The First Conception_Rise of Eris

by Nesly Clerge

  He hesitated then went still. Mama, moving slow, got to her knees in front of him. She glanced at me and shooed me with her hand, where he couldn’t see her gesture.

  I was smart enough to leave them alone.

  Back in my room, I locked my door and slipped the chair back under the knob before crawling into the middle of my bed.

  Maybe my mother is a tramp.

  Or maybe it’s the only way she knows how to save me.

  But who’s going to save her?

  CHAPTER 4

  At the end of third period, Mr. Sanchez’s class, he stopped me from leaving. Again.

  “I want you to see Ms. Green after school. I’ve already arranged it. She’ll be expecting you in her classroom.”

  I shifted the heavy stack of books in my arms. “Why? I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’re not in trouble, if that’s what’s worrying you, Katherine.”

  “But—”

  “Just be there. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She’ll give you a note explaining to your mother why you’re late.”

  I turned, shuffled to the door and muttered, “Not like she’ll notice.”

  “Did you say something?”

  “No, sir.” I blew out a breath, left the classroom, and stomped toward my next class.

  I read once that people seek power. Only, they don’t realize it’s through the power they already possess that they seek it in the first place.

  The last thing I feel is powerful. How could I, when everyone’s always telling me what to do? Or forcing me to do things I wouldn’t choose to do. Or don’t want to.

  Why can’t everyone just leave me alone with my books?

  Like me, Ms. Green is also a shade of bronze, though I’m a shade darker, what’s called burnished. The first time I saw a statue made of bronze during a school trip, I recognized my shade right off. Read in the pamphlet that there was a word for it, and looked it up in the dictionary.

  One day I’m going to straighten my hair the way Ms. Green does. I’ll either wear it to my shoulders, like hers, or maybe a little longer. She’s the prettiest teacher at my school. And that’s not just my opinion.

  I stood in the doorway of her classroom. She was writing math problems on the blackboard and didn’t realize I was there. I watched her move with that special grace she has, until I knew I’d better speak up. “Ms. Green?”

  She paused, looked at me over her shoulder and smiled. “Come in, Katherine. I’m almost finished. Take a seat at the desk across from mine.”

  Two books at the top of my stack crashed to the floor when I put the rest of them on the desktop. I put them back at the top, straightened the stack then sat.

  “There. All done.” Ms. Green wiped her fingers on a cloth, came around the front of her desk, and perched on the edge of it. “Mr. Sanchez said you figured out a math problem—an eighth grade problem—and told him it was easy.”

  I nodded and shrugged.

  “He also said you have a fondness for geometry.”

  My whole body perked up, all the way to the ends of my hair. “Yes, ma’am. Everything in existence is a result of it. We just have to learn how to see it and use it.”

  “I wish I could get my students to understand that. They think it’s a waste of time.” She tilted her head and smiled. “And you’re years younger than they are.”

  I felt my face flush with pleasure. And gratitude.

  Ms. Green slid off her desk and moved my books to another desk. She grabbed a sheet of paper and a brand new sharpened pencil from her middle drawer.

  “I want you to see if you can solve the three problems on the board.”

  She placed the paper and pencil on my desk.

  “I’ll give you a note, of course, but will your mother be upset at your being late? We should have checked with her first, but we were too eager to see if—”

  “She won’t … mind.” I’d almost said care. That would have made Ms. Green ask questions I didn’t want to answer.

  “Well, then. Take as long as you need. If we go too late, I’ll take you home and explain.”

  “It’ll be okay. Can I start now?”

  She smiled and nodded, took a seat at her desk, and started grading papers.

  I glanced at the clock on the wall over her head then at the first question. Licked my lips and began scratching graphite against paper.

  When I finished the last problem, I checked the clock again. It had taken me five minutes. I put my pencil down and cleared my throat.

  Without looking up, Ms. Green said, “Question?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m finished.”

  Ms. Green shot out of her chair like a rocket. She scooped up my paper and stood there checking my answers and how I got them. “We’ll need to arrange another time. I want to give you another test.”

  My insides went all squiggly. “I was sure I got them right.”

  “You did, and it didn’t take you any time at all.”

  “Isn’t that good?”

  “Very good.” She smiled. “Aside from geometry, what else interests you? Have you thought about what you’d like to do when you grow up?”

  “I like to read about genetics. And medicine. Diseases interest me.”

  “Do you understand what you read?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “You want to be a doctor?”

  I shrugged. “I think so.”

  “I’d like you to stay after school again tomorrow. Would it help if I call your mother?”

  “I’ll tell her.” Will not.

  “I promise not to keep you more than, say, thirty minutes?”

  “Okay. Should I do anything before then?”

  “Just show up like you did today. Now, let me write a quick note about today for your mother. And I think,” she winked, “it’s better to add a sentence or two about tomorrow as well. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I stuck the note inside the top book and lifted the stack into my arms.

  “Do you always carry so many books?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “No book sack?”

  “I’m used to it. Okay if I go now?”

  “Of course. See you tomorrow.”

