Belt Buckles & Pajamas Page 7

  “I’m so sorry, Andie,” I tell her. “I’m so sorry,” I repeat, hugging her, crying onto her shoulder, and feeling her own tears as she holds me against her.

  “It’s okay, Daphne. Telling the story helps. I get a little more of me back from him every time I tell it. I tell it so I know it is part of the past and not what is happening to me now. Can you understand that?”

  I just cry on her shoulder. I understand it, but that doesn’t mean I can do it. She lets me cry, even when the bell rings and our time is up, she remains, holding me.

  Twenty-One: More Wheel Of Fortune

  “HUMPING HIPPOS,” Violet guesses. Pet Shop smiles at the hippopotamus reference. Violet’s in a good mood, bouncing up and down on the couch every time a letter is turned over that doesn’t mess up her answer.

  “Did anyone know that about Andie?” I ask. “Did anyone think she could ever have been one of us?”

  “Once you accept that she isn’t one of them,” Stuart says, “how could she help but be one of us?”

  “SuffragetteCity,” says the cow. It’s really something the hedgehog would have said. I think the cow must miss the little bugger too.

  Shy Boy reaches over and pats my hand. I smile and he smiles back. Someday maybe I will do it with him. He doesn’t seem like he looms in dark passages ready to jump and make me bleed and howl from pain and scrape my nails into the floor until they break. He doesn’t seem that way at all.

  Violet claps when the S is turned over at the end of the second word. “HUMPING HIPPOS!” she says, “It could still be HUMPING HIPPOS!”

  Violet is ignoring the question. I think she wants Andie to remain apart. I think she is afraid of Andie. Afraid of her sweet taste. Afraid of her sweater and skirt and pursed lips and curling hair over her ears. I don’t think she likes it that Andie has dreams like I do.

  “Maybe you could visit her, Violet. Help her sleep like you do for me.” It’s not that I don’t want Violet with me, it’s just that Andie deserves her more than I do. Andie’s worth saving. Andie needs to be whole.

  “H, you stupid slut,” she tells the contestant. “Give me a friggin’ H!”

  After they turn over a T instead and her hippos have no chance to be humping anymore, she turns to me. “No,” she says. “Andie doesn’t need me. You do.”

  “But –”

  “I said no! Weren’t you even listening to her? No, you were too busy crying on her shoulder and sniffing her hair and pushing against her boobs, weren’t you? She doesn’t need fixing, she fixed herself. Hell, she wasn’t even raped.”

  I curl into a ball in a corner of the sofa, dragging a blanket over me. Shy Boy tries to pull the blanket off to check on me but I kick at his hands until he leaves me alone. Violet doesn’t check to see if I am okay but I don’t care she doesn’t understand she was never forced she is always the one making other people do stuff with her. I stay there until Kareem says lights out and I go to bed and hide my head under the pillow and wait for Violet to come and hold me and she doesn’t. I pull my sleeve up and try to smell Andie’s tears on it but I can’t tell if they are hers or mine.

  Twenty-Two: In Which We Are No Longer Safe

  After breakfast we go out to check on the cemetery. Violet isn’t speaking to me. Whenever I try to talk to her she says “Save it for Andie.” Fine, if that’s the way she wants to be I will.

  “Red rum! Red rum!” the cow cries when we get to the broken down fence.

  Stuart’s hands fly to his head; complete disaster has struck. All the triangle reflection devices, all the tin foil antennae, all the miscellaneous pieces of his anti government mind reading device thing are in tatters. Shy Boy runs to the base of the big oak and starts crying. The shattered remains of his radio lay on the ground.

  “No!” Stuart cries, running around the gravestones until he finally trips and lands on the unmown grass. He beats his fists into the ground, screaming his frustration until he wears down from his efforts.

  Violet and I call a truce as we try to console him. “There, there,” I say, “it will be okay. This is the last night of the full moon anyway; we will just be careful, okay?”

  “I’ll keep you busy, if you want,” Violet tells him. “They can’t read your mind if you’re in the middle of an orgasm, that’s a proven fact.”

