Read Online Songs Without Words by Ann Packer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ann Packer
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on the patio.
Grumpy because of his tennis game, Brody was hiding behind the newspaper, invisible except for his hands. There had been another bombing in Iraq, fifty-three people killed, but most of the front page was occupied by a human-interest photo of a dog leaping into the air on a beach. Liz recognized the dog as Rexy, a black Lab that had been the recipient of a canine liver-kidney transplant. He’d been in the news off and on, and now he seemed to be thriving, and the Bay Area was supposed to be cheered by this.
Lauren sat at the table without eating. Liz had made French toast, and she watched as Lauren pushed hers around her plate, sliding it first to one side and then to the other, clearing a path in the powdered sugar. Her juice sat untouched, her sliced banana untasted. Liz was up and down, getting herself more coffee and then Joe another helping of bacon, and each time she returned to the table she checked Lauren’s plate for progress.
“I’m not going to school today,” Lauren said.
Brody lowered the paper and looked at Liz, and she thought: Don’t say anything. She turned to Lauren. “Are you coming down with something?”
Lauren didn’t respond—she just stared straight ahead, into the space between Brody and Joe.
“Do you feel OK?” Liz persisted.
“I’m not going,” Lauren said. “I can’t.”
Now Brody put the paper down. “What do you mean? School is required. There are truancy laws.”
Annoyed, Liz stood and moved closer to Lauren. She held the back of her hand to Lauren’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I can’t go,” Lauren said. Then suddenly she was on her feet, her chair toppling backward with a clatter. “OK?” she shouted. “I can’t!” She ran from the kitchen, and in a moment Liz heard her on the stairs.
“What…” Brody began, but Liz ignored him and followed Lauren, then slowed so Lauren wouldn’t feel chased.
Her door was ajar. She was facing away from it, sitting cross-legged on the floor at an angle that revealed the edge of her face, the thin white cord of her iPod trailing from her ear. Inside Liz, the impulse to advance fought the impulse to stay still, retreat. Let her be, give her some space. At last, she turned and headed downstairs again. In the kitchen she said to Brody, “She’s going to stay home for a while—she might go in later.”
“Is she sick?”
Liz looked at him. She held his gaze until she was sure he’d look away, but he didn’t. Those blue eyes watching her, so stubborn. At moments like this he reminded her of her father, how steely he could be. She remembered her father saying to John once:
Don’t say you can’t. Say you don’t want to try, but never say you can’t.
“It’s just one day,” Liz said to Brody, and he raised his eyebrows briefly but didn’t respond.
When he and Joe were gone she climbed the stairs again. Now Lauren was on her bed, still attached to the iPod. Liz went and sat at her side. “Some days are hard,” she said, and Lauren lay still for a moment and then removed one earpiece.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Some days are hard.’”
Lauren stared at the ceiling as if she felt nothing at all. Her face was so blank it could only mean she was exerting a great effort to make it blank. She put the earpiece back into place. She was somewhere Liz couldn’t see: she wasn’t in the music, but the music was part of how she got there.
“I was going to go to yoga,” Liz said, “and then to say hi to Grandma and Grandpa, but I don’t have to.”
Lauren moved the earpiece again. “What?”
Liz repeated herself, and Lauren shrugged.
Now Liz hesitated, unsure of her next move. Some days
were
hard; one of the great lessons of yoga was that awareness of yourself could be part of how you lived. Observing: the stretch in your hamstrings, the feelings of a hard day. “Sweetie,” she said. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“No,” Lauren exclaimed. Then she got up on her
Grumpy because of his tennis game, Brody was hiding behind the newspaper, invisible except for his hands. There had been another bombing in Iraq, fifty-three people killed, but most of the front page was occupied by a human-interest photo of a dog leaping into the air on a beach. Liz recognized the dog as Rexy, a black Lab that had been the recipient of a canine liver-kidney transplant. He’d been in the news off and on, and now he seemed to be thriving, and the Bay Area was supposed to be cheered by this.
Lauren sat at the table without eating. Liz had made French toast, and she watched as Lauren pushed hers around her plate, sliding it first to one side and then to the other, clearing a path in the powdered sugar. Her juice sat untouched, her sliced banana untasted. Liz was up and down, getting herself more coffee and then Joe another helping of bacon, and each time she returned to the table she checked Lauren’s plate for progress.
“I’m not going to school today,” Lauren said.
Brody lowered the paper and looked at Liz, and she thought: Don’t say anything. She turned to Lauren. “Are you coming down with something?”
Lauren didn’t respond—she just stared straight ahead, into the space between Brody and Joe.
“Do you feel OK?” Liz persisted.
“I’m not going,” Lauren said. “I can’t.”
Now Brody put the paper down. “What do you mean? School is required. There are truancy laws.”
Annoyed, Liz stood and moved closer to Lauren. She held the back of her hand to Lauren’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”
“I can’t go,” Lauren said. Then suddenly she was on her feet, her chair toppling backward with a clatter. “OK?” she shouted. “I can’t!” She ran from the kitchen, and in a moment Liz heard her on the stairs.
“What…” Brody began, but Liz ignored him and followed Lauren, then slowed so Lauren wouldn’t feel chased.
Her door was ajar. She was facing away from it, sitting cross-legged on the floor at an angle that revealed the edge of her face, the thin white cord of her iPod trailing from her ear. Inside Liz, the impulse to advance fought the impulse to stay still, retreat. Let her be, give her some space. At last, she turned and headed downstairs again. In the kitchen she said to Brody, “She’s going to stay home for a while—she might go in later.”
“Is she sick?”
Liz looked at him. She held his gaze until she was sure he’d look away, but he didn’t. Those blue eyes watching her, so stubborn. At moments like this he reminded her of her father, how steely he could be. She remembered her father saying to John once:
Don’t say you can’t. Say you don’t want to try, but never say you can’t.
“It’s just one day,” Liz said to Brody, and he raised his eyebrows briefly but didn’t respond.
When he and Joe were gone she climbed the stairs again. Now Lauren was on her bed, still attached to the iPod. Liz went and sat at her side. “Some days are hard,” she said, and Lauren lay still for a moment and then removed one earpiece.
“What?”
“I said, ‘Some days are hard.’”
Lauren stared at the ceiling as if she felt nothing at all. Her face was so blank it could only mean she was exerting a great effort to make it blank. She put the earpiece back into place. She was somewhere Liz couldn’t see: she wasn’t in the music, but the music was part of how she got there.
“I was going to go to yoga,” Liz said, “and then to say hi to Grandma and Grandpa, but I don’t have to.”
Lauren moved the earpiece again. “What?”
Liz repeated herself, and Lauren shrugged.
Now Liz hesitated, unsure of her next move. Some days
were
hard; one of the great lessons of yoga was that awareness of yourself could be part of how you lived. Observing: the stretch in your hamstrings, the feelings of a hard day. “Sweetie,” she said. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”
“No,” Lauren exclaimed. Then she got up on her
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