Invisible as Air

by Zoe Fishman

  Turning off the bathroom light, she made her way quietly to Teddy’s room. She wanted to give him a hug, to tell him she was proud of him, to try her best to assure him that she was still his mother, still capable, still there despite the fact that she had let him down.

  “Teddy,” she whispered, opening his door.

  The room was darkened by his drawn blinds, but she could see that his bed was already made. It was unlike him to be up so early, but it made sense. He was awfully nervous about Saturday; the night before he had barely spoken to anyone at dinner. Then again, that could have been her fault and had nothing to do with the impending Bar Mitzvah, Sylvie thought. Stop it, she told herself.

  Down to the kitchen she trotted, and there were her parents, fully showered and dressed, her mother’s makeup painstakingly applied. It wasn’t even 8:00 A.M.

  “How long have you been up?” she asked.

  “Good morning to you too, dear,” replied her father from behind his mug of coffee.

  “Have you seen Teddy?” she asked.

  “No, not a soul,” said her mother. “Do you have a grapefruit, by any chance?”

  “Grapefruit? What is this, a Disney cruise?” asked Sylvie.

  “What?”

  Sylvie looked around. Where was Teddy? A profound sense of dread filled the pit of her stomach, but she quickly told herself that she was being ridiculous. Maybe he had gone over to that Krystal person’s house. She grimaced. That Krystal person. She sounded exactly like her mother, something she had vowed never to do. All things considered, it was the least offensive of the many vows she had broken lately, but still.

  She looked out the kitchen window. Paul’s stationary bike was still, inexplicably, there. When she had asked him why he had dragged it into the driveway instead of, you know, taking an actual bike ride on one of the five nonstationary bikes he owned, he had just shrugged at her, as if she was a nag. Something was up with him, she thought, but then, so much was up with her that she had left it at that. But today, it had to be dragged back into the garage because: Saturday.

  Sylvie left her parents at the table and searched the rest of the house for her son. She lingered at the guest room doors of her in-laws, but there was nothing but the sound of snoring coming from Paul Sr. and the faint but specific smell of cigarettes from Gloria. She padded back to her bedroom.

  “Paul,” she said from the door. He did not stir, just an angular lump under the white duvet, curled into himself, his back to her.

  “Paul,” she said. Louder.

  “Yeah?” He rolled over quickly and sat up, his cowlick pointing west. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s Teddy. He’s not here.”

  “Jesus, Sylvie, what time is it?”

  “It’s 8:07 A.M.,” she replied, looking at the red numbers of their alarm clock. Paul lay back down and groaned.

  “I’m sure he’s at Krystal’s or something.”

  “This early? Seems a little unlikely.”

  “Well, maybe he snuck out, to sleep over.”

  “Teddy? Our Teddy? No way.”

  “Sylvie, he’s growing up,” said Paul. “There’s a way.” He sat back up, rubbed his eyes. “Do you have your phone? Have you called him?”

  Sylvie shook her head.

  “Isn’t that why we got him that stupid phone? Call him.”

  “Okay. You’re right.” Sylvie walked over to her bedside table and unplugged her phone from its charger.

  She felt her heart beating wildly in her chest as the phone rang and rang, whether from the idea that her son was having sex or that he had run away because she was an epic failure as a mother, she wasn’t sure.

  “He’s not picking up,” she told Paul.

  “Okay, then call Krystal.” Sylvie made a face. “Sylvie, stop being such a snob. Call her.”

  She walked into her closet and called Krystal.

  “Hello?” Krystal answered.

  “Krystal?”

  “Yes, this is her.”

  This is she, thought Sylvie.

  “Hi, Krystal, this is Teddy’s mom. Sylvie?”

  “Oh. Hi.”

  “Listen, is Teddy with you?”

  “With me?”

  “You can be honest; please, there’s no judgment. It’s just that he’s not here, and I’m, we’re, a little concerned,” Sylvie said.

  “He’s not with me,” she answered. “We haven’t spoken in a couple days. We had a fight.”

  “You had a fight?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sylvie wanted to know what the fight was about but also knew that it was none of her business. But if the subject of said fight might lead her to Teddy, well, that was a different story.

