Read Online Finding Alice by Melody Carlson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melody Carlson
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really be sure. I’m not sure what I think about these pills either or if I even care. Mostly they just make me sleep a lot, and when I’m not asleep, it’s almost as if I’m sleepwalking since I sort of shuffle around in this thick green fog. Sort of like I’m numb, like my whole body’s been shot with Novocain. Naturally, my mom acts as though everything’s just groovy. She keeps up this positive front and says things like she’s “so thankful that God is healing me.” What does that mean?
She thinks life is wonderful because I’m finally eating “real food.” Of course, I can’t taste it and don’t feel the least bit hungry. But, hey, if it makes her happy …
Before I got up this morning, I was thinking, or maybe I was dreaming—it’s hard to tell—about the old grape arbor that used to grow in our backyard. I remember how I used to sit beneath that sweet smelling green canopy and dream big dreams, back in mychildhood, back when I was too little to know any better. I wonder if it’s still there—the arbor, I mean.
When I finally make my way downstairs, moving my thick feet in slow motion, it’s nearly noon, and I shovel down a bowl of soggy cornflakes. Then as my mom watches, I pop a pill into my mouth and pretend to swallow. She smiles and turns away, and I manage to extract the soggy pill and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans before she even looks back. That makes three times!
After this private little victory I trudge out to the backyard, imagining that I am more myself than usual, but it’s probably just an illusion. Still, I am relieved to discover that the grapevine, although somewhat overgrown, remains intact. Not only that, but after a careful search I find that it still has several bunches of fat purple grapes, and they appear to be ripe. I pick a bunch and then just stare at their frosty looking surfaces in wonder. For some reason they seem surprisingly familiar. In fact, they remind me of me. Kind of hazy but with the promise of something good underneath. Or at least I hope so. I wish it were so.
“Whazzup?”
I glance over the cyclone fence that separates our house from the Fosters to see a long-haired, gangly man peering down at me. I squint up at him, trying to figure out why he looks vaguely familiar, then suddenly remember. Brent Foster , the pervert who enticed me up into his tree house and then attempted to rape me—well, something like that. I was about five at the time, and he was probably around seven. As I recall, he wanted to “play doctor,” and naturally I was supposed to be the patient. But even then I knew what he wanted to do was wrong, and somehow I managed to push him away and run home.I never did tell my parents about it. I was too embarrassed. Besides, I felt certain they would get mad at me and say it was all my fault. I feel myself flush with embarrassment as I look at Brent now.
Then I wonder why I should even care. It was so long ago, and we were just stupid kids anyway. How small it seems compared to the larger scheme of messed-up grownup lives. I study his shaggy brown hair, leaning toward dreadlocks, and his baggy and raggedy clothes. Not that I should be one to pass a fashion judgment these days. I notice that he’s wearing a goofy smile and actually looks fairly harmless today. Plus he’s safely on the other side of the fence. Curious for a better look, I stand up and walk over to the fence.
“Been playing doctor lately?” I ask with an air of nonchalance.
He laughs. “Nah, but I wouldn’t mind another go-round. Ya interested?”
“Yeah, you bet.” I roll my eyes at him with disgust, then return to examining my lovely bunch of grapes.
“Wha’d’ya got there?”
“Grapes.” I pluck one off and hold it out temptingly before him. Then he takes it and pops it in his mouth.
“Not bad.” He nods his head with satisfaction. “Wanna get high?”
He sits down on an old stump now, carefully rolling out a joint on the knee of his
She thinks life is wonderful because I’m finally eating “real food.” Of course, I can’t taste it and don’t feel the least bit hungry. But, hey, if it makes her happy …
Before I got up this morning, I was thinking, or maybe I was dreaming—it’s hard to tell—about the old grape arbor that used to grow in our backyard. I remember how I used to sit beneath that sweet smelling green canopy and dream big dreams, back in mychildhood, back when I was too little to know any better. I wonder if it’s still there—the arbor, I mean.
When I finally make my way downstairs, moving my thick feet in slow motion, it’s nearly noon, and I shovel down a bowl of soggy cornflakes. Then as my mom watches, I pop a pill into my mouth and pretend to swallow. She smiles and turns away, and I manage to extract the soggy pill and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans before she even looks back. That makes three times!
After this private little victory I trudge out to the backyard, imagining that I am more myself than usual, but it’s probably just an illusion. Still, I am relieved to discover that the grapevine, although somewhat overgrown, remains intact. Not only that, but after a careful search I find that it still has several bunches of fat purple grapes, and they appear to be ripe. I pick a bunch and then just stare at their frosty looking surfaces in wonder. For some reason they seem surprisingly familiar. In fact, they remind me of me. Kind of hazy but with the promise of something good underneath. Or at least I hope so. I wish it were so.
“Whazzup?”
I glance over the cyclone fence that separates our house from the Fosters to see a long-haired, gangly man peering down at me. I squint up at him, trying to figure out why he looks vaguely familiar, then suddenly remember. Brent Foster , the pervert who enticed me up into his tree house and then attempted to rape me—well, something like that. I was about five at the time, and he was probably around seven. As I recall, he wanted to “play doctor,” and naturally I was supposed to be the patient. But even then I knew what he wanted to do was wrong, and somehow I managed to push him away and run home.I never did tell my parents about it. I was too embarrassed. Besides, I felt certain they would get mad at me and say it was all my fault. I feel myself flush with embarrassment as I look at Brent now.
Then I wonder why I should even care. It was so long ago, and we were just stupid kids anyway. How small it seems compared to the larger scheme of messed-up grownup lives. I study his shaggy brown hair, leaning toward dreadlocks, and his baggy and raggedy clothes. Not that I should be one to pass a fashion judgment these days. I notice that he’s wearing a goofy smile and actually looks fairly harmless today. Plus he’s safely on the other side of the fence. Curious for a better look, I stand up and walk over to the fence.
“Been playing doctor lately?” I ask with an air of nonchalance.
He laughs. “Nah, but I wouldn’t mind another go-round. Ya interested?”
“Yeah, you bet.” I roll my eyes at him with disgust, then return to examining my lovely bunch of grapes.
“Wha’d’ya got there?”
“Grapes.” I pluck one off and hold it out temptingly before him. Then he takes it and pops it in his mouth.
“Not bad.” He nods his head with satisfaction. “Wanna get high?”
He sits down on an old stump now, carefully rolling out a joint on the knee of his
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