Human Spines

Reflection-I

Emmeline

Ten years ago

        I'm sitting in the back of a huge classroom with a bunch of older kids, waiting for my sister. She's in the front row, listening to the teacher read in a dramatic voice. Mom told me not to listen to what the teacher reads. Mom said it's because I'm only four and the books the teacher reads the class are for fourth graders, not four-year-olds.

        The teacher has stopped reading, and school must be over because Maddy is next to me now, dragging me off the chair. "Emmeline, you need to stop spacing out! I'm telling Mom when we get home! Hurry up!"

        Maddy yanks on my arm all the way to our house while my mind wonders, reimagining my preschool teacher as a cowboy.

        "Come on, sloth! I'm gonna tell you what my teacher was reading if you don't hurry up!" Maddy jerks me forward. She can be terribly cruel. She knows I have problems when people break rules and telling me what the teacher was reading would break Mom's rule. I try to walk faster but I have to be careful. If I go faster I'll trip, and that's against one of Dad's rules. Don't get hurt.

        But Maddy doesn't care. She trudges on in impatience, ignoring the hot tears attempting to wash over my cheeks. My heart pounds faster as a wicked smile lies across her lips. My teeth clench, forcing the sobs I want to puke out to stay hidden. I have to follow the rules. I have to follow the rules. I have to listen to what she says because "listen to your sister" is one of the rules. I just need to follow the rules.

        "There's a Demon living in Lake Crescent. It sucks babies into the lake and drowns them, so after school tomorrow, I'll drop you off at the lake so it can take you. Unless, of course, you stop being a baby and you wait outside my classroom tomorrow, where you can't embarrass me."

        I don't know what to do now. I'm trembling and I've broken a rule and I don't know what to do.

****

        I'm outside Maddy's classroom. I remember what Mom told me last night. "We go to the lake all the time. Maddy was just making things up, sweetie."

        I drift into the classroom and sit in the back like I always do after pre-school.

        Maddy's mad again as we walk home, but she doesn't stop at the lake. She's silent. I think Mom may have talked to her.

        The rest of the week is a repeat until Saturday morning. Dad is saying it's nice out. Mom is making us a picnic basket of food. Maddy is grabbing umbrellas. I'm being strapped into a car seat. Now I'm at Lake Crescent.

        "Emmeline, here's some bread for the ducks. Make sure they both get some, and try not to slip, it's muddy over there." Mom hands me the bread, and I feed them. One's a girl and one's a boy. I make up a story for them as they quack. Her name is Ashley and his name-

        Something's snapped behind me. I pause to turn around, but I know what I'll find. For the first time all week, I actually pay attention to the world around me.

        I recognize the lake. The deepest shades of blue lapping against each other softly. Every angle of water, friends with the next, hugging and sharing reflections of light. A billion rocks are visible through the clear liquid, all snuggled close, a family of multi-colored pebbles. All along the far side of the water are small mountains, sewn together by thick roots with wicked trees as needles.

        I twist to my right and find Dad, not ten feet from me. The palest blond buzz cut against the darkest surfer's tan in Washington. Dad's from California and visits Gramma there every month to take care of her. His blue eyes are round and his nose straight. He towers over Mom standing beside him. Her black hair brushes her waist, golden skin protected under an umbrella. Her eyes are acute abysses of black, but her face is round, along with her belly. It looks ready to pop open, and she holds it like she's waiting for it to sprout arms and hold her back.