As promised: Where Are They Now?
A look five years into the future...
Adam is a recent college graduate working as a chemical engineer. He and Chelsea are no longer together. Though he lives far away from where he grew up, he remains close with his mother. He is trying to convince his mother to move out to live closer to him. He has found a church, a girlfriend, and a new life in his new city, and enjoys the opportunity to escape the attentions of his hometown. He is in counseling and regularly attends group therapy for those who have been diagnosed with terminal illnesses.
Chelsea is currently in nursing school, looking to specialize in pediatrics. She and Adam email occasionally, but long ago went their separate ways. She recently moved back in with her parents to save money while in school, but hopes to be on her own two feet soon. She attends Mrs. Larsen's Bible study weekly, and has recently been spotted around town with a young man she met there.
Matt is hoping to graduate from school this year. A little too much partying got him put on academic probation early in his college career, but he's since buckled down and can often be found in the library, studying with his girlfriend, Allie. He is still in contact with Adam. He doesn't want to rush anything, but he admits that he hopes to propose to Allie once they have both graduated this coming May.
Allie is also a college senior, an exemplary student majoring in secondary education. She plans to become a high school history teacher after graduation, and hopes to live close to her mother and Will. She is still extremely close with her sister, and still considers her Aunt Karen a strong maternal figure in her life.
Addie had trouble adjusting to living with her mother, and ultimately moved back in with Aunt Karen in her senior year of high school. Now a college senior in Vermont, she rents an apartment with two friends and has a dog and a boyfriend, both of which are gross at times but both of which make her happy. She and Adam still call each other weekly, and she visits her sister at least once a month.
Karen (Adam's mom) struggled with her faith for a long time after her husband's death, but ultimately turned the experience into a positive, starting a program through her church to raise money for widows (and widowers) to help them with medical expenses. She still leads Bible study every week at her church. She sold the house when Adam went off to college and the twins went to live with their mother, and moved into a smaller house on the outskirts of town near the church. She has not yet begun dating again, but doesn't rule out the possibility for the future, saying she trusts God to tell her when she is ready.
Grandad passed away about two years after Dennis. He had been struggling with minor heart problems for years, but had fought to hide them from his family. He is dearly missed by all.
Will is now a rambunctious seven year old. He's lost the shyness he displayed at a young age, but is generally well-adjusted and happy. He knows Allie as his loving big sister, and that is how Allie has determined it will stay. He has not yet been tested for the disease, a decision his mother (Melissa) chooses to leave up to him when he reaches adulthood.
Melissa has been sober for nearly eight years now. She loves her son and is close with Allie. She and Addie talk infrequently on the phone. She has become good friends with Karen, and the two often attend a widow support group together.
Reverend James divorced his wife three years ago when he discovered she was having an affair. He seems interested in Karen, but refuses to confirm this.
And a couple of things I wanted to share with you all:
1. This was originally, in its very early stages, going to be the story of a girl whose single mother was suffering from early-onset Alzheimers.
2. Chelsea, in the outlines I did, was supposed to abort before anyone found out she was pregnant. I went the super-dramatic route, instead, apparently.
3. Adam's mother was supposed to be a workaholic in the original outlines. I don't know how it morphed into a hyper-Christian, but I'm glad it did -- it was a lot more interesting to write about.
4. Adam's father was supposed to still be able to talk, but then the timeline would have had to have been ungodly long, and I like my NaNovels to take place in the span of a few weeks. Which is too bad, because I had some really good ideas for speeches for Adam's father.
5. Both Adam's and the twins's outcomes were determined with a coin flip. It doesn't seem "fair", but that's about the way genetics work, so I figured that was the "truest" way to do it. I did do a coin flip for Will, if you're interested, and he is negative.
6. Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it, and hope to see you next year. :-)
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
November 30th: Like a spring that fails
For I consider that the sufferings
of this present time are not worthy to be compared
with the glory which shall be revealed
in us.
Romans 8:17
“How is she?”
“Sleeping. I don’t know what to do with her. I... I just don’t know what to do.”
She holds out a mug. “I made coffee. Decaf. If that helps.”
“Sure. Why not.” I grab the coffee pot and pour myself a cup, then lean back against the counter. “What time are Will and your mom coming back in the morning?”
“I think about nine.” She sighs, staring down at her steaming coffee, stirring it idly. “I don’t think Addie’s ever gonna forgive me.”
“Of course she will.”
“It doesn’t seem like it. I... I’ve tried talking to her, I’ve tried not talking to her, I’ve tried... I’ve written her a letter and I’ve called her on the phone and I’ve... I can’t believe I did this. I... I was just trying to... I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t mean for her to hate me. I just... There never seemed like a good time. I mean, I was gonna put him up for adoption, so it was like, why tell her? And then... Then I was seven months pregnant and I had enough to worry about without having to explain to to her. And then I had a kid, and you can’t just call your sister and say, ‘Hey, I gave birth. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to.’ And then it just... There was never a good moment. There was never a conversation where it seemed like it would fit in. I was going to tell her after she and Mom were good again. I... I was gonna tell her. I was. And... Everything just blew up in my face.”
“What have you said to her?”
“That I’m sorry. That I should’ve told her. That... I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it to her that would make her understand.”
I set my mug down on the counter. “I don’t know. She’ll come around. It’s just... It’s going to take time.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“I... Never mind.”
“No, what is it?”
“I’m worried about her. My mom. She’s just... I don’t know what to do. I listen, I talk, I... I can’t think... I can’t think of anything else to do. I can’t think of any way to make this easier for her. And I know it sounds weird coming from me, but it’s just...”
“No. I get it. Trust me. But... It’s not your job to keep her together, Adam. Seriously. And it’s great that you’re trying, but she’s just... Grieving. And this is how it happens. It’s ugly and it’s heartbreaking to watch. You just... Don’t stop trying to help her, but you can’t take it personally if it doesn’t work.”
I sigh. “She just... I mean, everyone’s upset, but she’s the one who really seems to be... You know.”
“Crippled by it.”
“Yeah. And then I feel guilty because I’m not the same way, and I feel bad because I can’t seem to help her, and it’s like... This just might be the worst Christmas ever.”
She forces a laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Whatever. I still have gifts to wrap. I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks for the coffee.”
“Yeah, any time.”
I top myself off and start toward the living room, turning around abruptly. “And Allie?”
“Yeah?”
“She will come around. I promise.”
“Thanks.”
I head down the hall and up the stairs to my room. I’ve managed to pick up all my bags at once and am shuffling carefully out the door when I hear a noise float down the hall.
I set everything down but my coffee and walk down the hall to knock on her door. “Mom?”
“Come in,” she says feebly.
I open the door. “You want me to turn a light on?”
She shakes her head. “I... I thought I’d get some sleep. In here.”
“Mom.”
“Adam, it’s fine.”
I flip on the lights. She’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing his flannel bathrobe, a box of tissues next to her, her eyes glaringly red.
“I remember when we moved him in here. Your grandfather thought it was a good idea. He wanted me to be able to get some sleep. He just... But I couldn’t sleep. I snuck in every night for a month and a half to sleep next to him. I couldn’t... It was too quiet without his snoring.”
“Mom.”
“I knew what I was getting into when I married him. That there was a chance he would have it. He said his mom’s death had been tough. But it wasn’t until Don really got sick that I realized how bad it could get. I didn’t know. I was twenty and I was in love and he said his mother had been sick. He said she was sick for a long time, that she died of pneumonia eventually. My mother had cancer at the time. I didn’t think... I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t expect this. Ten years of hospitals and symptom after symptom and... Hopelessness. Nobody ever told me that you weren’t supposed to hope. Nobody ever...” She grabs a tissue and dabs at her eyes, shaking her head slowly.
I sit down in the chair next to the bed and cross my legs. “For what it’s worth... I admire you. For hoping.”
She forces a smile. “Honey, you don’t have to do this.”
“It’s true, though. I... I prayed. At first. That he would get better. But the doctors told me he wouldn’t, and the twins told me he wouldn’t, and even he told me he wouldn’t. And eventually I guess I just stopped hoping that he would. I just stopped hoping at all. I... I admire you. For believing, even when nobody else did. You held on when everybody else let go. And that’s... It’s a big deal. We all gave up, but you believed. You say that nobody ever told you that you weren’t supposed to hope, but people told you that every day. And you hoped anyway. And that’s... That’s really admirable. I wish I were that wrong.”
She shakes her head. “I was delusional.”
“We all were.”
“You just said that none of you believed.”
I shrug. “I... I would tell him about things. I would talk to him like he remembered me. And every time he coughed, or his finger twitched, or anything, I convinced myself that it was a reaction to what I was saying. I told myself that he had good days, days where he remembered, even though that’s not even possible... I just wanted to believe in something. We all did something irrational. Because we loved him. And when you love somebody, you have one-sided conversations and you pray for miracles and you sit by their bedside twenty-four hours a day even though they don’t know you from the orderly. It’s just... What you do.”
She picks at her eyebrow, staring down at the bedspread. “I just can’t believe he’s gone.”
“It’s better now. He was miserable here. It’s... It was for the best.”
“Job.”
“Job,” I agree.
She shakes her head. “I think I understand now why you hate that damn book so much.”
I laugh. “It’s not easy to swallow.”
“But you think it’s right?”
I’ve never seen her look at me like this. Like I know something she doesn’t. There’s something unbearably sad about it: the woman whose confidence in her faith was once so strong, strong to the point that it alienated her own son, looking to that same son for spiritual guidance. It’s not humility, it’s just... Doubt. I don’t want her to doubt. If she doubts, how can anyone else ever believe?
“I think you should go to bed. Your own bed.”
She folds her hands in her lap and sighs, her whole body slumping forward. “Tonight... The sermon. The Reverend said that every time we turn our backs on God, He sits there waiting for us to turn back to Him.”
“Right...”
“And I know that maybe it’s selfish, or weak, but... I think He’s turned his back on me. And I don’t think I... I don’t think I have it left in me to sit here and wait for Him to turn around.”
I bite my lip. “Go to bed, Mom.”
“I don’t think I can sleep.”
“Try.”
She sighs. “Okay.” She pulls his robe tighter around her and stands, shuffling past me into the hall. “Adam... What’s all this?”
I peer over her shoulder. “Just some stuff I have to wrap.”
“Honey, we don’t even have a tree.”
“I know. But... I... It’s Christmas.”
“And we’re going to spend the day tomorrow exchanging gifts and eating take-out. I didn’t wrap anything. Go to bed.”
“Fine. Okay.” I pick up the bags and push open the door to my room. “Good night, Mom.”
“Love you.”
“You too.”
“There’s a bunch of wrapping paper in the trash. Did you wrap everything and unwrap it?”
I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “Why do you keep waking me up?”
Addie shrugs. “You sleep too much. Will and my mom are almost here. You should do something about your morning breath. And seriously, what’s with the wrapping paper?”
I shake my head. “It’s not mine.” I shake my head. Why didn’t I wrap anything? “Oh. Oh.” I laugh, shaking my head. “My mother. I told her I didn’t have anything wrapped and she told me it was fine, she didn’t either. But she did. I bet she unwrapped everything so I wouldn’t feel bad.”
“Your mother is weird.” She sips her tea and sighs. “I’m so not feeling the Christmas spirit.”
“Neither am I. We don’t even have a tree.”
“Yeah, I know. Why, exactly?”
“I think we were just busy.”
Grandad appears behind Addie in the doorway. “Are you still sleeping? It’s almost nine!”
“I’m tired. It’s not even nine o’clock. I think I used to be a morning person, but I’ve recently discovered that the morning is the work of Satan, and I would like to sleep. I think I should sleep more, actually.”
