On the Flip Side

She hasn’t cried in three years.

She always thinks back to how weird it was, the night she went to the carnival. She didn’t really want to go, but she saw the determination in one of the older woman’s eyes and she wondered for a few seconds, when-if she’d be called a “little bitch” for resisting again. She’d tensed up at the thought, body feeling odd and tight, wondering if her legs would force her to run without a second thought again. Laura had flinched at the expression on the older woman’s face as soon as it happened, feeling guilty as usual. So, she did what she always does.

She said yes anyway.

She regretted it just like she knew she would, and some days she thought it would be easier to have just stayed with her parents. She’d be more unhappy, but the new people she was staying with wouldn’t have to look so down because of her all the time.

Jenny and Susan kept close by, not letting her wander beyond where their eyesight could reach. She was okay with that she guessed-she was still kind of used to having the opposite be the case.

           There wasn’t much to do that night, she ate a lot, and didn’t try most of the rides; she’d told the two that she was used to having that same feeling she gets while on the rides. They looked sad, and again, she’d had no idea why.

           Being Laura Jane Alter sucks.

           ‘I need something to do’ she’d thought, something to take everyone’s mind off what she’d stupidly said.

She’d scanned the tents and concession stands desperately, hoping something would pop out to her. It took a few moments before her eyes caught and reeled in something:

“Mary Lou’s Fantastic Fortunes: Step into the Unknown”

Tarot Reading = 10 tickets

Palm Readings = 25 tickets

           It was worth a shot. She was kind of curious and it was something that wouldn’t give her jitters like the other stuff. But just the tarot thing. Nobody would touch her. And she knew it was all make-believe. That’s the tagline she gave her new guardians, and she was quite proud of her decision despite their raised eyebrows, thank you very much.

           Upon entry to the little tent Laura was immediately mystified, a flowery smell and a different feeling in the air than the rest of the carnival gave her. Her belly plummeted to her hips, but she didn’t quite call it fear. She knows what that feels like.

           It didn’t take long. She only had one question she really cared about.

“Hello, my dear. What can I unravel for you tonight?” the older brunette woman said kindly. She reminded Laura of Jenny, and she relaxed significantly. She won’t tell her that ever. Just in case she found it mean.

           “Will I be able to touch someone again?” she said bluntly. The shorter the answer she gave the better. She’d learned that the hard way.

           She didn’t commit most of what happened to memory during all the shuffling and laying of cards, because only one thing caught her attention. Because it didn’t make much sense at the time. Still kind of doesn’t but that’s a different thing to worry about on a different day, she guesses.

           “You’ll meet your best friend soon. Neither of you will recognize it at first, but you will have a bond for the remainder of their life, a strong one, and it will heal both of you in unseen ways.”

           ‘What a croc of crap.’ Laura had thought bitterly.

           She’d said thank you, anyway, leaving curtly and asking Susan and Jenny to leave abruptly. She’d needed to leave before she did…something.

It’s been like two months since Susan and Jenny took her in and she can tell they don’t know what to do with her. Laura thinks maybe they expected her to be the sobbing, annoying mess she used to be before she met them. They just sat her in her new room and asked her to decorate the wall however she liked: they made it special for her, with a wall made for drawing on with chalk, and maybe something else if she put her mind to it.

They said they wanted her to express herself somehow outright, and she wasn’t really sure what they meant or what they wanted from her. She thought it wasn’t any different than being around her parents except they never yelled-if anything, they whispered at her too much.

“Honey we’re here to listen if you ever want to talk?” Laura didn’t like how she said it like a question, like she wanted permission and Laura was keeping her from something important. It always makes something Titanic-sized sink in her stomach.

She’d thought maybe they’ve run out of ideas to get what they wanted from her and plopped her down with something to draw with as a last resort. Like she was a cave-girl or Egyptian or some crap.

“Just do your best. Whatever you feel like.” Susan said softly with a nod, and the words kept echoing in her stupid cranium, wondering how to give the nice lady whatever the heck it was she was asking for. Laura didn’t think she had the answer or solution the old woman wanted.

