Fourteen-year-old Tiberia Helman hung suspended in her large, rainbow-whirl inflatable tube, her legs dangling over the tube rim, her ample rear-end submerged in the doughnut hole, her chunky arms draped over the vinyl curves as her hands paddled in order to keep herself steady. Every now and then her feet splashed the surface as she faced south and stared absently over the backyard fence at the lake beyond.

Sixteen year old Keira Helman, her folds of white and sunburn-mottled flesh sprawled contentedly in a blue and yellow pool-lounger, wafted across the gem-like sparkling wavelets with eyes closed, a bottle of Cherry Coke in a plastic holder next to her left elbow.

Stretched out and half asleep with her fingers laced together on top of her massive, tanned belly, the mother of the two girls, forty-year-old Lucille Helman lazily drifted this way and that in her large and unsinkable blue-nylon recliner. Her left arm-support was lined with compartments containing, respectively, an empty bag of chips, a half-consumed can of diet soda, and a pair of Angel “Imagination” sunglasses in gleaming pink. The array of cubby-holes along the right support displayed a mini-DVD player, an iPhone, and a iPod with attached ear buds dangling and trailing in the water.

Tiberia’s eyes drifted downward, and she noticed her black-and-white male tuxedo-cat Edward, as he entered her line of sight on a section of the patio between the pool edge and the landscaped lawn that led down to the shore of the lake. “Hi sweetie kitty,” she called, but the cat ignored her, his attention rapt on something in front of him close to the shrubs that bordered the cream-colored pavers. “Eddie kitty, mow-wow,” Tiberia called again. She extended her pudgy hands further into the water on either side and used them like oars, rowing herself closer to the pool edge. “What’re you doing, kitty? What’ve you got there?” She lifted herself by pushing against either side of the circular tube, which caused the whole thing to sink and lurch, generating waves. A few feet away, her mother opened her eyes and made an impatient noise.

“Tiberia, watch out! You are such a klutz,” Keira called as she used little kicks to position herself so she could see what her younger sister was up to.

The Florida sun was bright and strong and seemed to weigh down the air. The sky above their Parkland home was completely clear and amazingly blue. The geometrically shaped pool, the colorful zero-gravity patio chaises with the extra weight capacity, all shone with an almost surreal intensity.

Edward the cat abruptly pounced, then again, scrambling in the chase, alternate paws batting and corralling whatever it was he had discovered. He moved towards the pool, so Tiberia could get a glimpse of what was trying to escape her pet. She squealed as she recognized was it was. “It’s a skank, a skank, oh my God I hate those things.”

A small lizard on four legs, brown with yellow stripes down its body and a blue tail, stopped short, the cat right behind it, as it sensed the water.

Keira was laughing as she kicked hard, her purple toenails flashing up and down. She propelled herself back-first to Tiberia’s side, getting the younger girl wet. “It’s a skink, a skink, you idiot.”

Tiberia prepared to scream once more, expecting the lizard to leap into the pool, but the skink darted sideways, moving along the concrete in the direction of the overhang that protected a built-in barbeque pit and an outdoor dining table with chairs. The table contained the remains of lunch; white plates blotched with ketchup, mayonnaise, and crumbs, big tumblers half-filled with melting tea-colored ice.

Lucille called out to Tiberia, “Get your butt out of the pool and go catch that cat.”

“Why?” Tiberia asked as she watched Edward leap and then lie down next to his prey under the table, as if giving the skink another chance to make a run for it. She maneuvered around so she could see her mother rocking side to side.

“Because skinks are poisonous to cats. If a cat eats the tail especially, he gets ‘lizard brain,’ and could die. Now get over to the shallow end and get up those steps and get your cat. Put him in the house. Now!”

Tiberia made a face as she pushed hard against the water, in an attempt to move quickly.

Lucille’s phone played “I’ll Always Love You” and she answered it, “Yeah, hello?”

Tiberia, followed by Keira, entered the shallow end and she shoved the big tube from under her, kerplunking herself into the water. The rainbow-whirl spun away. She trudged to the steps, and pulled herself out using the aluminum railing. Keira exited her lounger with more grace, sliding off into the pool with hardly a sound.

Both girls hauled themselves out, stood dripping on the patio. Tiberia strode towards the table, clapping her hands. “Bad kitty, no. Leave that gross thing alone.”

Keira followed, grabbed her sister’s wet hair and yanked. “Stupid, that’s going to make Eddie run. Mom said to put him in the house. You stay here, I’ll take care of it.”

