Dead Clown Barbecue (15 page)

I touched it to her lips. She turned her head away.

Thank God.

I squashed the worm in my fist, then washed off its gunk in the bathroom. Laurie wasn't brain damaged. Her head was fine. I'd done all of this worrying for nothing.

* * *

Still, I couldn't help but watch her closely.

One time, her eyes crossed for no reason.
Brain damage
?

She laughed at nothing.
Brain damage
?

She babbled all the time. All babies babbled, but sometimes it just sounded weird.
Brain damage
?

My stomach hurt a lot. There were times when I wished that Laurie had simply turned into a drooling mongoloid as soon as I dropped her. At least it would end the constant worrying. Seeing my sister in a catatonic state would be miserable, unbearable, but could it possibly be worse than this constant stress?

Less often, but sometimes, I wished that her head had just splattered on the floor.

Of course, I could end the stress by confessing, but . . . no.

* * *

A couple of months after her first birthday, Laurie developed a cough and Mom took her to the doctor.

"Is she okay?" I asked, as Mom walked in the front door.

"She's fine," said Mom, setting Laurie in her playpen. "I just wanted to be sure is all. I love you guys too much to let anything happen to you."

"The cough isn't because of anything in her brain, is it?" I asked.

"Of course not. Why would you even ask something like that? It's just a regular baby cough."

This seemed like a good time to ask something along the lines of "Mom, would you still love me if I did something really bad?" but I just couldn't. I couldn't risk getting sent away, to wherever it was that they sent horrible little boys.

What if Laurie had to live in a cage?

What if
I
had to live in a cage, for what I'd done to her?

I couldn't stop the tears. Mom kept asking what was wrong, but I just couldn't tell her.

* * *

"I need you to watch Laurie for a couple of minutes," Mom said. "I'm going to vacuum out the car."

"Can I help you vacuum?" I asked, suddenly breaking into a cold sweat.

"You can help by watching Laurie. You don't have to do anything-just make sure she stays in her playpen."

"I can keep the cord from getting twisted."

"Sweetie, just keep an eye on your sister, okay? I'll be right outside."

Okay, this was a good thing, right? It had to be. If Mom suspected what I'd done, and there was any actual sign of Laurie being brain damaged, she'd never leave me alone to watch her
again
.

Of course not. That would be insane.

Unless Mom was going to spy on me . . .

No, no, no, no. Laurie was fine, Mom trusted me, the car needed vacuuming, and there was nothing else to it. Basically, the only thing I had to do was shout "Hey, Mom!" if Laurie managed to get out of her playpen-something she'd never been able to do, and a feat she was unlikely to accomplish in the next few minutes. My responsibilities were pretty much just ceremonial.

I dragged a chair from the dining room table across the living room over to her playpen. As I heard Mom turn on the vacuum in the driveway, I sat there and watched Laurie sleep for the full fifteen minutes.

* * *

Not too long after Laurie started pre-school, I heard Dad talking on the phone with her teacher about how Laurie was really smart for her age. That was weird. Had I actually
helped
her? Had I maybe pushed a smarter part of her brain in front of a dumber part?

No, probably not, and I certainly wasn't going to test this theory by dropping her a second time . . . but I hadn't hurt her. Thank God, I hadn't hurt her.

* * *

I can't say that I ever really forgot about it. I mean, she still occasionally did strange things, like wet the bed or spill things that didn't seem like they should be spilled quite that easily, but overall she was an intelligent, cheerful, friendly little sister. Bratty sometimes, yeah, but I liked that. It meant that she was normal.

When my parents and I sat in the auditorium, watching her graduate from high school, I think I was even more proud than Mom and Dad were. I didn't cry as much as Mom-nobody could-but I don't think I'd ever been happier in my life.

* * *

Now that I'm telling you this, I guess it all had a happy ending. I didn't remember it working out like that, but I can't really think of anything bad that happened. I'm not even sure why I'm here.

Oh, yeah. My own child.

I know I checked on the baby this morning.

The blood on my hand proves it.

