Elle pressed her face against the cold glass window and said a silent good-bye to her home, fading distantly into the background. Evening was quickly approaching and the cobalt clouds, which had been brooding low in the sky all afternoon, suddenly split open and spilled buckets of water onto the empty streets. Wiping the fog off the window, Elle blinked as the city slipped by, one grimy grey building at a time through a curtain of rain. Rain, like tears, rolled down the window, but Elle’s eyes were surprisingly dry.
If she was honest with herself, Elle admitted, she really wouldn’t miss living in the city of….she paused a second, trying to recall the name of this city. The names of all the cities she had lived in during her short 13 years blurred together, but it came to her a moment later: Springfield! That was it! The city of Springfield certainly wasn’t holding a special place in her heart, per se. It was a Two-Star city, she decided. It didn't have a good bus system, not enough donut shops and too many bad drivers. But she had been here for only four months, and she was on the move again. Despite her bad mood, Elle realized she wasn't upset by the move--she wasn’t leaving behind anything memorable--no friends or relatives. It was just another temporary home full of indifferent people. But that wasn't the point. The point was that she was leaving. The actual process of moving was exhausting. Elle was tired of it, drained of all emotion.
As if on cue, Elle’s mother glanced at her in the rear-view mirror and cleared her throat. Judging by the determined tilt of her chin, Elle could tell she was gearing up to say something annoyingly encouraging. Elle braced herself.
“Great weather for moving!” Elle’s mother said with a sardonic smile as a crescendo of thunder rumbled overhead. Elle said nothing as pointedly as she could, hoping to convey her irritation.
“Less people will be out, probably better traffic,” Elle’s mother persisted, ignoring the glare emanating from the back seat. A car horn blared, and their VW rolled to a sudden stop behind a line of cars snarled in a traffic jam. Her mother swore under her breath.
Her mother's onslaught of excessive optimism— with the exception of her cussing at traffic— was a marked departure from her usual state of bleak pessimism. Instead of her usual Saturday morning ritual of staring sullenly into the depths of her coffee mug for hours, she had chipperly packed while talking incessantly, trying to convince Elle that their move would be an "adventure" and it would be an "amazing" opportunity. What would be even more "amazing," Elle thought irritably, is if we weren't moving AGAIN. We just got settled from our last move….
“Looks like a traffic jam. Guess we’ll just have to take the long way out of town,” her mother sighed, putting on the blinker. She crept into the next lane of traffic, the old VW maneuvering with fits and starts. “See-- isn’t this fun?” She yelled back at Elle. Gritting her teeth, Elle stared moodily out the window, refusing to make conversation with her overly chipper chauffer.
Despite for a few notable exceptions (i.e. her belief in the existence of super-intelligent squirrels), Elle considered her mother brilliant in almost every respect. She was a lab assistant at the Biological Sciences Department at the University, a single mom and a super-genius at Scrabble. She had her PhD, and could've been a professor by now, if it weren't for her one fatal flaw: total, untethered spontaneity.
Elle's mother, Carolyn, had the annoying tendency to make unilateral spur-of-the moment decisions, and as a consequence, their little family of two, had moved more times than any normal people would--in fact, more times than Elle could even remember. Just when Elle got reasonably comfortable in a new city, figured out the bus system, found a decent museum and got to know the neighbors, suddenly, her mother would make the dreaded Moving Announcement, and they were back to packing their bags again. This scenario had become so regular, that a year ago in sixth grade, Elle got into the habit of leaving most of her belongings packed up in moving boxes, always ready for a speedy departure. This style of box-living, although not handy in any other respect, did save time when the inevitable Moving Announcement came. It was a #nomads life.
Elle envied other kids her age—they had it easy. Not only did they keep their clothes stored in real furniture dressers (not cardboard boxes), but they also knew their home addresses by heart and didn’t have to continuously scribble addresses on their arms to remember; they didn’t get lost on their way to the store, had actual friends, and maybe even got to have a pet dog or cat rather than a pet rock. No offense, she thought quickly, patting the little grey rock sitting on her lap, reassuringly. Not that she didn’t love her little pet, Rocky. Granted, he was easy to train, but it just wasn’t the same as having a puppy.