“If you say so.” He arches his eyebrows, exchanging a look with Addie. “You should probably get dressed, don’t you think, champ?”
“Probably.”
“I’ll see you downstairs.” Addie spins away from the door, and Grandad follows after her, pulling it shut behind him.
I throw on jeans and a sweater and rummage through my gifts, pulling out receipts and removing price tags. I’m the last one to make it to the living room. I drop my bags sheepishly onto the pile and settle onto the floor by the fireplace. Will toddles over and plops down next to me. Melissa steals awkward glances at Addie, her lips tightly pursed. Addie and Allie sit miles apart on the couch, their legs crossed in opposite directions. Grandad stands behind my mother’s rocking chair, playing absentmindedly with the piping on the cushion, and my mother pulls at her eyebrow, still wearing my father’s old bathrobe.
“Merry Christmas, everyone,” I say, attempting a smile.
But it’s not Christmas. It’s December 25th, two days after my father’s death. We don’t even have a tree. And not one of us, not even Will, is merry.
“It was epically bad. I have never been so uncomfortable.”
Chelsea sits back on her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“It was worse. I’m trying to downplay it. Seriously. My mother is crazy depressed, my grandfather is impossible to read, Addie isn’t speaking to her mother or her sister, both of whom want her to talk to them but neither of whom has the balls to make her listen, and I didn’t even wrap my presents, so I suck. And Will thinks we’re all crazy. We are all crazy. I am crazy. I am crazy to be more upset that Christmas sucked than that my father is dead.”
“Adam.”
“No, seriously. I... I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But anyway. How was your Christmas?”
She shrugs. “My uncle didn’t know that my little brother didn’t know about the pregnancy fiasco, so that was a fun conversation. And my mother keeps pressing me for information about your mother’s church walk-out. Like, seriously? Is it that much of a mystery? People are stupid.” She crosses her arms and sighs. “But all the presents were wrapped. For what it’s worth.”
“I just wonder when we’re going to get back to our lives, you know?”
She shrugs. “It’s been two days. And from what you’ve said, your mom is just... Normal. Everybody reacts differently when somebody dies. I’m pretty sure she’s within the normal scope.”
“I know. It’s just... For all those years he was dying, she was the one who was optimistic and positive and oh, the Lord will save him if He wants to, and now she’s... Broken. She’s just broken. I’m not used to seeing her like this.”
“She’s not gonna be like this forever.”
“I know. It just sucks that she has to be at all.”
“Well, she’s lucky. She has you.”
I shrug. “I’m not much help.”
She rolls her eyes. “Without you, she’d probably still be sitting in the hallway at the hospice, bawling her eyes out. You are helping her. She doesn’t have to make a full one-eighty for you to have helped her.”
“I guess. She just... She’s lost her faith. And I know that... I know that I spent years wishing that she would, but now that she has, it’s like she’s a shell of a person. I hate seeing her like this. I hate it.”
“I know.” She chews on the inside of her cheek and sighs. “Hey, when’s the funeral?”
“Monday. She wants me to give the eulogy.”
“I think that would be sweet.”
“Except I have no idea what to say. Everything I’ve been thinking about him lately... Isn’t shit I can say at his funeral. I... I have two days to write a speech about how great he was and all I can think is that I’m relieved not to have to worry about him anymore.”
She sighs. “You loved him. Talk about that.”
“It’s not that easy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing is that easy. It’s not supposed to be easy.”
“Inspirational.”
“But true.”
I sigh. “I guess.”
She leans over the side of the bed and runs her hands through my hair. “I can help you write it, if you want.”
“That’s okay. I can do it. I... I’ll figure something out.” I tilt my head back and look at her, wrinkling my nose. “You’ll be there though, right?”
“Of course.”
“You don’t happen to want to give the eulogy, do you?”
She laughs. “Nice try. You’ll think of something. I promise.”
“Yeah. I hope so.”
She sighs. “Adam, you gave up all your friends to hang out with him every afternoon. Seriously. Just because you’re not a crying mess doesn’t mean you didn’t love him. And if you loved him, you have something to say.”
“I just... What am I supposed to say? She’s the one who makes speeches. I just... I don’t make speeches. I don’t know what to say.”
“Just... Something will feel right.”
“I guess.”
She lets her hands fall to my shoulders, resting her chin on my head. “Well, whatever you have to say... I’ll listen.”
“When I started thinking about what to say here, today, I didn’t think I had anything. Everything that I was thinking about my father was so... So dark, and so uninspiring. The truth is, my father taught me the difference between what it is to be living and what it is to be alive. He went slowly. That’s the nature of the beast, and for him... It took him from us. Not days ago, years ago. I didn’t think that would make a good eulogy. To say, ‘By the time he died, there was nothing I loved of him left.’ You don’t say that at someone’s funeral. But... The more I thought about it, the more it felt right.
“I don’t remember what his voice sounded like. He died four days ago but I don’t remember the sound of his voice. It’s the sort of thing you don’t realize you miss until someone reminds you to miss it, and then it’s all you can think about. It’s been more than a year since I last heard him speak. I don’t remember what he said. His last words. If we had known then, maybe we would have written them down. I don’t know.
“What I do know is that my father didn’t have to use words to teach me lessons. My whole life, there was a catalogue of looks. There was the ‘I will never forgive you for acting like this in front of my boss’ look, and the ‘Be nice to your mother or I will cut you’ look, and my favorite, the eyes in the rearview that said, ‘Don’t think I won’t turn this car around.’ He didn’t have to speak to me to scare me. But there were other looks, too. The ‘I’m not going to embarrass you in front of your friends, but I’m proud of you’ look, and the ‘Thank you for helping me shower even though I know you’d rather be watching TV’ look, and the ‘Please don’t leave, I like the sound of your voice’ look. He didn’t have to speak. I knew.
“It’s been awhile, though. Since I got the ‘I love you look’ when I walked into his room. Since I got the ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Adam’ look. At the end, it wasn’t that pretty or that simple. His looks said, ‘Who are you?’ They said, ‘I’m scared.’ And that’s no way to live.
“So I’m not sad. I’m not crying. I don’t... I don’t feel anything but relief. He’s not scared anymore. He’s not trapped in a body that’s failing him. He’s free. People always say ‘At least he’s in a better place, now.’ Usually they don’t mean it. But for him... It’s true. It’s the truth.
“What’s important about my father isn’t how he died, but how he lived. He didn’t leave us money. I say that not to elicit pity but because it’s the truth. His legacy, and my inheritance, is too big for a trust fund to hold. He taught me that being nice is more important than being successful. He taught me that being nice is being successful. He taught me the importance of holding the door open, and of finishing what I start, and of always having a back-up plan. I learned something from him every day. And everything I need to know to be the man he would have wanted, he taught me. He led by example. And I loved him. In the end, that’s what matters. He was loved, and he will be missed. By me. By all of you. And that... That is his legacy.”
“I’m thinking about moving back in with my mom.”
I stick my hands in my pockets and let loose a low whistle. “Seriously?”
“I’m trying to get Addie to come with me.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How’s that working out?”
“I don’t know. I told her the whole story last night. From the beginning. I... I think she gets it now. She’s still furious, but I don’t think she hates me.”
“Wow.”
She shrugs. “I just... I mean, you’re moving out this year. It would be us and Grandad and your mom. And I just... I miss her. And I want to be there. She’s different than she was when we lived with her last time. She doesn’t drink anymore and she has Will and... And I want to be there. I want to watch him grow up. And I want her to come with me. I just... I don’t know if she will.”
“She will.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. I do.”
She smiles and nods slowly, looking down at the ground. “Everything is changing.”
“I know.”
She sighs, looking back at the crowd of mourners. “Go talk to your mother, Adam. She needs you.”
“Alright. I’ll see you back at the house.”
She nods, chewing on her cuticle. “You really think she’ll want to move?”
“I think wherever you go, she’ll be right behind you.”
“I’m going to miss you when you’re gone, you know.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Mom?” I reach over and turn on the lamp next to her rocking chair. She looks up at me, her eyes red and shining.
“Hi honey,” she whispers.
“Why are you still up?”
She shrugs. “I... I couldn’t sleep. I...”
I sit down across from her on the couch. “Will you pray with me?”
Her head snaps up. “Adam, you don’t have to.”
“I do.”
She sighs. “I try. I try to believe that this is His plan. I try. But it doesn’t feel like He’s chasing after me, Adam. It doesn’t feel like...”
“I know.”
“I used to think my faith was unshakable. But I don’t know what to do with myself. And all I can think is that... Twenty years from now, I might have to do this again.”
Something inside me breaks. I swallow hard. “Mom...”
“I just... I love you. And I never... I don’t want to lose you.”
“I know.”
She sighs and picks up her Bible from her lap, handing it to me. “Psalm 4.”
I open the book and fumble through the thin, translucent pages. Finally, I find it. I begin to read:
O my righteous God.
Give me relief from my distress;
be merciful to me and...
“... Hear my prayer,” she whispers.
I close my eyes. “Mom.”
“Jeremiah, 15:18,” she replies. “ ‘Why is my pain unending and my wound grievous and incurable? You are to me like a deceptive brook, like a spring that fails.’”
“Mom...”
“Second Corinthians, 2:2. ‘For if I grieve you, who is left to make me glad but you whom I have grieved?’”
I open my eyes. “Mom...”
She shakes her head. “No. Listen. Matthew, 11:28. ‘Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’”
“Mom.”
“It will get better, Adam,” she says softly, earnestly, pulling at her eyebrow. “It will get better. I trust Him. He didn’t leave us. He wouldn’t leave us.”
“Are you okay?”
She nods slowly. “I just... I miss him. That’s all. I really, really miss him.”
“I know.”
She stands and takes her Bible from my hands, shaking her head. “I’m going to bed, Adam. You should, too.”
“Okay.”
“It isn’t easy. Faith. But... Somedays it’s all I have. Faith. And you.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure.”
Matt sighs. “I know you already paid and everything, but it’s not too late to just... Back out. You don’t have to --”
“I do, though. I have to know.”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I just... No matter what, you’re gonna be fine. Okay? And I know that’s a lame thing to say, but as your moral support for this insane expedition, I feel like I should say that.”
“Thanks.”
The door swings open. “Adam, good to see you. Please come back.”
I swallow hard and stand, Matt following behind me. We follow the doctor down the hallway and into his office. He collapses into his desk chair.
“Have a seat.”
We sit.
“I’m so sorry...”
My breath catches in my throat.
“I know how hard it must be for you to lose your father.”
I breathe slowly, trying to steady my pulse. “Uh, yeah. It was.”
Matt looks over at me, biting his lip.
The doctor pulls a file out from underneath the clutter on his desk. “I understand you’re here for some test results.”
“I am.”
Matt tents his fingers, his eyes closed. I stare at the wall, trying to breathe.
The doctor puts on his glasses and opens the file. “Hmm.”
Please. Please. Please. Do it for my mother. Please. She can’t... Please. Don’t do this to her. Don’t do this to her. Not now. Please... Please give instead of taking, this time. Please. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll --
“Adam, I’m so sorry.”
Word Count (this update): 4104
Word Count (total): 51222
Thanks so much for reading! I'll put up the "Where Are they Now" sometime tomorrow for anyone who's interested.
I flipped a coin way back on November 1st for Adam's test results. So if you don't like them, don't blame me -- blame the coin.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
November 29th: The birds that used to fly here come to die here
I wake up to a shoulder made of pins and needles, my mother snoring softly on my arm. Light streams in bright colors through the church windows. I turn my head groggily. Matt’s head is visible on a pew a few rows back, his mouth hanging slightly open. I flash back to a few weeks ago, standing outside in the freezing cold, arguing with Addie before going to confront my mother about her alleged indiscretions. I’m afraid to leave you alone.
