“You’re going to sit right there and write an apology to that boy.”
Brie sat down at the kitchen table, and took a pen out of her book bag, and a piece of paper, but she did not begin writing. She had started to go along with her Mother’s demand without actually believing she would ever have to complete the task.
Mrs. Beimen opened the refrigerator and surveyed the inventory. She sighed. A phone call would be made.
“Yes I’d like to place an order for delivery.”
“I thought you were going to make tacos,” Brie whined.
Her Mother put her left pointer finger to her nose.
Brie studied the empty sheet in front of her.
“Who decided to make the lines blue?” she wondered.
She uncapped her red pen and carefully made some improvements.
“I got you the chicken and noodles thing you like, ok?”
The blonde pixie glanced up but did not reply.
“Michael will be joining us for dinner by the way. He’s coming straight from work.”
Brie drew some frogs in the corner of her page.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Hold on, let’s see what you have so far.”
Brie held the paper out. She looked away in disgust, resenting the hold up.
“You didn’t even start. I mean it Brie, write this.”
“What am I supposed to say?” she asked, agitated.
“Tell him you’re sorry you did what you did. Tell him that you know now that it was wrong of you.”
“Can you write it? Then I’ll copy it in my hand writing.”
“No. That’s dishonest Brie.”
“So?”
“So it would be a lie. You don’t lie.”
“Sometimes you have to.”
“Not when you’re ten.”
“Well I’m ten and a quarter so it should be ok.”
“I know how old you are. …This message needs to come from you, not me.”
“You lie.”
“Not unless I have to.”
“How will I know when I have to?”
“I’ll tell you. How about that?”
“Did you have to lie about Dad?”
“Brie, I didn’t lie about him, I told the truth. It was very important that you lived with me, here. That was the best thing for you. You didn’t need to be uprooted, starting over at some new school. Is that what you would’ve wanted?”
“Didn’t you know the judge? I bet you did. Dad said you did he said—”
“This is not the time for this conversation,” Mrs. Beimen said, raising her voice just loud enough to drown out her belligerent daughter. “Calm down.”
“You, you don’t—”
“Calm, down.”
She kissed Brie’s forehead.
“I don’t like writing letters. I don’t know the format.”
“And I don’t like having to leave my office early to come to my daughter’s school, just because she’s gotten herself in trouble. I was working on a very important case today Brie. …How do you think we afford this ridiculous house? Five bedrooms for the two of us,” she said, amazed at the fact.
Brie was out of arguments, and more importantly, out of energy.
“Now can you please go write something to this poor boy you traumatized?”
Brie looked around for a second and then stormed off. Mrs. Beimen considered it an acceptable response considering Brie’s usual temperament. She had fully expected for something to end up broken again. For now she would assume her directions were being followed.
Brie threw her bag against the wall and dove into her bed. With her headphones in place and her shades drawn, she could imagine that her day had not happened. It was harder to pretend the entire last year had not happened either, but she was working on it, meticulously building a revisionist history in her mind, by and for herself.
Her cold hands and feet reminded her it was really Fall now. Her jeans too told her this. She hated seeing her legs covered up, hated the extra weight on her body. Her Summer tan had already faded completely. She thought of what her Father had said six months prior, right before he had to leave. She replayed the scene in her mind every time she shut her green eyes.
“You know, I’ve been thinking… maybe after your Mother and I sort all this stuff out, you and me, we’ll take off and go to California. Whaddya say?”
“Ok!” she’d exclaimed.
There was never a day since then that Brie doubted the trip would happen. It was only a matter of when. Her Father told her only truth. The custody regulations however, they would make things difficult. Judges, other lawyers… these people would get in her way for the next eight years. Brie understood this reality, but never fully acknowledged it, even to herself. As it was the two could only be together, overnight, on the weekends.
Brie turned her music down and pulled the pink and white covers over herself. She laid there, waiting impatiently for her extremities to come back to normal. Soon they did, and the warm comfort of her bed soothed her irritation with the world. It quickly became far too much effort to stay awake, and there was really no reason to. She brought the blanket to her upper lip and fell to sleep.