Yeah, other kids had it easy. She imagined what it would be like to have a stable home. She imagined their parents probably said mundane things like, “I’m going to go get some milk at the store,” or, “Wouldn’t it be fun to go see a movie? Go get your coat,” whereas Elle’s mother said things like, “I’m going to get a PhD in Bioengineering,” and “Wouldn’t it be fun to live in Alaska? Go pack your boxes.”
Apparently, her mom thought moving was the solution to all of life’s problems. The most annoying thing, though (in addition to her mother’s completely opaque executive decision-making style), was her total lack of awareness about how deeply it affected Elle.
Earlier this morning, as a disgruntled Elle stacked the last of her boxes from their cramped two-bedroom brownstone into the backseat of their old 1979 powder-blue Volkswagen bug, their neighbor, a ruffled looking thirty-something year old with a small poodle, had glanced her way. Intrigued by the goings on, he veered abruptly toward Elle, pulling the poodle behind him. “Hey there--are you moving in?” he asked in a friendly tone, nodding towards the stacks of boxes surrounding their car.
Momentarily confused by the question, Elle was slow to answer. She would have thought that since she was moving the boxes away from the house, it should be obvious that they were moving out….“No," she said, ready to correct him, "actually, we’re….”
“…. going on vacation!” Her mother cut in, suddenly appearing beside her, talking over her. Elle mumbled under her breath, “Yeah, a permanent vacation.”
“Oh. Okay, right,” he said, unconvinced, slowly, glancing from the giant mounds of boxes to the small moving trailer to the "FOR SALE" sign in the yard. “Huh. Big trip, I guess…. Well, have fun!” As he slowly walked away, occasionally glancing back, Elle shot a look at her mother.
“A vacation?” Elle said. “Does that mean we're coming back?”
“No, but he doesn’t need to know that,” Elle’s mother said, curtly. “Nobody likes nosy neighbors,” she said.
And that was certainly true--her mother did not like nosy neighbors. Or neighbors in general. She always turned down social invitations, never waved at neighbors walking by, and Elle had personally seen her shut the door in a well-wisher’s face.
“Don’t worry— he didn’t even know we were his neighbors for the last four months—I doubt he’ll remember anything we tell him,” Elle said, frustrated. “We could tell him that we’re illegal alien spies.”
“Yeah, but then we’d have to kill him,” Elle’s mother shook it off, as she always did, with a grin and a Mom Joke. “Dang! We should've told him we were moving in— new to the neighbor. Maybe they would’ve brought us cookies…oh well, next time!” She laughed, a wonderful, deep laugh, and slammed the back-seat door on the pile of boxes threatening to escape.
Despite herself, Elle smiled, but then resumed the look of a long-suffering victim as she tried to think of another line of defense to prevent, or at least delay, the inevitable.
She had already tried bribery (unfortunately, she only had $13 in quarters and nickels on her at the time, far below an effective extortion fund), flattery (which ended up just confusing her mom), and finally playing dead (as it turns out, that’s not a good tactic to use on a person trained in emergency resuscitation, like her mother (Elle spent a long time brushing her teeth this morning after getting the "kiss of life" when she pretended to collapse dead on the floor.)) It was time for another tactic: Asking for the truth.
“Why’d you want to leave? We just got here!” Elle couldn’t keep the desperation out of her voice as she searched her mother’s green eyes. Green, like the forest, and just as deep and mysterious. Asking her mother these questions was like talking to the Egyptian Sphinx. When she wasn't speaking in riddles, she was silent and slightly awe-inspiring.
“Well, for one thing, I don’t have a job here anymore,” Elle’s mother said, ironically.
“And who’s fault is that?” Elle asked, exasperated.
Elle’s mother had abruptly quit her job this morning, giving all of 30 minutes notice to the dean of the college at the University where she worked. She seemed totally unconcerned that she was supposed to be teaching two biology labs today.
“Was it because of the break-in yesterday? Nothing got stolen. The police even said it was probably just some random kids,” Elle said.
Usually, Elle had no idea what prompted the Moving Announcements, but deep down, although she would never say it-- mostly because she couldn’t understand it--she suspected it had something to do with her. The move four or five times ago was a few days after she broke her arm at school. The move three times ago occurred after they were in a minor car accident. Two times ago didn't seem to have any precipitating event, but this time, however, the Moving Announcement seemed to have a pretty clear cause and effect.
