Snow Creek(10)

Dr. A: That’s not stupid. It’s about what you needed and how you survived. I understand completely. After you turned off the tap, what happened?

Me: My brother. He called from the kitchen. I thought he wanted me to fix him a chicken potpie or something as an afterschool snack. He was lazy that way. Home all day with a refrigerator and microwave at his disposal. He could make whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it—the only undisputed benefit of being homeschooled. I followed the sound of Hayden’s irritating and agitated voice.

Dr. A: What did you see, Rylee?

Me: Hayden was on the other side of the kitchen. He was on the floor hunched over and when he looked up, I noticed two things. First, he was crying. The second thing I saw was so puzzling that it really didn’t compute. It was like my brain was stuck on a search engine to nowhere. His white T-shirt was soaked in red. I threw myself down on the floor and looked at the blank eyes of my dad, staring into space.

Dr. A: Do you need a moment? I know this is very difficult. You’re doing fine. You are.

Me: No. I’m not fine, but I want to finish.

Dr. A: Drink some water. Take a deep breath. We can continue when you are ready.

Me: Okay. I’m fine. The room started to turn. Everything was spinning. I remember thinking for a second that this was what it must feel like to be really, really drunk. I pushed Hayden away and pressed my hands against Dad’s face, then his neck. He was wearing a powder-blue shirt, gray trousers and a red tie. But it wasn’t a tie. It was a slash of blood that had emptied from the top of his chest, drained down his shirt, pooled on to the floor. The black handle of a knife stuck out of his chest. I didn’t cry: Hayden was crying enough for the both of us. In my heart I had known that a day like that was always possible, that somehow darkness would come after my family. Our life away from others, our life blending into the background of the world, could be undone by someone. Fear and the possibility that something like that had always been there, had been what kept us together. Also, a barrier. It was what held us away from everyone that we ever pretended to know.

Dr. A: How was Hayden? What was he doing?

Me: Quiet. Real quiet. He was rocking back and forth like one of those weighted, blow-up clown figures. His light blond hair was compressed above his ears where his hands clamped the side of his head as he tried to shut out everything. He’d done that before. We all cope in ways that we can. My heart nearly heaved from my chest, but I did what I could to reassure him. Despite the fact that our father was a bloody mess, we could survive. We had to do the right things—and do them right away. I remember leaning closer and tugging at his shoulder so that he would look up at me once more. You know, listen to me. He finally tells me he was in the bathroom when he heard something, he said, yelling, and then a crash. I asked for more and he stayed quiet. It went like that. Me asking and Hayden being mute, focused on the blade.

Dr. A: What did you do next?

Me: So, I yanked the knife from our father’s chest. I wiped the blade’s handle with a kitchen towel. I didn’t want my fingerprints on it. Then I put it gently across my father’s chest. I didn’t know where else to put it. It dawned on me, right then, that our mother was gone too. Hayden and I were alone. And then, I saw it.

Dr. A: What, Rylee? Saw what?

Me: On the travertine tile that our mother went crazy over when we first moved in were three letters written in blood. Dad’s blood. R-U-N.

Dr. A: Run?

Me: Right. Our family’s code word. It told me everything Hayden and I needed to know. There was no calling paramedics; no 911 dispatcher to notify. There was no going through the house and pulling up family photos and squirreled-away scrapbooks. We didn’t have much of that anyway. Mom used to joke that if our house was on fire, we’d have no reason to linger. I told Hayden we had to go. I reached into my father’s jacket pocket and took his phone and wallet. I took his car keys from the table.

Dr. A: You must have been terrified.

Me: No. I mean yes. I want to say yes. I was in a strangely calm and frenzied state. Calm because in some peculiarly innate way I knew what I must do, and yet my heart was racing, and I was frantically trying to coordinate my uncooperative brother and get my backpack by the door where I had unceremoniously dumped it. I told Hayden we needed to go out the back door and through the woods, following the creek to the road. He asked me what would happen next and I didn’t really have an answer. I was moving and thinking as fast as I could. I took a clean T-shirt from the pile on the table —our mother might have been doing laundry before our father’s killer came into our house.

Dr. A: Here’s a tissue.

Me: I’m not going to cry.

Dr. A: Right. Of course not. You know it’s okay if you do.

Me: I’m fine, Doctor. I might be allergic to something here. I just remember my little brother looking at me with his dopey, scared eyes. I see those eyes in my mind now and then. Anyway, we bolted toward the ravine. We needed to get out of there fast.

Dr. A: I don’t completely understand. Why not call 911? Why rush?

Me: (long pause). Because I knew if we stayed, we’d probably end up with knives in our chests too.





I sit in silence as the cassette hums to its conclusion. Things I’d fought so hard to set aside have returned and they play at my emotions. I want to cry, but no tears come. I look at my phone. It’s late now. No time for dinner.