Alice, part five
Sep 24 '08
The Bottom Line Copyright 2008 David MacDonald
That Sunday morning brought with it a difference the two of them had never quite considered. No longer could they call themselves mere nighttime lovers, who tried put across their best appearances to each other until they went their separate ways at the end of the evening.
In bed, waking up as the sunlight leaked through the sides of the window blinds, the two were far from their best appearance. Their eyes were tired, they felt a lingering headache from the liquor they drank a number of hours ago, and they could have slept longer if it weren’t for the fact that Alice wanted to leave before Thomas’s daughter arrived.
“Good morning,” Alice said, looking at Thomas and his disheveled hair, as if he had just ran through a windstorm on the way to his bed.
“Good morning,” he said. On the other hand, Alice’s hair was short enough that it didn’t look much different morning or night.
“What time is it?” Alice murmured before stretching herself and letting out a sigh of a yawn.
“Almost nine...” he said, turning his head to see his digital alarm clock on the nightstand near his side of the bed. “But don’t worry - it’s not a school day.”
“That’s good,” she whispered. “I’m not in the right frame of mind today anyway.....”
The two of them had drifted a few inches apart during their slumber. They both laid on their backs, and were looking at each other as if they hadn’t decided on how close they should be to each other this time of the morning. Perhaps there was some sort of Christian edict against snuggling up together in a carnal fashion on the Lord’s Day, but they wouldn’t know as they didn’t go to church.
They decided they would approach each other. Thomas turned to her, and took her in his embrace. They felt awkward, as if they had been surprised to find each other in the same bed, but decided they would try to make the best of it.
“So ... how long are you staying,” he asked.
“Oh... I should probably go soon. I’m sure... Brittany will be walking in soon.”
“Probably not till tonight. She’s probably still in bed. She’ll probably not open her eyes until dinnertime.”
“You think....?”
“I doubt it... she’s a teenager, you know. She’s up all night with her friends, talking on the phone, playing on the computer... that’s how they are. We all did that sort of thing... well, except the computer part.”
“You’re probably right,” she said, laughing. She was too drowsy to recall what she felt last night when Thomas was talking about his ex-wife, and felt much more comfortable once again.
He glided his hand along the top of her head. “Maybe I got to get my hair cut a bit shorter,” he said. “I certainly wouldn’t have to worry about taking care of it.”
“You’re a man. It’s not like you take care of it now!” she teased.
“Did you always cut it like that?”
“Well... not always. I used to wear it quite long when I was a teenager. You probably wouldn’t recognize me.”
“Probably not....”
“No... when I was in university I did a stupid dare. My friends and I were in our dorm room and we were getting a little too giddy after having a few too many and we decided to get a bit outrageous. We shaved each other’s hair and went into class that Monday - we created a bit of a mini-scandal around the campus that day.”
“Why did you do that?” Thomas laughed.
“Why - I don’t know... one of us was complaining about how she always had to wash her hair and put it in rollers and do all that work every day just so she could look presentable when she went out in public. So my other friend said we might as well shave our heads. And I, silly me, said, well, somebody we know has an electric shaver and we could just take all the hair off.”
“And you guys did that?”
“Yes. It was crazy. It was kind of scary and painful but we just laughed and laughed. I think we must have had a particularly bad batch of alcohol because we never did anything so stupid in our lives. Although I suppose hair does grow back so it wasn’t permanent. I remember for the next few weeks we were mostly walking around with baseball caps because we couldn’t believe what we did to our own hair.”
“Well... you’re hair’s still quite short.”
“Not quite like that day, though... I think we looked like cancer patients. My hair is a *slight* bit longer now... I got used to my new style. After all, it was my idea.”
“You’re a *strange* girl,” Thomas said.
“But you like it, don’t you?”
“I think I do....” he smiled.
They went into an embrace for a while. They were still a bit sleepy; Alice would have wanted to stay in bed longer but she knew in the back of her mind that she ought to at least get herself prepared to leave the house, before his daughter came home.
“Hey, Thomas... I think I should go to the ladies’ room....” as she raised her body and stepped off the bed. “I’ll feel so much more refreshed with a shower....”
“What ladies room? I only have one washroom and it’s for men only,” Thomas smirked.
“Well, I won’t tell if you won’t,” she said, as she stood by the doorway.
“Hey, Alice.... thanks for staying last night.”
She smiled. “Thanks...it was fun.”
He had thanked her rather casually, as if thanking her for picking up a case of beer for him. But she could read him, or at least his first few pages. Last night was an important thing to him. She wasn’t sure if he was thanking her for being a sexual facilitator or for being a friend. But she wasn’t going to ask him which one of those possibilities were true.