She'd tried her best, scribbling and doodling whatever came to mind, random things that happened in the last few years, things she wanted to say, things she still couldn’t do. An empty feeling had snatched up her tiny chest and it was scary and familiar at the same time, that rapid pounding in her ears and middle. She remembers still how strange a feeling that was, the feeling that something wasn’t there but was being beaten away to a pulp anyway, all her insides having evaporated as she tried to translate her spotty, bulky drawings into…something. She guessed she did feel a little better when she was done.

She'd stared at her “work”, dismissive lines and unrecognizable patterns were all she saw, outside of the pictures of her old family, the clearest was her, holding hands with…someone. She'd wished she knew who. Probably a girl around her age who’s soft spoken and even softer to look at. ‘It can’t be a boy,’ she’d thought because that just wouldn’t make sense. But then again, she knew all the girls in her class and…she didn’t hate them, but she didn’t like them either; they always did and complained about stupid crap, like lip gloss and plastic bracelets. She knew boys weren’t “icky” or anything like that either; she just has an easier time around girls for the most part, which wasn’t by much. All she knew was that Fortune-lady was probably full of crap.

And she didn’t like being touched by anyone.

How would that just change so suddenly? Fortune-lady said it would happen soon, and she’d literally dreamed of touching someone, but the hand was bigger and looked more-old, than her own. It had to be either Susan or Jenny, then.

 ‘That would be nice to be able to do,’ she’d thought.

She still didn’t cry though.

Susan came in not too long afterwards to check on her, dropping to her knees to catch her in a death grip against her will, shoulders moving up and down rapidly as soon as she saw what was on the wall. Laura was unsure what she did wrong that time, getting tense and shaky from the rushed, forced contact. Feeling instantly guilty, she did the only thing she figured would stop everything from hurting.

She apologized.

She’d make it up to them, she’d thought. She told them she’d do anything.

Then they’d suggested something she in a million years didn’t expect.

Meetings. They wanted her to go to meetings with other weirdos like her.

They couldn’t find a proper doctor for her just yet, so this was the next best thing, they’d told her. One of them would always sit in with her during.

“You’ll get to meet more people,” Jenny had said. “It will be easier for you to talk to them, too.”

So, she'd showed up to her first meeting with Susan and a bunch of stuff they suggested she bring: Paper, pencils, crayons, journals. Anything she’d want to use and everything else would be provided.

She'd plopped down at a long, old wooden table that put the trees outside to shame. There were scratches and nicks and paint stains galore, and Laura guessed the table was older than she was. The man seated across from her however, needed no guessing. He was definitely old enough to be her grandpa, or so she’d assumed. She’d never had one, so she just assumed he was the right age for it.

“Hi, young lady. I haven’t seen you before.” Said the man, and his voice reminded Laura of the hot chocolate and rice krispies her foster parents gave her around Christmas: smooth, crackly, and warm all at once.

Before she could compliment him on having a nice voice, one that didn’t annoy her to hear, Susan finally took a seat next to her at the table and the two did their regular, boring, grown-up introductions.

“And what’s your name young lady?” he asked in that old-man voice of his.

“Laura, Sir.” She answered

“Oh,” he waved, “None of that “sir” stuff around here. I’m younger than you are, I just don’t look it.”

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Laura! He just introduced himself!” Susan scolded.

“I wasn’t paying attention!” she’d barked back defensively.

The man burst out laughing, “It’s no problem, honestly. Kyle’s the name. Kyle Andrews.”

What he says next startles her.

“Well. Mrs. Laura, do I have permission to shake your hand?”

She’d been stunned into oblivion. Nobody ever asked her if she’d wanted to be touched, they just did it, and she’d always felt disgusting afterwards.

“No. Thank you. Sorry.” She says mutters ashamed.

“No need to apologize, sometimes people just keep to themselves. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.” He said gently.

The rest of the meeting went by in a blur, and she was sure she’d get used to it.

