Ten-Word Tragedies Page 6

  A view lasts all day.

  Andy and Cathy Banner didn’t know they wanted one such view until their good friend Donna told them of one in a place called Forge, Maine. From the living room of cottage 6, Donna said, the world was breathtaking. She added that she hadn’t seen it herself, but had good sources. Classic Donna. Adamant, but always for others.

  Her enthusiasm, founded or not, was contagious. Andy and Cathy found themselves returning to the idea of a cottage in Maine, despite being able to afford a family trip to any tourist trap in the United States.

  ‘It sounds a lot better than New Mexico,’ Andy said. ‘A much different kind of heat.’

  ‘Yep,’ Cathy said. ‘Let’s rule out the south and the southwest.’

  ‘Why not California?’ Megan, twelve, wanted to know. Megan always wanted to know. And Cathy usually provided the answers.

  ‘Too much,’ Cathy said.

  ‘Too much what?’

  ‘Too much everything. Do you want to wait in line for everything we do, everything we see? Or would you rather do whatever you want to…all day?’

  Cathy knew how to play her children like Andy knew how to play the drums. A thing he did well and often. This vacation wouldn’t only be a break from work: a busy social life, fueled mostly by Andy’s jazz quartet The Skunks, would have to wait for their return as well.

  With two children, Megan, twelve, and Brad, ten, able to care for themselves, that left only young Arthur, two, in need of constant attention. But Andy and Cathy had accounted for that as well.

  ‘The place is called Forge Cabins,’ Andy said, the family already in the car and on their way east then. ‘They’ve got a fantastic child care center on the premises. So Arthur will have plenty of friends to play with.’

  ‘This is the place Donna told you about?’ Megan asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Andy said, smiling. ‘After months of research…the word of a good friend ended up guiding us.’

  ‘How long will we be there?’ Megan asked.

  ‘A few days,’ Cathy said. ‘Your dad’s got a gig on the fifteenth.’

  ‘What does the place have?’ Brad asked.

  ‘Have?’ Andy echoed his son. ‘Well, they have all sorts of space. And a lake.’

  ‘And television and toys and everything you could possibly want,’ Cathy said. She looked to Andy and smiled. ‘And we hear the view is to die for.’

  Megan rolled her eyes in the backseat and crossed her arms. ‘That’s why we’re driving so far?’

  ‘What’s that, dear?’ Andy asked.

  ‘A view,’ Megan said, looking out the car window. ‘Halfway across the country for a view.’

  It was as if the view had called to them, something neither Andy nor Cathy would have ever said out loud. But they felt it. Felt the phantom fingertips of Donna’s recommendation, like when someone says they feel a pencil eraser touching their third eye before opening their first two to see the pencil still held many inches away.

  A day and a half to get there and not much trouble on the way. Arthur slept mostly and Megan and Brad played games on their phones. Andy and Cathy held hands for long stretches and more than once caught the other looking back at them, wistful, like they used to do. Vacations are meant to rekindle romance, both believed, but it’d been a long time since either felt quite so relaxed. Even as storms slowed the drive through upstate New York, the Banner family felt at peace, allowing whatever music played on the radio to be their soundtrack, hardly commenting on bad traffic, and rarely needing to stop for breaks. It was as if they were at home on the road, uncluttered by the anxieties of travel, the bathroom a hall away, the car’s seats equal to their private beds back home.

  Eventually, before Brad got to complaining, before even Arthur got to crying so loud they’d have no choice but to wait it out at a rest stop, a great big sign welcomed them to the Pine Tree State, and soon after, a series of smaller roads delivered them to Forge Cabins.

  Andy and Cathy loved it immediately. Megan and Brad liked the look of the lake, but the obvious isolation betrayed impending boredom. A series of log cottages and a main lodge weren’t their idea of fun. Yet, it was nice to see Mom and Dad in such high spirits. They held hands wherever they went. They laughed with the staff. Both gave off bright energy, powerful enough for even a twelve-year-old daughter to respect.

