Fiction
B
ad news usually came through the phone, so Marie was unprepared to receive it in the Walgreen's, face to face with her daughter's landlord. She was waiting in line at the pharmacy
counter, where she was picking up three months' worth of medication for herself and Jimmy,
her husband. There were at least five pharmacies that were closer to home, but Marie chose this
one because she didn't want folks in town knowing her family's business.
There was Jimmy's Glucophage and
Coumadin and some cholesterol drug
(he'd had a minor stroke seven years
ago); she was also picking up Atenolol
for her bumpy heart, as she called it.
Sometimes, the rhythm would shift from
its usual light beat to a chaotic tempo
that felt like a bag of groceries had split
open in her chest and things were tumbling out of the bottom too fast to catch.
Today, she would also receive her first
bottle of Buproprion, which Dr. Khira
had prescribed at her annual physical
last week after she'd ticked the box for
depression. She'd hoped he'd ask her
about her sadness, but instead he'd
handed her two weeks' worth of free
pills and a pharmaceutical brochure—an
effective dodge, she supposed—that
enabled physicians to avoid speaking at
length to their patients.
In essence, he’d handed her a picture
book. First there was a fair-haired woman
in a gray kitchen, holding her head. Then
there was a brilliant yellow pill. Finally,
there was the same woman wearing pastels, lipstick, and tossing a ball with two
children. Marie had looked at Dr. Khira,
ready to speak, but instead smiled a
smile that was more a reflex, a simple
revelation of teeth, than an expression of
her true emotional state. For the smallest
of moments, he’d appeared bewildered.
Good, Marie had thought. Welcome to
the club. Then, because she knew how
much doctors valued compliance, she’d
put the prescription in her purse.
Now, as Marie waited in the interminable line at the pharmacy, she recalled reading that so many people took
these drugs traces were present in the
drinking water. Why, if the whole world
was happier on medication, shouldn't
she surrender? She'd taken five days’
worth of the sample pills and noticed, if
nothing else, that she felt a bit more
awake.
"Mrs. Moore, I was just thinking about
you!" Wade Thayer, her daughter's landlord in Cedar Grove Apartments, stood
beside her wearing a lime green polo
shirt with a flashy swordfish embroidered over the chest pocket. He was a
big man, tall and thickly built, and Marie
was amused to see him pushing a dainty
blue plastic cart full of discounted batteries, light bulbs, and cheap plastic children's toy sets. One was a princess set
with a tiara, a synthetic blonde ponytail,
and a hand mirror. "I stock up after the
holidays," he shrugged.
"Grandchildren?" asked Marie.
"No, no. I like to give out little things
now and again to the kids at Cedar
Grove when I collect the rent, make repairs."
Wade's voice was soothing, deep and
mellow as whiskey. She wondered idly
what his hands might feel like in her hair,
on her waist. Marie felt her shoulders
relax. Then, all at once, she realized that
Wade was rather handsome, that she was
at least twenty years older, and that she
hadn't been distracted by another man
in so many years she couldn't begin to
count them.
Wade tilted his head at her, as if he
knew what she was thinking.
"Hey," he asked, "how's Edna doing
these days?"
"Enda," Marie gently corrected him.
"We gave her my mother’s name. Irish."
"Enda, yes. That's nice. Old-fashioned."
"We spoke by phone last week. You've
got your rent?"
"Yes, yes."
"She sounded fine. She's doing better."
"Well, good." He sounded genuinely
pleased. “So, she's working?"
"Enda, yes. She's got a little job helping out at the Gulfstream at lunch and
dinner. Not waitressing, of course. Sometimes she buses, but mostly she handles
the dishwashing. She says she enjoys it."
Wade laughed. "I can see that. Don't
tell my Julie, but I like doing the dishes,
too." Marie offered a smile. She'd never
met Julie, Wade's wife.
"Well, see, the reason I ask about Enda
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Fiction
FINDING MARS
is that I've been bit worried for her
health—since she's taken to wearing that
wig." Marie blinked. "Wig?" She felt her
throat constrict.
Well, you know, when you see a wig or
a scarf on a younger woman, you automatically think—well," he lowered his
voice, "you know."
