Circle the Soul Softly (12 page)

“Katie, this isn't your fault. Something scared you and you had to shut it away. That's all.”

“I have to go.”

“I need you to listen.”

“I don't want to. I don't want to talk about it anymore. I'm sorry I said anything.”

“It might not be a choice. If you don't look at it, you're going to go right back to where you were.”

“I don't care.”

“Katie, for whatever reason, you're strong enough now to deal with this. You just have to remember it.”

“I did.”

“Yes, you did. You started to. You might need some help to go further.”

This stops me.“You mean a shrink?”

“Yes, or a counselor.”

“No. No way. I do not want to do that.”

“Then maybe you should talk to your mom.”

“I don't think so.”

“Your brother?”

I stand.“Tess. I'm really
sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm fine, okay? And I really need to go.”

“This isn't the sort of thing that will disappear all by itself.” She reaches for the candy jar on her desk, hands me a Hershey's Kiss, and starts to open one for herself. “You saw that, with David, at Prom.”

That's good for a whole new surge of pain, like touching an electric wire.“Yeah.”

“If you can address the past, you can start thinking about talking to David.”

“Like that would do any good.”

“You might be surprised. He's a pretty exceptional human being.”

“He's not always what you think, you know,” I blurt, thinking of how he plays my mom and Tess, too. I sound angrier than I feel.

“Well, maybe not, but then, who is?”

“Anyway, he's done with me, that's for sure.”

“You don't know that.”

“I know he's ignoring me.”

“Maybe he doesn't know what to say. Maybe he thinks you don't want to talk to him.”

“But—”

“First things first. You need to look at the memories.”

I meet her eyes and take a moment to explore. “You think they're real?”

“Absolutely.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because little girls can't make up stories like that.”

This stops me for a second.“Maybe I got confused.”

“Or maybe your father did.”

“I don't know,Tess. I just don't know. I can't believe he'd …I mean, I thought he loved me.”

“I'm sure he did, Katie. Sometimes, it's two separate things.”

Suddenly I'm glad Tess didn't let me run away.“I guess I could talk to my mom.”

“I'll go with you, if you like.”

“No, I have to do it myself. After the wedding. It's only like four weeks.”

She shakes her head no. “I don't think you should wait that long. I think that's what your body's been trying to say.”

THIRTY-TWO

Nothing is my beginning—and to nothing I return
Nothing feeds my soul and warms my nights
And as nothing is my life and my death
So nothing sustains me . . .
And I care for nothing
Just as nothing cares for me

I see nothing as clearly as sun-lined mountains
I feel nothing as the ocean on sand-warmed skin,
I tell nothing to someones who come asking
Nothing is my truth
Nothing is my only reason
Nothing is me.
And I, of course, am Nothing.

I'm supposed to be studying for my World Civ exam, but I'm perched on my balcony, reading. All I'd wanted was to find the report I did last year on William Shakespeare. Instead, I run into this envelope stuffed with poems. No dates on them, but the handwriting is young, definitely elementary or middle school. I know they're mine, but I don't remember writing them. I read over the one I found before we moved:

July vanished without a trace.
August is the sun,
setting, swelling
like a fat orange candle
losing its shape on the horizon
Now melting
My father is disappearing and will not let me see his face.

What the hell did I mean, “my father is disappearing …?” I used to think it was about him dying; now I wonder.

Why can't I remember this?

Why can't I remember myself?

A ton of World Civ notes and our huge textbook are spread out on my bed, waiting; the final is first thing in the morning and it's already ten o'clock. I know I need at least a C and I wish I cared, but the political framework for Elizabethan drama doesn't exactly affect my life right now. I want to think about important things—about David and my father. I want to figure out my self. Poking back into the envelope, I take out one more poem.

These are the days I walk between raindrops
A shadow no eyes can see
Reaching out
but finding nothing
Please someone tell me what I'm supposed to be.

If I could remember when I wrote these, where I was sitting, what pushed me there—if I could remember being little— maybe the puzzle wouldn't be so scattered. I might be able to see my father's real face. And maybe even my own.

Two weeks since Prom; it only
seems
like two months. But who cares—I'm having way too much fun flunking. Oh, and sitting alone in my favorite spot in front of the library.

“Hey.”

My heart stops.
I look up. It's David, of course, because why would he say hello to me when I look good?

“Hey.”
At least I sound intelligent. Oh wait, no I don't.

“Any more finals today?”

“Nope. All done.”

“Need a ride home?” He asks, then snorts. “Oh shit, no, I can't”—
Whoa, am I making him nervous?
—“I have trig.”

“It's okay. Michael's picking me up.”
My heart is now pounding
so fast I think he must be able to see it.

“Oh. Good. Sorry about the rides and stuff. Finals …well, they suck, and college aps are next year, and …yeah.”

“Yeah.”
Why is he talking to me?

“So you're all done?” He sits down, not too close.

“Mm-hmm. You?”

“Just the trig. But then I'm done.”

“Good.”
Wow, even more intelligence.

“How'd you do?”

I have to laugh because I have no clue. “I could have passed. Or I could've flunked it all. I don't know.”

“So, summer school, huh?”

“I guess I'll find out next week.”
We're talking like we've
never met.

“Yeah. Hey, I was wondering if you maybe want to go to a movie or something this weekend.”

“I can't. Sorry.”

“Oh, no problem. I just thought I'd ask. It's okay.” He stands. “Well, anyway, I guess I better get ready for my—”

Heartbeat increases. Can you do cardiac arrest at fifteen?
“David, it's not because I don't want to.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“My mom and I are going to stay out at the Malibu house, get it ready for the wedding reception.”
Let it be known: I have no
shame.