He’s a better friend to me than I’ve ever been to him.
Beside me, my mother stirs. “Adam? Honey?” She picks her head up off my shoulder and looks at me with bleary eyes. Her hair is tousled, her makeup smeared. She looks out of place. She looks nothing like the mother I know.
But I want to know her.
“Hey.”
She rubs her eyes, looking around and stretching. “Matt stayed?”
“Yeah.”
She half-smiles, nodding slowly. “He’s a good friend.”
“I know.”
“I should call his parents and let them know where he is.”
"Probably."
She looks around for a moment more before her eyes settle on me. "Thank you, Adam," she says quietly.
"I didn't --"
“Yes you did. I... Thank you. I'm lucky I have you."
I look down at the ground. "I, uh... I'm lucky I have you, too."
A sudden burst of noise turns both our heads. Matt sits up abruptly, his eyes wide, shaking his head rapidly.
"What the... Oh. Right." He shoots me a sympathetic look. "Sorry. I fell asleep."
"You didn't have to stay, dude."
"I know. But it was late and I was tired. And these pews are super-comfortable. I mean, Jesus Christ, I would totally trade my bed for one of these. And this church is just so... Warm."
I roll my eyes. "You're an idiot."
"I know. I try."
Mom places a hand lightly on my shoulder. "We should probably go home. You too, Matt. I'm sure your parents are wondering what you're doing out of the house before noon."
He laughs. "Yeah, probably. I left them a note, but they like to worry about me. It gives them something to do."
We stand and shuffle out of the sanctuary, our footsteps echoing off the walls. Before we step out into the hallway, I glance back at the cross hanging on the wall above the pulpit.
Thank you for not giving up on me.
* * *
"How are you holding up?"
"Fine. I... Fine. It's really not all that different. I think that's what gets me. It's almost exactly the same as it was before, except... I can't even talk at him anymore. I don't know."
Chelsea nods, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "But you and your mother seem to be getting along."
"Yeah. I guess we have."
"She seems..."
"Depressed beyond all reason?"
She nods. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe it just seems worse because she's not usually... Because she's usually so..."
"Different?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah." I crack my knuckles, leaning back against the bedframe. "She just... It's harder for her. Everything's a little bit harder for her."
She studies me for a long moment. "Speaking of being completely different...."
"What?"
"You're not accusing her of being sad just to manipulate people into feeling bad for her. It's like you... It's like you love her."
"Of course I love her. She's my mother. Sometimes she can just be..."
"I know. But still. It's nice." She leans against me, her head on my shoulder. "It doesn't feel like Christmas Eve."
"I know. I still haven't done any of my shopping."
She sits bolt upright. "Seriously? Seriously?"
"I've been busy."
"Are you insane? Going shopping the day before Christmas? Seriously?"
"I don't know. I was just going to buy gift cards or something."
She rolls her eyes. "Just when I thought you were having some kind of breakthrough, you go and say something like that."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
She pulls me to my feet, shaking her head disbelievingly. "We're going to the mall. That's what that means."
"Seriously? Why? I was going to swing by --"
"I don't care what you were going to do. You're an idiot. I'm taking you shopping."
"Should I be afraid?"
"Probably."
I lean against the wall as she bustles around the room, stuffing everything from one purse into another, changing from sweats into jeans. "I bought your present."
"And that," she says as she jams her foot into a sneaker, "is the sort of adorable save that makes me realize why I stay with you despite your incredible stupidity. But," she hops around on one foot for a moment, trying to pull on her sock, "I'm not going to let your poor family suffer the consequences of said stupidity."
"You don't think they'd give me a pass? Seriously? Recent personal tragedy and all of that?"
"They would pretend to, but would secretly resent you forever. Trust me. Besides. It’s Christmas. And they all bought their shit for you like, months ago.”
“I still don’t see what the big deal is.”
“And that,” she says, grabbing her bag from her dresser and nudging me towards the door, “is why you have me.”
“I’m lucky.”
“No shit.”
“No, really.” I turn around to face her, brushing the hair out of her face. “I’m lucky,” I murmur. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”
She kisses me, then steps back, crossing her arms. “What’s going on with you? I mean... You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know. Perspective?”
She nods slowly, looking me intently in the eyes. “You’re going to have to deal with it at some point, you know.”
“I know.”
“I worry about you.”
“Yeah. I know.”
She sighs. “Come on. Let’s go pretend you’re not a ticking time bomb.”
“Sounds good to me.”
* * *
“She’s here.”
I lift my head, blinking to clear the fuzzy clouds of sleep from my eyes. “Your mom?”
“My mom. And Will.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Very bad.”
“I thought you wanted them to come. Last night you said you wanted them to come.”
She sighs. “I said that because I was trying to be the bigger person. And I didn’t want to be fighting with her on Christmas. But I’m not a big person, I’m a five year old pretending to be seventeen, and I know it’s petty and I know I should be more upset about your dad than about this but I am upset about this and it’s hard enough to be in a room with my mother without being faced with the nephew I never knew existed and...” She gasps for breath. “This is not the Christmas I was planning.”
“I know. But... Look, Allie messed up. By not telling you. It was a really big, really horrible fuck up that she can’t erase. You don’t have to forgive her for that. But you were ready to reach out to your mom. That’s why you went to her house in the first place. Just... Make this about her, instead of your sister.”
She thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “I mean, I guess I could do that. In theory.”
“It’ll be good for you.”
She looks around, surveying the chaos of my room. “You went shopping.”
“I bought all my Christmas presents. Today. Chelsea helped.”
“Are you... Okay?”
“We’re fine. Things were kind of strained for awhile, but they’re good now.”
She rolls her eyes. “I mean ‘you’ like... You. Just you. You were... You were really good last night. With your mom. I just... I haven’t seen you... React, really. It’s kinda freaking me out.”
“I... I don’t know. It’s... I guess it just hasn’t hit me yet. But then a part of me wonders if maybe it’s just been so long that the... The shock value is kind of gone. Like I already mourned him. Or something.”
“Mmm.”
“You think I’m heartless.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not really affecting me like I expected it to, either.”
"But at least you're upset. I'm just... I mean, I went out shopping today. And I... It just doesn't feel like anything. A part of me is just glad it's over. One less thing I have to worry about. It's not that... I mean, he was my dad, but the past couple of years, he's hardly... I mean, I feel like I barely know him anymore. Knew him. Whatever."
"It's complicated."
"Yeah. I feel like everyone expects me to react like she is. But that's just... That's so not how I am, you know? I don't know. I just... I knew all along there wasn't any hope for him. It's hard to feel blindsided, or enraged, or whatever it is people feel when somebody they love dies. I seriously just... Almost don't even care." I sigh. "That sounds awful. I sound like a fucking sociopath."
She shakes her head. "I didn't even bat an eye when my dad died. I was just mad because I had to go live with my mom."
"Yeah. But you barely even knew him. I mean, my dad is more of a dad... That sounds bad, doesn't it? I probably shouldn't say that."
"But it's true."
"Yeah. It is. I don't know. It makes sense that you didn't get upset over it. You didn't really have an attachment to him. You could barely remember him when he wasn't sick."
"Yeah. But still. I kind of expected myself to be more upset about your dad than I am, too. I don't know. It just seems so... Surreal. Like, really? This is happening now? Christmas Eve, when I just found out about my sister's kid and my mom, whom I haven't spoken to in years, is here, and then all of your girlfriend troubles... It's like, why now? I don't know. I feel like maybe I'm getting more upset than I would otherwise about the Allie situation because I'm trying to keep myself from getting upset about your dad."
"Right." "I mean, I'd feel bad. If I were... If his death, your dad's death, affected me more than when my dad died."
"Makes sense." She sighs, leaning back against the door. "But my mom's here. On Christmas Eve. And there is no alcohol in the house, and for that... For that I am thankful."
"She's sober. I'm ninety-nine percent sure. I don't think Allie would let her even look at Will if she wasn't."
She nods. "How fucked up is that situation, anyway? Seriously? He's going to find out. You know he's going to find out."
"I don't know. I guess they're just trying to make it work while it lasts.”
“Poor kid."
"He's lucky, though."
She raises her eyebrows. "Your definition of 'lucky' is way different from mine."
"No, but really," I reply. "He is. He has a mother who loves him enough to admit that she can't do what's best for him and she has a mother who loves them both enough to do it for her.”
“When did you turn into a fucking after school special?”
I laugh. “I wish I knew.”
She sighs, reaching for the doorknob. “I should probably go make nice with my mother.”
“It’ll be good for you.”
“Maybe.”
“It will.”
“I’ll let you know.”
I roll my eyes. “Just go before you lose your nerve.”
She disappears out the door. I collapse back onto the bed, letting my eyes lose their focus, sinking back into myself.
This isn’t what I was expecting. I thought there would be thunderstorms and knees too weak to hold me up. I thought there would be gnashing of teeth and punching of walls. I thought I would be angry, and depressed, and disbelieving. I thought I would grieve him. I thought I would care.
I loved him. I remember the heartbreak when he entered the hospital for the first time; the fear that kept me up nights; the worry that he wouldn’t be there for my T-ball game, my high school graduation, my wedding. He was my father. He was my father. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want him to suffer. I didn’t want him to fear.
I loved him. But every time he got lost on the way to my Scout meeting, I loved him a little less. Every birthday party he missed, I loved him a little less. Every day that I walked into his room and he didn’t know who I was, that I came home with good news and he didn’t react, that I watched the Patriots game without him cheering beside me, I loved him a little less. The parts of him I loved had been disappearing for years. By the end, there was hardly anything left.
I hated him. Not because I knew he would leave me, but because he already had.
* * *
“For many of us, this Christmas is a bittersweet celebration. We try to remember the love of Christ. We try to remember the moments that He has lifted us up. We try to remember our faith, the joy that only the love of our savior can bring. We try to remember how He has chased after us, time and again, and caught us just in time. The times He has held on to us when He could have walked away. How much our God has given us - ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His. Only. Son.’ We try to be grateful. To be joyous. To be filled with the Christmas spirit. To embrace the love of Christ. We try to rejoice in his plan.
“But for many of us, that is especially difficult, tonight.
“I am not going to sermonize about Dennis Larsen. There will be more than enough time at the service his family will hold in a few days for sermons and lamentations. But it is hard for me to stand here and tell you to rejoice in the glory of God. It is hard for me to tell you to be grateful for all that he has given you. Because it seems today that He has taken something great from all of us. He does not seem so generous, today.
“It is easy to forget, in these moments, all the times He has rescued us. We were lost, and He found us. We were searching, and He showed us. We were lonely, and afraid, and He embraced us. We turned our backs on Him and he waited for us to turn around again. We ran from him and he chased us. He has believed in us even when we have not believed in Him. He has always had faith in us. Always.
“In the end, that is what Christmas is about. We needed to be saved, and He saved us. He gave His son for us. He gave His life for us. On Christmas, we celebrate the Lord who believed in us even though we ran from Him. We celebrate the birth of a savior who knew He would be persecuted, knew that He would be condemned to die, knew that he would suffer an agonizing death, and came to save us anyway. God had faith in us. God chased after us. God did not turn His back on us. God will not turn his back on us. And even now, even when it feels like He gives only so that He can take away, we mustn’t turn our backs on Him. We must recognize the sacrifice that He has made. We must recognize His glory. ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only son.’ If for no other reason than that He has always had faith in us, let’s have faith in Him.”
Mom looks over at me, her red-rimmed eyes connecting with mine. Her lip quivers. I look up at the ceiling, swallowing the lump in my throat.
And then she does something she has never done before. Something that drains the blood from my face, that draws every gaze away from Reverend James and towards her tear-soaked face.
She stands up and walks out.