Marie forced out a breathy little laugh.
"I can assure you, Wade, that Enda doesn't have cancer. She's just—Enda. One
month she's a redhead; the next she's a
blonde. Why not a wig?" She waved her
hand through the air and her metal
watch unclasped and flew from her wrist.
Wade fetched it for her.
"May I help the next person in line?"
"Good to see you, Wade."
The cashier retrieved Marie's prescriptions and rang her out. Several fliers
were stapled to the outside of her bag:
one page had her name in bold black letters at the top and the word Buproprion,
also bold. She folded the bag so no one
could read it.
Wade Thayer was still lurking around
the pharmacy section, leaning on his
shopping cart with his tanned, sandyhaired forearms, waiting for her to finish.
She'd hoped their conversation was over;
now she saw there was more. He motioned her over to the shampoo aisle.
"Mrs. Moore, Marie, there's something
else. I don't know how to say this; I'm just
going to say it. Enda's been in the
dumpsters. I've been out twice this
week after folks called. See, it distresses the other residents. And,
of course, they worry for her, too.
Does she have everything she
needs?"
"What do you mean, in the
dumpsters?"
"I'm sorry to tell you this. But
she's been outside, wearing that
wig and rooting through the
trash." Marie felt her heart
48 BRAIN, CHILD
lurch. "I was out there today and told her
she had to stop. She stormed off to her
apartment. She took a few bits with her:
a child's shoe and a bag from Bullock's
Barbecue. I know she's got food; why
does she want that? I tried to talk to her,
but she won't answer my calls and refuses to open the door. I was going to
phone you this evening, but," he spread
his hands wide, "then here you were.
Here you are. How about that?"
"I think you're confusing her with
someone else, Wade," she said. "I don't
doubt the wig, but dumpster diving?
That doesn't sound like Enda at all."
“Mrs. Moore--"
"Of course, I'll check in with her, just
the same. It's been a couple weeks."
"Oh, I'm sure that would help." He
squeezed her shoulder, his college ring
sharp on her collarbone.
Marie fled the store but sat for a long
while in her parked car. The winters were
mild along the North Carolina coast, so
unlike her childhood home in Ohio. It
was shirtsleeve weather today, in January. Marie ran her hands along the nap
of the upholstery until she felt the hairs
on her neck settle down, until her eyes
ceased to sting. She wished she could
open her mouth and bellow her fury at
Wade Thayer. He was concerned for his
investment, she thought, for his interests—not for Enda. She watched as Wade
exited the store with a bit of bounce
in his step, his burden offloaded.
...
Eighteen months ago, after nearly
two decades of what Marie had
thought was a sad yet peaceable estrangement common to families,
Enda had appeared at their house like
a stray animal: dirty, trembling, her
long hair tangled and matted so badly
that it had to be cut. She'd been living
in Memphis, and had been beaten by
one of the men she'd dated, though
Marie doubted people called it that anymore. The livid bruises that ran from the
outside of her wrists to her elbows
bloomed huge and alarming, but the
ones that made Marie weep were the
small faded blue and green fingerprints
on Enda's upper arms, along her neck.
The bartender where she worked washing dishes had been her salvation: Enda
said he'd taken her to the bus station,
bought her ticket, packed her food, and
gave her his methadone for the long trip
home.
The fee for Enda’s residential rehab
was four times the cost of their first
home. At first, Jimmy had refused to pay,
arguing that "the girl had to be responsible for her own mess." Marie had to remind him that though Enda was a
thirty-seven-year-old woman, she'd never
held a job with benefits or insurance.
Jimmy relented, though he cashed in
Enda's unused college fund to cover the
bulk of treatment.
"Don’t expect me to keep funding her
forever, Marie," he’d warned.
"No one," Marie told him, "has asked
you to do anything forever."
Their conflict regarding Enda calcified. Marie felt, as the rehab center did,
that Enda had an illness, a mental illness,
in addition to her former substance
abuse. Jimmy believed Enda had some
"issues" that included malingering and
taking advantage of his ability to pay for
her needs.
