Read Online A Hole in My Heart by Rie Charles - Free Book Online Page B

for a special late lunch before she and Dot went back to St. Paul’s. The meal was decent, more than decent; but no one said thank-you. No one even commented on our effort or mentioned it was Thanksgiving. Dot rattled on about her latest boyfriend. I told Jan she did a good job on the chicken. She thanked me. Other than that, we munched quietly.
    Personally I am now very thankful — for all the leftovers. I am also grateful because Dad bought a TV, our first ever, and I watched The Ed Sullivan Show. Dad still doesn’t do anything with me but at least he doesn’t shove me off to bed. I guess I’m supposed to have fun with the TV instead of with him.
I want to do something with you, Dad, or
    I’M GOING ON STRIKE
    â€¢ • •
    Today, October fifteenth, is Lizzie’s birthday. I’m having my Saturday morning extra time in bed. I roll over onto my belly. Seems this is where I spend half my life. Or all of what I think of as my life. Lizzie’s thirteen years old. Imagine being thirteen and maybe going to die. You better not die, Lizzie.
    Bed is my best thinking place. The best because I think the clearest here. It’s also the worst because some of what I think hurts. Anyway, right now I think of my time here with Lizzie and how selfish I was. We really had only two nights together because she spent two days in the hospital. I pretty much whined about North Vancouver the whole time and about not having a mother. Lizzie didn’t say much. Is she scared?
    Did you know you were dying, Mum? Were you scared? The minister says you went to Heaven and that Heaven is a good place, but how does he know?
    Grandma said to me, “Don’t cry, she’s in a better place now.” Is that true Mum? Is it better than here? Am I going to see you when I die? I’ll be really angry if Lizzie dies. More than that. Really, really angry, because she won’t have had a chance to grow up. I try not to be angry at you, Mum. But I am sometimes. For not being here, for leaving me. Mostly, I just miss you.
    At the funeral, the air was heavy. People smiled fake sorts of smiles. Grandma’s face was all pinched in but it kept smiling too. Ladies visited, people I didn’t know, old people, people that felt stiff like boards and brought orange bread and tuna fish casserole. Overnight, Dad went from a happy man, someone who laughed and made stupid puns to … I’m not sure what to — a man all closed-in? My favourite thing about Dad was his laugh. Where is it now? Is Aunt Mary right? Is he struggling too? Even my bossy sister Dorothy?
March 22, 1959
    Dear Nora,
    I wish you health
    I wish you wealth
    I wish you abundance and store
    I wish you Heaven after death
    What could I wish you more?
    Your former grade three teacher,
    Mr. Weeks
    Does he really believe that?
    I don’t believe in Heaven. Or God. How can I?
    â€¢ • •
    Later, I’m washing the breakfast dishes including the hated porridge pot. Jan is drying. Sort of. More like flinging the tea towel at it.
    â€œGirls.” It’s Dad. His voice is in serious mode. “We have to talk about where everyone is going to sleep when Mary and Robert come down with Lizzie.” Dorothy looks up from her place by our new stereo, listening to her favourite record. For the forty-three millionth time.
    â€œWhy are they coming down, Dad? They were just here.” Dot lifts the needle off the record.
    â€œFor her operation.” I upturn the clean porridge pot on the drying rack next to the empty milk bottles and dump the lumpy water down the sink. Jan washes off the table.
    â€œHer operation for what?”
    â€œWhere have you been for the last century?” I sweep the porridge lumps into my hand — “For her heart, dummie,” — and fling them in the slop pail under the sink.
    â€œNora, quit talking to your sister that way.”
    â€œWhy can’t I? That’s how she talks to me,