PENCILS AND ERASERS
By Me
The door shut with the soft swishing sound that Delia always inflicted, contrasting Ephraim's quick, concise slamming. There was something in between the two, Andy remembered, something with a slight force but not angry. Their
used to be someone who pulled the door to the point of contact with the frame,
and then pulled it efficiently into position, until there was a tiny clapping
sound of everything in there sliding into place with the movement of her slim
wrist ... There was an in between-sound that he wasn't ever going to here again.
Andy couldn't believe he was thinking like that. He hadn't even known that he
noticed things like that, little noises, little movements of hers. He'd lie
down to go to sleep each night and remember the little half moan she used to
emit in the middle of the night, when she couldn't sleep, and how she would
slide one pale calf out of the covers while the other brushed his leg with hot,
sleepy skin.
Andy suddenly remembered two nights after Julia's death; he'd seen a book on
her nightstand: The Lovely Bones. It was a silly little tear-jerking catholic
book; Julia hadn't even been catholic ... or believed in heaven. That thought in and of it self bothered him deeply, but there was something else.
There was a Kleenex stuck in between page 222 and page 223. She was exactly one
chapter away from the finish. That had been within the first week, when
everything felt so close, so scrapping the surface of him, when the littlest
things just broke the whole house down. That made him sad for the simplest reason in the world; she just wasn't going to finish it. It was such
an innocent, little thing, reading a book. It was nothing. It was nothing, and
she would never finish it, and it had made him so sad. It made him think of all
the little, tiny things she'd left. All the ends she'd left untied, all the
appointments to cancel, all the dinners to re-plan, all the carpooling to
rearrange, all the things she left. It had seemed so terribly unnatural, for a
person to leave all that.
Andy felt what was both weird and familiar; a jelly-like weakening of the knees.
He remembered it most a month ago today. He braced his hand against
the tabletop and sat down again on the stool he'd just stood from.
He didn't know if he could do this. He really didn't know. He had thought,
maybe, going to bed last night, with Delia kissing his cheek and a whole night
of sleep and dark to slide into ... the barrier between that night and this
morning had smothered his rationalizing. He hadn't thought about how impossible
this morning was going to be. The kids' going back to school, his own going back
to work part-time. Why did it have to be exactly a month? That wasn't
necessary. Who came up with that torturous idea?
The idea was that things were supposed to be normal again. This ... this was
supposed to be the first day of the rest of his life. He was supposed to just
pick everything back up. After today, things weren't going to change anymore.
He was just going to be left alone, in this suddenly old house, a house pregnant
with Julia; her smell, her belongings, her food, even the echo of her voice
still on the answering machine that he couldn't stand to erase; left with these
children who were basically cordial strangers to him; hidden, sad, harmed
creatures who didn't necessarily trust him, love him, or know him any more than
he knew them.
This was the rest of his life. This new, evil thing, this living without her,
this wasn't normal at all, and to consider the rest of his life just like this
morning (oh, it'll get easier, Andy, easier with each day, each god damning day)
was so wrong. Wasn't it supposed to feel less empty now? Wasn't that the plan?
Wasn't it supposed to feel less displaced, less surreal, less lost and foreign
and freezing and alone? This was supposed to be the stopping point. The end
goal. Dear god this was the rest of his life.
This was where reality is supposed to come back, and he starts being the same
old same old, the pretentious, condescending, preoccupied asshole, the neglecting parent and husb-
Andy let the breath he'd been holding out in something like a sob. The sound
of it immediately embarrassed him, even sitting alone at a kitchen counter with
his son's cooking on the table and his daughter's forgotten gloves on the chair
and nothing else in the room but the constant awareness of Julia, Julia, Julia.
He hadn't even reminded Delia to take her gloves. It was below freezing
outside, and she was eight, and she didn't even have a god damn pair of gloves. At this rate, within a week his daughter wouldn't have hands.
Andy quickly missed the dark humor of it and he covered his eyes with his hand,
resting his elbow on the table and feeling tears making it wet and slippery
between his fingers. He pressed his fingers harder against his eyelids.
This was falling apart. He couldn't stand the thought of waking up to this
feeling, this emptiness day after day after day; waking up to the same six words
from Ephraim and the same tiny woolen gloves on the stool and the same absence
of something that still felt like it was here. He couldn't do it. He didn't
know what he'd do instead, but he couldn't do it.
Andy suddenly heard a sound from the hallway leading to the front door. He
looked up suddenly and his red, unfocused eyes met with Delia's big, open brown
ones. Andy wondered how long she'd stood there.
There was a short, very awkward moment while Andy did that thing that everyone
does when they're caught crying by someone they didn't want to know it. He
looked up quickly, brightened his eyes and lightened his body language, didn't
blink back any tears, just acted like they didn't exist, and when he talked his
voice was steady and bright.
"Hey sweetheart, what do you need?"
Even as he said the words, he knew it was too late. His daughter didn't move,
and there were tears building in her big bright eyes.
"I forgot my gloves." She said, and her voice shook violently, and the end of
the sentence was more of a sob as her whole, tiny face sort of contracted and
began to stream tears.
"Oh, honey," Andy cooed, stood and went to her and she immediately held out her
arms. He picked her up and hugged her and she threw her arms around his neck,
sobbing. "Shh, shh." He whispered, rubbing her back.
"We know you're sad." She said through sobs. "We know."
God, she was so much like Julia. She was so much like Julia, and she would
never really know it. Andy closed his eyes and two tears dropped down his face.
"I know you know, honey."
Andy was afraid when he heard and felt his voice shake, but it didn't slow Delia
down.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No, honey."
"I'm not mad at you, Dad." Delia sobbed. "I swear I'm not."
God, thank you. Thank you, honey. You've got every right in the world.
"Thank you honey."
"It's scary when you cry." She sobbed.
I know. I think so too.
"I'm sorry I scared you."
"We know you're scared, too." Delia leaned back and looked Andy in the eyes,
still crying. "I think you're scared of us."
Andy didn't know what to say; how could she know everything in the world? How
did it fit inside that little head?
"I'm scared of a lot of things." He confessed, wiping a tear off her face.
"But why are you scared of us?"
He paused again, thought it over thoroughly, and looked her straight in her
eyes. "Because you two are better than anything I know." Including me. He
thought, but he didn't say it.
"I don't understand."
"That's okay. I love you."
"I love you too."
"I'll try. I'll try to fix everything, I promise."
"I will too."
He smiled at her. "Let's get you to school."
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I can stay, if you want. I can take care of you."
He laughed. "That's okay. I don't think I could call in to school and tell
them that."
"You could lie."
"Let's not go there."
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yes." She responded, straight faced.
"Then grab those gloves. I'll give you a ride. You've probably missed the
bus." He said, smiling and getting up, getting his coat.
"Carpool."
Andy turned from what he was dong and looked at Delia. "What?"
"Today was a carpool."
"Oh. Your mother did that."
"Yeah, she did."
"She was supposed to do it today, wasn't she." He said dryly.
"I think."
"Okay. You're going to have to help me. I've never carpooled before."
"I know. A whole new world."
He nodded. "Get your gloves."
***
Andy loved how easy it was to make it okay for Delia. He knew it was only her
age, and that the simplicity of her happiness would pass with time and pain, but
for now it was so shiny and new and beautiful that he had to keep it close to
him. Why on earth do people grow up. It would have been so nice to stay six
forever. At six, you care about things, you think about things, and if you are
Delia Brown you think a lot, but pain is something that is so sweetly temporary
that you never think about that. True, intense pain seemed to pass like a cough
or a cold. It didn't stay. For six-year-olds, severe pain is never chronic.
Never terminal. The ache of it might linger in her, but the wild, furious, possessing pain that Andy was becoming so familiar with never stayed
foremost on her mind. There was always a tree to climb, mud to get dirty in, an
easy tune to be singing. Andy didn't think that actually being defeated by pain
was something that Delia could even understand, even comprehend. God, that was
beautiful.