Since Enda's return from rehab, she
and Jimmy had coiled away from each
other, and meaningful conversation
ceased. The night Enda arrived back
home, Marie dreamt the small skeleton
of a bird had lodged beneath her heart.
Once awake, the pain knotted in her
chest. Marie had no idea what her dream
meant, but it reminded her of how, as a
young woman, she’d once aspirated a
Fiction
fishbone at a family reunion. It had stuck
in her throat so she could not speak. She
couldn’t recall the extrication, but remembered as she’d choked, no one noticed. She’d felt wild with panic, but at
the same time, she’d felt embarrassed,
afraid she’d ruin the party.
legs before coming to where Marie
stood.
"Hey, there, nasty thing," Marie
stroked the cat's silky head. The door to
Enda's bedroom was open. Her sheets
were huddled in a pile in the center of
the bed. It appeared she slept directly on
Marie decided to stop by Cedar Grove
on her way home from the pharmacy.
There were eight apartments in each
unit: four on top and four below. Last
summer, Wade had installed white plastic rails along the landings that would
never need painting. The roof, a patchwork of new and faded shingles from the
tropical storms and nor'easters that
passed through each year, needed tending. The stairs and landing were covered
in Astroturf.
Marie pushed the plastic button on
Enda's door. A bell chimed inside. She
knocked on the door with the heel of her
hand.
"Enda! It's Mother. Are you here?"
Marie didn't know Enda's schedule, except that she usually didn't work until
later in the day. Her antipsychotic, if she
was taking it, kept her groggy for a couple hours each morning. Marie fished
Enda's spare key from her purse but hesitated a few long seconds. She worried
that she'd walk in on something she'd
rather not see: Enda in bed with a man,
drugs, or Enda muttering to herself, the
way she did when she was off her meds.
Then she thought of Enda in the dumpster and unlocked the apartment.
The fierce smell of ammonia met her.
Marie had opposed the cat for exactly
this reason. Enda barely cleaned up after
herself. Cleaning up after the cat was unlikely.
"En-da!" she sang, so as not to alarm
the girl. "Nomad!" The cat came out from
under the sofa and stretched its hind
Marie returned to
the living room and
knelt in front of Enda
to catch her eye. For the
first time she saw Enda
had a small pink duffle
bag packed, tucked
alongside the sofa. Her
red Converse high tops
sat beside them.
...
the mattress.
The apartment, which Marie and
Jimmy also funded, was essentially two
rooms: a modest bedroom and a
living/dining area. A tiny pink-tiled
bathroom was located between the two.
"Enda?"
Marie pushed open the bathroom
door. When she flipped on the light, a
palmetto bug slipped behind the mirror.
The ceiling around the shower was
lightly speckled with mildew. There was
no sign of a wig.
She scooped the litter box, put the
waste in a plastic grocery bag, and left.
Enda was not at the dumpsters. When
Marie tossed in the bag she forced herself to open each bin and look inside, just
to be sure.
...
She arrived home at dusk. Jimmy
stood on the back patio, talking on his
cell phone. The brick walls were so thick,
reception in the house wasn't possible.
She tapped on the glass door but he
couldn't hear her. They were both considering hearing aids. Once he was at the
right angle to see her, she waved the
bags at him so he would know she had
returned.
Jimmy finished his conversation and
she watched as he carried an empty oyster cage to the shed. This season, he
planned to restore ten thousand oysters
to the cove. He'd built a special shed for
this purpose, and there were three chalky
mountains of recycled oyster shells on
the west side of their property, along
with a used Bobcat.
Marie removed her watch and rings,
set them in the kitchen windowsill, and
washed her hands. She took two tuna
steaks caught during Jimmy's deep sea
weekend last fall along with two ears of
corn from the freezer. Jimmy was proud
of their thrift; she knew he'd note at dinner that the whole meal had cost them
next to nothing. Marie wouldn't point out
the $70,000 boat and the thousands of
dollars in equipment and fishing gear, all
of which Jimmy meticulously maintained. Though they could more than afford it, these were their only luxuries.
