whatever I want. I’m the mother of a twelve-year-old girl. Even the governor is a pedophile if I say he is. And what about you? Do you like little girls?
Okay, that’s enough, the policeman said. It’s going to be a long day for you. But we need to go to the aquarium now. It’s already after three. You’ll follow us and pull over when we do, a few blocks from the aquarium. Then Caitlin will walk ahead alone, the way she usually does, and we’ll be watching.
What happens if he does something before you arrive?
We already have plainclothes officers inside. Your daughter will be safe.
We drove then down East Yesler Way toward Puget Sound, dark water low beneath the city. My mother was talking fast, worried. You can’t ever say I slapped you. They’ll take you away from me. They’ll take you away, Caitlin. I’m so sorry. I never should have slapped you, and I never will again. I promise. But you can’t say anything to them. Do you understand?
I won’t say anything, I said. I was starting to cry again at the thought of losing my mother.
I’m scared of them, Caitlin. They can do anything. It doesn’t have to make any sense. You can’t tell them anything about me. But this old man, you have to tell them everything about him. He wants to take you away too.
Our old car charging ahead like some bull, my mother rough on the accelerator and brake, panicking, the patrol car in front. The sky white and without drizzle at the moment but the streets wet. I felt like everything was ending, all put under pressure, collapsing. The sky itself would fall in, and the streets fold and submerge and the water rush in, the weight of the entire Pacific.
The most terrible betrayal. We pulled to the curb and I was standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by shallow puddles, dark mirrors, all the land pocked with holes. I could hardly walk.
Just say hello to him the way you normally would, the policeman said. Gun and baton, silver in his belt and badge, liquid that he somehow wore.
I had no choice. All set in motion. All of childhood like that. So I walked my usual route on a day unlike any other, and I could no longer gauge distance. My feet slapping down too hard or not reaching far enough. And my friend waiting, thinking he was meeting my mother today.
I wanted to flatten, my body become a gray porous crust like the pavement, my arms fins of gravel, eyes disguised as puddles. The police would walk over my body and not know. They would search and never find me. At night, I might shift along the street, feeding on whatever gathered in gutters, and I would soften in the sun, shift my coloring to a lighter gray, then darken again in rain.
But instead I was uncamouflaged, exposed for all to see, held upright, walking on legs that seemed impossible, scissoring along the sidewalk in a side-to-side wobble pinned by gravity. The aquarium now in view.
I looked behind, and the police were there half a block back, and my mother.
My heart a low thudding, heavy and far away, dread. I should have screamed a warning and run away, but I kept walking, and then I was opening the door.
The lobby, only a few people, and I wondered which ones were the police. I hesitated, thought if I just stayed here and never went into the corridors, they’d never find him. But I walked into the warm darkness, all the worlds lit on either side, and I found him at a tank with sea anemones and clownfish.
So soft, he said. Imagine living like that.
The yellow clownfish with a single white stripe along their backs. Fish that always belonged.
Anemones are jellyfish that never swim free, I said.
Wow, the old man said. What else?
If you touch them, it’s like hundreds of little harpoons exploding, each one poisonous. That’s what makes them feel sticky. But the clownfish aren’t hurt.
The old man put his arm around me. Caitlin, today I have a wonderful surprise for you.
I could smell aftershave. He was wearing a new jacket and shirt, his hair cut and combed
Okay, that’s enough, the policeman said. It’s going to be a long day for you. But we need to go to the aquarium now. It’s already after three. You’ll follow us and pull over when we do, a few blocks from the aquarium. Then Caitlin will walk ahead alone, the way she usually does, and we’ll be watching.
What happens if he does something before you arrive?
We already have plainclothes officers inside. Your daughter will be safe.
We drove then down East Yesler Way toward Puget Sound, dark water low beneath the city. My mother was talking fast, worried. You can’t ever say I slapped you. They’ll take you away from me. They’ll take you away, Caitlin. I’m so sorry. I never should have slapped you, and I never will again. I promise. But you can’t say anything to them. Do you understand?
I won’t say anything, I said. I was starting to cry again at the thought of losing my mother.
I’m scared of them, Caitlin. They can do anything. It doesn’t have to make any sense. You can’t tell them anything about me. But this old man, you have to tell them everything about him. He wants to take you away too.
Our old car charging ahead like some bull, my mother rough on the accelerator and brake, panicking, the patrol car in front. The sky white and without drizzle at the moment but the streets wet. I felt like everything was ending, all put under pressure, collapsing. The sky itself would fall in, and the streets fold and submerge and the water rush in, the weight of the entire Pacific.
The most terrible betrayal. We pulled to the curb and I was standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by shallow puddles, dark mirrors, all the land pocked with holes. I could hardly walk.
Just say hello to him the way you normally would, the policeman said. Gun and baton, silver in his belt and badge, liquid that he somehow wore.
I had no choice. All set in motion. All of childhood like that. So I walked my usual route on a day unlike any other, and I could no longer gauge distance. My feet slapping down too hard or not reaching far enough. And my friend waiting, thinking he was meeting my mother today.
I wanted to flatten, my body become a gray porous crust like the pavement, my arms fins of gravel, eyes disguised as puddles. The police would walk over my body and not know. They would search and never find me. At night, I might shift along the street, feeding on whatever gathered in gutters, and I would soften in the sun, shift my coloring to a lighter gray, then darken again in rain.
But instead I was uncamouflaged, exposed for all to see, held upright, walking on legs that seemed impossible, scissoring along the sidewalk in a side-to-side wobble pinned by gravity. The aquarium now in view.
I looked behind, and the police were there half a block back, and my mother.
My heart a low thudding, heavy and far away, dread. I should have screamed a warning and run away, but I kept walking, and then I was opening the door.
The lobby, only a few people, and I wondered which ones were the police. I hesitated, thought if I just stayed here and never went into the corridors, they’d never find him. But I walked into the warm darkness, all the worlds lit on either side, and I found him at a tank with sea anemones and clownfish.
So soft, he said. Imagine living like that.
The yellow clownfish with a single white stripe along their backs. Fish that always belonged.
Anemones are jellyfish that never swim free, I said.
Wow, the old man said. What else?
If you touch them, it’s like hundreds of little harpoons exploding, each one poisonous. That’s what makes them feel sticky. But the clownfish aren’t hurt.
The old man put his arm around me. Caitlin, today I have a wonderful surprise for you.
I could smell aftershave. He was wearing a new jacket and shirt, his hair cut and combed
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