~ ~ ~
It was an eternity before my mother arrived. She was out of breath, had been running from the car. She still had her work clothes on, overalls and boots.
She saw the police, the counselor, the nurse. What are you all doing here?
We’ve been talking with your daughter, Evelyn said. We’re concerned about what’s happening at the aquarium and also at home.
I didn’t tell them anything, I said.
What? My mother looked confused.
What is there to tell? Evelyn asked.
The police were moving in closer.
What are you talking about? my mother asked.
Have you struck your daughter?
Leave her alone! I yelled, and I ran to my mother, put my arms around her and couldn’t help crying, these sobs that came in heaves.
There’s a man at the aquarium, my mother said. He’s been touching my daughter, making plans to take her away to Mexico, telling her he loves her. You all need to pull your heads out of your asses. We’re going to the aquarium now to talk to this man.
He’s my friend, I sobbed, but I could hardly make words. My mother was hugging me tight, rubbing my back.
Mrs. Thompson, you need to cooperate here, the policeman said. He had a low voice.
And you need to do your job. I’ll talk about how you wouldn’t do anything to protect a twelve-year-old girl and just let this man go free and now he could be wandering around anywhere in the city looking for someone else’s daughter. And it’s not missus. Just Thompson.
No one said anything for a while after that. I didn’t dare look at them. I held on to my mother and kept my eyes closed.
Okay, the man said. We’ll go to the aquarium first, Ms. Thompson. But then you’ll be coming to the station, and after that, we may need to do a home inspection. We’ll be calling in family services, and having a doctor examine your daughter. No conversation is finished until we say it’s finished.
Grow some decency, my mother said. Try to be a human.
You’re not allowed to insult us, the policewoman said.
I can do whatever I want. I’m the mother of a twelve-year-old girl. Even the governor is a pedophile if I say he is. And what about you? Do you like little girls?
Okay, that’s enough, the policeman said. It’s going to be a long day for you. But we need to go to the aquarium now. It’s already after three. You’ll follow us and pull over when we do, a few blocks from the aquarium. Then Caitlin will walk ahead alone, the way she usually does, and we’ll be watching.
What happens if he does something before you arrive?
We already have plainclothes officers inside. Your daughter will be safe.
We drove then down East Yesler Way toward Puget Sound, dark water low beneath the city. My mother was talking fast, worried. You can’t ever say I slapped you. They’ll take you away from me. They’ll take you away, Caitlin. I’m so sorry. I never should have slapped you, and I never will again. I promise. But you can’t say anything to them. Do you understand?
I won’t say anything, I said. I was starting to cry again at the thought of losing my mother.
I’m scared of them, Caitlin. They can do anything. It doesn’t have to make any sense. You can’t tell them anything about me. But this old man, you have to tell them everything about him. He wants to take you away too.
Our old car charging ahead like some bull, my mother rough on the accelerator and brake, panicking, the patrol car in front. The sky white and without drizzle at the moment but the streets wet. I felt like everything was ending, all put under pressure, collapsing. The sky itself would fall in, and the streets fold and submerge and the water rush in, the weight of the entire Pacific.
The most terrible betrayal. We pulled to the curb and I was standing on the sidewalk, surrounded by shallow puddles, dark mirrors, all the land pocked with holes. I could hardly walk.
Just say hello to him the way you normally would, the policeman said. Gun and baton, silver in his belt and badge, liquid that he somehow wore.
I had no choice. All set in motion. All of childhood like that. So I walked my usual route on a day unlike any other, and I could no longer gauge distance. My feet slapping down too hard or not reaching far enough. And my friend waiting, thinking he was meeting my mother today.
I wanted to flatten, my body become a gray porous crust like the pavement, my arms fins of gravel, eyes disguised as puddles. The police would walk over my body and not know. They would search and never find me. At night, I might shift along the street, feeding on whatever gathered in gutters, and I would soften in the sun, shift my coloring to a lighter gray, then darken again in rain.
But instead I was uncamouflaged, exposed for all to see, held upright, walking on legs that seemed impossible, scissoring along the sidewalk in a side-to-side wobble pinned by gravity. The aquarium now in view.
I looked behind, and the police were there half a block back, and my mother.
My heart a low thudding, heavy and far away, dread. I should have screamed a warning and run away, but I kept walking, and then I was opening the door.
The lobby, only a few people, and I wondered which ones were the police. I hesitated, thought if I just stayed here and never went into the corridors, they’d never find him. But I walked into the warm darkness, all the worlds lit on either side, and I found him at a tank with sea anemones and clownfish.
So soft, he said. Imagine living like that.
The yellow clownfish with a single white stripe along their backs. Fish that always belonged.
Anemones are jellyfish that never swim free, I said.
Wow, the old man said. What else?
If you touch them, it’s like hundreds of little harpoons exploding, each one poisonous. That’s what makes them feel sticky. But the clownfish aren’t hurt.
The old man put his arm around me. Caitlin, today I have a wonderful surprise for you.
I could smell aftershave. He was wearing a new jacket and shirt, his hair cut and combed neatly. He was smiling, nervous, his eyes twitching.
Sir, a man said from behind us. Step away from the girl. Seattle police.
What? The old man didn’t understand. Three men now, plainclothes officers.
I’m sorry, I tried to say, but I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe.
What is this?
Please step over here, sir. We’d like to ask you a few questions.
The men like shadows in their dark clothing, only their faces lit by the tanks. They were taking him away from me, but I followed. I grabbed on to his arm. Please, I said.
Who are you? the old man demanded of the men. He sounded frightened.
Seattle police.
One of the officers took my arm and pulled me away.
You’ve misunderstood, the old man said. No. This isn’t right. You’ve misunderstood.
Caitlin! my mother said, loud over everything else, and she was running toward me.
Sheri! the old man said. Tell them who I am.
My mother stopped as if she had hit a wall. No, she said. She put her hands up to her face, as if she were praying, and then she fell down to her knees. No, she said. You can’t do this to me.
The police were still pulling the old man away.
Sheri! he yelled. You have to tell them now. They think I’m some pervert.
He’s her grandfather, my mother said. He’s my father.
The police let go of him then. Caitlin, he said.