A dream came and confused her. It troubled her young mind. It was too real, too believable.
There she was, on the bus again, riding to school with the other children. There she sat, surrounded by them. Outside the sky was gray, joyless.
Brooke was there, just as she had been that morning, in the seat behind Brie’s, smiling and chewing her gum, her eyes wide in astonishment. And Reggie too was right in his spot, across the aisle, in the very last seat, with the black marker in his hand. In the dream it was Brie’s own high pitched voice egging the boy on, stoking the fire. The portrait of herself as chief conspirator, primary instigator, this was her vision of reality. She would always remember it this way and not even Reggie’s conflicting take on the matter, relayed to her years later, would change that. The skewed memory would further fortify its place in her skull as time flowed on. In truth she had done nothing, had been simply a bystander as she listened to her best girlfriend suggest lewd and unthinkable things to the boy. He drew the hateful symbol, and etched every horrible word Brooke came up with. They did not consider it destroying school property. In their minds, it was theirs.
When the girl woke she found herself in the night, in the safe darkness. Her clock read 8:13. She rolled over and wrapped the blankets tight around her tiny mass. Once it dawned on her that she had slept through the dinner hour, a small but dense barbell was taken from her shoulders.
“Best thing out of the whole day…” she muttered to herself.
She had learned it was much easier to imagine Michael did not exist if she never saw him. There would be no frivolous questions to answer, about how her day was, or what she thought of the weather, or what she wanted for Christmas… there would be no need to pretend to appreciate whatever trinket Michael might have brought for her, she would not have to listen to him flatter her Mother, and, best of all, she would not have to look across the dinner table and see him sitting in her Father’s place. He was a square, just like her Mother, and she did not need another stiff, cold adult in her life. Especially one who never should have been there in the first place.
“Why does she need to be spending time with someone else?” Brie often asked herself. “And why him?”
In her mind the only acceptable thing would be for her Mother to take up a vigil, and reflect, and wait in solitude until things could be brought back to the way they were. Her Mother’s dating, her second chance at single life, was repulsive to the girl. Every smile Brie saw her Mother crack in the presence of another man was chalked up and counted as a sin. She imagined her Mother coming to her senses, admitting her wrongs… asking for her forgiveness. Brie would grant it, gladly, and hug her Mother until her arms were sore.
And once the girl began thinking like that, imagining the other ways things could be, should be, the urge to mentally reunite her parents became irresistible. As long as she was fantasizing, she would go ahead and make things perfect while she was at it. She put them in a church, an enormous one. An ancient one in the European countryside. One whose walls had seen the joining of thousands of lovers. The pews would be bursting with guests, the witnesses. She had them reaffirming their love for each other once more, saying their vows all over again, with a few new lines added in for good luck. They would restart their lives with the spark of that kiss, and everyone would clap, and cheer, and then, dance together.
Brie considered the idea of remaining in bed until morning. It seemed it would be much harder for anything to go wrong that way. With her left hand she searched for her stuffed Fox. After several seconds of empty grasping she became frustrated, furrowing her miniscule brow. Finally, upon locating her best friend, she relaxed. She hugged him, bringing him to her chest.
“Who’s a fuss?” she whispered. “You.”
She beeped his nose, and made the accompanying sound.
Then, footsteps. Quick, light footsteps came from down the hall and stopped outside her door. Mrs. Beimen peeked inside the lightless room.
“Brie? …Honey?”
“Go away go away,” she thought.
Brie’s powers of telepathy, latent but existent, she was sure, failed her right then. Mrs. Beimen walked up to the side of the bed and used the light from her phone to illuminate her daughter’s still form. Brie did her best to simulate the kind of effortlessly steady breathing that is only demonstrated by the unconscious.
“Brie…”
Her Mother placed her hand on her upper back and gently shook her. Brie turned her head towards her but said nothing. She opened one eye.
“Hey. You were out for a while.”
Brie nodded, closing her eye again.
