Edna in the Desert (3 page)

Edna took in her grandparents’ home. The living area was furnished with a coffee table that was finished to look like wood and two sections of a shapeless, fake leather couch in the grayest shade of pink possible. On it were crochet pillows made with yarn in a rainbow of colors. Edna found them dreadful. A plastic palm tree sat on the coffee table and another one was on a windowsill. This could be the waiting room of a free clinic in a bad neighborhood. It made no sense: Why did her grandparents live in this depressing place? And how could she stay here? She’d never make it through an hour, never mind a whole summer. Edna lost the fight to hold back her tears; this was going to be a bad cry. She rushed into the pantry, tripped over a wooden crate and scratched her leg on a rusty nail. It bled. She didn’t care. She fell onto her army cot and into a cry that went on so long her stomach hurt, and then it went on longer.

As much as the situation warranted hours of crying, eventually Edna couldn’t anymore. She couldn’t think anymore either. It was so quiet, she couldn’t hear a sound. She wondered what Grandma was doing. After a while she was distracted by the objects in the pantry. She found an old bottle of witch hazel and put some on her cut. She studied Grandma’s shelves. Canned hash, canned ham, and Spam were at first gross and then horrific when Edna realized this would probably be her food. She hadn’t even thought of food. She wondered if Jill told Grandma what she liked to eat, but she doubted Grandma would care if she had.

Edna decided that there was no way she could eat Spam, and if she had to she didn’t want to live anymore. She’d said “I’m going to kill myself” throughout her life, more times than she could remember, but she’d never really meant it or thought about how. She knew she couldn’t kill herself violently—she was too afraid of pain—but she might be serious about wanting to for the first time. She checked the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. It had no pills that would be lethal, only aspirin. Nanny was on tons of medication, and so was everyone at her condo. Edna was surprised her grandparents had none. She couldn’t have taken their pills anyway. It was too scary. If you didn’t die, you could end up permanently sick.

Her grandparents’ bathroom was tiled in a soft, sky blue. At eye level, one row was decorated with surfers riding a wave. The cheery, nautical scene had nothing in common with its bleak surroundings. Edna listened to the wind rattle the windowpanes.

She went back to her cot in the cluttered pantry. She was wishing she could just disappear and not have to exist for the summer when she remembered something from a documentary, one her mother forced her to watch so she’d be more worldly. Worldliness was important to Jill, which was ironic to Edna, since she thought her mother was extremely insulated and provincial. In an obscure Tibetan documentary, a room full of monks made themselves sweat while they sat still for hours. Eventually steam came off their bodies, even in cold temperatures. This inspired Shimmer’s version of meditation, as that was becoming a huge trend. Jill called it a “spiritual detox” and held classes in a hot yoga studio. She already had a six-month waiting list.

In any case, Edna wondered if she could sweat enough to make herself completely evaporate. It was an edgy, forward-thinking idea. Human beings were, after all, mostly made of water. She knew thoughts could change the molecules of water as she’d seen this in a different documentary. Edna thought evaporating herself could be a painless process. No one would ever know what had become of her. It might be the perfect escape. It was certainly hot enough to try it, and she had absolutely nothing else to do.

She sat very still on the cot and called upon all her cells to disconnect from each other, to float away, making her body a fine vapor rising upward. It was the best way she could picture it, and visualizing things helped in sports and gymnastics. She wondered if the desert being so dry might make evaporating any easier. Focusing as hard as she could for what must have been at least five minutes did not result in any part of her body evaporating, not even a little skin. She tried it for a little longer.

It occurred to Edna that a hunger strike would be easier than mastering the complex energy that held her molecules together and would also eliminate the possible ingestion of canned meats. A hunger strike had the added benefit of letting her live beyond the summer, if she could live without food for two months, and it would make a strong statement about this terrible injustice. Political prisoners went on hunger strikes. A hunger strike sounded much better than evaporating, and she could start one at any time. Maybe she’d already started it.