Tiberia gratefully watched as Keira waddled towards the cat, sank to her knees with a grunt, and then without a word reached out a hand and grasped the cat by the scruff of his neck. Edward hissed and struggled and yowled at her. “Stop it, Keira,” Tiberia yelled. “Stop hurting him!”

“I’m not hurting him, she called over her shoulder, as she stomped to the sliding glass doors behind the dining area, pulled one section aside to create an opening, tossed the cat in to the family room, and shoved the plate glass closed again. She turned to watch her sister.

Tiberia caught her reflection in the glass, facing forward, and Keira’s rear view too. She felt a jolt of sadness and despair as she once again confronted how large they both were. Pretty, with dark blonde hair and perfect features, but so very fat. She averted her eyes, aware of the strong odor of chlorine and sunscreen, the sound of sea gulls in the distance, the way her skin felt sticky as the sun dried her. Keira startled her as the older girl walked past. “You’re such an idiot,” Keira hissed, and turned around as if remembering something. “Hmm, I think I’ll try and catch that lizard,” she said.

Tiberia shouted, “No, leave it alone,” and was about to run into the house after her kitty, when Lucille, still floating, summoned both of them to the poolside.

The  girls shuffled over and stood on the sculpted stone lip that overhung the water slightly, their toes curling as if to get a grip and keep their balance. Keira tugged at one side of her bathing-suit bottom, and heaved a deep sigh, as if she knew what her mother was going to say. She lowered her chin and stared at the ripples lapping against the turquoise tiles below her. Tiberia glanced at her older sister, feeling confused and flustered.

Lucille was holding the phone out from her ear in a position that suggested she was still connected to someone on the other end.  She reached for her sunglasses with her free hand and slipped them on, as if trying to stall for time. She looked like a rotund starlet, stretched out on her royal barge, perfectly calm and unflappable. “Girls,” she finally said, “it’s your Grandma Helman on the phone. She thinks it’s going to be awkward if we come to her house for the family Easter Sunday dinner. Your father is going to be there with his twenty-two-year-old … skink….” One side of her mouth lifted as Tiberia and Keira grinned in return. “Your grandma says, she doesn’t want a ’scene.’ So, she wants to know if you understand that she thinks ‘it’s best’ … if the three of us are uninvited….” There was some noise from the phone, a tinny, high-pitched sound.  Lucille brought the device back to her ear. “What is it, Kathleen,” she said.

A breeze ruffled the fronds of a trio of royal palm trees that grew in the yard closer to the lake. Tiberia felt a sharp sting in the corners of her eyes; she tried not to show it, to stop the tears. Keira took her sister’s hand and held it, squeezed it. “Grandma loves us,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, you know her. She hates unpleasant family drama.”

“Girls,” Lucille interrupted, clutching the phone casually a few inches away from her face, “Grandma wants me to tell you, you’re always invited to her house, and she loves you, and loves all her grandchildren, even ones that are expected soon….” Lucille waited for that to sink in. “But she hopes you’ll decide, out of respect for her, not to come to Easter dinner at her house next Sunday.” She leaned towards the iPhone once again, said in a sing-song way, “Of course Kathleen, why of course you’re doing the best that you can. Goodbye, dear.” She ended the call.

Tiberia’s chest began jumping as tried to control herself, and lost the battle. Her face wrinkled and screwed into a mask of sorrow and she cried loudly. Keira hugged her tightly, stroking her hair. They didn’t say anything.

Lucille tossed the iPhone back into it’s plastic nest, began flipping her feet in order to propel herself to the middle of the pool once again. She looked up at her daughters, clinging to each other on the edge of the pool, and removed her sunglasses. Her dark eyes were blurry with tears. “I love you both,” she said loudly enough for them to hear. “I’m proud of you, too. You’re both beautiful and wonderful and it’s your dad’s loss if he pushes you away, and someday he’ll realize it, but it’ll be too late.” And she slipped the Angel dark glasses back on, lay flat, and extended her arms along her sides.

Keira urged Tiberia to turn around, and come into the house, her arm still around her younger sister’s shaking shoulders. They both paused at the same time, seeing the same thing at once. The lizard had climbed up on the table, and was poking around the dirty dishes. “If you scream again, I’ll pinch you hard,” Keira said to her sister, trying not to laugh.

But Tiberia started laughing first. “What a skank,” she said.

