The Accidental Siren (22 page)

The only adults who share the plight of
children are crazy old people: Doc Brown, Kesuke Miyagi, Scatman
Crothers from
The Shining...
or Ms. Grisham and her
cronies.

I pressed the Indiglo button on my watch and
my wrist blossomed with teal light. It was 7:39; six minutes before
Ryan Brosh would swoop in to woo my sister with his
parallel-parking abilities.

He wouldn’t stay in the car, not when he
could rub his brilliant scheme in my face. But I had a plan.

I double-checked the baby monitor. The other
half was hiding in the basement beside the unfinished guest room
where Mara spent quality time with Dorothy. I could hear her
through the speaker, playing with her cat and softly anticipating
Ryan’s arrival.

I adjusted the volume on the monitor, then
set it down and picked up the walkie-talkie. The other headset was
stuffed inside the floral arrangement on the dining-room table. For
now, I could only hear the TV as my father relaxed in the living
room and my sister paced the kitchen.

So far, the movie conventions were holding
true in real life. Responsible adults were too busy consuming the
drama of O.J. Simpson’s bloody glove, debating the proclamation of
“Read my lips!,” or shedding tears for Rwanda. But what if adults
did
infiltrate our story? They wouldn’t see Mara as The
Prettiest Girl in the World, but as a potential rape victim, a
serial killer’s skin pajamas, a science project about the existence
of pheromones, or undeniable proof of God. They wouldn’t hurt her
the way children might with sticks and stones and playground
chants, they would
dissect
her with the unlimited power of
“grownup.” Their intent would not be to love her, but to protect
her, to use her, to distill her magic into age-defying makeup or
the perfect highway billboard. Experiments would not consist of
torn yearbook photos or lake-side interviews, but of scientific
methods, straightjackets, and insanely long needles. Instead of a
little Mexican boy crossing himself at the utterance of her name,
grownups were crusaders awaiting their Helen of Troy. Religious
leaders would argue about which god bestowed in Mara the power of
infinite beauty.

Could the most beautiful girl in the world
stay hidden forever? What if Mara’s secret identity didn’t stay a
secret? What if the grownups found out?

I was working on my twenty-fifth sit-up when
the doorbell rang and the walkie-talkie exploded with Livy’s
“Eeee!”
The excitement tapered as Mom and Dad followed her
down the stairs and out the front door... but Mara stayed in the
guest room with Dorothy.

Why didn’t she race outside to see Ryan? Did
she have another plan? Mara knew she needn’t feign interest in
automobiles to win the heart of Ryan Brosh; perhaps she was letting
Livy believe–for as long as possible–that her boyfriend was
real.

Although I longed to tear Ryan’s eyes from
their soft sockets, I knew a confrontation would make me look
stupid in front of Mara. So when the show in the driveway concluded
and the pretty-boy ferret was upstairs with my sister, I clenched
the walkie-talkie to my ear and stayed put.

Livy wasn’t allowed in the bedroom with a
boy. Like I suspected, she and Ryan settled in the dining room as
Mom and Dad made their presence known in the kitchen with the
exaggerated clanking of pans.

I placed bets with myself on how long it
would take Ryan to ask about Mara. It wouldn’t be his first
question (that would be too obvious), but the itch would grow
quickly.

The walkie-talkie crackled like torn
cellophane, but Ryan’s voice slid clearly through the transmission.
“Where’s your little brother?”
he asked.

Livy was slow to reply. I imagined her
leaning back in the dining-room chair, balancing on the hind legs,
dumbstruck by that cute conniver, doing her best to stay cool.
“James is in bed,”
she replied.
“Said he wasn’t feeling
well.”

Ryan gave a sympathetic groan.
“Poor guy.
I was hoping he’d show me a cut of the movie.”

“
You did an awesome job driving
tonight,”
Livy said.

“
My instructor says I’m a defensive
driver. I told him it’s ‘cause I play basketball.”

The phone rang and created a momentary rift
in the conversation. Mom must have picked up, because it didn’t
ring again.

“
Where are the twins?”
Ryan asked.

Clever.
He was asking about the rest
of the family first so it wouldn’t look suspicious when he finally
asked about Mara.

