AVA CRAWLED ONTO the child-sized bed and pulled the covers
over her face, pretending the quilt was a river above her.
The patchwork calmed her breathing. In, blue. Out, white.
There were thirty-six squares of blue and thirty-six squares
of white. Sometimes she was hidden long enough to count each
one. In the distance, she heard loud whispers and stifled
giggling as her nieces searched the house. She always hid in
the same place, and they didn’t go to her usual spot until
last. They looked everywhere except where she’d be found.
They enjoyed the art of seeking. But for Ava Camden, there
was a joy in being hidden.
It felt silly being a grown woman in a child’s bed, but her
nieces expected her to dress up on command and hide so they
could seek. She couldn’t deny them anything, because they
were like her own children. When she thought of the future,
she didn’t see a family. She saw a void resembling a hollow
space in a tree. The rest of the world grew around her absence.
The approaching laughter allowed her little time for remorse
or cynicism.
The girls climbed on the bed. This was their favorite part.
When they uncovered Ava, she was hidden again in the mass of
her dark hair. The long, twisted strands protected her from
unwanted eyes when she needed it.
"I’m sleeping,” she said. Her nieces went back to loud
whispers. They put a tiara on her head and smoothed the hair
away from her face. The good side was revealed. The side
with the scars pressed against the pillow. She knew that
when she turned to face them, these two girls would hug her
and say she was beautiful.
"Smile,” Lydia demanded. She was almost five and serious and
like her mother who always combed Lydia’s hair into a bun
like a ballerina.
Ava smiled but didn’t open her eyes.
"Make a funny face,” Lexi demanded. She was three. By her
second birthday, she had more than enough hair to make two
ponytails. It made it easier for people to tell them apart.
Two years separated them, but they looked enough like twins
to confuse people.
Ava puffed up her cheeks like a blowfish. Lexi’s small hands
popped the balloon of her face, and Ava exhaled
dramatically. She felt kisses on her cheeks. No one else in
the world was allowed to see her like this. If it weren’t
for these two girls, she would have forgotten happiness
completely.
She opened her eyes to their laughter, and Lydia hovered
above with a camera.
The room lit with the camera flash. It was like lightning
from a distant storm. Not dangerous, but worrying.
"Let’s play something else,” Ava suggested. She tried not to
move suddenly. She tried to keep the smile on her face even
though she didn’t want to. She climbed off the bed. "Can I
see?” she asked as she took the camera from Lydia. She kept
breathing. "Let’s not play with your mother’s things.”
Lydiaprotested, "You take pictures of us all the time.”
"I’m your aunt. I’m supposed to take pictures of you.
Pictures are the only way I know what you look like standing
still.”
Lydia started to cry like she’d been punished. She asked
repeatedly for the camera as she trailed after Ava to the
kitchen. Her sister Nadine’s house was twelve kinds of
yellow, open windows, and a roof that parted rain clouds.
Sunshine lived in that house.
Nadine chopped carrots with a carving knife. It was the
wrong kind of knife, but Nadine didn’t care. Eight chops of
the knife made nine carrot pieces. She discarded the stump
and tip into the trash can as she smiled. There was sunshine
in her house and on her face until she saw the camera in
Ava’s outstretched hand. She turned down the volume of the
television on the kitchen counter.
"This is yours,” Ava said to her sister.
Nadine clicked through the last dozen pictures taken. She
knew what Ava wanted and deleted the images. She turned back
to the television and cranked up the volume again. This time
it was too loud. This is how they fought. Nadine let the
blaring voices of strangers be her shouting. Ava busied
herself by setting the table. The girls needed juice and
neon plates with matching utensils. They liked to match pink
with pink, blue with blue. Ava wanted to maintain order
where she could.
"Why can’t we take pictures of you?” Lydia asked. She
sounded like her mother, who would not voice the question
other than to resume the chopping of carrots like an angry
guillotine.
"You did take pictures of me,” Ava said to Lydia. She tried
to distract them with plain paper and crayons. They wanted
no airplanes. They refused to color. "Why do you want to
take pictures of me? You see me every week.”
"Because we don’t have any pictures of you anywhere. When
you’re not here, we forget what you look like,” Lydia said.
