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When Your Tabula Is Not Rasa

Chapter Six
by Kaleigh Way

 

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"Die? I should say not, dear fellow. No Barrymore would allow such a conventional thing to happen to him." — John Barrymore

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Up in the attic the three of us found, and wrestled down to the basement, a tall, seven-drawer bureau, and a sturdy table that could serve as a desk. Kristy Anne also retrieved a green-shaded desk lamp and a small makeup mirror. "This way you can sit at your desk and do your face," she explained.

Carla helped me clean my new furniture and arrange my room while Kristy Anne prepared dinner. She didn't need to actually cook; neighbors had been bringing food, as they do when someone dies. Tonight we were going to have chicken parm from a friend who happens to be professional chef. Kristy Anne warmed up a baguette and threw together a salad.

Usually I would have had a glass of wine with dinner. Now, I wasn't of legal age, but more interestingly, I found I didn't want it.

The dinner was wonderful. I don't mean the food — although the chicken parm was excellent — I'm talking about the atmosphere. Kristy Anne and Carla were both happy for a change: their faces were smiling and open. It was an enormous relief; they'd been pushing me away, or least keeping me at arms' length, since the accident. I didn't want to spoil the good mood by asking why they'd changed. Instead, I asked them where they'd been.

It turned out that they'd been visiting my sister Kate.

"She told us some stories about you that I've never heard before," Kristy Anne began, and erupted in laughter.

"Oh, no!" I groaned. "I'm sure *I* never heard them before, either! I can't even imagine! Listen, you can't believe everything — you can't believe almost anything she tells you. It all comes straight out of her own head."

They both laughed, and Kristy Anne had a knowing look as she sipped her wine.

"Dad, did you really go ice skating in a open sewer?" Carla inquired.

"It wasn't a sewer!" I protested. "I know how she tells this story, and she leaves a lot out. Anyway, it was a storm drain, NOT a sewer."

"That's so much better," laughed Kristy Anne.

I said, "You have to realize, Kate really does make stuff up. She's a lot younger than me, so some of the stories she tells, she wasn't even there for. She has a very active, vivid imagination and uses it to fill in all the parts she doesn't know. And the things that *are* real, events that she actually saw, she exaggerates or changes to make them better stories. After she's told them a couple of times, she believes her stories are true!"

"Well, she has some doozies," Kristy Anne replied, and for the rest of the dinner she and Carla recalled and laughed over my sister's fictional and half-fictional stories.

"She said she might write a book about you," Carla told me.

"Oh, God," I breathed. "I'll sue her."

Kristy Anne and Carla erupted in laughter over that, and after pouting for a bit, I laughed, too.

 

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As I said, I didn't have any wine, but Kristy Anne had a glass, and it seemed to improve her already good mood.

"I'm glad that we had this nice evening together," she said. "It's been a hard couple of days, but your sister told us we had remember all good, fun, and wonderful things about you."

Carla added, "She said all the bad things would fade."

"I hope so," I said.

"Also, while we're together," Kristy Anne continued, "there are a few things I wanted to tell you both, and I don't think they should wait."

"Okay," I said.

"This is just between the three of us, but I've decided that in the fall, after Carla leaves for college, I'm going to sell the house and move."

"Move where?" I asked.

"I don't know yet," she replied. "It has to be someplace where nobody knows me. Friends have already started talking about how young I look and wondering why I'm not wearing glasses. I'd like to start new, like you two."

"That sounds like a good idea," I said.

"You go, Mom!" Carla cheered.

"And in line with that, I've asked my sister to come stay for a while... maybe a couple of weeks," she said. "You know, Cheryl is a tax accountant, and she's going to help me get all our affairs in order."

"I can do that," I told her.

"No, you can't," she countered. "Well, I mean — of course you could; I know that you're able. But I don't want you to. I know you've always handled our money, but *I* need to know how to do it, and she'll show me."

"I could show you," I said. "Why bring someone else into it? It'll be faster if I do it."

"No," she said. "I don't need fast; I need to learn. I have to be able to do it myself. Dexie, you and I — we will hold each other back if we don't stand on our own feet."

"Okay," I said, a little glumly.

"If you stay here and hold my hand and show me, or even worse, if you do it all yourself, you're going to end up being an old lady's companion. Neither of us will have a life of our own. You have a new life to start, and so do I. Carla does too. We have to go off in three different directions. We'll keep in touch, we'll meet, but we will live three separate lives."

"I get it," I said, and looked down at my plate.