Ephraim, on the other hand, was not quite as easy. Not quite as rejuvenating,
either. Andy knew that his real connections came with Ephraim, simply because
of his age, but sometimes he wished that they didn't, just because they were
always connections in sadness. Right now, if they connected at all, in was in
their shared pain over a shared loss. Even in that there were separations.
Ephraim was missing a mother. Andy was missing a wife. She was the same
person, but two different people completely. Ephraim reminded him so much more
of himself than of Julia, and that frightened him. It gave him the feeling of
karma, of a completed circle. If he could avoid creating another Andrew Brown,
damn it, he would.
But at the same time, especially lately, Andy found himself laying down in bed,
and before he thought about Julia, before he cried over heaven and page numbers
and half-moans and pale, sleepy skin and the way it felt to be alive, he thought
about his kids. It wasn't even thinking, really, it was just this sudden,
crazy, huge feeling of loving them. For nothing in particular; just honest,
basic, human love for their existing. For everything and nothing about them.
For not being alone.
***
Andy was ten minutes from being out the door for work when the phone rang.
"Dr. Brown, we know this is a hard time for you and for Ephraim, and we
understand that there are going to be some ripples, but it's important that
things like this should be worked through, both at school and within the family
unit."
"Uh huh."
"We do offer an in-school councilor, if Ephraim ever feels the need to take
advantage of that, we encourage it."
"Uh huh."
"And we recommend that Ephraim get some outside counseling as well. It's always
best to cover all bases."
"Uh huh."
"Now, usually in this situation, doctor, it's likely that we would insist on
some kind of suspension, but we are, as I mentioned, sensitive to your
situation."
"Uh huh."
"Ephraim is in talking to our councilor now, and you can come get him. We will
excuse him for the rest of the day, and he can do his homework or not do it for
the next week."
"Uh huh."
"You can come get him now, Dr. Brown."
"Uh huh."
"Dr. Brown?"
"Yes, I know. I can come get him now."
"Yes, Dr. Brown."
"I can come get my son now."
"Yes."
"Okay."
Andy hung up the phone and sat still for a moment. He had no idea how to keep
this from falling apart, but he'd better figure it out fast. He should have
known something like this would happen, he should have been completely prepared,
with something to say, something to do, a specific way to touch Ephraim on his
shoulder or his back, something reassuring and sympathizing at the same time,
but he had nothing. Nothing, and he could come get his son now.
***
Ephraim slammed the car door shut as he sat down, and Andy watched him cross his
arms in the rear-view mirror. His sea-gray eyes settled on the seatback in
front of him and fazed out. Andy waited a few seconds, and the both just sat
there in the car, silently.
"Buckle your seat belt." Andy said flatly.
Ephraim reached behind him and Andy listened for the click. When heard it, he
stuck the key into the ignition. Then he paused, hand on the key, prepared to
turn. He dropped his hand, leaving the keys hanging out of the machine. He
leaned back. The whole car was silent for while.
"What do you think we should do now." Andy asked.
"I don't know." Ephraim said.
"I'm supposed to know, aren't I?" Andy asked., staring right ahead out the
windshield.
Ephraim shrugged slightly and looked out the window. "Mom would."
"I know. She really would. But if she could help us out, I don't think we'd be
here in the first place."
"Maybe."
"Yeah." Andy scratched the back of his head and looked down at the key hanging
out of the ignition. "I'm going to take you home."
"That's a good start."
"And then I'm going to cancel work today."
Ephraim looked up, just for a split second, into the rear view mirror, but a
split second was enough, because Ephraim's eyes locked for a split second with
the saddest eyes he'd ever seen. When he looked back down, what frightened him
was that he wasn't completely sure that the eyes in the mirror hadn't been his
own.
"And then I think we're going to talk, if we can manage it."
"Whatever."
Andy shifted his weight slightly and scratched the back of his head again. "And
no more of that."
"What?"
"'Whatever'." Andy said in an overly dull, dim-witted tone, imitating Ephraim.
"You can't say that word during our talk, or anything equivilant of it."
"What the hell is that?" Ephraim exclaimed.
"That's my rule. Now you pick one."
"Pick a rule?"
"Pick one rule."
Ephraim was silent for a minute. "You can't mention Mom."
"What?" Andy erupted incredulously, turning and looking back toward Ephraim
"You said I could have one rule; that's it."
"We can't talk about this without mentioning your mother."
"Why should we talk about her? She's not here!" Ephraim almost yelled, sitting
up and throwing his hands in the air.
"That's exactly why we should talk about her!" Andy yelled. "Do you want to lose
her? Is that what you want? Do you want her to be completely gone?"
"She is gone!" Ephraim shouted incredulously.
"Why would you try to forget her?" Andy exclaimed, angry and disbelieving.
"It's better than you trying to hold on to her like she's still here!" Ephraim
snapped back angrily, tears pooling in his eyes. "Fuck that, I'd rather lose
her!" As soon as he said it, Ephraim knew he only said it to hurt his father,
but damn it, it felt good, because he knew it had hit home base.
Andy paused looking at him in painful disbelief. "Ephraim." Andy whispered, looking at him with something close to disgust.
Ephraim let the knowledge that he'd finally hit a nerve drive him, and things,
terrible, huge, scary things started pouring out of him. Things that were being
said to hurt, but were very nearly true.
"I would! I'd rather lose her entirely than sit alone in the dark and talk to
her! Than feel sorry for myself because she's not here, than ignore all the people around me like they didn't feel anything, like only my life was different, like only I was important or in pain! I'd rather forget she was ever here than have to keep comparing the way she was to the way you are. That's too god damn depressing."
The car was silent. Andy sat back in the front seat, clenching his jaw and
looking at the ignition keys unblinkingly. Ephraim was sitting in the back
seat, panting, blinking back tears.
Andy pulled in a breath quivering with anger. He turned the key in the ignition.
"Fine. Forget about her." he snapped quietly, putting the car in reverse.
***
The ride home was silent. Ephraim wanted to say something; he wanted to say
that he had just been fighting for the sake of fighting, that all he could do
around his father was fight, that he wouldn't ever want to lose his mother, but
that was all baby stuff. It wasn't something real people said. Certainly not
something he could ever say. He was afraid he'd just start straight out crying,
and we couldn't have that.
When they got home, Andy shut off the car quickly, put it into brake quickly,
and got out quickly. He slammed the car door. Ephraim didn't get out of the
car, he just sat there with one hand over his eyes, elbow on the door. Suddenly
all the anger had left him. Suddenly the idea of his father, the only person he
had left, thinking that he really didn't want to remember his mother was the
worst thing in the world. Suddenly anyone thinking that, actually believing
that, was the most painful feeling he'd ever known. Somehow, someone believing
that condemned him. Condemned him to actually believing it himself. And that
was the last thing in the world that he wanted. So he just sat there.
Andy walked heavily and quickly up the walk and to the front door. He fumbled
stupidly with the keys and tried to push the door open. It didn't go; he hadn't
turned the key the whole way. He slammed his fist against it, leaving him with
nothing but a throbbing fist. He tugged the door back into the frame and
twisted the key all the way, then shoved the door open with all this might. It
banged against the inside wall of the house, but he didn't care. A picture
hanging on the wall slipped slightly and hung cock-eyed. He didn't care. He
walked inside and slammed the door behind him, louder than Ephraim ever had, and
that picture came slipping to the floor. It hit the hard wood with an amazing
crash and the glass holding the family portrait shattered. Andy completely
ignored it and stomped into the living room, sitting down heavily on the couch
and putting his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes thoroughly and ran his
hands through his hair.
He looked up at the door and realized that it locked itself when it was shut
hard. Ephraim couldn't get back in without a key, or without someone opening
the door for him. Who cared? Let him ring the goddamn bell. He was the one who
felt like he needed to sit outside in the goddamn car. All he had to do was
ring the goddamn bell and get the door opened for him, and that would be enough.
That would be enough to get them back on equal playing level. Plus the damn kid
disserved a little humiliation.
Andy sat back and waited. After five minutes, he picked up the remote and
switched on the TV. It was another five minutes before he realized that all he
was doing was flipping channels. He rested it on a home shopping channel and
threw the remote onto a recliner on the other side of the room, hearing the
batteries pop out of the little clips on impact. He hadn't realized he'd thrown
it that hard.
