Kate Lovely
Castles and Clouds
I remember being tucked in so tight. My mother would sit and read me a story,
and then lay with me until I fell asleep. I didn’t, so I remember my father coming in,
tucking the covers tight around my little body, and kissing me gently on the head. I lay
motionless, afraid to move and destroy the cocoon that protected me from all the evils of
that existed in the obscurity of the dark room. The castle wall, sponged to my favorite
shade of purple, rose high above my head. The clouds that hung around the highest tower
threatened rain, so I closed my eyes and relaxed into the warm embrace of the pink
comforter.
**
It was seven; I had overslept. I hopped out of my bed, knocking a Seventeen
magazine and pair of dirty socks to the floor. Tripping over platform boots and photo
albums I made my way groggily to the bathroom. The vibrant yellow paint on the walls
met my eyes with a shock as I flicked on the light. The air in the bathroom was already
thick with moisture from my brother’s shower, so I flicked on the fan as well. The silver
handle of the shower gave way under my hand as I forced it hard to the left. As the
shower warmed up I shuffled to the medicine cabinet to grab some Claritin and was
confronted with a pasty face splotched in red. Steam began to waft from the shower,
drawing me to it like Sleeping Beauty to the spindle. The water was still warm--my
father had not showered yet.
The world was my classroom, so long as my father was in it; the car was the
perfect history classroom. Sitting in the front along side my father, I heard over and over
again the story of the Cuban Missile Crisis. I heard about Cuba being America’s casino
until the Revolution and how Castro had come into power. I learned about the rise of the
Soviet Union, the race to space, and communism. I asked questions I already knew the
answers to and delighted in the animated story that revealed them. I would sit in an
ecstatic silence, struggling within myself to put information together as child puts
together the pieces of a Lego set. “Kennedy sat down to a staring contest with
Khrushchev, and Khrushchev was the first to blink.” The stories became so familiar that
their tellings were not longer about the history, but instead offered us a time of shared
reflection. He would talk us right past the exit. Cursing jovially, a smile would tempt the
corners of his mouth as we turned around to begin the lengthy process of finding our way
back on track.
At 7:10 I jumped out of the shower and peeked around to corner to see if my
father had arisen yet. The hunter green shades were still blanketed in a layer of darkness,
illuminated only by the harsh light of my mother’s makeup mirror. Nothing stirred from
within the room. Turning, I began the laborious process of getting ready. Outfits flew on
and off and all around the room. Cursing at myself under my breath, I finally settled on
an outfit, vowing to lose five pounds before the next time I had to get dressed. Quickly I
applied foundation, eyeliner, eye shadow, and mascara. The red blotches were somewhat
hidden, but still nagged on the back of my mind for the fleeting second I studied myself
critically in the judgmental mirror.
Sundays were excursion days. I would wake up early and head straight off to the
museum, or a car show, or anywhere else the wind might take us. Often it was just the
two of us. On the way I would listen to tales of how my dad had taken the T all alone
when he was only ten to get to the Science Museum. Sitting in the car with him I could
never fathom making the voyage all alone, but the world was a different place back then.
We would pull into the parking lot and get out of the car. Running across the dewy grass,
I would jump on onto a bench pretending I was the girl from The Sound of Music.
Jogging to catch up with me, he would take my hand and we would cross the street
together. Once we were within the museum, it was my time to shine. I would explain all
I knew about every single object, and revel in the smile that lit his face. Questioning was
even greater than telling, because I could listen to him explain the answers. Together we
would marvel at the size of the sequoia tree trunk and giggle at the rocket that looked like
a hotdog. We stood in line together for what seemed like hours. Well, he stood while I
swung on the crimson partition robes until he chided me. My chin tucked into my chest
and my eyes tracing the intricate patterns of dirt tracked across the floor, I would
grudgingly take my place in line beside him. Sadness would swell in my heart as I
looked at the sea of swarming knees around me. Then, my dad would put his strong hand
on the back of my shoulder and smile down at me, his perfectly straight teeth forgiving
me for behaving like a little savage. His hand as my guide, we would file tranquilly into
the theater.
At 7:35 I tore down the stairs and heard the sound of the shower turning on. Just
as I reached the landing the screen door shrieked open and my mother came in with halfdried hair. She muttered something about “just a minute” and headed straight up the
stairs. My eyes lingered on the top stair where she had stood just a moment before. A
sudden snap within my mind reminded me that assembly would begin in fifteen minutes
whether I was there or not, so I instantly set to work. I flew from the den to the dining
room to the kitchen to the table, packing my books and binders and papers and breakfast
of Diet Coke. Before stabbing my feet into a pair of shoes, I reminded myself of what I
was wearing. Blue took preference over gray, and the denim just seemed more practical.
