Susan Steinberg - Hydroplane - Fictions

I rose from the gutter. I ran to the doctor. My boyfriend met me there. The doctor said, hold still. Boy did I shake under the sheet. My boyfriend was sweating. My mother couldn't be bothered that day. There was shopping of sorts. She had friends. Good ones. Driving home my boyfriend said, that cunt.

I said to my boyfriend, you can be with whomever. I said, it doesn't matter. I said, get out of my face. Please, I said. I said, please just be with someone else. It didn't matter. He didn't get me. He was always smoking by my mailbox. And he drank at night. It was never enough to pass him out. He answered the phone when I told him not to. Then it was he and the teachers using words. He and my mother fighting. But no one knew what was best for me. And I didn't know. I knew we weren't to be fixed, he and I. He saw trees as trees and that was a laugh. There was nothing fixed besides. He was poor besides. My mother said I should look a bit harder. But trust me I was looking. I looked so hard I couldn't get near him. It wasn't his fault. He had turned too lifelike. Across the room he loomed and shadowed the room. Up near he pushed and blurred in my face like food. I said, get out of my face. He went soft. Slack. I thought, how sad. Like an old sleeping animal. An overcooked vegetable.

It occurred to me in my boyfriend's car that paintings do depict life. I thought, yes. I thought, paintings are unfixed as life. Of course. My mother's diamonds always flashed in the sunlight. The sun burned white in her black glasses. And in her hair. And I knew the sun would fade her hair. It would yellow her diamonds. Her face was turning lined and hard as bark. And I knew the sun would also fade. I knew the earth would turn cold. The air was ice in my mother's car. My boyfriend kept his windows down. For air, he said. I left his car. I ran to the doctor. The doctor said, take these.

We could have formed a friendship that night me and the girl. We were laughing so hard and talking. But I was thinking. And my laughing stopped. And her laughing stopped for a second. She was taking a break. Just one second. She held up one finger. Just two seconds. Just to get her cigarette lit. She struck the match. She took a long drag off her cigarette. And I saw no smoke float from her after the drag. This isn't to say she wasn't breathing. She was. She was even talking again. But I watched as she dragged long and no smoke floated from her mouth. Nor from her nose. I thought there must be something wrong. I thought, she can't go on like this. I stood nearer. I watched the cigarette tip brighten and saw no smoke float from her face. I stood with my side pressed to her side. I whispered, what on earth. She said, what's wrong with you. The room was starting up. My pulse. I whispered, my God. She backed away. She walked back to her side. I followed her. She said, stop.

Earlier that day my mother had sent me flowers. This isn't symbolic. They were right by the mailbox. Then she called. She told my boyfriend, they'll brighten the room. They'll fix things, she said. The flowers were very bright. But the petals were already drying. Some had fallen to the floor. So there they were, scattered. There's nothing deeper to this.

My boyfriend called. He broke up with me. It wasn't his fault. He said, sorry. No matter. I threw my plate. I felt I was supposed to. All those broken bits. Those greens and browns. All that food was once life growing. In fields. And the sun shone over and brightened the fields. Then something crushed the animals. Then everything green was crushed as well. And there it was on my kitchen floor. What's that, you say. I say, your guess. I could have dropped to my knees. I admit I felt unfit.

It was wrong from the start. We met at a dinner. My mother looked at his shirt. Torn. He looked at her diamonds. She looked at my hair. I looked at her face. She looked at the paint on my clothes. There wasn't much to say except pass this pass that. I sensed the first flicker of stars. Off to the sides by my ears. Passed off as drunken, I'm guessing. I had been drinking. Some air, I said. I left to sit on the curb. Cars went past. I pushed leaves in the gutter with my hands. What they said in my absence. Well, there was a fight. I saw my boyfriend huff to his rusted car. I saw my mother follow, smirking smugly. I left too.

I recall the critique. The paintings were awful. The colors. Awful dirty greens. The teacher was spitting out words that day. The girl was carrying on. She said something of truth and harmony. It was really quite funny and the teacher said, break. I looked at her paintings. I looked good and hard at the mess. Her truth. I laughed good and hard. The teacher looked up. The girl looked hurt. What was that. The trigger. That shallow cunt. I hated her paintings. Her poor hurt face. I said, help.

The first fit hit me like a fist in the mouth. My mother's, that is. Diamonds square in the face. The next fits were softer. Expected. Like her smirking and handing a hairbrush saying, brush it. Or a white dress saying, try it. Or a bar of soap saying, paint on your hands. Your clothes. Your face. Or a diamond smirking, one day it's yours. Your father gave it to me that son of a bitch. And when I flinch she hands a twenty. A hundred. To take off the edge.

My mother couldn't get me from school. She had shopping or some such. She had very good friends. I was shaking hard. She knew I was shaking. I was having thoughts. The tube as a tunnel. The light at the end. You've heard it before. The teacher came down looking for me. The girl came down with the teacher. My things were up in the classroom. The girl and the teacher were calling my name. Their voices pushed like spreading roots that tore up the basement floor. And before they could reach me I was running outside. I was crawling under a car. I was hiding from the mess. I was looking for my mother. But my boyfriend's car went past.

When the flowers lost their petals. Well, I thought, now this is fixed. Not the shell shapes. Not the dry veins I could see with light. But that they would disintegrate as they do. That they would turn to nothing. That was fixed. I know you've thought this. Who hasn't thought it. But I hadn't yet. And this is mine.

The way she handed a brush to fix my hair. I said, stop it. She dragged it through my hair. It made a sound I can't explain. You're thinking, sparks. Something sparking. Yes. She said, your look. She shook her head. Her fist made contact with her palm. Never my face. But she meant it. To strike it. I saw lights in her diamonds. Her car was ice. She gripped the wheel. You just need two things, she always said. Marriage and money. My mother got both. But both were unfixed. Her glasses had the blackest lenses. I couldn't tell you of her eyes. I must admit. Only my father's diamond was real. The rest were glass. My boyfriend smoked down to the fingers. When I say I loved him. Well, what do you think. He pointed to trees and clouds. He said, looks good to me. I know what you're thinking. But was there a spark.

When my mother called I hid in the sheets. It's my mother, I said to my boyfriend. Yes mother, I said to her face. To her voice. That cunt, I said when she wasn't with me. In the mirror that is I said, that cunt. She was with me. I would get old.

What I recall from school. How you often have to squint to see. How you often have to back away. How a tree is a tree and a face a face. And something of the colors brown and green. And something of trees being brown and green. And something of the colors black and white. And of black being the presence of all colors. No that's light. White. Black being the absence of all colors. I can't recall. And something of harmony, something of truth. I can't recall. No matter.

I lied to you. My mother had brought the flowers. I went for the mail. And there she stood by the mailbox. She was looking old. She had food on her face. She said, you're looking fit, and looked away. My boyfriend was smoking. I said to him, go. I meant for him to. But she handed the flowers to my boyfriend. She said, they'll brighten the room. Then she started to leave. I said, you stay Mother. I pushed my boyfriend. I said, please get out of my face. He held the flowers in front of his head. My mother said, come. We went shopping. We bought nothing. When I got home my boyfriend was gone. I was somewhat on edge. My mother had tried to fix me up. With clothes and the rest. With boyfriends. Imagine. The fight in the car. I need not say. At home the petals were scattered. My boyfriend called. He said, let's break up. I said, okay. I threw the plate. The flowers.