“Are you hungry? Hm?”
More nodding. At the moment, Brie felt as though nothing could possibly be more taxing than speech. Her energy level had dipped into the negatives.
“Ok. Well I’ll heat your food back up then. Why don’t you come downstairs in about ten minutes?”
“…Ok.”
“Poor sleepy baby.”
Brie slid her hand into her Fox, and used his arms to throw a tantrum on her Mother’s leg.
“He has fuss paws,” she said.
Mrs. Beimen smiled.
Once it was time, even with her stomach begging for sustenance, Brie found it difficult to lift her elfin frame out of bed. She wondered if her Mother had turned the gravity up. Eventually, with great strain, she sat up and managed to scoot herself to the edge of the bed. She leaned forward, hands pressing into her legs, eyes closed, retinas sore. The darkness was too secure and the bed too inviting. She allowed her small body to fall over on its right side and sink back into the mattress. Just as sleep was about to eclipse her consciousness once more, she heard her Mother laughing.
“Brie, goodness. Would you like to eat your dinner up here instead?”
“…No. I’m coming.”
“Do you need me to carry you?”
“No thank you.”
The zombie girl grabbed her pal and followed after her Mother.
The bright lights of the hallway and foyer unbalanced her. An extra tight grip on the stairway railing was employed.
She flopped into the same chair she’d sat in that afternoon. She guarded her Father’s spot.
“Uh, I think your furry friend will have to wait upstairs sweetie.”
Mrs. Beimen held out her hand.
“Here. I’ll put him back for you.”
“No he’s eating with me,” she reasoned.
She shook Fox’s head ‘no’ for him.
“Where’s the food?”
Mrs. Beimen tried to think of a way to deal with the problem delicately but had already exhausted her creative energy for the day. She considered letting it go, for the time being, but, she knew the longer it went on the harder it would become to correct. After all, how could Brie become a respectable career woman if she was so preoccupied with imaginary friends?
“Brie, honey, big girls don’t need their toys at the dinner table. You’re almost eleven now.”
“Fox E. Box is not a toy! He’s my friend,” she whimpered, shielding him.
She nodded his head ‘yes.’
“I know you like him but do you remember when we talked about trying to make more, regular friends? At school? I told you you could invite someone over… I don’t mind. Or I can drive you to their house. What about Brooke?”
“Dad gave him to me.”
“Did you hear what I just asked?”
“Brooke never wants to hang out.”
“Have you asked her?”
“…No.”
“Well, maybe, if you ask her, she’ll want to. She’ll probably like the idea.”
Mrs. Beimen tried to sneak the plush away from her daughter as she spoke, but this proved fruitless. The unyielding tension in Brie’s arms and hands amazed her. She let her be, retiring to the living room with the latest issue of “Vogue.” The girl ate her meal with her companion balanced perfectly on her head. As she chewed, slowly, thoroughly, she thought. Remembered.
“Alright everyone, have a seat please,” the Principal had said.
She was a calm woman, like Mrs. Beimen. She had the short, serious haircut of a middle aged female educator and the pants suit to match. It did not seem, to Brie, that she believed in yelling, but when she walked into her office that morning, the girl did not expect the meeting to end like her ‘you’re in trouble’ discussions with her Mother did; with only an empty promise to behave better and a trip to the candy aisle of the grocery store.
“Brie, Brooke, Reggie... we have to call your parents so they can know what happened on the bus this morning. One of you will be in here with me at a time, and we’ll contact them. Now you have two choices… either you can describe what happened, or I can. Maybe you feel it would be easier coming from me… you’ll have to decide.”
Brooke, her brashness having evaporated, chose to employ the woman as her mouthpiece, her messenger. Reggie, not scarred in the way everyone would always think he must be, elected for the first option, as did Brie. If there was one thing she was not afraid of, it was telling her Mother things… whatever those things might be. Her confession was met with a sigh. Twenty miles away, Mrs. Beimen put her hand to her forehead in anguish.
