The Things We Keep(34)

The worst thing about my home visit is that no one stops talking. Everyone gathers around me, catapulting questions so fast, I can barely figure out who said what. By the time I do figure it out, and look at the person so I can respond, either they’ve moved on or they’re giving each other what I now call the “third-nostril look.” Like I’m the one who is nuts.

I’m much happier when we progress to the “watching” stage of the visit: “Watch me bounce on the trampoline, Anna.” “Watch me sit on Hank’s face and fart, Anna.” “Watch how far I can kick this ball … all the way into the neighbor’s yard!” This part, I like. I can just sit on my deck chair, clapping and waving. And I can hear myself think again.

After a few minutes of this, Helen arrives with a cup of tea, a tray of brown eating-things in little wrappers, and her own deck chair. Jack is on the grass, watching the kids and being quiet, which is fine with me. I wish Helen would follow his lead, but unfortunately, she didn’t get the memo.

“It’s great to have you here, Anna,” she says, dispensing a cup of tea with no milk. It smells funny. “I got your favorite. Peppermint tea.”

I frown into my mug. Peppermint is my favorite?

“Jack drank some by accident the other day and then spat it out all over the kitchen counter.” Helen covers her hand with her mouth and chuckles. “The boys thought it was hilarious.”

Jack mutters something unintelligible. I take a sip of my tea. It’s actually pretty good.

“Anna, watch this!” Ethan calls.

“No! Anna’s watching me,” says Hank.

“Me, Anna,” says the other one. “Watch me!”

I turn back to Helen. “What did you say?”

Helen’s smile fades. “Oh,… just that Jack tried your tea and—”

“Anna!” Ethan is swinging from the tree by one arm, like the hairy animal that eats bananas. With his dangling hand, he tickles his opposite armpit. “Oo-oo-ee-ee! I’m a monkey.”

A monkey. Right.

Beside me, to my right, Helen is still talking.

“You’re not a monkey,” says the boy in the red T-shirt. “You’re an ape!”

The boys all break into laughter, except for the little one, who begins to cry. He lets go of the branch and finds the ground.

“Would you like a muffin?” Helen says. “Baked fresh this morning. Anna?” She holds up the tray of brown things.

I rise to my feet. Someone is talking. I don’t know who. My head hurts.

“Anna, are you all right?” someone says.

The littlest boy is standing in front of me, arms outstretched. His face is red and wet, and he’s muttering something about the other boys being mean. I step toward him, and he wraps his arms around my waist.

“Eath, give Anna some space,” Jack says.

The little boy protests that he doesn’t want to, and then the other little boys start screaming something. The woman talks louder, over the top of them. I close my eyes. I can’t hear individual words, just … noise. Loud, continuous noise.

“Shut up!” I scream, and it actually feels good. For a second, the sound of my voice is all I can hear. That also feels good.

But the moment I stop screaming, the woman starts talking again. “Anna, why don’t you just—?”

My brain is going to explode. “I said shut up. You!” I jab my finger at the little boy, the crying one, who has let go of my waist and stepped back a few paces. “And you!” This time I point at the other boys, the ones in red and green, standing before me. “And you!” The woman. She’s the most annoying of all. “All of you, shut up!”

Jack gets up off the grass and starts toward me. I don’t want him to touch me. I don’t want anyone to touch me. I pick up the tray of brown things and hurl it as hard as I can into the garden. He stops. Finally, the chatter, the whining, the talking, stops, drowned out by one continuous, high-pitched roar. My roar.

*

“She’s degenerated really fast…”

“… spoken to her doctor…”

“… what did Eric say?”

I know Jack and Helen are talking about me. If I really wanted to, I could tune in, but why bother? It would take up too much of my brain space, and I don’t have much to spare. So I just continue eating my dinner. Whatever it is. For someone who spends so much time in the kitchen, Helen isn’t a very good cook.

“Anna?”

They’re looking at me. Terrific. Now I’m probably going to have to listen.

Jack drags his chair a little closer to mine. “Do you want to talk about what happened today?”

“No.” I take a mouthful of whatever it is Helen has cooked. It’s so hot, it takes the skin off my mouth, and it tastes like tomato paste. Even Latina Cook-Lady’s rice and beans is better than this.

“Anna,” he tries again, “did we do something to upset you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Apparently, he’s not letting this go. I wish he’d shut up and let me eat my tomato paste.

“I’m sure,” I say. “It’s just that I don’t like it here. Too … noisy.”

Jack’s and Helen’s faces shift in unison, as if moved by the same puppeteer. The long blink. The jaw drop. The swift glance at the other. I shovel in another mouthful. Ow. Crap! Hot.