He put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and waited, watching a
woman with nice hands display a princess cut diamond tennis bracelet, but really
watching the front door out of the corner of his eye.
Minutes passed, he re-crossed his ankles on the coffee table, and glanced
quickly at the front door, then back again at the TV. This happened in
intervals for the next ten minutes. It had been over twenty minutes now. It
was cold outside, and the warmth must have left the car by now, and Ephraim
never wore heavy enough coats ...
Andy tried to become very interested in a large, moldy-looking turquoise
necklace that wasn't worth half what the woman with the nice hands was asking.
It was his choice to sit out there, he thought. His choice. He could come in
any time. Something told Andy that Ephraim wouldn't come in if he caught
pneumonia, and honestly the thought worried him. He'd sit out there all the
damn night long, if nothing else happened to stop him. But it was his choice!
There was no reason that Andy should have to cave first.
But that voice inside his head, that voice that always sounded so wonderfully
like Julia, told him that of course there was a reason; he was the parent. That
was what being the adult, being the parent was about: doing what was best for
the child, especially when the child was too afraid to do what was best for
himself. Andy sighed and stood up. He walked to the door, opened it with just
enough force, and left it cracked open when he left.
Ephraim was curled up in a ball in the car, hugging his arms to each other in
some kind of tough-guy fetal position, his head against the glass window of the
door, his eyes closed. Andy didn't open the door because he was afraid that Ephraim was leaning so much on it that he would lose his balance and fall out. Andy knocked one knuckle against the glass three sharp times. Ephraim twitched on the first rap and was sitting up in the seat by the end of the third. Andy stood back and folded his arms himself. He felt like he was taking some kind of Superman position. He mouthed the words "open the door". Ephraim opened it and stepped out.
"Get the hell inside." Andy told him, not snapping, not yelling, just speaking
sternly. Ephraim didn't say a word, he just went inside. Andy followed him
closely and when he tried to turn toward his room, he stopped him.
"Don't go back there. Come into the living room."
"I'm not-"
"Ephraim, go sit on the damn couch."
Ephraim gave him a look that was both surprised and angry, but he turned toward
the living room and sat down on the couch, sat forward and rested his elbows on
his knees, letting his hands hang loosely between his legs. Andy came in, shut
off the TV, and remained standing in front of Ephraim. Ephraim's eyes rested on
the floor right in front of the toes of Andy's shoes. Andy stood and watched
him for a few seconds, and then walked back toward the foyer and came back with
Ephraim's jacket, which Ephraim hadn't worn. He tossed it to him.
"Put that on."
"I'm not outside."
"But you were for half an hour; put on the jacket."
Ephraim put it on. The room was quiet again. Andy rubbed his forehead and
coughed lightly and Ephraim didn't move.
Andy sighed heavily and finally spoke. "Ephraim I-" he began and stopped. He
picked back up where he left off after an extra breath. "I know what you said
out there wasn't true." He said, and Ephraim sat back but kept looking at the
floor. "If it were you wouldn't have sat out there like an idiot for half an
hour."
"If you knew it wasn't true why were you so pissed off." Ephraim said under his
breath.
"Because it hurt. I'm not going to pretend it didn't; your mother was good at not showing that kind of thing; you could say a thousand awful things to her and she wouldn't even flinch, I've seen it."
"You used to make her cry in less than ten words."
Andy blinked for a beat longer than usual and took a breath, speaking steadily
and rationally. "Ephraim, it's no secret that your mother and I had our
problems, but we loved each other, very much. And she loved you very much. And
that's-that's all part of what we've covered, but sometimes I don't think you
believe me when I say those things."
"Of course I do." Ephraim muttered, looking down.
"Then why do you keep fighting me? Fighting everything I do? Jesus, Ephraim,
if I said the sky was blue you'd yell and scream until you'd convinced the world
it was green."
"That was a good one; you should put that on a pillow."
"God damn it, Ephraim!" Andy suddenly yelled. "How are we going to make it? I
don't know how the hell we're going to make it!"
Ephraim shot up off the couch, like he was a firework someone lit. "I'm not
trying to, okay? All I can do is fight you! That's all I can say, that's all I
can feel! You're just wrong, wrong, wrong, you just are!" He said, panting,
angry tears building in his eyes. "All I can do is fight you!"
Andy looked at him straight on, every muscle tight with unbelieveable emotion.
He wasn't sure he'd ever felt so much at once; there was so much there that he
could pick one thing to be; angry, sad, terrified, happy, surprised.
"I don't know why that is." He finally said quietly.
"Neither do I." Ephraim said in a shaking, honest voice, holding arms forward in
desperation.
"Yes you do. Yes you do!" he exclaimed, voice going up high, sounding and
feeling disbelief.
"No, I don't!" Ephraim yelled, streaming tears, needing to be believed.
Andy took a breath and thought for a moment. There were quiet a few moments
where he looked like he was about to say something, and then stopped, and then
took a breath, and tried again. He just didn't seem to have any idea how to
approach what he was trying to say. He looked up tentatively at Ephraim for a
moment, and then looked back down.
He breathed again and gave it one more shot. "Do you blame me?"
Ephraim staired at him flatly for a moment, and then nodded, first timidly and
then more strongly. "Yes." He said, nodding his head almost as though he was in
seizure. "Yes I do. This is your f-fault. I blame you." Ephraim said,
staring into his eyes unblinkingly. A tear fell from Ephraim's left eye when he
stuttered on the "f" in fault, and traveled, lonely, down his face, and it
almost killed Andy.
Andy stared for a moment and then swallowed heavily and looked down.
"Okay." He said quietly.
"What?" Ephraim said, voice breaking on a high note.
"Okay, Ephraim, okay." Andy said, putting both hands in his pockets and watching
the floor right in front of the toes of his shoes.
"What?" Ephraim said again, starting to breathe in sobs.
"I think it's my fault, too." He said, scratching the back of his neck. He
looked up at Ephraim.
The look on Ephraim's face was one of misunderstanding; the look of someone who
realizes he's done more damage than he'd ever planned.
"Frozen dinners." Andy said, looking down. "There are- um, there are frozen dinners in the, um, in the uh ..."
"Freezer."
"Thank you; there are frozen dinners in the freezer." Andy said, heading toward
the foyer. "I'm uh-I'm going in to work."
"I thought-"
"They've got me doing paper work but I'm late anyway."
"Well-yeah, okay."
"Okay. Okay. Delia's getting dropped off at about three," Andy said, grabbing
his coat off of the hanger and throwing it on awkwardly. "So if you could deal
with that."
"Dad-"
"Frozen dinners. Don't forget."
"Dad!" Ephraim called, but Andy had shut the door, sensibly, behind him.
Ephraim jerked upward when he heard the doorbell ring. He had been sleeping
lightly, head on the homework that he "didn't need to do". Who were they
kidding? They knew he couldn't get behind; he'd have to retake the whole
goddamned year. Just because you get a little testy with an asshole
upperclassman doesn't mean you need a phyco-cematic analysis.
He was actually just drifting back to sleep when he heard a sharp rapping on the
front door and realized what had woken him to begin with. He got off his bed
and stretched briefly. He was left with that unpleasant, empty feeling he
always got when he woke up these days, plus that crampy, slightly greasy feeling
you get when you fall asleep with your clothes on in an unnatural posstion. But
most of all it was that terrible, pulling feeling of coming back. Of remembering
what was real and what was sleep. He didn't like sleeping because of that.
Because of having to wake back up, and remember that the whole thing hadn't been
a dream. That was why he was left so tired during the day; he tried not to
sleep.
When he looked out the window briefly, he saw Mrs. Cardinal's round, stern face
and checked the clock; 3:oo on the dot. Of course. He pulled the chain lock,
twisted the dead bolt and opened the door. Delia stood next to Mrs. Cardinal's
hip and looked up at her brother with a half-smile.
"Thanks." Ephraim said, gesturing that Delia come inside and nodding to Mrs.
