The Accidental Siren (30 page)

We were made to shake hands. As Ryan released
his grip, he looked through tears in his blue eyes. And for that
moment, I actually believed he was sorry.

* * *

Twenty hours until the Fairytale
premiere.

Orion was hunting the night sky above our
heads. I pointed to the constellation as Mara leaned closer to
follow the tip of my finger.

“Three in a row?” she asked.

“That’s his belt.”

“I see it. Neato.”

Autumn was still a month away, but the air
was cool and crisp and brought back memories of shucking corn with
my sister. The roof was hard against our backs, but we didn’t
care.

The lake was a puddle of ink without the
moonlight, but its distant lapping provided our date with a dreamy,
undulating soundtrack.

Mara was eating gummy bears, red ones first,
then white, green, and finally the yellows. She named every bear,
then watched as they marched along her waist, waged wars across her
tummy, and fell in love atop her chest. Eventually, every gummy
either lost their heads in battle, killed themselves by jumping off
her torso, or met their end in another creatively morbid way,
giving Mara the excuses she needed to gobble up their remains.

The movie was waiting for me in my room, but
my girlfriend requested company. Besides, we both needed a break
from our punishment and the dreary confines of the castle.

Mara’s head was in my lap. Our faces were
amber in the light of a dancing candle. I made a goofy face to calm
her nerves. She grinned, then stuck out her tongue and crossed her
eyes.

I removed a marker from a plastic bag. Mara
adjusted her head, mashing her hair into my thighs like a mortar
and pestle, then I marked her exposed earlobe with a black dot. She
looked right, and I did it again.

I capped the marker, dropped it in the bag,
and covered my yawn with my arm.

“Already sleepy, sleepyhead?”

“It’s been a long few days,” I said.

The safety pin was next. I unclipped it, then
held the tip over the candle until it turned brilliant orange. With
my free hand, I reached in the bag and dramatically removed a peach
to divert Mara’s attention away from the hot needle. “We’re outta
apples,” I said. “Think this’ll work?”

Her shoulders touched my knees with a shrug.
Her smile masked the blood in her broken eye. “Do it quick,
kay?”

I pressed the peach into the soft junction of
neck, jaw and hair. Her earlobe rested on the fruit’s fuzzy
skin.

“James, do you ever feel like we’re too young
to think the things we think?”

I touched the metal tip to the center of the
dot, then pressed hard through the fleshy lump of ear. “Every day
since I met you,” I said. I felt a slight burst of relief as the
needle punctured the peach on the opposite side. There was
something provocative in the sight of Mara’s wince and the smell of
singed fruit...

“You’ve been a gentleman,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I removed the needle,
used the peach as a pin-cushion, then quickly worked an earring
into the fresh hole. It was sterling silver–Mara told me
earlier–with a violet Swarovski bead.

“We’re supposed to be boyfriend and
girlfriend, but you’re the only one who really acts like it.” She
pinched the bead between her thumb and forefinger, then turned in
my lap. “You’re gonna write about me someday and I’m gonna read
every word. I don’t wanna look back and realize how bad I treated
you. I’m your first girlfriend.”

“Mara, you’re–”

“I know you don’t have a choice but to like
me. I know that any other boy would be just as sweet to me, ‘cause
they have to. But I want you to know that it doesn’t make your
kindness less special. I don’t appreciate you any less just ‘cause
other boys like me too. Does that make sense?” She groaned. “It
sounded better in my head.”

Her words hung between us like a white
balloon. I torched the needle for a second time, brushed a strand
of hair from her eye, and positioned the peach behind her lobe.

“I see the things you do for me,” she
said.

I punctured her again. She didn’t wince.

“You gave that film to social services. Most
boys wouldn’t do that, even if it meant saving my life. I know
you’ve been exercising. I hear you sometimes, grunting, counting
sit ups. It makes me feel... warm.”

The compliment stung. I had a mental list of
every nice thing that Mara ever said to me, but they were always
part of a game or joke. This time, the words carried sincerity that
drove me a little mad; mad because this was the only person who
could instill such a feeling of affirmation in my soul; mad because
I could never return the favor.