  My feelings bounced back and forth between being pleased with myself and worried my mother would find out. Or that he would, and that he’d take it out on me or my mother. Maybe both of us.

  When I reached Mr. Johnson’s store, I stood behind the person buying chips, beer, soda, and cigarettes. Soon as the man left, I smiled at Mr. Johnson.

  “Not buying today, Miss Katherine?”

  I shook my head. “Just a new paper bag, please. Mine got messed up. What’s the chance of rain?”

  “I don’t ache as much today.” He slid a small, flattened paper bag from under the counter and into the top book, on top of Ms. Green’s note.

  Three customers lined up behind me, so I said goodbye and started for apartment four-oh-five.

  The elevator wasn’t working. Again. Or someone was holding it open on a floor. Again. My arms were getting sore. Sighing, I went to the door for the stairs and managed to open it with the tips of my fingers of one hand then my foot. Took in the biggest breath I could and started up the steps through the graffiti-scarred walls as fast as I could go, which wasn’t that fast. One wrong step and my books or I could land in one of the many puddles or piles of you-know-what.

  Running out of air, I pushed through the door on the fourth floor and leaned against the wall, gulping in air that smelled only slightly better.

  By now, my arms shook pretty bad. I got the apartment door open and used my backside to close it as quietly as I could. Mom’s bedroom door was open. They were at it again—I recognized the squeak of mattress springs. I needed to get to my room, but I also needed something to eat. As quietly as possible, I put my books on the table and made a sandwich, which I put on top my book stack and started for my bedroom.

>   It’s not that I wanted to look into Mom’s room, it was more that I wanted to check to see if I could get past the door without them knowing I was there. Let them see my closed door later and figure out I was home. And leave me alone.

  When I was a foot or so from passing in front of the door, I heard him say, “Ride me. Yeah. Ride me, bitch. Faster.” Then I heard a hand slapped hard against skin. Then again. If he was beating my mom while doing that to her …

  I had to check. I paused in front of the open doorway, mouth open, eyes wide. His eyes were closed, but not my mama’s. Even from her face in profile, it seemed to me she wasn’t enjoying it as much as he was, if at all. I cringed when he slapped her bottom. Wanted to cry when he twisted her nipples so hard she winced. Between bounces, she glanced at me and jerked her head toward my bedroom.

  My feet moved as fast as I could will them to. All the while, I was terrified I’d drop one or more books or my sandwich.

  On my bed, door closed and locked, chair back under the knob, I sat next to my books spilled across my mattress.

  I’d forgotten to get something to drink.

  Again.

  CHAPTER 5

  I won’t bore you with what was on the test Ms. Green gave me the next day, but I admit I was pleased when she told me they were advanced problems. They were easy for me. Fun. Especially the geometry ones.

  Ms. Green stared at my graded paper for a moment then raised her eyes to meet mine. “You did so well. Your classes must be so dull for you.”

  I shrugged then nodded.

  Ms. Green reached for a folder on her desk, opened it and shook her head. “You did better than most of my students when I gave them the same test. And, yet, your recent grade point average doesn’t match what you’re capable of. In fact, it’s far below what it should be.” She fixed her soft brown eyes on me. “Is there a reason for this? I mean,” she gestured toward my test paper, “you breezed through this.”

  “I guess I’m sometimes distracted.”

  “Want to tell me more about that?”

  I put my head down and chewed my bottom lip. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint her, but I couldn’t tell her—not her—what was bothering me. Ms. Green liked me. I didn’t want that to change. Didn’t want her to think less of me.

  “I think, Katherine, that I should speak with your mother. I’ll send you home with a note, asking her to come here so we can talk. Is four a good time for her? Does she need to come later?”

  I shook my head, which I kept down. I didn’t want to look her in the eyes when I lied to her.

  She pressed on. “Maybe during the lunch break or before school starts.”

  “There’s no good time, Ms. Green.”

  She didn’t say anything for a while. Head still lowered, I began to fidget. I looked up, but only because I heard her pen scratching on paper.

  “You can go now. Give this note to your mother.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Without looking at her, I took the note, scooped up my books and left without either of us saying another word.

  All my joy was gone.

  The only relief I had was knowing my mother would never see that note either.

  ***

  Sometimes there are good moments in my life. Not often, but sometimes. Like, I was able to use the elevator when I got back to my building. Like, he wasn’t there when I entered the apartment.

  My mother sat at the small kitchen table, one hand pressing the phone receiver to an ear, while the other hand held a cigarette burning down in her fingers. The ash attached was over an inch long. Why didn’t she flick it off or something? The saucer was full, but that never bothered her before.

  She glared at me as she listened to the person who was telling her whatever it was she obviously didn’t like. I ran through a mental list of my day. I’d done nothing to earn the look she gave me.

  I went to my room and dropped my books onto my bed. Left the door open. Sat on my bed, listening, not hearing anything, until she slammed the receiver onto the phone base hanging on the wall. Then her footsteps coming toward my room.

  Her body filled half the doorway as she leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed. No smile for me. No, Glad you made it home safely. No, How was your day?