Cardinal. She nodded back and turned back toward her car. A carpool in New
York City seemed strange, but it had worked in the past, and Mrs. Cardinal was
the safest New York Driver Ephraim had ever known.
Delia stepped inside and went into the living room. Ephraim headed back toward
his room. As soon as he sat down, Delia was in the door way.
"What?" he asked her impatiently.
"Where's dad?" she asked, and she seemed as though she really expected him to
say "taking a nap in his room" or "doing laundry". Ephraim looked at the
ceiling and laughed dryly.
"He's at work."
Delia frowned. "No, he's not." She insisted.
Ephraim turned toward her and shook his head as though he thought she was the
most pathetic creature on earth.
"Of course he is."
Delia frowned more thoroughly and shook her head vigorously. "No, he's not. We
talked."
"Good for you." Ephraim said, sitting back, putting his feet up and beginning to
read his book. Delia stomped over to him and whipped the book away.
"Give that back!" he exclaimed.
"No, he's not at work! He promised he'd try to fix it."
"Yeah, well, he promises a lot, Delia."
"Not this time. We talked."
Instead of reaching for his book, he took Delia by the shoulders and held her
facing him.
"Nothing here is going to change, ever again, Delia." He said flatly. "We've
got to learn to deal with it."
"He's sad, too, Ephraim." Delia said, angry.
"Yeah, I know." He said, but he said it in a roll-your-eyes, unappreciative kind
of way that put Delia off.
"He is."
"I know it, Delia, but that's got nothing to do with us." He said, sitting back
and releasing her shoulders. She set the book down on the bed and he picked it
up and opened it. "Sometimes I don't think it has anything to do with Mom."
"What does that mean?" Delia asked, climbing onto the bed. Ephraim sighed and
marked the page in the book, setting it down.
"He's sad and he's angry because he finally sees what an asshole he's been.
He's sad because he's suddenly all by himself, that he doesn't know what he's
doing or how to do it, and he's sad because he's realizing that he spent the
better part of his existence doing stupid things that don't matter."
"He saves people."
"No. He preserves digits."
"What does that mean?"
"God, Delia, just shut up."
"What does it mean?"
"You don't know anything."
"Ephraim!"
"It means that he doesn't think of himself as helping people." Ephraim explained
bitterly. "He stands over cracked skulls sewing things up and taking things out,
and to him, it's all cordwood. People don't matter. Families don't matter.
Hell, death doesn't matter. Death is necessary to preserve statistics."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Delia said, laughing.
"Yes I do!" Ephraim insisted.
"You're saying he doesn't care."
"Yes."
"Than why does he cry?"
"Because he's starting to realize that he doesn't care."
"That's caring."
Ephraim sat back. "Whatever."
Delia folded her arms and looked down. "When's he coming home?"
"Never."
"When's he coming home?"
Ephraim picked up his book again and flipped to the right page. "He's not ever coming home." he said over the top of the pages. "It's just you and me and the frozen dinners from here on in."
***
It was almost eleven when Andy carefully, quietly opened the door and shut it behind him. All the lights in the front rooms were out, so he assumed his kids were both in bed. He assumed it was safe. Little did he know.
"Dad!"
Andy whirled around to face the brightly lit hallway leading into the bedrooms, and barely reacted in time to catch a speeding six-year-old up in his arms before she catipulted herself into his knees. Once Delia was up in his arms she seemed perfectly calm. She sat back and looked at him seriously.
"Ephraim said you were never coming home."
Andy tried not to give anything away. "Did he."
"Yes, but I knew he was lying."
"He was probably just joking, honey."
"Maybe." she said, but she sounded like she was just saying it to make him feel better, and the thought of that amused him very much.
"What are you doing up, kiddo?" he asked her, carrying her toward her bedroom.
"I wanted to make sure that you were coming home."
"I see. Well, here I am, time for bed."
"Yeah, I figured."
"Good." he said, suddenly tossing her onto her bed from about a foot above and away. She screamed and laughed at once and before Andy knew it, Ephraim was standing in the doorway.
"Delia, what-"
Ephraim saw Andy standing there and silenced.
Andy put on a fake smile and emitted a fake, short laugh. "Didn't mean to wake you up; I didn't know you sister was so easily surprised." He said, and Delia smiled up at Ephraim, as though she'd made a point.
"I guess you wouldn't know." he said flatly. Andy completely ignored the comment.
"Or so loud and shrill." he kidded, and Delia giggled.
"What time is it?" Ephraim dead panned.
"Almost eleven." Andy said cheerfully, looking down at Delia and smiling and trying to make it sound like the words didn't mean anything. Ephraim smiled to himself sarcastically and nodded.
"Back to the good ole' days, right Dr. Brown?"
"Ephraim, you knew I'd have to go back to work-"
"Part time, you said, part time. Almost eleven is not part time."
"I told you he'd come home." Delia said from the bed, waiting for his reaction to her being right. She smiled up at him knowingly, but he just stared right at his father.
"He didn't come home. He's not coming home."
"What are you talking about, he's right-"
"Ephraim, let's go talk about this in the hall-"
"No, let's talk about it here. This is a family unit, isn't it?"
"Look, it's late, we're all tired-"
"It's not that late, and I'm not that tired."
"Fine." Andy said sharply, and Ephraim looked up. "Fine. I'm that tired, is that good enough?" he asked. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Can't we just talk?" he asked, with a measured strength in his voice "I want to change something. I want something to change."
"No, you don't. If you wanted to change something, all you'd have to do is stay home tomorrow. All you'd have to do is cook dinner, if you really wanted a change. Get here in time to read her a bedtime story, for gods sake, that would be a change."
Andy sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Son, you and I deal with things differently."
"You said you'd fix it." Ephraim said, looking at Delia.
Andy paused. "What?"
"You promised your daughter that you'd try to fix it, and she believed you."
"Did it ever occur to you that I am trying?"
"Not hard enough."
"Who are you to say that?" Andy exclaimed, and before Ephraim could come back he shot back his own answer. "You're the kid who attempts to beat up junior chemistry students because you're having a tough time, that's who you are."
Ephraim stared at him.
"Maybe you need to try harder." Andy said bitterly.
"I am not the parent!" Ephraim exclaimed. "Despite the fact that you've got me acting like it (because you can't) I am not the parent."
"If you're so concerned about who the parent is why won't you allow me to be yours?" Andy asked him.
Ephraim looked up at the ceiling and shook his head with a sarcastic smile on his face. He was quiet for a while. He suddenly looked back down and locked eyes with his father.
"You're ready for a change? Right? You want to make a change? I'll make a change." Ephraim turned around and walked, almost jogged towards the living room.
"Ephraim?" Andy called after him, following him after a moment's pause. Delia followed her father slowly. "Ephraim, what's going on?" he asked, coming around the courner.
The immediate view was Ephraim, standing next to the computer and the computer armour, leaning over it and working with something. Ephraim shifted his weight and Andy realized that it was the answering machine.
"Ephraim, what are you doing?" He asked him, although he thought he knew fairly well what he was doing.
Suddenly, a mechanical voice began to recite.
"If you would like to erase the previously recorded reception from your answering machine, please press the red button twice and record your new reception."
Andy stopped walking and stood still looking at his son. The answering machine continued and Julia's voice rang clearly into the living room. No body spoke a word, no body moved.
"Hi, this is Julia Brown, standing in for Andy, Ephraim, and Delia. If you would like to leave a message for any of us, well, you know what to do." There was a short beep afterwards, and Ephraim put his finger on the red button and looked up at Andy.
Andy looked down at his hands, appearing unbelievably tired. He sighed and shook his head. "Ephraim, please don't." he said, sounding ashamed of himself.
Ephraim didn't hesitate one second. He smashed the button twice.
"You're reception has been erased. Please wait for the beep and record your new reception." There was a beat, and the machine beeped loudly. Andy looked up and spoke in a low, tired voice.
"Hi. This is no longer the residence of Andy, Ephraim, and Delia. We don't know where we're going yet, but we've got to get out of here, because some of us can't take it anymore." Andy said. Then he turned, walked back to his room, shut the door, locked it.
