sixteen days ago, I would have been elated about our little fivesome.
Mom has been gone fifteen days, and now my life is divided: with her and without. Before and after.
My friends—these people—make small talk as they devour pizza.
Afterward, Jill says, “Okay. How about a few hands of euchre to get us back into the swing of things?”
“Sure,” Gretchen says, much to my surprise. Since her parents taught her to play bridge, she’s had nothing good to say about euchre. Desperate times, I guess.
I bow out of the game but sit near the table. Jill keeps the conversation afloat and I feel like I’m sitting outside of life. Things are moving on, but I can’t go on with them. Moving on would mean I accept what has happened. Moving on would mean I no longer have a mother.
Deputy Nolton tips an invisible hat when he comes inside to use the toilet.
“He’s the one who sits down to pee,” Jill whispers. “Quietest pees ever.”
Tucker lays down outside the bathroom, peeking beneath the door to confirm that Nolton’s feet face away from the toilet. Unless the guy is biologically backward, he pees sitting down. This is hilarious to everyone but Gretchen, who looks at me with big, sad eyes while everyone else snickers.
Tucker scrambles back to his seat when the toilet flushes. Nolton emerges, tips his not-hat again, collects a Mountain Dew from the fridge, and is out the front door.
“What kind of dude pees sitting down?” Tucker says.
Jill laughs. “One who’s used to sitting on his ass outside my house all day?”
Play continues and Gretchen turns her focus to me. “How are you doing cooped up in the house for days and days?”
I shrug.
“We call it Dale Jail,” Jill says, and Tucker laughs. “No, seriously. I’m thinking of mocking up some orange shirts with inmate numbers and everything.”
Jill has other plans, too, of course. For an hour, she fills in details about the road trip to the Adirondacks: the pack list, the emergency kit, the route, and the menus. Every miniscule detail is planned, except that tiny factor of getting out of Dale Jail.
Being here is more than unsafe. I’m ruining everything. I can’t do much about my life, but Jill’s would be a lot better if it weren’t for me.
“I think I’m ready to call it a night,” I say, and everyone’s eyes shift toward me.
Gretchen reaches across the table toward my hands, which are instantly in my lap. “Xander, what can we do for you?”
“I’m fine.”
She’s very quiet. Infinitely calm. “We know you’re not fine. No one expects you to be fine. How are you really?”
“I’m fine.” I look at Gretchen, who looks at Jill, who looks at Tucker, who studies his cards.
Grant Blakely looks at me. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know what to say either.”
“I’m just tired,” I lie.
Gretchen says, “We’re all here for you, Xander. We want to help.”
“And what does that entail, exactly?”
Gretchen wraps her arms around her waist and stares at her lap. I feel bad, but I can’t exactly apologize. These people can do nothing for me.
When I stand, Grant Blakely jumps right in front of me. “Listen, I kind of know how you’re feeling.”
He won’t let me get around him.
“Just hear me out,” he says, and I’m still. “Did you know my uncle died two years ago?”
“Not the same.”
His eyes soften a little. “You’re right, it’s not the same, but hear me out. He had two young kids—really young, like two and three—and my aunt had to deal with this and them all together. She says life will never be normal again.”
He’s said it, the thing everyone else has been too stupid or too afraid to admit.
And Grant Blakely has more. “She says all they have is the new normal, which is marred with this huge void left by his death. So what she did—the only thing she said that worked—was to pretend she was going on with life. She took the boys to school. She made dinners and resumed the routine and put
Mom has been gone fifteen days, and now my life is divided: with her and without. Before and after.
My friends—these people—make small talk as they devour pizza.
Afterward, Jill says, “Okay. How about a few hands of euchre to get us back into the swing of things?”
“Sure,” Gretchen says, much to my surprise. Since her parents taught her to play bridge, she’s had nothing good to say about euchre. Desperate times, I guess.
I bow out of the game but sit near the table. Jill keeps the conversation afloat and I feel like I’m sitting outside of life. Things are moving on, but I can’t go on with them. Moving on would mean I accept what has happened. Moving on would mean I no longer have a mother.
Deputy Nolton tips an invisible hat when he comes inside to use the toilet.
“He’s the one who sits down to pee,” Jill whispers. “Quietest pees ever.”
Tucker lays down outside the bathroom, peeking beneath the door to confirm that Nolton’s feet face away from the toilet. Unless the guy is biologically backward, he pees sitting down. This is hilarious to everyone but Gretchen, who looks at me with big, sad eyes while everyone else snickers.
Tucker scrambles back to his seat when the toilet flushes. Nolton emerges, tips his not-hat again, collects a Mountain Dew from the fridge, and is out the front door.
“What kind of dude pees sitting down?” Tucker says.
Jill laughs. “One who’s used to sitting on his ass outside my house all day?”
Play continues and Gretchen turns her focus to me. “How are you doing cooped up in the house for days and days?”
I shrug.
“We call it Dale Jail,” Jill says, and Tucker laughs. “No, seriously. I’m thinking of mocking up some orange shirts with inmate numbers and everything.”
Jill has other plans, too, of course. For an hour, she fills in details about the road trip to the Adirondacks: the pack list, the emergency kit, the route, and the menus. Every miniscule detail is planned, except that tiny factor of getting out of Dale Jail.
Being here is more than unsafe. I’m ruining everything. I can’t do much about my life, but Jill’s would be a lot better if it weren’t for me.
“I think I’m ready to call it a night,” I say, and everyone’s eyes shift toward me.
Gretchen reaches across the table toward my hands, which are instantly in my lap. “Xander, what can we do for you?”
“I’m fine.”
She’s very quiet. Infinitely calm. “We know you’re not fine. No one expects you to be fine. How are you really?”
“I’m fine.” I look at Gretchen, who looks at Jill, who looks at Tucker, who studies his cards.
Grant Blakely looks at me. “I’m sorry, man, I don’t know what to say either.”
“I’m just tired,” I lie.
Gretchen says, “We’re all here for you, Xander. We want to help.”
“And what does that entail, exactly?”
Gretchen wraps her arms around her waist and stares at her lap. I feel bad, but I can’t exactly apologize. These people can do nothing for me.
When I stand, Grant Blakely jumps right in front of me. “Listen, I kind of know how you’re feeling.”
He won’t let me get around him.
“Just hear me out,” he says, and I’m still. “Did you know my uncle died two years ago?”
“Not the same.”
His eyes soften a little. “You’re right, it’s not the same, but hear me out. He had two young kids—really young, like two and three—and my aunt had to deal with this and them all together. She says life will never be normal again.”
He’s said it, the thing everyone else has been too stupid or too afraid to admit.
And Grant Blakely has more. “She says all they have is the new normal, which is marred with this huge void left by his death. So what she did—the only thing she said that worked—was to pretend she was going on with life. She took the boys to school. She made dinners and resumed the routine and put
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