"It's okay," she said, and reached out to put her hand on mine. "I know I've been hard on your since the accident—"

"No, I understand," I said. "It's been difficult for you both, and I haven't been sensitive to that. Now that I'm starting to get it, it's—"

"Now it's starting to be difficult for you, too," Kristy Anne observed. "Don't worry. We'll get through this together."

"Right," Carla said, half-joking, "We'll learn to be apart together."

 

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Tuesday evening was my wake. It was open coffin, which is something I never minded before, but this time... I kept drifting back to look at my old self. Not that I looked bad or old or anything, but it was... I'm not sure what it was. Unsettling, for one thing. It was like an out-of-body experience. Sure, I'd seen my reflection in mirrors. I've seen plenty of photographs of myself. What I'd never seen was my body in three dimensions: as a concrete, life-size being. I wanted to touch my old body, to feel its weight, the substantiality of it... I guess I wanted to reassure myself that everything we experienced was real.

Carla and Kristy Anne kept sending people to lead me away from the coffin. Unconsciously I kept drifting back.

My brother was crying, and that was hard to witness. My sister kept the stiff upper lip, the reassuring smile. She handled it well. It was the opposite of what I expected. I realized that Kate was a lot closer to me than my brother. Kate and I used to speak a couple of times a week, and saw each other frequently. The last time I'd seen my brother... when was it? It had to be over two years ago, at the funeral of our Uncle Jack. I would have thought that he'd be unaffected and Kate would be all broken up, but I guess it was more about how we'd left it. She knew how I felt about her. We had nothing unresolved. My brother and I... we didn't have a real relationship any more. All we had was the lack of one.

Arrow came. He looked like hell. After talking to Kristy Anne and Carla, he walked over and laid a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Dexie," he said. "I'm glad to finally meet you. You know, Fred thought the world of you." His eyes welled with tears. He blinked them back.

"He did a lot for me," I said.

"Like a surrogate father," Arrow offered.

"Yes, you could say that," I agreed. I felt so uncomfortable lying to the man. He was my oldest and best friend, and now I had to pretend that I was meeting him for the first time. So I said something true. "He always said you were his oldest and best friend."

Arrow made an inarticulate noise in his throat and squeezed my shoulder hard. He stood there, neither of us knowing what to say. Then I noticed a young, dark-haired woman come in the front door. Before the door closed, she blew a lungful of cigarette smoke out and shut the door on it. Arrow followed my gaze and said, "She's my driver."

"Your driver?" I repeated.

"Yeah," he agreed, shifting uncomfortably.

"Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?" I teased. "After all, I've heard you're quite the ladies' man." It was true. Arrow was the sort of man who counted conquests. He'd never been married, and I don't think I'd ever seen him with the same woman twice. In every conversation we'd ever had, he always described a recent tryst. Not that I wanted to hear that sort of thing! He would always slip it in as a sort of aside.

"No, she is not my girlfriend," he assured me. "I hired her to drive me down here and back."

I wasn't sure what to make of that. I couldn't imagine Arrow letting a woman drive.

"Don't look so shocked," he said, reading my thoughts on my face. "I just didn't feel like driving."

 

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The funeral was at eleven, Wednesday morning. It was followed by a lunch. Pretty much everyone who knew Fred was there. Arrow's driver was there. She was young, curvy, attractive. She had a hefty pair of breasts and a few boys and men tried — and failed — to strike up her acquaintance. She didn't sit down. She didn't talk to anyone. She ate, drank, and frequently went out to smoke.

"Does she smoke while she drives?" I asked Arrow.

"No," he replied. "Somehow she manages to survive without it. I guess she's stockpiling tar and nicotine right now."

"The way marathon runners carbo-load," I joked.

"Exactly," he agreed.

The two of us sat together and talked for the entire lunch. At times it felt as if we'd both forgotten that I'd changed bodies. It was like old times: Fred and Arrow talking, not Dexie and Arrow. In fact, we only stopped talking when Arrow's driver signaled him, gesturing with her chin and pointing to her watch. "She's right," he sighed. "It's time." He lumbered to his feet, so I stood as well. "It's been great talking to you," he said. "It really lightened a sad, sad day."

"I enjoyed it, too," I assured him. He gave me a hug and made me promise (again) to visit him in Seattle soon. Then he went to say goodbye to Kristy Anne and Carla. Kristy Anne glanced at me while they were talking, which made me feel a little guilty. I don't know why. Kristy Anne pulled Arrow aside and spoke very earnestly to him for about two minutes. Then Arrow gave her a hug and walked out the door with his curvy young driver, who puffed like a little locomotive.