Don't worry, I didn't hurt the baby. God, no. It's entirely my blood. You see, I have memory problems these days. I used to leave the house and be absolutely miserable all day, not remembering if I'd checked the baby, paranoid about what I might find when I got home. I tried the usual tricks, like tying a string around my finger, but that didn't work because I could never quite convince myself that I hadn't just forgotten to take off the string from the last time I checked.

Writing notes to myself, calling and leaving messages on my voice mail, taking photographs . . . none of it worked.

Pain? That worked.

It's a wonderful idea, jabbing my palm with a knife. I do it hard enough to draw blood and hard enough to make sure it really hurts, but not hard enough to do any permanent damage.
That
is something I didn't forget. Thirty or forty times a day I gasp and suddenly have this horrifying feeling that I've forgotten to peek into her room before I left, but all I have to do is look at the blood on my palm and see that, yes, I had indeed peeked into her room.

After all, I wouldn't stab myself unless I'd genuinely checked on the baby. Right?

And I never forget to disinfect the wound in the evening and apply a bandage. Otherwise I'd get blood on my bed sheets, and I can't risk that. Sure, the blood might wash out, but then so would the scent of Yasmine's perfume. It's faded so much that I almost think it's only in my imagination, but still, I can't bear to lose it.

I didn't hurt the baby. I watched her perfectly.

You know that Yasmine told me I didn't need to watch the baby so closely, right? She said it was creepy to stare at her so much. Can you imagine that? Creepy to watch our own child?

And she kept insisting that it was okay to hold her. It was
not
okay to hold her. When you dodge a bullet, you don't jump back in front of the gun, right? If it were up to Yasmine, we'd be carrying her all over the house. I saw her holding the baby in the kitchen, where there isn't even carpet. I swear I didn't lose my temper. I just had to keep the baby safe.

See, I had a moment where I got worried, just now, but the blood on my hand tells me that everything is okay. She's sleeping soundly.

Yasmine can't watch her very well anymore, but that's fine because I checked on her for both of us.

This blood I
know
is mine. It's how I know that everything's okay. For a while I couldn't remember if it was mine or Yasmine's, but that was a while ago, and now I know it's mine for sure.

When you let me go, I should check on her again, just to be safe.

What's funny is that I feel like somebody dropped
me
.

GRAMMA'S CORPSE

Pa looked mighty angry as he walked into Jamie's room, holding her report card. She'd been dreading this moment ever since she flunked two spelling tests in a row. He'd grounded her for three weeks the last time report cards went out, and on that one her lowest grade had been a C.

"Do you mind explaining this to me?" he asked, waving the paper at her.

Jamie lowered her eyes. "I did my best, Pa."

"Is that what you think? You think that getting a C in math and a D in spelling is doing your best?"

"I got two A's."

"You got an A in PE. That don't count. I'm proud of you for getting an A in science, but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about these C's and D's."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry ain't gonna cut it."

"I'll try harder next time!"

"You just said you did your best. So you were lying. You didn't study hard enough and you were lazy. Ain't that right?"

Jamie slowly nodded her head. "Yes, Pa."

"Lazy kids need to be punished. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Pa."

"Grounding you obviously don't work. Neither does taking away your allowance. I guess the only punishment that'll teach you a good enough lesson is if you sleep with Gramma's corpse tonight."

"Pa, no!"

"Your ma and I discussed it already. You need to start taking your schoolwork more seriously. So tonight you're going to bed early, and Gramma's dead body is going to be there right next to you."

"That's not fair!"

"Don't you try to tell me what's fair and what ain't. You're lucky it's only for one night. Do you want the same treatment we gave your brother?"

"No, sir." Matt had slept with Gramma's corpse for three nights after he got into a fight at school: one night for fighting, one night for disobeying the teacher when she told them to stop, and one night for losing.

"Good. You ain't watching no TV tonight. You sit here, and you do your homework. If you finish it, do it again. We'll bring Gramma in at eight-thirty, so you'd better be ready."

Pa was always punctual, and it was exactly eight-thirty when he came back into her room, holding Gramma underneath the shoulders while Ma held her feet. Gramma was still wearing the red dress with white dots that she'd wore to her funeral, and her head lolled forward so that Jamie could only see her stringy gray hair.