Addie and I exchange a look. I sigh, then stand and follow after her, my footsteps clunking loudly down the aisle. I burst through the church doors and into the lobby, through the lobby doors and into the freezing midnight air.
“Mom.”
“I... I don’t know if I can do this.” She stares at the ground, her face crumpled, tears flooding her face. “I... I want... I...” She sinks to the ground, burying her face in her hands, whispering quietly into her palms.
“Okay.” I crouch down next to her, resting one hand firmly on her back. “Hey, it’s okay. Shhh.”
“He could have... He could have helped him!” she wails, leaning back against the cold brick column. She yanks at her brow, pulling at non-existant hairs, muddying her fingertips with eyebrow pencil. “I... I, I asked Him. I asked Him and I asked Him and I prayed and I helped people and I asked Him and He didn’t... He didn’t help. He didn’t help me. He didn’t... Help... Me.” Her whole body shakes with her sobbing. She gasps for breath. I rub her back in slow circles, my bare hands aching with the cold, staring up at the starless sky.
“I know.”
“I want to go home.”
“Okay. Okay. Let’s go.”
“Everyone is gonna hate me. Everybody... They think I’m... I don’t ever...”
I help her up off the freezing concrete and offer her my arm. “Come on. It’s okay. Let’s go home.”
* * *
Word count (this update): 2950
Word count (total): 47308
I'll probably finish this tonight before I go to bed, and post tomorrow when I get a chance. I do have one more thing planned after the novel itself has concluded, a "Where Are They Now" sort of thing (I always do one in my head, so I figured I might as well put it down on paper). Anyway, thanks for reading. I, for one, cannot wait to have free time again!
He’s a better friend to me than I’ve ever been to him.
Beside me, my mother stirs. “Adam? Honey?” She picks her head up off my shoulder and looks at me with bleary eyes. Her hair is tousled, her makeup smeared. She looks out of place. She looks nothing like the mother I know.
But I want to know her.
“Hey.”
She rubs her eyes, looking around and stretching. “Matt stayed?”
“Yeah.”
She half-smiles, nodding slowly. “He’s a good friend.”
“I know.”
“I should call his parents and let them know where he is.”
"Probably."
She looks around for a moment more before her eyes settle on me. "Thank you, Adam," she says quietly.
"I didn't --"
“Yes you did. I... Thank you. I'm lucky I have you."
I look down at the ground. "I, uh... I'm lucky I have you, too."
A sudden burst of noise turns both our heads. Matt sits up abruptly, his eyes wide, shaking his head rapidly.
"What the... Oh. Right." He shoots me a sympathetic look. "Sorry. I fell asleep."
"You didn't have to stay, dude."
"I know. But it was late and I was tired. And these pews are super-comfortable. I mean, Jesus Christ, I would totally trade my bed for one of these. And this church is just so... Warm."
I roll my eyes. "You're an idiot."
"I know. I try."
Mom places a hand lightly on my shoulder. "We should probably go home. You too, Matt. I'm sure your parents are wondering what you're doing out of the house before noon."
He laughs. "Yeah, probably. I left them a note, but they like to worry about me. It gives them something to do."
We stand and shuffle out of the sanctuary, our footsteps echoing off the walls. Before we step out into the hallway, I glance back at the cross hanging on the wall above the pulpit.
Thank you for not giving up on me.
"How are you holding up?"
"Fine. I... Fine. It's really not all that different. I think that's what gets me. It's almost exactly the same as it was before, except... I can't even talk at him anymore. I don't know."
Chelsea nods, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "But you and your mother seem to be getting along."
"Yeah. I guess we have."
"She seems..."
"Depressed beyond all reason?"
She nods. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe it just seems worse because she's not usually... Because she's usually so..."
"Different?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah." I crack my knuckles, leaning back against the bedframe. "She just... It's harder for her. Everything's a little bit harder for her."
She studies me for a long moment. "Speaking of being completely different...."
"What?"
"You're not accusing her of being sad just to manipulate people into feeling bad for her. It's like you... It's like you love her."
"Of course I love her. She's my mother. Sometimes she can just be..."
"I know. But still. It's nice." She leans against me, her head on my shoulder. "It doesn't feel like Christmas Eve."
"I know. I still haven't done any of my shopping."
She sits bolt upright. "Seriously? Seriously?"
"I've been busy."
"Are you insane? Going shopping the day before Christmas? Seriously?"
"I don't know. I was just going to buy gift cards or something."
She rolls her eyes. "Just when I thought you were having some kind of breakthrough, you go and say something like that."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
She pulls me to my feet, shaking her head disbelievingly. "We're going to the mall. That's what that means."
"Seriously? Why? I was going to swing by --"
"I don't care what you were going to do. You're an idiot. I'm taking you shopping."
"Should I be afraid?"
"Probably."
I lean against the wall as she bustles around the room, stuffing everything from one purse into another, changing from sweats into jeans. "I bought your present."
"And that," she says as she jams her foot into a sneaker, "is the sort of adorable save that makes me realize why I stay with you despite your incredible stupidity. But," she hops around on one foot for a moment, trying to pull on her sock, "I'm not going to let your poor family suffer the consequences of said stupidity."
"You don't think they'd give me a pass? Seriously? Recent personal tragedy and all of that?"
"They would pretend to, but would secretly resent you forever. Trust me. Besides. It’s Christmas. And they all bought their shit for you like, months ago.”
“I still don’t see what the big deal is.”
“And that,” she says, grabbing her bag from her dresser and nudging me towards the door, “is why you have me.”
“I’m lucky.”
“No shit.”
“No, really.” I turn around to face her, brushing the hair out of her face. “I’m lucky,” I murmur. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”
She kisses me, then steps back, crossing her arms. “What’s going on with you? I mean... You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know. Perspective?”
She nods slowly, looking me intently in the eyes. “You’re going to have to deal with it at some point, you know.”
“I know.”
“I worry about you.”
“Yeah. I know.”
She sighs. “Come on. Let’s go pretend you’re not a ticking time bomb.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“She’s here.”
I lift my head, blinking to clear the fuzzy clouds of sleep from my eyes. “Your mom?”
“My mom. And Will.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Very bad.”
“I thought you wanted them to come. Last night you said you wanted them to come.”
She sighs. “I said that because I was trying to be the bigger person. And I didn’t want to be fighting with her on Christmas. But I’m not a big person, I’m a five year old pretending to be seventeen, and I know it’s petty and I know I should be more upset about your dad than about this but I am upset about this and it’s hard enough to be in a room with my mother without being faced with the nephew I never knew existed and...” She gasps for breath. “This is not the Christmas I was planning.”
“I know. But... Look, Allie messed up. By not telling you. It was a really big, really horrible fuck up that she can’t erase. You don’t have to forgive her for that. But you were ready to reach out to your mom. That’s why you went to her house in the first place. Just... Make this about her, instead of your sister.”
She thinks about it for a moment, then nods. “I mean, I guess I could do that. In theory.”
“It’ll be good for you.”
She looks around, surveying the chaos of my room. “You went shopping.”
“I bought all my Christmas presents. Today. Chelsea helped.”
“Are you... Okay?”
“We’re fine. Things were kind of strained for awhile, but they’re good now.”
She rolls her eyes. “I mean ‘you’ like... You. Just you. You were... You were really good last night. With your mom. I just... I haven’t seen you... React, really. It’s kinda freaking me out.”
“I... I don’t know. It’s... I guess it just hasn’t hit me yet. But then a part of me wonders if maybe it’s just been so long that the... The shock value is kind of gone. Like I already mourned him. Or something.”
“Mmm.”
“You think I’m heartless.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not really affecting me like I expected it to, either.”
"But at least you're upset. I'm just... I mean, I went out shopping today. And I... It just doesn't feel like anything. A part of me is just glad it's over. One less thing I have to worry about. It's not that... I mean, he was my dad, but the past couple of years, he's hardly... I mean, I feel like I barely know him anymore. Knew him. Whatever."
"It's complicated."
"Yeah. I feel like everyone expects me to react like she is. But that's just... That's so not how I am, you know? I don't know. I just... I knew all along there wasn't any hope for him. It's hard to feel blindsided, or enraged, or whatever it is people feel when somebody they love dies. I seriously just... Almost don't even care." I sigh. "That sounds awful. I sound like a fucking sociopath."
She shakes her head. "I didn't even bat an eye when my dad died. I was just mad because I had to go live with my mom."
"Yeah. But you barely even knew him. I mean, my dad is more of a dad... That sounds bad, doesn't it? I probably shouldn't say that."
"But it's true."
"Yeah. It is. I don't know. It makes sense that you didn't get upset over it. You didn't really have an attachment to him. You could barely remember him when he wasn't sick."
"Yeah. But still. I kind of expected myself to be more upset about your dad than I am, too. I don't know. It just seems so... Surreal. Like, really? This is happening now? Christmas Eve, when I just found out about my sister's kid and my mom, whom I haven't spoken to in years, is here, and then all of your girlfriend troubles... It's like, why now? I don't know. I feel like maybe I'm getting more upset than I would otherwise about the Allie situation because I'm trying to keep myself from getting upset about your dad."
"Right." "I mean, I'd feel bad. If I were... If his death, your dad's death, affected me more than when my dad died."
"Makes sense." She sighs, leaning back against the door. "But my mom's here. On Christmas Eve. And there is no alcohol in the house, and for that... For that I am thankful."
"She's sober. I'm ninety-nine percent sure. I don't think Allie would let her even look at Will if she wasn't."
She nods. "How fucked up is that situation, anyway? Seriously? He's going to find out. You know he's going to find out."
"I don't know. I guess they're just trying to make it work while it lasts.”
“Poor kid."
"He's lucky, though."
She raises her eyebrows. "Your definition of 'lucky' is way different from mine."
"No, but really," I reply. "He is. He has a mother who loves him enough to admit that she can't do what's best for him and she has a mother who loves them both enough to do it for her.”
“When did you turn into a fucking after school special?”
I laugh. “I wish I knew.”
She sighs, reaching for the doorknob. “I should probably go make nice with my mother.”
“It’ll be good for you.”
“Maybe.”
“It will.”
“I’ll let you know.”
I roll my eyes. “Just go before you lose your nerve.”
She disappears out the door. I collapse back onto the bed, letting my eyes lose their focus, sinking back into myself.
This isn’t what I was expecting. I thought there would be thunderstorms and knees too weak to hold me up. I thought there would be gnashing of teeth and punching of walls. I thought I would be angry, and depressed, and disbelieving. I thought I would grieve him. I thought I would care.
I loved him. I remember the heartbreak when he entered the hospital for the first time; the fear that kept me up nights; the worry that he wouldn’t be there for my T-ball game, my high school graduation, my wedding. He was my father. He was my father. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want him to suffer. I didn’t want him to fear.
I loved him. But every time he got lost on the way to my Scout meeting, I loved him a little less. Every birthday party he missed, I loved him a little less. Every day that I walked into his room and he didn’t know who I was, that I came home with good news and he didn’t react, that I watched the Patriots game without him cheering beside me, I loved him a little less. The parts of him I loved had been disappearing for years. By the end, there was hardly anything left.
I hated him. Not because I knew he would leave me, but because he already had.
“For many of us, this Christmas is a bittersweet celebration. We try to remember the love of Christ. We try to remember the moments that He has lifted us up. We try to remember our faith, the joy that only the love of our savior can bring. We try to remember how He has chased after us, time and again, and caught us just in time. The times He has held on to us when He could have walked away. How much our God has given us - ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His. Only. Son.’ We try to be grateful. To be joyous. To be filled with the Christmas spirit. To embrace the love of Christ. We try to rejoice in his plan.
“But for many of us, that is especially difficult, tonight.
