Calf Read online

  The interviewer asked her about her romantic life. Is there a someone special? She smiled and visibly blushed. No, I guess I’m still waiting for Mr. Right to come along and sweep me off my feet. What are you looking for in a Mr. Right? (Giggle.) Well, (smile, small giggle) I guess I’m looking for someone who’s kind, someone who understands me and supports me having a career, a good listener, and someone who misses John Lennon just as much as I do.

  There was a photo spread featuring stills from her first movie, a silly TV guest spot that gave her a big break, a scene from the new movie with her on the Capitol steps, and a glamour shot with her all made up, smoky eyes, hands digging into the sides of her head messing up her hair. Sexy.

  Jeffrey slipped the page out of the Entertainment section. He didn’t want to tear it and make any noise.

  Later, he was flipping through Words & Ideas, past the book reviews, and lazily through the assortment of ads on the last page.

  THE COLUMBIA SCHOOL OF BROADCASTING

  Are you ready for an exciting career in radio and broadcasting?

  Located in the Washington, DC, metro area!

  Start hearing your voice—today!

  It was too perfect.

  Jeffrey wasn’t sure if he believed in guardian angels or not, but something like this always seemed to come through for him. Something always saved him from being kicked into the gutter.

  That evening, during their early Sunday dinner, all three Hackneys were quiet. Jeffrey’s father was purposefully not saying anything; although several thoughts manifested across his face, he let them all go. He’s probably feeling guilty, Jeffrey thought. Well, here’s a whopper for you.

  “I have a plan.”

  His father took an aggressive bite of ham mixed with mashed potatoes. Jeffrey hated the way his father ate, mixing his food together. Jeffrey ate his foods separately. His father once chastised him for not cleaning his plate because Jeffrey didn’t want to eat the bits of food that ran together. “It’s all going to the same place,” his father said.

  “I want to enroll in the Columbia School of Broadcasting.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s a trade school in Washington, DC. They teach you how to do stuff for radio stations.”

  “Do stuff?”

  Jeffrey relished the next word and let it seductively roll off his tongue.

  “Engineering.”

  It was a word his father understood.

  “I can still leave tomorrow, go to Washington, and get set up before classes start.”

  “How do you plan on paying for this?”

  “I thought school was still an option.”

  His father didn’t like to be beaten.

  “We’ll discuss it,” he said with another forkful.

  After dinner, his father read the brochure Jeffrey had snuck out of the public library that afternoon. When he was through, Jeffrey was summoned to the living room.

  “I’m taking a chance on you, Jeffrey. I’m taking a risk. This wasn’t exactly what we talked about, but I’m impressed that you’ve finally made a practical decision that matches your interests and I’d like to support that.”

  Jeffrey waited as his father took a ceremonial deep breath.

  “Your mother and I have decided to approve this mission, but we have a few requirements of our own. Number one: Your mother and I will cover the cost of tuition, but you’re still going to need to get a part-time job for your incidentals. Number two: I want to get a recommendation from Dr. Gans for someone you can check in with locally. I don’t want your mother to worry about your health. And number three: We want to hear from you weekly. You can give us a call and reverse the charges or you can send a letter, but we want to know where you are, where you’re staying, and how things are progressing. We don’t want this to be like last time when you waited until you were desperate to ask for help. We’re your parents and we worry. I know this all sounds rather harsh, but it’s only because we love you.”

  All Jeffrey needed to hear was the yes. The rest of it really didn’t matter. It was a variation on the same speech they had perfected through three childhoods. And more importantly, the money flow had been turned back on.

  “I suggest you get packing. Dismissed.”

  Jeffrey about-faced and went to his room.

  The next morning, at oh-nine hundred hours, the three Hackneys drove to the bank. Jeffrey’s father went inside while he and his mother waited in the car. His father returned after twenty minutes or so and handed Jeffrey an envelope.

