Symmetry

Tonight would be a soup night. The snow was soggy and heavy, shooting vertically and plastering the northwest side of everything. It would no doubt freeze there by morning, creating a vertical layer of ice against everything, which all the poor bastards in town would have to chip off their cars if they wanted to go to work in the morning.

Annie started the soup early, since it involved a lot of chopping. She used to love to chop, but now loathed it. She was excruciatingly slow with her clumsy left hand. Annie used to be one of the fastest in the world, her knife deftly flowing along the lengths of the vegetables in a sweeping blur. Her chopping didn’t even sound like chopping. It was more of a flutter, like the whir of a hummingbird. She always created perfectly uniform little gems. Now it was a lot of adjusting, steadying, and a hard, harsh chop, then adjusting, steadying again, and another graceless chop.

Once the carrots, onions, potatoes, cabbage, mushrooms, and tomatoes were all in chunks, she set them aside. She’d left the beef to marinate in the refrigerator overnight. She removed it and set it out to take off the chill before she browned it. The next part was also rather a chore for her now. She hooked her right elbow under the bar at the top of her step stool and grasped it with the three remaining fingers and thumb on her left hand. After placing the stool in front of the sink, Annie climbed onto it, bracing herself with her right stump against the sink and her left hand on the back of the stool.

Annie opened the cupboard door above the sink. The large pot was pushed back farther into the cupboard than she remembered. She turned it until she could grasp the handle. With her stump under the heavy pot, she slid it out of the cupboard. Just as the bottom of the pot cleared the edge, something heavy fell from inside the cupboard and clipped her right shoulder. She heard thick glass shatter as she caught her balance.

Slowly, Annie brought the pot down and placed it into the deep sink. She stepped carefully back onto the floor, making sure she didn’t step on any glass. The stink of whisky floated up from the floor. The bottle had not been there last time she’d opened that cupboard, but that had been before the attack. Before the attack, Paul had been sober for seven years.

“Mom?”

Maggie was standing in the kitchen doorway, clearly concerned. She was wearing one of Paul’s old shirts. It was splattered with paint and made her look very small.

Maggie held out her left palm toward Maggie in a “stop” gesture. “It’s okay, sweetie, I just dropped something. Don’t come in here – there’s glass everywhere. I’m cleaning it up right now. Are you finished with your painting?”

“Almost,” Maggie said. The little girl knew better than to offer to help, having seen Annie become upset at any implication that she was weak or incapable.

“Well, let me finish cleaning up and get dinner on to cook, and then I will come and see it.”

“Okay,” said Maggie. She turned and limped back to her playroom.

As Annie cleaned up and put the soup on to cook, she went over possible ways in her mind to approach Paul about drinking again. He would surely know that she’d discovered the whiskey when he saw that she’d taken the pot down from the cupboard. She wondered how long he’d been drinking, and hoped it hadn’t been the whole three years since the attack.

She removed and hung up the blue Velcro apron that her mother and Maggie had made for her last Christmas and went into the bathroom. After washing her hand and stump, Annie smoothed her honey-colored, naturally curly hair. It was cut in a long bob that was low maintenance. Wash and go. She applied apricot-scented hand lotion. Her skin always got very dry in the winter. Her fingers ran over the rough scar where her right hand used to be. Maggie once remarked that it was shaped like a shark. 7-year-olds could get away with saying things like that. It made Annie smile. She was a mama shark who’d protected her baby.

Maggie half-limped, half-skipped over to her mother when Annie entered the playroom, excited to show off her painting. Both of Maggie’s legs had long raised white scars from the claws and teeth. Her left leg had suffered nerve damage, which caused her limp. The kids at school used to tease Maggie about her scars and her limp until her cousin Lilly, who was four years her senior, stood up for her. Lilly had learned at an early age how to deal with bullies, being half Native American in a pre-dominantly white community. When she had seen a group of kids taunting Maggie, Lilly marched up to the group and told the other kids, “You’re just jealous of how tough the girls in our family are. I bet none of you or your moms are brave enough to fight a mountain lion and win.” From that day, Maggie was treated with respect and awe by the other kids.

Maggie’s painting was of Maggie, Annie, and Lilly. They were standing in front of a castle and were wearing princess gowns. All three of them had their hands behind their backs. Maggie once remarked that she couldn’t draw hands very well, but Annie wondered if she was not drawing them because she didn’t want to hurt Annie’s feelings. The castle was perfectly in the middle, and there were the same number of flowers on each side.

“Wow, I think we all look great as princesses!” said Annie. “What are the guys doing while we are hanging out at the castle?”

Maggie looked at her mother like she was an idiot. “They’re at work, Mom.

That’s what guys do, they go to work while the girls stay home.”