“Oh. Okay.”

“'Cause otherwise, I would.”
None at all.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Well, maybe we can do something during the week?”

“We're there until Thursday.”

“Friday? Dinner, movie, walk around the mall …?”

“Yeah. That'd be good.”

Omigod. Is this happening?

THIRTY-THREE

“Did something bad happen to me?”

The second the words leave my lips I am catapulted into the Twilight Zone. I can't believe I'm doing this. I watch my mother's face carefully: something scary sneaks across it before a look of concern locks in.

“Like …?” she asks. Robert inches away from her, maybe to give her a separate space or maybe because he saw the something too. She doesn't notice.

“Something with Daddy.”
I haven't called him that in my head
for ages now—why does it slip out?

She blinks slowly, once and then again. I wonder if she wishes now she hadn't insisted that Robert be a part of this conversation. Her face swaps one feeling for another. The something flits past a second time and her tone moves one step away from sounding like my mom.“Are you asking if your father molested you?”

I don't like the word; it's miserable and dark.

I don't like my mother's face.

I nod.

“Why would you think that, Kaitlyn?” Accusing, as if I've done something. As if I made this up.

“
Something
happened, Mom.” It's like being onstage and
hearing
your lines as they come out, sounding flat and fake. I wish now I'd taken Tess up on her offer.

I
almost
wish I'd never brought it up.

“That's ridiculous.” Mom's voice isn't her own at all now; even Robert notices. It's shrill and traveling higher. I see him watching her more than he's watching me. “Your father would never hurt you.”

“But he did.” I steal a glance at Robert. There's no expression on his face.

“I don't know what to say. I can't believe I'm hearing this.”

“He came into my room, when I was little.”

“Fathers do that. I came into your room too. Do you think I molested you?”
If voices were weapons, I'd be bleeding from hers.

“Bonnie.” Robert's voice is calming.

“What?” She snaps at him, too.

“Listen to your daughter.”

“Not if she's going to accuse me—”

“She's not accusing you. She's telling you that something happened to her. You need to listen.”

“Fine.” But it isn't, obviously.“Go on.”

I call up Tess's face and remind myself of her words: little girls can't make this stuff up. I raise my head and meet Mom's stare straight on. “Something happened to me when I was six or seven. I don't remember exactly, but—”

She interrupts.“Then how the hell—”

“Bonnie. Shhh.” Robert puts his hand on her arm. “Go on, Katie.”

This makes my eyes tear. Of course. Never when people are being assholes.

I don't know what to call my father. I can't say “Daddy” now.
“He came into my room at night. You and Michael were already sleeping. I don't
know
exactly what he did. But he scared me, a lot.”

My mom is trying now to keep her voice under her control. “You're saying he did something …
sexual
to you?”

It's like a horror film; all the doors in the house slam shut and the good guy is sucked up backward through an endless dark tunnel. I drop my head again. I feel myself closing in, closing down. I can't help but hear the disgust in her voice; she spits out the words like she's ridding her body of a hair she's swallowed. And it's all directed at me. She thinks I'm the disgusting one.

Robert closes his hand around mine. My mother looks from me to him and back.

“I won't hear this.” She storms out of the room.

Robert sits with me but it's quickly awkward, so he stands. “I'll talk to her,” he says, oh so very gently. Then he stops at the doorway and looks back. “You've obviously given this a great deal of thought. Let your mom have a little time to catch up.”

I nod and blink. No smiles now; it's past cover-up.

“You're very brave, honey.”

Does that mean he believes me?

THIRTY-FOUR

What did people do before you could go online and find answers to secret problems? Oh right, they killed themselves.

Anyway, every site on mental health has plenty to say about the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder. It's a real thing. The traumatic event lodges itself under the conscious radar and is reexperienced by the victim time and time again, in disturbing dreams and possible hallucinations, often set off by external or internal cues that resemble the initial experience. Intense fear, a feeling of detachment from others, overwhelming helplessness, and disassociation from the environment are common.

If I'm understanding what I'm reading—and I think I am—Bingo, Bingo, and BIN-GO. Someone's scanned my secret self and analyzed me online. I read the whole thing several times and set Tess even higher on my very short list of the World's Most Incredible People. She nailed it. If she ever decides to give up the drama teacher thing, she could be a shrink.

I have to sit back a minute and let this settle in. I haven't been making it up.
I'm normal and connected, for real
.This is something I have to understand and deal with, but there is no inherent flaw in my being. I'm just trying to survive. I'm doing it the best I can.

Other people go through this too.

That's a Big Sigh. I'm about to check out the “treatments” when I hear the old
ding ding ding
of an IM.

hamlet99 has sent you an instant message.
Do you wish to accept?

Do you have to ask??

hamlet99: hey
kt13: hey
hamlet99: how are you
kt13: gd u?
hamlet99: very good.
kt13: oh yeah? y?
hamlet99: i'm talking to you
kt13: o
hamlet99: i missed you

I think:
That must be why you ignored me for two weeks?
I say:

kt13: i missed you, too
hamlet99: did your finals go okay?
kt13: who knows? urs?

I wonder why we're having this conversation again.

hamlet99: i think i did pretty well
kt13: gd
hamlet99: so what have you been doing?

Dying inside, you?

kt13: not much, u?
hamlet99: thinking about us and prom

Uh-oh.

kt13: o
hamlet99: i went to see a medium
kt13: about prom?
hamlet99: lol no, not really, but sorta
kt13: u got your fortune told?
hamlet99: i got a past life reading