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Trinkets, momentos, animals. Anything Nala could get her hands on in her effort to make herself matter. If she visited a theme park, she wanted an Eiffel Tower with the name of the park on it (never mind that the Eiffel Tower had nothing whatsoever to do with the park itself). Or when she went skiing with her fifth grade class she absolutely had to get a Mt. Holly snow globe to show proof that she was there, as if she’d forget. If she went to a nice restaurant, she wanted to save the napkin. She might even write the date on it, the name of who she went there with. What if that would be the last time she would ever go to that very place, with that same person? You just never knew, and in her way of thinking, at least she’d have that napkin.

The animals were another story.

Once she found a limping kitten, it’s right hind leg badly injured from a swift kick from an angry bull. Nala fashioned a splint made from a popsicle stick and taped it to the kitten’s leg in the hopes that it’d provide a tiny bit of support. She put it in a safe spot in the hay mow and brought it food each day until it was finally able to get around on its own. It never walked normally again, but better to be gimpy than to not be anything at all was how she liked to look at it.

She tried to save every thing;  An injured grackle, a lone salamander, an orphaned wild rabbit.  Perhaps she thought that if she stepped in the way of an inevitable demise, she could be important, she could be worth something. The problem was,  no matter how many items she collected or critters she saved, she still didn’t feel worth anything.

One would think that someone as devout at documenting life and fashioning various ways to preserve it, would instinctively be revolted at the thought of ending their own. But rationale didn’t really occur to Nala the day she decided to take her own life.  She no longer felt the urge to document the various things that she did,  she had stopped placing special significance on those she did them with. In fact she didn’t really feel anything at all, which she found strangely comforting . The lack of feeling seemed to become an entirely new feeling unto itself. Nala found solace in being an observer, a documentarian, a traveler of realms if you will. She thought of her exit from this world as a journey to a new one. This idea filled her with just the tiniest bit of excitement, which was more than she had felt in a very long time.

She thought of all of the notes, the napkins and the traveling flair and doubted any of these things would be of any importance once she was gone, but just as her consciousness began to drift from her former physical presence, she did wonder, now who would feed the lizard?

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Met one day,

As the sun shone high in the sky.

They fell in love,

In a haphazard way,

And nobody quite knows why.

“Would you care to dance?”

Asked the lizard of his love,

As the ketchup passed lazily by.

“But of course, my dear,

Let us dance for a year,”

Came the ketchup’s laconic reply.

So they danced on a plate,

On their very first date,

‘Till the lizard he started to cry,

And the ketchup said, “Love,

Why do you sob?

For your tears quite cause me to die.”

“I cry for the left,

And I cry for the right,

For the fear that it’s all just a lie.

I cry for the dance,

The magnificent chance,

That our love might just grow wings and fly.”

So they danced for a day,

In an elegant way,

‘Till the lizard let out a great sigh,

For the chips had appeared.

And he started to fear,

That the time had arrived for goodbye.

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Judging by the places they’d been cropping up, these little lizards didn’t seem to need the sun. Which is just as well as Northern Ireland isn’t known for its clement weather. If their little lives depended on basking in sunshine they wouldn’t last five minutes here. “So does that make them warm blooded then?” She wondered. “Surely not, these are lizards, that’s got to be impossible. A new breed perhaps? Or a strain of left over dinosaurs?” Katie thought she might be getting ahead of herself.

By mid March the lizard population had hit epidemic proportions. Katie now found them in her kitchen cupboards, the cutlery drawer, and she even found one in her bed. She remembered about St Patrick and the old legend that he drove all the snakes out of Ireland. “He didn’t chase out the lizards though, clearly.” she thought. “Maybe he liked lizards? Maybe he’d kept one as a pet, and they’d been quietly breeding in the wilds of Donegal all this time”.

They were more exotic than mice, and certainly more colourful, but no less of a nuisance. Katie finally had enough when one had the audacity to turn up in her salad. “What odds?” She thought, “I wonder if they go well with ketchup? Hmmm. Now, to deep fry or grill?”

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Photo by Sara Davis

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It’s like a woollen jumper that protects you from the rain but sits on your shoulder growing heavier and heavier with each tiny drop of rain until the urge to shed this skin is upon you.

No, it’s not as easy to deal with as anger.

This is the bit where you tell me that I want to have sex with my mother and watch my father die, right?

.

No Saul, this is the part where you tell me what thoughts come into your head when you look at the picture, or what this particular image means to you. Are those the thoughts that come into your head?

.

Of course they’re not. Are you winding me up on purpose this time doc?

.

You will insist on trying to second-guess the process Saul, and I have to get my amusement somehow.

How about if I help a little? Does the image bring out any strong emotions in you? Do you connect it to any people or events or stories from your past, or from how you sometimes imagine things might be?