She went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower, feeling the hot water cascading over her body and warming her skin. Taking a shower in another person’s home was always a strange experience for her, especially if that person was someone she had just slept with.
She was washing off the lingering sweat and odor of their lovemaking, with the soap he would have washed himself with a dozen times or more.
Thomas didn’t keep a vile bathroom by any means. But he obviously hadn’t scrubbed the bathtub in a while. The ivory surface around the drain had started to collect dirt, soil from the construction jobs he worked at, and he hadn’t taken care of it yet. There were probably still grains of dirt embedded in that bar of soap she was using, dirt that would scrape the surface of her skin.
But Alice was probably the first person other than himself and his daughter who would have stepped foot in this bathroom in a very long time. He probably never thought to give it the best attention.
She stepped out of the shower, her body feeling more alive and awake. She witnessed herself in the mirror, its surface chalky and dull from neglect, and even through the grime she could detect her aging face. A 42-year old woman and still acting like someone in her 20s - still satisfied with fleeting, isolated moments such as the brief word of thanks from her lover. As if that were supposed to equate the years many of her acquaintances have spent with their partners.
She knew she could not compare herself with others. At one time, she wanted to do that - but as the years went by, it was something she no longer had the energy to do.
It was at that moment when she heard the click of the front door opening. She didn’t know if that was Thomas waking up and stepping out for some air, or whether it was somebody else. She was about to exit the bathroom when she heard the plodding of sneakers against the carpeted floor.
For a flash instant, she had thought of hiding in the bathroom until whoever entered the house went away again. But that seemed like something on a situation comedy. And who knew how long the guest would be in the house.
Alice noticed an old shirt and pair of boxers resting on top of the cabinet near the sink. She put them on, hoping those clothes were clean, before walking out of the bathroom.
She believed there was little point in hiding. She realized as soon as she heard the sounds of feet against the floor that there was only one other person who was likely to have walked into the house.
But when she heard the humming from the open fridge and the voice who spoke, Alice was tempted to reconsider her readiness to reveal herself.
“Where is the orange juice....?,” Brittany asked. “Oh, never mind, I found it....” She closed the fridge door, carrying the juice carton as she walked over to the cupboard.
Alice found herself rigid with indecision. She never once had to formulate a justification for her amourous encounters for the benefit of a potentially hostile third party.
Brittany was startled when she saw the face of her former teacher, who was standing at the edge of the kitchen. Brittany’s fingers still held a precarious grip on the cardboard carton. “Oh my god! Mrs Prouse? Is that you?” Even in a faded white t-shirt and gray boxers, and even without her glasses, Alice was still recognizable. It was probably the hair.
Alice sputtered in making an attempt to respond. “Yes... yes, Brittany. How are you? Lovely day out, isn’t it?” As if bland chitchat could make this awkward moment any easier.
Brittany was too confused to speak. All she could do was nod her head in agreement, as if commanded.
Thomas stepped out into the room, wearing yesterday’s clothes. He was embarrassed to be caught in this situation: the two people in the same room and at the same moment simultaneously merged and divided the little components of his world. He couldn’t decide if he should feel anger or shame, or who he should direct those emotions towards.
“Brittany. You told me you were coming home this evening,” he said. He tried to lower the pressure in his voice, but it still came out as a vague accusation.
“I felt like coming home, OK,” she mumbled, dragging her voice in a depressive fashion.
“You should have called,” Thomas insisted.
“Why? This is my house too you know,” she said, as she got an empty glass to fill. Brittany spoke in a matter-of-fact way, as if what she said was self-evident.
“Once a week this is your house.”
“I grew up in this house, Dad. And this is the once a week that I live here. I thought you’d want me to be home....” as she filled the glass with orange juice.
Alice felt immensely uncomfortable. She was no longer the guest, but the nosy intruder into personal affairs she had never intended to become involved in. “I... I should probably go. Probably have a test to correct somewhere,” she joked, as she felt her own body being pushed back by some unseen force.
Thomas took his eyes away from his daughter, and shifted his body to Alice’s direction. “No. You don’t have to go.” But of course he wanted her to leave. And he wanted Brittany to leave. But he didn’t have enough room in his heart to want both of them to leave at the same time, so he was going to insist they both stay.
“At least have something to eat,” Thomas said.
Alice felt an icy chill tickling the bottoms of her bare feet. She noticed that Brittany left the glass of orange juice on the table, untouched.
“Well. Let me get dressed at least.... your boxers are starting to itch......” she moaned.
