Fiction by Katayoun Amini
Emma and Vincent sat on opposite sides of the beige couch, flanking Lucky, their eighteen-year-old son. The boy was on his iPad, his red headphones affording him a tiny corner of privacy. Vincent scrolled through his phone. Emma often thought he looked like a middle-aged man arriving at fifteen. She knew the apple didn’t fall very far from the tree as she looked at these men who were supposed to make up her family. She could no longer remember when she’d given up. Today, she relented, instead, watching the images on the silent TV set mounted to the wall. The news was on, and the camera kept cutting back and forth between close-ups of panic-stricken people and wide shots of colorful debris left in the aftermath of a tornado that had just blown through the nearby town of Moore. Emma hadn’t considered the weather when choosing this location for her son. There were no tornados on the West Coast where they lived.
“How far is Moore from here?” Emma asked the man she used to depend on as she crossed, uncrossed, then crossed her legs again, seeking comfort.
That morning, when they landed in the middle of the country, the air had been still, dead even. Driving toward the Heartland School, Emma had kept her eyes on the horizon. The blue of the sky ran into the endless brown of the earth in such a way that there was no beginning and no end. She remembered thinking that either she could see forever in all directions or that it was a trick. It wasn’t real, just another film set, and they would eventually run into a wall. But that morning, they hit no dead ends, and their pristine view didn’t give them any advantage in seeing danger creeping up on them. Now, on the TV, the images flashed like a PSA urging her to run. She just didn’t know in which direction.
“Do you think Moore is close?” She pressed Vincent.
Rapt in his cell phone, the breeze of her question blew past like so many before it. She asked again.
“Vinny? The twister? How fucking far?”
“How should I know?” He answered reflexively, turning his phone face down on his lap and looking around for an exit route. “Far enough, I guess.”
Nowhere to go, they both turned back to the images of grief flashing in quick succession from the television, through their retinas, and into their brains. Lucky was unaware of the tornado. He was engrossed in his world under his headphones—the perfect disguise. No one could have guessed where they were headed at the airport that morning. He was just a typical teenager, maybe going to college. She could have turned around and guided him right out of there. She could do it now. The reality was no one would notice. They looked like the typical family with a kid glued to a screen. Lucky let out a whoop and flapped his free hand rapidly. His face contorted. His exaggerated mouth gestures imitated whatever cartoon character he was watching. Reality. There was no disguising it. Vinny was back to scrolling on his phone. Emma surrendered to the television screen bearing bad news.
The scene in Moore now looked like a scattering of colors. A mess of people’s property torn up and strewn across every inch of land. The outcome of an apocalyptic family fight where no one wins. What Emma assumed were once organized homes and rooms with shelves and neatly folded linens had been picked up and emptied across the flat land.
“Doesn’t that remind you of that wall-hanging sculpture at the Broad Museum,” Emma asked, though she could have been talking to no one. Her son wasn’t about to answer, and her ex-husband didn’t hear as he had retreated deep into the safety of his phone. The sculpture was a quilt of odds and ends covering an entire gallery wall. Emma remembered thinking that it was a beautiful mess. She and Vincent had friends in town for the weekend. She remembered wearing a floral halter dress and sitting outside at the restaurant they’d visited after the exhibit. Vincent had been extra gregarious that night, charming the sommelier into too much wine, but not so much that they hadn’t stayed up laughing long after their friends had gone to bed. Those were the days before she straightened her hair and settled into a wardrobe of three shades of grey.
“OHHHHSOOOOOBAAAAHHHHHHHH,” Lucky let loose, pulling Emma back into the room and the moment. Something he was watching caused him to leap to his feet. He was jumping, squealing, and looking for anything with a reflection to validate his message to the world, one that otherwise went unanswered. He found his clone in a framed poster of hands that offered hope to the incoming: We all need a helping hand sometimes. He made faces at the image of himself shining back from the framed art. He jumped heavily, rocking the room until Emma got up and intervened.
“Sit down. Sit.” She reached out to settle him when one of his hands flew up, connecting with her face, snapping her jaw shut and threatening to shatter her teeth. Vinny’s body tensed.
“All good,” Emma stated to Vinny without looking at him, and so matter-of-factly, it was as if she had said nothing at all. She had practice letting her body relax as if all pain was nonexistent. She knew any reaction only made it worse. If she relaxed, Lucky would relax. Now she just needed Vinny to get that message, just this once, and not turn this waiting room into a brawl. Lucky settled himself back on the couch as if nothing had happened. Overhead, they were replaying the tornado barreling toward the camera, growing in size—the brown mass enveloping every inch of green and blue on the screen. Days later, when Emma searched the distance on the map, she learned that the storm had only been an hour south of where they sat.
“Emma, Vincent–” A round woman with a clipboard appeared at the waiting room door.
“Yes,” Vinny answered as if a triage nurse had finally arrived. He was on his feet and ready to go. Emma gathered her bag and carefully reached for her boy.