They carried no credit cards, and no
debt. Jimmy managed the money, except for the eleven hundred dollars he
deposited each month in Marie's household checking account. Their land, inherited from his people and passed
down through generations, had swelled
in value from fifty thousand to nearly
two million dollars in the last two
decades. Their regular investments had
increased as well and rivaled their realestate wealth. Even so, they still carefully
considered each expenditure, clipped
coupons, bought store brands, never
travelled. Both had grown up without, as
www.brainchildmag.com 49
Fiction
FINDING MARS
they qualified it. They knew the same
fickle wind that raised them up could
also demolish them in an instant.
Marie poured herself a half glass of
whatever white wine had been on sale
that week and emptied Jimmy's beer
into a frosted mug, just as she'd done
nearly each night they dined together
during their marriage. These day-to-day
routines had once seemed to her like
mindless habits. Of late, they'd become
the only small comforts she had—those
she could rely upon herself to create.
Jimmy was sullen during their meal.
She expected him to be irritated that she
had run late, and had prepared a story
about stopping by his mother's grave to
replace the plastic flowers. She hadn’t expected him to pout. Then, to Marie's surprise, he apologized.
"Time got away from me," he said. "I'm
so sorry." He looked genuinely aggrieved. "I didn't mean to make you wait
on supper."
She was flustered, but touched by the
naked emotion on his face. "It's fine. I
was late too," she said, hoping he'd ask
her why. Then, to fill the silence, she
asked how long once he installed the
reefs it would take their cover to recover. Jimmy had dredged for decades,
so he could moor his boat at home instead of at the marina. Later, the marsh
began to die, and their water with it.
Forty years ago, they would swim on
summer nights, and the water they disturbed would shimmer, silver and alive.
Marie remembered it like a romantic
film she’d once seen, with someone she
could barely recall.
...
The next morning, Marie sat on their
dock, smoked her morning cigarette,
took her pill, and thought about Enda
and the wig. Marie decided Enda was
concealing something. Perhaps, Marie
50 BRAIN, CHILD
thought, Enda had bumped her head. No,
more likely she'd badly permed her hair,
or dyed it blue—that would be like Enda.
Marie figured that if she offered her
daughter a trip to the salon, she'd be able
to see what was beneath the wig.
Jimmy was beside the boat shed, putting on his waders.
"I think I'm going to drive into town
today," she called out to him. "Help Enda
with some shopping. I don't think she
works on Thursdays."
He sighed. Then, lumbering in his stiff
waders like a man slogging through
When she first
truly understood that
Enda would always
need their help, Marie
had taken a small guilty
solace in the situation.
She felt her public
identity in old age was
now clear: to tend her
damaged daughter.
mud, Jimmy made his way to where
Marie sat. "She won't be at work; she
doesn't work any day, now."
"What are you saying?"
"She's been fired, Marie. She hasn't
been to work in six days. Six days! She
hasn't even been in to get her paycheck.
George from the Gulfstream called the
other day asking if he should mail it here.
She told him she was moving—to Mars!"
He waved his hands in the air.
"Mars Hill Apartments, maybe?"
Marie said.
"Enda made it clear to George that flying to Mars was the only way to get away
from the terrorists at her apartment complex." Something inside Marie slipped.
She felt her body as something beside
her, heavy and substantial, yet foreign.
"I'm sure there's a reason," Marie said,
though she knew better than to hope.
"Let's go by there and talk with her."
"You talk with her." The lenses of his
glasses flashed bright and opaque and
his mouth trembled. The combined effect
made it appear that he was weeping, but
his voice was quiet, as it was when he was
enraged but trying to maintain control.
"When you do, you tell her she pays her
way now. There will be no more money."
"Oh, Jimmy."
"You can't save her, Marie. Give her
money and this will just keep happening."
"What will she—"
"She'll be forced to figure it out, just
like the rest of the world."
"She can't. It's not a choice for her."
"Of course it's a choice; give the child
some credit. You want to give her
money? Then get yourself a job and give
her all your money—she'll get no more
from me. Jesus, I knew you'd get sucked
in again. That's why I didn't tell you last
week." She felt herself return to her body,
only now it felt like a trap.
"You knew she was in trouble last
week?" Her voice emerged thin and
squeezed.