You photographed this, what, two years ago? Does it tie into any specific memories or does it remind you of anything, perhaps unconnected, that happened or that you thought about before or since?

.

I still can’t shake the feeling that you’re trying to get some cheap sexual tunnel imagery from me, or something about virgin snow or loneliness.

.

We’ve discussed before that I don’t really prescribe to some of the therapy clichés, but I am curious as to your mention of loneliness.

.

It just seemed like a good analogy I guess.

.

What is it about the image that speaks to you of loneliness?

.

I guess it’s a railway track that may or may not be coming from somewhere. It may or may not connect with communities and individuals along the way. It may have been useful at some point and it may yet have plenty of usefulness left in it.

It may or may not be going some place. But for most of its lifespan it just sits there on its own. Some days it just seems obvious that its days are numbered. That it doesn’t stand a chance. That’s all I guess.

But you still think this is about shagging my mother, don’t you?

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Her older brother, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a frown from anger, exertion and frustration, stomped after her. He wore an older boy’s brown pea-jacket that was too big, and striped hand-knit mittens and a matching toboggan cap. “I’m going to get that stupid doll and kill her too,” he hollered at his six-year-old sister.

“No, Ronnie, no,” she begged, her chest jumping and her eyes and nose flowing. Her galoshes didn’t fit right and she couldn’t feel her toes any longer. Her stockings were torn and bloody at both knees. They were just outside of town, and ahead was the Thurmond, West Virginia post office, closed this Sunday morning. Across from the ash-colored vertical siding of the post office building were two matching track beds of the C&O Railroad. And on the other side of the rails and ties lay the banks of the New River.

“Pearl, stop now and I’ll go easy on you,” Ronnie called, leaning over with his palms on his thighs as he coughed for a moment.

She halted, spun around, her legs shaking. She was a couple of yards from the tracks. “Don’t come any nearer, or I’ll scream,” she cried in a broken, high-pitched voice. She wrapped both her arms around Maisy, and hugged her, wiping her cheeks on the doll’s yellow molded head and golden mohair braids. As Pearl’s body trembled, Maisy’s blue eyes rolled up and down.

Ronnie straightened. “Aw, you know no one can hear you if you do. There’s hardly anyone left in this two-bit hick coal town. And Momma is working in the boarding house over yonder,” he swept his arm vaguely to the north. “She don’t care what we do, anymore. No one cares about you, Pearl.”

“Daddy cares about me, Daddy can hear me,” Pearl answered, gulping in air, her words slurred as her teeth were chattering.

“Daddy’s in the Philippines with General MacArthur, fighting the Japs.”

“Daddy sent me Maisy and made me promise to take care of her.”

“You and your stupid dolls,” Ronnie said and spat on the dirty snow. “I killed your Jeannie Walker first. Weren’t too far from here, either,” he said with a smile. “Once it was over, there weren’t nothing left of that baby but a pile of dust.” He took a step towards her and crouched as if getting ready to start a race.

The scream shot out of her mouth without her willing it to, a loud, shrill animal-like noise. She tried to back away from Ronnie’s sudden leap in her direction, but in her panic and despair and because of the coldness that stiffened her muscles, she fell to the rear, heavily.

She felt nothing. Ronnie was on top of her in an instant, yanking at Maisy, pulling off the small white shoes with the pink lacings, tearing the socks off the compact composite feet, ripping the diminutive lace and tulle smock. Pearl held on with all the strength she had left, and the brother and sister flailed in the slush and freezing muck with the doll between them.

Ronnie had his legs on top of Pearl’s shins and he pinned her left wrist to the ground with his right hand while he tugged Maisy’s legs with his left. He suddenly let go of the doll, and reared back, his knuckles closing tightly as he raised his arm high in the air. Pearl tried to avert her face, heaving, desperately attempting to escape, but Ronnie brought the fist down into the side of her head.

He leaped off of his sister, standing in triumph, waving the doll by one sculptured, jointed arm. “Got ‘er, got ‘er,” he cackled. He whooped and jumped up and down in place.

She felt a burning, stinging pain as she lolled her sight to the left and right, her arms akimbo, her legs refusing to move. She heard the distant sound of the train whistle — like the braying of a great beast trailing off to the edges of perception. She pushed herself, rolled onto her stomach. She tasted blood, and couldn’t see out of one eye. “Maisy, Maisy,” she cried. “Please, Ronnie, please don’t hurt her,” she pleaded.