Annie tried not to let her displeasure show. She felt so guilty that her daughter was being taught these things. Maggie didn’t know how much Annie had worked in her life. All she knew was that her mother stayed home. Maggie was too young to remember much about their lives before the attack happened. She did not know her mother had been a world-renowned chef who traveled the world, was featured on television, and frequently put in 60-hour weeks as Chef de cuisine. Annie didn’t watch much television, so she had never seen reruns of the shows on which her mother was featured.

Annie wondered if perhaps the reason Paul had started drinking again was because it was emotionally impossible for her to work at the restaurant. Even discussing menus with her husband upset her. She knew the restaurant was struggling and that her husband was stressed. He had aged so much in the last four years; some people mistook him for his father. He walked hunched over, his hair was more gray than brown, and he had lines in his face and hands that made him look tired, deflated, defeated. This was not the life either of them had imagined when they married. They were equal partners. Now Annie was a physical and emotional invalid. She wanted to make sure her daughter understood that it was acceptable and commendable for women to work too.

She decided today was not the day to have this discussion, however. Maggie was yawning from having awoken early that morning, and Annie knew it wouldn’t be long before she took a nap. She kissed her daughter’s paint-smudged forehead and suggested a bath and a cup of hot chocolate. Maggie grinned fully, something she didn’t often do. Like the other kids in her grade, she had lost a few teeth, and was self-conscious about her asymmetrical smile. Annie remembered being the same way.

Annie helped Maggie draw her bath. To Maggie’s delight, Annie added some of her lavender-scented bubble bath to the water. While Maggie bathed, Annie laid out some pale blue sweats and chose one of her newer outfits for her to wear after her nap: A light purple sweater that complimented her daughter’s olive skin and dark brown hair, and a pair of black jeans. Her daughter had hit a growth spurt a month after school started, and they’d had to buy her all new clothes. Annie could tell Paul hadn’t been happy about it, but he never said anything to either of them. Growth spurts couldn’t be helped, after all.

Annie’s sister-in-law had taught Maggie how to blow-dry and style her hair, since Annie was not able to help her. She went to the doorway of the bathroom and watched her white-robed daughter dry her long hair. Maggie pursed her lips in concentration as she parted her hair directly down the center, either unaware of her mother or unwilling to allow her concentration to be broken. She had inherited her parents’ perfectionism.

After her hot cocoa with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon, Maggie snuggled into her bed for a nap. She had always been good about listening to her body, so naps were never a fight. As she smoothed the comforter over her daughter, Annie marveled at how young her daughter seemed, even though she was much more mature and responsible than other children her age.

Annie treated herself to a cup of cocoa—something she did not often do—and settled down with her e-reader. She had just begun to doze when she heard a scream from Maggie’s room. Although this occurrence was very familiar, it still startled Annie every time. Maggie was dreaming about the mountain lion.

Annie gathered her daughter in her arms and awkwardly smoothed her hair back from her face. She knew her daughter was confused about all the events of that day they went for a walk in the foothills above the town. She’d only been four years old when it happened. Although Maggie didn’t remember the details, she remembered the pain and the terror. Because of this, the events and circumstances of her dreams varied, but the feelings remained the same.

The details, however, were always very clear and consistent in Annie’s dreams. She had taken a day off from the restaurant to spend time with Maggie. After a day of playing indoors, she’d strapped her daughter into the stroller and took her for a walk in the cooler air. They followed a popular walking path where Annie had often taken her daughter on walks, and on which there were often joggers and walkers throughout the day. Annie had never felt unsafe on that path.

As they were heading back down the path, Maggie became restless, so Annie took her out of the stroller and let her run around. Maggie babbled as she explored, her sweet little-girl voice sometimes echoing when it projected out just right. The sun had just finished setting, when Annie saw a couple walking down the path toward them. She glanced back at Maggie once, then began walking slowly toward the couple, trying to determine if they were her neighbors Elle and Carl.

That next moment, Annie heard a sudden, heavy rustling. Maggie didn’t have the strength to make that much noise if she tried. Instinctually, Annie spun around to see a huge cat running toward her daughter. Annie was closer to Maggie, and grabbed her daughter by the torso, just after the mountain lion pounced. It caught Maggie by the legs with its teeth and claws, and Annie wrenched her daughter from the cat, falling to the ground in the process, and tossing her screaming Maggie a few feet away. Then the cat was upon Annie.

Annie covered her face with her arms. The mountain lion had her pinned to the ground and was trying to get to her head and neck. Annie grasped at its face, its hot, rancid breath and heavy body making it almost impossible for her to breathe. She noticed her right hand was not working right, but didn’t dare look up to see what it looked like. She raked at the cat’s face with her nails, wishing she had claws to match the beast’s. She felt it tearing at her hands and arms as she fought it, her flesh being ripped away from her hands. She knew that the warm, copper-smelling blood that covered her was her own. Just before Annie lost consciousness, the mountain lion had moved off of her. She screamed for her daughter, panicked at the thought of the mountain lion attacking her daughter again.