  But it wasn’t until they were shown cottage 6, shown their rooms and, specifically, the living room, that Megan felt real power descend upon them.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ Andy said, motioning for Cathy to come look out the window. He was sitting in a chair before the glass. Had taken it from the kitchen area and brought it to the window after only glancing outside. Neither he nor Cathy had been aware of just how badly they’d wanted to see this view. Still, Cathy savored the moment, allowing the tension to build, the excitement of not having yet looked. Then she stepped beside Andy and closed her eyes.

  He guided her in front of the glass.

  ‘Check it out,’ he said.

  She looked.

  Cathy gasped. Then they both laughed. Because it was silly, all this build up, all this ceremony for looking through a pane of glass.

  Andy stroked Cathy’s back. From across the room, Megan watched with a tilted head, the way animals do when they hear a curious sound. Whatever love she’d seen exchanged between her parents on the way to Forge Cabins, it overwhelmed her now.

  Megan wanted badly to know what view could bring tears to her father’s eyes.

  She joined them at the window.

  ‘Look,’ Andy said.

  Megan looked.

  She saw a beautiful, still lake and a series of freshly painted red barns. The grass was so green it practically tickled her eyes.

  She turned away.

  ‘Wow,’ she said.

  Brad was already crossing the room to get his own peek when Megan stopped him midway.

  ‘Wanna go outside?’ she asked. ‘Play in the yard?’

  ‘I wanna see the view,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not a big deal.’ But she didn’t mean it.

  ‘You’re play-acting!’ Brad said.

  ‘I am not play-acting.’ But she was.

  ‘Come over here, Brad,’ Cathy said. ‘Come look.’

  Cathy got up and grabbed another two chairs from the cottage kitchen. She hurried them back to the window.

  ‘You see it?’ Andy asked.

  Brad saw it. A view. A really good one. One that felt warm and friendly. One that made him laugh outright and slap his own thigh.

  ‘It’s fun!’ he said.

  Mom and Dad nodded.

  ‘It sure is,’ Andy said. ‘Fun.’

  Megan looked to Arthur, asleep on the bed.

  ‘Come here, Megan,’ Andy said, without turning to away from the window. ‘Come sit as a family.’

  Megan didn’t want to. Not again. The first time was frightening. In the way electricity is frightening. She’d felt something brilliant explode inside her. She recalled something her health teacher, Mr. Jordan, said.

  Just because something feels good, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

  ‘Megan?’

  It was Mom, beckoning, it seemed, the light from outside downright heavenly around her, so that Cathy was silhouetted by it, a figure already distantly wedged into the view.

  Megan went to her. To Mom. To her family.

  To the view.

  Sharing a paddle boat with Brad, Cathy recalled the awful choking sound Andy made as he seemingly tore himself away from the window before they all came outside. Whatever was wrong with him, it didn’t last long, as, one hand upon his chest, he knelt to the wood floor and laughed.

  ‘What was that?’ Cathy had asked him. She was looking at her husband catch his breath but she was feeling the pull of the view.

  ‘Who knows,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Let’s get out for a minute, see the lake.’

  Now, the five of them in two boats, Cathy wondered at the murky bland lake water.
At the seemingly unused barns on the lawn that hadn’t been mowed. She looked up and saw, yes, it was a bit cloudy, but was it enough to make this big of a difference? Why, from cottage 6, the lake looked downright austere.

  ‘My legs hurt,’ Brad said.

  It was hard work, paddling. Cathy understood. She decided then that she’d rather pretend she was living inside the view than what she was actually experiencing with her eyes and ears. Nose, too, as the lake smelled swampy.

  ‘It’s alive,’ Andy said, pointing something out for Megan and Arthur to see in the water, and for one crazy second Cathy thought her husband was talking about the view. Saying the view was alive.

  They ate dinner in the lodge. Arthur finally showed signs of life as he toddled from chair to chair, tugging on each of their shirts. Megan and Brad weren’t permitted their phones at restaurants and so the two drew on their placemats instead. The waiter talked to Andy about nearby attractions, bars and theaters, wineries and shops. With each recommendation, Cathy felt a little like she was being asked to do something she didn’t want to do.

