Swimming with Love

“I know, Mark. I don’t want to think about it either, but we have to deal with it. I cannot just sit around and do nothing—this is my child they are talking about!”

I raise my hand to knock on my parents’ bedroom door, then freeze. My mom starts to cry. She’s been doing that a lot lately.

I lower my hand and turn toward the stairs.

I wonder which one of us she’s talking about.

I reflect on my recent behavior—nothing to be in trouble for in the last two weeks—but anxiety flickers anyway. I stop halfway down the stairs, one foot frozen in the air. Oh God, no! Did they find out that I was the one who let the air out of all the soccer balls last month and now they want to kick me out of school? Or that I dyed all the hamsters purple in biology? Or maybe the police want to question me; can I really be arrested for a small, accidental fire? It was an accident! Isn’t it illegal to not buy flame-retardant furniture for public places? I’ll have to Google that tonight—just in case.

As I stand there contemplating which actress will play me in the TV movie about the first 14-year-old girl to serve life in prison for setting off a firecracker in a movie theater, my older sister Angela bumps me as she walks down the stairs.

“Hello, stupid! Did you hear me? Hurry up so we can get to school on time for once!”

Angela and I both attend the local high school. Mom usually drops us off in the morning after she takes my 5-year-old sister Kimberly and 9-year-old twin brothers, Mike and Mason, to the local elementary school, even though both schools are within walking distance from our house. Mom and Angela have arguments almost daily about us not being allowed to walk to school like all of the other teenagers in our town. It annoys me how Angela always includes me in her causes even though she never asks my opinion on said causes.

Dad says that Angela will make a fine politician one day.

As I enter the kitchen, I see Mike and Mason are pulling Kimberly’s chair back and forth, arguing over who is the strongest and can move her chair, with her in it. Kimberly is only 5 years old, but she is the size of an 8-year-old. Mom says she will grow out of her “baby fat” and that her bigger size just means “there is more of her to love!”

“Hey guys, cut it out and let Kimberly eat her breakfast in peace!” I say.

“And Mike, sit down and finish your cereal before I hold you down, pour it down your throat and watch the Fruity O's come out of your nose!”

Mike hurriedly sits down and practically inhales his cereal, not sure if I will suddenly decide to do it, if only just for fun.

My brothers, aptly named the Tornado Twins, have a healthy fear of me. I’ve trained them to panic at the simple lift of my eyebrows and a long, wide-eyed stare. Mom still cannot figure out how I am able to tame them. One day, when I’m older, I might tell her about the time they broke my favorite doll, and I decided to cleanse them of evil spirits using the washing machine and some ice cubes.

I used to stay up late watching a televangelist excise demon spirits from his congregation by repeatedly dunking them in a huge barrel filled with water and ice cubes. He was advertising a special “for the low price of only $59.99 per demon!”

I figured I could accomplish the same for free, with a few modern adjustments.

Mason peed on himself before the dryer phase, Mike promised eternal obedience, and they’ve both respected “The Look” ever since.

When Mom enters the kitchen, she opens the refrigerator and starts taking out breakfast items to cook.

Angela gives her a quizzical look. “Mom? Everyone ate already, unless you were going to be extra nice and make me something special because I am really your favorite child?”

Mom spins around fast with a look of shock and yells, “Do not ever say that again!! There are no favorites in this house, I love each one of my children the same!! Do you understand!?”

We all freeze and stare at Mom in disbelief; she rarely yells at us, so this is a definite shock. Mom turns towards the sink and busies herself with washing dishes.

“Mom?” Angela says, “Is everything okay?”

Mom does not answer; she turns the water on to rinse the dishes she just washed. Kimberly gets up from her chair and goes to sit on the floor next to Mom’s feet, still playing with her doll. I tell the twins to go upstairs and get ready for school. At first they hesitate, waiting to see what will happen next but I give them the meanest version of “The Look” I can muster, and they bolt out of the kitchen.

Mom looks down at Kimberly sitting on the floor and she drops to her knees, buries her face in Kimberly’s soft red hair, and begins to cry.

Angela and I rush to Mom’s side; we have never seen her like this before.

“What’s wrong Mom? Tell us!” Angela says.

I stand there, waiting for the news that Dad has been hurt - or worse, has died. But that’s impossible! Mom was just on the phone with him a few minutes ago.

Then I remember what I overheard Mom say on the phone.

I blurt out, “Mom, I am so sorry, I promise to be good, I promise! Please don’t cry!”

Kimberly is not paying attention to any of us; she is engrossed in putting a pair of leggings on her doll.