“This isn’t a prank is it? Please tell me this is a joke that your friends put you up to.”
“It’s not.”
“…Alright… so, what do I come to your school now? Is that what they want?”
“Yeah.”
“…Ok. Don’t get into any more trouble before I get there.”
“I’ll try.”
“I want you to bring this up with Dr. Harvey too. You’ll talk to her about it at your next session ok?”
“Ok.”
Her Mother put on her usual show. Her stern glare, her strong words, her promise of the severe punishment to come… these things were for public display, and were only showcased when her abilities as a Mother were brought into question. These things were kept in a box marked, “In case of Emergency.”
When Brie’s Chicken Lo Mein ran out, the reflection ended.
“Should we lie back down?” she asked Fox.
He shrugged.
“Hm… well, would you like to run the telephone company instead?”
He nodded enthusiastically.
“Well don’t get the wires crossed again!” she laughed. “When I try to call someone you’ve got to put me through.”
Fox assured her he would, nodding ‘yes’ like a little know-it-all. She brought him close to her and stroked his red-orange fur. He smelled like detergent.
“Mom… mom, can you tell Fox he’s grounded?”
“I’m reading sweetie.”
“Come on. It’ll be funny, watch.”
“…Fox you’re grounded.”
“No you’re not!” Brie shouted, overruling her Mother.
“You don’t need to yell.”
“You’re right,” she laughed. “Fox’s hearing is so good, that if we were in a submarine, under the ocean, like so deep we were almost at the Earth’s core, and Fox was on the moon, in a space colony, in his room, in his bed, under the covers, and you called him a fuss, he’d hear it and go, “I most certainly am not.”
Brie laughed herself to the point of tears, and then walked away, with the woodland creature draped over her shoulder. He looked back at Mrs. Beimen, mocking her with his nodding. He had shown her.
Back in her room, Brie remembered the letter. She would never say this, but she actually wanted to write the thing. She had thought of the idea long before her Mother ever mentioned it.
She simply could not do it. If she were to create it, she would end up remembering one day, that she had.
One of the few things that kept the girl outside the wasteland of depression was the fact that there was no tangible proof of her parents’ separation. Of course her Father was not there, at the house, but on the weekends she was at his, and that was more than enough of an opening for her wild imagination. That fact was a cave where she would hide out; a safe secret place where she built herself lies to live in.
There was the story of how her Father had moved out simply because of a new, further away job, and there was the one where he left only so he could more easily receive medical treatment at the best hospital, for an ailment that was merely annoying, never life threatening, and she spun yet another tale in which her Father had not really left at all. He was still there, living with them, but he left early each morning and only made it home from work after Brie had been put to bed. She would never see him but would always feel his kiss on her head in the middle of the night. Which idea she ran with depended on the day, and the temperature, and on whether it was raining or not, and it could change again if her hair felt gross instead of pretty. All of these constructs were stored in a container marked, “Take One Daily.”
In the distance, the phone rang. Moments later, she heard the quick, light footsteps.
“Brie? It’s your Dad.”
Her eyes lit up like a winning slot machine. Mrs. Beimen handed her the cordless and shut the door.
“Daddy…”
“Hi there pumpkin. How’s my baby girl?”
“Good. I was just playing with Fox.”
“Oh I bet he loves the attention doesn’t he?”
“He does. He’s a, what is that thing you said?”
“Oh,” Dad laughed. “He’s a little prima donna.”
“That’s it!”
“How was school today?”
“Lame… forgettable.”
“Ah, yeah… a lot of school days can be like that. You’ll be all done one day. Don’t worry. …You ready for a big weekend this weekend?”
“Yeah! Are we going somewhere?”
“Well I thought maybe you’d like to go to the zoo, before it gets too cold. We could pay Fox’s friends a visit. Do you still like going there?”
“Of course I do what are you bonkers?”
“Not yet I hope,” Dad laughed.
“You’re not don’t worry.”
“Great. …Hey, uh, maybe we’ll buy ourselves a map of California while we’re out. Whaddya say?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“I thought it would.”
