Except I’m not sure about today.
Because Bobby’s coming over to pick me up soon, and I don’t know how he got out of school today, because this is Thursday. So I’m not asking him about that. Not today.
And even though this house is empty, we’re not staying here together, because sooner or later Mom would ask me about that, and I’m not lying anymore.
So when he arrives, Bobby and Gertie and I are walking to the library, to room 307. Our study room. To do some studying. And some talking.
And this will be the first time we’ve been together in almost a week. I know Bobby’s happy about it because he told me so. I’ve wanted to be close like this for so long. And now he wants that too.
Which is why I’m brushing my teeth one more time in the downstairs powder room.
And that’s the doorbell.
Gertie’s already at the door of the vestibule when I get there, and I open the heavy glass door, and she’s at the wooden door now, and she’s sniffing. And then she’s growling and scratching.
And barking.
She never does that.
And I can’t breathe, and my heart is up in my throat, and I want to rip the door open and let Gertie loose. I want to release the hounds. Because I know who’s out there. And so does Gertie. She’s barking and snapping and biting at the door, and I pull her back. “Gertie, hush…hush! Good girl,” I say, because I don’t want her to hurt herself.
I hear the latch of the storm door, hear it open, then the storm door closes, but not all the way. And above the pounding of my heart, I’m expecting to hear him speak. Because I know it’s William out there.
Nothing.
Footsteps across the porch, down the steps. Then the gate squeaks, a door slams, a car drives away.
I reach up to the keypad and punch the alarm code. It takes me two tries because my hand is shaking so hard. “System is disarmed.”
I turn the knob and pull, and there’s something between the doors—leather. It’s a briefcase.
I pull it inside, shut the wooden door, punch the keypad again. “System is armed.”
In the family room I’m on the couch, and Gertie is leaning against my leg. She’s still unsteady. Me too.
She sniffs at the briefcase, one of those big boxy ones, and she growls.
“I know, Gertie. I’m growling too.”
I work the clasps, pull the flaps up, and open the top of the case wide. And I know what this is.
It’s the blanket, folded up, with the wires and the controller in a neat bundle on one side. And on top of the blanket, a cassette tape. It’s the old kind, pre-CD. I still use audiocassettes like this for some of the books I listen to, so I’m on my feet with the stereo cabinet open, pushing the right buttons. I put the cassette into the player.
William’s voice.
More barking. “Gertie, hush…good girl.”
I rewind and start the tape again.
“Alicia—first off, I am so very sorry that I had to treat your dog as I did, but I beg you to recall how extreme my situation was that day. Going into that evening, I did not know if I was being helped or if I was being set up to be turned over to the authorities. So I had to be ready for anything. Which is why I brought those chicken bits to Robert’s house, just in case. By the time you and I had spoken, I felt quite sure I was going to be treated well, so I went off to sleep feeling silly to have thought ill of either you or Robert. About four in the morning, though, I awakened with a terrible pain in my head, drenched with sweat, and the electric blanket was crackling and popping. And for about five seconds it seemed like a bright blue light filled the room, and I thought I’d been blinded, or even electrocuted. I jumped from the bed and flipped on the light, and in the mirror atop the dresser, there I was. There I was! And it was at this moment that your dog came sniffing and growling at the door. I know how angry you must have been to discover that I used those pills to subdue her, and I’m very sorry about that. Again, please forgive my state of mind. Because the one line of defense I’d relied on for almost three years was gone, and there I was, fully visible, completely vulnerable. So I stuffed the chicken bits under the door, waited fifteen minutes, and then got myself dressed and out and away. Which leads us to now. In the smallest pocket of the briefcase you’ll find some U.S. dollars, which should be enough to reimburse Robert’s father for the clothing I took. My ex-wife has been an absolute brick, and she’s sent me money and my passport and a plane ticket. And she and my daughter will be meeting me at the airport in Montreal this afternoon. I took the blanket, because it was obviously the thing that had caused my change, and I wasn’t sure if the effect was permanent, or if perhaps a second treatment would be needed. And now I’ve brought it back to you because I’m sure you’ll know what’s best to do with it. I cannot ever thank you enough. Robert as well, of course. But if it hadn’t been for your trusting me, I don’t know what would have happened. And I’ll never forget the kind things you said to me as I lay in that bed, in such deep despair. Again, my apologies, and my deepest thanks.”