I was ready. Mustering all the feigned innocence I possible could, I called up to my mom.
The August sky was perfect for astronomy. As the rest of our housemate would
filter through the screen door to the cramped little house carrying plates, some with
remnants of fresh fish and others with scattered bit of electric orange macaroni, we would
sneak away. Once across the two-lane street the Light Bright sky would beckon my eyes
upwards. One sweep of his hand would reveal to me the Milky Way, a finger would
locate the North Star. With the big dipper hanging low behind our heads he would
unravel the stories wound tightly in the stars of the night sky. Menemsha’s red bell buoy
would toll and the crickets would give their rhythmic serenade as Orion and Cassiopeia
came to life in his voice. When a car would pass, our eyes would fly shut in unison and
he would again remark that “one’s night vision increased at a rate of 1000 times per
minute, but after being exposed to a single light all would be lost.” Together we would
stand, our necks craned towards the heavens until the summer moon shone high over the
lake.
My mom returned my call with a harsh word about patience, but her rhetoric was
quickly cut off by the sound of my father’s voice. His words were heavy, yet so thin they
seemed to slice me through to the bone. He informed me that he would be driving me to
school. A quick time calculation told me that he would not be ready for another five
minutes, making me late for assembly. Delicately, I replied that it was fine if mom took
me. I leaned my hand on the banister and peered around the corner to catch a glimpse of
my parents. I leapt back, regretting this decision like a child after touching the burner of
a stove. My father had exploded, yelling and complaining, forcing bitter words between
him and my mom. Had he known I wouldn’t need a ride he “would have left earlier and
not had to lie to the meeting committee about… something.” They were fighting over
who would be driving me the quarter of a mile to school. My father screamed in a rage
of frustration, and my mother replied in hushed tones, trying to justify herself. I clenched
my jaw, creating tension behind my eyes. A single word sounded in my mind, bouncing
around my scull like a bouncy ball in a tiled hall: “Divorce.” Silently I wished she would
yell at him, cuss him out, give him rough slap he deserved for behaving like such a
spoiled little brat.
Instead, she flew down the stairs just as I jumped away from them,
knowing it would make her cry if she knew what I had just overheard. Tears shone in her
eyes as she concealed her pager and little red book in her black bag. Noiselessly she let
me know she would be waiting in the car.
Hot summer days we would swim out to the rock. A month of living with
another family could really take its toll on the only girl, and the rock was the only place
on the island I could find privacy. I would never have imagined privacy would mean not
being with my dad. Together we would walk down to the water’s edge, away from the
quarreling husband and wife as well as the boisterous young boys. Dancing on tiptoe we
would acclimate our sun-warmed skin to the water. Finally we would plunge in, fully
immersing ourselves and beginning a lazy dog paddle stroke. When he would get too far
ahead of me I would call out to him, not wanting to be left behind, or worse, separated by
the choppy tide. I would watch as carefully he would use the force of the wave to deposit
his body gently atop the submerged boulder. Attempting to use this same method I
would try to join him, and I would be glad to accept his hand as a wobbled back down
into the jagged sea. We would concentrate to maintain balance while talking about minor
frustrations as long as they plagued us. Eventually we would fall silent, a mutually
understanding forged that allowed for privacy within out mind while still being together.
Our harmonized eyes would rest on the beach landscape: vibrant blue giving way to a
grainy yellow that melted into a profound navy. There we would stand until the waves
got larger. Seeing the apprehension etched across my face he would plunge into the cove
of the rock and I would follow him.
Quick as I could I grabbed my bag and strode out the door. In front of the mirror
next to the door I stopped, knowing what emotions I would find trapped in the front seat.
I felt as though I were stuck to the floor, culpability and hurt rooting me to the wood.
Rough steps on the stair snapped my mind back to attention and I knew that instantly my
father would come around the corner. I stretched out my hand and seized the doorknob.
“Goodbye, have a good day,” said an astringent voice laden in false regret. Turning, I
looked my father in the eye, and then, without another word, spun on my heels, hoping he
would never know of the hurt that I felt. As I jumped in the car I heard him cursing his
poor fate for having such a foul daughter and questioning ghosts on what he had ever
done to me. Ashamed, I wiped my eyes. My mother’s face was splotchy and her
mascara ran a bit, but she said nothing as she started the engine and backed down the
drive. Averting my eyes and leaning on the window, I fastened my seatbelt tight across
my chest.