  “So, you the brightest little thing that Ms. Green ever seen.”

  What was I supposed to say?

  “Answer me, missy.”

  Butterflies of dread competed with the thrill of Ms. Green’s compliment. “I don’t know, Mama. Was that Ms. Green? Is that what she said?”

  “And what about all them notes you never give me?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “So you let that Ms. Green bother me instead. You damn lucky Buster gone when she call. You damn lucky he didn’t pick up that call from that prissy teacher of yours.”

  “She’s not actually my teacher. She’s eighth grade.”

  “Then what the hell she bothering you for?”

  “You won’t tell him, will you?” I waited, eyes pleading with her.

  She stared at me for several seconds, puckering and un-puckering her lips. “No reason to bother him with that nonsense.”

  I let out a breath and my shoulders down from around my ears. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Get somethin’ to eat. And stay in your room. Hurry it up. Buster not in the best mood today.” She rubbed her ribs and walked away.

  This time I remembered to grab a cola to go with my sandwich and a glass of water for later.

  This time he made it past my door during the middle of the night.

  CHAPTER 6

  How does a singularity expand or multiply itself? Mirror imaging. At some point, close to the center, is overlap, where it’s possible to perceive both. But, at that point, which is which? And does it matter? The original can break the mirror and remain intact. But both are of the one.

  No need to look in a clear segment of the cracked bathroom mirror over the sink to know my eyes are swollen from not going back to sleep after he finished with me. From crying until I got up to take my bath at four thirty-eight. Don’t want to see what I look like. Just want to remember who I am, on my own. Or, at least, who I was. But I feel her disappearing so look anyway. Make sure I’m still there.

  After he left me, I lay still for awhile then got up and shut my door. Didn’t matter if I locked it anymore, but there was still enough of my selfness left inside me that I locked it anyway.

  Anything that feels solid does so due to magnetic repulsion. Repulsion keeps atoms from merging.

  My repulsion for him has gone way past Pluto. Way past Andromeda, even.

  I washed and washed myself down there, trying to get clean. Crying as quietly as I could, while I watched the red coming from me thin out in the water and spiral down the drain.

  All that soap and scrubbing, and I still felt dirty.

  He touched me everywhere before he put his finger where he’d put it before. Then he put it in that other place down there.

  If I could kill him, I would. Set me free. Set my mama free. Only, she’d find another one just like him, or worse. Maybe she’d wait a week to replace him. Or a few days, like she did for him.

  I want to escape from here in the worst way. But I’m stuck.

  Quiet as a caterpillar, I left the bathroom and started for my room. Buster’s snores stopped me. Infuriated me. I tip-toed into the kitchen and wrapped my hand around the handle of the biggest knife we had. Hoped it was big enough. Sharp enough. That I was strong enough.

  Halfway to Mama’s bedroom, I stopped. There’d be consequences if I succeeded in killing him. There’d be worse ones if I didn’t. He’d grab that knife and … The mental images caused me to break out in a sweat. I put the knife back and got dressed.

  Can’t get out of here fast enough this morning. Can’t move fast, either. Walking strange, like a duck, maybe. Does my mama hurt like this every time?

  Extra toilet paper wadded in my underwear, sandwiches in the new
small brown paper bag, arms straining from all the books, I left earlier than usual. It’ll take me longer to make it to school since I’m moving so slow.

  Early-morning darkness wrapped around me. Even small as I am, it doesn’t hide me. Nothing can. No one will. I’m stained, and I wonder if everyone who looks at me will see it too. Like a neon light flashing over my head:

  Dirty girl.

  More feelings than I know what to do with flutter like moths inside my lit-up brain. I’m furious with myself for not at least wounding him in his genitals or cutting IT off. And his offensive finger. I’m angry because I’m too small to defend myself against him. Oddly, these things also heap humiliation on top of what I already feel.

  Dirty girl.

  Weak girl.

  Scaredy-cat.

  Whose only weapon are words he can’t even understand, so they’re wasted on him.

  I don’t want to speak the language of abuse, but there are some determined to teach it to me.

  Not a test I want to pass.

  Or take.

  CHAPTER 7

  Trips to the bathroom before every class. Have to change the wadded toilet paper every hour. The bleeding is slowing. Finally.

  In Mr. Sanchez’s class, I shift in the hard wooden chair attached to my desk for about the hundredth time. Feel the tears straining against my eyelids. I. Will. Not. Cry.

  Mr. Sanchez called on me. I kept my head down and shook it.

  Please leave me alone.

  He said, “I know you know this, Katherine.”

  I dropped my forehead to my arms folded on my desk.

  “Are you feeling bad, Katherine?”

  I nodded a few times.

  Feeling bad.

  Feeling pain.

  Feeling icky where I shouldn’t.

  Feeling a scream stuck in my throat, pushing against my teeth to get out past my lips.

  Mr. Sanchez left me alone after that.

  Or so I thought.

  Five minutes till three, if the clock’s right. Last class of the day. At three the bell will ring. I’m already shaking.