’s getting fired and I’ll sue you and . . .” She sobbed. “And . . .”

  “Sarina,” came the group leader’s voice, “don’t you dare say another word.”

  “She kicked me!”

  The group leader said, “I want all of you ladies to go on up to the dance.” She nodded to the red-headed counselor, who held Sarina’s face and blew cold air onto her chin. “Go with them.” Bitty Jack and Sarina did not have to be told to stay put.

  The group leader said, “This is going to end.”

  Sarina said, “What? That’s not fair. I didn’t do anything.”

  The group leader said, “Don’t. You’ve been provoking Bitty Jack since the first day you got here. I’m tired of it. It’s going to stop or you’re going home early.”

  “Please, can I?” Sarina said in a baby-doll voice.

  The group leader said, “Don’t tempt me.”

  Sarina smirked.

  The group leader said, “Get out of my sight.”

  Sarina scowled. “With pleasure.” She ran out of the room.

  “Don’t run,” said the group leader.

  Sarina slammed the door and, within that noise, Bitty Jack heard her future. She heard the girls taunt her father for seasons to come. They called him Big Jerk-Off and Jackin’ His Box. She heard the owners remind him that he was not allowed to enter the girls’ cabins. At cookouts, he had to serve cole slaw and let his wife take over the hot dog grill. Bitty imagined Sarina somewhere distant, somewhere tame.

  “I hate her,” she said.

  “No, Bitty, you don’t mean that.”

  Bitty Jack lied for the second time that day. This one delivered easier by way of the first. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll get over it.”

  Sarina

  WHEN SARINA came home from the hospital, her fingers ‘wrapped like pigs-in-the-blankets, she stayed in bed for three whole days. At noon and at night, she woke to her mother’s soft yet insistent touch. Sarina closed her eyes and savored chicken bouillon, French onion, tomato; all these soups spooned from white bowls, gold-trimmed at the lip. She chewed on cold toast. She handed the crusts back to her mother.

  Mrs. Summers said, “The outsides make your hair curly.”

  Sarina said, “Can I have my medicine now?”

  Mrs. Summers opened the plastic vial labeled eat with food. She shook a pink-and-blue pill into the flat part of her hand. She said, “Whoops. Last one.”

  Sarina said, “What?”

  “Last one. Get your drink ready.” Mrs. Summers held the pill up and took aim.

  Sarina opened her mouth and offered her tongue as in communion. Her mother pitched the pill and, in the air, the pink-and-blue flew like the Holy Ghost. Sarina chased it with lukewarm Coca-Cola. She let her mother secure the covers at each side of her breasts. She kept her arms over the comforter because the touch of the sheets hurt her tender little fingers.“Mom,” she said, “I don’t want to go off the pills.”

  “Give it time,” Mrs. Summers said. “Once you get out of bed, you can watch the soaps.”

  “I won’t have a tan.”

  “We can buy you a tan.”

  “Will you bring the TV in my room?”
r />   “No,” Mrs. Summers said. “You need to get up. You need to move around.”

  Sarina snorted.

  Mrs. Summers said, “I’ll make up the couch for you. We can eat on TV trays.”

  “Can we have steak and baked potatoes?”

  “I’ll run to the store while you’re sleeping.”

  Sarina let her head loll to the right. The 250-thread-count was cold from too much air-conditioning. She closed her eyes and listened to her mother move about the room. Sarina knew that she would wait at the door, her hand on the knob, until there was no question that Sarina was out cold. Throughout the afternoon Sarina woke from and sunk into a deep, soggy sleep.

  Sarina had made her bed and now she had to lie in it. For six weeks to be exact, until the splints came off. Her fingers had been a nuisance. A sore spot on her otherwise enhanceable body. Over the years, comments had been made. Little jokes. People had touched them without her permission. Last year, Ali Rosenthal had come back from Christmas break with a nose half the size of the one in her freshman photo. After the hunting accident, Bill Pruitt got caps. Why not fix what nature had botched? It had been Sarina’s idea. Her mother had been unbelievably supportive.

  “If something makes you uncomfortable, we’ll change it. One, two, three.”

  Three years before, her parents’ divorce had made Sarina uncomfortable. Her mother did not have instructions for that one. She did, however, have plans for her daughter: summer camp and no more going steady at age thirteen.

  “You’ve got the rest of your life to cater to a man.”

  Sarina had been crushed. Stewart Steptoe had been out of luck.

  The night before Sarina left for Camp Chickasaw, Stewart showed up right on time. He knocked on the front door. He was as punctual as his puberty.

  Mrs. Summers said, “There are plenty of rich boys, Sarina.”

  “But, Mom, I love him. I do! Don’t tell me how I feel.”

  Stewart rang the bell. The chime was quick as if he’d gotten a shock from the smudged white button.

  Sarina stomped her feet. “Mom, he’s here already!”