Forever for a Year(16)
I will tell you, there is this picture in her senior yearbook that I’ve studied a lot. You should see it. It takes up a whole page when nobody else even got a half of one by themselves. In it she’s reading a book in an empty auditorium, spread over three chairs, her long blond hair all glowing. My mom looks so beautiful. But more than that, she looks like she’s so in control. Anything she wanted, all she had to do was ask and she would get it.
When I think of that picture, I feel sorry for her. Must be hard to think you can accomplish anything you want and then one day wake up and think you’ll never accomplish anything at all.
“Trevor?” she said, for, like, the twentieth time.
“It was fine, Mom. It was boring but not too painful.”
“What was your favorite class?”
“Biology probably.”
“Did Henry introduce you to his friends?”
“Yeah, but Henry and his friends are *s.”
“Don’t use that word,” she said. Except then she smiled and said, “My brother is an *, so you’re probably right about Henry.”
I smiled too. My mom is the greatest at moments like this. When most adults would keep pretending to be mature and know-it-all, she can let the truth out. For the first time in a long time, and just for a second or two, I felt safe with her.
By the time we got home, which was only ten minutes later, my mom said she was exhausted and needed to rest. I’m sure she hadn’t been up for more than four hours. But whatever. She asked me to walk down to our neighbor’s to get Lily, which I would’ve wanted to do anyway.
Except after I started walking, I realized that Lily had two new friends on our block. (She made friends faster than anyone.) So I walked back in to ask my mom which neighbor and she was on the phone in her bedroom. I wanted to yell to interrupt her phone call, but I didn’t. Instead, I got really quiet. I don’t even know why, but I stayed that way and kept inching closer to her bedroom door. That’s when I heard her, very clearly: “I miss you too.… I can’t visit.… You know I can’t.… Because I need to stay in Chicago with my family … Of course I love them.… It’s different with you.… I have to go.… No, I can’t Skype again.… I have to go.… Bye, Dylan.”
Then the phone call ended. And I waited. For a couple seconds but it felt longer. Like my whole life just fast-forwarded to the end and then rewound. Then I yelled, “Mom!” And I opened her bedroom door.
The look on her face let me know what I thought I knew. But I didn’t want her to say anything. I couldn’t stand to hear it just then. So, super quick, I said, “What neighbors? The Thuressons or the Hammans?”
“The Hammans,” she said. She opened her mouth to keep talking, but I just turned and walked away.
*
“Hi, Trevor, did you have a great first day of school?” Lily said the moment she saw me, strapping on her blue backpack. Then she turned back to our neighbors and her kid friend, and said, “Thank you so much for hosting me, and you have a wonderful home. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”
After they closed the door, I said, “Where’d you learn to talk like that?”
“I’m being gracious.”
“It’s strange that a seven-year-old girl talks like that.”
“I think people like it.”
“They do.”
“So then why shouldn’t I do it?”
“You should. It’s just strange having your younger sister talk like she’s older than you.”
“You’re hilarious, Trevor. Enough about me, how was your first day?”
“Mostly pointless,” I said, but then I realized I was bored with talking about things being pointless and Lily was the best to talk to about important stuff. Except I couldn’t talk about Mom’s phone call I just overheard. I just couldn’t do that to her. She wouldn’t even understand. So instead I said, “I think I met a girl.”
“Really? Really!” she screeched, jumping up and down and acting like a seven-year-old for once. “Goodness! What’s her name? Is she as pretty as Dakota?”
“Her name’s Carolina. And she’s pretty, but in a different way than Dakota.”
“This is very exciting! I want to meet her. When do I get to meet her?”
“Well, we didn’t really talk yet.” I shouldn’t have brought Carolina up. Big mistake.
“But why not? You just have to talk to her, Trevor! Don’t be afraid.”
“You don’t talk to boys.”
“Yes, I do. Don’t be hilarious,” she said. (She was using the word “hilarious” all the time lately, even when it didn’t make that much sense.) “But I don’t like them yet because I’m seven. I’ll like them when I’m ten. Are you Facebook friends?”
“Facebook isn’t cool anymore,” I said.
“But you look at it every day,” Lily said. I didn’t say anything back. “Just ask her to be friends on that. I think she would like that.”
“Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“You’re so hilarious.” And then she made herself laugh, which made me laugh, which made her laugh for real, which made me forget all the shitty things that happened today.