The tape hisses, and I reach up and push the stop button.
I guess I’m glad for William, but I’m not ready to forgive him for what he did to Gertie, and I am not going to let my feelings cloud my thinking. I’m not.
Because I know what I have to do. I’m going to get a pair of scissors from the kitchen, and cut this horrible blanket into bits, wad it all up and put it into a black plastic bag and walk it out to the curb and stuff it into one of our trash barrels. Because this is Thursday, and Thursday is trash day, and the big blue sanitation truck will be here soon. I want this whole thing out of my life forever, right now. Because I will not have this cropping up, bursting out like an insanity epidemic every couple of years. I can’t have that. I won’t have that. I want the future to be the way I want it to be, and I want all of this to leave me and Bobby alone, and I don’t want—
Well, well, well, if it’s not my overwrought little friend. Having a tantrum, are we? A wee bit of an existential hissy fit? Is that what I’m hearing?
No. NO. You are not invited to this. Just leave. I am working this out all on my own.
On your own? I’ve heard that one before. I’ve also heard the one about wadding up all the troubles and tossing them away. If only it were that simple. If only the big blue sanitation truck could pull up once a week and haul all the bad stuff away forever. So that the future would be all hunky-dory, all comfy-domfy, all cheery-deary.
Done yet?
No, I’ve still got to—
Because if you’ll shut up now, I’ll get back to planning my future. Because it’s my future.
There! That’s the problem, right there. Because you seem to think that there really is an actual future out there somewhere. And there’s not. It’s all now. No future, no past, only now. Yes, you will get to another time, because that’s what seems to keep happening. But when you get there, guess what? It’s still going to be now. Forget about some perfect future. That’s not happening. Work on now. Because now is all you’re ever going to have.
Are you done? Now?
Yes, I actually think I am. I think this may be the last time we ever talk like this. My work is done here. Now it’s up to you.
Suits me fine.
I know. Otherwise I’d keep coming back.
So…no advice about what to do with the blanket, nothing more about Bobby and my heart, or how I ought to forgive William?
His name is James. Because you have to deal with things as they are, remember?
Of course I remember. Okay, his name is James.
Good. Alicia, it’s been nice talking to you.
What…what did you just call me?
Alicia. That’s who you are, right? At this moment? Right now? You’re Alicia. Right?
Yes.
I thought so…Alicia.
I pop the cassette out of the tape player, and I put it back in the briefcase with the other stuff. And I close the clasps and I tuck the brief
case into the back of the closet over in the corner of the family room. Because I might get a call from Sheila one of these years.
But I don’t have to think about any of this right now. I don’t.
Right now, I’m going to go outside and start walking toward the library. Because I don’t have to stay here at home, waiting for Bobby to come and get me. I’m pretty sure he’ll be walking along Fifty-seventh Street, and then University Avenue until he gets to Fifty-fifth Street. So I’ll start walking toward him. Might even meet him halfway.
And if we happen to miss each other, I’ll just go to the library. To our study room. And he‘ll go there too. We’ll find each other, I know we will. We always do.
“Gertie, come.”
And we walk to the front hall together.
Hanger, table, bench, hook.
A place for everything, and everything in its place.
I open the closet, take my coat off the hanger, put it on, then shut the closet door. I pick up my scarf from the little table, wrap it once around my neck, and then I button my coat, starting from the bottom and working upward. I pick up my hat, feel for the tag at the back, and then put it on my head, just so. I pick up my gloves, also on the table, and I put the right one in my right coat pocket, and the left one in my left coat pocket. I pick up my computer bag from the bench next to the table and put the strap over my right shoulder. I take the handle for Gertie’s harness from its hook by the tall mirror. “Gertie, here…good girl.” And I clip the handle on. Such a sweet creature. So patient. And loving.
And in front of the tall mirror, before I pull on my gloves, I stop and I reach out and I touch the silver glass. Cool and smooth.
And I stand here and I take a good long look at myself, right now.
And I like what I see.
It’s me. I’m Alicia.
Andrew Clements, Things Not Seen
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends