Page 3 of Wild Life (STEAM-y #2)

Crashing into Destiny

Maris

Age 8

“I have to pee!” The seatbelt squished my belly every time I crossed my legs to try to stop an accident from happening. Bit, my stuffed bat, wobbled on my lap from my pee-pee dance.

“What?” Mom snapped back at me from the front seat. She immediately noticed the silver pouch in my hand. “I told you no more liquids until we reached Nana and Pop-Pop’s.”

She grabbed the juice pouch from my hands—and must have squeezed too hard because clear yellow liquid shot out of the straw like lava from a volcano and dripped down her wrist and onto the sleeve of her pink jacket.

“Damn it!” she shouted, holding her hand out in the air like she had touched dog poop. Her cheeks glowed red when she turned back to me with eyes big like plates. I had ruined her Chanel suit and she was mad.

“Maris Marie Schuler!” she screamed. “Look at this mess. Do you know how much this cost?”

That question wasn’t supposed to be answered. Everything she owned had cost a lot. Mom liked expensive things so much that Dad had stopped asking about the prices whenever she went shopping. Nana was the same way with Pop-Pop. Everything in their house at the lake was white…like a hospital…and cost Mom’s favorite price, expensive .

Fat raindrops punched the car, turning everything through the windows into smudgy splotches. Rain the day before Thanksgiving in Seattle was normal. It would be nice to live somewhere warm. Maybe near a beach. I would eat mangoes all day and then swim until bedtime. That was where I wanted to live when I grew up—free to play and be happy for the rest of my life.

Without removing his focus from the slippery road, Dad reached into the little cubby between the seats and pulled out a stack of white napkins leftover from our secret fast-food trips for French fries on weekends when Mom was at Pilates class. It was his way of “seeing about dinner” for the only kid in the house.

Mom snatched a rectangle of white paper from him like she had the juice from mine. She had a problem with using gentle hands to take things from other people.

“It’s ruined, Frank.” She rubbed at the speckled fabric, but the stain stayed. “Is it too much to ask to look nice for once when we visit my parents?”

“You always look nice, dear.” Dad lifted her sticky hand and kissed the back of it.

“And you always say that.” Mom rolled her eyes. I was surprised hers never got stuck like she said mine would whenever I did the same thing.

Turning his head toward her, he smiled. “I always mean it.”

As a heart surgeon, he was a serious person, but when it came to my mom, he was as soft as mashed potatoes. She could get whatever she wanted out of him. Most of my punishments came from Mom bugging Dad to do something about his daughter . If it were up to him, he’d ignore anything I did wrong. And it wasn’t because he adored me. It was the opposite—he never paid much attention to me. I was either annoying Mom too much or boring Dad. So, I kept to myself as much as an only child could, pretending my stuffed animals were real animals and caring for them like their doctor. Bit the bat was my favorite patient, but I never let the other stuffies know that.

“I don’t know why you bother to get so dressed up for Thanksgiving anyway. It’s just going to be us at your parents’ house,” Dad said.

“And Sherri !” Whenever Mom mentioned Aunt Sherri, the r ’s in her name sounded too hard. Like she was grinding her teeth to get the rest of the name out.

“Pamela, your sister doesn’t care about what we wear.”

Mom glared at the side of Dad’s face like he was the one drinking a juice pouch. “I don’t care what Sherri cares or doesn’t care about.”

It was a lie. Mom was always worried about Aunt Sherri’s opinion, which confused me because my aunt was usually quiet.

The two sisters were like night and day. Mom’s nose was usually between the pages of society magazines and blogs, while Aunt Sherri’s was behind a microscope. She was a scientist… biochemistry-ist or whatever it’s called. I didn’t have much of a relationship with her because she scared me. She didn’t like to be touched, so she never hugged me like I thought an aunt would hug her niece. I didn’t think she liked kids at all. She seemed like she would rather be anywhere else than with her family.

I was never comfortable around her, so I kind of understood Mom’s feelings.

The car jerked slightly on the road, and the seat belt cut into my belly, which was as puffy as a balloon, as we swung to the right. Dad quickly turned the wheel, and the car moved straight again.

“I really need to pee. Now!”

Mom twisted around. “No. You should have used the restroom before we left home.”

“I did!” I squeezed my legs together and hoped that it would be enough to stop from bursting. Now probably wasn’t a good time to let her know about the other two empty pouches that I’d hidden between my seat and the door.

“Oh God, Maris. Please tell me you didn’t bring that hideous rat.” Her eye scrunched at the corner as she stared at my chest.

“It’s a bat !” She had finally noticed Bit snuggled under my arm. I never went anywhere without him. He made me feel less lonely, even when my parents were around. It was kind of funny that Aunt Sherri was the one who had given him to me as a Christmas gift last year. Mom’s face had frozen when I’d opened the gift, and that had made Bit my new favorite toy. After that, he never left my side.

Of all the animals in the world, I loved bats and how much they loved each other. They were smart enough to hunt alone at night, but the coolest thing about them was how they slept. Hundreds of bats cuddled together, so warm and safe. Each belonged to the colony.

It was very different from how things were in my family. I didn’t belong and it made me sad. When I was younger, I cried to get the attention I needed. As I grew up, I quickly learned that it was better for me to create my own world where I belonged, with my stuffies. With them, I could pretend that they needed me and that I could give them the love that I wished Mom and Dad, and even Aunt Sherri, would give me.