She returned to the kitchen moments later, wearing her clothes from last night. The clothes were wrinkled and distorted from having been tangled in a pile on the floor all night. She saw Brittany and Thomas sitting at the table, with a brutal gap of space between them. Brittany had the expression of someone who was silently disgusted, while Thomas tried to pretend all was well as he opened up the box of Corn Flakes.
You really want to embarrass the two of us, Alice thought.
“I set a bowl for you, Alice,” Thomas said. “You might as well eat before you leave.....”
“Sure....” she sighed. She approached the table with grave apprehension to sit on the remaining vacant seat.
She poured the cereal into her bowl. Now she felt even more like a parasite, eating food she did not pay for, at the family table, when at least one family member did not want her to be there.
“So..... uh, what are you doing today,” Alice asked, trying to inject some semblance of normalcy.
“Not sure,” responded Thomas. He tried to be cheerful. “I’m sure we’ll find something to do, right dear? Maybe a trip to Dairy Queen and get some ice cream. How about that?”
Brittany shrugged her shoulders. “No, thanks. Their ice cream gives me a headache.” Although it was really her father who was giving her the headache, for talking down to her as if she were a child.
“How’s school going?” Alice asked. “Must be exciting to finally graduate.”
“And I bet you’re really happy about that,” Brittany said, the edge in her voice sharper. Alice didn’t indicate whether the edge was sharp enough to cut her, but Thomas winced. “Stop that, Brittany,” he growled. He pointed at his daughter as if he were holding an icepick.
But all Brittany would do was sigh, and it was Alice who felt threatened.
“Don’t be rude to Alice, Brittany,” Thomas said, but Brittany just wanted to laugh. Who the hell named their child Alice. It was such an old-fashioned name, she thought. She didn’t know anyone with that name. Except for that teacher she wasn’t overly fond of who was now sleeping with her father.
“I’m sure *Alice* wouldn’t be offended. She barely passed me, didn’t she? She probably wishes she kept me back a grade, just so I’d suffer high school for another year.”
“You apologize to Alice right now!” Thomas said.
“No.... no, it’s OK, Thomas,” Alice said. She couldn’t finish her cereal. “I’ll.... let myself out.”
Alice looked over at daughter and father. Thomas looked at Alice as if he wanted to say that his daughter was just an ungrateful brat. Brittany couldn’t even look at Alice at all.
“I’ll talk to you later....” Alice said to Thomas. Brittany appeared as if she believed her own flesh and blood was conspiring against her.
Thomas got up from his seat and followed Alice to the door. “Look, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wasn’t expecting her to come here now....”
“I know.... I guess our secret’s out. I guess there’s little point in my trying to sneak around now - taking you to empty restaurants in a grungy part of town, meeting you in the cover of darkness....”
Thomas didn’t reply. Alice touched Thomas on his cheek before turning around to walk outside.
It was a dreary Sunday morning, the sky loaded with clouds of gray. The atmosphere didn’t seem to care - it just shrugged its shoulders and gave out a loud exhale of apathy. If there was sunlight, or even some rain, then at least the sky would have tried to exert some effort. But it could only hand out indifference. And that only made Alice feel even more gloomy when she got into her car and drove away.
*
She returned to an empty apartment, and a swell of embarrassment still filling her soul. She couldn’t blame anyone other than herself, for having taken the risk of being discovered. She had always thought she could somehow keep her affairs private, behind the veil separating her from the rest of the world. Alice thought she could somehow defeat the power of living on Prince Edward Island, where everyone knew your name, where everyone knew your business.
But her strengths were all in her mind. And now she found herself in the middle of familial strife, which was not what she had planned for.
There was still half of a bottle of wine in the fridge. It wasn’t even noon, but she wanted to drink it. She never thought of herself as an alcoholic, but that particular occupation seemed tempting.
She didn’t put her wine in a wine glass, but in a regular water glass. That would go well if she wanted to become a full-time drunk - consume wine like it was water.
She sat on the couch, and decided to open up her laptop to check her e-mail. Tina sent her an invitation to join Facebook. What a strange name, she thought. Right up there with all of the other popular web applications. What’s a Facebook? A Hotmail? A Yahoo? When she thinks of hot males, she thinks of someone like Brad Pitt or George Clooney, and when she thinks of yahoos she thinks of Gulliver’s Travels. And some people’s faces were like books, especially those faces who’ve lived many years.