Edna thought her parents really overdid it by leaving her with books about pioneer women of the Old West and nothing else. They must have been planning this for weeks. It probably brought them together; it was disgusting. Their backstabbing trick would certainly damage Edna’s trust in them forever. She might let them think there was a chance she’d ever trust them again, but only so they’d keep trying to make it up to her with gifts. In the meantime, killing herself might be unnecessary if she could at least read. She’d get to live the rest of her life and have gifts to look forward to. Maybe things weren’t going to be so bad. Edna was impressed with her ability to conjure a positive attitude when Grandma came in and ruined it.

“I don’t know what your parents told you—”

“They didn’t tell me anything. Staying here was a complete surprise that I found out about five minutes before we arrived. I’m sure I was the last person to know about it. My parents are lucky I don’t report them to the police for abduction or kidnapping. In fact, I think I might.”

Grandma noted Edna’s personality problem as it had been described to her weeks earlier.

“You’re going to shape up this summer, Edna, and that will not include reading all day.”

“What better thing is there to do around here?”

Edna didn’t even close her book. Grandma was not impressed.

“The best thing you can do for yourself, Edna, is to follow me.”

Grandma left. Edna was in fighting mode, but there was no point in starting things off quite so badly. Still, she moved off the cot as slowly as she could with the intention of exerting some pittance of power over Grandma by making her wait a few extra seconds. Grandma didn’t seem to notice. She was seated in the big room and finishing a list when Edna came in.

“Grandpa and I don’t like too much company. In fact I don’t think we ever had any, except your dad and you all, and some doctors.”

This sounded really depressing. If things were about to get worse, Edna knew anything she might say would probably make it worse than that. She was in foreign territory. The new strategy was to keep quiet and observe. She could have saved herself a lot of trouble by discovering this strategy sooner, and the realization came with some regret. Instead of being here, she should be at the Grove sipping bubble tea and getting friendship bracelets. Everyone was at the mall after school was over and before they left for camp.

“We love you as our grandchild, Edna, but that isn’t going to make it fun around here, in case you were expecting that,” Grandma informed her.

Edna wasn’t.

“I’m making a list of things to do, regular chores and a few side projects. I don’t care which one you start with, but you will spend your time productively, not lying around entertaining yourself all day.”

Edna decided against debating the nuanced meanings of productivity with Grandma. She would have jumped all over the topic with her parents.

“It’s fine to read and watch television and be a smarty-pants, but you have to back it up with something.”

Edna had no idea how watching television had anything to do with being smart. The summer continued its downward spiral, with slave labor added to captivity, isolation and canned meat. Maybe she could just walk out into the desert, die of thirst and skip the boring evaporation attempts or lengthy hunger strikes. She could run away at any time, but Edna wasn’t sure she had the courage to do it. Maybe she could try to do the list. Grandma didn’t wait to see Edna’s reaction to it; she went back to her laundry.

Grandma’s handwriting was small and hard to read. Edna was sure this was intentional. The paper said:
House rules: I do the cooking. Don’t bother Grandpa. Things to do: Washing and drying dishes and putting them away. Sweeping. Dusting. Mopping floor. Taking rugs out and beating them, every week. Keeping weeds away from the swamp cooler and the house. Weeding the garden. Bathroom—clean all. Clean out the garage. Paint the porch. Make a cement patio…maybe too hard. Laundry two or three times a week. Wash out cans for recycling.

Did her parents have any idea of this program? Judging by the amount of books they brought, Edna guessed not. They needed to be told. Edna found Grandma’s phone in the kitchen area. It looked like it should be on an old movie set, like everything else in the cabin.

Before Edna called them, she built her argument: forcing her to do these chores and hard labor out in the desert heat was a physical threat. What was the difference between this level of discomfort and a violent beating that her parents could be arrested for? And how could she emotionally evolve under such conditions, with her survival constantly at risk? If she was to really improve, she needed time for spiritual reflection, and she needed to reflect in a safe environment, not in a scary place with these creepy, old strangers. Edna would propose she be grounded for the entire summer and have a strict spiritual retreat at home instead. She could even pitch the idea as a “pray-cation,” and Jill could blog about it on Shimmer. Edna would make her mother think she thought of it herself. They could post pictures: Edna in robes like a monk, serenely reflected in their pool, in front of the waterfall they put in last year. Jill could promote her contractor in the photo’s caption. She loved to promote people and get them work. Edna suspected this was an attempt to collect favors and brandish power. Regardless, Edna was sure she could convince her mother that a “pray-cation” was the perfect solution and long overdue.