Mom looks up at me. “You have not done anything wrong my sweet girl, I’m sorry for being so emotional in front of all of you. I just do not know what to do.”

She strokes Kimberly’s hair and starts to cry again.

I figure whatever the problem is, it has something to do with Kimberly.

Kimberly was diagnosed with a rare developmental disorder about 2 years ago. The doctors say she can live an almost normal life with the proper long-term educational and emotional support. I read an article once that compared her condition to living underwater but then suddenly coming up to the surface to interact with you for short periods of time.

“Mom, what’s wrong with Kimberly now?” I ask softly.

My little sister is the sweetest, most loving little girl in the world. She only sees the good in everyone. When the twins taunt her and take one of her dolls, she simply gets another one and sits closer to them as if she is happy they want to play with her dolls. But, although the boys mess with her at home, at school everyone knows if you even look at Kimberly the wrong way you will have a double dose of severe consequences to deal with from the Tornado Twins.

We are all overprotective of her, so I am scared of what Mom is going to say.

“Kimberly dear, go upstairs and get ready for school now, okay?” Mom kisses her head and watches as Kimberly walks out of the kitchen. Mom turns to us, and I brace myself for the unwelcome news.

“A few months ago,” Mom says, “a lawyer contacted your father and me about a mix-up at the hospital where Kimberly was born. A nurse in the maternity ward was arrested for switching babies.”

She swallows.

“The hospital asked families who delivered while she worked there to do DNA testing. I refused at first. I know this is my child. But your father insisted we cooperate, if only to make it stop.

I went last Friday, while you were in school.”

She looks up at us, her eyes rimmed red.

“The lawyer called yesterday,” she says. “He wants to speak with us.”

Angela lets out a sob and shakes her head slowly as if trying to wake up. I just stare at Mom, tears stinging my eyes.

“They are wrong Mom! Kimberly is ours! They are wrong, wrong, wrong!” I cry.

“It will be all right, girls. Stop crying.” She pulls us close.

“Of course Kimberly is ours.”

Her voice wavers on the word ours.

Mom gives us a weak smile. “Now, go wash your faces, gather the troops, and let’s head out to school before you’re later than usual!”

She kisses each of us on the forehead and turns to finish the dishes. As we walk out, I turn back to ask if I can go with her to the lawyer’s office.

My mom is sitting on the floor again, tears are streaming down her face, and her mouth is open in a silent scream.

The entire day in school I feel as if I am underwater. I wonder if this is how Kimberly feels every day. I can see and hear people talking to me, but I cannot really comprehend what they are saying. At lunchtime, I look over to where Angela usually sits with her friends and notice she is in a daze too. As our eyes meet, I realize we are underwater together; we are both drowning in a sea of fear and heartache and there is nothing either of us can do about it.

When Mom comes to pick us up from school that day, she is wearing sunglasses and her hair is in a ponytail, something she rarely does unless she is gardening. The twins are in the third row of the minivan, fighting over an old potato chip they found in the seat. Angela hops in the front seat and I take my seat next to Kimberly, who is playing with one of the dolls Mom keeps in the car for her.

“Hi Nikki!” Kimberly says with a wide smile on her face as if she has not seen me in a long time.

“Hi Carrot Top, did you have fun in school today?”

She has stopped focusing on me already and is only interested in the doll again.

I think of looking to my left one day and not seeing my beautiful little sister sitting next to me.

Tears fall down my face as I watch her dress and undress her doll, over and over again.

Mom and Dad finally agree to let Angela and me come with them to the lawyer’s office. We sit in an empty conference room while they meet across the hall. Angela has her headphones on listening to music as I pace back and forth, counting my steps, over and over again.

Minutes pass. Or maybe hours. When I finally look at the clock, only fifteen minutes have gone by.

After what seems like an eternity, the door across the hall opens and I see my parents’ shaking hands with the lawyer.

I cannot tell yet whether it is good news or bad; my heart starts racing, and my mouth goes instantly dry. Angela takes off her headphones and stands up next to me.

I feel her hand slip into mine and we both stand there, frozen in place.

I can see their faces now. I squeeze Angela’s hand tighter.

Later the same day, I ride with Mom to pick up the twins and Kimberly from school.

When the school doors open, I jump out of the car and run to Kimberly.

I lift her into my arms and hold her tight.

“Hi Nikki! Hi Nikki!” she says, smiling wide.

“Hi, Carrot Top,” I whisper. “Did you have fun today?”

I stand there, watching the surface ripple, unwilling to look away.