If You're Out There(48)
“When You’re Smiling” is competing for space in this tortured mind, though I only sort of know the words. Something something, repeat repeat, “The whole world smiles with you . . .” If we’re sticking with this chipper theme, could I at least put in a request, Mr. DJ? How ’bout a little “Happy” by Pharrell? Actually, no. I was incredibly immune to how overplayed that song got, but Amanda would find a way to destroy it. It’s the mother-flipping jam. (If anyone disagrees, we can fight. This is a hill I will die on.)
Non Sequitur I Feel Compelled to Share:
When I was a kid, any time I started a journal I was always vaguely concerned it would wind up published for posterity. What if there was something really embarrassing in there? Like how I thought “approximately” meant “exactly” for like . . . years? Until Ben finally cracked up and told me? Or how I spent all of third and fourth grade convinced I was bound to convert to Judaism whenever Adam Eidelman and I inevitably married? (He was super nice, and he always shared the matzo from his school lunch.) TO BE CLEAR: if anyone’s wondering, this journal is SO NOT THAT KIND OF THING. I just need to get stuff out. No posterity, please. ?
Anyway. I’ve had a day. Days.
AHAHAHA that is an understatement.
Ben and I aren’t in what you’d call a great place at the moment. It’s been a whole lot of either fights or long stretches of not talking. Even during our less prickly times when he’s come down, I’ve kept the chitchat to a minimum. But we can’t stop talking now. That’ll just make things worse.
I was decent about it today. He came bearing muffins and a new textbook he’d picked up for me. He said he talked to Zan last night, and that she was worried. He tends to overshare these days, I’ve noticed. Weirdly enough, I think he misses me.
“What’d you tell her?” I asked.
“Mentioned boarding school. Alluded to some changes. Think you really hurt that friend of yours.”
I refused to let his words affect me. “C’est possible,” I said, with a little French shrug. I couldn’t help but complain a smidge. Told him I wished the muffin had been blueberry. “Always blueberry.”
“So you’ve mentioned,” he said. I’ll pump the brakes for a bit.
I’m now officially switching from Mandarin to German. I’m lacking my usual determination with the former. It’s too damn hard. German grammar is admittedly bananas, but I think I’ll have more luck. Plus, I already enjoy shouting, “SCHEISSE!” when I’m angry, and I’d love to be able to fold that into a full-on German rant.
I need more expletives in my life.
Besides anger, I’ve also been feeling this, like . . . aching guilt. Toward Mom, mostly. And let me tell you, feeling simultaneously angry and guilty toward a dead person is one of the more exhausting emotions out there.
I keep seeing that photo in the box of her things. That lively smiling group in front of the bar. Mom and Alice looked so young. They looked like liars. I guess we all keep secrets. I did from Zan. I did from Nick.
At the same time, I can’t believe how much I let Mom down.
There was an opening. I could have done something. And I didn’t.
I find myself wishing there was a way to say I’m sorry, and to hear her say it back. I don’t know what the point is in thinking this way. I’m not expecting some Disney Mufasa moment or anything. But I guess I could use, like, a sign? Now I feel ridiculous. (No posterity, okay?!)
Well, Mom, if you’re somehow listening, or sensing, or whatever . . . I’m sorry. I guess you could say I’m still “working things out.” But you and me? As far as I’m concerned, we’re okay, okay?
I keep thinking about how optimistic you were. When things went wrong, more often than not, you managed to laugh! You’d turn the whole ordeal into a story. A story that you loved! I’ve tried to be like that. Though sometimes I just want to say, “This sucks! Can’t we admit this just sucks?” If you were here, maybe you’d be looking for the silver lining in all this—in you leaving me here all alone. But I don’t know. That one might actually stump you.
I will not cry. I WILL NOT CRY.
(Okay, I’m taking a break.)
I’m better now.
Pharrell voice with background claps “Happy happy happy happy . . .”
TO DO:
More positive affirmations.
(See anything owned by Amanda for inspiration.)
(Principle #302: When admitting things suck, swear in German as needed.)
Seven
Saturday, September 15
I woke up early this morning and stayed in bed through the muted scuffle of people leaving the breakfast table, packing up, and scattering. Around eleven, I snuck downstairs to scour the kitchen for treats. I was disappointed to find that Mom had done the latest round of shopping (it’s Whit who has the sweet tooth). I settled for an apple with peanut butter, which I promptly brought back to bed.
My vision has gone hazy, strained by computer light in the otherwise dark room. I’ve gone into an internet sinkhole. Onion articles and memes, and clips of people falling down. I cried at a video of a three-legged dog conquering a stair step, and again when a baby got her first pair of glasses and saw her mom.
Anyway. Now I’m numb again.
The apple’s whittled-down core is diluted but still tart. I study it a moment before chucking it into the basket across the room with a satisfying swish. My eyes return to the screen and I fill my mouth with an enormous, sticky spoonful straight from the peanut butter jar.