When Life Goes Akimbo

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When Life Goes Akimbo

I am always akimbo. My legs sprawl in awkward lines whether sitting or reclining. Mother says it’s because I’m still growing, but I know there’s more to it. My father once whispered the secret. He was honest. Mother is not.

Mother has curly hair that wiggles in her sleep. She combs it for hours in front of the chimney fire. The heat gentles it. I watch from my seat on the sofa. I know that she hides behind normality. Father cannot endure such things. He has left us to return to the others. He waits for us there. I wish Mother would stop pretending. I wish we could go there, too.

At school, the students laugh at me. They walk through the halls with their hands over their laughing-mouth derision. I pass them by, acting as if I do not see. I never look back, but I feel their eyes staring.

Teachers do not stare; they avoid looking at me. Rarely do they call on me. They assume I know the answers. I always do. I get straight A’s. No teacher would dare to give me less.

Last year, Mrs. Thomas broke my truce. She tried to talk with me and refused to heed the signs. Mrs. Thomas is no more. We were told she moved away.

Before she learned better, she used to nag me about taking ballet. She said it would help with my grace and attitude. But my legs have no wish to twirl in circles. My feet hate touching the ground. I plaster my elbows to my side so I don’t flap into the sky. I don’t need lessons on dancing.

Too bad for Mrs. Thomas, but I did explain it all to her before she disappeared.

Last year a strange boy attached himself to me. For weeks his eyes studied me, and he began to follow me. I saw the questions inside him. I ignored him as long I could. One day I at last permitted him to approach me. Like a puppy, he gushed in eagerness.

He called me his friend, but I felt nothing for him. Ignorance is not a medium for camaraderie.

Kerry was his name. I remember that now, although I did not at first. Months have passed since I last saw him. My memory of him is faint.

For a long time he carried my books home. He talked with my mother. He brought me dark red geraniums that died as he passed them over. I suppose I should miss him, but I do not.

We were walking on the railroad tracks that last day. He dared me to go down into Clements Cavern. Should I have done so? My father would not have allowed it, but he is gone. He left me. When Kerry asked a second time, his eyes all ablaze with something I couldn’t pinpoint, I was struck with a deep curiosity to probe the meaning in his look. I jumped off the tracks and followed the boy down the hill toward that open chasm of darkness.

Inside the cavern, it smelled musty. Several bats hung from stalactites on the ceiling. When Kerry saw the bats, I think he believed me to be frightened. He pulled me close, wrapped his arm about my shoulders, and dabbed a kiss at my cheek. He should not have done that. It was more than I could handle.

The next day they looked for Kerry. The police came and interviewed us. They quizzed me, especially, for hours. My face does not reflect my thoughts. Although I was tempted to tease them with stray pieces of fact, I smiled into their eyes and batted each question far out into empty fields. When they finished with me, they shook their heads and went away. They did not speak to me again.

The school nurse pulled me from my class soon after. She scratched my skin with a needle dipped in some odd chemical. I supposed she was still working on Kerry’s disappearance, but it is possible the two were unrelated. When the nurse was finished, I saw four red spots on my arm. As she turned away to get a bandage, I rubbed the spots away. She never noticed. She seemed happy as she studied my arm, for the mechanical examiner did not confirm what she had feared.

I smiled back at her, holding my teeth flat. Long ago my father had taught me how to cover up inconsistencies. It is like my mother’s curls; I can warm stray tendrils tame.

On odd days I go to visit Clements Cavern. The bats look down. They know me now. Their little faces peel back to reveal sharp teeth, but they are not warning me off. They’re smiling. They recognize our kinship.

Yesterday I received a letter from my father. He is coming for a visit. He wants to see me get my certificate of graduation. My jaw expands slightly as I flash my teeth in merriment. I have decided we shall celebrate the occasion. Those girls with their twisted smiles and obnoxious, saccharine giggles – it is time for them to understand the secret.

I try to explain my thoughts to my mother, but she simply turns away. She is cutting her nails, flat and even. It will do no good. By midnight they will be grown out again. My mother cannot accept. It is why Father left her.

That night, I curl up in my bed and sip what is left of the strange boy who took me into the Cavern. His blood has gone rancid, but I finish if off anyway. Soon, there will be fresh. I lay my head down on the pillow and gloat over the celebration that comes tomorrow.

(960 words)

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