Yesterday afternoon after school, Elle let herself into their brownstone with the spare key hidden under the garden gnome on the front step. She didn’t even notice the broken window right away. She was rummaging through her moving box dresser trying to find a sweater, when she nearly stepped on a shard of broken glass on the floor. Glancing around, she saw more glass shattered on the floor around her bedroom window. As far as Elle could tell, nothing in the house had been taken. Granted, they didn’t own anything of actual value in the house (except Rocky and the rest of her Ignatius rock collection, worth at least $5.00 on the current market. Surprisingly, it wasn’t taken).
Elle broke the news as gently as she could to her mother later that evening when she returned home from work, but it was met with a stony expression. Elle’s mother checked the window, asked Elle a few questions about her whereabouts, went into her room for ten minutes, and then re-emerged with a grim look and the Moving Announcement. “We’re going to Grandpa's. Pack your bags.”
“I’m already packed,” Elle said, defiantly gesturing towards her boxes. “But shouldn’t we call the police or something?”
Her mother snorted with laughter, “No! No, no, no. That’s the last thing we should do.”
Suddenly, a loud pounding at the front door broke her mother’s jittery laughter and made them both jump. “Police!” A man shouted and continued pounding.
“Did you actually call the police?” Elle’s mother hissed at Elle, shooting her an uninterpretable look somewhere between irritation and a desire to tie her to a medieval torcher device. Elle shook her head, eyes wide, trying to gauge if her mother was mad or scared. The pounding fell silent.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Should we let them in….?” Elle started but was shushed by her mother. They stared at each other for an eternity in a forced game - whomever blinks first gets killed. “I think they’re gon...” Elle ventured.
The pounding started again. “This is the police! We’re entering the house.”
The doorknob turned slowly, and Elle’s mother whispered urgently, “You left the door unlocked!”
Elle felt her throat drop into her stomach, and a wave of panic rolled over her—she had no idea why her mom was freaking out. then she steadied her breathing. it’s just the police, she reminded herself, nothing to worry about. But her body wasn't listening. Her palms were wet, and her mouth felt like cotton.
Like a flash, Elle’s mother was at the door, blocking Elle’s view. She slowly raised her right hand in a fist. It was an odd movement— it looked like she was holding an invisible knife, ready to stab. What’s she going to do—bop them on the head? Elle wondered briefly.
The front door swung open. Two police officers stood on the step. They stepped back quickly as they noticed Elle’s mother in the doorway with raised fist, and they reached for their holsters. She quickly assumed a totally normal posture as an awkward silence ensued.
“Um…..Hello ma’am, I’m Officer Hassle with the BCPD," one of the officers spoke, the portly one with more composure. "This is Officer Harper. We got a call from the people next door,” the officer jerked his thumb in the direction of their neighbors. Next to him, his partner, a lanky young officer, nodded, but left his hand resting on his gun.
“Um, they said they heard someone break in next door. But they said this was an empty apartment…. Do you live here?” The portly officer said, looking around the sparsely furnished apartment, past Elle’s mother and spotting Elle in the hallway.
“Yes, yes we do. It’s wonderful that you’re here! Thank goodness. Please--come in!” Elle’s mother said, suddenly friendly, graciously opening the door and applying her Fake Voice (the one reserved for door-to-door salespeople and religious riff-raff, as she called them).
Officer Hassle and Officer Harper were nice enough. They dutifully inspected the “scene of the crime,” which consisted of a broken window at the back of Elle’s room, now swept clear of the extra glass and debris.
“Oh...looks like someone crawled through,” Officer Hassle said, eyeing the hole smashed in the glass and inspecting the fire escape ladder outside, “It’s a good thing no one was here when it happened. You know, there was a bad break-in a few blocks over last weekend. Whole family was killed.” Her mother’s inscrutable look was back and at that precise moment, Elle knew that they would be leaving their apartment for good. She could practically see the “For Sale” sign in her mother’s expression.
Elle closed her eyes, anxiety rushing through her body. No! Why did this have to happen? Why did there have to be a break-in? Elle envisioned boxes, endless boxes filling her future. A final spark of hope flickered in the ashes of her despair. Maybe if the police said something reassuring, it might calm her mother down enough to persuade her to stay….?