“
With a new family,”
Livy replied,
then lowered her voice until it was barely audible.
“Mom had
them transferred after Bobby pulled out his... you know
what.”

“
Whoa,”
Ryan said.
“Strict parents!
I thought little boys are always whipping out their dongs.”

Livy giggled.
“Guess it was the last
straw.”

In the silence that followed, I pictured my
sister leaning forward, quietly implying to Ryan that a quick kiss
on the cheek would go unnoticed by our hovering parents. I pictured
Ryan too, tapping his foot against the table, itching to find the
girl he actually came to see.

“
So...”
Livy said,
“your dad is
cool with waiting in the car?”

“
He’s fine.”
Ryan said.
“I sent him
to Walmart to kill time. Where’s Mara?”

And blastoff!

“
M-Mara...?”
The static did little to
hide the pain in my sister’s voice.
“I’m not sure. She’s been
spending a lot of time in the basement.”

“
How’s she been? With her parents dying
and all...”

“They died a long time ago, silly.”

“Right. But it’s still sad. She’s taking it
well?”

“She’s... fine. Great even. It’s kinda
weird.”

“We should all go out sometime. Bowling,
maybe shoot some hoops.”

“Yeah.”

“After all, I need to show off my...” he
lowered his voice for dramatic effect, “new girlfriend!”

Just as Ryan had planned, Livy’s excitement
at the word “girlfriend” distracted her from the implications of
his next question:
“Can I use the restroom?”

* * *

Unlike the discrete walkie-talkie, the baby
monitor had to be tethered to a wall socket for power. I pictured
the device tucked inside the exercise basket outside the unfinished
guest room, and prayed to Mara’s saints that the little red light
was hidden from view.

“
Hey,”
Ryan said. His voice was far
away so I pressed the corrugated plastic against my ear.

“
Hey,”
Mara replied.

“
Good evening, Ms. Dorothy,”
he said
to the cat.

She replied in the kitten’s voice.
“Well,
hello there, Mr. Ryan!”
I winced at Mara’s easy effervescence
and the couple’s playful banter. Her silly impersonation of the cat
evoked
our
connection the morning she played dress-up for
me. Jealousy burned in my chest like the coil of an electric stove;
I longed to strangle Ryan Brosh with the same passion that longed
to touch Mara.

“
She looks more healthy every day,”
he
said.
“You must be a good mommy.”

A bell jangled; an audible indication he was
petting the cat.
“It’s nice having a furry animal around when
bad things happen.”

“Bad things?” Mara asked.

“Your parents. I heard about the
accident.”

“Oh.”

“If you ever need somebody to lean on...”
This kid was one rotten cliché after another.

“
You’re sweet,”
she said.
“I’m just
glad I learned about it here. The Parkers are super
supportive.”

I sensed Ryan’s internal debate:
I don’t
want Mara to think I’m obsessive. How long have I been down here?
Livy’ll think I’m pooping. Maybe just a minute longer? I should
really go back upstairs...
But walking away from Mara was like
breaking your ankle to escape a bear trap. Ryan wasn’t the only kid
battling urges, my knuckles were white around the overhead
pipe.

“
How are– and Whit?”

Mara and Ryan were moving deeper into the
guest room and away from my bug. I twisted the volume knob to catch
Mara’s reply, but she sounded like she was talking into a plastic
jug.
“–ood, I –uess.”

Dangit, darnit, son of a bitch!

“
Those boys– perverts,”
Ryan said.

Mara laughed.
“Why?”

“
Whenever we –ang out, they’re always
talkin–”

Static. I shook the monitor.

“–
if they had you all to
themselves.”

“–
doesn’t sound like them. What
did–”

“–really shouldn’t say. –words I would never
say in front of a girl. Let’s just say– be normal if they were–
high school.”

I let go of the pipe, dropped the monitor to
the cardboard control panel, and sat up so quickly that I bashed my
head on the pipe I just released. Ryan was a liar!

But I couldn’t tell Mara the truth or she’d
know I was spying.

“On– night of the party, James– bragging–
read your diary. –guess– pretty desperate.”

Ryan crossed the line. I couldn’t fix the
damage, but I could make sure he never did it again.

