Last night, after Goodnight Moon, I stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t tired. My brain was doing that spinny, wild thing. I was thinking about all sorts of things that happened, my brain jumping, jumping, jumping all around. The air was too hot and the blanket too scratchy. And then I heard a cricket out my window that wouldn’t stop. I pounded my head, just a little, to make it stop. It never stops.
So I lay there for a long while. I heard Daddy’s footsteps downstairs and the door creak. He was being quiet, but I could hear him. I heard the truck. I looked at my watch. It was 11:00 p.m. On a school night. He was leaving on a school night. Where was he going?
I sighed. Maybe he needed more time in the garage.
And that got me wondering if the lady was still in the garage, her black hair spread out behind her. I wanted to see her again. I wanted to see so badly.
I knew Daddy wouldn’t want me out of the house alone, but I couldn’t help it. I got that image in my head and I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to see.
So I crept down the stairs and out back. I snuck to the spot behind the garage with the hole and peered in. But I was surprised. The black-haired lady was gone. Her white face, her eyes staring. Gone. All the red was gone too. Everything was back in its place.
Saws and tools hung in their spots. I smiled and got goosebumps on my arms. I loved how orderly it was. A board with tools in a row, everything in line. A table sat in the middle of the garage, the floor clean. Not a dot of red. Not a dot of dirt. Clean, clean, clean.
I made myself small, small, small, and waited. Maybe Daddy went to get the black-haired lady and bring her back for the game. I yawned and yawned but fought to stay awake. I needed to stay awake. I counted. I checked my watch over and over.
Finally, at 12:38 a.m., he came back. The truck rattled down the lane. The headlights went out, and the door opened. I heard Daddy grunt as I peeked through the hole. He was carrying something.
A lady. This one had red hair. Red like me.
I almost squealed. Red, red, red. Red like me, Ruby. So pretty.
The lady was sleeping. Her neck looked funny, her eyes bulgy like a frog. Daddy sat her on the table, and I watched. She was naked. I closed my eyes. We’re not supposed to show those parts to anyone, that’s what Daddy always said. Maybe the rules were different for grownups. I’d have to ask him sometime.
I opened my eyes and watched as Daddy grinned. He went to the wall and pulled off some rope. What was he doing? Was this a game?
After a long time, I watched him hang that lady up from the ceiling. She dangled like the tire swing at school, swaying back and forth. Was Daddy making a swing? I watched with my mouth open.
He took out a camera. My favorite, the instant camera. I like it because it comes out black and then poof—there’s a me on it. Grandma says it’s a relic. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like a bad thing.
He snapped a picture, and I wondered what he would do with it. Would he hang it up in the house? I didn’t see one of the black-haired lady. Then, after that, he stood, staring at her. For a moment, he didn’t look so happy. He looked like he wanted to cry. I wanted to run over and ask what was wrong, but I stayed in my spot.
A long, long, long time later, he pulled her down. It seemed weird to hang her up only to pull her down. He put her on the table, the one the black-haired lady was on. The smile came back as he went to the tools. He took a saw and then another. Two saws. Wow.
He walked to the table and touched her face. He was so close I thought he might kiss her. I’ve never seen him so happy. Well, once, I think he was happy. There’s a picture of him with Mama I saw and he looked happy. He was wearing a suit. She was wearing a white lacy dress and they were on a beach. Daddy looked happy then.
I stared. The saw cut. Then there was red. So much red. My heart beat faster. I loved seeing the red puddling underneath the table. How would he clean it all up? I wanted to see the process. How did he get it clean?
I watched and watched as he worked and worked. Small bits of something were falling to the ground. It was like art class, except all the paint was red. Maybe I would have to try that in school, I thought. Painting with just red. Maybe I could make Daddy a picture out of red paint. He could put it in the garage.
Daddy worked and worked, and I wanted to stay. But I could tell he was getting tired. It looked like hard work. And I knew he’d go to sleep and I couldn’t be outside when he went in. So I had to leave.
I hoped I’d get to see the rest sometime. I needed to see the rest. How he cleaned up.
I wanted to know how he got it so clean.
2:41 a.m. I went to bed.
And then, the next thing I knew, Daddy was in my room.
“We’re late. Let’s go,” he said gruffly. My eyes opened. I looked at my watch. How had I slept in? I never slept in. Daddy never slept in.
I was mad. We were off schedule. We were off schedule! The day was ruined.
Daddy looked tired. I thought of the lady. She must have kept him late.
I wanted to tell Daddy to save his garage game for weekends, that we can’t be off schedule. But I didn’t. Secrets and all. Privacy. Rules. He would be mad that I was near the garage. I didn’t want him to think I was breaking the rules. I never break rules Daddy sets, not on purpose. Not if I can help it—sometimes I can’t.
I hadn’t gone in, I hadn’t. I’d just looked. He’d never said I couldn’t look. But I didn’t want him to think I was breaking rules.
I made it through the day. Daddy had driven me to school and then went off to work. He didn’t tell me to stay safe when he dropped me off. That upset me. My whole day was bad. He always said stay safe.
But at least he got me to school. And I was safe. That was good. I drew a picture of a lady with red markers. All red. The teacher said it was interesting as her eyebrows crinkled. I don’t think she meant it. Some of the other kids laughed. I ripped it up. I didn’t want Daddy to have a picture that wasn’t good, and I was mad that he hadn’t said stay safe. It was his fault the picture was bad.
But it’s okay. I know he’s a good Daddy, after all. He knows the bus is too loud for me and it makes me upset, so he drives me every day. Even if it means he is going to be late for work like today.
Diary, I like telling you what happens. Maybe I’ll get some red pens for next time I write. I think it would look so good in red. Don’t you?
Stay Safe,
Ruby
September 16, 2009
6:57 p.m.
Dear Diary,
Mama didn’t follow rules. Daddy doesn’t like to talk about her but when he does, he says she didn’t follow rules. He says she was a free spirit. I don’t know that that means exactly, but I don’t like people who don’t follow rules. I bet I wouldn’t have liked her.
I will follow the rules. I don’t want to go where she is. Some kid from school’s hamster died and his mom told him it went to hamster heaven. I asked Daddy what heaven was. He sighed and said Ruby, some things are too hard to explain. I don’t think he believes in this hamster heaven.
I don’t know where Mama is, if she is in hamster heaven or somewhere else. I don’t remember her. Daddy said she had pretty hair. My hair is red. Red red red. Red like apples my teacher says. Red like strawberries, Grandma always says.
I hate strawberries. Grandma doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know much of anything, in truth.