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Mending Fences

Karin heard the worn jack of clubs clicking against the spokes of John's approaching bike, but didn't look up from the house of stones she was building. The heel of her hand had completely cleared the gravel from each room, and now her fingers were straightening the edges, adding extra stones to reinforce the foundation. Karin had just begun the fourth wall of her kitchen when John jumped the curb. His bike skidded to a stop in the stones, its front tire demolishing her family room.

John didn't notice the damage, though. He was too busy admiring the s shaped path he'd sliced through the gravel driveway leading to the water tower. But from where Karen sat, she could barely tell the difference between this most recent one and the dozens of others made from other bikes on other mornings.

She blinked at the back of John's head, rubbing her nose with a dusty hand.

John turned and looked down. "Ran over your house again. Sorry."

Karin sneezed.

"Seen Ricky?"

"No, not yet." Karin gathered her hair into a ponytail, surveying the remains of her house. She saw that each room was damaged in some way except her brother Scott's, which was funny because that's how it was at home. For the last three months, since the night his red Toyota swerved more than necessary to miss a deer, his room had become a place that was no longer touched. Unless you counted the times her mother went in to remove the dust brave enough to settle there or to smell the shirts hanging still in his closet or to sit on the edge of his bed and clutch throw pillows.

"Man, it's hot today. That water?"

Karin lifted her thermos. John unscrewed the red plastic top and began to drink. A few drops escaped, sprinkling her bedroom.

Karin pushed herself up and walked over to the grass. She knelt to press her palms into the damp coolness then rubbed them together before shaking them dry in the sun.

John walked his bike over and returned her thermos. "Thanks."

Karen placed it on the ground. "Did you talk to Mark?"

John shook his head, dropping his bike next to hers. "He's not at his Dad's this weekend."

"Well, Dee's coming; she's bringing her brother's bat ‚ the one you like. Jess'll come too, of course." Karin sat back in the dust and gathered a new handful of stones. One at a time, she pitched them between the spokes of his wheel, aiming for the heart of the jack of clubs held in place by a red plastic clothespin.

"I'm gonna run over Joey's to get my mitt. Watch my stuff."

After he left, Karin noticed a sound beside her, like someone slowly releasing air by pinching the mouth of a wet balloon. She turned and saw drops of water bubbling under the rim of her thermos top, bursting as others began their escape. It reminded her of the edges of Tupperware containers she'd watched her mother grip that past spring, dishes which would be stacked on top of ones brought the day before. Endless containers that trapped air which wanted release like the scream that nearly escaped her each time a casserole carrying person would ask How is she taking it?

Karin dropped the stones and tightened the top of her thermos. She heard the boys crossing the street and looked up in time to see John pitch the baseball over her head, eclipsing the sun.

She stood to toss her mitt and thermos over the chain link fence as well, careful to clear the barbed wire. Then she went to where she knew the fence had been cut: the section just right of the padlocked gate where it had been clipped from the two metal support posts. Making it easy to break into the water tower was the unspoken role of the older neighborhood kids. For the last three years, Scott and his friends took on the job. They'd change the spot each spring, always ahead of the Water Authority which rarely showed up before fall to repair it. It was here that Karin pressed her back to the fence, bent her knees and pushed up, making a space for John and Joey to crawl under. She wondered which section would be cut next spring. And who would do it.

From the other side, John now gripped the bottom links of the fence and lifted, his fingertips whitening around the wire. As she pulled herself through, Karin knew he wasn't watching her because he let the fence go too soon. It snagged a hole in her cutoffs and the clipped edge scratched her thigh. Karin freed herself and used her finger to wipe away the blood already blossoming.

Another bike skidded to a stop in the stones.

"Hey, Rick," John yelled, slapping the ball in his mitt to tag an invisible runner at second. "Karin, get the fence, okay?"

Rick tossed his mitt, it nearly catching on the barbed wire. "Mark's coming after all," he called back to John. "His brother Anthony's dropping him off."

The wire bit Karin's fingers.

"Cool. Seen Pete?"

"He'll be here. That guy will be late for his own funeral." Rick was already through, his strong arms pushing him up and pulling him forward at the same time. Once his feet had cleared, Karin let the fence go. He brushed his hands on his jeans as he passed her, bending to scoop his mitt.