“I am not going to sermonize about Dennis Larsen. There will be more than enough time at the service his family will hold in a few days for sermons and lamentations. But it is hard for me to stand here and tell you to rejoice in the glory of God. It is hard for me to tell you to be grateful for all that he has given you. Because it seems today that He has taken something great from all of us. He does not seem so generous, today.
“It is easy to forget, in these moments, all the times He has rescued us. We were lost, and He found us. We were searching, and He showed us. We were lonely, and afraid, and He embraced us. We turned our backs on Him and he waited for us to turn around again. We ran from him and he chased us. He has believed in us even when we have not believed in Him. He has always had faith in us. Always.
“In the end, that is what Christmas is about. We needed to be saved, and He saved us. He gave His son for us. He gave His life for us. On Christmas, we celebrate the Lord who believed in us even though we ran from Him. We celebrate the birth of a savior who knew He would be persecuted, knew that He would be condemned to die, knew that he would suffer an agonizing death, and came to save us anyway. God had faith in us. God chased after us. God did not turn His back on us. God will not turn his back on us. And even now, even when it feels like He gives only so that He can take away, we mustn’t turn our backs on Him. We must recognize the sacrifice that He has made. We must recognize His glory. ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only son.’ If for no other reason than that He has always had faith in us, let’s have faith in Him.”
Mom looks over at me, her red-rimmed eyes connecting with mine. Her lip quivers. I look up at the ceiling, swallowing the lump in my throat.
And then she does something she has never done before. Something that drains the blood from my face, that draws every gaze away from Reverend James and towards her tear-soaked face.
She stands up and walks out.
Addie and I exchange a look. I sigh, then stand and follow after her, my footsteps clunking loudly down the aisle. I burst through the church doors and into the lobby, through the lobby doors and into the freezing midnight air.
“Mom.”
“I... I don’t know if I can do this.” She stares at the ground, her face crumpled, tears flooding her face. “I... I want... I...” She sinks to the ground, burying her face in her hands, whispering quietly into her palms.
“Okay.” I crouch down next to her, resting one hand firmly on her back. “Hey, it’s okay. Shhh.”
“He could have... He could have helped him!” she wails, leaning back against the cold brick column. She yanks at her brow, pulling at non-existant hairs, muddying her fingertips with eyebrow pencil. “I... I, I asked Him. I asked Him and I asked Him and I prayed and I helped people and I asked Him and He didn’t... He didn’t help. He didn’t help me. He didn’t... Help... Me.” Her whole body shakes with her sobbing. She gasps for breath. I rub her back in slow circles, my bare hands aching with the cold, staring up at the starless sky.
“I know.”
“I want to go home.”
“Okay. Okay. Let’s go.”
“Everyone is gonna hate me. Everybody... They think I’m... I don’t ever...”
I help her up off the freezing concrete and offer her my arm. “Come on. It’s okay. Let’s go home.”
Word count (this update): 2950
Word count (total): 47308
I'll probably finish this tonight before I go to bed, and post tomorrow when I get a chance. I do have one more thing planned after the novel itself has concluded, a "Where Are They Now" sort of thing (I always do one in my head, so I figured I might as well put it down on paper). Anyway, thanks for reading. I, for one, cannot wait to have free time again!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
November 27th: The only thing I wanna do is be in the arms of someone who believes in me like I believe in you
“And how’s your mother?”
“She’s good. You know how she is. She likes to keep busy.”
He laughs. “She certainly does.” His face grows serious. “Now, have you talked to her about this?”
I shake my head. “I... I don’t want to freak her out.”
“Understandable. You are eighteen, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And are you paying for this through your insurance?”
“Out of pocket.”
He looks up from his clipboard. “This is an expensive test, Adam.”
“I have the money.” Three summers of lifeguarding money, cash from four Christmases and birthdays, money I’ve been saving for years, money I was saving for the future... All for this. All for a test I’m not even sure I want.
“This is going to run you about a thousand dollars.”
I crack my knuckles. “I... I know. I talked to someone on the phone. I have it. Cash, actually, I...”
He nods. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure you understood.” He studies me for a moment before nodding towards my arm. “Okay. Roll up your sleeve. Let’s draw some blood.”
* * *
“I’d like to meet him.”
Allie looks up cautiously from her dinner. “Will?”
Addie nods. “They should... They should come. For Christmas. If they can, I mean.”
My mother smiles. “I think your mom would like that.”
Addie gives an awkward half-smile and stabs at her pork chop, her foot bouncing wildly under the table.
I clear my throat. “I, uh... Today, I... Never mind.”
My mother sets her fork down. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Um, are we still having Christmas at Dad’s?”
She gives me a strange look, but nods. “I think so. Why?”
“Just making sure.”
The table falls into an awkward silence. Finally, Addie clears her throat. “I have some news.”
Everyone turns their heads to look at her.
“I, uh, got an A. On my physics exam. Thanks to Adam.”
My mother pats me on the shoulder. “That’s awesome, Addie! I told you he could help.”
I didn’t help. It’s been weeks since I tutored her. I shoot her a look. She shrugs. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Cutlery scraping against plates is the only thing audible for the next few minutes. When the phone rings, everyone jumps.
Allie makes it out of her chair first. “I’ll get it.”
We chew in silence as she walks over to the phone and picks it up.
“Hello? Larsen residence. What? Grandad? Oh. Oh. Is he? Yeah, we’ll.... We’ll be right there.”
By the time she slams the phone down on the counter, we’re already in the front hall, pulling on our coats. My mother leads the charge for the car. She struggles to put the key in the lock.
Allie grabs the keys. “I’ll drive.”
“I can do it,” my mother protests.
“Mom.”
She turns her head, her eyes shining, her fingers grasping at her eyebrows.
“Mom, let her drive. Let her drive. Come on. You sit in the back. Come on.” I take hold of her shoulders and gently help her into the car, then run around to the other side and jump in. I know it doesn’t matter, really, how fast we go. Whether he choked or he fell or his heart simply stopped beating, he’s gone by now.
He’s gone by now.
It hits me as I slam the door shut, a crippling blow to the gut. My father. My father. The man who taught me to swim, to ride a bike, to always hold the door open, to live. Right now, at this second, he’s... Gone. The force of it sends me reeling, somehow blown back into myself, my lungs struggling to get enough air.
My mother reaches over and waves her shaking hand over my lap until she manages to find my own.
We ride in silence, our cold, shaking hands gripping tightly to each other. My other hand taps out a panicky rhythm on my thigh; hers pulls frantically at her eyebrow.
“I was supposed to be there!” she whispers as we pull up in front of the hospice. “I was s-supposed to be there.”
No one responds. No one knows how to respond.
Most of my life, I’ve known this moment was coming. There have been days I wished for it, even, just to end the torturous wait. But I never expected it now, the night before Christmas Eve, the rest of my life finally falling into place.
This is not what I wanted.
Chapter 11
I have fought the good fight.
I have finished the race.
2 Timothy 4:7
“Okay. Shhh. Okay. Let’s go home.”
Grandad looks around stoically, his arm draped around my mother. “I... Okay. Let’s go.”
Her lip quivers. “I can’t.”
Addie grabs her hand. “Yes you can. Come on. Let’s go.”
“I can’t.” She stares at the closed door to his room, her red-rimmed eyes shifting frantically back and forth. “I can’t, I —“
My eyes fall shut. I don’t want to watch this. I hate this. I hate seeing her hysterical, grappling for something she’s can never have back.
“Okay. We’ll stay.”
Everyone looks at me. Her free hand pulls at her eyebrow, her other pulling free of Addie’s grasp and reaching out, grabbing my arm. “You’ll stay with me?”
“Adam, we... We should go,” Allie says gently.
“You guys go. We’ll, uh... You take Grandad’s truck. We’ll take the car when we’re ready. It’s fine.”
They fumble through halfhearted pleas for a few moments, but eventually Grandad nods. “Okay. Call if you need anything.”
We’re all on autopilot. Everyone but my mother. We look at her like she’s the wreck, like she’s the one who’s lost it. It gives us something to do. Something to distract us from the fact that our son, or our father, or the uncle who might as well be our dad, is dead.
Dead.
We made the arrangements years ago. He picked out his coffin. We bought the plot. Organizing the service will be easy. The church will make room for us. They always have room for my mother. It will be the payback for her thousand favors.
When they’re gone, I grab her shoulders and steer her towards the door. “But I want to stay here!” she protests, her voice a high-pitched whine. “You said you’d stay here with me.”
“Come on. It’s okay. Come on.”
“You said.”
Her voice has all the rationality of a child begging for ice cream, working itself into a tantrum.
But this is not a child. This is my mother.
“I know. Come on. It’s okay.”
She pulls free of my grip and stands beside the door, crying hysterically. “I can’t leave. He was here. I was supposed to be here.”
“Mom.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t... I should have been here. I have to be here.” She leans back against the wall and slides down to the ground. The woman behind the desk wipes her eyes with her sleeve.
I sink down next to her. “Hey. Hey. He didn’t... He wasn’t alone. He had Grandad there. We couldn’t have been here, not like that, we couldn’t have sat here every second of every day, just waiting.”
“I promised him,” she whispers. “I told him I would be there. I told him I would be the last person he saw.”
“Mom.”
“I promised him.”
I grab her hand and rub my thumb lightly over her knuckles. “Mom, he signed the DNR. Six years ago, he signed the DNR. Do you remember that?”
“Of course I remember,” she murmurs.
“He didn’t want you to be there. If he’d wanted you to be there, he wouldn’t have signed it. He would have wanted them to keep him alive until you got here. Until you could say goodbye. He signed it because he didn’t want you to have to see it. He didn’t want you to have to watch him die.”
She shakes her head. “But I promised.”
“I know. But he never expected you to keep that promise.”
“But... He was... I...”
“I know. But he wasn’t here. And he’s not here now. He hasn’t been here in... In a long time.” I grab her other hand and stand, pulling her up with me. She collapses onto me, her ear pressing into my chest.
“I can hear your heart,” she whispers.
* * *
For the second night this week, I watch the snow fall past the stained glass windows. My mother sits across the aisle, a few pews forward, her head in her hands, her mouth moving silently. I don’t want to know what she’s saying. It would probably break my heart.
“Allie thought you’d be here.”
I stare straight ahead. “You should be with her.”
“I know. That’s what I told her. Then she told me she would break up with me immediately if I didn’t come find you.”
“Here I am.”
He slides into my pew, avoiding my eyes. “How are you?”
“I... I don’t know.”
“How’s your mom?”
“I don’t know what to do with her.”
He bites his lip. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I... She doesn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay at the hospice. It took me forever to convince her to come out to the car. I tried to take her to the house, but she... I don’t know. So we came here.”
He glances over at her. “She’s praying. I guess that’s good.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry. About your dad.”
I crack my knuckles slowly, one by one. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I... I tried to call Chelsea, but she didn’t pick up.”
“Thanks.”
“You want me to try again? I... I don’t know.”
“It’s fine. I... I don’t want to wake her up. It’s just... I mean, we knew he was gonna die, we were just kidding ourselves pretending it wouldn’t happen so soon.”
“Adam.”
“No, I mean... We should be happy, really. He... I mean, he had to have been so miserable. I can’t even imagine.”
“Mmm.”
“Somehow, though I’m just not that happy,” I say softly.
He runs his tongue over his teeth, staring down at his lap. “It’s tough.”
“My whole life, he was at least there. Even these past couple years, when he had no idea who I was... I knew where to find him. I just... I mean, and she’s a mess. I don’t know. This isn’t what I expected, I guess. I don’t know what I expected. I just... This is different.”
“Right.”