  “How did they know?” he asks, his eyes wild. “Who ratted me out?”

  He grabs Pet Shop by the shirt. “Did the hedgehog crack? What did they offer him, Eastern Europe?”

  “He wouldn’t,” Pet Shop insists, “he’s the best one I have. He would never tell.”

  Stuart lets him go. “No, you’re right, what was I thinking. He’s no stool pigeon.” He turns back to Pet Shop. “You don’t have any of those, do you?”

  “No,” he says. “Right now just a cow, a missing hedgehog and that damn monkey. But he’s never around, he doesn’t even know about the cemetery.”

  “Maybe it was the wind,” I offer. “It was picking up when we recalibrated yesterday.”

  “So you are saying that maybe the President didn’t order the head of the CIA to send an operative on a covert mission to destroy the one device in the western hemisphere capable of withstanding their mental assault? That he wouldn’t try to disable the only hope we have of autonomy, of individual thought, of self-command? Don’t be absurd.”

  He paces back and forth among the unnamed dead. “However,” he adds, “the covert mission could have been the propagation of weather control in this specific locale so as to make it seem that it was a natural event that brought about this catastrophe.” Stuart pauses then snaps his fingers. “There is only one way we can ensure our safety tonight.”

  “What’s that?” I ask, dreading the answer, bracing myself for some foolhardy scheme that would doubtlessly end up with one of us tranquilized.

  “Andie. The lady must be informed.”

  And so it was that Stuart decided that Andie could, in fact, be trusted.

  Twenty-Three: The Lady Is Informed

  Andie must have known something was up the minute she sat down for afternoon group. Stuart was all jittery and Pet Shop was petting the cow and Shy Boy was rocking back and forth. Sam was only a step away from us, he could see we were all jumpy and I don’t think he wanted to be caught off guard.

  “Well, it looks like something is going on that I don’t know about it. Did somebody get a little too much sugar at lunch?” She doesn’t seem like Andie when she is not quite sure what is going on. But she is still really, really cute when she is curious about it. Like a cat who wants to know what you are reading and absolutely has to sit on your lap and stick his nose in your book. Just in case this one time the book ends up being a can of tuna.

  Stuart’s hand shoots up, almost at attention or in salute.

  “My lady Andie, I bear most distressing news.”

  “What is it, Stuart?” she asks, returning the solemnity in his tone with her own angelic voice, speaking to him as a princess would to her messenger, a queen to her advisor. Connecting with him as no other therapist ever has been willing to.

  “THEY have compromised the anti government meta ray wave insaturation deflection device. It lies in ruins, and we are defenseless. I fear Camelot is lost.”

  “Are you sure it is broken? Can you fix it?” she asks, even though I know that she knows there is no such device, not one that would work, nor would there need to be, since THEY don’t exist.

  “Alas, it is beyond my skill to repair. But maybe…”

  “Yes?” she asks.

  “Maybe if you looked at it you could heal it.”

  “I’m not sure what you are asking, but if you want me to look at it I will.”

  “Please,” Stuart asks, “would you?”

  So we all go off to the cemetery and she sees the mess of tin foil and broken radio parts. And she sees the gravestone with number three seven dash four three three and a single date and the twenty-six other unnamed gravestones surrounded by the broken down
fence amid the unmown grass. She kneels beside the gravestone that Violet always kisses and she looks up at Stuart and her comprehension of all that he has told her is so palpable that I want to cry with joy.

  And Stuart sees that she believes everything that he has ever said and that she understands and that she will make it all better and he falls into her arms by the gravestone that Violet always kisses.

  Shy Boy picks up the pieces of his radio and Pet Shop screeches in case his owl friend – the visible one — is around and I laugh at how happy Stuart is and how safe and protected he is in her arms.

  We walk around the gravestones and Andie looks at each and every one of them. She copies all of the numbers and all of the dates down on her notepad. She shows us how all the dates are over thirty years ago, some over fifty, and tells us not to be scared, that we will never end up here, that she will always know who we are.