Karin began to scrape the blood that had begun to dry on her leg. She heard the sound of crunching stones beneath a car and looked up to see Scott. Or thought she had. Like a reflex coaxed from a doctor, Karin still saw Scott every time she saw Anthony. Whether in Scott's Toyota or Anthony's Duster ‚ heading to school, a football game, or to go out Friday nights ‚ the two of them always shared the front seat. The same seat they shared the night of the accident, although Anthony wasn't the one police had to cover with an old Army blanket.

John jogged past her to lift the fence for Mark. Anthony was already reversing, tires spitting stones into the street. But Karin had seen Anthony look at her, for one moment, before he'd turned to check for traffic and she felt guilty for reminding him of that empty night on a day filled with sun.

"Karin, you're bleeding."

"What?"

John pointed at her leg. "You're bleeding."

Karin felt his eyes on her and her face grew warm from something more than heat and she wished that she had something to wipe the blood off her leg with, but it was already drying again so there wasn't anything more she could do. "It's nothing."

Mark punched the pocket of his mitt signaling Joey for the baseball, Ricky slapped Mark on the back, and she watched the three of them head toward the pitcher's mound. Across the street, the girls slammed through the screen door of Dee's house and headed over. Karin watched Dee twirl her aluminum bat like a baton while Jess sipped from a straw bobbing in her Coke can.

Dee reached the fence and flung the bat over. "Your cheerleaders are here."

The boys were jogging toward the fence, jostling each other for the chance to lift it. Karin glanced at John who was no longer looking at her.

"Cheerleaders, huh?" Mark asked, "You bring your pom-poms?"

"You wish you could see our pom-poms." Jess elbowed Dee, giggling.

Rick gripped the fence. "You wish you had some we'd wanna see."

Laughter tangled with the sound of metal being hoisted for the girls who complained about getting their shorts dirty. Karin watched John watch Jess and Dee adjust their halter-tops.

"Hold it for me!" Pete ran up the street, his pants sagging enough to trip him as he jumped the grassy ditch guarding the front of the water tower.

"Looks like you're losing something, Petey." Jess pointed with her straw.

Pete dropped his mitt to tug his belt loops.

"Hurry up," Rick said, lifting the fence for the last time.

Dee laughed as Pete struggled beneath the wire. "Nice boxers," she said. Then she announced, "I call captain."

"No way. I'm captain." Mark shook his head. "You two didn't even bring mitts."

"I brought a bat," Dee protested.

"So what." He pointed. "I pick Rick."

Using his middle finger, Rick plucked his mitt off the ground and stood next to Mark.

Mark said, "John, your pick."

Joey began, "How come John--"

Mark finished, "Because he got here first."

Karin glanced at John.

He said, "Joey."

Rick eyed the remaining prospects. "Pete."

"You guys are so gay. Afraid you'll get cooties picking a girl?" Dee flicked her thumbs up and Jess grinned, blowing bubbles in her Coke.

John grabbed one of Dee's thumbs. "Come here."

Jess said, "I won't play if I'm not on Dee's said," and joined the team without waiting to be chosen.

Karin walked past John and Mark who were searching their pockets for change. She heard John call heads as she reached for her mitt then heard Dee say, "We're up."

Karin took her usual position on the pitcher's mound.

Mark jogged to first base; Pete wandered back and forth between third and shortstop while Rick strode backward into the outfield.

"Not too far, Rick," Mark called. "Girl's up first."

"Shove it, Mark--" Dee said, tapping her bat on the yellow Frisbee of home base, "--or I'll line drive it you-know-where." She swung at summer air.

Karin waited, pressing the ball into the webbing of her brother's glove. The stitching on the ball was grass stained and frayed.

"Uh, Karin...any day now."

She covered the seam with her thumb and forefinger, raised her left knee, took a step forward, pitched, and nearly clipped Dee's shoulder.

"Hey. Watch it!"

Jess giggled and John tossed it back, "Ball one."

Mark called, "Come on, Karin."

Karin held the ball in her right hand and turned it so the stitching was in the right place again; the threads tickled her thumb. With her eyes closed, she brought the ball and mitt together in front of her, exhaled, and pitched a strike.