  “Keep this somewhere safe. Don’t let it hang out your back pocket. There are traveler’s checks and cash.”

  Jeffrey peeked into the envelope and the swirly American Express typescript glimmered back at him.

  His parents dropped him off at the airport curbside entrance; it would’ve been too difficult to park. Jeffrey got out and fetched his bags. His mother cranked down the window and Jeffrey stuck his head in to say good-bye.

  “Don’t worry,” Jeffrey said. “I’ve got it all figured out this time.”

  CALF

  Valerie pulled her car into the same parking spot in front of her house she had left twenty minutes earlier. She didn’t realize the radio was still playing until she shut the engine and was abruptly met by silence. She was light-headed now and buoyant, skimming the earth in her wooden sandals, which, strangely, didn’t make any noise clopping against the sidewalk. Someone said, “Morning, Val,” but she didn’t see who it was. An angel waved back for her.

  As she opened the door, the dog jumped up, happy and eager, paws on her mistress’s knees. She wanted to go out, and any other morning, that’s what they would do. But not today. Pudding would have to be left behind. She couldn’t come along. Valerie thought about it for a moment. Kirin loved that dog. But, no, they couldn’t. It would give them away. It would be too much.

  Valerie placed her hand on the banister and it began. The airy lightness that had gotten her through the carpool suddenly wore off and she was left with crushing weight. Her palm magnetized to the banister’s curved wood. It all flooded back to her. All of it. Everything. Her hand stuck to the railing as her thin knees buckled. She mustn’t sob or scream. It would wake her. With her free hand Val capped her mouth. She closed her eyes.

  It was now or never.

  And magically an angel released her hand from the banister and peeled her fingers from her mouth. Both hands were delicately placed on her knees and Valerie began to feel a sense of peace kneeling there, chastely, at the bottom of the stairs. It can all be done. It can all be done.

  And it will all be done this time. It will all be done. Not like last time. She won’t wake up to a blindness of white. To more pain than she left with. To more existence than she ever imagined possible when all she wanted to do was vanish. To disappear. To get smaller and smaller until she was so small a speck God could flick her away. Into oblivion. Into the comfort of nothingness.

  Valerie opened her eyes. She knew she was opening them. It was she who lifted her lids and it didn’t hurt. She gazed down at her fingernails resting on her knees, pointing forward to the eggshell-colored carpet. They were showing her which way to go.

  Up.

  It was time.

  It can all be done.

  The lightness returned. Her angels helped her to her feet. They told her not to look back at the door. At the people getting into their cars and driving off to work. At the telescopes pointed at her house, watching. They won’t be able to see her today. Don’t worry about the dog, an angel said as she lured Pudding into the kitchen and put food in her bowl. Don’t worry.

  Valerie stepped out of her Dr. Scholl’s and walked up the stairs.

  The door to Kirin’s room was melting. The angels told her not to look at it. Not yet. You must take precautions. Valerie obeyed. She turned away from the door and walked to her bedroom.

  She knelt down at the side of the bed, the same position she assumed at the bottom of the stairs, and just as before
her fingernails pointed the way. She lifted the bed skirt and tugged the slender leather case forward. It was locked like a suitcase with a tiny gold Master Lock linking two zippers together. Valerie backed up on all fours and crawled over to her husband’s dresser. She climbed to the top by pulling on the brass drawer handles. She didn’t want to stand up just yet.

  She peered into the ceramic dish where he kept the cufflinks he rarely wore. Mixed in at the bottom was the gold key. The tiny gold key. So small. It was hard to pick up. Valerie pushed it with the pad of her index finger up to the rim of the dish and set it free. Free from the tyranny of cufflinks. There could be a tiny camera in there. It would be just like her husband to be involved. That was why he never wore those cufflinks.

  Valerie turned the dish over and trapped the cufflinks underneath. That would take care of that.

  She crawled back over to the case. She felt safe on the floor.

  She unlocked the case and lifted the lid.

