‘It’s complicated,’ I say.
‘I’m no stranger to complicated.’ He takes off his cap and rubs his head so his hair stands up in red spikes. He looks exhausted. ‘You know what they say. If you save someone’s life, you’re responsible for them.’
If I tell him the truth, I guess I won’t see him again. But I am so tired of hiding what I am. My brain and my heart and my bones are exhausted by it. Mommy’s rules haven’t done me any good. What do I have to lose?
Lauren stirs, watchful.
I ask her, ‘Do you want to start?’
Lauren
This is how it went, the thing with the mouse – how Ted found the inside place.
Night-times were the most special times for Little Teddy. He loved sleeping by his mother’s warm, white-clad form. But before that, she would tend to his injuries. It used to be once a month, maybe, but lately Teddy hurt himself so badly and so often that Mommy had to spend all night sewing up his cuts. They did not look bad to Ted, some were barely scratches. And some of the cuts were the invisible kind, he couldn’t see or feel them at all. Mommy told him that these were the most dangerous kinds of wounds. She opened these cuts again, cleaned them and sewed them back up.
Teddy knew that Mommy had to do it, that it was his fault for being so clumsy. But he dreaded the moment when she turned on the bedside lamp and angled it just so. Then she set out the tray. The things gleamed there, the scissors and the scalpel. Balls of cotton, the bottle that smelled like Daddy’s drink. Mommy put on white gloves like skin, and she then went to work.
I don’t think Ted really liked me, especially in the beginning. Ted is a polite, peaceable boy. I am loud. I get very angry. Rage flows through me in waves. But it is not my job to make him like me. It is my job to protect him from hurt. I took some of his pain – I came forward so that we shared it. I couldn’t make it go away altogether. Sometimes the pain wasn’t even the worst part – it was the sounds. The little noise as the flesh parted. He really didn’t like that.
That night, as the tip of the scalpel met his back, I came forward as usual to share it with him.
‘Stay still, please, Theodore,’ said Mommy. ‘You are making this very difficult.’ Then she continued her dictation, pressing the red piano-key button down with a click. ‘The third incision,’ she said, ‘is superficial, outer dermis only.’ Her hand followed the words.
Ted knew that Mommy was right – this only got worse if he fought it. He knew if he stepped out of line Mommy would put him in the old chest freezer, in the disinfecting bath of vinegar and hot water. So Ted tried to let it happen. He tried to be a good boy. But the pain and the noises got so bad, Ted was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself making a sound – even though he knew what happened if he did that.
We were lying alongside one another, and I felt all his thoughts and fears. It was hard to take at the same time as everything that was happening to the body.
And Ted did it, he let out a little high ahh, barely a sound at all, really. But it fell into the quiet like a pebble into a pond. We both held our breath. Mommy stopped what she was doing. ‘You’re making this very hard for both of us,’ she said, and went to make the vinegar bath ready.
As she lowered us into the freezer, Ted started crying properly. He wasn’t as strong as me.
The dark closed over. Our skin was a gulf of flame. Ted was breathing too fast and coughing. I knew I had to protect him. He couldn’t take much more of this.
‘Get out of here, Ted,’ I said. ‘Go.’
‘Where?’ he asked.
‘Do what I do. Leave. Stop being.’
‘I can’t!’ His voice was really high.
I pushed him. ‘Go away, you big baby.’
‘I can’t!’
‘Well, maybe Mommy will go too far this time,’ I said, ‘and we will die.’ This neat solution had never occurred to me before. ‘Ted! I just had an idea!’
But Teddy was gone. He had found his door.
Ted
The air changed around me, somehow. I was standing by the front door to our house. But there was no street, no forest, no oak tree. Instead everything was white like the inside of a cloud. It wasn’t scary. It felt safe. I opened the door and stepped into the house, which was shrouded in a warm, dim calm. I locked the door behind me, quickly. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Mommy couldn’t come here, I knew.
The air was suddenly filled with the sound of purring. A soft tail stroked my legs. I looked down and caught my breath. I could hardly believe it. I was staring into a pair of beautiful green eyes, the size and shape of cocktail olives. She regarded me, delicate ears alert and questioning. I crouched and reached for her, half expecting her to vanish into nothing. Her coat was like silky coal. I stroked her, ran my finger down the slice of white on her chest.
‘Hi, kitty,’ I said, and she purred. ‘Hi, Olivia.’ She weaved herself in a figure of eight about my legs. I went to the living room, where the light was yellow-warm and the couch was soft, and took her on my lap. The house looked almost exactly like the one upstairs – it was just a little different. The cold blue rug I had always hated was orange down here, a beautiful deep shade, like the sun settling on a