THE END
By Me
The door shut with the soft swishing sound that Delia always inflicted, contrasting Ephraim's quick, concise slamming. There was something in between the two, Andy remembered, something with a slight force but not angry. Their
used to be someone who pulled the door to the point of contact with the frame,
and then pulled it efficiently into position, until there was a tiny clapping
sound of everything in there sliding into place with the movement of her slim
wrist ... There was an in between-sound that he wasn't ever going to here again.
Andy couldn't believe he was thinking like that. He hadn't even known that he
noticed things like that, little noises, little movements of hers. He'd lie
down to go to sleep each night and remember the little half moan she used to
emit in the middle of the night, when she couldn't sleep, and how she would
slide one pale calf out of the covers while the other brushed his leg with hot,
sleepy skin.
Andy suddenly remembered two nights after Julia's death; he'd seen a book on
her nightstand: The Lovely Bones. It was a silly little tear-jerking catholic
book; Julia hadn't even been catholic ... or believed in heaven. That thought in and of it self bothered him deeply, but there was something else.
There was a Kleenex stuck in between page 222 and page 223. She was exactly one
chapter away from the finish. That had been within the first week, when
everything felt so close, so scrapping the surface of him, when the littlest
things just broke the whole house down. That made him sad for the simplest reason in the world; she just wasn't going to finish it. It was such
an innocent, little thing, reading a book. It was nothing. It was nothing, and
she would never finish it, and it had made him so sad. It made him think of all
the little, tiny things she'd left. All the ends she'd left untied, all the
appointments to cancel, all the dinners to re-plan, all the carpooling to
rearrange, all the things she left. It had seemed so terribly unnatural, for a
person to leave all that.
Andy felt what was both weird and familiar; a jelly-like weakening of the knees.
He remembered it most a month ago today. He braced his hand against
the tabletop and sat down again on the stool he'd just stood from.
He didn't know if he could do this. He really didn't know. He had thought,
maybe, going to bed last night, with Delia kissing his cheek and a whole night
of sleep and dark to slide into ... the barrier between that night and this
morning had smothered his rationalizing. He hadn't thought about how impossible
this morning was going to be. The kids' going back to school, his own going back
to work part-time. Why did it have to be exactly a month? That wasn't
necessary. Who came up with that torturous idea?
The idea was that things were supposed to be normal again. This ... this was
supposed to be the first day of the rest of his life. He was supposed to just
pick everything back up. After today, things weren't going to change anymore.
He was just going to be left alone, in this suddenly old house, a house pregnant
with Julia; her smell, her belongings, her food, even the echo of her voice
still on the answering machine that he couldn't stand to erase; left with these
children who were basically cordial strangers to him; hidden, sad, harmed
creatures who didn't necessarily trust him, love him, or know him any more than
he knew them.
This was the rest of his life. This new, evil thing, this living without her,
this wasn't normal at all, and to consider the rest of his life just like this
morning (oh, it'll get easier, Andy, easier with each day, each god damning day)
was so wrong. Wasn't it supposed to feel less empty now? Wasn't that the plan?
Wasn't it supposed to feel less displaced, less surreal, less lost and foreign
and freezing and alone? This was supposed to be the stopping point. The end
goal. Dear god this was the rest of his life.
This was where reality is supposed to come back, and he starts being the same
old same old, the pretentious, condescending, preoccupied asshole, the neglecting parent and husb-
Andy let the breath he'd been holding out in something like a sob. The sound
of it immediately embarrassed him, even sitting alone at a kitchen counter with
his son's cooking on the table and his daughter's forgotten gloves on the chair
and nothing else in the room but the constant awareness of Julia, Julia, Julia.
He hadn't even reminded Delia to take her gloves. It was below freezing
outside, and she was eight, and she didn't even have a god damn pair of gloves. At this rate, within a week his daughter wouldn't have hands.
Andy quickly missed the dark humor of it and he covered his eyes with his hand,
resting his elbow on the table and feeling tears making it wet and slippery
between his fingers. He pressed his fingers harder against his eyelids.
This was falling apart. He couldn't stand the thought of waking up to this
feeling, this emptiness day after day after day; waking up to the same six words
from Ephraim and the same tiny woolen gloves on the stool and the same absence
of something that still felt like it was here. He couldn't do it. He didn't
know what he'd do instead, but he couldn't do it.
Andy suddenly heard a sound from the hallway leading to the front door. He
looked up suddenly and his red, unfocused eyes met with Delia's big, open brown
ones. Andy wondered how long she'd stood there.
There was a short, very awkward moment while Andy did that thing that everyone
does when they're caught crying by someone they didn't want to know it. He
looked up quickly, brightened his eyes and lightened his body language, didn't
blink back any tears, just acted like they didn't exist, and when he talked his
voice was steady and bright.
"Hey sweetheart, what do you need?"
Even as he said the words, he knew it was too late. His daughter didn't move,
and there were tears building in her big bright eyes.
"I forgot my gloves." She said, and her voice shook violently, and the end of
the sentence was more of a sob as her whole, tiny face sort of contracted and
began to stream tears.
"Oh, honey," Andy cooed, stood and went to her and she immediately held out her
arms. He picked her up and hugged her and she threw her arms around his neck,
sobbing. "Shh, shh." He whispered, rubbing her back.
"We know you're sad." She said through sobs. "We know."
God, she was so much like Julia. She was so much like Julia, and she would
never really know it. Andy closed his eyes and two tears dropped down his face.
"I know you know, honey."
Andy was afraid when he heard and felt his voice shake, but it didn't slow Delia
down.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No, honey."
"I'm not mad at you, Dad." Delia sobbed. "I swear I'm not."
God, thank you. Thank you, honey. You've got every right in the world.
"Thank you honey."
"It's scary when you cry." She sobbed.
I know. I think so too.
"I'm sorry I scared you."
"We know you're scared, too." Delia leaned back and looked Andy in the eyes,
still crying. "I think you're scared of us."
Andy didn't know what to say; how could she know everything in the world? How
did it fit inside that little head?
"I'm scared of a lot of things." He confessed, wiping a tear off her face.
"But why are you scared of us?"
He paused again, thought it over thoroughly, and looked her straight in her
eyes. "Because you two are better than anything I know." Including me. He
thought, but he didn't say it.
"I don't understand."
"That's okay. I love you."
"I love you too."
"I'll try. I'll try to fix everything, I promise."
"I will too."
He smiled at her. "Let's get you to school."
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"I can stay, if you want. I can take care of you."
He laughed. "That's okay. I don't think I could call in to school and tell
them that."
"You could lie."
"Let's not go there."
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yes." She responded, straight faced.
"Then grab those gloves. I'll give you a ride. You've probably missed the
bus." He said, smiling and getting up, getting his coat.
"Carpool."
Andy turned from what he was dong and looked at Delia. "What?"
"Today was a carpool."
"Oh. Your mother did that."
"Yeah, she did."
"She was supposed to do it today, wasn't she." He said dryly.
"I think."
"Okay. You're going to have to help me. I've never carpooled before."
"I know. A whole new world."
He nodded. "Get your gloves."
***
Andy loved how easy it was to make it okay for Delia. He knew it was only her
age, and that the simplicity of her happiness would pass with time and pain, but
for now it was so shiny and new and beautiful that he had to keep it close to
him. Why on earth do people grow up. It would have been so nice to stay six
forever. At six, you care about things, you think about things, and if you are
Delia Brown you think a lot, but pain is something that is so sweetly temporary
that you never think about that. True, intense pain seemed to pass like a cough
or a cold. It didn't stay. For six-year-olds, severe pain is never chronic.
Never terminal. The ache of it might linger in her, but the wild, furious, possessing pain that Andy was becoming so familiar with never stayed
foremost on her mind. There was always a tree to climb, mud to get dirty in, an
easy tune to be singing. Andy didn't think that actually being defeated by pain
was something that Delia could even understand, even comprehend. God, that was
beautiful.
Ephraim, on the other hand, was not quite as easy. Not quite as rejuvenating,
either. Andy knew that his real connections came with Ephraim, simply because
of his age, but sometimes he wished that they didn't, just because they were
always connections in sadness. Right now, if they connected at all, in was in
their shared pain over a shared loss. Even in that there were separations.