She wondered what the point of Facebook was. Apparently, you can post your own photos, send messages back and forth, send all varieties of chain letters ranging from vulgar videos and messages to fabricated messages from allegedly missing kids or kids suffering from cancer or some other dreadful disease who will get a donation if you just forward it to all your friends. You could also give all your friends instant updates into what you were doing at this very moment. She hadn’t considered the possibility that dozens of people would be pleased to know she was currently checking her e-mail and drinking wine on a Sunday morning. She knew she wouldn’t be all that fascinated if some person announced she was doing her laundry or what have you.
She couldn’t fathom displaying her life online for all to see. She didn’t know how Facebook worked - she didn’t know one could set one’s own privacy levels, but even if she did, she wouldn’t trust it. She would fear the possibility of somebody peering into her business. And she wasn’t interested in that.
She wrote an e-mail to Tina, playfully denouncing her for her attempts to rope Alice into some trendy site that would allegedly make her cool among her peers.
*
There were a few unoccupied desks in Alice’s classroom Monday morning. No surprise there: one day a few students would be missing, and the next day some different students would be absent. Sometimes those absences were legitimate, and sometimes they were not.
But Alice was more concerned about Susan’s unexplained absence. Maybe that’s why she seemed particularly despondent last week - she was ill, felt a bit of a chill and overcompensated by wearing a sweater. Possible. But she hadn’t called the school to say she wouldn’t be there - was she that sick that she couldn’t pick up the phone?
When class was over, she was speaking with Kara and Makalya, who were talking to her about a fundraiser they were planning. “Somebody from the newspaper is going to take our picture today,” Kara said. “We need to look like we’re going to wash somebody’s car. Wanna get your car washed, Mrs Prouse?”
“Don’t any of you have your own car?” Alice asked, smiling. “I’m sure some eager classmate of yours would love to get their nice sleek car in the photo. Mine is 10 years old, and all your friends would laugh at it.”
“Yea, but it looks good if there’s an actual adult in the photo - we want people to believe we’re good enough to wash anyone’s car.” Makayla said.
“Not just our goofy friends’ cars,” Kara said. “You think about it, okay, Mrs Prouse?”
But the only thing Alice was thinking about was Susan. “Did you see Susan today...” she asked, as the two students began to walk away to their lockers.
“No I haven’t...” Makayla said. “I haven’t at all....” She wanted to say more, but she didn’t think she could be so brutally honest to the teacher. Making silly little jokes was fine, but deeply personal stuff... that was something kids didn’t tell adults about.
Alice felt a twang of tension within her chest. She would have been happy to see Susan crawl into class, sullen but available.
She walked out to the hallway. She saw the many students in the locker room, many of them unloading the weight of their books and going off to do whatever it was they did during their lunch break. Many of the students were in the midst of conversations, and they appeared to be normal, functioning people. The approaching summer added an extra layer of good spirits. They behaved as if the weight of routine, of boring, tedious roteness, had been lifted. They were more likely to say hi to those teachers they saw each day. A few said hi to Alice, who replied in kind even as she was distracted.
Makayla and Kara obviously knew something was up with Susan, but they weren’t saying. Or maybe they were only aware of rumours, of gut instincts, of blatant supposition, and knew they couldn’t speak hearsay to their teacher, even as they truly wanted to.
Alice continued walking down the hall, past the locker room and closer to the gymnasium.
She saw some girls walking in twos or threes, between the changing room and the gym itself, as they were heading off to their volleyball game. A couple of the girls looked at Alice, as if they were afraid of getting caught with something. Alice could see their eyes - they quickly glanced toward the changing room, as if they had forgotten something in there and decided not to retrieve it.
Alice was fearful about what she was doing, but something was tugging at the strings of her soul. She had no choice.
All seemed quiet when Alice pushed open the door to the room.
She saw one girl, with her back facing her. The girl was sitting on the bench, with her hair and her skin dripping with water. The only thing she was wearing was her bra - no longer was she wearing the long sleeves that hid herself away from all eyes.
Alice saw what appeared to be freshly healed scratches along both of her arms. The scratches were like twigs scattered along pale sand. None of the scratches appeared deep - they looked to have had little effect other than the looks people would have given if she hadn’t covered her arms with miles of shirt. But it was the totality of all the scars which frightened Alice enough to gasp.
That tense burst from her mouth startled the young woman sitting on the bench, who turned her head once to see this teacher, this intruder, on what was supposed to be her own private affair.
Susan hid her arms, crossing them to her chest and away from Alice’s view. “What... what do you want? I just got out of the shower....” Her voice didn’t sound angry - it was drained from all emotion. It was only the slight tremble of her body that gave her away.
“Susan....” Alice wanted to walk over to her and bring her into arms. “You .. you weren’t in class today. I thought you were ill.”