Jimmy reddened in his fury. "Marie—"
"Come with me today, please," she
whispered, "Come look at your daughter."
Jimmy took a breath and shook his
head. "The best thing that could happen—for her, for you, for me—would be
that she just—goes away."
Marie’s chest burned, as if her breath
had been knocked from her. "Please."
"I can’t,” he said, and gripped his forehead. "It’s so much worse when she’s in
our lives." Marie stifled a flash of rage
and turned away. "We will never stop
Fiction
being heartbroken," he continued. "Don’t
you see? That’s our forever. I just want
some peace. We’ve only ever known that
when she’s gone. I’m so tired, Marie."
Marie gripped her knees to her chest.
The oily smell of the marsh was on the
breeze. She stared out at the cove. A gull
on the dock flipped its head back, unhinged its red maw, and gave a tinny
laugh. "What kind of person says that,
Jimmy?"
"I want our lives back. If that means
she goes away, and we never see her
again, well, I can find a way live with
that." Marie knew this was true. But since
Enda's return, Marie had not wished to
return to the peaceful life Jimmy
thought he had lost. What she longed for
was her daughter's return to health.
Marie stood to face him. "I'm leaving
now to see Enda. She'll need her rent and
allowance money."
"I won’t be taken advantage of any
longer," said Jimmy. "Maybe you can afford to fly to Mars with her, but I can't."
Marie started back to the house, but
he tried to catch her hand. "Don't you
dare touch me," she growled.
Jimmy shook his head, and then
walked into the fifty-degree water, nearly
to his chest, to retrieve his oyster trays.
...
When she first truly understood that
Enda would always need their help,
Marie had taken a small guilty solace in the situation. She felt her
public identity in old age was now
clear: to tend her damaged daughter. But she hadn't been prepared
for how the antipsychotics left
her beautiful, red-haired daughter fat and lethargic. It was no
wonder Enda hated taking them.
Now this business with the wig,
and picking through the trash!
Marie just wanted it all to
stop, for Enda to come to her senses, return to work at the Gulfstream, and need
a reasonable bit of help to get by—the occasional run to the grocer's or doctor's.
Yet each crisis further eroded Enda's
ability to function. She never fully
bounced back. Marie knew Enda's only
hope was to stabilize, as one of the rehab
counselors said. When Enda was in
rehab, Marie thought stability would arrive when Enda stopped taking street
drugs. Marie now understood the counselor meant that Enda’s mental illness
had to stabilize as well, and that had
proven tricky to diagnose and treat.
Enda's psychiatric diagnoses, from
four separate cities, listed her alternately
as schizoaffective, manic, suffering PTSD
and, in the notes from the twenty-bed
backwater hospital in rural Oklahoma,
simply "exhausted" and "emotionally labile." The counselor at the rehab center
said that, though she'd shown symptoms
of a variety of psychiatric conditions at
different times, a formal diagnosis mattered little. The bottom line was that
Enda was periodically psychotic--with or
without crack, or meth, or heroin—but the
street drugs made her psychosis exponentially worse. Still, Enda had managed
to stay clean, live alone, work, and consistently take her psychiatric medication for
six months, allowing something like a
normal rhythm to return to her days.
...
Before Marie started the car to go
to Enda's, she called Bella's salon and
made two hair appointments. Then
she looked in her wallet. Sixty-seven
dollars in cash, one BP gas card, and
her household allowance checkbook
which, because it was the fourth
week in the month, held a mere
$229.40. Enda was going to need
money if she was indeed moving to
Mars Hill, and more than she had
here. Perhaps Jimmy was right. How
much were they expected to give? For
how long? As Marie drove, she came to
the conclusion that Enda simply had to
contribute more. Maybe, she thought, if
Enda had more obligations, more hours
than she’d had at the Gulfstream, she'd
do better. Once Jimmy saw the girl was
doing that, Marie thought he'd soften
about continuing to help her financially.
When Marie pulled in to Enda's apartment complex, she was ready to do battle
with her to keep her safe and where she
belonged. Wade's truck was there. Marie
hoped that she could get in and out without speaking with him. She was halfway
to Enda's apartment when a sheriff's car
pulled into the lot. Marie saw now, down
the landing, that Enda's door was open.