  And there it was.

  She picked it up with both hands and laid it on top of the case. She knew it was still loaded. She knew he had come home unlucky last November, and had forgotten to remove the cartridges.

  We have to leave you now, the angels said. We can’t be here when it happens. But you know what to do.

  Valerie nodded and with a very small voice she said, “Yes,” aloud.

  The angels tiptoed out of the room. Don’t worry, it will all be over soon, and we’ll be right there to meet you. Good-bye. Good-bye. They waved and dissolved into tiny balls of light.

  The clock flicked to 7:11. It was a good time. Something she recognized.

  Valerie wrapped her fingers around the slender barrel. It was easy. Just make yourself stand up. You can do it. Just stand up.

  She stood up.

  She told herself to breathe through her nose. She didn’t want to open her mouth. She didn’t want to risk the chance of talking herself out of it. She tried to hang on to the feeling of lightness even though the weight of being left alone was beginning to pour over her. It was trying to push her back down to her knees. But she had to stand up. She had to. She couldn’t let them win. She wasn’t going to let that happen. This was the only way. The only way. She had to do it. She had to save her. She had to.

  She turned toward the bedroom door that was still open. The angels had left it open for her. They were nice.

  She walked toward the threshold, but stopped herself when she noticed the white phone glaring at her from the nightstand. Had it been watching her the whole time? Valerie felt her heart beat faster. Everything was going wrong. Who put this phone here? Why hadn’t the angels taken care of it? Was it looking at her? Were they listening the whole time? They could be on their way. They could know everything already. Time was running out.

  She lifted the receiver off the hook. She brought it up to her ear and, just in case anyone was watching, she lightly traced seven numbers on the pad. She could have been an actress. Everyone always said.

  She gently laid the receiver on the table perfectly parallel to the phone.

  She walked into the hallway in slow motion.

  She walked toward the door that was melting.

  She noticed it wasn’t closed all the way. It looked closed, but it wasn’t. This was good because the door appeared too hot to touch.

  She nudged it open with the gun.

  And there she was.

  Kirin.

  The golden girl. Asleep in her pigtails. Valerie let her sleep that way. Her little blonde bumpkin.

  Please hang up, there appears to be a receiver off the hook . . .

  It was so loud. The voice was so loud. She was going to wake up. She couldn’t wake up. She had to stay asleep. She had to. That was the best way.

  If you’d like to make a call, please hang up and try again . . .

  And over and over and—

  Valerie stepped into the room. Kirin was curled up under the covers. She had kicked off the blue knitted blanket and was sprawled under a mess of sheets. She was wearing her nightgown with the little jumping cows on it. Their legs reached out in front of them as they sailed over yellow crescent moons.

  Please hang up, there appears to be a receiver off the hook . . .

  Valerie looked up from the bed and saw Kirin’s stuffed animal collection staring back at her with their frozen glass eyes. They looked shocked, as if something had already happened, as if they existed a few moments ahead in the future and already knew what Valerie did next.

  Please hang up . . .

  It had to be now, it had to be—

  Valerie took a few more steps deeper into the sunny bedroom. There was a fight going on in her body between the lightness and the weight, whether she was going to expand or shrink. The angels were fighting for her. She knew they were. They were fighting as hard as they could.

  Valerie reached the bed. She wanted to look at Kirin’s face, but she remembered the angels had told her not to. Not a good idea. Don’t mess it up now. Valerie’s shins pressed against the side of the bed. That was good, she thought. That will help hold me up. She pointed the gun at Kirin’s back, hovering it a few inches from her nightgown, directly aiming at one of the dancing cows.

  Please hang up and try—

  The recording cut off and was replaced with a loud pulsing alarm. It was so loud. Stop it. Stop it. Stop. She’ll wake up now. Do it now. Now. It has to be done. It has to. You can’t stop now. Think of what will happen if you stop. They will take you away. They will take her away. It has to be done. Now.

