THE GOLD FISH: Sons of God (1.10)

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Barbie was splayed out on the living room floor like a starfish, her filthy toes digging into the shag wall-to-wall carpeting, the sloshes and clangs of her mother’s dish washing from the next room lulling her into a meditative state. Her eyes fluttered closed and she replayed the events of the day, weighing the parts against the whole. Yes, she had had to cut poop off of Gigi’s bottom and yes, her pool had been destroyed, but she’d had a great time with Bridge and her idea of how to construct a swimming pool had actually worked. Exactly as she’d imagined. A thought had become a thing.

“Creativity wants out,” Bridge had said, in imitation of Wes. Barbie had never heard such an expression before, but those three words brought a sort of instant recognition. It felt right. She realized that this precise urge was something she understood, something that always hovered inside of her, just below the surface. Waiting -- and yes, wanting -- to get out. And to discover other people felt the same way? Well it was nothing short of astounding.

Barbie opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, as if other, equally fantastical secrets of the universe might be found there. If only she looked hard enough. But it had been a long day -- in total, she decided, a good day -- and she was exhausted.

It wasn’t long before her eyes lost focus and in this relaxed, unguarded state, her perception shifted. The room seemed to tilt and rotate as if on a giant gimbal and she was no longer looking up, but down. Stuck to the ceiling with a huge volume of space below. A volume that could be filled with water perhaps, her pool-obsessed mind suggested. Yes! And if she blurred her eyes just so, the popcorn ceiling could actually be a sandy sea bottom. She could almost see the caustics dancing there. Calling to her.

She headed towards them, diving downwards, her arms lifting from the bottle-green carpet and sculling arcs in the air.

“Barbie.”

Barbie’s eyes blinked, dislodging the tiny bubbles gathered in her mermaid eyelashes.

“Barbie!”

Barbie sat up, blinking and confused. “Huh?”

It was an echo of the morning. But this time, her mother wasn’t angry. Just confused. And to be honest, a bit disturbed. “What are you doing now?” Joan asked nervously.

“Nothing.”

Joan considered probing further, but just didn’t have the energy. “Go to bed. It’s late.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Barbie rolled into a ball, preparing to get up, and in doing so, revealed the blackened soles of her feet.

“Oh for godssakes,” cried Joan. “Look at your feet. They’re filthy. Take a bath!”

“Yeah. Okay,” repeated Barbie, and hauled herself to her begrimed feet. The same trusty feet that, on this day, had stomped through the muddy waters surrounding her backyard pool, leapt over sidewalk cracks, waded through the tunnel’s toxic slime, danced around broken glass and smoldering cigarette butts in the 7-11 parking lot, and dug deliciously into the living room carpet. And were now taking her off to bath and bed.

Such a strange child, Joan thought, as she watched Barbie climb the steps to the second floor. Her daughter’s increasingly curious behavior better not be another crisis in the making. It really better not. Because she was on her last goddamned nerve as it was.

:::

In matching twin beds with barely 20 inches between them, Barbie and Karen slept, their slumbering faces illuminated by flashes of lightening, their dreams serenaded by distant rumbles of thunder. A storm was approaching and with it, a promise of breaking the heat.

“... EVER GONNA GROW UP!?”

Barbie’s eyes flew open, instantly alert.

A deeper, slurred voice mumbled a response.

Barbie pulled the bedspread up to her nose as if hiding might make this particular storm go away. She knew, of course, that hiding didn’t help anything -- least of all, her parents’ fights. But she couldn’t resist the impulse. She had overheard her parents’ battles many times before -- huge tempests that left the emotional equivalent of downed trees and torn roofs in their wake, as well as the smaller squalls that blew over quickly -- so she was well aware of the possibilities. Under the blankets, she crossed her fingers for the latter.

For the past year or so, things had been relatively calm, but the sound of raised voices took her right back to the time when they weren’t. To the time when things got… well, physical. Barbie didn’t know exactly who did what to whom, but she knew what she’d heard. Slaps, thumps, and grunts. It gave her the shivers just thinking about it. It had been right before The Belle’s first birthday when her father had been fired from his job. She was sketchy on the details -- her parents never told her anything -- but she knew he must have done something very bad because every fight started with her mother screaming “how could you?!”

How could he what? Did he hurt someone or steal something? She didn’t think so. Because wouldn’t either of those scenarios have landed her father in jail? Besides, her mother’s “how could yous?!” were typically followed up with “you’re such an goddamned idiot!!” So what kind of idiotic infraction, she wondered, would get her father fired, but not arrested? Her guess was drunkenness. After all, drunkenness was the crime her father most often committed at home. He was what Joe Friday on Dragnet would have called a repeat offender.

“You just NEVER know when to STOP!”

Yep, Barbie thought. Drunk it is.

“Neither do you! Always on my back, always putting me down...”

“SOMEONE’S got to be the adult!”

“You jus’ don’t know how hard it is…”

“HARD?! HARD?! Are you kidding me?! You don’t do ANYTHING! Not around here anyway. Other men seem to be able to do ALL KINDS OF THINGS besides working. You do NOTHING!”

Barbie’s eyes darted over to Karen, but her sister was motionless. Not that that meant anything. She could tell, by the stiffness in Karen’s shoulders, that she was awake and listening.

“Forget it! You just never un’nerstand.”

The bedroom door SLAMMED, and heavy footsteps CLOMPED down the stairs before receding altogether.

With the tension between her parents broken, the storm seemed to follow suit. The rain began to fall in its primordial attempt to wash things anew.

Both girls relaxed, lulled by the soft patter of rain. But both were wide awake.   

“Kar?” Barbie whispered.

No response.

Barbie was giddy with relief and needed to put that feeling somewhere. She leaned towards her sister, and in an off-key voice, began to sing. “Sons of God... hear his holy word...”

Karen whirled around. “Don’t Barbie. I swear.” She twisted back to face the wall.

But this was a thing that once started, could not be stopped.

Barbie continued, a little softer. “Gather ‘round the table of the Lord...”

“Sons of God” was an old chestnut that the nuns at Immaculate Heart of Mary never seemed to tire of. The student body at IHM was made to sing it constantly. And it never failed to simultaneously horrify and crack up the sisters. The lyrics were just so deliciously twisted.

“Eat his body....”

Karen snorted. “Nooooooooo....”

Barbie’s face turned beatific and she sang even more dramatically, enunciating each word. “Drink... his... blood...”

Despite herself, Karen started to laugh. “I hate you so much, you know that?”

Barbie giggled. “And we’ll sing a song of love.”

Finally, Karen gave up, and joined in.

“Halle-lu, Halle-lu, Halle-lu, Halle-lu-u-jah.”

Karen rolled back over and grinned at Barbie. “At least we got something out of Catholic school.”

Both girls stifled their laughter by shoving their faces into their pillows. God knows they didn’t need Joan up again and screaming at them.

Next → I’m a Believer (1.11)