"And we want to see your scars. Where did you get them?”
Lydia had not asked before. Both girls were born after her
face was scarred. They didn’t know her any other way. They
didn’t know what her face used to look like. There weren’t
any pictures of her after or before.
"I had an accident, but now I’m fine.”
She said that sentence daily. In the grocery store, at the
gas station, on the train.
I had an accident, but now I’m fine.
But she wasn’t fine. Saying the word "accident” created
another flash of distant lightning in her mind. A memory of
the night her face was slashed.
Lexi stayed yellow happy like the sun. She made a blowfish
face and popped it with a laugh. Lydia watched Ava with a
scowl. Tomorrow was her niece’s fifth birthday. There were
the days of your birth and days you were unborn. Ava had both.
She wanted the girls to be different than she was. For six
years, since Joel Sapphire slashed her face outside an
Atlanta restaurant, she’d been full of every kind of angry
and hate. Eventually, she would need to be things she
wasn’t. Happy. Confident. Photographed.
And the television kept shouting at her. News headlines
began to fill the room.
Baseball season was headed towards the playoffs with the
Braves in position for a pennant. The Falcons had lost a
third game in a row. A tropical storm brewed off the Gulf
coast of Florida. It would be an unseasonably cold and rainy
month here in Georgia. Local Atlanta elections were heating up.
Nadine began to dice another carrot. Ava organized the neon
spoons to match the colors of the rainbow. The girls
crunched carrots. Lydia refused to eat the cubes of cheese.
Lexi spilled her juice. A blue cup fell to the floor.
Breaking news. Nadine stopped the angry chopping. "Ava, come
see this.”
Joel Sapphire was paroled from prison today. Sapphire, a
first-round draft pick and younger brother of Atlanta
businessman Graham Sapphire, served only seven years of his
ten-year sentence for a brutal knife attack on Atlanta
socialite Ava Camden.
Camden, the daughter of prominent Atlanta lawyers Cecil and
Sera Camden, was left with severe and permanent facial
scars. The attack and trial drew national and international
attention and sparked a firestorm of debate. "White man
attacks black woman.” Ironically, there were accusations
that the Camdens’ vast wealth and influence in Atlanta's
black community expedited a quick verdict and sentencing
against Sapphire. Camden was unable to identify Sapphire as
her attacker. The Sapphire family maintains the conviction
was based purely on circumstantial evidence.
More controversy is sure to come as of today with his
unexpected parole. Prison officials are not releasing
details of his whereabouts. Both the Sapphire and Camden
families have been targeted with death threats in the past.
Neither can be reached for comment.
Nadine turned off the television. Her knife hung suspended
midair. No more carrots would die that day. There were
eleven perfect carrot discs. Nadine put the pieces,
including stumps and tips, onto a plate.
Ava closed the utensil drawer. "It means the media is at my
house. Waiting. Good thing I’m not going home.” Ava felt her
body temperature starting to rise. More cameras. More
questions. How could he be free? She didn’t want her sister
seeing her panic. "I’ve got to get cleaned up and go over to
the shelter.”
Ava walked into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in
the mirror. She’d forgotten the tiara the girls had put on
her head and took it off. I am not a princess. She pulled
back her hair and examined the scars on her face. There were
three long pale lines against her brown skin. Instead of
being raised or flat, these scars were indented into her
face. The scars ran down her cheek like dry riverbeds. No
amount of makeup could cover the damage. Her hands shook,
and soon her entire body trembled. Her head fell forward,
and she gripped the sink in front of her. Outside, she heard
wind chimes. Bells were once a musical sound, but now they
were only a warning of the wind.
Memories rushed back to her. If she didn’t look at herself,
she didn’t have to remember.
That night six years ago, she had left the restaurant to
catch a cab when she paused to look for her phone. She felt
a sudden stinging blow across the back of her head. She fell
to her knees and realized that something had struck her. She
immediately wanted to lie down, was surprised by another
hit, and twisted instinctively to see her attacker. Her mind
buzzed in confusion. A shadowed form loomed over her, and
Ava held up her hands to push the person away. She was
struck across her face. A strong hand punched her again and
again and grabbed her jaw and turned her face to the street.