“I feel like I should be all crazy and weepy and I should be consumed with... I don’t know, missing him. But there isn’t really anything to miss, you know? What’s to miss? One-sided conversations? Dripping water into his mouth? Waiting for him to die? I don’t miss it. I don’t... And it’s only been a couple of hours, but it’s just like... It isn’t any different. I expected it to be different. But it’s like he was already... It’s like he was already dead.”
Across the room, my mother whispers her silent incantations. Maybe that’s why it’s so much harder for her. She prayed that he would get better. She believed that there was some way, some God out there who could change his destiny, somehow. We gave up on him. Slowly, at first, still trying to hold on to something of who he was, still trying to remember the Dennis Larsen who had once been an active part of our lives. But we gave up on him. She never gave up. For us, he died weeks ago, months ago. The finality of it shakes us, but it doesn’t surprise us. It doesn’t change us in some profound way. But she hoped for him. Not the halfhearted way that we did, but in some awful, painful way that shook her very soul. She held on when all of us were letting go.
He was already dead for all of us. But he was not dead for her. Not then.
He is dead now.
I stand, brushing past Matt and walking slowly down the aisle. I slide quietly into the pew next to here and scoot over until our hips touch. Hoping that I can ground her, somehow, without scaring her away.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She turns to look at me. She looks so old. Feeble. “For what?”
For being the one who held on. For believing he was a person, when the rest of us were just acting like we believed. For bringing him lunches he couldn’t eat, and praying for things that couldn’t happen, and believing in him when we had all given up. For remembering him when he didn’t remember you. For trying to keep your promises. For trying. For being the one who held on. “For everything.”
“His heart,” she murmurs, her voice fragile and quaking. “I... He had such a good heart. I always told people that. I told everyone that. He... His heart.”
“I know.” I drape my arm tentatively around her shoulder. “I know.”
“I think I really thought... I think... I think I thought He would...” Her voice trails off. She takes a deep, shaking breath, a single tear making its way slowly down her face. “I did everything I could. I did everything. I... I spent the past seven years doing His work, hoping that... That maybe, somehow, He would notice... I just wanted Him to... To help...” Her voice breaks. I pull her towards me, her head heavy on my shoulder. With my free hand, I grab her hand and pull it away from her eyebrow.
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
“I think I really thought... I just... I just wanted...”
“I know. Shhh... Shhh, it’s okay.”
“I don’t know what to do without him.”
“I know.”
“He had such a good heart,” she whispers.
“I know.”
* * *
Word Count (this update): 2306
Word Count (total): 44197
Initially, the plan was 1) for Adam and his mother to never really reconcile and 2) for Chelsea and Adam to break up. I think the holiday cheer is pushing me to bring everyone together.
The most important transition for me, in this chapter, wasn't that Dennis died -- it was that Adam started calling his mother "Mom" (something he'd previously avoided even in narration, except when talking about her to his dad). Personally, I'm relieved. Writing "my mother" 400000 times was getting annoying. (The auto-summary for this book is particularly hilarious. Here's an excerpt:
It is genius. My personal favorite is the names list. The other day when I did this it came up with an entire passage that consisted of "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea" Jesus. ***. Word is crazy.)
Thanks for reading!
“She’s good. You know how she is. She likes to keep busy.”
He laughs. “She certainly does.” His face grows serious. “Now, have you talked to her about this?”
I shake my head. “I... I don’t want to freak her out.”
“Understandable. You are eighteen, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And are you paying for this through your insurance?”
“Out of pocket.”
He looks up from his clipboard. “This is an expensive test, Adam.”
“I have the money.” Three summers of lifeguarding money, cash from four Christmases and birthdays, money I’ve been saving for years, money I was saving for the future... All for this. All for a test I’m not even sure I want.
“This is going to run you about a thousand dollars.”
I crack my knuckles. “I... I know. I talked to someone on the phone. I have it. Cash, actually, I...”
He nods. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure you understood.” He studies me for a moment before nodding towards my arm. “Okay. Roll up your sleeve. Let’s draw some blood.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
Allie looks up cautiously from her dinner. “Will?”
Addie nods. “They should... They should come. For Christmas. If they can, I mean.”
My mother smiles. “I think your mom would like that.”
Addie gives an awkward half-smile and stabs at her pork chop, her foot bouncing wildly under the table.
I clear my throat. “I, uh... Today, I... Never mind.”
My mother sets her fork down. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Um, are we still having Christmas at Dad’s?”
She gives me a strange look, but nods. “I think so. Why?”
“Just making sure.”
The table falls into an awkward silence. Finally, Addie clears her throat. “I have some news.”
Everyone turns their heads to look at her.
“I, uh, got an A. On my physics exam. Thanks to Adam.”
My mother pats me on the shoulder. “That’s awesome, Addie! I told you he could help.”
I didn’t help. It’s been weeks since I tutored her. I shoot her a look. She shrugs. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Cutlery scraping against plates is the only thing audible for the next few minutes. When the phone rings, everyone jumps.
Allie makes it out of her chair first. “I’ll get it.”
We chew in silence as she walks over to the phone and picks it up.
“Hello? Larsen residence. What? Grandad? Oh. Oh. Is he? Yeah, we’ll.... We’ll be right there.”
By the time she slams the phone down on the counter, we’re already in the front hall, pulling on our coats. My mother leads the charge for the car. She struggles to put the key in the lock.
Allie grabs the keys. “I’ll drive.”
“I can do it,” my mother protests.
“Mom.”
She turns her head, her eyes shining, her fingers grasping at her eyebrows.
“Mom, let her drive. Let her drive. Come on. You sit in the back. Come on.” I take hold of her shoulders and gently help her into the car, then run around to the other side and jump in. I know it doesn’t matter, really, how fast we go. Whether he choked or he fell or his heart simply stopped beating, he’s gone by now.
He’s gone by now.
It hits me as I slam the door shut, a crippling blow to the gut. My father. My father. The man who taught me to swim, to ride a bike, to always hold the door open, to live. Right now, at this second, he’s... Gone. The force of it sends me reeling, somehow blown back into myself, my lungs struggling to get enough air.
My mother reaches over and waves her shaking hand over my lap until she manages to find my own.
We ride in silence, our cold, shaking hands gripping tightly to each other. My other hand taps out a panicky rhythm on my thigh; hers pulls frantically at her eyebrow.
“I was supposed to be there!” she whispers as we pull up in front of the hospice. “I was s-supposed to be there.”
No one responds. No one knows how to respond.
Most of my life, I’ve known this moment was coming. There have been days I wished for it, even, just to end the torturous wait. But I never expected it now, the night before Christmas Eve, the rest of my life finally falling into place.
This is not what I wanted.
I have fought the good fight.
I have finished the race.
2 Timothy 4:7
“Okay. Shhh. Okay. Let’s go home.”
Grandad looks around stoically, his arm draped around my mother. “I... Okay. Let’s go.”
Her lip quivers. “I can’t.”
Addie grabs her hand. “Yes you can. Come on. Let’s go.”
“I can’t.” She stares at the closed door to his room, her red-rimmed eyes shifting frantically back and forth. “I can’t, I —“
My eyes fall shut. I don’t want to watch this. I hate this. I hate seeing her hysterical, grappling for something she’s can never have back.
“Okay. We’ll stay.”
Everyone looks at me. Her free hand pulls at her eyebrow, her other pulling free of Addie’s grasp and reaching out, grabbing my arm. “You’ll stay with me?”
“Adam, we... We should go,” Allie says gently.
“You guys go. We’ll, uh... You take Grandad’s truck. We’ll take the car when we’re ready. It’s fine.”
They fumble through halfhearted pleas for a few moments, but eventually Grandad nods. “Okay. Call if you need anything.”
We’re all on autopilot. Everyone but my mother. We look at her like she’s the wreck, like she’s the one who’s lost it. It gives us something to do. Something to distract us from the fact that our son, or our father, or the uncle who might as well be our dad, is dead.
Dead.
We made the arrangements years ago. He picked out his coffin. We bought the plot. Organizing the service will be easy. The church will make room for us. They always have room for my mother. It will be the payback for her thousand favors.
When they’re gone, I grab her shoulders and steer her towards the door. “But I want to stay here!” she protests, her voice a high-pitched whine. “You said you’d stay here with me.”
“Come on. It’s okay. Come on.”
“You said.”
Her voice has all the rationality of a child begging for ice cream, working itself into a tantrum.
But this is not a child. This is my mother.
“I know. Come on. It’s okay.”
She pulls free of my grip and stands beside the door, crying hysterically. “I can’t leave. He was here. I was supposed to be here.”
“Mom.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t... I should have been here. I have to be here.” She leans back against the wall and slides down to the ground. The woman behind the desk wipes her eyes with her sleeve.
I sink down next to her. “Hey. Hey. He didn’t... He wasn’t alone. He had Grandad there. We couldn’t have been here, not like that, we couldn’t have sat here every second of every day, just waiting.”
“I promised him,” she whispers. “I told him I would be there. I told him I would be the last person he saw.”
“Mom.”
“I promised him.”
I grab her hand and rub my thumb lightly over her knuckles. “Mom, he signed the DNR. Six years ago, he signed the DNR. Do you remember that?”
“Of course I remember,” she murmurs.
“He didn’t want you to be there. If he’d wanted you to be there, he wouldn’t have signed it. He would have wanted them to keep him alive until you got here. Until you could say goodbye. He signed it because he didn’t want you to have to see it. He didn’t want you to have to watch him die.”
She shakes her head. “But I promised.”
“I know. But he never expected you to keep that promise.”
“But... He was... I...”
“I know. But he wasn’t here. And he’s not here now. He hasn’t been here in... In a long time.” I grab her other hand and stand, pulling her up with me. She collapses onto me, her ear pressing into my chest.
“I can hear your heart,” she whispers.
For the second night this week, I watch the snow fall past the stained glass windows. My mother sits across the aisle, a few pews forward, her head in her hands, her mouth moving silently. I don’t want to know what she’s saying. It would probably break my heart.
“Allie thought you’d be here.”
I stare straight ahead. “You should be with her.”
“I know. That’s what I told her. Then she told me she would break up with me immediately if I didn’t come find you.”
“Here I am.”
He slides into my pew, avoiding my eyes. “How are you?”
“I... I don’t know.”
“How’s your mom?”
“I don’t know what to do with her.”
He bites his lip. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. I... She doesn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay at the hospice. It took me forever to convince her to come out to the car. I tried to take her to the house, but she... I don’t know. So we came here.”
He glances over at her. “She’s praying. I guess that’s good.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry. About your dad.”
I crack my knuckles slowly, one by one. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I... I tried to call Chelsea, but she didn’t pick up.”
“Thanks.”
“You want me to try again? I... I don’t know.”
“It’s fine. I... I don’t want to wake her up. It’s just... I mean, we knew he was gonna die, we were just kidding ourselves pretending it wouldn’t happen so soon.”
“Adam.”
“No, I mean... We should be happy, really. He... I mean, he had to have been so miserable. I can’t even imagine.”
“Mmm.”
“Somehow, though I’m just not that happy,” I say softly.
He runs his tongue over his teeth, staring down at his lap. “It’s tough.”
“My whole life, he was at least there. Even these past couple years, when he had no idea who I was... I knew where to find him. I just... I mean, and she’s a mess. I don’t know. This isn’t what I expected, I guess. I don’t know what I expected. I just... This is different.”
“Right.”
“I feel like I should be all crazy and weepy and I should be consumed with... I don’t know, missing him. But there isn’t really anything to miss, you know? What’s to miss? One-sided conversations? Dripping water into his mouth? Waiting for him to die? I don’t miss it. I don’t... And it’s only been a couple of hours, but it’s just like... It isn’t any different. I expected it to be different. But it’s like he was already... It’s like he was already dead.”