“I.. I was just late. I’m sorry, Mrs Prouse. I didn’t bring a doctor’s note or anything. I ... I was just late...”
“Susan, do you want to talk about it?”
Susan turned to face her, and she appeared scared, unable to articulate what she really felt inside. She wanted to tell her that you wouldn’t have a clue why I would do something like this, why I would have cuts all over my body. “Mrs Prouse, please don’t tell the principal. I’ll come to class tomorrow - today just wasn’t a good day.”
But Alice would have no choice. It would have constituted negligence otherwise.
She walked closer to the teenager and gave her her shirt. “Put this on, please... I’ll help you.”
Susan stood up, suddenly, and turned to face her. Alice now saw a few scratches along Susan’s stomach, easily weak in effort but unsettling in message.
“How... how did you cut yourself?” asked Alice, softly.
But Susan wasn’t going to say anything. She kept her head down, as if she couldn’t stand to look at this horrible thing.
“Goddamn it, girl, what were you trying to do?” Alice snapped, frightening herself with her own seeming insensitivity. Susan probably thought she was angry at her.
“Nothing! I get bored frequently. I have nothing else better to do,” she snarled.
“So you cut yourself with a knife?”
“No... I like to run naked through the woods while the branches cut my skin!” Susan growled, even as her eyes began to swell with tears.
Alice was upset - she felt somehow responsible for not having noticed Susan’s true problems sooner.
Susan was wounded, physically and emotionally. She wanted to pretend her condition was no big deal, but she was too young and self-absorbed to realize she couldn’t convince Alice of her lies. But she was no longer going to fight. Her cries for attention had garnered a response.
“Susan....” Alice said, her voice softening. She wanted to sit down beside the young woman, to talk to her, to give her advice. But Alice couldn’t help her. She didn’t know what to say that could make Susan feel better and stop injuring herself. All she could do was try to wipe the moisture from the young woman’s cheeks. But Susan flinched when Alice touched her cheek.
“I think you need to talk to someone,” Alice said. “The councilor would love to talk to you - maybe she’ll make you feel better.....”
Susan scrunched up her nose, cringing at the thought of someone who would *love* to talk to her. “I don’t want to hear a lecture about what my problem is supposed to be....”
Alice wanted to scream. She wished she could talk to a disturbed teenager who actually responded in agreement. But, instead, Susan, despite her silent weeping and the wet tracks along her cheeks, began to stand up, as if she were trying to take charge of the dialogue. It was as if Alice’s concern gave her a power she had deliberately lost, all those times she gently sliced up her skin.
“Susan... I can’t let you just walk away.”
“Please, Mrs Prouse, don’t tell the principal,” she said desperately. “I’ll come back to school tomorrow. Promise. Girl Guide’s honour.”
But Alice could not allow this person to remain as anything other than weak, as someone crying for help. She got up and followed Susan to the hallway, with every intention of leading her to the youth worker’s room.
When Susan and Alice crossed the hallway, a few of the other students were watching what was going on. They figured there was an intention to their movements, but they couldn’t quite figure it out. Susan was pacing herself quite rapidly, as if she thought Alice would eventually give up and let her go on for the rest of the day. But Alice wouldn’t give up.
“The office is that way,” Alice said, when Susan failed to turn left into the hallway leading up to that room.
“That’s good. I’ll see her some other day....”
Alice was upset for losing control. Please, she wanted to plead, just follow my instructions. I have to follow the rules here. I don’t need a black mark in my career if you do something stupid like jump off a bridge or shoot a bunch of students. Alice felt her heart skip within her chest at the notion Susan could escape this school and go beyond the jurisdiction of the school’s good intentions.
But Susan was ignorant, or uninterested, in her plight. She only thought this teacher was like all the others; they derive their energy from thrusting their noses into everyone’s businesses, as if they were their own children.
Alice went directly to the principal’s office, to tell her about Susan’s dire condition. They agreed there would have to be some kind of interception, some type of effort made so Susan wouldn’t have the time to think of what sort of dire action she could perform on herself.
Following the conversation, Alice went to her next class, trying not to allow the events of the previous hour affect her well-being. Not that they should have bothered her - Susan was no longer her responsibility. She did what she was required to do, and now it was up to somebody else.
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
DavidMac
|
 - Top 500 |
|
Member: David Macdonald
Location: Prince Edward Island
Reviews written: 612
Trusted by: 109 members
About Me:
Alice, a story in nine parts, posted on Sept 24, 2008 - http://www.epinions.com/content_5241348228
|
|
|
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.