  ‘Can we just…stay in tonight?’ Cathy asked after the waiter left.

  ‘Of course,’ Andy said. There was relief in his voice, too.

  He reached across the table and they held hands again. Their fingers, entwined, looked to Megan like drawn drapes, obstructing the view.

  They spent that night seated at the window. They talked and laughed and occasionally got up for something from the refrigerator. Arthur didn’t seem interested as he couldn’t focus on any single thing for more than a few seconds and Andy struggled to keep him on his lap. About two hours into staring, Cathy smelled something bad. Real bad. Her head ached as she turned from the glass, looking for Arthur.

  ‘I think Arthur’s had an accident,’ she said. ‘I think it might have happened a little while ago.’

  She caught her husband’s profile, his eyes still glued to the view.

  ‘Oh no!’ Brad said, planting his shoes against the wall below the window and shoving his chair back. ‘Mom!’

  Cathy studied him as if he’d just spoken from the other side of a canyon. A person she hadn’t realized was experiencing the same thing she was.

  ‘What is it, Brad?’

  Brad turned red. Started to cry.

  ‘It wasn’t Arthur.’ More tears. He mumbled something about being stuck, stuck in the view, didn’t even know he had to go to the bathroom. ‘It was me.’

  They spent three days at Forge Cabins. They talked about going outside now and again, but found the living room of cabin 6 much more agreeable. Andy made lunches and Cathy made dinners and Megan and Brad talked about using their phones but all any of them really wanted to do was stare out the window. Occasionally Brad would say something like, I feel weak, and Cathy would tell him he was okay. Then Megan would start crying and Andy would stroke her hair as he stared, smiling, through the glass.

  Brad was the first to notice his skin had lost some of its color. He told Cathy as much, told her she looked older, too. But she hardly turned his way, shaking her head as if he’d told the most ridiculous little joke. And as she did, white flakes lifted from her scalp and hung in the air momentarily before falling to the floor.

  There was gray in Megan’s hair, too. And Dad’s smile was framed by new wrinkles. Brad couldn’t tell if maybe Dad was frowning now instead.

  Twice, Brad made to move from the window but it was hard. It felt so good to look outside. To see the beautiful barns in relief of the dark horizon beyond it. He kept thinking of the word tickle. Because that’s what the view did. It tickled.

  It tickled his mind.

  They fell asleep there, the four of them. Megan dreamt of the phrase, We’re stuck in the view. She heard the view breathing in her dream. Arthur cried for food behind them and Cathy almost got up, almost went to him, but instead fell asleep saying, ‘Another accident. One of us had…another accident…’

  Andy woke up, opened his eyes, and smiled at the view.

  He’d fallen asleep with his hands on the windowsill and he had a hard time lifting them off of it. They felt weak. Old. In fact, they didn’t look enough like his own hands anymore.

  Slowly, he turned right and wondered as to the old ladies there. The small, wrinkled man, too. The three of them asleep, wheezing. He reached a bony finger and poked the woman next to him. The woman woke with a gasp, looked him in the eye, then screamed.

  Then they all woke up and they all made to move, but one by one they settled back into the view, staring out at the perfectly placid lake in the morning, the gorgeous barns and the grass and trees on its far shore.

  Arthur woke, too, from the commotion. He sat up on the wood floor and toddled to the window. He tried to get their attention. He stomped his feet and he yanked on Cathy’s shirt. His parents didn’t smell good. Neither did his brother and sister. When Brad looked down to swat him away, Arthur started crying, heavy, and hurried as best he could to the cottage’s front door.

  He was scared of his brother’s face. The face that should’ve been his brother’s.

  Who were these people sitting where his family was sitting the night before?

  Having learned how to open doors at home, Arthur was able to let himself out. He stumbled into the daylight, leaving the four strangers seated by the window in cottage 6. He walked the dirt drive, then the grass along the side of the cottage. It was shady there and he paused. All around him was open space and no sign of Mom or Dad and he was very afraid. He followed the only voices he heard, whispered gibberish, coming from the back of the cottage.