“I think about your creativity.” Mara sat up,
took the pin and peach from my hands, and set them aside. “You’re
like one of those scruffy artists who goes totally nuts.” She
plucked the second earring form my palm and slid it through her ear
like a business woman returning from an affair.

Whatever color her eyes were before that
moment, it didn’t matter. Tonight, they were purple, matching
exquisitely the crystals dangling against her cheeks. “Know what
else?” she asked.

I was weightless. Dumbstruck.

“Sometimes I think you’re so wrapped up in
‘who likes who’ or what line of dialogue to cut... I don’t think
you realize how cool you are.”

My peripherals darkened. I felt faint, but I
didn’t black out.

“I recognize my own faults too, ya know. That
day on the hill was bad. You could’ve teased me for weeks ‘cause of
that.”

Every word simultaneously pulled me in and
pushed me back, kinda like the zolly shots in
Vertigo
where
the lens zooms in but the camera pulls out. Beautiful anxiety took
me over, and the suave boy who pierced a girl’s ears was melting
into goo and seeping through his own feet. “I need to finish
editing.” I said.

“Don’t go,” Mara replied and laid her back
across the roof’s paper tar.

“The art show...” I stammered. “It’s
tomorrow. The rides are already up outside. They have a VCR waiting
for me.”

“Don’t go,” she said again and I found myself
laying beside her, holding hands, watching the stars. “This night
will be perfect if you stay. We can lay exactly like this until our
muscles get all stiff. We can pretend like the movie doesn’t
matter, that we made it, that it was fun, but that, in the end, it
doesn’t really matter. Eventually, everything’s gonna change and
run off without us... but maybe we can make tonight last forever if
we try hard enough. You know that moment when you hug somebody you
like? When your heart feels warm and high and tingly in your chest?
When you feel just for a second like a baby in a womb... that
nothing matters? That’s how I want you to feel tonight. That’s what
a girlfriend should do, I think.”

So I stayed with Mara on the castle roof.
Just a little longer.

* * *

“Son of a bee hive,” I said. “They’re
back.”

Five smallish boys dismounted their bikes at
the top of the driveway, then walked them quietly through the
woods.

“Forgot ‘em, James,” Mara said, leaning back
on her elbows.

Bellydown, I peered over the brick barrier
and squinted to make out the faces. My first assumption was that
Ryan Brosh was storming the castle to kidnap Mara. But these boys
were offish and awkward, and Ryan’s friends would have carried
their bikes. A glint of starlight snagged a pair of glasses.

“Don’t let them ruin another night,” Mara
said.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Late.”

I crawled back to Mara’s side. “What if they
build another ladder?”

“Then your dad’ll tear it down.”

Again, I imagined Mara lulling Livy to sleep
with a tape of her voice, tossing a blanket from the bedroom
window, shimmying down the wall, and kissing one of the ferrety
trespassers in a tree.

“We should check it out,” I said, then blew
out the candle. “We’ll come right back. I promise.”

* * *

“Their bikes are gone. They must’ve ditched
‘em closer to the driveway.”

Mara yawned. “Let’s finish our movie,
James.”

I stood on my pillow to get a better angle.
“There’s three of them. They’re looking for the rungs.”

“Thanks for the piercing my ears
tonight...”

“Should I go out there? Give ‘em a good
scare?”

“Your Dad’ll kill you. Any more
trespassers–”

“–and we call the sheriff. I know.”

Mara stepped toward the door. “Goodnight,
James.”

“Wait!” I said. “They’re looking up now.”

“How many times are we gonna do this?”

I watched the boys step backwards and crane
their necks. They were fixated on something, but not with their
usual zombie-like trance. “They’re laughing,” I said and narrowed
my eyes. “They’re looking in your room and laughing.”

“They’re always looking in my room,” she
said.

“But Mara,
you’re not there
.”

Mara Lynn looked at me and our eyes widened
at the exact same time. I leapt off the bed, joined her at the
bathroom door, and we ran hand-in-hand to Livy’s bedroom.

The trash-bag curtains were lying in a
tattered heap on the ground. Pieces of duct tape were still
attached to the window molding. Livy was positioned in the center
of the frame, hair frazzled and blonde, arms poised above her head,
gyrating in a teal bra and matching underwear that I once saw
peeking from the rim of Mara’s jeans.