Her cheek scraped against the asphalt until it bled. She
could see the glinting reflection of a knife in the
darkness. Behind it, an eye looked down on her. It was like
a mirror without color. Not blue. Not brown. It didn’t blink
as the knife grew closer to tear open the tender flesh above
her left eye. She felt a searing pain like acid, and then
her vision clouded over with red.
By the second cut across her face, her mouth filled with
blood. By the third, she tried to tear at the hand on her
jaw but only dragged her own blood down her neck. Three
slices of the knife, and her face was carved into four
unequal pieces.
Ava didn’t know how long she lay there before she heard
other sounds. The lazy footfalls of a person walking down
the street, a scream that wasn’t her own, determined
running, sirens, and then whispering. Someone held her hand.
One ear pressed toward hell in a pool of her own blood and a
strange, deathly silence. The other ear pointed toward
heaven, but all good angels were quiet that night. The bells
chimed regardless of her pain.
When she awoke days later in the hospital, there had been no
signs of sexual assault and later the police would console
her with, "Be thankful you weren’t raped.” Only men would
try to quantify the magnitude of pain. There was no such
thing as more pain or less pain. Maybe one day her niece
would prick her finger on a thorn and Ava would console her
with, "Be thankful your face wasn’t slashed.”
Ava swallowed down the memories. Plates and glasses clinked
in the kitchen. Sunshine returned. A phone rang in the other
room. Lexi repeated a single verse of song. How I wonder
what you are.
Her nieces wanted a picture of her. For them it was a simple
request. Ava washed her hands and imagined holding a carving
knife. She closed her eyes. She would do anything to be
better for her nieces. She wanted them to be different than
her, stronger than her. But they didn’t understand all that
was behind the scars. She was hideously disfigured, but Ava
didn’t need to be beautiful. She could accept the ugliness,
because it wasn’t the scars she hated, it was the anger. She
hated the anger. That was all she saw when she saw her face.
How would Joel Sapphire react to her now? She hadn’t gone to
his parole hearings. She had not seen him since the trial.
She was staring at herself unable to see her own face
anymore and suddenly desperate to see his. Maybe it would be
easier to face her attacker than look at herself in the mirror.
Ava walked into the kitchen and hugged Lydia and Lexi. She
didn’t mind the sticky kisses. Long after she left, their
love would still be on her face.
Nadine watched her. "Please be careful at the shelter
tonight, Ava.”
"I’m always careful.”
"No, it’s Mother. She wants to see you first at her office.
You know what she’s going to say. Now with Joel out...”
"She’s going to say that I don’t need to work at the shelter
anymore. She says it every time she sees me. "
Ava reached past the knife on the counter and picked up the
camera. She handed it to her sister. Nadine, the sister, the
surgeon, the wife, the mother. She used knives to heal
people and dice afternoon snacks. Ava had nothing of her own
to claim. He’d been drunk, then angry, now he was free. It
was a terrible mantra. Ava had always believed the officials
wouldn’t parole him, even after she’d read Graham Sapphire’s
final letter.
She’d never answered Graham’s notes. Not once in seven years.
"Can you take a picture of me?” Ava asked.
Nadine tucked a few of Ava’s twists behind her ear and
started smiling. Where there had been disapproval before
turned to hopefulness. "You look—” Ava stopped her sister
with a playful nudge.
"I know, I know. Don’t say it.”
Nadine took the camera. She didn’t demand a smile and didn’t
get one. Ava would not look directly at her sister. The lens
could steal your soul if you weren’t careful. One. Two.
Three. Three slices of the knife. She willed her eyes to
stay open for the flash. With the flash there would be
lightning. There would be the memories.
Nadine turned the display so Ava could see the picture.
"What do you think?” Nadine asked.
The first thing Ava noticed was not the scars, but the
exhaustion in her own eyes. She never slept. She worked at
the homeless shelter from four o’clock to midnight. After
midnight she drove around the city until daybreak. When the
sun came up she could sleep for a little while.
"Send the picture to me. I’ll print and frame it for the girls.”
Nadine arched a brow like she didn't believe her sister. If
there were no pictures, there were no scars.
It would be the first picture of Ava in six years that
didn’t have the caption, "Crime Victim.”