Maud Casey - Drastic: Stories

I am extremely grateful for the inspiration, encouragement, and thoughtful editing I received while writing these stories. It would be impossible to list everyone who helped me in these regards, but I am especially thankful to Jane Barnes, Katie Brandi, Annie Brickhouse, Clare, John, Julia, Nell, and Rosamond Casey, Jeremy Chatzky, Meaghan Dowling, Alex Draper, Jesse Drucker, Elizabeth Evans, Sherry Fairchok, Julia Greenberg, Bob Perry, Timothy Schaffert, Robbie Dale Smith, Lorraine Tobias, Meredith Tucker, the University of Arizona MFA program, and Vermont Studio Center. Finally, my deepest thanks to two extraordinarily gifted friends my editor, Kelli Martin, and my agent, Alice Tasman without whom I would be a full-time temp.

Six of these stories were originally published in slightly different form in the following:

Beloit Fiction Journal: Indulgence; Confrontation: Talk Show Lady; The Georgia Review: Days at Home; The Gettysburg Review: Seaworthy; Prairie Schooner: Trespassing; The Threepenny Review: Dirt.

WHEN the sun was still high in the sky, giant Clara, the motel owner, came out of the office. The debarked Dobermans Dolly and Emmy Lou trotted after her, rubbing mute, pointed heads against her legs as she limped toward the pool. Her bad leg was the result of a night she got mixed up in an argument with some drunk kids who came to visit nearby Dollywood. In the scuffle shed been pushed off the balcony onto the concrete terrace, her leg bent underneath her.

Irene, whod been in the pool all morning and all day yesterday and the day before except for meals, knew all this because she and her father, George who said Clara was six feet, though secretly Irene thought she was much taller had already been at the motel three days. George sat nearby in one of the yellow and orange plastic chairs, in the shade of the overhang of the motel balcony, with a magazine hed bought at the convenience store next door. Irene knew he was only pretending to read because yesterday hed told her he was reading about faraway places, but when Irene had looked through the magazine later, there were no articles about faraway places. She rubbed her wrists against the perfume sample inserts and put her wrists to her neck the way her mother did. Irene liked to pretend that George was her husband. She hadnt decided yet what would become of her mother if she and her father were married. Myra could be the friend who visited and let Irene borrow her clothes. Before setting off, George had promised Irene that hed told Myra they were going on this trip, that shed known for weeks, and even though doubt flickered like the beginning of a fire in her mind, Irene wanted it to be true, wanted it to be this easy to run away with her father, to have him to herself for a little while. Irene worried that she didnt miss Myra, but then put it out of her mind and dove deep into the pool.

Clara squatted by the side of the pool, and the dogs shoved their heads into her lap, snapping their huge white teeth together and apart in barkless motion. Claras brother, who ran the motel when Clara wasnt there, bought the dogs for protection but soon found he couldnt stand their barking. The dogs preferred Clara to anyone else and were happiest the half of the year she wasnt scuba diving (her leg never bothered her in the water) off the coast of North Carolina. The dogs followed Clara wherever she went.

Irene swam over to hang onto Claras feet. When she met Clara the first day poolside, she tentatively touched Claras toes, as if by accident, but Clara took hold of her hands and put them around her ankles. Hold on and kick, she said. Irene loved this the way Clara had been casual with her from the start.

What is your first memory, Irene? Clara asked. Thats when your life really begins. From when you can remember it.

Irene kicked her feet in the water. She took her time answering because being almost eleven her birthday was tomorrow she wanted to tell meaningful stories about her life. Lately shed been frustrated by how many of her memories werent even her own. Instead they were stories her parents had told her, passed down like secondhand clothes. So she really considered Claras question. Irene knew Clara would wait because she was that rare kind of adult patient.

She tried breathing slowly in and out, the way George had shown her to keep her from hyperventilating the way she did sometimes when she first got home from school all eager breathlessness that her mother was still there, but the sight of giant Clara made her want to do something. She didnt know quite what. She remembered hearing for the first time the secret sound of being underwater, like something magic she wasnt supposed to hear but did. The sand shifted beneath, and there was the occasional sound of a fish rippling water. But then, like the faraway fish, the memory swam away.

Well, Irene said, I was three and saw the ocean for the first time. I ran straight in over my head and kept going. This was something George had told her, but she could almost feel herself charging through the water until the world disappeared. It would have to do for nowplay it by ear was Georges new motto, the one hed offered her yesterday when she asked when they were leaving, a question she asked more because she didnt want to than anything else. They were headed for Memphis, for Graceland, but when they reached Gatlinburg, George announced that it would be fun if they stopped to take in the local scenery. Irene was happy to stay for weeks or months. Once her spring break was over, shed send for her schoolbooks and do homework when she wasnt swimming and studying to scuba dive with Clara.

The water is where Im really happy, Irene said. She moved her hand across her stomach to feel the ribbed material of her bathing suit stretched across her skin.

I can tell, Clara said. She pushed gently on Dollys and Emmy Lous rear ends and said, Sit. The big brown dogs sat down on either side of Clara, still opening and closing their mouths as if they were barking, and Irene had an urge to bark for them. Yesterday Irene had watched as Clara polished the dogs teeth with Pearl Drops kept in her pocket. Youre a natural.

Irene tried to hide her smile. Shed been secretly hoping that Clara would notice what a good swimmer shed become in the past couple of days, that shed recognize Irenes talent and take her with her on one of her dives. It was true Irene had never felt so happy in her life as when she was in the water. It felt natural, like a place she was always meant to be. Again a wave of guilt over not missing her mother threatened to drown her. Irene kicked her legs furiously, churning up the water.

Shes going to turn into a fish, George called over, having returned from the motel lounge with his midday cocktail.

There are worse things, Clara said. Irene was grateful to her for taking her side. She could feel Georges eagerness for Claras attention pushing up against her own, and it made her want to push back.

Irene could imagine that being a fish. Shed spent some time underwater with her eyes opened, looking at the world distant and quivering above her. She clung to the side of the pool with her fingertips and tilted her head back into the water. When she came up, her hair fit her head like a slick cap.

Tell me about the fish at the bottom of the ocean, Irene said, looking up at Claras enormous face. She was the biggest woman Irene had ever seen. She imagined Clara had gills in her broad stomach. Do fish sleep? She spoke quickly, her words tripping over each other.

There are fish that sleep leaning against rocks, Clara said in her unwavering voice, clear and strong like a trumpet. She took Irenes hands and placed them on the pools edge, then sat down next to them, dangling her legs in the water. Irene readjusted herself so her hands lightly touched Claras strong thighs.