Brie sat down at the kitchen table, and took a pen out of her book bag, and a piece of paper, but she did not begin writing. She had started to go along with her Mother’s demand without actually believing she would ever have to complete the task.
Mrs. Beimen opened the refrigerator and surveyed the inventory. She sighed. A phone call would be made.
“Yes I’d like to place an order for delivery.”
“I thought you were going to make tacos,” Brie whined.
Her Mother put her left pointer finger to her nose.
Brie studied the empty sheet in front of her.
“Who decided to make the lines blue?” she wondered.
She uncapped her red pen and carefully made some improvements.
“I got you the chicken and noodles thing you like, ok?”
The blonde pixie glanced up but did not reply.
“Michael will be joining us for dinner by the way. He’s coming straight from work.”
Brie drew some frogs in the corner of her page.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Hold on, let’s see what you have so far.”
Brie held the paper out. She looked away in disgust, resenting the hold up.
“You didn’t even start. I mean it Brie, write this.”
“What am I supposed to say?” she asked, agitated.
“Tell him you’re sorry you did what you did. Tell him that you know now that it was wrong of you.”
“Can you write it? Then I’ll copy it in my hand writing.”
“No. That’s dishonest Brie.”
“So?”
“So it would be a lie. You don’t lie.”
“Sometimes you have to.”
“Not when you’re ten.”
“Well I’m ten and a quarter so it should be ok.”
“I know how old you are. …This message needs to come from you, not me.”
“You lie.”
“Not unless I have to.”
“How will I know when I have to?”
“I’ll tell you. How about that?”
“Did you have to lie about Dad?”
“Brie, I didn’t lie about him, I told the truth. It was very important that you lived with me, here. That was the best thing for you. You didn’t need to be uprooted, starting over at some new school. Is that what you would’ve wanted?”
“Didn’t you know the judge? I bet you did. Dad said you did he said—”
“This is not the time for this conversation,” Mrs. Beimen said, raising her voice just loud enough to drown out her belligerent daughter. “Calm down.”
“You, you don’t—”
“Calm, down.”
She kissed Brie’s forehead.
“I don’t like writing letters. I don’t know the format.”
“And I don’t like having to leave my office early to come to my daughter’s school, just because she’s gotten herself in trouble. I was working on a very important case today Brie. …How do you think we afford this ridiculous house? Five bedrooms for the two of us,” she said, amazed at the fact.
Brie was out of arguments, and more importantly, out of energy.
“Now can you please go write something to this poor boy you traumatized?”
Brie looked around for a second and then stormed off. Mrs. Beimen considered it an acceptable response considering Brie’s usual temperament. She had fully expected for something to end up broken again. For now she would assume her directions were being followed.
Brie threw her bag against the wall and dove into her bed. With her headphones in place and her shades drawn, she could imagine that her day had not happened. It was harder to pretend the entire last year had not happened either, but she was working on it, meticulously building a revisionist history in her mind, by and for herself.
Her cold hands and feet reminded her it was really Fall now. Her jeans too told her this. She hated seeing her legs covered up, hated the extra weight on her body. Her Summer tan had already faded completely. She thought of what her Father had said six months prior, right before he had to leave. She replayed the scene in her mind every time she shut her green eyes.
“You know, I’ve been thinking… maybe after your Mother and I sort all this stuff out, you and me, we’ll take off and go to California. Whaddya say?”
“Ok!” she’d exclaimed.
There was never a day since then that Brie doubted the trip would happen. It was only a matter of when. Her Father told her only truth. The custody regulations however, they would make things difficult. Judges, other lawyers… these people would get in her way for the next eight years. Brie understood this reality, but never fully acknowledged it, even to herself. As it was the two could only be together, overnight, on the weekends.
Brie turned her music down and pulled the pink and white covers over herself. She laid there, waiting impatiently for her extremities to come back to normal. Soon they did, and the warm comfort of her bed soothed her irritation with the world. It quickly became far too much effort to stay awake, and there was really no reason to. She brought the blanket to her upper lip and fell to sleep.