Across the room, my mother whispers her silent incantations. Maybe that’s why it’s so much harder for her. She prayed that he would get better. She believed that there was some way, some God out there who could change his destiny, somehow. We gave up on him. Slowly, at first, still trying to hold on to something of who he was, still trying to remember the Dennis Larsen who had once been an active part of our lives. But we gave up on him. She never gave up. For us, he died weeks ago, months ago. The finality of it shakes us, but it doesn’t surprise us. It doesn’t change us in some profound way. But she hoped for him. Not the halfhearted way that we did, but in some awful, painful way that shook her very soul. She held on when all of us were letting go.
He was already dead for all of us. But he was not dead for her. Not then.
He is dead now.
I stand, brushing past Matt and walking slowly down the aisle. I slide quietly into the pew next to here and scoot over until our hips touch. Hoping that I can ground her, somehow, without scaring her away.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She turns to look at me. She looks so old. Feeble. “For what?”
For being the one who held on. For believing he was a person, when the rest of us were just acting like we believed. For bringing him lunches he couldn’t eat, and praying for things that couldn’t happen, and believing in him when we had all given up. For remembering him when he didn’t remember you. For trying to keep your promises. For trying. For being the one who held on. “For everything.”
“His heart,” she murmurs, her voice fragile and quaking. “I... He had such a good heart. I always told people that. I told everyone that. He... His heart.”
“I know.” I drape my arm tentatively around her shoulder. “I know.”
“I think I really thought... I think... I think I thought He would...” Her voice trails off. She takes a deep, shaking breath, a single tear making its way slowly down her face. “I did everything I could. I did everything. I... I spent the past seven years doing His work, hoping that... That maybe, somehow, He would notice... I just wanted Him to... To help...” Her voice breaks. I pull her towards me, her head heavy on my shoulder. With my free hand, I grab her hand and pull it away from her eyebrow.
“Shhh. It’s okay.”
“I think I really thought... I just... I just wanted...”
“I know. Shhh... Shhh, it’s okay.”
“I don’t know what to do without him.”
“I know.”
“He had such a good heart,” she whispers.
“I know.”
Word Count (this update): 2306
Word Count (total): 44197
Initially, the plan was 1) for Adam and his mother to never really reconcile and 2) for Chelsea and Adam to break up. I think the holiday cheer is pushing me to bring everyone together.
The most important transition for me, in this chapter, wasn't that Dennis died -- it was that Adam started calling his mother "Mom" (something he'd previously avoided even in narration, except when talking about her to his dad). Personally, I'm relieved. Writing "my mother" 400000 times was getting annoying. (The auto-summary for this book is particularly hilarious. Here's an excerpt:
My mother smiles, shaking her head. “Yeah. “Yeah. “Allie?”
“Yeah?”* * *
“Adam.”
“Adam. Addie, Chelsea, Grandad, Matt. “Adam!”
“Adam.”
“Adam.”
Hands down.”
“Adam...”
Yeah.* * *
I shake my head. Allie. “Yeah. “Yeah. “Adam.”
“Adam.* * *
“Adam.”
My mother... “Yeah.”
It is genius. My personal favorite is the names list. The other day when I did this it came up with an entire passage that consisted of "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea." "Chelsea" Jesus. ***. Word is crazy.)
Thanks for reading!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
November 26th: Thank God It's Fatal
“Hey, champ.”
“Hey, Grandad.”
He purses his lips and looks me up and down. “You look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”
“I went to Bible study.”
“Ohhh,” he says, nodding understandingly.
I collapse in the chair across from him. “Job.”
“I see.” He thinks for a moment. “I always liked Job.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously? I think it’s ridiculous.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s just... Unrealistic, I guess. Nobody’s like Job. And it’s annoying, because God is supposed to be this great, kind figure, but he treats Job like crap.”
“Does he? I remember it differently, but it’s been awhile.”
“Mmm.”
We sit in silence for a moment until he clears his throat, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “Do you think that maybe your real problem is that you feel like you’re failing the test?”
“What?”
“Job had everything but the kitchen sink thrown at him and he stayed true to God. You’ve had a lot thrown at you, too. It’s not easy to be as strong as Job.”
“I’m not being tested.”
“You’re not? I am.”
I crack my each knuckles, one by one, before responding. “You really believe in all that? That God would kill somebody just to test you?”
He shakes his head. “You’re missing the point, Adam.”
“What is the point, exactly?”
“I love them. Your dad, and Don, and your grandmother. I love them. Watching them die, that’s been an awful trial for me. God didn’t design it this way because He wanted me to suffer. And He didn’t do it because He wanted them to suffer. And He certainly didn’t do it just because He could.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“That’s the point.”
“That he killed three people you love and you don’t know why?”
“That I can’t know.”
“So God is making a point.”
“It’s more than that. He knows what He’s doing. It’s not my place to question it. I just have to trust Him. To listen to him. Even when I don’t understand.”
I shrug. “But he... He killed them.”
“Without Him, I wouldn’t ever have had them to lose. I’m glad I had them, Adam. And I’m glad that I have you, and the girls, and I’m glad for every minute that I have Dennis, still. I don’t get to be angry with Him. He’s given me far, far more than I deserve.”
“I’m angry.”
“I know.”
“You really think I’m failing the test?”
He shakes his head. “I never said that.”
“Yes you did. You said I hated Job because I was failing the test.”
“I said you felt like you were failing the test.”
“So you don’t think I’m failing.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“It matters to me.”
He thinks for a moment, then clears his throat. “What I think,” he says slowly, “is that this is exactly the sort of conversation your mom would like to have with you.”
“So you’re not going to answer.”
“Consider it a referral.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I glance over at my father, lying still in his bed, and stand up. “You coming home?”
“Later.”
“Are you sure? He’s gonna be fine, Grandad. It’s one night. You haven’t been home in ages.”
“I want to be here,” he says softly, staring at the bed. “You go. Talk to your mom.”
“Alright. G’night, Grandad.”
“’Night, champ.”
Chapter 10
My son, forget not my law or teaching,
but let your heart keep my commandments.
(Proverbs 3:1)
I arrive home to a war zone.
“Of course it matters! Are you crazy?”
I stick my head tentatively around the corner into the living room. Addie is in tears, pointing angrily at her sister, who is leaning against the wall looking exhausted.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Why did you go there, anyway? You could’ve at least told me.”
“Oh shut up! You don’t get to turn this around on me!”
“You hadn’t been there in years! You hate her!”
“It’s Christmas! This is what people do at Christmas! They visit estranged relatives!”
I bite my lip, burying my hands in my pockets.
Addie spies me out of the corner of her eye and turns to face me. “She lied to me.”
“Allie did?” It seems like a good time to play dumb.
“Apparently she has a kid!”
“Oh.” I glance at Allie, eyebrows raised. You didn’t tell her THAT?
Addie studies me for a moment. “You’re not surprised.”
“I...”
“You knew?!”
“Addie, Jesus Christ --” Allie says from across the room.
“No,” Addie interrupts. “Seriously? You told him?! Who else knows? Aunt Karen? Grandad? Matt?!”
“All of them,” Allie mumbles.
Addie collapses back onto the couch. “What is wrong with you? I don’t even... What is wrong with you?”
Allie walks cautiously forward and perches on the armchair, curling her legs up under her. “I was going to tell you. I was just... You were happy here. And I was afraid that if I told you, you’d come back and live with me and Mom, and you hated it there.”
“And when you moved back here? You didn’t think that maybe I should know?”
Allie sighs. “I... It had already been so long. And I knew if I told you, you’d be upset that I hadn’t told you sooner.”
“So you didn’t tell me for two years? You’re right, I’m totally less upset now than I would’ve been if you’d said something back then? Are you crazy?!”
“It’s kind of hard to bring up.”
“No. You know what’s kind of hard? Going to your mom’s house for the first time in forever to try to make peace with her so you don’t ruin Christmas dinner and having a kid show up at the door!”
“Addie,” I say softly.
She looks over at me, her eyes wild. “Oh, shut up. You knew, too! You knew!”
“I... Allie took me to see him because Chelsea was freaked out over being pregnant and she thought it would help. It wasn’t like she wanted to tell me, she just wanted to help us understand what it was going to be like. What our options were.”
She squints at me. “How does my little brother help you... Allie, what the fuck?”
“You didn’t tell her?!”
Allie looks up at me, her lip quivering. “I... She just assumed...”
“Jesus Christ, really? Really?”
“Adam.”
“No. Seriously. Addie, it’s not your mom’s kid. It’s your sister’s. Also, she got tested. I don’t have time for this shit.” I storm up the stairs, still wearing my coat.
“Why the fuck would you do that?!” Allie screams after me.
I slam the door to my room and collapse onto the bed. A few minutes pass, their raised voices trailing down the hall, before Addie comes stomping up the stairs and bursts into my room, sobbing.
“Addie...” I sit up, patting the bed next to me. “Sit.”
She sits, burying her head in my hands. “I don’t even know her,” she manages to choke out between sobs.
“I know.”
“I can’t even look at her.”
“I know.”
“I don’t even know her!” she wails, combing her hair back with trembling hands.
“I know. It’s okay.” I reach over to the bedside table and grab a handful of tissues. “Shhh. It’s okay.”
It takes her a long time, and almost an entire wastebasket of tissues, to calm down enough to say more than that.
“She could’ve told me. She could have just told me. I would have helped her. She’s my sister!” she sniffles.
“Maybe she thought she was doing what was best for you.”
“By lying to me? About this?!”
“I know.”
“I would have listened. If she’d just told me, I would have listened.”
“I know.”
“She could have told me. I would have listened.”
“I know.”
* * *
“Hello?”
“I’m outside your house. And I know that sounds really creepy, but I really need to see you. And I think if I wait until morning, I’m going to lose my nerve. Let me in?”
She appears in her bedroom window. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“I don’t.”
“Adam...”
“Just let me in. Please.”
“Fine.” Her curtain falls back into place. A door slams. Footsteps echo down the stairs. The front door swings open. “What is it?”
I snap my phone shut and pocket it. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.” She steps aside to let me in, setting her phone down on the table by the door. “Adam, what are you doing here? It’s like --”
“Two in the morning. I know.”
“Is your dad okay?”
“He’s fine. Relatively. I... Sit down.”
She sits tentatively on the arm of the couch, the distant light from the kitchen bathing her in a soft glow. “What’s going on?”
I sit down across from her in her mother’s rocking chair, cracking my knuckles. “I’m listening.”
“Listening to what?”
“What you have to say.”
Her face softens. “Adam...”
“I steamrolled you. I was freaked out and stupid. I’m not saying I want to get back together. But I want to... I want us to make an informed decision. For what it’s worth.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Okay. Um... Adam, seriously, this is kind of...”
“I know. It’s stupid. Never mind. I’ll just... Go.” I stand, shoving my hands in my coat pockets. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“Adam.”
“Sorry to wake you up.”
She leaps up and grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around. “Sit down.”
“Chelsea, you don’t have to.”
“I love you. I’ve told you that a hundred times, once in maybe the scariest speech I’ve ever given, and I... That’s what I have to say. Okay? That’s what I have to say.”
“It’s like you have our whole lives planned out for us. We’re just kids.”
“So you want us to break up just because we’re young and we don’t know what we’re doing? You know why people break up? Because they don’t fit together anymore. You’re trying to do a preemptive break-up. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t break up with me now because you think that when we’re forty we won’t get along anymore.”
“You love me more than I love you.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You want us to get married.”
“When did I ever say that?”
I sigh. “You said... I don’t know. You wanted a family. Like, now.”
“I wanted a father for... For my kid. It’s not the same thing. It wasn’t about you. It was about taking care of...” Her voice trails off.