  “There’s a mooooon out tonight,” the cow cries, but Stuart ignores him. He knows Andie will keep out the mind readers. This is the best day ever, and so it is worth at least one night of protection from government mind reading radio waves.

  Twenty-Four: Dreams Of A Happy Nature

  I am in my pajamas and there is the smell of Christmas in the air. Gingerbread men and crackling logs in the fireplace and hot cocoa and Uncle Bob’s pipe. I smile at Daddy and he tells me I am his favorite little girl in the whole wide world. I run across the living room, the carpet feels nice on my bare feet, and jump on the sofa. I curl up with my blanket and my doll and listen to Mommy hum Christmas carols as she puts up all the decorations.

  Mommy is so pretty in her Santa overalls with the fluffy reindeer slippers and the jingle bells on her pockets. She taps me on the nose as she walks by and I giggle and we are so happy together.

  We are curled up, all together under the blanket, watching the fire pop and crackle. It is so warm and toasty that no one wants to get up and I ask Mommy and Daddy to promise that we can live under the blanket in front of the fireplace forever and ever. And just before they promise Daddy’s eyes get wide and says wait a minute what about Santa? And I decide that maybe we better not live under there forever or Santa might not find us and we won’t get any presents. I hug Daddy and kiss him and thank him for saving Christmas. Mommy laughs and asks if she can have hugs and kisses even if she didn’t save Christmas and I say of course Mommy and give them to her. But I don’t hug her quite as hard or kiss her quite as many times as Daddy because he was the one who saved Christmas after all.

  So we get out from under the blanket and go to my bedroom. Mommy watches me say my prayers and I remember everybody even Uncle Bob and then I crawl under the sheets and ask Mommy if it is okay if Daddy tucks me in tonight. She tussles my hair and says of course, the man who saved Christmas is responsible for all tucking-ins and when Daddy comes in and kisses me good night and tucks me in everything is perfect. I fall asleep and dream about all the presents we are going to get and how Daddy and Mommy and I will take them under the blanket in front of the fireplace and live together forever.

  Twenty-Five: Discovering The Past, But Not Ours

  When we get to the morning session Andie has a big surprise for us. We are going on a trip to the library! Stuart, Violet, Shy Boy, Pet Shop, Kareem – thank God, he is so much nicer than Sam – Andie and I all get in a van. Andie drives. I didn’t know she could drive; I never had a chance to learn how to drive. I guess it makes sense, she has to get to work somehow. Sometimes I forget she doesn’t live in the dorm with us. That she has a life in the outside world. Separate from us.

  Andie is being mysterious and isn’t telling us what the trip is about or why we are going. We ask Kareem but he just smiles and puts up his hands like he isn’t in on it and it is all a surprise for him too. I like that he is as much in the dark as we are. That way it is something special not bad and it isn’t just secret because we can’t handle it.

  “Is it a government library?” Stuart asks. “I won’t go to a government library. They scan your retina and imprint secret codes on your memory nodes so when they capture you later they can see where you have been. They see everything you ever looked at. Everything.”

  “It’s not a government library,” Andie assures him. “It’s at the college – a private college,” she adds, stalling the protest that Stuart would have made over a state-funded school.

  She lets us pick the radio station and soon we are all singing along with The Police. You haven’t heard “Roxanne” until you’ve heard it inside a van from the funny farm. I bet she will change the station faster than you can say spit if they play “I’ll Be Watching You” next.

  We are on a country road, going past cornfields and dirt roads leading to farm houses and pastures with cows in them. Visible cows that don’t as much as moo at us let alone quote song titles or badger the hedgehog. It’s been I don’t know how long since I saw the outside. I mean more than just the woods behind the dorm, the real outside where the fences aren’t designed to keep people in as much as to say if you cross me then you are visiting the nice family who lives here. A perimeter of belonging instead of exclusion.

  I wave at every single farmer, every car that passes us (Andie isn’t what you would call a recklessly fast driver), every cow that doesn’t moo. Shy Boy feels nice, sitting next to me on the seat. We are a little short on room in the middle seat but I don’t mind as it is a pushing against a friend feeling, not a trapped so tight you will suffocate one.