"Oh it was terrible, the whole family, even the mini poodle was…… " he stopped, looking confused. "What was I saying?"
"You were saying there was a terrible crime involving the whole family."
"Oh, yes, they were all totally fine, as it turns out," he said after a long, drawn-out pause.
“What?” His partner looked confused.
Officer Hassle shook his head, confusion on his face, but he recovered his composure quickly. “This was probably just some neighborhood kids,” he said, dusting off his hands. “Harmless prank, most likely, I’d bet my life on it. Probably a stray baseball throw. Nothing to worry about--this here is one of the safest neighborhoods in the whole city.” Elle straightened up, feeling a small ray of hope, but Elle’s mother only gave him a side-long look, then glanced at Elle with an odd look on her face. Definitely not a calm and reassured look, unfortunately.
After a few more questions, Officer Hassle and Officer Harper made their way to the door. They paused as Officer Harper gave Elle’s mother the direct line to the police department and told her to call if they saw anything suspicious. He reassured her that they would send a police cruiser around the neighborhood every day for the rest of the week to keep an eye on their place. It was a nice gesture, Elle thought, but totally pointless. By tomorrow the house would be empty--she would bet money on it.
And indeed, less than 24 hours later, they were shoving all their earthy possessions into the tiny backseat of the VW bug. (It was saying something that all of their possessions actually fit into the tiny back seat…. You tend not to acquire much stuff if you constantly move.)
From the backseat, jammed between a box with her Igneous rock collection and a semi-deflated yoga ball, Elle shot a disgruntled look at the front seat where a large houseplant—a Ficus benjamina, her mother’s favorite plant- was currently strapped into the front passenger seat looking smug. Still wondering how she had lost shotgun to the plant, Elle tried to settle back onto the vinyl seat to contemplate her future.
Of the few non-cryptic sentences muttered by her mother, Elle had pieced together enough information to know that they were temporary* moving to her Grandpa’s house on the outskirts of Clark, the smaller suburb of a small suburb of New Billings, four hours away.
Elle had spent a good portion of her early childhood at her grandparents’ house, visiting for three months every summer ever since her grandma passed away from cancer when she was six years old. She loved visiting her grandpa, but to live there permanently (well, obviously not permanently…just until the next Moving Announcement), that was totally unknown (What?). Should she even bother to unpack her fossil collection? Probably not.
“…we haven’t seen Grandpa for almost a year—aren’t you excited?” Her mother was saying. Here we go, Elle thought, closing her eyes. “You’ll get to stay in your old room, and you’ll be able to play by the stream and in the Old Woods and Crater Creek.”
“Play by the stream?” Does she think I’m eight? Elle thought, offended. “Explore,” maybe. “Play?!”...absolutely not.
“You might find another fossilized egg….” Her mother continued, choosing to ignore the dramatic sighs from the backseat. “Maybe Grandpa will let you use his telescope again!”
Elle opened one eyelid to surreptitiously check her mother’s expression but could only see the back of her mother’s brunette head. Was this another Mom Joke?
The last time that Elle had used grandpa’s telescope for her scientific research studies (possibly without permission, but the jury was still out on that one), she had made an exciting announcement: Elle had discovered definitive proof of alien activity deep in the woods behind Grandpa’s telescope observatory tower and had photographic evidence of a real alien encounter.
After the big unveiling, her mother took her aside and explained that the aliens were just neighborhood teenagers, and their “activity,” was perhaps disturbing, but not extraterrestrial at all. She had to hand over the photographs and retract her entire thesis. There had been Words after that episode, mostly involving a long and embarrassing conversation about the birds and the bees. But maybe all that was all forgotten. A scientific hypothesis can’t be correct 100% of the time, after all. And besides, if you closely examined the photos, you would understand why Elle had assumed they were aliens…
The VW pulled to a screeching halt at a red light. Glancing out the window, Elle recognized a large department store. They were near the edge of town, only about a mile away from the interstate.
