Copies of the daily word jumbles are to be distributed at that time. The group has all day to solve them. Answers disclosed at evening snack.
Note writing and passing is encouraged. No note must fall into Direct Care’s hands.
Books, music, letter paper, postage stamps, and flowers received are to be shared.
An odd rule follows:
The availability of cottage cheese is to be celebrated every Tuesday, because, I suppose, in a place like this, all occasions to celebrate must be seized.
as are animal crackers, the morning walks, and any excursions on Saturday.
She ends on a more serious tone:
No one will ever judge, tell on, or cause any suffering to the rest.
And I hope you don’t mind, this last one is personal: I like the corner spot on the couch.
I smile. All right, Valerie. The corner spot is yours.
There are more rules but I forgot them. For more information, ask Emm.
The panic has subsided, for now. I want to thank Valerie but one glance her way reveals it is not a good time; her eye is twitching, her hands are clenched. A few minutes later, I understand why. Direct Care walks in and announces:
Almost six thirty, ladies. Everybody stand up.
It is dinnertime.
15
Matthias and Anna were the only adults in the queue whose presence was not legitimized by children. They did not mind. They giggled, like children. How else was one to spend such a gorgeous Sunday in April?
This had been one of their first dates: a theme park. Merry-go-round, ice cream of course, and roller-coaster rides. Also a valuable lesson they had learned: never to be done in that order.
They were older and wiser this time, and married for a full year too. Tickets scanned, admission was granted into the magical kingdom. They took one cheeky look at one another and ran toward their first ride. A fork in the yellow brick road: Batman or Superman first?
Obviously, Batman.
It was a little chilly, but Anna had brought Matthias’s sweatshirt with her just in case. She slipped it on gratefully as they waited for their turn to ride.
Anna, you can’t possibly be cold.
Matthias was sweating profusely. Everyone around them was too.
Well, she was, not cold necessarily, just uncomfortable with the light breeze. Even the temperature of Matthias’s cool hand had made her pull away. The sweatshirt helped, and she did not care what the people around them thought anyway.
The queue edged forward.
Batman, baby!
Batman, baby,
she echoed.
Except there was a knot in her stomach, and there were palpitations in her chest. Anna was not afraid of roller coasters. Anna was not afraid of anything. Anna was the girl who went on all the rides and tried every new thing at least once. She had been skydiving, caving, mountain climbing, cliff hanging, and snowboarding with Matthias. Anna was the girl who went snowboarding with her husband, she reminded herself again. Still, the knot in her stomach. And it was their turn to ride. Too late.
It started wrong. The jolt forward made her neck snap, then her head slam back into the seat. It bobbed and banged against everything uncontrollably like the loose head of a Chinese fortune cat.
The train stopped at the top for a split-second release before dipping at vertiginous speed. Matthias screamed and Anna screamed. It was not the same scream. Her organs had been left behind, at the top, her vertebrae were being knocked around. At a sharp angle, her hip hit the seat on the right. And the wind, that horrible wind …
Anna! Hands in the air, I dare you!
But Anna was otherwise occupied; if she let go her arms would be yanked out of their sockets, no match for the ride’s speed.
Screeching halt. Thank God. She could barely get out of her seat. She looked around; everyone around her was laughing, applauding. Matthias was hopping with excitement. He took her by the arm and pulled her along as he skipped like a child. It hurt.
Shall we go again? Shall we go on the Superman? That was incredible! Let’s … Anna, is everything okay?
No, everything hurt. Everything made her dizzy. Everything was hard and cold. That ride had been pure torture. How on earth had she once liked roller coasters?
Everything is fine!
Even she knew that sounded fake.
I am just a little nauseated from the ride.
And probably, from having been fasting since last night. She had had to, preemptively, knowing that Matthias would want to have ice cream today. And fries. Matthias and Anna went on roller-coaster rides together and shared ice cream and fries.
Go on the next one without me. I just need to rest a little.
What? Of course not! I’ll wait. We can sit here till you feel a little better, then go on the next ride together.
Matthias—
No way. Not without you. Don’t worry, we have plenty of time. Believe me, by the time the park closes we will have gone on each ride twice!
To nausea was added panic: how would she survive the day? It was only noon and the park closed at nine, and the next ride, she was sure, would break her ribs.
Matthias and Anna loved roller coasters.
I love roller coasters, she reminded herself. To Matthias, she said,
All right, Superman. I am ready! Let’s ride.
No one else seemed distraught in the queue on that sunny Sunday. Anna plastered on her biggest smile, and when their train arrived, pulled the metal guard as far down on her chest as it would go.
I love roller coasters. I love roller coasters.
Jerk. Propulsion. Dive, turn, loop, bang, bang.
I love roller coasters.
A sharp pain in her pelvis. She was crying.
Make it stop!
Matthias went on the rest of the rides alone, and they did not have ice cream that day. Anna blamed it on the nausea. Matthias said nothing. They went home.
The next morning there were big black and blue bruises on her thighs, arms, and behind. Matthias said nothing then either, except that he was late for work.
Matthias and Anna used to love roller coasters, but after that April Sunday, Anna announced that theme parks had become a little too crowded for her taste. The music was too loud. The roller coasters redundant. Even good ice cream was hard to find. Matthias could have said something then, but he did not. What difference would it have made?
They had both become too comfortably settled in the magical kingdom of make-believe. She made believe that she was happy and all was fine and he made believe it was true. It was less painful than confrontation. Confrontation just led to fights.
And so she ate nothing and they both ate lies through three years of marriage, for peace, at the occasional cost of no more roller coasters, no more sharing ice cream and French fries.
16
We stand in line, two by two, for the brief walk to the adjacent house. There dinner will be served, my first meal here. My feet do not want to move. I glance at the rest of the girls; most of them do not seem to be faring much better. We must look comical; seven grown women like schoolgirls in two straight lines, waiting to be taken to dinner. No, we look sad; seven grown women in two straight lines, waiting to be taken to dinner.
I fold and hold on to Valerie’s note. The girls ahead of me begin to walk. No turning back now. I am scared but do not even know what to expect.
We cross the lawn from 17 Swann Street to the yellow house next door. The girl in the turquoise sweatshirt is in front. I conclude she must be Emm.
She leads us into the dining room. My eyes and trust settle on her. She seems oddly calm for an anorexic at dinner. Her turquoise soothes me.
I focus on her hair: spectacular, cascading. An anorexic abnormality. Enormous eyes, fierce beauty. An athlete’s posture, if not build. She must have been a swimmer or a gymnast, I guess. Not anymore, though; two matchsticks for legs.
She walks up to me and speaks. Introductions:
Hello, my name is Emily. Everybody here calls me Emm.
Her warmth is professional and precisely titrated, like that of a customer-service agent.
I’m so glad you are here. Please feel free to reach out if I can do anything to help.