Ephraim was missing a mother. Andy was missing a wife. She was the same
person, but two different people completely. Ephraim reminded him so much more
of himself than of Julia, and that frightened him. It gave him the feeling of
karma, of a completed circle. If he could avoid creating another Andrew Brown,
damn it, he would.
But at the same time, especially lately, Andy found himself laying down in bed,
and before he thought about Julia, before he cried over heaven and page numbers
and half-moans and pale, sleepy skin and the way it felt to be alive, he thought
about his kids. It wasn't even thinking, really, it was just this sudden,
crazy, huge feeling of loving them. For nothing in particular; just honest,
basic, human love for their existing. For everything and nothing about them.
For not being alone.
***
Andy was ten minutes from being out the door for work when the phone rang.
"Dr. Brown, we know this is a hard time for you and for Ephraim, and we
understand that there are going to be some ripples, but it's important that
things like this should be worked through, both at school and within the family
unit."
"Uh huh."
"We do offer an in-school councilor, if Ephraim ever feels the need to take
advantage of that, we encourage it."
"Uh huh."
"And we recommend that Ephraim get some outside counseling as well. It's always
best to cover all bases."
"Uh huh."
"Now, usually in this situation, doctor, it's likely that we would insist on
some kind of suspension, but we are, as I mentioned, sensitive to your
situation."
"Uh huh."
"Ephraim is in talking to our councilor now, and you can come get him. We will
excuse him for the rest of the day, and he can do his homework or not do it for
the next week."
"Uh huh."
"You can come get him now, Dr. Brown."
"Uh huh."
"Dr. Brown?"
"Yes, I know. I can come get him now."
"Yes, Dr. Brown."
"I can come get my son now."
"Yes."
"Okay."
Andy hung up the phone and sat still for a moment. He had no idea how to keep
this from falling apart, but he'd better figure it out fast. He should have
known something like this would happen, he should have been completely prepared,
with something to say, something to do, a specific way to touch Ephraim on his
shoulder or his back, something reassuring and sympathizing at the same time,
but he had nothing. Nothing, and he could come get his son now.
***
Ephraim slammed the car door shut as he sat down, and Andy watched him cross his
arms in the rear-view mirror. His sea-gray eyes settled on the seatback in
front of him and fazed out. Andy waited a few seconds, and the both just sat
there in the car, silently.
"Buckle your seat belt." Andy said flatly.
Ephraim reached behind him and Andy listened for the click. When heard it, he
stuck the key into the ignition. Then he paused, hand on the key, prepared to
turn. He dropped his hand, leaving the keys hanging out of the machine. He
leaned back. The whole car was silent for while.
"What do you think we should do now." Andy asked.
"I don't know." Ephraim said.
"I'm supposed to know, aren't I?" Andy asked., staring right ahead out the
windshield.
Ephraim shrugged slightly and looked out the window. "Mom would."
"I know. She really would. But if she could help us out, I don't think we'd be
here in the first place."
"Maybe."
"Yeah." Andy scratched the back of his head and looked down at the key hanging
out of the ignition. "I'm going to take you home."
"That's a good start."
"And then I'm going to cancel work today."
Ephraim looked up, just for a split second, into the rear view mirror, but a
split second was enough, because Ephraim's eyes locked for a split second with
the saddest eyes he'd ever seen. When he looked back down, what frightened him
was that he wasn't completely sure that the eyes in the mirror hadn't been his
own.
"And then I think we're going to talk, if we can manage it."
"Whatever."
Andy shifted his weight slightly and scratched the back of his head again. "And
no more of that."
"What?"
"'Whatever'." Andy said in an overly dull, dim-witted tone, imitating Ephraim.
"You can't say that word during our talk, or anything equivilant of it."
"What the hell is that?" Ephraim exclaimed.
"That's my rule. Now you pick one."
"Pick a rule?"
"Pick one rule."
Ephraim was silent for a minute. "You can't mention Mom."
"What?" Andy erupted incredulously, turning and looking back toward Ephraim
"You said I could have one rule; that's it."
"We can't talk about this without mentioning your mother."
"Why should we talk about her? She's not here!" Ephraim almost yelled, sitting
up and throwing his hands in the air.
"That's exactly why we should talk about her!" Andy yelled. "Do you want to lose
her? Is that what you want? Do you want her to be completely gone?"
"She is gone!" Ephraim shouted incredulously.
"Why would you try to forget her?" Andy exclaimed, angry and disbelieving.
"It's better than you trying to hold on to her like she's still here!" Ephraim
snapped back angrily, tears pooling in his eyes. "Fuck that, I'd rather lose
her!" As soon as he said it, Ephraim knew he only said it to hurt his father,
but damn it, it felt good, because he knew it had hit home base.
Andy paused looking at him in painful disbelief. "Ephraim." Andy whispered, looking at him with something close to disgust.
Ephraim let the knowledge that he'd finally hit a nerve drive him, and things,
terrible, huge, scary things started pouring out of him. Things that were being
said to hurt, but were very nearly true.
"I would! I'd rather lose her entirely than sit alone in the dark and talk to
her! Than feel sorry for myself because she's not here, than ignore all the people around me like they didn't feel anything, like only my life was different, like only I was important or in pain! I'd rather forget she was ever here than have to keep comparing the way she was to the way you are. That's too god damn depressing."
The car was silent. Andy sat back in the front seat, clenching his jaw and
looking at the ignition keys unblinkingly. Ephraim was sitting in the back
seat, panting, blinking back tears.
Andy pulled in a breath quivering with anger. He turned the key in the ignition.
"Fine. Forget about her." he snapped quietly, putting the car in reverse.
***
The ride home was silent. Ephraim wanted to say something; he wanted to say
that he had just been fighting for the sake of fighting, that all he could do
around his father was fight, that he wouldn't ever want to lose his mother, but
that was all baby stuff. It wasn't something real people said. Certainly not
something he could ever say. He was afraid he'd just start straight out crying,
and we couldn't have that.
When they got home, Andy shut off the car quickly, put it into brake quickly,
and got out quickly. He slammed the car door. Ephraim didn't get out of the
car, he just sat there with one hand over his eyes, elbow on the door. Suddenly
all the anger had left him. Suddenly the idea of his father, the only person he
had left, thinking that he really didn't want to remember his mother was the
worst thing in the world. Suddenly anyone thinking that, actually believing
that, was the most painful feeling he'd ever known. Somehow, someone believing
that condemned him. Condemned him to actually believing it himself. And that
was the last thing in the world that he wanted. So he just sat there.
Andy walked heavily and quickly up the walk and to the front door. He fumbled
stupidly with the keys and tried to push the door open. It didn't go; he hadn't
turned the key the whole way. He slammed his fist against it, leaving him with
nothing but a throbbing fist. He tugged the door back into the frame and
twisted the key all the way, then shoved the door open with all this might. It
banged against the inside wall of the house, but he didn't care. A picture
hanging on the wall slipped slightly and hung cock-eyed. He didn't care. He
walked inside and slammed the door behind him, louder than Ephraim ever had, and
that picture came slipping to the floor. It hit the hard wood with an amazing
crash and the glass holding the family portrait shattered. Andy completely
ignored it and stomped into the living room, sitting down heavily on the couch
and putting his face in his hands. He rubbed his eyes thoroughly and ran his
hands through his hair.
He looked up at the door and realized that it locked itself when it was shut
hard. Ephraim couldn't get back in without a key, or without someone opening
the door for him. Who cared? Let him ring the goddamn bell. He was the one who
felt like he needed to sit outside in the goddamn car. All he had to do was
ring the goddamn bell and get the door opened for him, and that would be enough.
That would be enough to get them back on equal playing level. Plus the damn kid
disserved a little humiliation.
Andy sat back and waited. After five minutes, he picked up the remote and
switched on the TV. It was another five minutes before he realized that all he
was doing was flipping channels. He rested it on a home shopping channel and
threw the remote onto a recliner on the other side of the room, hearing the
batteries pop out of the little clips on impact. He hadn't realized he'd thrown
it that hard.