A dream came and confused her. It troubled her young mind. It was too real, too believable.
There she was, on the bus again, riding to school with the other children. There she sat, surrounded by them. Outside the sky was gray, joyless.
Brooke was there, just as she had been that morning, in the seat behind Brie’s, smiling and chewing her gum, her eyes wide in astonishment. And Reggie too was right in his spot, across the aisle, in the very last seat, with the black marker in his hand. In the dream it was Brie’s own high pitched voice egging the boy on, stoking the fire. The portrait of herself as chief conspirator, primary instigator, this was her vision of reality. She would always remember it this way and not even Reggie’s conflicting take on the matter, relayed to her years later, would change that. The skewed memory would further fortify its place in her skull as time flowed on. In truth she had done nothing, had been simply a bystander as she listened to her best girlfriend suggest lewd and unthinkable things to the boy. He drew the hateful symbol, and etched every horrible word Brooke came up with. They did not consider it destroying school property. In their minds, it was theirs.
When the girl woke she found herself in the night, in the safe darkness. Her clock read 8:13. She rolled over and wrapped the blankets tight around her tiny mass. Once it dawned on her that she had slept through the dinner hour, a small but dense barbell was taken from her shoulders.
“Best thing out of the whole day…” she muttered to herself.
She had learned it was much easier to imagine Michael did not exist if she never saw him. There would be no frivolous questions to answer, about how her day was, or what she thought of the weather, or what she wanted for Christmas… there would be no need to pretend to appreciate whatever trinket Michael might have brought for her, she would not have to listen to him flatter her Mother, and, best of all, she would not have to look across the dinner table and see him sitting in her Father’s place. He was a square, just like her Mother, and she did not need another stiff, cold adult in her life. Especially one who never should have been there in the first place.
“Why does she need to be spending time with someone else?” Brie often asked herself. “And why him?”
In her mind the only acceptable thing would be for her Mother to take up a vigil, and reflect, and wait in solitude until things could be brought back to the way they were. Her Mother’s dating, her second chance at single life, was repulsive to the girl. Every smile Brie saw her Mother crack in the presence of another man was chalked up and counted as a sin. She imagined her Mother coming to her senses, admitting her wrongs… asking for her forgiveness. Brie would grant it, gladly, and hug her Mother until her arms were sore.
And once the girl began thinking like that, imagining the other ways things could be, should be, the urge to mentally reunite her parents became irresistible. As long as she was fantasizing, she would go ahead and make things perfect while she was at it. She put them in a church, an enormous one. An ancient one in the European countryside. One whose walls had seen the joining of thousands of lovers. The pews would be bursting with guests, the witnesses. She had them reaffirming their love for each other once more, saying their vows all over again, with a few new lines added in for good luck. They would restart their lives with the spark of that kiss, and everyone would clap, and cheer, and then, dance together.
Brie considered the idea of remaining in bed until morning. It seemed it would be much harder for anything to go wrong that way. With her left hand she searched for her stuffed Fox. After several seconds of empty grasping she became frustrated, furrowing her miniscule brow. Finally, upon locating her best friend, she relaxed. She hugged him, bringing him to her chest.
“Who’s a fuss?” she whispered. “You.”
She beeped his nose, and made the accompanying sound.
Then, footsteps. Quick, light footsteps came from down the hall and stopped outside her door. Mrs. Beimen peeked inside the lightless room.
“Brie? …Honey?”
“Go away go away,” she thought.
Brie’s powers of telepathy, latent but existent, she was sure, failed her right then. Mrs. Beimen walked up to the side of the bed and used the light from her phone to illuminate her daughter’s still form. Brie did her best to simulate the kind of effortlessly steady breathing that is only demonstrated by the unconscious.
“Brie…”
Her Mother placed her hand on her upper back and gently shook her. Brie turned her head towards her but said nothing. She opened one eye.
“Hey. You were out for a while.”
Brie nodded, closing her eye again.
“Are you hungry? Hm?”