  “I hate to be nosy, but is there anything about your fight that might give you an idea where he is this morning?”

  Krystal slurped on the other end of the phone. “Sorry, just finishing my coffee,” she said.

  A thirteen-year-old drinking coffee, thought Sylvie. But she was an unemployed forty-six-year-old drug addict, so who was she to judge? Temporary drug addict. Temporary.

  “Sure, go ahead,” she said to Krystal.

  “Well, I don’t think it’s cool to divulge all our argument’s details, but I guess the relevant one is that he was speaking of, of, um—”

  “Go ahead,” said Sylvie.

  “It’s a bit awkward,” said Krystal.

  Sylvie sat down as her insides turned to warm syrup, her blessed drug doing what it did. It was going to be okay. Teddy was probably down the road—down the road! Yes, that was it! With his Twilight Manor movie buddies.

  “Oh, I know where he is!” Sylvie cried. “He’s got to be at Twilight Manor. He’s got a special thing going with that one older man, what’s his name? Manny?”

  “Morty.”

  “Yes, Morty. Oh, thank God,” Sylvie said, convinced with no evidence.

  “My mom is working today. Do you want me to call her and see if Teddy’s there?” Krystal asked.

  “Oh, Krystal, would you mind? That would be such a huge help. I have so much going on here—”

  “For the Bar Mitzvah?”

  “Yes. You’re coming, right? You and your mom? Please, I hope a little fight won’t prevent us from seeing you.” This was not entirely true. Sylvie was not looking forward to explaining Krystal to her parents.

  “Of course. I love him.”

  Sylvie gulped. A female other than her was not allowed to say this about Teddy with so much conviction; the possibility of hearing it wasn’t remotely on her radar, but there it was.

  “Right. Okay. So yes, please, could you call your mom and then call me right back?”

  “Will do.”

  “Thank you very much, Krystal.”

  Sylvie hung up. She was certain that Teddy was at Twilight Manor; he seemed to have a sort of Mr. Miyagi/Karate Kid thing going with Morty from the few details he had shared, but checking his room a little bit more thoroughly couldn’t hurt.

  “So what’s the word?” asked Paul, coming out of the bathroom in a towel, his hair damp. There was a tone to his voice, a tone of contempt. Even in the simplest exchanges between them lately, that tone hung in the air like sulfur.

  “Pretty sure he’s at Twilight Manor hanging out with that old guy, his friend? Morty? Krystal is calling to confirm; her mom’s working there this morning.”

  “I told you he was fine,” said Paul dismissively.

  Sylvie rolled her eyes and went back into Teddy’s room. She opened the blinds. It was as neat as a pin, something she felt a slight sense of guilt about since she was fairly certain her tendency—no, full-blown obsessive compulsion with cleanliness—had been absorbed by her son’s brain.

  When his preschool teacher had told them during the requisite parent conference that Teddy insisted on stacking the blocks in an exactly congruent way within the constraints of their plastic container, Sylvie had winced. Since then, she had mostly convinced herself that keeping things clean and organize
d was not a bad trait to pass on, mostly because it hadn’t seemed to stifle Teddy’s creativity. That had been her chief worry. Because she wanted for him what she hadn’t had, and Sylvie’s creativity was limited to fabric swatches.

  She meandered over to his desk and tapped the R on his laptop keyboard. The screen came alive, its picture familiar. Sylvie sat down, her heart beating at the sight of the still-familiar logo, although the last time she had taken a bus had to have been over twenty-five years ago. In college.

  It was a Greyhound schedule. Bus times from Atlanta to St. Marys. And in another window, the ferry schedule from St. Marys to Cumberland Island.

  Sylvie slumped in her chair. Teddy had gone back. The bravest one of the three of them by a long shot. He had gone back. A lump rose in Sylvie’s throat as it so often did, but this time she did not choke it back. It erupted from her in a scream.

  “Jesus, Sylvie! Are you all right?” Paul ran in, his eyes wide with concern.

  “Paul, look.” Sylvie pointed to the screen.