Annie awoke as they were loading her and Maggie into ambulances. Annie could hear Maggie screaming, and saw her daughter’s dirty face streaked with tears as moved her past Annie on a stretcher. The blanket over her daughter's legs was stained bright red. Elle, Annie’s short, plump neighbor rushed past her alongside Maggie’s stretcher. “Annie, she’ll be okay! Carl drove it off, and the cops are going to make sure it’s found and shot. I will ride with her. You saved her, sweetie!”

Every time Maggie woke up screaming, Annie was transported back to that scene. She generally relived the attack in her own dreams afterward. Annie decided that today, she would not fall asleep until her husband was beside her later that night. She calmed Maggie and stayed with her until she slept again.

Paul came home earlier than usual that night, not wanting to stay too late out in the storm.

Maggie greeted him with her usual kiss on each cheek, “the way they do in Europe,” which Paul had taught her.

After removing his boots and warm layers, Paul followed Maggie and Annie into the kitchen. Annie had put her apron back on, and was ready to stir the soup. Paul looked up at the pot just as she had removed the lid. He froze for a split second, his eyes widened slightly. He smiled, a little too wide. She smiled back, knowing he knew she’d discovered his secret.

“Actually, you girls go ahead and eat. I’ll have some later. I need to take a shower and have some paperwork to do.” Paul patted Maggie on the head and disappeared to the master bedroom. Maggie looked disappointed, but said nothing. She was used to her father withdrawing sometimes.

Maggie and Annie set the table and ate. Their topic of conversation was what Maggie wanted for Christmas. Maggie, of course, mostly wanted art supplies and books. After they ate and loaded the dishwasher, both Annie and Maggie dressed for bed. Annie curled up with Maggie, read her a story, and said goodnight. Meanwhile, Paul was in the study with the door closed.

About an hour later, Annie heard the study door open and went into the kitchen to fix Paul’s soup. He wouldn’t look at her when he came into the kitchen. Annie took a deep breath and decided to be direct.

“How long?” she asked.

“Annie, I’m sorry, but I don’t really want to talk about this tonight.” Paul’s voice was quiet and cracked.

Annie began to ladle soup into a bowl for him. She wasn’t going to let him shirk this conversation. “It’s because of me.”

“No—Goddamnit, Annie, you’re getting soup everywhere. Let me do that. I don’t even know why you spent so much time making soup anyway.” He came around the island, grabbed the ladle from her, and wiped up her mess. Annie stepped back and turned toward the sink.”

“I still know how to cook, Paul.” Annie was trying not to sound angry, but he was making it very difficult.

“Well knowing how to cook and being able to cook are two different things.” Paul finished ladling the soup into his bowl and turned to face her. He thrust the bowl of soup toward her with one hand and fished a carrot out with the other. He held the chunk of carrot under her nose and said, “Look at it! Aren’t you embarrassed that you can’t even cut carrots symmetrically enough to cook through evenly?” He threw the carrot back into the bowl with a little splash and turned from her, setting the bowl back down on the island and walked back around. He didn’t even turn as he said, “I’ve lost my appetite,” and started walking toward the living room.

“Symmetrically?” Annie called loudly. Paul turned, surprised at her tone. She usually didn’t press him to talk when he didn’t want to be bothered. “Is that why you despise me, Paul? Is that why you won’t touch me?” She held up her hand and stump. “Because I’m not ‘symmetrical’?”

“Annie, I do not want to get into this with you. I’m tired. I will be sleeping on the couch tonight.” Paul turned back and went through the living room into their bedroom to grab a pillow and blanket.

Defeated, Annie slowly removed her apron, walked past Paul who was settling himself on the couch, and went into her room. It did not take long for her to fall asleep very deeply and very quickly.

Annie was on that path again, her daughter a few feet away screaming, a hulking beast crushing her. This time, however, she dared to open her eyes. Instead of a face full of fur and teeth as she’d expected, she saw Paul. He was gnawing at her left wrist, his face covered in her blood. When he saw that she was watching him. He stopped and stared into her eyes. “I will make you even. I will give you back your symmetry,” he growled through bared teeth.

Annie sat up in bed, her left wrist throbbing. She stepped onto the cold floor in the dark and moved quietly out of her bedroom, past her sleeping husband on the couch, and into the kitchen. Annie could see through the window above the sink that the storm had stopped. The sky was clear, and the moonlight created a soft blue glow in the kitchen. She looked down into the shadowy sink, thinking for a moment, that she would be sick. With her left hand, she reached into the sink. With her stump, she flipped the switch.

When the grinding had stopped and she turned to slide down to the floor, she saw Paul in the kitchen doorway. “Annie?” he asked, sleepy, but alarmed. He turned the light on and rushed around the island to her. She thrust her stumps under his nose, choking back the bile in her throat and the tears in her eyes. Her whisper was hoarse, but calm.

“Better?”