A current of panic surged through her
body. Wade emerged from Enda's apartment. Marie heard a noise like shouting.
"Thank God you're here, Mrs. Moore. I
talked to your husband yesterday
evening, after all this happened. I told
him she couldn't stay. She can't stay, Mrs.
Moore. Not like this." Marie heard glass
breaking, then music.
She ignored Wade and walked into
the apartment. The television was on full
blast. Enda, however, was sitting quietly
on the sofa, wearing a pink t-shirt
stretched too tightly across her bosom.
Perched atop her head like a coonskin
cap was the pale blond wig. Enda didn't
look up. Nomad was curled on her chest,
aggressively purring.
Marie took the remote and muted the
volume.
Fern, Enda's county social worker, a
tiny slip of a woman, came out of the
kitchen with a steaming mug and set it
on the table. She patted Marie's arm,
then went to greet the sheriff.
"Enda, honey," said Marie "what's
going on?
"I can't talk with them here," Enda
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FINDING MARS
whispered, and looked to the door where
Wade, the sheriff, and Fern had gathered.
Marie marched to the door to close it,
but Fern quickly stepped inside. She
looked minuscule compared to the men,
and Marie understood that was why Fern
always wore lumpy sweaters and coats—
to give her the appearance of bulk.
"Give us a minute, gentleman," said
Fern. Then she closed the door and
locked it.
"Thank you for that," said Marie.
"Mrs. Moore, she's refusing the hospital right now. There's a women's shelter
nearby that can take her, but she's not interested. It may be too late, it usually fills
by noon. Maybe you could convince her
to go home with you? Until I can locate
other housing?"
"I don't understand. So what if she's
been in the dumpsters! Is that grounds
for eviction?"
Fern's eyes grew wide behind her
glasses. "I don't know anything about
that, Mrs. Moore. Off the record, I was
called because she has been harassing
the neighbors. She thinks they are all
with Al Qaeda. She's been leaving them
notes. Yesterday evening she was involved in an altercation. No one is pressing charges, but—"
"I know them from before," Enda said
thickly. "They look different, but they are
spying on us."
Marie lowered her voice. "You know
her father won't have her at home.
Maybe a hotel?”
"Mrs. Moore, I think that's not very
likely in her state."
"Well, I could book her room. I guess I
could stay with her, if she needs it." After
Marie heard herself, she felt ashamed of
her reticence. "I mean, if she'll let me."
"I have a friend on Mars who escaped
Al Qaeda. I'm going to live there too."
"Oh, stop it!" Marie yelled at Enda.
"You are not going to Mars! That's your
52 BRAIN, CHILD
illness talking."
Fern rested her hand on Marie's arm.
"Mars is the homeless encampment—it's
what people call the camp."
"I thought you said she was refusing
shelter." Marie followed Fern to the
kitchen.
"Mrs. Moore, Mars isn't shelter. It's just
a wooded area, where the people camp.
It's—"
"Oh my God. Why can't you take her
to the hospital?"
"She's not a danger—to herself or anyone, really. Even temporary commit-
"Mrs. Moore, she's refusing the hospital right
now. There's a women's
shelter nearby that can
take her, but she's not interested. It may be too
late, it usually fills by
noon. Maybe you could
convince her to go home
with you? Until I can locate other housing?"
ment—it’s complicated. We can only
intervene under certain circumstances.
Choosing to be homeless isn't one of
them. Arguing with the neighbors isn't
either."
"But she's delusional."
"Maybe so. Even if she is delusional,
that's not grounds enough for emergency commitment."
"If you can't help, why are you here?
What earthly good are you?"
Fern’s eyes reddened at the jab. "I'm
her caseworker."
"I'm her mother!" Marie laughed. "This
is absurd." Marie understood Fern had
compassion but no power. Right now,
that made her useless.
Marie returned to the living room and
knelt in front of Enda to catch her eye.
For the first time she saw Enda had a
small pink duffle bag packed, tucked
alongside the sofa. Her red Converse
high tops sat beside them.
