For a
moment, Lisa believed the pink dawn outside her window was a result of her
overtired eyes. Then sky turned a
bloody, alarming red, and she remembered.
This was the new natural order of the world.
Sluggishly,
she dressed, brushed her teeth, combed her hair - though she didn’t care how she looked, smelled
or felt. Her red dress was a familiar
protection, and she wore it happily.
Downstairs,
her mother hummed “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” through her nose as she fed smiling
Maggie heaping tablespoonfuls of oatmeal.
“Hi, sweetie,” she syruped, placing a plate of waffles before her. “I made your favorite.”
Lisa’s
stomach roiled, but she recalled Marge’s sadness in the night and decided to
please her. She took two bites, found
the waffles surprisingly pleasing, then took a third. “Thanks, Mom.”
“You’re
welcome.” Marge began humming again,
dusting the counters with a bright-pink Swiffer-style cloth.
The more
she ate, the better Lisa found she felt.
Soon her glass of orange juice had disappeared, and once it was gone she
asked Marge, “did you hear about your assignment yet?”
Marge nodded. “I’m starting work tomorrow as a junior
curator at the art museum.”
“There’s
an art museum?” Lisa smiled, not even noticing it.
Marge
did – she jumped in, “I’ve already got a degree in art history, but I’ll be
learning restoration,” she explained. “One
day I might even be head curator.”
“Oh,
Mom, that’s fabulous!” A little weight
lifted off of Lisa’s shoulders. She had
no doubt that her mother would do wonderfully in such a position. She heard a beeping noise emanating from the curb. “The bus!”
Marge
hefted Lisa’s backpack – bright purple, as her old one had been – to the
table. She seized it. “Have a good day, sweetie!” she pecked Lisa
on the forehead as her daughter ran from the house.
On the
bus – short, yellow, packed with kids – she spotted Allison in the front
seat. They sat together, quietly
fascinated by the strangely normal ride to their school. Lisa felt Allison’s slim fingers clamp down
on her folded ones – the scope of her terror suddenly became clear to Lisa. For some strange reason, Lisa felt better –
if cool, implacable Allison could feel so nervous, then her own feelings were
only natural.
***
Kennedy
Elementary was an art-decco-style building that occupied a full city block at
the heart of town. City planners had
built the entire school district so that it abutted the museum and government
works buildings The later stuck out
horridly due to their utilitarianism, all concrete and orange paneling. Lisa focused on the school’s immaculate
grounds as she entered the building. A tall white-haired woman in pleated black
pants handed out mimeographed sheets detailing their locker placement.
“Alphabetical
order,” Lisa said quietly, prying Allison’s fingers out of hers. “That means you’re over there.”
Allison
gave Lisa a quavery smile. “I’ll see you
in homeroom, I hope.”
“Me
too,” Lisa said - the weight of Allison’s grief lifted from her shoulders, the
further apart they were.
Lisa’s
locker stood several feet away, nearer the oversized gymnasium. She listened to the sound of rubber balls
bouncing against concrete and suddenly felt an old, strange curl of anxiety that
had accompanied her journey through elementary gym class after elementary gym
class. It was a good feeling – a normal
one.
She
settled into her homeroom a few minutes later.
Before the small class of twenty students stood a plump woman with
brassy red hair and a long nose. The
bell rang, and she announced, “Hello, class!
My name is Miss Boulangere. And
no, in case any of you were wondering, I can’t bake.”
Lisa
laughed at the mild joke, and was astonished to realize she wasn’t alone. She was surrounded by talented students,
bilingual students! A thrill raced up
her spine as Miss Boulangere handed out mimeographed sheets detailing the
coursework they’d all have to complete to pass the third grade.
It was a
strange new universe she lived in - she would need to buy a protractor,
pencils, pens and rulers the following day for her Advanced Algebra
classes. There would be Spanish 101 and
Nineteenth Century Literature. She smiled, for the second time in so many
weeks.
“Shall
we begin?” her teacher asked.
***
Allison
had staked out a table for them under a large sumac tree. “This school is splendid!” Lisa chirped as
she sat down with her bag lunch.
“I
guess,” Allison remarked.
“We’re
going to have physics next year! I
begged Principal Skinner for….” Lisa grew silent as she recalled Seymour’s
fate.
Allison
grew pale. “I don’t know if I’m ready to
be here,” she confessed.
“But you
love school,” Lisa gasped.
“Yeah, I
loved it.”
Lisa
grew silent, withdrawing slightly. “You’re
thinking of dropping out?”
“That’s
the problem,” Allison said. “I
can’t.” The bell rang. “I’ll see you after school?”
The
needy tone of Allison’s voice made Lisa’s skin crawl. “Uh huh,” she said and guiltily made plans to
spend the afternoon at the library.
***
By the time
the final bell rang, Lisa felt almost happy – a qualified sense of joy, but a
simple one still. Getting up to leave
for the bus, she heard her teacher calling her name.
“I’m
sorry, Miss Boulangere. Did you ask for
me?”
She
tapped her pencil against the desk.
“Only for a moment,” she tried a thin smile. “I noticed you didn’t take a pamphlet about
our grief counseling service.”
Lisa
focused on the wire basket of blue paper and her insides turned cold. “I saw them.
I just didn’t choose to take one.”
“I
see. Has your mother made alternate
arrangements for you?”
“We’ve
discussed it,” she lied. “But we’re just
so busy. She just started her job…”
“I see,”
Miss Boulangere said. “You both
understand that it’s a government-paid service?” Lisa nodded.
“And you know that if you need anything you can talk to me, Lisa?”
Lisa
glanced at the brassy woman, with her too-easy smile. “I do.”
“All
right – don’t be late for the bus.”
Unsurprisingly,
Lisa was cornered by Allison, but her friend was suddenly filled with lively
thoughts – they’d examined lacewings in class today – the project sounded
babyish to Lisa, but Allison seemed completely happy. At last.
This, she decided, was the key to her survival – turning a blind eye to
the elephant in the room.
**
Lisa met
Marge at the door – she seemed exhausted but happy. Maggie, who had been at Marge’s
work-sponsored daycare all day – had already drooped and slept on Marge’s
shoulder the entire evening.
They
immediately headed out to the shopping district, where Lisa’s school supplies
were wrangled up for a decent price.
They stopped for dinner at an Indian restaurant, and Lisa joyfully
taught Marge the names of each dish placed before them. She rolled home and into bed feeling happy
and light for the first time since leaving Earth.
She had
nearly fallen asleep when she heard her mother’s sniffling and her low moaning
for Homer.
To
Lisa’s surprise, anger asserted itself.
She had been having such a good time today – how could her mother ruin
it by reminding her of….
She
grabbed a pillow, shoved it over her head and anchored it with her arm. As she drifted off to sleep, she decided
savagely that whatever she had to do to preserve her sanity would be worth
it. Even if it meant pretending her
father and brother had never existed.