Rain was still pouring over the soggy, litter-strewn streets. At the corner, near an overflowing trashcan, a man huddled in a bundle of old clothes and blankets shuffled towards the road, jangling a few coins together in a fast-food cup. The few pedestrians on the semi-deserted sidewalk skirted around the homeless man, rushing to get out of the rain.
Elle felt a pang of guilt, like a fist in her gut. Considering everything, her problems could be much, much worse. Watching the beggar made her realize how good she really had it. Ok, technically, she was currently homeless, but at least she had new home to go to, she reminded herself. So many people in the city were permanently homeless, for one reason or another, and she felt ashamed that she had been so self-absorbed.
As the pedestrian foot traffic died away, the homeless man retreated to his pile of old blankets, leaving the sidewalk completely deserted except for one figure, standing alone on the corner. The tall, lank man with long shaggy hair immediately drew Elle's attention, despite being partially hidden by the cloud of steam emanating from a near-by manhole. The sight of him was shocking, not just because he appeared to be totally unconcerned about the downpour, and not just because he appeared to be wearing nothing but an old sackcloth for clothing, but because of his expression. He wore a huge, toothless grin, like a gaping black hole in the center of his face. In his gnarled hands he clutched a grubby cardboard sign.
“The End of the World is Coming.”
Staring into space at some unseen world, he laughed silently, his lean frame shaking uncontrollably, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. Elle felt something in her stomach flutter, and a sensation of cold liquid ran down her neck.
The VW's motor purred loudly as they pulled away from the corner. Elle craned her neck to try to watch the man as he slowly disappeared from sight, enveloped by the rain and steam. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory of that grin. And that sign.
“The End of the World is Coming.”
There were a few more stoplights before the entrance onto the interstate. The rain let up to light drizzle.
“The End of the World is Coming.”
Elle was uneasy. She fidgeted with Rocky, feeling her stomach turn with an unspoken anxiety.
The VW pulled up to another red light. Glancing outside, Elle noticed a man on the far sidewalk, crouched near a garbage can. In the dwindling light of early evening, it was difficult to see what he was doing, but he was clearly down on his luck--no one would willingly choose to be out in this weather. As the car gently idled, the man quickly stood, stepped clumsily into the street and stopped. Elle glanced at him, then glanced away quickly, uncomfortable because the man seemed to be staring at them. She peeked back in his direction but couldn’t see the expression on his face through the foggy window. He stood stock still, swaying gently back and forth. What was he doing? Looking at the car? Listening to something? Elle couldn’t tell. She glanced at her mom, who was totally oblivious, patting the steering wheel, staring at the red light and muttering something impatiently under her breath. She reached over to her purse beside the ficus plant and rummaged around for some gum.
The flutter in Elle’s stomach became a pounding drum; she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her head. The man was gone, thankfully. Elle settled back against the seat, and then jumped, surprised to see the man appear at the window on her side of the car. Wow—he's fast, Elle thought. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in a very nice outfit, expensive-looking sweater under his Burberry rain coat. He had a trendy watch and a gold ring. His whole appearance looked completely out of place in this dingy street.
Glancing up at his face, Elle recoiled away from the window. His eyes were rolled almost completely backward in his eye sockets, leaving only ghostly white orbs with spidery blue veins. He reached his hand towards her window.
Revulsion washed over Elle, followed quickly by remorse. She was ashamed at her automatic reaction of disgust. She had never seen this sort of medical disability, but he was no doubt blind and in need of help. She patted her pockets, feeling for the $13 in rejected bribery coins. Not that a few bucks would help, but maybe he could buy a sandwich or something, she thought to herself, as she dug out a handful of coins.
“Mom? I’m gonna roll down my window and give this guy some money.”
Elle’s mother casually glanced out of her rain-speckled window into the side view mirror and drew in a sharp breath. As Elle reached for the window crank, her mother stomped on the accelerator pedal, jolting the car forward and throwing Elle back against her seat, while the coins and Rocky flew across the backseat. The poor VW struggled, but managed to shoot through the intersection, just narrowly avoiding a large oncoming truck.
“Mom! What are you doing?” Elle yelled over the sound of the truck’s blaring horn. Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. “Mom?” Elle repeated, but her mother continued to accelerate, running two more red lights, nearly colliding with the cross traffic. Elle gripped the edge of the vinyl seat until her knuckles turned white and tried to stare down the back of her mother’s head. “Mom?” Her mother cranked on the steering wheel, and the VW screeched around a corner.
