The Sea-Wave (14 page)

S
he's our shining star. We love her. The disease has stolen her. It's taken her away. But . . . we can still see, if we look closely, in her eyes . . . that old sparkle. She smiles. In some tunnel of her mind, she's smiling.

She's our shining star. We love her.

I
have an auntie who's — most people would say — retarded. Everyone calls her Janey, though I think of her as Jane, because Janey just makes her sound cuter than she really is. Because she is basically a shakey, wired lady with a moustache. She has glasses, but she doesn't look through her glasses. She looks over them, and her eyeballs are meatballs and terrifying. Her ordinary voice is screaming.

Jane is Mom's sister so she materializes at times. They can't stand each other but guilt is the staple gun that holds families together. I hate going anywhere or being seen with Jane because I know what people are thinking. They're looking at the two of us, and then at my parents, and thinking: Whoa, imagine being stuck with one of those, AND one of
those
. Their hearts must be like ripped-apart flags. We can now be pretty happy by contrast, and have those ice-cream sandwiches after all. Also, they probably think we're both retarded, and that it's one of those fun outings that retarded people are made to take at strip malls and smaller parks.

Jane lives alone but shouldn't. Mom said she has the IQ of maybe a four- or a five-year-old. There aren't many four- or five-year-olds who have their own apartment, plus a cat, with cat shit all over everything, and burned-black pots and pans in the trash can.

I overheard Mom say: “My life would be simpler if Janey didn't exist.”

I overheard Dad say: “Shh.”

I
hate my face. My nose looks like it broke off a statue and got pasted on in a hurry. My one eye is higher than the other. They had to pry me out of my mom with pliers. The regular forceps didn't work so someone had to get special forceps from the basement. Your skull is taffy when you're born and if they stretch it they're scared to push it back. If they'd known how I was going to turn out, they maybe would've cared less and pressed in the dents with their thumbs.

Compared to Jay Kwan, I got off easy. The one side of his skull is twisted up. His left eye is up in his hair. When I first saw him I wanted to cry. Also he was cute, he would've been so cute, if it weren't for his tragic deformity. He's weirdly popular. His girlfriend is normal and volatile. I don't think anyone would tease her — or him, either — or she'd just erupt. She's like his crazed bodyguard, which is just what a disabled kid needs in their life. Or they'll never make it.

S
ometimes the old man says what sounds like “Helen” just under his breath, which considering how bent over he is is practically right in my ear. It's unsettling waking up with this raspy “Helen” in my ear like a wasp. Once he shouted “Helen” when he woke up then he ran to me. I'm not sure if he thinks my name is Helen, or . . . He could have me confused with someone else, which would make this whole thing a dumb mix-up.

I don't even look like a Helen.

W
henever . . . I was joyful (I was so seldom joyful), there would be a voice. In my ear. A soft voice. A voice like the water. It would change, as water changes. But the words. They did not change.
The words
. They were always the same.

“The sea-wave comes and goes forever. It rushes against everything forever. Nothing, not iron, survives it. For the sea-wave flows forever. It takes away everything, forever. All crumbs, and the phantoms of all things. Until they're nothing. Everything, we have. The good things of earth. The miserable things. All suffering. All, is salt. Your bones. They will wash away. It will take them, the wave, away. The Earth itself, is salt, and will wash away. In the wave. For it comes and goes, forever.”

And there would be no more joy.

M
y hands are so burnt now they're not hands. They're tongues.

I've never had a tan. There are gross old celebrities who resemble smoked fish because they think if they hide under a tan we won't notice they're three-quarters dead. I feel like one now.

I need my sunglasses. I have a small hole in my one cornea from looking at the sun too much when I was younger. I remember once my auntie said to me: “What are you doing?” I was staring at the sun. “Don't do that,” she said. I kept doing it. “Do you want to be
blind
too, kid?” she said, turning my wheelchair around. Later, I bit her thumb.

I'm nervous. It's the part of the movie where you know something big has to happen because there's only ten minutes left.

The trees are getting thicker.

My red hands are burning and shaking.

I almost wish I was home.

I
like looking out the window, I liked to, in my room. There wasn't much to see. But I still liked to.

I saw my parents walking home. They didn't see me. The looked heartbroken. Like plants that hadn't been watered. I know they want to do the normal family stuff but most normal family places don't have a wheelchair lift or the right accessories. When people ask them in a confidential voice how they're doing they put on their smiles and then after peel them off like a sunburn.

I guess I'm the sun.

M
y life has been one rotund tragedy. It's sad. There are so many things that
can
go right, but sometimes they all flop over like they smelled gas. My mom had maybe a kindergarten of miscarriages. They were all me's that gave it their pathetic best but couldn't quite make a go of it. And then I gave it my equally pathetic best but for some reason just barely made it. I sometimes wonder if my embryo had just smothered itself in egg yolk like the others if things would have turned out so much better for everyone. My parents would've bought a dog.

David Copperfield
is good but not so good that you'd sit in acid reading it.

It's almost that good.