She had to make her call in the big room from the phone attached to the wall, and she didn’t care what Grandma thought if she overheard anything. In fact, she wanted Grandma to know exactly who she was dealing with. She picked up the phone and heard what she remembered was called a “dial tone.” That meant the phone worked. Good. It had a rotary dial, something Edna had never used before, but she’d seen it done. She had both her parents’ numbers memorized. She dialed her father. She always confronted him before her mother because if he said “yes,” it meant “yes” and not “maybe,” and then she didn’t have to ask twice. The call went to voice mail. Her mother’s phone also went to voice mail. Despicable. They’d easily driven far enough to have service. Edna was sure it must be a crime to drop your daughter in the middle of nowhere and then not answer your phone.

When she put the receiver in its cradle, she noticed an army of ants crawling up the wall. They made a perfect line. As neat as they were, they still made Edna’s skin crawl. There were probably ants and bugs all over this place, and especially in that pantry she was supposed to be sleeping in. Edna had no idea what to do about the ants, or her parents. In the meantime, these chores were so out of bounds, Edna wasn’t sure if she even had to listen to Grandma. What would happen if she tore up the list and read a book all day? What could Grandma really do about it?

Edna had a habit of making broad, dramatic gestures, which was one of the reasons why she was often in trouble and left in the desert. She thoroughly tore up Grandma’s list. It felt good to rail against these incredible circumstances, and she ripped the paper into the tiniest pieces she could. She heard Grandma’s footsteps on the porch.

Edna hadn’t thought about Grandma seeing this, but it was too late to try to hide the scraps of paper all around her. Grandma looked shocked, and Edna was glad, but Grandma was only temporarily thrown. She took out a key, went to the pantry door and locked it. She put the key back in her pocket. Then she went into the bathroom, came out with some towels and walked out.

Edna dashed to the door and tried not to rattle it too loudly while she desperately yanked on the doorknob. Now Edna knew what Grandma could do if she tore up that list: she could lock her out of the pantry and leave her with nothing but the clothes she had on, and with nothing to do in a boring room.

Edna sat on the ugly couch, stunned. She had to admit that Grandma’s tactic was a surprise and rather cunning. With no access to her things, Edna could sit and stare the day away or do the dreadful list of chores. Only Grandma hadn’t counted on Edna’s third option.

Edna had seen people die in the desert in movies, so she had some idea of what to expect. They just walked until they passed out. It wouldn’t be hard to kill herself this way, she imagined, because she didn’t have to do anything. It would just happen. She cut a beeline into the harsh landscape ahead. She was in full view of Grandpa, but he wasn’t likely to stop her. The scrub brush scratched at her ankles, and the sun brought back her headache from earlier in the car. It was hard to believe, with all that had happened, that this was still the same day.

Escape was empowering and, like a determined warrior, Edna pressed further and further, each step a manifestation of her spirited defiance. Grandma and Grandpa’s property became small behind her, and the tall eucalyptus trees disappeared as she dropped into the valley.

Edna saw her mother in black, grief-stricken and barely able to stand by the grave. She leaned on Edward, who stood strong, but tears cracked his fortress of stoicism and etched paths down his face. Both her parents knew that they’d killed their own child with neglect, and in fact, charges were pending. Brandon cried and asked when he could see his big sister again, sharpening everyone’s profound sadness. The scene itself wept, dripping with stunning, white flowers in passionate arrangements.

A flock of sniffling young teens in black would gather around Edna’s newest best friend, Brit, and only say good things about Edna. Saying anything negative about a dead person would be viewed as extremely uncool, especially at their funeral. It’s amazing what it takes to stop people from talking behind other people’s backs, Edna noted. She imagined what nice things her friends might say about her because they had to say something. She knew she was smart, and she tried hard to be good at things. She was funny sometimes. There must be something better to say than that. It disturbed her that she didn’t know what it was. She expected her school to start a scholarship in her honor because they always did that when someone died. The stupid teacher’s aide would come forward and admit that he’d attacked Edna, not because she did anything wrong but because he’d forgotten to take his medication, making her death caused by a too-severe punishment for the incident all the more poignant.