  “What?” Paul read it, and then he put his hand to his mouth and reached for the edge of the bed.

  “Shit,” he said.

  Sylvie’s phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Sylvie, it’s Krystal. My mom says he’s not there. She’s looked everywhere, and Morty hasn’t seen him.” Krystal sounded panicked.

  “Okay, thank you, Krystal. I think we know where he is, but thank you.”

  “Where? Is he okay?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. I’m going to go get him. Everything will be okay, Krystal,” Sylvie assured her. “I’ll have him call you as soon as we have him, okay?” Sylvie hung up before Krystal could ask her anything else.

  “So I’m going to go,” Sylvie announced. “He has to be there. I’m going to get him.”

  “You’re not going alone,” said Paul.

  “No, I have to go alone. We can’t just leave everyone here to fend for themselves.”

  “Sylvie, they’re grown adults; they’ll manage. You’re not going there to retrieve Teddy by yourself. Forget it.”

  “What’s with you lately?” hissed Sylvie. “You bark at me.”

  “That’s for another time.”

  “What’s for another time?”

  “My barking reasons.”

  “Tell me now, for God’s sake, before we’re locked in a car together for five hours,” said Sylvie.

  “David told me.”

  Sylvie felt the blood drain from her face, down through her body and into the floor. “He told you what?” She kept her voice as neutral as her beige toenail paint.

  “About the pills, Sylvie, what do you think? He told me that you came to his house asking for his pills, like some kind of housewife junkie.”

  “Housewife junkie? Excuse me?”

  The room was beginning to spin, ever so slightly. Sylvie put her hands on her thighs, sitting across from Paul on the bed, whose eyes were on fire with anger. But was that all that David had told him? That was the question.

  “That’s what he told you?” she asked again. “He told you that I asked him for his pills?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said?” said Paul. “What are you, a parrot? A parrot and a junkie?”

  “God, Paul, you’re being so fucking mean!” yelled Sylvie, feeling and sounding exactly like her former fourteen-year-old self. “I have a problem, obviously. Would a little compassion kill you?”

  The nerve she had, asking for his compassion, she thought, when what she had done was much, much worse than beg for drugs. When their own son had staged an intervention with her not twenty-four hours earlier. But here she was.

  “I’m sorry,” said Paul, his shoulders slumping slightly. He looked at the floor for a moment. “I suppose on some level, I should have some compassion for you, you’re right. And don’t mistake my anger for lack of worry. There’s plenty of worry here, believe me. But to go to a friend of mine, an addict, no less, behind my back and hit him up for pills—that’s like, well, to be honest, I’m embarrassed. Angry and embarrassed and worried. You’ve been taking these things regularly since that first prescription I came home with? From the hospital?”

  Sylvie nodded.

  “Jesus, Sylvie, that was almost four months ago.”

  “It was?” She sighed, composed herself. “Yes, I’m addicted to them at the moment, okay?” she said. “It’s true. I can’t go a day without at least one for a variety of reasons that I’ll share with you later, perhaps on this road trip we’re about to embark on, but right now we have to focus on just that. The road trip. Because we have to make the ferry. Because if we don’t make the ferry tonight, we won’t get back in time for this goddamn Bar Mitzvah with any time to decompress, and Teddy won’t be sealed in the Book of Life and we’ll all burn in hell.”

  “Book of Life? What the hell are you talking about, Sylvie? And I thought Jews didn’t believe in hell.”

  “We don’t. Not in the afterlife, anyway. Current life, definitely yes. Anyway, we have to pack; we have to go. We have to brief everyone.”

  “Okay,” said Paul. “All my stuff is in the basement. I’ll go down there and throw it in a bag.”

  “What about your ankle?” asked Sylvie.

  “What about it?”

  “Can you, like, trek through the wilds of Cumberland Island with that thing?”

  “I’ll make it work,” said Paul. “Don’t forget: long sleeves and pants. The mosquitoes there are like land sharks.”

  “I remember,” said Sylvie. He left her in the closet.

