Christopher Conlon - Savaging the Dark

The price is low, and the school is willing to foot the bill if I want to take my Saturday to drive a couple of students up to Harrisburg for the event. I’ve done it with kids once or twice before. Parents must be talked to, of course, permission forms have to be signed. It will wipe out my Saturday, from early morning to night. Bill will have to take care of Gracie. And yet dominoes are falling in my mind, I can feel them. Gears meshing, slipping into place.

I don’t ask them separately, I ask them together at the end of a Friday after-school session. I request that Connor and Kylie stay behind for a moment and they do. I show them the brochure, talk up the event, tell them what an exciting opportunity it is.

“I can register up to two students,” I say. “I thought you two might enjoy it.”

Connor and I exchange a look. “Why us?”

“Because I think you’re a natural leader,” I say to him. “And Kylie, you’re coming out of your shell so much now. I think this would be really good for you.” Her smile is big, as it always is when she receives the kind of positive attention from me or anyone that she’s not yet used to. “It would be fun, anyway. Something different to do. Just the three of us, together for the day.”

“I want to go!” Kylie says. Her excitement is obvious. Kylie is not a girl accustomed to being picked for anything.

Connor is more reserved about it, but he’s intrigued. He obviously understands that this is an overture on my part, a peace offering, my way of telling him that it’s all right, he and I can be friends, friends and nothing more, I can support him as a teacher should and in no other way.

“I can talk to your dad about it, Connor, if you want me to,” I say.

He shrugs, hands the brochure back to me. “Sure. I mean, it’s okay. I’ll go. If Kylie wants to.”

“Fantastic!” I say, grinning at them both. “We’ll have a great day, I promise. I’ll talk to your dad, Connor, and Kylie, I’ll call your mom about it. Here’s the permission forms, okay? Get them signed and bring them back as soon as you can.”

The phone conversations with the parents are brief and simple. Connor’s dad just says fine, he’ll sign it. Kylie’s mom is more curious, unaccustomed to having her daughter singled out for something like this. I tell her about the conference, talk up how well Kylie has been doing, emphasize that I’ll be chaperoning them every minute. Finally she says yes and thanks me. The permission forms come back from both kids the next day, signed.

The Saturday arrives with dark gray clouds approaching in the sky and a forecast for rain. Bill kisses me at the door and wishes me a good conference. Gracie hugs me. That’s the hardest moment, Gracie’s little arms around my leg. I pick her up for a moment, press her face against my neck, tell her how much I love her, that I’ll never stop loving her. “You be a good girl for Daddy, okay?”

“I will.”

I smile, put her down again, wipe my eyes.

“Hey,” Bill says, “what’s up? Why the tears?”

“Just allergies,” I say. I kiss him on the cheek. “Take care of Gracie, Bill.”

“I will. We’re going to the movies later.” He picks her up.

“That’s great. That’s great.” I try to keep my voice steady. “I trust you, Bill. I know you’ll always be a good dad to her.”

“Hm?”

“Take care of her, okay?”

“You bet,” he says, smiling but with a slightly puzzled expression on his face.

I toss my bag into the car, start the motor, sit there for a moment looking at my husband with our daughter in his arms, these two people who love me and whom I’ll never see again. I back out of the driveway quickly, not wanting to burst completely into tears that can’t be explained away by unreal allergies. My nerves are jumping under my skin. I’m sweating although it’s cool in the car. As I stop to shift the vehicle into drive I check my purse and make sure it’s securely closed. The handcuffs are in the purse, and Bill’s gun.

There’s time to change my mind, of course. There’s time to turn back, to tell Bill I’ve suddenly taken sick, to provide evidence by sticking my finger down my throat in the bathroom and retching my breakfast, to have him call Connor and Kylie’s parents and explain that his wife is very ill, she’s terribly sorry but she’s not going to be able to take the kids to the conference after all. It would all end then. After I convinced Bill that it just seems to be indigestion or food poisoning and that the worst of it appears to have passed, that what I need now is sleep, he would go ahead and take Gracie to the movies and I would bury the handcuffs in a box or bag or something and stuff it down deep into our garbage can outside and then replace Bill’s gun in the drawer and there would be nothing, absolutely nothing that had happened except a couple of mildly disappointed kids who would no doubt get together at Kylie’s house that day anyway for snacks and TV. On Monday I’d apologize profusely to them, say we’ll be sure to go next year, even if I knew we wouldn’t. I could get another teacher to take them, maybe. Anyway it wouldn’t matter. It would be over, the crisis passed, life would return to normal.

But it can’t do that, I know. Normal is not an option anymore, hasn’t been for many months, almost the entire school year. Maybe my entire life. Normal is something other people are, not me. I have no choice in what I’m about to do, not really. I’ve had no choice for a long time.

The drive to Harrisburg is a quietly excited one. They sit together in the back, Connor occasionally asking a question, Kylie looking out the window in between bouts of reading her latest big fantasy novel. I’ve made sure she has her asthma inhaler with her. I can see Connor in my rear view mirror; we make eye contact a few times. I smile, say friendly teacher things. Traffic is light and we make good time. Once Kylie asks that we stop because she has to go to the bathroom. We do. She comes out again while Connor is in the men’s room and she scampers quickly up to me, book in hand, tugs on my sleeve.

“Ms. Straw?”

“Yes, Kylie?”

“Do you think I shouldn’t read my book on the trip?”

“Well, I don’t know. I guess that’s up to you.”

“’Cuz my mom says I shouldn’t. She says it’s rude. But I was at a really good part.”

“I’m sure Connor would like it if you talked to him a little, Kylie, instead of reading. But whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll stop.”

And she does, she becomes part of the conversation as we continue the drive on this ever-darkening Saturday morning. Looking in my mirror I notice at one point that they’re holding hands and looking away from each other, out their own car windows. Finally we’re there, only a little late. It’s a long day, but fun because they find it fun. In truth much of this conference is more like a carnival than anything really educational, but there are some presentations, some interactive workshops, a few short speeches. Kylie gets very excited at seeing the TV actor, who she recognizes. Maybe two hundred kids and grown-ups are there in the auditorium. Connor and Kylie become part of a small group of kids who paint a big rough mural on the theme of “community.” They brainstorm ideas on how to bring people from different backgrounds together. They listen to the state senator talk about the political process and why kids should learn about it now. They eat lots of pizza and drink lots of soda. This is all pretty much as it’s been in previous years.