  Arthur walked until he reached the backyard. There, he looked left, looked to where the whispers and moans were made.

  Something was floating on this side of the glass.

  He was too young to ask himself whether it was a man or woman but Arthur knew it was naked. Its hair fanned out behind it as if up against a wind. Arthur could tell it had arms and legs. He didn’t know the words parallel or horizontal but that’s how it floated above the grassy ground. Like a magic trick, Arthur thought. Like a show.

  He could tell it had eyes, too, and that those eyes were inches from the glass, staring just like Mom and Dad, Brad and Megan had stared for days. He cried for those eyes to look at him, to see he needed changing, to see he needed food, to tell him where his family was. But the floating thing didn’t look away from the window. And Arthur heard familiar words in the whispers coming from inside the cottage.

  Work, they said. Your gig, they said.

  Worried words mixed with others, more pleasing:

  We gotta book another night, they said. We can’t turn our backs on this view.

  Then Arthur sat in the grass, hoarse from howling, unable to articulate what his young mind knew to be true: that the things you see outside a window might not be there. They might exist in another place, another space. Or in the eyes of another living thing.

  Sometimes you’re not staring at the view.

  Sometimes the view stares at you.

  BEAT THE CARD HOME

  STEPHEN VOLK

  MY FATHER’S NAME WAS MATTHEW and my wife’s grandfather was Matthias, so that was it—our son would be Matthias to keep the Austrians happy, and Matt, ‘Matty’ for short, to us. My favourite photograph of him sits framed on my desk, his little round face with its lop-sided smile looking up from the buggy, wearing that Christmas hat with polar bear ears.

  He was a loved child from the moment he first took breath. Jen looked like she’d been through the Vietnam war, then run a marathon, a layer of sweat on her like a race horse, but even then, by some miracle, the adoration just gushed out of her. It was a reserve she just never ran out of. I envied that, like most men I guess, and wondered at it. It was unattainable, and perfect as a leaf.

  Not that life was perfect. It never is. There are always holes in the road and sometimes that’s what life is, fetching a truck full of asphalt and filling those holes when they occur.

  We had hospita
l visits. What parents don’t? Like when he stuck a chunk of foam from some cuddly toy up his nose and breathed in. That involved general anaesthetic and an overnight stay. They allowed us to sleep in the next room. He looked sorry for himself the next morning, but kids are resilient. They’re designed that way.

  Several years later he developed stomach problems that kept him awake at night, a concern for his mother and me. He’d habitually try to get me to stay long after I’d finished his bedtime story; always an excuse, his toe was hurting, his eyes were sore, he kept thinking bad thoughts—anything to keep me there a few minutes longer before the light went out. But the sobbing got worse, even with Junior Strength Advil, and it tore up his mother so much we took him to a specialist who thought he was lactose intolerant, which proved to be untrue. We tried gluten free and the cramps stopped, coinciding with him going up to the big school. Make of that what you will. No more Jeffrey Stanmore stopping him from going to the bathroom when he needed to, wanting him to be his best friend and nobody else’s.

  I’ll never forget going to Cub Scouts prize-giving, looking down from the mezzanine of the church hall, seeing the other boys hitting hell out of each other and Matty sitting perfectly still in the eye of the maelstrom, cupping his hand over his carefully-gelled hair, protecting it from the barbarians. That same day his name was read out when he got a medal for ‘Outstanding Citizen’, which came as a complete surprise to him, and to me. I clapped till my hands stung. I knew right then that, whatever exams he passed, whatever the world slung at him, my boy would be okay.

  He got good grades, mostly in science, so when the time came, opted to go off to study pharmacy at BSU. I never said I didn’t approve, but I did say I couldn’t see the attraction of standing in a white coat handing out condoms and haemorrhoid cream. He said, ‘Dad, life’s not all about the job you do. It can be about happiness.’ And that’s not something you can disagree with, unless you’re a fool.