Ronnie was dancing close to the tracks now. With exaggerated movements he knelt, and placed the doll so that her head lay on the rail closest to them, her rose-bud mouth facing the overcast sky, her sleep-eyes closed. One small arm was rotated upward, almost as if pointing at Ronnie. “The Allegheny is coming, it’s the biggest, heaviest steam engine in history,” he bellowed at his battered sister, laughing as he saw the look of horror on what was left of her face.

Pearl raised herself on her arms, tried to drag herself forward. “My dolly, my Maisy,” she whispered.

Ronnie stamped one of his heavy shoes, the pants cuff above it unfolding. “Don’t you come any closer or I’ll kick your teeth in,” he yelled. He wiped one of his muddy coat sleeves across his forehead, smearing more dirt there. He removed his mittens and tossed them on a mound of snow as they were sodden and refreezing into filthy stiffness. The ground was beginning to vibrate. Another blast from the train whistle seized their attention. It was close now, and loud.

Pearl stopped moving. She lay flat, her chin in the snow, her dark eyes staring ahead, her red mittens outstretched in front of her, beseeching her brother, Maisy, the scene in front of her, to change, to dissolve. The sounds of the clicking and clacking and metal-on-metal squealing and the creaking and moaning of the cars and the pressured ties underneath huge wheels, overwhelmed her mind.

Ronnie raised his bare fingers, splayed them in triumph high over his head as he stood in the middle of the tracks and watched the massive Alleghany engine bear down towards him from around a bend. He gathered himself like a coil, ready to leap away in seconds….

Pearl gasped; Ronnie’s feet flew out from under him. His shocked eyes locked on hers as he landed across the rails, his jaw cracking and then jerking back as it collided with cold metal. His ear was right next to Maisy’s, he on his belly, the doll on its back. He dug at the snow-slick gravel with the toe of one shoe, trying to give himself traction.

The Allegheny’s whistle howled now, so close that it was deafening. The ground shook. Pearl heard a horrible squeaking — the locomotive was attempting to brake. “Ronnie, Maisy….” she wailed, and then threw her face into the snow in front of her and covered her head with both her arms. She felt a hot wind, stinging sparks, as the engine surged by, unable to stop the momentum. The piercing, metallic shriek was endless.

The engineer, the brakeman, and the fireman jumped to the frosty ground beside the enormous wheels, rods, axles, and pistons, amidst billows of steam; the coal train’s engine had come to a stop several hundred feet south, almost reaching the Thurmond depot. An acrid odor permeated the crisp air. “I soaked ‘er, I soaked ‘er as best I could,” the engineer said as the men began to run, one after the other, up the tracks, their heavy shoes making thudding, sloshing sounds.

They saw the little girl lying face down in the snow. They bounded to her, halted, surrounded her. The engineer, an older man with a gray mustache, knelt on one knee and gingerly touched the child’s shoulder, “Sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked. He glanced to the tracks, noticed that trickles of rust-red were meandering towards them from the embankment, and scattered near the rails directly ahead of them were pieces of something throbbing and jelly-like that oozed yellowish pink.

The brakeman and fireman saw where the older man was looking. The brakeman took a few steps closer, paused, and rubbed his grizzled chin. “I think we hit one of ‘em,” he said calmly, his breath a haze in front of his face. “Who’s the law in these parts?”

“This is Fayette County, West Virginia … we need to get the county sheriff,” the engineer answered, returning his attention to the figure lying so still in front of him. “Sweetie,” he said again, “little girl, what’s your name? Where’s your mommy? Can you tell us who was on the tracks?”

She stirred; they heard a groan. The brakeman squatted down on the other side of the prone child and both he and the engineer carefully supported her and partially lifted her so they could see her face. The fireman, still standing, who was a younger man with young children of his own, let out a whistle when he got a glimpse of the little girl’s features. “What a beautiful child,” he said. “I hope she’s okay

The three men watched her, staring at her perfect rose-bud mouth and round, rosy cheeks, as her eyelids twitched, opened fully, and revealed brilliant blue eyes framed by a thick fringe of blonde lashes. “Honey,” the engineer said, “are you all right? Can you tell us what happened?”

The engineer and brakeman helped the little girl to a sitting position, and she looked up at the three men, one at a time, in turn. She brushed aside her long, golden braids, breathed deeply.

“Honey, what’s your name?” the engineer asked again, cupping her head with one of his hands.

She made a motion with both hands as if straightening her skirt and brushing it off at once, her legs stretched out straight in front of her. “My name is Maisy,” she said. “What’s yours?”

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