“Wha….” Elle gasped, hitting the side of a box.
The car swerved again, narrowly avoiding a parked car, sending Elle and the houseplant toward the opposite side of the car. The houseplant sprayed dirt everywhere.
“What…the....ficus!’ Elle yelled, as she saw half of the houseplant soil hit the window. “Mom! Stop!” Elle’s mother’s eyes were glued to the street, hands nearly blue from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.
“Elle. Be quiet,” she commanded. Elle's mouth clamped shut. She grabbed the handlebar above the window and tried to brace herself against the Ignatius rock box.
Five silent and terrorizing minutes later, Elle’s mother slowed down to a mere 10 miles-per-hour over the speed limit. Nonchalantly, as though nothing completely crazy and life-threatening had just happened, she said, “That was very kind of you to want to help,” and then, to signal that the conversation was over, she turned on the radio and cranked it to an ear-splitting decibel.
It was hard for Elle to hear herself think over the noise of the radio. Elle could see her mother’s hand shaking as she distractedly surfed the channels. She kept glancing in the rear-view mirror as she drove. They didn’t get on the interstate, after all, but instead took a small highway out of town.
The drive took several hours. It was much quicker than usual, however, because Elle's mom sped the whole way, and stopped only when the gas tank was near empty, or Elle's bladder was near exploding.
"I don't think it's legal to pass cars on the right," Elle noted halfway through the ride, testing the waters to see if her mom was ready to talk.
"The right lane is the new left lane," her mother said, passing another car and turning the volume up another notch. Elle jammed her fingers in her ears and tried to relax, which was near to impossible with the death metal song raging on the radio making her ears feel like they were bleeding.
It was completely dark by the time they reached the outskirts of Clark. At first Elle almost missed it; by the time she realized they were in town; they had practically driven through it. Her mother finally turned off the radio, leaving a blissful silence with only the gentle noise of the car engine.
“Is there some reason that you didn’t want me to give that guy money?” Elle said, gently broaching the subject, as they turned onto a gravel road at the edge of town.
“Some things aren’t what they appear to be,” Elle’s mother said, looking back at Elle in the rear-view narrow. Elle studied her mother’s green eyes in the mirror.
“Yeah, OK mom,” Elle said, giving up. It was pointless to ask her mother questions when she didn’t want to talk. It was about as pointless as asking her why they constantly had to move.
Five minutes later, they pulled into a long driveway at the end of the gravel road. As the old farmhouse materialized into view, Elle realized that she was actually really excited to see her grandpa. She couldn’t wait to give him one of her signature Rib-Crushing hugs that he loved so much. But the excitement didn’t detract from her irritation at her mother. Just once, she would like to know why she did the things she did.
The VW shuttered to a halt and Elle’s mom got out of the car, stretched, and opened the back door, allowing Elle to unfold from her fetal position in the back seat. Tired and incredibly crabby, Elle glanced around the yard, then up into the clear night sky, noticing the full moon.
Suddenly, her mother was beside her, looking up at the moon with her. Her eyes were soft in the light of the moon. "I'm sorry, Elle. I'm so sorry for everything," she said quietly.
Elle didn't say a word. Shock and anger were fighting for control. She couldn't even look at her mom. Sorry? This was the first time she had heard it.
“We’re together. That’s all that matters,” her mother said, gazing steadily at Elle. "Whatever happens…." her mother's voice broke off, and Elle glanced up at her mother. Her mother turned and hugged Elle, then just as suddenly, she let go.
Elle was too struck by the fact that her mom had tears running down her face to be embarrassed by the display of affection. “Yeah, OK, mom,” Elle said. “That’s all that matters.”
Elle had never seen her mother cry. Never. Not once in 13 years. Not when their quirky yet cuddly cat died after being struck by a car in traffic; not even when grandma died. The sight of the shimmering tears on her mother’s cheeks moved her.
But deep down in her heart, she couldn’t forgive her mother for all the craziness, the cryptic conversations, the constant moves, the total disregard for traffic signals….Sure they were together, but what did it matter?
That was the last night that Elle ever saw Carolyn Waters alive.