“Frank, help me out here. She’s eight years old and still walking around with a stuffed animal like a baby.”

My lips turned down. Mom could be so mean sometimes. And the brown bag in her lap was way uglier than Bit.

“So what? You walk around with your purse all day. Can we pull over, please?” Mom was concerned with everything but the most important issue: my pee. If they didn’t pull over soon, I was really going to act like a baby and wet myself.

Dad laughed while Mom’s face twisted like she’d smelled something bad. “No, we have twenty-five minutes left before we reach the lake house, and you can hold your bladder until then. And this,” she lifted the bag, displaying the gold LV on the front, “is a designer bag. One day, you’ll be thanking me for leaving it to you when I die.”

I let out a huge breath. It was always the same thing: her purses were investments , and I was going to be so rich from the collection she was leaving behind for me.

I didn’t care about things. I cared about being loved. I was jealous of the girls in my class. They had dates at the nail salon with their moms and got to go to the school daddy-daughter dances on the arms of their dads. Mom went to the salon to get away from me, and Dad worked all the time.

I closed my eyes and wished for something I knew would never come true. I wished I could move far away and live with the bats on a tropical island and never see my parents again.

The car swung again, but this time, it was faster, like that ride with the teacups at Disneyland, except this wasn’t fun. My tummy dropped, and I squeezed the sides of my seat. Something wet and warm spread under me, a puddle of liquid soaking into my seat.

“Uh-oh! I had an accident,” I cried out.

“Damn it!” Mom shouted. “Frank!”

“ Shit! ” Dad spun the steering wheel, but we rolled in the opposite direction.

Lights whirled around me, my head spinning like the car. My screams mixed with Mom’s, sounding so far away from my ears, like from another planet. My body slammed forward, and Bit flew off my lap. Cold air pricked my skin. Glass met Bit, raining onto him like the water outside of the car. It was the last thing I saw before my head hit the back of my seat.

***

Cold and wet. That was how my body had felt as everything had turned black.

Now, it was the opposite. I was warm and dry. Too warm. Too dry.

I lay in a bed with rough sheets tucked under my chin. I should have pushed them away, but I stayed still because I was too scared to move.

Everything was wrong.

The cloth wrapped around my head was tight, scratching the tops of my ears. The beeps from the machines were loud. The TV on the wall was showing the news instead of cartoons.

And suddenly, I really wanted Mom and Dad.

Where are they? They have to be okay. I need them to be okay.

Where is Bit? I need to hug him. To talk to him.

I heard voices outside the door.

“She was very lucky her bladder wasn’t punctured. The paramedics said they smelled urine when they found her. We suspect she emptied her bladder sometime before impact.”

I didn’t know who the man was. His voice reminded me of the way Dad spoke when he was on the phone with work.

Another voice. “What about her head?” It was serious and belonged to my Aunt Sherri. Why is she here? Why am I in a hospital?

“She suffered a mild concussion, so we recommend keeping her here for observation.”

“When will she be able to go home?” Aunt Sherri asked.

“If her vitals check out and nothing new arises, I anticipate her to be discharged tomorrow. Will she be staying with you?”

“Yes.”

Why am I going home with Aunt Sherri?

I didn’t know how far from Nana and Pop-Pop’s we were, but it couldn’t have been too far for my parents to drive.

I watched the TV. A small boat flashed, then I saw helicopters flying in the air over the ocean, the words “Search Continues” at the bottom of the screen.

“She’s been asleep, so she doesn’t know about her parents yet,” the man outside the door said. Know what?

“I’ll take care of it,” Aunt Sherri replied.

My head hurt trying to figure out what they were talking about, and the weird tube in my arm wouldn’t let me leave the bed to go and ask them all my questions. My stomach hurt, and not from the accident. It hurt like when you knew something bad was about to happen…something you couldn’t change.

Why won’t they come in and tell me whatever it is?

The man spoke again. “Please make arrangements with your funeral home of choice to transport the bodies. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

I didn’t understand what he meant. Why were they talking about bodies? And where were Mom and Dad?

“Thank you,” Aunt Sherri said.

The door clicked, and she entered. Where Mom had blonde hair and eyes that reminded me of my friend Jessica’s tabby cat, Aunt Sherri had brown hair and small eyes that were glued to me through her eyeglasses.

“You’re awake.” That was how she spoke…never asking questions.

“Aunt Sherri, what’s going on? Where’s Mom and Dad? Are they okay?” I held my breath, hoping her answer wouldn’t hurt my feelings, like my belly knew it would.

Her attention moved from me to the TV that showed a photograph of a boy around the same age as me. He had short dark hair, almost black, and brown skin. He had a nice smile, so wide that I could see the teeth that he’d lost. The background of the photo was the same blue color that Mom had chosen for my school photos this year. Blue was a good color for him. He looked like a nice person.

The helicopters came back on the screen and then the words, “New Zealand exploration family, including child, missing in the Pacific.” Then under the school photo of the boy was a name, “Aleki Taylor.”

Aunt Sherri stared at me again. If I could have erased her next words, I would have.

“Your parents are dead.”

My breathing stopped. My stomach flipped upside down, and a sour taste filled my mouth.

I had wished to never see my parents again, and now I couldn’t take it back.