  It is a short drive, so Andie is able to avoid telling us anything about our secret mission – that was what she had to tell Stuart we were on to keep him from pestering her – before we pull into the parking lot at the library. Kareem is working overtime to keep us all together. Andie gives him a rope and everyone holds onto it and that works better.

  We follow Andie into the library. Stuart giggles because we are all “shushing” each other, thinking no one has ever done that before in a library or thought it was funny. A couple of the people look at us but we stare at them until they turn away. Hah, if we couldn’t handle a few looks or stare downs we would have poked our eyes out by now. These library people are folding like a couple pairs going up against a flush. I heard that in a movie once.

  Andie takes us into a room that is set apart from the shelves of books and the people sitting in lounge chairs and on sofas drinking coffee and typing on lap top computers and surfing the Internet. Libraries aren’t just books anymore. She closes the door and we gather around a big table that has lots of books and newspapers on it and everybody sits down and I am last and Stuart giggles and says the music stopped and I don’t get to win the cake.

  “I know you are all wondering why we are here today,” she starts. We smile and nod and even Shy Boy pays attention to what she is saying. “Well, I did a lot of thinking after our session yesterday. A lot. About the cemetery, about what we talked about. About how you guys were right –”

  Pet Shop raises his hand.

  Andie pauses, looks at him inquiringly.

  “We’re not all guys,” he says.

  “Yes, you’re right, it was just an expression. Sorry.”

  “Dude looks like a lady,” opines the cow.

  “Okay, well, anyway,” Andie continues, “I was thinking about how you – all of you, guys and girls – were concerned about the people who had been buried there. And I completely agree with you, it wasn’t right for them to be marked only by a number and a date. They deserve more – we all do, we all deserve to be recognized and respected. And that is why we are here, to correct a wrong, to honor them properly.”

  Stuart shakes his head animatedly, “No, it’s no good, it won’t work.”

  “But Stuart, I haven’t even told you –”

  “I’m not an idiot,” he shouts, and Kareem moves next to him, trying to keep him in his seat. “It’s obvious your plan is to disinter the bodies and rebury them under the bookshelves. But the government tracks all books; they will spot you as soon as the first page is opened.�
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  “Stuart, that is not my plan.”

  “It isn’t?” he asks. “Oh, well then, never mind.”

  “So what are we doing?” Violet asks. “We going to check out some books and read them dirty stories?”

  Andie sighs. “No, if you would let me –”

  Kareem breaks in. “How about ghost stories? Are we going to read them ghost stories?” He starts laughing. I think he knew Andie didn’t want to get interrupted again. Not by us, anyway, but Kareem doing it made it even more like we were all here together. Not doctor and orderly and patients but just people.

  Andie gives him a dirty look, but she can’t hold it very long and soon she is laughing too and Stuart giggles and Pet Shop is pounding the table and I laugh with them too. I see one of the library people give us a look through the window to the room but we just keep laughing. They let crazy people get away with anything that doesn’t involve pointy objects.

  After we settle down, Andie once more starts to explain the whole thing to us. We do our best to keep it down to a couple snickers so we can hear her. We do want to know, it’s just so much fun being out that we want everything to last twice as long as normal, to stretch it out like walking home after you saw the best movie ever and you want to trap that feeling of happily ever after and you know as soon as the door closes you have to go back to reality so you take the long way home and hope you never get there.

  “Okay, we are here,” she says, pretending to be all serious and not looking at Kareem because he will just make her laugh again, “to make things better. For the people in the cemetery. And in a way for us too, and for anyone who might visit the cemetery in the future. What I want to do – what I want us to do – is give them back their names.”

  We aren’t laughing or snickering or even trying not to laugh or snicker. Or anything close to that. We are sitting in silence as her words sink deeper and deeper into our souls. Give them back their names, I think, and I see a world where no one is against me and everyone matters and I am a person and part of humanity but still special, still unique, give them back their names.