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I want to ask, Do you want to talk about it? But the answer is pretty obvious. He doesn’t want my sympathy. He doesn’t want to tell me he’s sad. He just wants me to be there as he vents his rage. So I do that. I let him yell about doctors, and about how his grandfather is the one who smokes, but look at which one of them ended up with cancer. I let him criticize his parents’ reaction. He’s mad at them for not dropping everything to go see her, when what he really means is that he wants to drop everything to go see her. But he won’t say that. Not to me. Not to himself.
I stay until he wears himself out. I stay until he changes the subject. I stay until he decides to watch a fourth episode.
I’ll be there when he wants to deal with it. He knows that, and right now that’s the best I can do.
—
When I get home, Mom is sitting in her usual spot, watching the news on her usual channel. If the story is really sad—a girl gone missing, a boy trapped in a well—she’ll talk back to the screen, little murmurs of sympathy, Oh, that’s too bad or Goodness, how awful.
I imagine the pretty newscaster looking into this room, looking at my mother sitting in that chair, and saying the same things. Because hasn’t she fallen down her own kind of well? Hasn’t she found her own way of being missing? Liza used to push her—telling her she needed to go out more, once even telling her she needed to get some friends. But now that it’s my turn, I find I’ve given up. It’s probably the only way I can make her happy, to leave her alone. That’s what my dad has done all these years, and it seems to have worked out fine for him.
I think about calling Liza, about telling her what’s going on.
You’re as crazy as she is. That’s probably what she’d say.
But Mom isn’t crazy. She just doesn’t care anymore.
She enjoys her shows, I think.
—
I want to see you again.
I don’t think Justin’s ever said that to me. But he hasn’t really needed to, has he? There’s never any doubt that he’ll see me again. Never any need to want it.
—
I start another email.
A,
I only want to see you again if this is real.
Rhiannon
But I don’t send it.
Chapter Ten
I wake up and write another email.
A,
So, who are you today?
What a strange question to ask. But I guess it makes sense. If any of this makes sense.
Yesterday was a hard day. Justin’s grandmother is sick, but instead of admitting he’s upset about it, he just lashes out at the world more. I’m trying to help him, but it’s hard.
I don’t know if you want to hear this or not. I know how you feel about Justin. If you want me to keep that part of my life hidden from you, I can. But I don’t think that’s what you want.
Tell me how your day is going.
Rhiannon
This one I do send. I try to act like it’s a normal email that I’d send to a normal friend. Then I try to have a normal day, partly to figure out what a normal day really is. At first it works. I go to school. I go to classes. I go to lunch and sit next to Justin. He won’t commit to any emotion.
When lunch is over, I check my email.