"Enda," she said mildly, careful not to
let her tone upset the girl, "when are you
leaving?"
Enda shrugged.
"I'd like to get you a couple things,
honey. Can you wait a while?"
"Mr. Thayer is threatening to evict her
today at noon, Mrs. Moore."
"No. That's not going to happen,"
Marie kept looking at her daughter. "He
can't evict her on such short notice. It's
not legal."
"It's easier than you might imagine.
Especially with her recent behavior. "
"I told him I am going," Enda said. "I
was going before he told me I should
leave. I'm just saying good-bye to
Nomad."
Marie looked at her watch—it was
10:15. "Fern, you tell them if they so much
as talk to her or make a move to put her
on the street, I'll—" Marie cast about for
a viable threat. "Why, I'll sue them blind,"
she said, aware she sounded more like a
television actress than herself. "Enda,
Mother is just going out to get you a few
things. You wait here. Promise me." Enda
nodded. Her head was bowed, her fat
bottom lip jutted out the same way it had
when she was six years old and headed
to her first day of kindergarten.
"Now, tell me where Mars is, exactly."
...
Marie was surprised how close the encampment was—to nearly everything.
Her favorite Italian restaurant and her
Fiction
dental office were less than a mile away.
So was Enda's apartment, as the crow
flies. To get to Mars, Marie simply
parked at Sandy Creek Shopping Center,
the upscale shopping mall. There, she
crossed a large weedy lot behind the new
sixteen-screen cinema and traveled a
mere hundred yards down a narrow
beaten path through the trash pines.
She'd envisioned Mars as a state park,
but it wasn't like that at all. There were
tents, some with filthy carpet remnants
draped on top, some with blue tarp. The
stakes were rusted. A few had clotheslines strung between trees. She walked
lightly, fearful of surprising someone.
She'd left her purse in the trunk, but her
jewelry was still on. She twisted her rings
around to conceal the stones, as if that
would prevent her from harm.
"Hello?" she called. "I'm a friend of
Fern's. Is there anyone here?" Marie
counted twelve tents, some in such a
state of disrepair, torn and moldy, that
they couldn't be occupied. One however,
had affixed a small cedar wreath to the
entrance. A fire area was in a small clearing, and there were sooty melted plastic
bottles in the center. Then Marie heard
a rustling in the leaves, and she spooked,
hurrying back along the path, her mouth
dry. Her foot snagged on a fallen branch.
"Hey, lady. Lady!" A young boy ran up
to her, from the direction of the camp. He
wore blue jeans and a puffy brown jacket.
"You're a friend of Fern's? Did she send
you with the tickets?"
"What? No. I'm sorry, I don't know anything about tickets."
"Oh."
Marie noticed the child looked rumpled, and had a large cowlick on the side
of his head, as if he'd been napping.
"Do you live here, young man? How
old are you? Ten?"
The boy licked his lips, which were
badly chapped. His mouth had a livid
red ring around it.
"Why are you here?" he asked. His
face, despite its youth, hardened as he
studied her.
"I—well, I know someone who wants to
live here."
"No one's supposed to know."
"What? That you're here?"
"My mom and dad will be home soon.
We didn't have school today."
"OK," said Marie. She scanned the
woods. Was someone waiting to grab
her? Was this just a set up?
"They'll be back from work around
five. My mom works right there." He
pointed to Sandy Creek Mall. "Bill, my
stepdad, he installs carpet. His boss has
a white Silverado with heated seats."
"Do you need anything?" Marie asked.
"Do you want me to ask Fern about the
tickets?"
"No! Please don't tell her you saw me.
I'm allowed to. Sometimes they let me
stay here with them. Please don't tell. I
don't want to live with my aunt."
"Do you like it here?" Marie asked,
then immediately regretted it. What sort
of answer did she expect?
The boy dragged his foot through the
pine needles. "Don't tell Fern. But if she
gives you the tickets, you bring them
back, OK?"
Marie was breathless by the time she
got back to her car. She dialed Jimmy.
When he didn't answer, she left him a
long message. She could understand his
desire for Enda to disappear from his life,
but she felt certain he wouldn't want this.