Dee swore and twice tapped the Frisbee with the tip of her bat.

Karin pitched again, heard the bat connect and felt the ball flash past her right eye. She whipped around in time to see Pete make a halfhearted attempt to reach for it. Rick scooped it up, but his throw didn't make it on time. Mark patted Dee's behind with his mitt anyway.

"Ha!" she called to Rick, "Next time, don't play so far in!" She flexed her biceps.

If Pete hadn't been so busy playing with himself, you'd be out!"

"Shut the hell up, Rick!" Pete tugged at his belt loops again.

Karin held the ball in her palm. She pressed it into the padded heel of her mitt, covering her brother's name where he'd signed it long ago. When Scott had gotten older and pick up games at the water tower were replaced by picking up girls at the mall, he'd given it to her. Nothing dramatic, no special occasion. He must have heard her ask permission to go to the tower to meet friends for a game and he'd found her in the garage with her bike, pulling out an old wooden bat that they'd discovered in the rafters when they'd moved in. He'd tossed his mitt into the white plastic basket attached to her handlebars and told her not to lose it. She'd promised him she wouldn't. Karin couldn't remember saying thanks, but she remembered feeling relief at not having to ask to borrow someone else's once she got to the game. She hoped she'd thanked him.

"Earth to Karin." It was John; he was at bat now. Jess stood a few feet behind him as catcher, holding out the can of Coke in front of her.

Karin took her eyes from her leathered palm, wound her pitch and sent it home.

The line drive stole her breath before she'd finished exhaling. The ground forced itself up while the sky pressed her down. The sun went black, her heartbeat became an echo.

John was kneeling beside her. "You okay?"

She blinked at him. The others had gathered around, peering at her from the edges of her vision.

John spoke again. "Karin?"

Lying there, it seemed like days, months had passed since she'd last breathed, like she'd forgotten how. Karin recognized the feeling and wondered if she would ever stop comparing every experience to losing Scott. But then she couldn't imagine not doing so.

"Breathe, Karin."

She didn't want to, but she inhaled then coughed and inhaled again. The sharp, ragged breath burned her chest; the sun stabbed her eyes. Squinting, she pushed herself up out of the dust.

He asked again, "You okay?"

The others had moved off laughing, pushing their bodies into one another; baseball already forgotten.

Karin tried to talk but coughed instead.

"Sorry." John was brushing the dust from her back, out of her hair, off her cheek.

Karin placed her hand on her stomach and inhaled, it was less painful this time.

He touched her hand. "Let me see."

"No, I'm okay."

"Karin, let me see."

"I got the wind knocked out of me, is all. I'm fine. Let's finish the game."

John glanced past her shoulder, "Looks like it's over already."

Karin heard the fence tremble. She took off her mitt.

John helped her stand. "Now will you let me see?"

Karin let him untuck her shirt. She watched him watch her. "I know what'll help." John grinned and spat into the palm of his hand. Karin smiled, too, remembering from when they were kids. She clenched her stomach muscles against the slap he was about to give, but it didn't come. Instead, he wiped his palm on his jeans and then pressed his dry hand against her middle, where it was warm and pink.

"What are you two doing over there anyway?" someone called from the driveway of stones where a house lay in ruins.

Karin realized she hadn't thought of Scott since she started breathing again and wasn't sure if she should feel guilt or relief, except that now she knew there was something else. Another feeling had come on board. Like a new passenger on a crowded subway who nods at another to move over and make room, not asking for the whole space, just wanting to share it. They'd sit there, side by side, aware of their closeness, barely touching, but not acknowledging one another because they were strangers. And although it felt crowded, it was somehow comforting, so when one of them got up to leave, it would seem as if something were missing.

John removed his hand and her shirt hung loose at the waist.

"Ready?"

"I have to get my stuff." Karin stopped to retrieve her thermos then met John at the fence, his fingertips already white. This time, her shorts didn't catch as she went under.

After holding the fence for him, Karin followed John past her house of stones to the dusty grass where their bikes shined.

Lake Affect Magazine Volume XII Page 9-11,16

All speeches and articles are copyrighted by, and are the property of, Laurie Thurston, and may not be reprinted without permission of the author.