The Dark Lake (12 page)

"Yes, you see, the reason for my concern is… well, to be frank with you, it's about that night with your car in the lake and everything."

"Huh?” Mouth open, to the floor. A little scared but still too much in shock to react.

"Yes, you see, given your history, I don't see how you wi
ll be able to show up on time."

"Why?"

"Well." She seemed a bit tongue-tied. "I really just wanted to interview you because I just had to meet you. I had to meet the person whose car went in that lake. I had to see what you would say."

"So, you are laughing at me."

"No, no, not at all. I'm even thinking about hiring you."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not. Tell you what. Let me think about it for a few days, okay? I'll let you know."

She stood up and motioned me out the door.

"Okay." I sounded dumbstruck.

My footsteps echoed as I walked down the empty hall. The elevator seemed so slow on the way down. I spent a long time at the
gold-colored drinking fountain: reluctant to leave, I suppose.

I forgot to ask about the article
, I thought on my way home. The real reason for the interview in the first place, really. The job part had mostly been a ruse. I never really thought I'd get that job. It was like playing dress up.

I took a different way home. I crossed the bridge on 45
th
Street, turned left way out at the edge of town, and took the pretty way in by the lake. The narrow, two-lane road hugged it all the way home like a necklace.

I liked this bridge better
, too. It was so much more beautiful than the other one. The other bridge was old and ugly, and had an industrial look, but this one was swanky and new. Why was that? And this one was close to the mall too, and all the nice restaurants in town, like the Pioneer Inn, and Oshkosh's version of the Ritz. I had to laugh whenever I thought of that name. The other bridge was by steel mills and diners with dirty windows.

I turned right on
… what's the street, the one Ziggy lived on? High Street. High Street.

Then left on Bowen.

Drive about fifteen blocks down Bowen Street. How many stop lights: one? Two?

Turn left on New York Avenue. Third house if you turn left from Bowen. 909 East New York.

What was the matter with the yard?

I sat frozen behind the wheel. I stopped the car right in the middle of the street. Was there traffic behind me? I don't know. I couldn't move.

The grass was two or three feet high.
It was covered with wild weeds.

Maybe I had driven down the wrong street. Maybe I was lost ag
ain. I must be completely lost.

I didn't even bother to double-check the number or the street name. I just simply re-drove back to the
Gazette
office, retracing every one of my steps.

I had done that once when I was six. I got lost, trying to walk home from an art class that was held down at the museum near the university. I thought I would walk home
, because I was tired of waiting for my mom, and then when I got lost, I simply turned around and retraced my steps. If I passed something, I asked myself, "Have I seen this before?” and if yes, I continued. If no, I changed direction till it looked familiar again.

I would do the same thing here. Except…

Except I decided not to head back to my house again, but to go, instead, directly to Miriam's office. I would just wait there. If she were not there I would sleep in the car if I had to. I may need to be in the hospital.

I knew what Miriam would be trying to get me to do. Think about that night. Maybe I should try.

Funny. Madness never occurred to me back in those times, but maybe it should have. And if it were madness, was it true that remembering the party, or what happened with the car, would really help? I couldn't see how. It was just another party, a night like any other night. I drank till I blacked out, I was angry … someone tried to take the car keys out of my clenched fists.

It’s impossible to remember what happened in a black
out. But then it’s weird too. Often the memories will just come up clear and cold and stark, as if you had never forgotten them. Huge sections will be missing. Someone will tell you something you did…

Like that time I drank till I blacked out before. I simply had no memory whatsoever about any of it. We had all gone to
county park.

It was Ziggy’s birthday or something like that. It was summer. We brought several cases of beer and set ourselves up at these picnic tables under shady
, green, wooden roofs. I think some people brought swimming suits.

I remember starting to drink, but then I didn’t remember anything else, until Krishna and Gay told me how funny I was later on. They told me we went to my house, and we were in the blue Danish dining room, and my mom had a centerpiece on the table that was a bowl of fresh peaches. I said, “What a lovely bowl of peaches,” and took a bite out of each one. They thought that was funny. And when they told me about it, my memory of doing it came back crystal clear.

Maybe that’s what I needed. Someone to tell me what happened. See, that’s what I mean, if I could just talk to one of them, I would know what happened.

How did the car end up in the lake, and how is that related to what happened that night? Are they even related?

I sat staring at Miriam’s office window and replayed what I could remember about that night.

Something had happened that day. I remember when the party started. I remember Krishna’s brother making Long Island Iced Tea. I remember him standing over the crystal punch bowl, stirring and laughing, telling us how much alcohol there was in it. Her brother had a non-smile smile. I remember that.

I remember how prepared Krishna had been for the party. It was weird, how prepared she had been. She had collected her whole stack of Rolling Stones albums; she had lined them up against her parent’s old-fashioned stereo. Ziggy had brought some of his records too.

“Let’s get started,” I remember her saying. She had been anxious to start. She had seemed irritated when it took me so long to get started, and how I kept just going back into the kitchen for more drinks. I don’t think I had paid much attention to where I had placed my Beatles albums. I hadn’t even brought many of them. She had nearly everything I did, so I didn’t need to.