More nodding. At the moment, Brie felt as though nothing could possibly be more taxing than speech. Her energy level had dipped into the negatives.
“Ok. Well I’ll heat your food back up then. Why don’t you come downstairs in about ten minutes?”
“…Ok.”
“Poor sleepy baby.”
Brie slid her hand into her Fox, and used his arms to throw a tantrum on her Mother’s leg.
“He has fuss paws,” she said.
Mrs. Beimen smiled.
Once it was time, even with her stomach begging for sustenance, Brie found it difficult to lift her elfin frame out of bed. She wondered if her Mother had turned the gravity up. Eventually, with great strain, she sat up and managed to scoot herself to the edge of the bed. She leaned forward, hands pressing into her legs, eyes closed, retinas sore. The darkness was too secure and the bed too inviting. She allowed her small body to fall over on its right side and sink back into the mattress. Just as sleep was about to eclipse her consciousness once more, she heard her Mother laughing.
“Brie, goodness. Would you like to eat your dinner up here instead?”
“…No. I’m coming.”
“Do you need me to carry you?”
“No thank you.”
The zombie girl grabbed her pal and followed after her Mother.
The bright lights of the hallway and foyer unbalanced her. An extra tight grip on the stairway railing was employed.
She flopped into the same chair she’d sat in that afternoon. She guarded her Father’s spot.
“Uh, I think your furry friend will have to wait upstairs sweetie.”
Mrs. Beimen held out her hand.
“Here. I’ll put him back for you.”
“No he’s eating with me,” she reasoned.
She shook Fox’s head ‘no’ for him.
“Where’s the food?”
Mrs. Beimen tried to think of a way to deal with the problem delicately but had already exhausted her creative energy for the day. She considered letting it go, for the time being, but, she knew the longer it went on the harder it would become to correct. After all, how could Brie become a respectable career woman if she was so preoccupied with imaginary friends?
“Brie, honey, big girls don’t need their toys at the dinner table. You’re almost eleven now.”
“Fox E. Box is not a toy! He’s my friend,” she whimpered, shielding him.
She nodded his head ‘yes.’
“I know you like him but do you remember when we talked about trying to make more, regular friends? At school? I told you you could invite someone over… I don’t mind. Or I can drive you to their house. What about Brooke?”
“Dad gave him to me.”
“Did you hear what I just asked?”
“Brooke never wants to hang out.”
“Have you asked her?”
“…No.”
“Well, maybe, if you ask her, she’ll want to. She’ll probably like the idea.”
Mrs. Beimen tried to sneak the plush away from her daughter as she spoke, but this proved fruitless. The unyielding tension in Brie’s arms and hands amazed her. She let her be, retiring to the living room with the latest issue of “Vogue.” The girl ate her meal with her companion balanced perfectly on her head. As she chewed, slowly, thoroughly, she thought. Remembered.
“Alright everyone, have a seat please,” the Principal had said.
She was a calm woman, like Mrs. Beimen. She had the short, serious haircut of a middle aged female educator and the pants suit to match. It did not seem, to Brie, that she believed in yelling, but when she walked into her office that morning, the girl did not expect the meeting to end like her ‘you’re in trouble’ discussions with her Mother did; with only an empty promise to behave better and a trip to the candy aisle of the grocery store.
“Brie, Brooke, Reggie... we have to call your parents so they can know what happened on the bus this morning. One of you will be in here with me at a time, and we’ll contact them. Now you have two choices… either you can describe what happened, or I can. Maybe you feel it would be easier coming from me… you’ll have to decide.”
Brooke, her brashness having evaporated, chose to employ the woman as her mouthpiece, her messenger. Reggie, not scarred in the way everyone would always think he must be, elected for the first option, as did Brie. If there was one thing she was not afraid of, it was telling her Mother things… whatever those things might be. Her confession was met with a sigh. Twenty miles away, Mrs. Beimen put her hand to her forehead in anguish.
“This isn’t a prank is it? Please tell me this is a joke that your friends put you up to.”