He put his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and waited, watching a
woman with nice hands display a princess cut diamond tennis bracelet, but really
watching the front door out of the corner of his eye.
Minutes passed, he re-crossed his ankles on the coffee table, and glanced
quickly at the front door, then back again at the TV. This happened in
intervals for the next ten minutes. It had been over twenty minutes now. It
was cold outside, and the warmth must have left the car by now, and Ephraim
never wore heavy enough coats ...
Andy tried to become very interested in a large, moldy-looking turquoise
necklace that wasn't worth half what the woman with the nice hands was asking.
It was his choice to sit out there, he thought. His choice. He could come in
any time. Something told Andy that Ephraim wouldn't come in if he caught
pneumonia, and honestly the thought worried him. He'd sit out there all the
damn night long, if nothing else happened to stop him. But it was his choice!
There was no reason that Andy should have to cave first.
But that voice inside his head, that voice that always sounded so wonderfully
like Julia, told him that of course there was a reason; he was the parent. That
was what being the adult, being the parent was about: doing what was best for
the child, especially when the child was too afraid to do what was best for
himself. Andy sighed and stood up. He walked to the door, opened it with just
enough force, and left it cracked open when he left.
Ephraim was curled up in a ball in the car, hugging his arms to each other in
some kind of tough-guy fetal position, his head against the glass window of the
door, his eyes closed. Andy didn't open the door because he was afraid that Ephraim was leaning so much on it that he would lose his balance and fall out. Andy knocked one knuckle against the glass three sharp times. Ephraim twitched on the first rap and was sitting up in the seat by the end of the third. Andy stood back and folded his arms himself. He felt like he was taking some kind of Superman position. He mouthed the words "open the door". Ephraim opened it and stepped out.
"Get the hell inside." Andy told him, not snapping, not yelling, just speaking
sternly. Ephraim didn't say a word, he just went inside. Andy followed him
closely and when he tried to turn toward his room, he stopped him.
"Don't go back there. Come into the living room."
"I'm not-"
"Ephraim, go sit on the damn couch."
Ephraim gave him a look that was both surprised and angry, but he turned toward
the living room and sat down on the couch, sat forward and rested his elbows on
his knees, letting his hands hang loosely between his legs. Andy came in, shut
off the TV, and remained standing in front of Ephraim. Ephraim's eyes rested on
the floor right in front of the toes of Andy's shoes. Andy stood and watched
him for a few seconds, and then walked back toward the foyer and came back with
Ephraim's jacket, which Ephraim hadn't worn. He tossed it to him.
"Put that on."
"I'm not outside."
"But you were for half an hour; put on the jacket."
Ephraim put it on. The room was quiet again. Andy rubbed his forehead and
coughed lightly and Ephraim didn't move.
Andy sighed heavily and finally spoke. "Ephraim I-" he began and stopped. He
picked back up where he left off after an extra breath. "I know what you said
out there wasn't true." He said, and Ephraim sat back but kept looking at the
floor. "If it were you wouldn't have sat out there like an idiot for half an
hour."
"If you knew it wasn't true why were you so pissed off." Ephraim said under his
breath.
"Because it hurt. I'm not going to pretend it didn't; your mother was good at not showing that kind of thing; you could say a thousand awful things to her and she wouldn't even flinch, I've seen it."
"You used to make her cry in less than ten words."
Andy blinked for a beat longer than usual and took a breath, speaking steadily
and rationally. "Ephraim, it's no secret that your mother and I had our
problems, but we loved each other, very much. And she loved you very much. And
that's-that's all part of what we've covered, but sometimes I don't think you
believe me when I say those things."
"Of course I do." Ephraim muttered, looking down.
"Then why do you keep fighting me? Fighting everything I do? Jesus, Ephraim,
if I said the sky was blue you'd yell and scream until you'd convinced the world
it was green."
"That was a good one; you should put that on a pillow."
"God damn it, Ephraim!" Andy suddenly yelled. "How are we going to make it? I
don't know how the hell we're going to make it!"
Ephraim shot up off the couch, like he was a firework someone lit. "I'm not
trying to, okay? All I can do is fight you! That's all I can say, that's all I
can feel! You're just wrong, wrong, wrong, you just are!" He said, panting,
angry tears building in his eyes. "All I can do is fight you!"
Andy looked at him straight on, every muscle tight with unbelieveable emotion.
He wasn't sure he'd ever felt so much at once; there was so much there that he
could pick one thing to be; angry, sad, terrified, happy, surprised.
"I don't know why that is." He finally said quietly.
"Neither do I." Ephraim said in a shaking, honest voice, holding arms forward in
desperation.
"Yes you do. Yes you do!" he exclaimed, voice going up high, sounding and
feeling disbelief.
"No, I don't!" Ephraim yelled, streaming tears, needing to be believed.
Andy took a breath and thought for a moment. There were quiet a few moments
where he looked like he was about to say something, and then stopped, and then
took a breath, and tried again. He just didn't seem to have any idea how to
approach what he was trying to say. He looked up tentatively at Ephraim for a
moment, and then looked back down.
He breathed again and gave it one more shot. "Do you blame me?"
Ephraim staired at him flatly for a moment, and then nodded, first timidly and
then more strongly. "Yes." He said, nodding his head almost as though he was in
seizure. "Yes I do. This is your f-fault. I blame you." Ephraim said,
staring into his eyes unblinkingly. A tear fell from Ephraim's left eye when he
stuttered on the "f" in fault, and traveled, lonely, down his face, and it
almost killed Andy.
Andy stared for a moment and then swallowed heavily and looked down.
"Okay." He said quietly.
"What?" Ephraim said, voice breaking on a high note.
"Okay, Ephraim, okay." Andy said, putting both hands in his pockets and watching
the floor right in front of the toes of his shoes.
"What?" Ephraim said again, starting to breathe in sobs.
"I think it's my fault, too." He said, scratching the back of his neck. He
looked up at Ephraim.
The look on Ephraim's face was one of misunderstanding; the look of someone who
realizes he's done more damage than he'd ever planned.
"Frozen dinners." Andy said, looking down. "There are- um, there are frozen dinners in the, um, in the uh ..."
"Freezer."
"Thank you; there are frozen dinners in the freezer." Andy said, heading toward
the foyer. "I'm uh-I'm going in to work."
"I thought-"
"They've got me doing paper work but I'm late anyway."
"Well-yeah, okay."
"Okay. Okay. Delia's getting dropped off at about three," Andy said, grabbing
his coat off of the hanger and throwing it on awkwardly. "So if you could deal
with that."
"Dad-"
"Frozen dinners. Don't forget."
"Dad!" Ephraim called, but Andy had shut the door, sensibly, behind him.
Ephraim jerked upward when he heard the doorbell ring. He had been sleeping
lightly, head on the homework that he "didn't need to do". Who were they
kidding? They knew he couldn't get behind; he'd have to retake the whole
goddamned year. Just because you get a little testy with an asshole
upperclassman doesn't mean you need a phyco-cematic analysis.
He was actually just drifting back to sleep when he heard a sharp rapping on the
front door and realized what had woken him to begin with. He got off his bed
and stretched briefly. He was left with that unpleasant, empty feeling he
always got when he woke up these days, plus that crampy, slightly greasy feeling
you get when you fall asleep with your clothes on in an unnatural posstion. But
most of all it was that terrible, pulling feeling of coming back. Of remembering
what was real and what was sleep. He didn't like sleeping because of that.
Because of having to wake back up, and remember that the whole thing hadn't been
a dream. That was why he was left so tired during the day; he tried not to
sleep.
When he looked out the window briefly, he saw Mrs. Cardinal's round, stern face
and checked the clock; 3:oo on the dot. Of course. He pulled the chain lock,
twisted the dead bolt and opened the door. Delia stood next to Mrs. Cardinal's
hip and looked up at her brother with a half-smile.
"Thanks." Ephraim said, gesturing that Delia come inside and nodding to Mrs.