“What the heck, Liv!” I cried.

She twirled to face us. Her ribs heaved with
a tremendous breath. A smile garnished her white face;
plaster-white like cement before it dries.

“Oh Livy,” Mara said.

My sister walked like a porcelain doll
brought to life; a limp spine, top-heavy swagger, and a pair of
earrings that jostled as she stepped. “Like my lipsticcck?” she
asked, staring at Mara. “Like my eyeshadooow and my headbaaand and
my undieees? Recognize them Maaaraaa?”

As Livy approached, I could see the gruesome
details of her transformation. Blisters infected her scalp. Her
hair was brittle and frayed. The lipstick filled her chapped lips
like pink spackle. I backed away because, if cooties existed, they
were feeding on my sister.

Mara cowered in the doorway as Livy loomed
overhead. “They like me,” she purred, “They like me out there,
Maaaraaa. And Ryan’s gonna like me too.” Her grin expanded... then
fell. She reached out her hand–still black except for sporadic
patches of paint–and fingered Mara’s new earring.

“You...” Livy couldn’t finish her sentence.
Without warning, she reeled back, spit in Mara’s face, dashed to
the bathroom, and wailed.

* * *

Six hours until the Fairytale premiere.

The forest was golden. The sun passed through
the dense canopy as if the leaves were scraps of yellow cellophane,
diffusing the light into a visible, tangible atmosphere.

I wanted to hold Mara’s hand, but she shied
away whenever I made a move. Maybe she didn’t want Whit to see us
touch.

It was a nostalgic afternoon. The three of us
strolled through the castle estate, chatting about our summer as if
it was eons ago, kicking the cardboard remains of soggy roman
candles, and cringing at the yellow snapdragon stain in the
driveway. Whit and I reenacted our first encounter with Danny and
A.J. in the woods. Mara found the patch of onion weeds where we
filmed her conversation with Dorothy. She plucked a purple flower
and wove it through her hair.

“I have presents,” Whit said. “Grab my
bag?”

Mara heaved the backpack from beneath his
chair.

“Open it,” he said.

She unzipped the main pocket and removed a
statue of a gold man holding a star above his head. She read the
plate at the base of the trophy and smiled. “This one says
James.”

I took it and read the text aloud, “Best
Director, James Parker. Fairytale, 1994.”

“They’re supposed to look like Oscars,” Whit
said. “I got one for Livy for best makeup. Mine’s at home–”

“On your achievement shelf?” Mara asked.

“Dead center.”

She pulled out a second trophy and read the
inscription. “Best Actress: Mara Lynn Landon. Fairytale, 1994.”

“Whit,” I said, “these are–”

“Totally killer. You’re welcome.”

“But the movie–”

“Disappointing, I know. But these trophies
will commemorate the good times.”

Mara bent down and hugged him (a second too
long if you asked me) then thanked him profusely.

“We’ll finish it next week,” I said. “Maybe
we can have a showing over Labor Day weekend.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’ll be fun.”

“
Mr. Parker?”

We turned around.

The voice belonged to Sheriff Beeder. He was
making the rounds along the rear castle wall, collecting evidence
at my father’s demand. “Excuse me, Mr. Parker?” he called
again.

When I realized that
I
was Mr. Parker,
I handed my trophy to Mara and pushed Whit toward the house and
man.

“Your parents want you to stay close,” he
said. “Would you mind playing in the front yard until we catch the
delinquents?”

“Sure thing, Officer Beeder,” I said.

“How long’s it gonna take?” asked Whit.

The man flashed a jolly lumberjack smile,
“The woods’ll be yours again before you know it!”

“Would it really hurt if we stayed a little
longer?” Mara asked.

“Well little lady, I’m afraid I have strict
orders from your parents to keep you outta these woods. And as a
county sheriff–”

Mara stepped forward. Her voice quivered with
a subtle, yet natural southern drawl. “Surely there’s something we
can do to have a few more minutes in the woods.”

“I’m sorry, kids–”

“We can go,” I said. “Really, it’s not a big
deal.” I grabbed Mara’s hand but she jerked away without breaking
her dainty self-control.