“Is this Luciano?” The woman asked.
“Lucky,” Emma said, “We call him Lucky.”
“Well, we’re lucky to have you, Lucky,” the woman chirped. “I’m Mary, the admissions director. Are you ready to get started?”
Lucky threw a side glance when Mary called his name but returned to his device. On the other hand, Vinny had already fallen in line, ready to enter the grounds. For Emma, the hell on the TV was suddenly more inviting than the option to enter. That heightened awareness that happens in a crisis seized her, and everything felt like a threat: the grey-green paint on the walls, the insipid posters, the way the doors sounded as they slammed shut.
“Right this way, folks. I have some name tags for ya’ll. Will Lucky wear a name tag?” Mary’s happy affect tugged their son up out of the blue couch. She paraded him forward and unlocked the doors so they could enter. Emma noted how the bolts opened with her electronic tag. As they exited the waiting room, the Moore tornado was filling the TV screen again, first in the distance but quickly advancing as if it were chasing them. Emma wondered if the locks held storms out. The doors closed behind them with a clang. Should she turn around and try the handle? Just in case. What if there was a fire? Or a tornado? But Emma kept moving, her thoughts looking back over her shoulder, her eyes straight ahead.
Inside, the school looked like any other, with windowed classrooms on either side of the hallway giving way to a view of what might, under different circumstances, look entirely typical. Emma watched a group of young adults herded up the hall toward them, chaperones on every side like sentries.
“Our musical persons served,” Mary bubbled. “Does Lucky like to play an instrument or sing?”
Vinnie and Em stared as if the answer was too heavy to fish out.
“He seems like a singer to me.” She pulled up to the last classroom down the hallway, the one most tucked away. “This is your stop, Lucky.”
She opened the door and let them into a sparsely populated space. Emma noted that there were only three other persons served in the room, each surrounded by one or two adults. A teacher in the middle of the room jumped up and pointed Lucky toward a corner desk, where they might prepare him before serving him.
“Hi. I’m teacher Kate.” She stuck out a hand. Vinny shook it before she turned to usher Lucky towards the desk.
“So we got this. Now, you all go do your day,” she said. Lucky was taken to the set up table, waiting for his arrival. A man the size of a pro football player stepped between the parents and their son.
“He’s going to be working with money today,” the giant man said. Looking over his shoulder at Lucky, he asked, “You like money, don’t you, bud?”
Lucky doesn’t give a shit about money. Emma thought. But it didn’t matter. Mary was ushering them out as Lucky was led into a future no one else here seemed to give a shit about. Lucky’s was a life of perfect balance. Nothing left behind, nothing to look forward to.
“When do we come back to get him?” Emma asked.
“We don’t. He’ll do his day, and you’ll do yours, and at the end, we’ll have a quick goodbye with Mom and Dad at the house. We find it’s best that way. I’m going to take you first to meet Dr. Debbie. She’ll be the one administering medications.”
They followed her. Vinny was silent. He looked at Emma, but she couldn’t look back. She so wanted him to shake her, yell at her, anything. She imagined him saying: I swear I can hold chipper Mary while you run back for our boy. In theory, Vinny was the one—the person to push all Marys aside and rescue their family. Yet somehow, it wasn’t happening. Emma’s thoughts looped around puzzle pieces that didn’t belong in her life…like how much Vinny’s cell phone had started to look like an extension of his arm…like how he had started turning the lights off when he heard her coming up the stairs. By the time she slipped between the sheets, his back would be turned to her, and all she’d be left with was his breathing sounds…like the pity looks that came her way from people she thought were friends…like…like…like how far away he was all the time and how far away she felt now, Emma wondered if the pity-lookers knew something she didn’t. Her mind looped until it couldn’t loop around anymore, until there they were in the middle of the country with chipper Mary and Vinny and his breathing.
They were seated in a room with a shrink who looked like she might work at Dairy Queen, passing out soft serves with a twist of Clonidine or Diazepam Dilly Bars.
“I have two nurses; you can email them; they’ll give you everything you need.” Emma needed a sedative, a fast car, or a new life. The shrink droned on, letting them know that this would be their one and only meeting and that she would not speak directly to the parents from here on out. Emma wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or not.
After the shrink, they were trotted out in front of the behaviorist team, all three of them. The team leader was an overly happy kid who could only have just graduated high school. His followers were a young, infatuated girl and a middle-aged lady who looked lost but kept smiling. The team spent an hour explaining how competent they all were. Everybody was so smiley. Emma thought the Dairy Queen shrink might be dosing the staff. Vinny was silent, still checking his phone, when, bingo, something happened, and he perked up, followed by a clear expression of relief.
Did your girlfriend’s new vagina arrive? Emma thought but said, “Why are you on your phone?”
“I got a directing gig if it’s any consolation. You should be thrilled; it’s paying our insurance.”
“Hey folks, we just have a few papers to sign and we’ll walk the grounds and say our goodbyes.”