I wiggled through the tunnel of pink
insulation. Just as my hand touched the bedroom hatch, my mother’s
voice broke loud and clear over the dining-room walkie.

“
That was Norma on the phone.”

Norma was Mrs. Greenfield. My palm froze on
the smooth wood as I considered my options.

“I suppose you told her,” Dad replied.

“She thinks we need a restraining order.”

I twirled around on all fours, crawled back
to the cardboard box, and grabbed the headset. I could exact my
revenge later.

“Against three old ladies?” Dad said. “Sounds
a little drastic.”

“Norma overreacts, but how do you think we
should handle this?”

“For now, we keep her inside and stick to the
original plan. If the demented Golden Girls come back, we call the
police and let them handle it.”

“They’re despicable,” Mom said. “Born-again
psychos.”

“Now who’s overreacting?”

“You didn’t see the film reel.”

“We don’t know they were the same women.”

I held the monitor to my left ear and the
walkie to my right. Despite my efforts to separate the
conversations in my mind, the words merged and mingled into a
disorienting poem like watching TV with the radio on.

“–didn’t know you could draw.” Ryan’s voice
was still choppy.

Mara replied, “I like to doodle.”

“Something’s wrong, David,” Mom said in my
right ear.

“Beth?” Dad replied. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know... I can’t describe it.”

Ryan said, “–totally rad,” and shuffled
noisily through a pile of paper. “Why– drawing– over and over
again?”

“I just like it, silly,” Mara replied.

“What a weirdo. In a good way of course.”

“Honey?” Dad prodded Mom. “Did something
happen?”

“I took her to the mall after we found out
about her parents... thought it would be a nice distraction...”

“That was sweet.”

“No,” she said. “It wasn’t.”

“–just like basketball!” Mara said in my
other ear. “Don’t you– the same shot over and– to get it
right?”

“Good point,” Ryan replied. “–not a
weirdo!”

Mom continued. “Every store we went to–every
boutique and jewelry kiosk–I kept asking her if I could buy her
anything. Over and over I pictured her in a certain dress, a
special necklace, the perfect pair of high-heels... and she had to
talk me out of it every time.”

“You just wanted to make her feel
better–”

“If she didn’t stop me, I would have bought
the mall.”

Ryan spoke again in my left ear. “Maybe I can
give you a ride in my car sometime.”

“Aren’t you– Livy now?” asked Mara.

“Where do you think the urges came from?”
asked Dad.

“Doesn’t mean– can’t hang together,” Ryan
replied.

Livy’s voice joined the fray. “There you are,
sneaky boy.”

“Hey there, cutie,” Ryan replied. “Just
coming back up! Wanna chill with us, Mara?”

“I only know one thing for certain...” Mom’s
voice trailed off.

“I should stay downstairs,” said Mara. “I
need to change Dorothy’s litter box.”

“What is it, hon?” asked Dad.

“Your loss, weirdo!” said Ryan.

“Those women...” said Mom, “they’ll never
stop.”

* * *

I was supposed to be editing.

Outside my window, the moon hung like a
Christmas ornament behind the branches of a dead tree, painting my
tapes, TV, and the tangle of cords in soft white light.

Editing was already a tedious process:
studying the shot log, loading the corresponding tape,
fast-forwarding to the moment of the first cut, pressing “play” on
the camera and “record” on the VCR, watching the same take for the
hundredth time, and pressing “stop” on both machines with careful
timing. If I made a mistake, I had to rewind the VHS to the end of
the previous shot, rewind the camera to the beginning of the
botched shot, and start the process over again.

Thanks to Ryan Brosh, my mind had its own
thirteen-inch TV, tangle of wires, and spastic rewind button as I
processed both conversations again and again and again.

Liar. Perverts. Ferrets. Diary. She knew!
What would she say?

Oddly, the bit of dialogue that bothered me
most was Ryan’s fascination with Mara’s artwork. Although it was
brief, Ryan had glimpsed a part of Mara that I had never seen
before. His advantage was frustrating... but maybe I could level
the playing field.

I waited until the parlor light vanished from
the crack beneath my door, then tugged my nightshirt to cover my
undies and abandoned my work in the moonlit room.