           Over the next few months, she'd realized that he was the easiest person to ever talk to. He was also the nicest guy on Earth. He didn't like to talk about what was wrong with him anymore than she liked to be touched, but every now and then the lady who runs their group would ask them questions that would make them fidget from time to time. She found out a lot about him that way: the way he would shift uncomfortably when no one said anything or asked him a question, that he's always in pain from something called Lupus. It makes him ache so much that he just couldn't eat sometimes. She'd often wonder if he weighed less than her some days as a result. He was always sicker than the rest of the people in their little broken toy-group, catching something or another for whatever reason. Some days she wished she could swap places with him, taking whatever was happening to his body on the outside, something that kind of made sense to her, physical pain, and he'd be smart enough to deal with whatever was going on inside of her.

She likes a lot of things about Mr. Andrews. He doesn't treat her like some old crappy glass decoration. He treats her like any other person. And best of all, he doesn't touch her, especially out of the blue.

    She felt a weird pang when he doesn't show up for the group meeting one day. Shelly telling them at the start that he was in the hospital for a few days and that they'd all be making cards and trinkets to give him when he comes back.

Laura didn't have it in her to wait that long for some reason, something nagged at her worse than her mom when she was drunk to see him before then.

    She'd begged and pleaded with Jenny to take her over to see him later that same evening. When they make it to his room and she sees him with wires and tape on him something from that strange place inside her snaps like a rubber band when she stretches it too far.

    She started crying.

    "Hi, Little Lady!" He said surprised, ecstatic.

    "I came to see you," she'd said like it's not the most obvious thing in the whole universe. God, she's such an idiot.

“Well thank you, My Dear, it’s always a pleasure to see you.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Did you know when I was younger, I’d never wanted kids.” He said like he wasn’t huffing after every other sentence, "Never liked 'em. Never wanted 'em. I changed my mind later on, of course. Lost my wife and every chance that came with it."

“What? Really?” she said startled.

“Yup. Me and the wife never had ‘em. Wish I did now, though. I’m happy you came to see me.”

“Wow. It’s not too late, though,” she said. If he has kids it would give him more reason to stay alive right?

“I’m glad you think that way!” He laughs through his heaving coughs.

           Was he really going to be okay?

“Did you know that I had a dream like this?” he says upbeat

“You did?” She croaks out like the slimy, gross little pond-monster she felt like, knowing he had to strain his poor old-person ears when she could barely hear herself.

“Uh huh,” he confirms. “I saw a pale hand, small like yours, with little silver turtles dangling all around the wrist. Never could figure out why.”

“You did?” She repeats dumbly.

“Sure did!” and the poor geezer barks out a laugh through his coughs. She feels guilty again. Like a broken of piece of wood, always being a splinter in someone’s ass like her mom used to say.

He holds out the slightly wrinkled, fleshy cushion he calls his hand, it looks soft and pink, so she guesses he’s probably doing something right at his age. She stares at it, eyes glued to how different his looks from the ones she’d seen before: lines at the center crisscrossing like rebellious tree branches, fingers flexing like long, skinny, pink fall leaves in the wind asking her to come closer.

So, for once, she does. And she doesn’t feel forced to do it this time.

She takes his hand, nearly jumping when the skin feels smooth and cool like she thought remembered it would be. His fingers flex a little more like he’s asking a question. So, she squeezes back. He takes the hint and encases her smaller one and for the first time in a few years she feels like a fairy princess again.

“Why are your hands so cold?” she grouches through her sniffles.

“My blood is just thinner than yours.”

“Why?” she presses

“Because I’m older.”

“Your cold because you’re old? That’s not fair.” Feeling fresh tears bubble at the corners of her eyes. Is that a sign he’s actually dying?

“I ain’t old!” he insists, but she has no reason to believe him. Look at him!

“Hey, now,” he tries again taking in her expression. “I’m sure I’m younger than you at heart. I’ll be around for a while yet. It’s just pneumonia.”

“Oh my gosh,” she says suddenly.

“What, sweetheart?”

“That dumb Fortune-Lady was right.”