Read Online The Memory Box by Eva Lesko Natiello - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eva Lesko Natiello
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and wonder if it’s audible to anyone but me. There is a long silence.
“There’s a swim cap and goggles in here that are not mine. Neither are these nose plugs. I don’t even use nose plugs, Mom. My shirt’s not here,” Lilly says in a quieter tone.
“Lilly, that’s your fault, not Mommy’s. Coach tells you all the time to put your clothes in your bag,” says Tessa.
“Lilly, use one of those old tops from the Salvation Army bag.” I pray to God there’s nothing in there that she’s made me promise not to give away. She wears clothes until they’re way too small for her because of her attachment issues.
Lilly reaches her arm around to feel for the bag. There’s the crinkle of plastic.
“What do you mean he could die? We’ve never even met him—he’s our cousin—our only cousin.” Lilly can’t handle death in any form, fiction or nonfiction. I should’ve thought this whole story through before it left my mouth.
“Please, Lilly, I don’t know. Of course he may not die. Of course I want him to live, especially so you girls can meet him, just not now, okay? I’m just too upset to talk about it. Let’s just try to stay strong, and do what we need to do.”
The girls rummage through the bag of old clothes as we pull into the Red Cross parking lot. Before I step out of the car, I flip the mirror down quickly to check the makeup on my bruise.
“Here, put that on,” Tessa says to Lilly, tossing her something from the bag.
“I am not wearing a Dora vest! Are you crazy?! I wore that when I was three! You put it on!”
Great, now she’s a clothes snob.
“I already have a shirt. What’s the difference anyway? There’s nothing else in here besides this winter coat. Fine, take the coat.”
I sweep some bangs over the Band-Aid on my forehead. I feel myself coming unglued. I’m jittery, and the littlest straw could break me.
“What the hell.”
I don’t believe my eyes.
I brush my hand casually across my chin. It doesn’t budge. That’s because it’s connected to my chin— in the form of a chin hair! And it’s long enough to pick up signals from low-flying planes. I stare at it. I’m not going to flip out because of this. This is not going break me. I have no time for this. But how and when did I become a lady with chin hair? I’m thirty-five. I remember what Gabrielle said about the woman whose husband left her for the au pair.
My eyes dart to the dashboard clock. We’ve gotta get in there— now . I have to move beyond this hair, though it’s long enough to hang laundry off of.
“I’ll take care of it later.” I flip the mirror closed. “I keep up with personal maintenance. My husband is not gonna leave me. ”
“Why would Daddy leave you?”
Oh God, not again?
“Give me the hat in that bag. Is Daddy’s old golf hat in there?” Tessa hands it over, and I tighten the strap and pull the hat down over my head. Snug enough to keep everything inside.
Out of the car, we all hold hands and walk solemnly up the marble stairs, between the gargantuan, round columns that flank a huge wooden door, into the main foyer of the Red Cross. A very respectable, distinguished place.
We try to fit in.
I stand between my daughters. The girls I’ve always known as my daughters. They stand tall; both in wet bathing suits and goose bumps—while I wear a long, wiry hair on my chin, a purple monkey on my cheek, and a Band-Aid above my right eyebrow. All is quiet—except for the thrashing of my heart.
“Good afternoon,” I say in my most refined voice. The receptionist takes one look at us, and her eyebrows twitch upward almost imperceptibly. She clears her throat and looks around, to make sure the security guard hasn’t gone for the day.
“May I help you?” she lies.
“We’re here to have our blood type checked.” I tell her the story about Ricky. She looks at her watch, and escorts us into a donor room without remarking.
The girls each receive a medical robe and blanket, and
“There’s a swim cap and goggles in here that are not mine. Neither are these nose plugs. I don’t even use nose plugs, Mom. My shirt’s not here,” Lilly says in a quieter tone.
“Lilly, that’s your fault, not Mommy’s. Coach tells you all the time to put your clothes in your bag,” says Tessa.
“Lilly, use one of those old tops from the Salvation Army bag.” I pray to God there’s nothing in there that she’s made me promise not to give away. She wears clothes until they’re way too small for her because of her attachment issues.
Lilly reaches her arm around to feel for the bag. There’s the crinkle of plastic.
“What do you mean he could die? We’ve never even met him—he’s our cousin—our only cousin.” Lilly can’t handle death in any form, fiction or nonfiction. I should’ve thought this whole story through before it left my mouth.
“Please, Lilly, I don’t know. Of course he may not die. Of course I want him to live, especially so you girls can meet him, just not now, okay? I’m just too upset to talk about it. Let’s just try to stay strong, and do what we need to do.”
The girls rummage through the bag of old clothes as we pull into the Red Cross parking lot. Before I step out of the car, I flip the mirror down quickly to check the makeup on my bruise.
“Here, put that on,” Tessa says to Lilly, tossing her something from the bag.
“I am not wearing a Dora vest! Are you crazy?! I wore that when I was three! You put it on!”
Great, now she’s a clothes snob.
“I already have a shirt. What’s the difference anyway? There’s nothing else in here besides this winter coat. Fine, take the coat.”
I sweep some bangs over the Band-Aid on my forehead. I feel myself coming unglued. I’m jittery, and the littlest straw could break me.
“What the hell.”
I don’t believe my eyes.
I brush my hand casually across my chin. It doesn’t budge. That’s because it’s connected to my chin— in the form of a chin hair! And it’s long enough to pick up signals from low-flying planes. I stare at it. I’m not going to flip out because of this. This is not going break me. I have no time for this. But how and when did I become a lady with chin hair? I’m thirty-five. I remember what Gabrielle said about the woman whose husband left her for the au pair.
My eyes dart to the dashboard clock. We’ve gotta get in there— now . I have to move beyond this hair, though it’s long enough to hang laundry off of.
“I’ll take care of it later.” I flip the mirror closed. “I keep up with personal maintenance. My husband is not gonna leave me. ”
“Why would Daddy leave you?”
Oh God, not again?
“Give me the hat in that bag. Is Daddy’s old golf hat in there?” Tessa hands it over, and I tighten the strap and pull the hat down over my head. Snug enough to keep everything inside.
Out of the car, we all hold hands and walk solemnly up the marble stairs, between the gargantuan, round columns that flank a huge wooden door, into the main foyer of the Red Cross. A very respectable, distinguished place.
We try to fit in.
I stand between my daughters. The girls I’ve always known as my daughters. They stand tall; both in wet bathing suits and goose bumps—while I wear a long, wiry hair on my chin, a purple monkey on my cheek, and a Band-Aid above my right eyebrow. All is quiet—except for the thrashing of my heart.
“Good afternoon,” I say in my most refined voice. The receptionist takes one look at us, and her eyebrows twitch upward almost imperceptibly. She clears her throat and looks around, to make sure the security guard hasn’t gone for the day.
“May I help you?” she lies.
“We’re here to have our blood type checked.” I tell her the story about Ricky. She looks at her watch, and escorts us into a donor room without remarking.
The girls each receive a medical robe and blanket, and
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