Dancing with the Octopus by Debora Harding

Author:Debora Harding
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Profile
Published: 2020-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

In Which Reality Hits

Omaha, 1978—My eyes opened. It was four A.M. My heart was racing. I was short of breath. I couldn’t shake the feeling of there being a thin layer between my mind and the room. I blinked, hard. It didn’t help. I couldn’t feel my body. Time was out of sync. I realized I was in Genie’s bedroom, in her bed, and she was trying to comfort me.

I don’t remember speaking as much as I remember being horrified at the nightmare I was recounting and the dawning realization it was all real. I’m not sure how or when, or after what passage of time, but eventually we fell asleep.

Later that morning, the six of us got into the station wagon to drive to my grandparents in Des Moines for Thanksgiving, as was the plan. We sat in silence the full three hours. The sense of family cohesiveness we had on our road trip to Florida disappeared long ago, and it wasn’t going to magically resurrect itself now. The roads were covered with melting slush. My grandmother greeted me at the door with a long hug, which said all the words we’d never exchange. I had a tear on my face when Arlo said grace at the Thanksgiving meal. I could only stare at the pearl onions in cream sauce. I looked at the purple bruised marks on my wrists and wondered how long it would take for them to go away.

Later that evening, Arlo moved the mattresses from the basement into the living room so my sisters and I could sleep upstairs. The house went dark. Quiet. I lay wide awake, listening as the clock in the living room struck each quarter of an hour. At one point Gayle whispered, “Are you okay?” and I replied, “Ahum.” She asked if I could tell her what had happened. Feeling protective after sensing I had traumatized Genie the night before, I told her she didn’t ever want to know.

The day after Thanksgiving, Mom asked if I wanted to go shopping at the Merle Hay Mall to buy a new coat. It was Black Friday sales day. And then I remembered, of course! I needed a new coat. My old one with the broken zipper had been kept as evidence. Mom steered me to the outdoor section, pulled out a feather-down jacket, and suggested I deserved a white one. I couldn’t equate losing my virginity with the pain that night—I was blindfolded and had had no experience to give me even an idea of what had happened to my body. But Mom smiled. I looked at the white puffy coat. Why not make her feel good? And then she held up a cute teddy bear. I’d never been into stuffed animals—I’d always preferred my comfort objects in abstract form—Jesus, Mr. Octopus. And then I remembered they had both been rendered meaningless by Mr. K. I took the bear.

Arlo had purchased tickets for me and my sisters to attend the Ice Follies.

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