  Paul was right about the sleeves and pants, but she just couldn’t bear the thought of enduring the heat that way. She would buy bug spray at a gas station on the way. Oh God, Teddy. What had he worn? Her heart sank, imagining him covered with welts. Mosquitoes had always loved them both.

  “For fuck’s sake, Teddy,” she mumbled, pulling her backpack, which hadn’t seen the light of day since the last time she’d visited Cumberland Island, from the dark recesses of her bottom shelf and threw a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, a sweatshirt, a change of underwear and some socks into it.

  “Sylvie!” her mother called from below.

  “What?” she yelled back.

  She pulled off her carefully curated outfit, shimmied into a different pair of shorts and pulled a too-tight tank top over her head.

  “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

  “One second!” Socks. Sneakers. Check. A hat. Check. Okay, she was ready.

  Her memories of the last time she had packed this bag, as she zipped it closed now, they bubbled just below the surface of her consciousness, but she did not have the time to even acknowledge them, much less dwell in them. Her pills. She dug through the red purse and pulled out the bottle, shoving it deep into her backpack’s front pocket.

  “Sylvie!” her mother called again.

  “Coming! Jesus!”

  She ran down the stairs, backpack in tow, just as Paul was coming up from the basement, dressed like a deranged beekeeper. Everyone was in the kitchen now: her parents, Mary and Paul Sr.—the latter two still in their pajamas, their hair askew. Outside on the deck, Gloria smoked, watching them through the glass of the French doors as if she could read lips.

  “Good morning,” said Paul. “Sylvie, what’s with the shorts? Do you want to get eaten alive or what?”

  “What’s going on?” asked his mother. “Paul, honey, why are you dressed like that? It’s nine hundred degrees outside.”

  “Everyone,” said Sylvie. “There’s a situation.”

  “What kind of situation?” asked her father, perking up. He loved situations.

  “It’s Teddy.”

  “What’s wrong with Teddy? Oh my God,” said her mother, putting her manicured hand to her chest.

  “He’s taken a trip. Without asking us.”

  “He ran away?” Paul Sr. asked.

  “He’s gone to Cumberland Island,” said Paul. “We have to go get him.”

/>   “Cumberland Island?” asked Mary. “With the horses? Isn’t that where . . . ?”

  “Where I lost Delilah? Yes,” said Sylvie.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said her father. “Why would he go back there?”

  “Well, obviously he has some unresolved issues,” said Paul coldly. “He was on that trip too, you know.”

  “Know? Of course we know,” said her mother. “Why you would take a trip like that, camping, of all the things, at eight months pregnant, is beyond me—”

  “Mom, shut up,” said Sylvie.

  They had had this conversation once before, right after it had happened, right after Sylvie, Paul and Teddy had arrived home, trapped in a fog of disbelief and fear. That her mother would turn their tragedy into an I told you so moment was not unexpected, but it was reprehensible nevertheless, and Paul had all but swung a machete at her head in response.

  “Okay. So. We’re driving down this morning to make the ferry, find him and bring him back in time for the Bar Mitzvah. At least that’s the plan,” said Sylvie.

  “How are you going to be able to find him?” her father asked. “Does he have a tracking device implanted in his head or something? That’s a big island, isn’t it?”

  Sylvie hadn’t considered this, but of course he was right.

  “We’ll find him,” said Paul.

  There was a knock on the front door.

  “Who’s that?” Gloria asked, joining them.

  “No idea,” said Paul. He walked as quickly as he could, his ankle dragging ever so slightly, over to it. Outside stood Krystal, strapped into a backpack of her own. A purple backpack.

  “I’m coming with you,” she declared. Her wet eyelashes were bare. She looked like a thoroughbred colt standing there, all arms and legs.

  “And who is this?” asked Sylvie’s mother.

  “You’re not coming with us,” Paul told Krystal. “It’s pointless. We’ll be back in twenty-four hours.”

  “Sweetheart, we barely know what we’re doing; we can’t be responsible for you too,” explained Sylvie, ushering her in and closing the door even though they really had to go. “Does your mom know you’re here?”

  “I’m Teddy’s girlfriend,” Krystal said to everyone. “Krystal. Nice to meet you.”

  “Hello,” everyone murmured back.