“It’s not.”
“…Alright… so, what do I come to your school now? Is that what they want?”
“Yeah.”
“…Ok. Don’t get into any more trouble before I get there.”
“I’ll try.”
“I want you to bring this up with Dr. Harvey too. You’ll talk to her about it at your next session ok?”
“Ok.”
Her Mother put on her usual show. Her stern glare, her strong words, her promise of the severe punishment to come… these things were for public display, and were only showcased when her abilities as a Mother were brought into question. These things were kept in a box marked, “In case of Emergency.”
When Brie’s Chicken Lo Mein ran out, the reflection ended.
“Should we lie back down?” she asked Fox.
He shrugged.
“Hm… well, would you like to run the telephone company instead?”
He nodded enthusiastically.
“Well don’t get the wires crossed again!” she laughed. “When I try to call someone you’ve got to put me through.”
Fox assured her he would, nodding ‘yes’ like a little know-it-all. She brought him close to her and stroked his red-orange fur. He smelled like detergent.
“Mom… mom, can you tell Fox he’s grounded?”
“I’m reading sweetie.”
“Come on. It’ll be funny, watch.”
“…Fox you’re grounded.”
“No you’re not!” Brie shouted, overruling her Mother.
“You don’t need to yell.”
“You’re right,” she laughed. “Fox’s hearing is so good, that if we were in a submarine, under the ocean, like so deep we were almost at the Earth’s core, and Fox was on the moon, in a space colony, in his room, in his bed, under the covers, and you called him a fuss, he’d hear it and go, “I most certainly am not.”
Brie laughed herself to the point of tears, and then walked away, with the woodland creature draped over her shoulder. He looked back at Mrs. Beimen, mocking her with his nodding. He had shown her.
Back in her room, Brie remembered the letter. She would never say this, but she actually wanted to write the thing. She had thought of the idea long before her Mother ever mentioned it.
She simply could not do it. If she were to create it, she would end up remembering one day, that she had.
One of the few things that kept the girl outside the wasteland of depression was the fact that there was no tangible proof of her parents’ separation. Of course her Father was not there, at the house, but on the weekends she was at his, and that was more than enough of an opening for her wild imagination. That fact was a cave where she would hide out; a safe secret place where she built herself lies to live in.
There was the story of how her Father had moved out simply because of a new, further away job, and there was the one where he left only so he could more easily receive medical treatment at the best hospital, for an ailment that was merely annoying, never life threatening, and she spun yet another tale in which her Father had not really left at all. He was still there, living with them, but he left early each morning and only made it home from work after Brie had been put to bed. She would never see him but would always feel his kiss on her head in the middle of the night. Which idea she ran with depended on the day, and the temperature, and on whether it was raining or not, and it could change again if her hair felt gross instead of pretty. All of these constructs were stored in a container marked, “Take One Daily.”
In the distance, the phone rang. Moments later, she heard the quick, light footsteps.
“Brie? It’s your Dad.”
Her eyes lit up like a winning slot machine. Mrs. Beimen handed her the cordless and shut the door.
“Daddy…”
“Hi there pumpkin. How’s my baby girl?”
“Good. I was just playing with Fox.”
“Oh I bet he loves the attention doesn’t he?”
“He does. He’s a, what is that thing you said?”
“Oh,” Dad laughed. “He’s a little prima donna.”
“That’s it!”
“How was school today?”
“Lame… forgettable.”
“Ah, yeah… a lot of school days can be like that. You’ll be all done one day. Don’t worry. …You ready for a big weekend this weekend?”
“Yeah! Are we going somewhere?”
“Well I thought maybe you’d like to go to the zoo, before it gets too cold. We could pay Fox’s friends a visit. Do you still like going there?”
“Of course I do what are you bonkers?”
“Not yet I hope,” Dad laughed.
“You’re not don’t worry.”
“Great. …Hey, uh, maybe we’ll buy ourselves a map of California while we’re out. Whaddya say?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“I thought it would.”
No comments:
Post a Comment