The few papers turned out to be an hour’s worth. A notary was brought in, and lots of questions had to be answered about next of kin and what-ifs. What if they decided to terminate Lucky’s stay and no one picked him up?
Silence.
“That happens?” Emma asked. Of course they were picking him up.
“In case he’s abandoned, we send them to the state mental institution. You do understand.”
More silence.
Mary applied her most compassionate face and waited.
Did they have to sign these? Was there a choice? Emma wondered. Did they have to go down the paths they had gone down? Was there a choice, or was it just coming at them, looking to tear them up by the roots? Wrong time, wrong place.
“Well, if you are all good folks, Lucky is in the dorms now, and we can mosey over, and you can say your quick goodbyes.”
“We got it. We’re going to say goodbye.” It was Vinny’s first actual sentence all day. He’d finally put away his phone. He walked off with his head, not willing to look around. He was going to get it done.
Outside, Vinny kept up his fast pace. Emma wondered if he’d forgotten she was behind him. She took two steps to each of his, trying to keep up as they walked across the dry brush terrain toward a cluster of houses. Thick bushes filled with red, yellow, and orange flowers circumvented the grounds. Emma’s heart started racing, not from the rapid walking but from noticing that there were barbs poking out from the insides of the greenery. The bushes were camouflaging wire fences. Is this the part of the tour when she asks questions? Catching up to Vincent, Emma reached for his hand, maybe to slow him down so he’d take notice, maybe just to slow her own heart down.
Mary ushered them through a maze of buildings. Lucky was in the corner of the last room, in the last house.
“Moovie. Moovie. Moovie!” He was negotiating for his device and headphones that were now nowhere in sight. The room had an industrial feel even though it had been dressed with things Emma had sent from home. The comforter from his room, some books Emma knew he’d never read but that she always insisted on reading to him. Some stuffed toys that he’d probably use as pillows. There was nothing on the walls because nothing would stick to concrete.
Lucky didn’t seem to notice that his belongings from home had been transported here. Vinny paced into the room, then out, around the house, and back again. Emma took a seat on the edge of the bed.
Teacher Kate and the behaviorist arrived. Everyone was there to show support. Mary gave Emma the now-or-never look.
“We like to do these things before dinner, and the bell goes off in another five minutes.”
“Fine. Fine.” Vinnie stated before storming out. “I’m out of here.” It was a typical move. It shouldn’t have shocked her. Still, Emma felt as if she was losing her balance. She did what she knew how to do and wrapped her arms around Lucky’s neck. He was a whole head taller than her.
“I love you,” Emma said, pressing her nose against his.
“We need to move,” Mary chimed in. Emma didn’t care. She would take her time, even if the whole world blew away in the next five minutes. She would root right to this spot for as long as she needed. She took a deep breath, and Lucky copied her.
“See you later, okay?” Emma said
“Okay,” Lucky echoed, immediately followed by, “moovie!”
“Yes! Let’s get your movies, buddy,” Teacher Kate said, leading him out of the room. Emma followed as they moved her boy toward the dining hall.
“Best if you leave now.” Mary led Emma toward the front door, practically pushing her into the sunshine. “Buh-bye!”
From inside, Emma could hear Lucky’s squeals. He must have gotten his movies. Around her, the world was still; the sky was blue, and nothing had moved. She walked across the grounds, no longer being led or pushed by anyone until she realized she had no idea where she was, which way she’d come in, or how to get out of the maze of buildings. Emma followed a path surrounded by the same thick bushes filled with yellow and orange flowers.
“Lost?” Emma heard and turned to find a tiny woman holding a large pair of shears and wearing an enormous straw hat that dwarfed her body.
“I think I am,” Emma said to the woman whose grey hair extended wildly from under the hat, exclaiming her freedom.
“Most folks get lost out here,” she said from behind her glasses, which enveloped the rest of her face that wasn’t covered by the hat. “Where are you trying to get?”
“Out.”
“Just stay on the path. It’ll get you to the main building. The parking lot is just on the other side.” As the woman clarified directions, Emma’s need to understand the bushes and the fences resurfaced.
“Thanks,” Emma said, looking out over the penned-in grounds. She had deduced that the tiny woman in the big hat was the groundskeeper, so she asked, “Can you tell me what those bushes are?”
“Desert birds of paradise. Indigenous. About all that can survive in these parts. I just get paid to keep them from taking over.”
“Do you get tornadoes here?” Emma asked. The gardener shifted her clippers from one gloved hand to the other, holding Emma in place with giant eyes magnified by her glasses.
“There’s no tornado coming this way, at least not today. We have special shelters and lots of warnings,” the woman replied. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“I’m not worried.” Emma lied.
“Just keep to the path. You’ll be okay,” she said. Emma moved along. The woman called after her, “Keep going.”
Looking back, the woman kept waiving her shears, encouraging Emma onward down the path. She hoped the gardener was right, but it was impossible to know.
***