I remember I had been very excited about the contest. I had been feeling perfectly confident that the Beatles would win. After all, they were the best.

But I also remember that I had another feeling that day, an icky feeling. Something else had been bothering me. I think maybe I might have gotten two different memories completely mixed up in my mind. There they sat in the past, and since they had their existence only in the past, these memories, they were subject to none of the rules that govern physical reality.

Why were we driving on the frozen lake?
This party was in summer
. And there was one more thing I couldn't remember—like, how did I get out of the car, when it went through the ice? I couldn’t remember at all the car going through the ice, not at all.

I lay there and reclined my seat back and bravely tried to imagine it. I was frightened from my optical hallucination of the overgrown front yard, and fear can be a real motivator. So even though I was afraid to, I tried hard to see everyone's face. But when I tried, I just ended up fighting that water … that ice-cold water.

***

Krishna once wore a get
up to school that I had never imagined before. I don't know how to describe it. Let's see … there was a velvet, classic, black Marilyn Monroe dress, green combat boots, black fishnet tights, and those little, green GI Joe soldiers we all played with as kids hung from her pierced ears by gold hooks she'd rigged up.

She had looked at no one. She sat regally in her chair in the back of the classroom in this get
up.

Suddenly Mr. Brown, our
social-studies teacher, walked over toward her and began to stare. He folded his arms. He seemed truly enraged suddenly—for no reason I could see—other than her odd manner of dress.

"Krishna, you feign such indifference to the opinions of others. You come in here, you act so haughty, and yet I know it's all a facade. You dress
like this …,” he gestured, helpless for words at her outfit, "to impress everyone here. You are in reality very much in need of everyone's attention, and therefore their approval. Your … attitude is a bad influence on my other students."

There was an odd, tense moment of silence in the stricken room. I waited, with a half-smile, anticipating her response.

Krishna rose slowly from her chair, gathering her books gracefully, steadily, all the while keeping her eye on him. She shook her long, black mess of curls as if it were her way of clearing her throat. The dangling soldier earrings held their rifles and swayed back and forth, confused as to which way to point. Then she began.

"
Avaunt, and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes which thou dost glare with!” she said, imperiously, and after a pause, to allow the students and their teacher a moment of awe, exited the room, head held high.

***

A car door slammed. Had I drifted off? It was Miriam, oh thank God.

I jumped out of my car and startled her t
o death. She grabbed her heart.

"Oh it's you
! Oh my goodness, let me catch my breath."

"I have an emergency," I fairly shouted, slamming my car door shut.

"Okay, okay, let me unlock the office."

It was dark now, dark all around, it didn't seem like there were enough streetlights. When the lights went on they glowed a warm orangish. It was so comforting. Like warm milk, a blanket tucked in …

I practically pushed past her to get inside.

"My goodness
, Jane, what is it?"

"I am having visual hallucinations now," I panted.

"Hmmm. What are you seeing?” She sat down, gathering her materials, putting her purse away, grabbing her pen, and opening up my huge file.

"Well, I'm not seeing anything right now. But earlier today I saw something … can I get a drink of water?"

"Go ahead," she gestured, still getting herself settled.

When I got back
, she'd turned on another small lamp by my table. It looked like a bedtime-story lamp. I sat in the rocking chair with a blue and white polka-dotted cushion with frills on it, and immediately began playing with the frills.

"You want to tell me what you saw?"

No, I sure didn't.

Then what am I doing here?

Better get serious.

"Ok
ay, here goes." I shut my eyes tight. "I was leaving my job interview and…"

"And how did that go?"

"Well, that was strange in and of itself."

"How so?"

I thought back to the interview.

"I hate to think this, it really hurts, but I think
—"

"Go ahead, get it out. Dysfunction hides in the dark."

"Okay,” I began. "I think she just called me in there for that interview to laugh at me."

"Why on earth would she do that?"

"Well,” I said. "It would be a ludicrous assertion were it not for the fact that she said that's what she called me for."

"Be serious."

"I am."

"What did she say?"

"That."

"What were her exact words?"

"Oh come on, don't ask me to remember that."

"But at the end of the interview it was clear that you would not be getting the job?” she asked.

"Well, actually … that's one of the things that made it so weird. She actually is considering me. At least that's what she said."

"But you thought you were there for her to laugh at."

"That's what she said. Actually, her exact words were, lemme think a sec,” I imagined her face, "she said something rude."

"Hmmm."

"And then I left there, and I drove home, and that's when I saw it.”

My l
eg started shaking up and down.

"Saw what?” she asked.

"My yard was overgrown."

"That's all?" she laughed.

"No, you don't understand, it was really overgrown. Like three or four feet."

"It sounds like your mother could u
se some help keeping the yard.”

"But that's just it,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief again, and sitting back against my chair
. "My dad's been mowing the lawn consistently. Every couple of days."

Miriam stared silently at me. Her face was very still.

"Jane?” she began. "Would you like me to sign you into the hospital for a while, to maybe get your bearings?"