Within minutes Jimmy texted her.
His message read: Let her go.
For a few long seconds, the world
around her seemed to blur and melt.
Marie thought she’d go mad. But she
didn't. Instead, her thoughts quickly focused. There was no way that Enda could
move to Mars with only her pink duffle
bag. Where would she sleep? Then
Marie saw it: Sportsman’s Paradise. In a
mere fifteen minutes, Marie bought a
camp cook set, bottles, plates, two weeks’
worth of freeze-dried food, a tent, sleeping bag, sleeping mat, and wet wipes.
Marie studied the scruffy bearded salesman. Was he homeless?, she wondered.
He recommended fuel for the stove, ecofriendly toilet paper, and a rain poncho.
He opened and packed everything for
her in the oversized backpack, and attached the bedroll below. She wrote him
a check for $876.23. It would be days before it bounced. Marie felt Enda would
be OK for a few days or longer. Jimmy
could be persuaded. Yet, as Marie rushed
back to Cedar Grove, with the backpack
in the trunk, she wondered if any action
by Jimmy could truly alter Enda’s
course. She was refusing shelter and
medical help because she couldn’t think
clearly. And she wouldn’t be able to think
clearly without treatment.
Enda stood in the parking lot of
Cedar Grove, her small pink duffle bag
tucked under her arm like a football,
when Marie returned. Wade and the
sheriff were gone, but Fern remained.
"They left when Enda said she was vacating anyway," Fern said. "That way
Wade isn't formally evicting her."
"Fern is taking Nomad while
I'm gone. Don't worry, Mom."
Enda wrapped Marie in her
arms. and leaned her whole
heavy body against Marie.
"Fern knows how to take
care of pets."
Marie buried her face in
Enda’s neck. Her daughter
smelled of cigarettes and
grape bubblegum. Enda rocked
her side to side, and the blond
wig slid between them.
www.brainchildmag.com 53
Fiction
FINDING MARS
Marie reached up and cupped her
daughter's head. Beneath the wig
there was no bad perm or dye job, and
no head injury. The only thing it had
covered was her daughter's disheveled hair. Her baby girl's hair,
graying.
"Enda, honey, wait. I've got something for you." Marie took the backpack out of the trunk. "I bought
everything you'll need for Mars.
Cookware, a sleeping bag, there's a
small coffeemaker, and bags of
freeze-dried dinners. Turkey tetrazzini, mac and cheese."
Enda started walking toward the
field just across the way. Marie
dumped the backpack on the landing and walked beside her daughter.
"Enda, let's go stay at a hotel. It will
be fun."
"I'm going to Mars. Once I'm there,
I'll send a message."
"Please, take the backpack."
"Mom, no!" yelled Enda. Then she
stumbled, and kicked a soda bottle
from her path. “God!”
Marie quaked with fear. She’d
never felt so forlorn. Right then she
remembered how she used to nurse
Enda to sleep when she was first
born. How Marie had marveled at
her baby’s tender arms, her glossy
red mouth, and fat auburn curls.
Enda had been born in the spring,
when pollen hung thick on the pines
and the air smelled fresh and green.
Those early days with her baby,
54 BRAIN, CHILD
Marie had felt whole, complete in the
world. Never had there been another
time like that.
Fern gently approached. "I'll check
on her, Mrs. Moore. Most times this
is a temporary situation.”
"What happens now?" Marie whispered.
"I go down to Mars each week,
Fern said. There's a sandwich shop
near the mall where people go at the
end of the day. The manager hands
out food. He's not supposed to, but
he's kind. Sometimes people agree to
the hospital or shelter after a while
on the street. Enda's been briefly
homeless before. In Oklahoma. This isn't new to
her." Homeless. Marie
hadn't known.
Marie looked
at the backpack, that
massive
bundle she'd discarded on the stoop,
and sat down beside it. Then came
the tears. Her sobs felt torn from her,
but there were fewer than she expected. When, at last, she was done,
Marie positioned herself in front of
the backpack, slid her arms through
the straps, and clipped the harness
around her chest. Then she pulled
herself to her feet and trudged across
the field toward her daughter's dimming shape. 