Afterwards she watched as Ted cried over the birds. His bent back, his hands covering his face. She felt the sorrow deeply in herself. It was awful, what she had been forced to do.
Now, Dee stumbles on after Lulu. She grabs at the slender sappy branches, pulling herself along.
‘Stop,’ she calls. ‘Come on, Lulu. No need to be afraid. It’s Dee Dee.’
The sky turns red and the sun becomes a burning ball, sinking into the horizon. Dee’s breath comes short and her fingers are swollen where they grip the branch. She blinks to clear her vision of the black edges.
Come on, Dee Dee.
She vomits but there is no time to stop. Instead Dee starts to run again, even faster this time, careening gracefully through the trees, speeding so smoothly over the uneven ground, the fallen branches that her feet leave the earth. She flies silent and fast, piercing the air like an arrow. All she can hear is wind and thetapestry of forest sound: cicadas, doves, leaves.Why didn’t I know I could fly?she thinks.I’ll teach Lulu how and we can fly all over, never landing. We can be together and they won’t catch me. I’ll have time to explain to her why I did what I did.
Dee sees Lulu at the top of the next rise, silhouetted against the low sun. The little figure, the sun hat. Dee can just make out the white flip-flops on her feet. Dee hurtles through the air towards her. She comes to rest lightly on the grassy rise.
Lulu turns and Dee sees that she has no face. Red birds explode from her head in a cloud. Dee shrieks and covers her eyes with her hand.
When at last she dares to look, she is alone in the forest. Night has come again. Dee looks about her in terror. Where is she? How long has she been walking? She sinks to her knees. What has it all been for? Where is Lulu? Where are the answers that are her due? Dee screams out her horror and her sorrow. But her screams are no louder than papery whispers against the patter of rain. Her cheek is cold. She is lying on the forest floor, slick with rain. Her arm is swollen dark and heavy as a block of stone.I’m dying, she thinks.I just wanted there to be some kind of justice in the world.
As her vision clouds to black and her heart slows, she thinks she feels the lightest touch on her head. She seems to catch the scent of sunscreen, warm hair, sugar. ‘Lulu,’ she tries to say, ‘I’m sorry,’ but her heart stops beating and Dee is gone.
The thing that was once Dee lies far from any trail. The can of yellow spray paint is still held in what was her hand, swollen black with venom.
The birds and the foxes come, the coyotes, bears and rats. What was Dee feeds the earth. Her scattered bones sink into the rich changing humus. No ghost walks under the spreading trees. What’s done is done.
Ted
I am not dead, I can tell, because there is a strand of spaghetti on the green tile floor. What happens after death may be bad or good but there won’t be spilled spaghetti. The white hospital bed is hard, the walls are scuffed, and everything smells like lunch. The man is looking at me. The light glints on his orange-juice hair. ‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Where’s the woman?’ I ask. ‘The neighbour lady? She was saying the girl’s name. She was sick.’ Her arm looked snake-bit. I think she used the kit from my bag, but everyone knows those kits don’t do anything. I don’t know why I carry it. The memories are very confused, but there was something wrong with the neighbour lady – inside and out.
‘You were alone when I found you,’ he says. The man stares at me and I stare back. How are you supposed to talk to the person who saved your life?
‘How did you find me?’ I ask.
‘Someone had been blazing young trees with yellow paint. I’m a park ranger up in King County, so I didn’t like that. It’s toxic. I followed the trail, to tell them to stop. The dog got a blood scent. That was you.’
The doctor comes and the orange-haired man goes into the hall, out of earshot. The doctor is young, tired-looking.
‘You seem better. Let’s take a look.’ He does everything gently. ‘I want to ask you about the pills they found with you,’ he says.
‘Oh,’ I say, anxiety settling on me like a cloak. ‘I need them. They keep me calm.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘I’m not sure about that. Did a doctor prescribe them?’
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘He gave them to me in his office.’
‘I don’t know where your doctor got them – but I would stop taking them, if I were you. They stopped manufacturing these pills about ten years ago. They have extreme side effects. Hallucinations, memory loss. Some people experience rapid weight gain. I am happy to recommend an alternative.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I won’t be able to afford that.’
He sighs and sits on the bed, which Iknowthey’re not supposed to do. Mommy would have been upset. But he looks exhausted, so I don’t say anything. ‘It’s tough,’ he says. ‘There’s not enough support or funding. But I’ll bring you the forms. You might be eligible for aid.’ He hesitates. ‘It’s not just the medication that concerns me. There is a great deal of burn scarring on your back, legs and arms. There are also many scars from sutured incisions. That would normally indicate many hospitalisations in childhood. But your medical records don’t reflect that. They don’t seem to reflect any medical intervention at all.’ He looks at me and says, ‘Somebody should have caught this. Somebody should have stopped what was being done to you.’
It never before occurred to me that Mommy could have been stopped. I consider. ‘I don’t think they could have,’ I say. But it’s nice that it matters to him.
‘I can give you the name of someone who can go over your medical history in detail, someone you can talk to about … what happened. It’s never too late.’
He sounds unsure and I understand why. Sometimes it is too late. I think I finally understand the difference between now and then. ‘Maybe some other time,’ I say. ‘Right now I’m kind of tired of therapy.’
He looks like he wants to say more but he doesn’t, and I’m so grateful to him for that that I just start crying.