  The alarm was so loud. Valerie no longer knew where it was coming from. She couldn’t tell if it was from the phone, the police, or inside her head. She saw her hands beginning to shake. They couldn’t focus on the little cow. The barrel danced around. It refused to be quiet. Everything was falling apart.

  Now. Now. Now. Now Now Now Now Now Hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry hurry.

  And then it happened. She had strength. It was in her fingernails. She saw them and her hands stopped quivering. They pointed at the baby cow and stopped moving. It was going to be okay. She knew what she was doing. And her fingernails guided her, showed her which way to go. She was too far away. An inch was too far away. She pointed the gun closer until it touched the calf’s white belly, and then through the calf until it stopped at Kirin’s back. And for one second Valerie felt her daughter. The gun moved up and down with her breathing body. Valerie breathed in synch with her. One last time. Then she pulled the trigger.

  And the first part was over.

  Valerie was on the floor. She was sitting down. The shot had knocked her backward and she had fallen. There was so little time now. There was even less. But the hard part was over, wasn’t it? She stood up again.

  The calf was bleeding. There was a hole and red was gushing out. The bed was becoming engulfed in liquid. A flood. Valerie thought this was good. It would soon float Kirin away to their island, to their beautiful beach house with salty air. This was good.

  Valerie slowly turned the gun around and pointed the barrel at her chest. She stood the gun up on the bed and leaned into it. She tried to reach down to the trigger, but the mattress swallowed it into a sinkhole of sheets. The bed was too soft. She needed to move quickly. She moved the gun onto the floor. She arranged herself again with her chest resting on the barrel. She planted her feet wide and reached down for the trigger.

  Her fingernails failed her. She couldn’t reach. It was too far.

  The phone alarm was getting louder. Make it stop.

  It had to work. It had to.

  Valerie began to feel desperate. She looked around the room for something to use. The stuffed animals weren’t helping. They just stared at her with their hard yellow eyes. Their fixed pupils. They were thinking. She could hear them thinking. She knew they didn’t like her. She wanted to tell them to fuck off but the angels had told her not to speak. Where were they? Why weren’t they here? Why had they abandoned her?

  The phone al
arm was making her head throb.

  Now now now now now now now now now.

  She could do it. She could reach.

  She set herself up again, gun standing upright on the floor. She held it in place with the weight of her chest leaning on the barrel, barrel pointed at her heart. Fingernails reaching down. It was still too far.

  Valerie moved her right foot in toward the gun. Then somehow she kept her balance as she lifted her left foot up and pressed the trigger with her toes.

  The gun went off. Valerie said something as it did, but she couldn’t make out what. It sounded like “yes” as the world went black.

  Bliss

  blissful

  blackness

  . . . until her eyes slipped open.

  I might have to wait, she thought, I might have to wait. Sometimes this happens.

  She was on the floor. She could see blood inking the carpet, a stain slowly spreading out beneath her.

  She waited, but nothing happened. She prayed for it to hurry up. Please hurry up.

  But it wasn’t happening.

  It occurred to her that maybe she had missed. That maybe she had tripped and fallen over backward and knocked herself out. Given herself a bump on the head. Maybe she hadn’t shot herself at all. That’s probably what happened. Probably.

  She rolled herself up to sit. Something was wrong, but it wasn’t the right kind of wrong. Her shoulder was screaming in pain. Her left arm was limp. It wasn’t working anymore. She grabbed the gun with her other hand and used it as a cane to prop herself up. Her head was dizzy. She wasn’t feeling well. She needed to finish herself off.

  She leaned her chest onto the gun again. It was harder this time. It was harder to stay upright. She didn’t think she could do it. She fell over. This couldn’t be happening. She crawled over to the wall and sat with her back against it. She pointed the gun at her chest and wiggled her toes into the trigger hole. She sickled her other foot behind the gun handle to hold it in place and pressed down on the trigger with her toes.