After taking a big drink of water, I checked in with Kristy Anne and Carla, who both looked exhausted. Luckily, Arrow's departure was part of a general trend, and the room was rapidly emptying out.

Of course, everyone wanted to have a final word with Kristy Anne and Carla. A few people wanted to talk with me, either to hear about the accident or to instruct me on how grateful I ought to be to the Holderlins. I didn't mind. None of the conversations lasted very long.

A group of girls surrounded Carla, and the father in me was heartened by that. I was glad she had friends who showed up when she needed them. The girls, however, were muscled out by Carla's aunts, uncles, and cousins, who all needed to say their goodbyes. The girls hung nearby in a loose group, and I heard one ask, "Can we just leave, or what?"

Then they caught sight of me, and fell silent, even more unsure of how to proceed. After a few moments, one of them said, "Hey, Strange Girl." I smiled and said "hi" in response. They were astonished.

"Hey! Look at that! The Strange Girl smiles! What happened to her?"

"Maybe that accident woke her up," one of them said. She got a quick elbow in the ribs from another girl.

"Yeah, she's right," I agreed. "The accident changed me."

The girls came closer and gathered around me. They were curious about the accident. I told them what I could, ending with "Mr. Holderlin" taking the wrong turn, fishtailing down the dirt road, and hitting the tree. They were especially interested to hear how Fred had flown through the windshield.

"Wasn't he wearing a seat belt?" they asked, and "Why didn't the air bag stop him?"

We talked until they ran out of questions. Carla was still busy with our relatives, so they turned back to me. "What are you going to do now, Dexie? Where are you going to college?"

"I'm going to get a job," I replied. "I can't go to college right now."

"Why not?" they asked.

"Money."

"Huh?"

"I don't have the money to pay for college."

That puzzled them. "Won't your parents pay for it?"

"No."

They didn't know what to do with that information, so they fell silent again. Then, "What kind of job are you going to get?"

"I don't know yet," I replied.

"Doesn't sound like much of a plan," one of them commented. This made me laugh. "Why is that funny?" the girl wanted to know.

"I don't know," I replied, and got a look that said She's still the Strange Girl!

They looked again toward Carla, who was still busy. I told them, "If you want to go, I'll tell her you said goodbye. I think she's going to be talking to them for a while."

 

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The next morning, Kristy Anne came into the kitchen bleary eyed. I was munching on my breakfast cereal. Before we exchanged good mornings, she dropped into a chair, and announced, "I've made another decision: from now on I'm just Kristy. People kept calling my name yesterday Kristy Anne, Kristy Anne and I finally got sick of it."

"Okay," I agreed. "I like it better too."

She grunted in acknowledgment and rubbed her eyes. "Looked like you had a good time talking to Arrow yesterday."

"Oh, yeah, it was great."

"Mmm. How did he look to you?"

"Pretty crappy, to tell the truth."

Kristy nodded. "It's partly because he's so broken up by your death. Did I tell you that he's called every night since he heard you died?"

"No, you didn't!"

"Yeah. Do you mind being the one who talks to him tonight?"

"No," I said. "I'll be glad to."

"You know you were his only friend, don't you?"

"Well, he always says that, but he must have other friends. I can't believe I'm his only friend."

"No, you were," Kristy affirmed. "I've gone into that with him night after night. He had no one but you. Now that you're gone, he's started calling me. He's a nice enough guy, but you know... he can be a bit much." I knew what she meant. Kristy respected the fact that Arrow was my friend, but she found his chauvinism hard to bear.

"Okay," I said. "I'll talk to him."

"Are you planning on going up to see him?"

"Yes, I will. When I can."

"When you can? What's stopping you?"

"Well... aren't I needed here?"

"No," she said. "I told you, I'm trying to get on my own feet."

While I considered this, she added, "Also, I don't think Arrow is in the best of health."

I said, "Yeah, did you see that girl he came with?"

Kristy snorted and rolled her eyes.

"She was his driver, Kristy. Arrow never lets someone else drive for him."

"Yes, I'm sure she was just his driver," Kristy agreed in a dry tone.

"He told me she wasn't his girlfriend."

"Of course he'd tell you that," she said, her voice thick with sarcasm.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that when he tries to put the move on you, he doesn't want you thinking about the hot little chick who smokes like a chimney."

"No!" I protested.

"Oh, yes," she countered. "Your friend is a horndog, as you will discover when you go visit."

"He wouldn't try anything on me," I told her.

"He wouldn't try anything on Fred," she corrected. "but you're not Fred, are you?"