Cardinal. She nodded back and turned back toward her car. A carpool in New
York City seemed strange, but it had worked in the past, and Mrs. Cardinal was
the safest New York Driver Ephraim had ever known.
Delia stepped inside and went into the living room. Ephraim headed back toward
his room. As soon as he sat down, Delia was in the door way.
"What?" he asked her impatiently.
"Where's dad?" she asked, and she seemed as though she really expected him to
say "taking a nap in his room" or "doing laundry". Ephraim looked at the
ceiling and laughed dryly.
"He's at work."
Delia frowned. "No, he's not." She insisted.
Ephraim turned toward her and shook his head as though he thought she was the
most pathetic creature on earth.
"Of course he is."
Delia frowned more thoroughly and shook her head vigorously. "No, he's not. We
talked."
"Good for you." Ephraim said, sitting back, putting his feet up and beginning to
read his book. Delia stomped over to him and whipped the book away.
"Give that back!" he exclaimed.
"No, he's not at work! He promised he'd try to fix it."
"Yeah, well, he promises a lot, Delia."
"Not this time. We talked."
Instead of reaching for his book, he took Delia by the shoulders and held her
facing him.
"Nothing here is going to change, ever again, Delia." He said flatly. "We've
got to learn to deal with it."
"He's sad, too, Ephraim." Delia said, angry.
"Yeah, I know." He said, but he said it in a roll-your-eyes, unappreciative kind
of way that put Delia off.
"He is."
"I know it, Delia, but that's got nothing to do with us." He said, sitting back
and releasing her shoulders. She set the book down on the bed and he picked it
up and opened it. "Sometimes I don't think it has anything to do with Mom."
"What does that mean?" Delia asked, climbing onto the bed. Ephraim sighed and
marked the page in the book, setting it down.
"He's sad and he's angry because he finally sees what an asshole he's been.
He's sad because he's suddenly all by himself, that he doesn't know what he's
doing or how to do it, and he's sad because he's realizing that he spent the
better part of his existence doing stupid things that don't matter."
"He saves people."
"No. He preserves digits."
"What does that mean?"
"God, Delia, just shut up."
"What does it mean?"
"You don't know anything."
"Ephraim!"
"It means that he doesn't think of himself as helping people." Ephraim explained
bitterly. "He stands over cracked skulls sewing things up and taking things out,
and to him, it's all cordwood. People don't matter. Families don't matter.
Hell, death doesn't matter. Death is necessary to preserve statistics."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Delia said, laughing.
"Yes I do!" Ephraim insisted.
"You're saying he doesn't care."
"Yes."
"Than why does he cry?"
"Because he's starting to realize that he doesn't care."
"That's caring."
Ephraim sat back. "Whatever."
Delia folded her arms and looked down. "When's he coming home?"
"Never."
"When's he coming home?"
Ephraim picked up his book again and flipped to the right page. "He's not ever coming home." he said over the top of the pages. "It's just you and me and the frozen dinners from here on in."
***
It was almost eleven when Andy carefully, quietly opened the door and shut it behind him. All the lights in the front rooms were out, so he assumed his kids were both in bed. He assumed it was safe. Little did he know.
"Dad!"
Andy whirled around to face the brightly lit hallway leading into the bedrooms, and barely reacted in time to catch a speeding six-year-old up in his arms before she catipulted herself into his knees. Once Delia was up in his arms she seemed perfectly calm. She sat back and looked at him seriously.
"Ephraim said you were never coming home."
Andy tried not to give anything away. "Did he."
"Yes, but I knew he was lying."
"He was probably just joking, honey."
"Maybe." she said, but she sounded like she was just saying it to make him feel better, and the thought of that amused him very much.
"What are you doing up, kiddo?" he asked her, carrying her toward her bedroom.
"I wanted to make sure that you were coming home."
"I see. Well, here I am, time for bed."
"Yeah, I figured."
"Good." he said, suddenly tossing her onto her bed from about a foot above and away. She screamed and laughed at once and before Andy knew it, Ephraim was standing in the doorway.
"Delia, what-"
Ephraim saw Andy standing there and silenced.
Andy put on a fake smile and emitted a fake, short laugh. "Didn't mean to wake you up; I didn't know you sister was so easily surprised." He said, and Delia smiled up at Ephraim, as though she'd made a point.
"I guess you wouldn't know." he said flatly. Andy completely ignored the comment.
"Or so loud and shrill." he kidded, and Delia giggled.
"What time is it?" Ephraim dead panned.
"Almost eleven." Andy said cheerfully, looking down at Delia and smiling and trying to make it sound like the words didn't mean anything. Ephraim smiled to himself sarcastically and nodded.
"Back to the good ole' days, right Dr. Brown?"
"Ephraim, you knew I'd have to go back to work-"
"Part time, you said, part time. Almost eleven is not part time."
"I told you he'd come home." Delia said from the bed, waiting for his reaction to her being right. She smiled up at him knowingly, but he just stared right at his father.
"He didn't come home. He's not coming home."
"What are you talking about, he's right-"
"Ephraim, let's go talk about this in the hall-"
"No, let's talk about it here. This is a family unit, isn't it?"
"Look, it's late, we're all tired-"
"It's not that late, and I'm not that tired."
"Fine." Andy said sharply, and Ephraim looked up. "Fine. I'm that tired, is that good enough?" he asked. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Can't we just talk?" he asked, with a measured strength in his voice "I want to change something. I want something to change."
"No, you don't. If you wanted to change something, all you'd have to do is stay home tomorrow. All you'd have to do is cook dinner, if you really wanted a change. Get here in time to read her a bedtime story, for gods sake, that would be a change."
Andy sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Son, you and I deal with things differently."
"You said you'd fix it." Ephraim said, looking at Delia.
Andy paused. "What?"
"You promised your daughter that you'd try to fix it, and she believed you."
"Did it ever occur to you that I am trying?"
"Not hard enough."
"Who are you to say that?" Andy exclaimed, and before Ephraim could come back he shot back his own answer. "You're the kid who attempts to beat up junior chemistry students because you're having a tough time, that's who you are."
Ephraim stared at him.
"Maybe you need to try harder." Andy said bitterly.
"I am not the parent!" Ephraim exclaimed. "Despite the fact that you've got me acting like it (because you can't) I am not the parent."
"If you're so concerned about who the parent is why won't you allow me to be yours?" Andy asked him.
Ephraim looked up at the ceiling and shook his head with a sarcastic smile on his face. He was quiet for a while. He suddenly looked back down and locked eyes with his father.
"You're ready for a change? Right? You want to make a change? I'll make a change." Ephraim turned around and walked, almost jogged towards the living room.
"Ephraim?" Andy called after him, following him after a moment's pause. Delia followed her father slowly. "Ephraim, what's going on?" he asked, coming around the courner.
The immediate view was Ephraim, standing next to the computer and the computer armour, leaning over it and working with something. Ephraim shifted his weight and Andy realized that it was the answering machine.
"Ephraim, what are you doing?" He asked him, although he thought he knew fairly well what he was doing.
Suddenly, a mechanical voice began to recite.
"If you would like to erase the previously recorded reception from your answering machine, please press the red button twice and record your new reception."
Andy stopped walking and stood still looking at his son. The answering machine continued and Julia's voice rang clearly into the living room. No body spoke a word, no body moved.
"Hi, this is Julia Brown, standing in for Andy, Ephraim, and Delia. If you would like to leave a message for any of us, well, you know what to do." There was a short beep afterwards, and Ephraim put his finger on the red button and looked up at Andy.
Andy looked down at his hands, appearing unbelievably tired. He sighed and shook his head. "Ephraim, please don't." he said, sounding ashamed of himself.
Ephraim didn't hesitate one second. He smashed the button twice.
"You're reception has been erased. Please wait for the beep and record your new reception." There was a beat, and the machine beeped loudly. Andy looked up and spoke in a low, tired voice.
"Hi. This is no longer the residence of Andy, Ephraim, and Delia. We don't know where we're going yet, but we've got to get out of here, because some of us can't take it anymore." Andy said. Then he turned, walked back to his room, shut the door, locked it.
THE END