The Accidental Siren

10.11 Olivia

As the reader of this memoir, you're probably wondering why the hell my parents let us out of the house after the mayhem the little foster girl brought upon our home. But keep in mind your privileged perspective. You see the important bits laid out before you in structured prose. The cruelty of Danny Bompensaro, Livy's break with reality, the boys in the trees, Ms. Grisham's roll of film, the twins' bad behavior, my incomplete fairytale; you see Mara as the eye of the storm. But to my parents, these were isolated incidents without a logical link. Putting the pieces together required faith in the impossible, a childlike understanding of Mara's total effect. Mom approached a fantastical explanation after a trip to the mall. She recognized the mysterious force urging her to buy ungodly amounts of clothes for the child. But in the end, black can never be white, one plus one must always equal two, and Mara Lynn was a normal little girl.

Besides, we were kids. Not only did the carnival mark the end of our summer vacation, but it would be Mara's first experience. To deny us the taste of cotton candy and the nausea from upside-down rides was practically a form of child abuse.

My parents may have been lax, but total freedom was not an option. Mara and I were still grounded, Livy was a basket case, and Whit's Mom would only let him go if there was a strict chaperone. Since the night had already been reserved for the cancelled Fairytale premiere, Mom and Dad were free to serve as our personal bodyguards.

Livy begged to stay home. She was already scheduled to see a therapist on the first day of eighth grade, a punishment she considered adequate for dancing semi-nude for strange boys and spitting on Mara. But Mom refused to leave her alone. “If you're not up to riding the rides, you're welcome to join the old geezers on the bench. Your father and I love to people-watch in big crowds.”

“Riiight,” Livy said. “So my friends can spot me hangin' with my parents while Mara's being adorable and havin' fun.”

When Livy prepared herself for the evening with powder on her arms, legs, and exposed midriff, Mom confiscated her makeup case, replaced the stash in her purse with a single tube of lip gloss, and lead her--sobbing--to the car.

We arranged to meet Kimmy and Haley at Great Lakes Faaamily Diner. Jokes were made, impressions performed; Mara was teased for her commercial but she laughed with the rest, her tongue still green from the homemade slush.

Mom regaled the kids with the story about my first time with a video camera (an anecdote I suspect she was saving for my big debut). She spoke with her hands and reenacted the funny parts with fries and a burger. “So I peek in his bedroom door and there's Whitney, laying on the desk, covered from head to toe in ketchup, screaming louder than a chicken on fire! James finally says 'cut,' then tells Whit he’s doing it all wrong; he needs to imagine that a zombie is really eating his legs!”

I always admired my mother's ability to find the good in bad situations. Even as I write this, she calls me twice a week with stories of the one-eyed chemo nurse, (“She's such a sweetheart!”) or tales from Dad's escapades (“Last week he started teaching himself the guitar, now he's brewing beer in the garage. Heaven help us if he does both in the same night!”)

“Nobody tells you how itchy ketchup can be,” Whit said and we laughed.

“And you never complained!” Mom replied. “James just pushed record, yelled 'action,' and you go at it again!”

“I was so peeved at James,” Livy added and the table fell quiet. “I got out of the shower that night and my towel was covered in Whit's nasty blood.” Livy's memory was only a little bit funny, but we toppled together in fits of laughter.

I found Mara's hand beneath the table and took it. The skin was cold. The nails--usually trimmed to the perfect length--were jagged and torn.

I remembered my dad's advise. I leaned in. My breath stiffened the invisible fur that lined her nape. Then I whispered in her ear--just above that calling card I punctured in her flesh the night before--“I love you.”