loud and she yelled at me. I yelled back that I wished she were dead. I kept thinking about that during the last days when she actually was dying. I’d give anything to take those words back. Then, at the end it was so awful that I wanted my mother to hurry up and get it over with. I really did wishshe was dead. It’s horrible to say that, isn’t it?” Jul studied my face.
I reached across the table for her hand. This incredibly sicko thought formed in my mind. I wanted to become the tears that rolled down her cheek just so that I could touch her skin. I must be a pervert.
“I felt two emotions at the same time,” Jul continued. “I wanted my mother to die so that she wouldn’t suffer anymore, but at the same time, I wanted her to live, because I loved her and couldn’t bear to lose her. Nobody seems to get it.”
I didn’t say anything. I was beginning to figure out that sometimes listening is the best way to communicate. Some people (like Aunt Sophie) are afraid of silence, so they fill it with sounds.
Don’t cry. Cry. You’re the Man of the House now. How do you feel? It was all for the best.
Let me tell you, when it’s your turn to be a good friend to somebody who is in bad shape, just listen. Forget words. They can be worse than useless.
Mr. Deli brought us our sodas, humming I don’t know what–it sounded like “All That She Wants” from Ace of Base. I watched Jul pull the paper wrapper off her straw and take a sip.
“I don’t know if it’s like this for you,” she said, “but I’m jealous of people who have both their parents. You know Reine?”
“Reine Green?”
“Yes. We walk to school together sometimes, and she’s always talking about going to buy a dress for her graduation with her mother, and how her mother likes white dresses and what stores she likes and on and on and on. It makes me want to scream. When it’s my turn to graduate, I won’t be shopping with my mother. My mother’s never going to see me graduate or get married, or have kids, or anything.”
I thought about my fury at Houston’s ongoing saga of
Father Knows Best.
“Yes, but your father and your sister will be there.” I don’t know why I said that. I had my mother and brother, and that didn’t make the pain any less.
“It’s not the same at all. I love my father, I really do, but there are things that a girl wants to talk about with her mother.”
“I know. It’s the same for me.”
“Besides, my father never shows his emotions. He’s about as warm as the St. Lawrence in January!”
Oh, my God! She said
as warm as the St. Lawrence in January!
I thought I’d made that expression up. We use the same expressions! We were obviously meant for each other.
Mr. Deli arrived with our tuna bagels. Jul picked the sliced tomato off hers, took one or two rabbity bites, and pushed her plate away. When she ran her hand through her hair–even though there was a spot of mayonnaise on her fingertips–I could have melted right then and there.
It won’t come as a surprise to you that I asked her my inevitable God question.
“I don’t know if I believe in God,” she said. “When you die, what do you think happens after?”
“I guess there are two possibilities. Either your body decomposes, becomes fertilizer to feed plants and animals, and that’s the end. Or, there’s a soul that quits your body and flies into the universe. That’s what Maman thinks.”
She sat silently. Her face was still.
“What are you thinking?” I said.
“I never thought about death before my mother died. I thought death had to do with other people. I really thought, even if it sounds stupid, that I was immortal.”
“It’s not stupid, Jul.”
“I thought I would never die. The fact that my mother died forces me to accept that I will too.”
“Death is a thief. We never know when he will come.” Mr. Deli put a plate of french fries in the middle of the table. “Don’t let him steal your youth.”
Something about
I reached across the table for her hand. This incredibly sicko thought formed in my mind. I wanted to become the tears that rolled down her cheek just so that I could touch her skin. I must be a pervert.
“I felt two emotions at the same time,” Jul continued. “I wanted my mother to die so that she wouldn’t suffer anymore, but at the same time, I wanted her to live, because I loved her and couldn’t bear to lose her. Nobody seems to get it.”
I didn’t say anything. I was beginning to figure out that sometimes listening is the best way to communicate. Some people (like Aunt Sophie) are afraid of silence, so they fill it with sounds.
Don’t cry. Cry. You’re the Man of the House now. How do you feel? It was all for the best.
Let me tell you, when it’s your turn to be a good friend to somebody who is in bad shape, just listen. Forget words. They can be worse than useless.
Mr. Deli brought us our sodas, humming I don’t know what–it sounded like “All That She Wants” from Ace of Base. I watched Jul pull the paper wrapper off her straw and take a sip.
“I don’t know if it’s like this for you,” she said, “but I’m jealous of people who have both their parents. You know Reine?”
“Reine Green?”
“Yes. We walk to school together sometimes, and she’s always talking about going to buy a dress for her graduation with her mother, and how her mother likes white dresses and what stores she likes and on and on and on. It makes me want to scream. When it’s my turn to graduate, I won’t be shopping with my mother. My mother’s never going to see me graduate or get married, or have kids, or anything.”
I thought about my fury at Houston’s ongoing saga of
Father Knows Best.
“Yes, but your father and your sister will be there.” I don’t know why I said that. I had my mother and brother, and that didn’t make the pain any less.
“It’s not the same at all. I love my father, I really do, but there are things that a girl wants to talk about with her mother.”
“I know. It’s the same for me.”
“Besides, my father never shows his emotions. He’s about as warm as the St. Lawrence in January!”
Oh, my God! She said
as warm as the St. Lawrence in January!
I thought I’d made that expression up. We use the same expressions! We were obviously meant for each other.
Mr. Deli arrived with our tuna bagels. Jul picked the sliced tomato off hers, took one or two rabbity bites, and pushed her plate away. When she ran her hand through her hair–even though there was a spot of mayonnaise on her fingertips–I could have melted right then and there.
It won’t come as a surprise to you that I asked her my inevitable God question.
“I don’t know if I believe in God,” she said. “When you die, what do you think happens after?”
“I guess there are two possibilities. Either your body decomposes, becomes fertilizer to feed plants and animals, and that’s the end. Or, there’s a soul that quits your body and flies into the universe. That’s what Maman thinks.”
She sat silently. Her face was still.
“What are you thinking?” I said.
“I never thought about death before my mother died. I thought death had to do with other people. I really thought, even if it sounds stupid, that I was immortal.”
“It’s not stupid, Jul.”
“I thought I would never die. The fact that my mother died forces me to accept that I will too.”
“Death is a thief. We never know when he will come.” Mr. Deli put a plate of french fries in the middle of the table. “Don’t let him steal your youth.”
Something about
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