Victor Lodato - Mathilda Savitch

“I washed it yesterday,” I say.

Ma turns to me and does that slitty thing with her eyes, which means you’re a big fat liar, Mathilda.

“Good night Da,” I say, running up the stairs.

“Good night,” he says, “sweet dreams.” This is his standard but it’s still nice to hear it. At least it’s something.

“And wash that hair” is the tail of Ma’s voice following me up the stairs.

Ma is funny, she either says nothing or else she has to get in the last word. You never know which Ma to expect and I can’t decide which one is worse. Lately it’s mostly been the silent Ma. Tomorrow I’m going to break another plate. It’s already planned.

In my room I look in the mirror. It’s amazing how you have the same face every time. Or is it only a trick? Because of course you’re changing, your face and everything. Every second that goes by you’re someone else. It’s unstoppable. The clock ticks, everything is normal, but there’s a feeling of suspense in your stomach. What will happen, who will you become? Sometimes I wish time would speed up so that I could have the face of my future now.

After the mirror I line up a few papers and books on my desk so that they’re even with the edge. I also make sure not one thing touches another thing and that everything is equal distance apart. It’s only an approximation, I don’t use a ruler or anything. I’ve been doing it for about a year now, the lining up of things. It’s like plucking the hair. Basically it’s magic against infinity.

When Da comes in my room I’m sitting on the bed. Maybe I’ve been here for an hour, who knows.

“I meant to take a shower,” I say. “I forgot.”

He sits next to me and he tries to look at me, except he’s not so good at it anymore. His eyes go wobbly, almost like he’s afraid of me. He used to pet my hair, but that was practically a million years ago, when I was a baby. Still, it’s a nice moment, just the two of us sitting next to each other. But then all of a sudden she’s there, sticking her head in the door.

“I know,” I say, without her having to say anything. I know, Ma.

“Are you okay?” she says. But it’s not even a real question. I wish it was but it’s not.

Da gets up to go and he pats my dirty hair and I suppose I should be ashamed, but what do I care about anything anyway. That’s part of being awful, not caring. And then what’s part of it too is the thought that suddenly jumps into my head. The thought that it could be a person’s own mother who might make a doll with her daughter’s hair and throw it into a fire. She’d watch the flames eat it up and then she’d dance off to bed laughing and having sex and bleeding little drops of perfume all over the sheets as if there was nothing to it. I wouldn’t put it past her.

But don’t get me wrong. I love her. This is another one of my secrets.

The thing is, I can’t love her, not in the real world. Because this would be degrading to me. To love someone who despises you, and she just might. You should see her eyes on me sometimes. Plus she’s not even a mother anymore, she’s just a planet with a face. Da at least has hands.

“Good night Ma,” I say. “Good night Da.” And they just leave me like that and they don’t make two bones about it. Walk out, whoosh , and where do they go? All I know is I’m not tired and I’m not taking a lousy shower and I’m not reading a stupid book for school about the King and Queen of Spain. I’m just going to sit on this bed and if I want to pull a few hairs from my head I will, and no one can stop me.

Six hairs. Brown, but when I look close I can see it’s almost red where it comes out of my head. Like the hair of another person. Like another person inside me, and she’s just starting to squirm her way out like a sprout. This is not in the least bit frightening. I’ve actually been expecting her.

I know you can’t see anything from where you are.

You just have to believe me.

School started again a week ago and I’m very happy to report that Anna McDougal, my best friend, is in my class. Overall it’s an interesting mix of people this year. No one but Anna has any relevance to the story of my life, but a list is always a good thing. I’ll give it to you with thumbnails.

Libby Harris has a disastrous mole on the tip of her nose. A shame really because she’s very quiet and nice. Her father is a lawyer and so she’ll probably have plastic surgery eventually.

Sal Verazzo is pretty much the fattest person in the school. Black hair, possibly shoe polish. Thinks he’s a rock star. Completely deranged.

Sue Fleishman is tall and has curly hair. She doesn’t walk, she sort of slides across the floor like she’s wearing slippers. A stupid way to move but the boys drool over her.

Barbara Bradley always has snacks. She’s allowed to eat them during class. Supposedly she has a disease.

Jack Delaney is an admirer of mine, but we’ve never spoken. He has a shirt with a rude monkey on it. Sex addict or will be.

Mimi Brockton is crippled! I’m always watching her, I can’t get enough of her. Red hair. I know I’m not supposed to say crippled, but it’s really the best word.

Donna Lavora has thrown up several times since she’s come to this school. Will not do well in life.

Max Overmeyer looks like he lives in a shack. Doesn’t smell right. Probably a victim of poverty.

Eyad Tayssir has perfect white teeth but you hardly ever see them. He’s not a big smiler. Middle Eastern, I’m not sure exactly what country.

Mary Quintas supposedly has a great singing talent but I’ve heard better. She wants to be snob sisters with me but I’m not interested.

Lonnie Tyson still thinks he’s going to be an astronaut. Good muscles.

Carol Benton is the worst. Conceited, big breasted, and loud. Unattractive but worshipped by men. Doesn’t like me apparently.

Bruce Sellars is funny and I hear he knows magic. I’ve seen him speaking to Carol Benton unfortunately.

Chris Bibb, known as Dribble, came back to school with a tan. It doesn’t make sense on him.

The lovely Anna McDougal of course. With whom I have an important but stormy relationship. More on this later.

Kelly Graber has bad teeth. I suspect she’s unloved. Good at sports.

Lisa Mead eats liverwurst. Every day!

Lucas London is very pale but I don’t think albino. When he talks his hands shake. He’s like a lamb. He’s so small you almost want to carry him.

Avi Gosh is the one person smarter than me. He has the eyes of a girl, but he’s very confident. Rich. Sometimes wears sandals.

I’m probably forgetting a few people but if I am there’s probably a reason. Some people are like ghosts, you can’t capture them, or if you do it’s nothing but a blur.

But really it’s amazing to be around so many different kinds of people every day. Sometimes I watch them and it’s like Animal Planet. Everyone’s alive and hungry and sometimes Sal Verazzo is so crazy to tell a story that spit starts flying out of his mouth. And in the morning just before class begins, when everyone’s talking at the same time, it’s like a radio caught between stations. But not two stations, more like a hundred. You can’t make heads or tails of what anyone’s saying. It doesn’t even sound like English, it sounds like bubbles coming up out of boiling mud. If I listen too long, it starts to bother me. It’s probably what hell sounds like. I saw hell once in a movie, and it was pretty incomprehensible. I had to turn it off.

I have a sister who died. Did I tell you this already? I did but you don’t remember, you didn’t understand the code.

My sister’s name was Helene. Helene and Mathilda. Everyone always said we were the opposite of each other. Night and Day was the famous expression. I’m the younger one, but it still feels backwards that Helene died first.