Say Goodnight Carrie

Field: Arts and Humanities (Social Sciences)

NICK BREDIE & NORA LANGE Say GoodnightCarrie H H he television s onwhenI feela clammy handcomeovermyface ■■ to cup myeyelids.Myvisiongoes darkand I hearscreamsin whatseemslikeevenmoreofa distant background. "Don't cryCarrie," comemydad'sreassuring words.Ifonlyheknew. Then light again,ashe pullsbackhishandto revealthelivingroom.The viewis hazyat first, butthenI remember: I haveseen thismoviebefore. Alwaysthesame thinghappens:A blondeladywalksintoa trapand she can'tgetout, everyone knowsit,and I suspecttheladyknowsittoo.I askmydad to silencehimself and archmybackintoa tight shape,in theshapeofan eagle,I suppose. I watchthetelevision set:Youand I,we aremoresimilar thanyou might imagine, thewolfsaystotheblondelady, pulling backthecoverlet. The moviehas Frenchsubtitles. I almostconvincemyself thatfluency hasspilledoutfrom thatplaceinmybrainwhereithasbeenburied, all thoseyearsofFrenchclass.The blondehasa nicebuttand I wonderif I oughtto be watching thiswithmydad. Hand me thecornchips,my dad orders.The wolfcontinues: We sharean innocence, youand I. He growls.I wonderifI shouldfeelthiswayabouttheblondelady'sbutt, ifI'm ok.The girlsatschoolthrew a LESBO (Lost EagerStonedBone On) party lastspring. I heardthatthey invited allthelesbiansandwhen every lastone gotto theparty, theylockedthedoorsand beganthrowingiceatthem .I likeguys, I ampretty sure.Whenthey heardaboutmy sleepwalking they saiditmademepronetoadditional cancerous cellsas wellas destitution. "Timeforbed,Carrie," comesmydad'sdeathknell.No thanks, I tellhim.He grabsmyshoulderand whisksme up and out."Saygoodnight , Carrie," ashebrings theblanket aboutmyneck.Goodnight, Carrie ,I say.On hiswayout,hetellsmeinhisstern waythatifI getscared I mustnotattemptto roamoutside.I sleepwalk.This scareshim,so 31 muchthathes threatened to tiemeup.He wontdo it,he justthreatens . I beginto think, I'm olderthanall this,I shouldsaysomething in French. I findmyself thinking aboutthearmsofthewolf.Thatwasthe Frenchwordtheyused,theone forarms.Not pawsor legsas wolves have.We had a dog fora whilebutin mysleep I was alwaysreleasing it.That'showmydad putit.Itwasn'tthatI releasedit,I said,It'sjust thatI neededto open thedoor to getoutsideand thedog likedto be outsidetoo,giventhechoice.It'snota choice,mydad said,It'sa dog. Whenwe gavehimawayto a good home,I askedmydad whatkindof homewe had. He boughtmean icecreamandtossedmeupon hisback. The lightshutsout down thehall.My dad beginsto snore,the soundso tiredand heavyitplaysatomic.I growheavyalso,thinking, of animals, allofthem, French class,girls, penises, andhallways... The wolfseemsattentive. Mybodyis there, initssleepplace,but mymindisn'tfollowing. Not talkative, he has butfewwords.Buthe is open and I guessworldly. Maybeit'shis Frenchroots.Thoughhe is speakingin English.More likegrunting it.In themovie,whenhe was speakingin Frenchitseemedlikehe had moreto say.The movietook placein Paris, wherehewas situatedat a café,but I don'tthink hewas smoking a cigarette. I am notentirely sure,however, becausetheworld was smoky and gray and itbillowedheavily, transforming thelightinto mischiefI havean inkling aboutmystate, and so try toturna light on. Myhandand eyecoordination, well,I don'thaveany.I tellthewolf, in mydefense, thatifI hadtoguessI'd saytheblondeladywasusinghim. The wolfsnarls.I recognizethedangerin this.I attemptto coax the wolf.Pleasebreathe withme,I offer. He snarls.I offer againthistime, morepleasingly: Ifyoubreathe withme I willgiveyousomecornchips. We start breathing. His breath smellsrichwithdead fish. I almostvomit .Instead,I justinhaleand exhale.The wolftouchesmyhead. I want yourhair, hesays.Liketowear>I ask.He's perplexed andstarts tofiddle withthestitching that's unraveled from mybedspread.He asksmefora cigarette. Wolvesdon'tsmoke,I say. The creaseofhisjowlcontinues to froth. Besides, you'dsoakthefilter uselesswiththatjaw ofyours. In my nose,I catchhisbreathagain. 32 Fine,I say, I havecigarettes hereinmyfalsebook.Tossing thecoverletaside ,I remove from thebookshelf A ChildsTreasury Treasure Island. The soft packofWinstonsisworsefor wearfrom beingsealedinsidethe pages.Theyreverystale,I say I lighttwoin mymouthas I'd always wantedto.Bothburnunevenly, so I puff to makethemeven.I putone inthewolfsmouthandquickly stampouttheotherasitbeginstomake me feelill.The wolfbatsat thecigarette in hismouths foamy corner. Aboutthatblondelady?I ask.He ignoresme,preoccupied byhimself, theimageofhimself reflected in mybedroommirror; all thewhilehe's stillfiddling withthestitching. I'm goingoutside,I tellhim.He shakes hisheadatme.I no longercareaboutthewolf,Dad, oraboutschool;I followthesoundsoftheairmovingand makemywayoutside.I crawl handand footthrough mywindowto thegrassbelow.Myfeetsoakup thedampness. Waita minute, thewolfcomplains. Whata moron,I tell myself Down thewolffalls, cloakandall.I think I havebroken a nail,he moansto me.He usestheFrench wordfornail,notclaw.I examinehis finger closely; itdoesappearthatone ischipped. Youreuseless,I tellhim.I wantto knowabouttheblonde,I assert .I wantto knowhowto getyourhair, he snarlsback.Whata bore webothare,I tellhim.Fatigued, I offer togivehimmyrosy orangelocks inexchangeforhimneverbothering ourhomeagain.Its beautiful this evening, themoon is fulland bright; I showoffmypersistence to the wolfbywalkingrather quicklyand some feetahead ofhim.I feelhis moodsharply alterbehindme.Minefollows suit.WeVefoundourselves walking through thesubdivision together, through theevenpoolsofthe street lamps.We shouldprobably getofftheroad,I say, turning backto thewolf, whoisnolongerthere. The moonhasleft thenight, sothatany additionallightprovidedis nowgone.Itis silent.Wipingthemoisture from myeyes,I focuson mybreathing andbeginrunning backhome. Thumpgoesmyelbowin themud.Myarmhad extendedoutto protectmyhead thatgoes untouched.CertainlyI'm awakenow.The falling sensation, mydoctorsays,comes frommyinnerears.Or is...