"Pull down the covers," Pa told her. "Help us tuck Gramma in."

The awful smell was already filling her room. Pa had filled Gramma's body up with something "to keep the rotting down," but it made Jamie's nose burn, and Gramma's arms and legs looked a
lot
worse than they had when she died six weeks ago.

"Please, Pa, don't put her in my bed! I promise I'll get better grades next time! I'll study all night! I won't watch TV for the whole rest of the school year! Please!"

"Don't make me get out the belt, Jamie."

"I'll take the belt! You can belt me all you want! I'll go fetch it for you! That's a good punishment, right?"

"Dammit, I said to pull down the covers! Your Gramma's body ain't getting any lighter!"

Jamie wanted to cry, but that would make Pa even madder. Instead, she walked over to her bed and pulled down her pretty pink blankets with the horses on them. She'd never be able to sleep under them again.

"The sheets too!" said Pa.

Jamie pulled down the sheets. Ma and Pa gently lay Gramma's thin body down on the bed on her back, right in the middle. Pa moved Jamie's pillow to the center and rested Gramma's head on it. Her wrinkled, yellow face was pinched up in a scowl. (Jamie figured that
she'd
scowl, too, if her mouth was sewn shut.) Her eyes were closed.

"Go brush your teeth and get in your pajamas," said Ma, smiling kindly. "Wear the blue lacy ones that Gramma bought you for your birthday. She'll like that."

Pa gave Ma a dirty look. "Now, don't go acting like she's alive. This is a dead body that ain't got no preference on the pajamas. We've talked about this."

"I know, I know . . ."

Jamie got the blue pajamas out of her dresser drawer and went into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth for as long as she could, until Pa yelled at her to hurry up. Then she changed into her pajamas and slowly returned to her room.

Gramma was still scowling.

"Can't you move her over just a little?" Jamie asked.

Pa shook his head. "You two are sleeping
close.
That's the only way you'll learn your lesson. Now get in bed."

Jamie climbed into her small bed. The only way she could avoid touching Gramma was to have half of her body dangling off the side.

"Stop playing around!" said Pa. "You snuggle up tight to Gramma's corpse."

"I can't!"

"The hell you can't! Snuggle!"

"
Please
, Pa!"

"I'm gonna count to ten, and I'm gonna skip the first five. If you aren't all the way in bed you'll be sleeping with Gramma for the rest of the week!"

"Harold!" said Ma, shocked.

"I mean it! I won't tolerate no disrespect in my house! Six . . . seven . . ."

Jamie quickly scooted against Gramma's cold body. The smell made her want to throw up and she slapped her hand over her own nose and mouth.

"That's more like it. Now we'll be checking on you, and I expect to see both of you in that bed when we do. You lie there real still, and you think about what you've done, and you go to sleep. Understand?"

"Yes, Pa."

Ma pulled the covers up over both Jamie and Gramma. "Good night, sweetheart. We'll see you in the morning."

"Can I sleep with the light on?"

Pa shook his head. "No, but we'll leave the door cracked open so you get light from the hallway."

"Okay."

Ma and Pa both gave her a kiss on the forehead, and then they left the room. Pa closed the door almost all of the way, letting a single strip of light in across the bed, illuminating Gramma's wrists.

The smell was absolutely horrible. Jamie knew that she'd never get it out of her skin.

Gramma's flesh was chilly and moist. It was cold and wet down in the basement where Pa kept her, so that wasn't surprising. Jamie wondered how long it would take the dead body to at least warm up to room temperature.

She closed her eyes. If she could just fall asleep quickly, it would all be over, except for nightmares. She lay there, trying only to breathe through her mouth, and willed herself to fall asleep.

It wasn't working.

She'd never fall asleep next to a dead body. Even if Gramma smelled like candy and was warm like an electric blanket, she'd never be able to do it.

To be honest, Gramma had been scary
before
she died. She was always looking at invisible things and licking her lips. She also muttered under her breath, weird words that Jamie couldn't understand. Though she knew that it was bad, really bad, she was actually kind of relieved when Pa told her that God had taken Gramma away.