“I don’t want to commit.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“If it bothered me, I would break up with you.”
I stare at her, her features barely visible in the dark, her face tilted up to look at me. “We break up too much.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry I’m a dick.”
“I’m sorry you’re a dick, too.”
I step back, shrugging her hands off my shoulders. “So... What are we?”
“Relationship status? I don’t know. ‘It’s complicated’.”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously, though.”
“I don’t know. What do you want to be?”
“I don’t know.”
She smirks. “Maybe we should get married.”
“I think I might officially break up with you for real now.”
She laughs. “You can’t break up with me unless we’re together.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She loops her arms around my neck and kisses me lightly, then pulls away quickly, crossing her arms. “I’m going back to bed. You should go home.”
“Will do.”
“And Adam?”
“Yep?”
“Get some sleep.”
But there’s somewhere else I need to go first.
* * *
“Hi, Adam.”
I manage a slight wave. “Hi. Is it open?”
She nods. “Open and empty. Will you keep an eye on things? I could really use a smoke break.”
“Sure.”
The door is always unlocked. There have been a lot of arguments over the years about whether it’s really wise, to leave it open like that. They compromised. Volunteers sit sentry during the night, supposedly to keep the riffraff out. But would they really turn anyone away? I don’t know.
If they’ll let me in, their standards must be pretty low.
But tonight, I’m not here to break windows or carve expletives in pews. I’m not here to destroy things. I’m tired of destroying things.
I’m here to listen.
I walk hesitantly into the sanctuary, pulling the door shut behind me. The only light on is the one over the cross. I choose a pew near the back, kneeling awkwardly, resting my head on my folded hands.
“You’re kind of a dick sometimes, you know?”
My voice echoes through the sanctuary. Sometimes, like now, it catches me off guard how much it sounds like my father’s.
“I mean, I get it. You don’t have to beat me over the head with it. Listening is important. Job had to listen to you, and Addie would have listened to Allie, and everything was basically fixed with Chelsea when I told her I wanted to listen to what she had to say. It’s kind of heavyhanded, don’t you think? I get the point. I’m supposed to listen to you. You know what you’re doing.
“But it’s not fair. I listened to him. I used to listen to him. And you gave him some fucked up disease that made him mute. The one person who knew how to talk to me. The one person who got me. And you fucked him up beyond all recognition. That’s so incredibly unfair. And yeah, maybe I should be outraged on his behalf, or Grandad’s, or even my mother’s, but I’m pissed off for me right now. This is me being mad on my own behalf. You suck if you think this is doing good things for me. We’re broke, and he’s going to be dead soon, and I’m tired of saying goodbye to him all the time. And you suck. If this is your idea of a plan, you should get a new job. Your plan blows.”
It’s so quiet. Snow casts odd shadows on the stained glass windows as it builds on the panes. I don’t know what I was expecting, coming here. Some kind of epiphany, maybe. More than a one-sided conversation. I have my father for those.
“I’m trying to listen to you. I am. I get that this whole thing seems kind of out of place, that me in a church voluntarily is kind of different, but I’m trying. I’m trying to reach out to you. Reach back.”
“Adam?”
Startled, I turn to face the voice. Grandad stands by the door, eyeing me quizzically.
“What are you doing here?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I could ask you the same thing.”
“I come here when I can’t sleep.” He walks slowly over to me and sits in the pew behind mine. “Why aren’t you at home?”
“I don’t know. Things there are kind of crazy. Addie found out about Will.”
“I know. Your mother called and told me.”
“Chelsea and I got back together.”
“When?”
“About half an hour ago.”
He laughs. “Carpe Noctem, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Your father was always a night owl.”
“Really?”
He nods. “I’d wake up and he’d be down in the living room, just reading. He liked the quiet. Don was always so loud. It drove your dad crazy, sharing a room with him. There was always music, or the telephone, or some excuse to make noise. Dennis just wanted to sit and read.”
‘What did he read?”
“Oh, comic books and stuff like that. He picked up some classics once he got to be about your age, but he only ever seemed to read them because they made him feel important. He liked books without much substance. He was such a serious kid. I think it helped him relax.”
“Did he ever read the Bible?”
I don’t know why I ask. It just seems an appropriate topic somehow, sitting in a church in the middle of the night.
Grandad laughs. “When he met your mother, he stayed up three days straight reading it. He’d told her on their first date that it was one of his favorite books, and he was terrified that if he didn’t have it read through before they saw each other again she would call him out as a fraud.”
“He had it bad.”
He smiles. “He was hopelessly in love with her. He was such a quiet kid, but when she was around he couldn’t stop talking. She made him so nervous. It took him three years to propose because he was so sure she would say no.”
“It didn’t bother him? That she was so religious?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“But he wasn’t. He never was. He never came to church with us when I was a kid.”
“It never bothered either of them. I suppose it wasn’t important.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s all that’s important to her. That’s who she is.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s the truth.”
“Maybe,” he says quietly, looking at me over the top rim of his glasses, “It’s not that it’s important to her, so much as that it’s important to you.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” He looks at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You might be right. It’s too late for your old grandfather to be awake. I think I’m going home.”
“Okay.”
“Are you coming?”
“I think I’ll stay here awhile.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, I kneel again, shaking my head.
“You’re a piece of work. Why is it so urgent that I reconcile with my mother?”
Silence.
“Is he going to die? You can tell me. He’s going to die soon, isn’t he? That’s what this is about. That’s why everyone and his dog is on me lately to talk to her.”
Silence.
“Merry fucking Christmas to you, too.”
Word Count (this update): 3003
Word Count (total): 42008
That church scene was rewritten upwards of five times. I still hate it, but for the sake of my sanity and the 8K I have left to go, I gave up on it. I'm trying to tie up all the loose ends, which is an incredibly messy process, and certainly not an enjoyable one. At any rate, I'm very nearly caught up again, and hope to pound out another 3K tomorrow. Thanks for reading!
“Hey, Grandad.”
He purses his lips and looks me up and down. “You look like you’ve been put through the wringer.”
“I went to Bible study.”
“Ohhh,” he says, nodding understandingly.
I collapse in the chair across from him. “Job.”
“I see.” He thinks for a moment. “I always liked Job.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously? I think it’s ridiculous.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s just... Unrealistic, I guess. Nobody’s like Job. And it’s annoying, because God is supposed to be this great, kind figure, but he treats Job like crap.”
“Does he? I remember it differently, but it’s been awhile.”
“Mmm.”
We sit in silence for a moment until he clears his throat, peering at me over the top of his glasses. “Do you think that maybe your real problem is that you feel like you’re failing the test?”
“What?”
“Job had everything but the kitchen sink thrown at him and he stayed true to God. You’ve had a lot thrown at you, too. It’s not easy to be as strong as Job.”
“I’m not being tested.”
“You’re not? I am.”
I crack my each knuckles, one by one, before responding. “You really believe in all that? That God would kill somebody just to test you?”
He shakes his head. “You’re missing the point, Adam.”
“What is the point, exactly?”
“I love them. Your dad, and Don, and your grandmother. I love them. Watching them die, that’s been an awful trial for me. God didn’t design it this way because He wanted me to suffer. And He didn’t do it because He wanted them to suffer. And He certainly didn’t do it just because He could.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“That’s the point.”
“That he killed three people you love and you don’t know why?”
“That I can’t know.”
“So God is making a point.”
“It’s more than that. He knows what He’s doing. It’s not my place to question it. I just have to trust Him. To listen to him. Even when I don’t understand.”
I shrug. “But he... He killed them.”
“Without Him, I wouldn’t ever have had them to lose. I’m glad I had them, Adam. And I’m glad that I have you, and the girls, and I’m glad for every minute that I have Dennis, still. I don’t get to be angry with Him. He’s given me far, far more than I deserve.”
“I’m angry.”
“I know.”
“You really think I’m failing the test?”
He shakes his head. “I never said that.”
“Yes you did. You said I hated Job because I was failing the test.”
“I said you felt like you were failing the test.”
“So you don’t think I’m failing.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“It matters to me.”
He thinks for a moment, then clears his throat. “What I think,” he says slowly, “is that this is exactly the sort of conversation your mom would like to have with you.”
“So you’re not going to answer.”
“Consider it a referral.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I glance over at my father, lying still in his bed, and stand up. “You coming home?”
“Later.”
“Are you sure? He’s gonna be fine, Grandad. It’s one night. You haven’t been home in ages.”
“I want to be here,” he says softly, staring at the bed. “You go. Talk to your mom.”
“Alright. G’night, Grandad.”
“’Night, champ.”
My son, forget not my law or teaching,
but let your heart keep my commandments.
(Proverbs 3:1)
I arrive home to a war zone.
“Of course it matters! Are you crazy?”
I stick my head tentatively around the corner into the living room. Addie is in tears, pointing angrily at her sister, who is leaning against the wall looking exhausted.
“I didn’t mean it like that. Why did you go there, anyway? You could’ve at least told me.”
“Oh shut up! You don’t get to turn this around on me!”
“You hadn’t been there in years! You hate her!”
“It’s Christmas! This is what people do at Christmas! They visit estranged relatives!”
I bite my lip, burying my hands in my pockets.
Addie spies me out of the corner of her eye and turns to face me. “She lied to me.”
“Allie did?” It seems like a good time to play dumb.
“Apparently she has a kid!”
“Oh.” I glance at Allie, eyebrows raised. You didn’t tell her THAT?
Addie studies me for a moment. “You’re not surprised.”
“I...”
“You knew?!”
“Addie, Jesus Christ --” Allie says from across the room.
“No,” Addie interrupts. “Seriously? You told him?! Who else knows? Aunt Karen? Grandad? Matt?!”
“All of them,” Allie mumbles.
Addie collapses back onto the couch. “What is wrong with you? I don’t even... What is wrong with you?”
Allie walks cautiously forward and perches on the armchair, curling her legs up under her. “I was going to tell you. I was just... You were happy here. And I was afraid that if I told you, you’d come back and live with me and Mom, and you hated it there.”
“And when you moved back here? You didn’t think that maybe I should know?”
Allie sighs. “I... It had already been so long. And I knew if I told you, you’d be upset that I hadn’t told you sooner.”
“So you didn’t tell me for two years? You’re right, I’m totally less upset now than I would’ve been if you’d said something back then? Are you crazy?!”
“It’s kind of hard to bring up.”
“No. You know what’s kind of hard? Going to your mom’s house for the first time in forever to try to make peace with her so you don’t ruin Christmas dinner and having a kid show up at the door!”
“Addie,” I say softly.
She looks over at me, her eyes wild. “Oh, shut up. You knew, too! You knew!”
“I... Allie took me to see him because Chelsea was freaked out over being pregnant and she thought it would help. It wasn’t like she wanted to tell me, she just wanted to help us understand what it was going to be like. What our options were.”
She squints at me. “How does my little brother help you... Allie, what the fuck?”
“You didn’t tell her?!”
Allie looks up at me, her lip quivering. “I... She just assumed...”
“Jesus Christ, really? Really?”
“Adam.”
“No. Seriously. Addie, it’s not your mom’s kid. It’s your sister’s. Also, she got tested. I don’t have time for this shit.” I storm up the stairs, still wearing my coat.
“Why the fuck would you do that?!” Allie screams after me.
I slam the door to my room and collapse onto the bed. A few minutes pass, their raised voices trailing down the hall, before Addie comes stomping up the stairs and bursts into my room, sobbing.
“Addie...” I sit up, patting the bed next to me. “Sit.”
She sits, burying her head in my hands. “I don’t even know her,” she manages to choke out between sobs.
“I know.”
“I can’t even look at her.”
“I know.”
“I don’t even know her!” she wails, combing her hair back with trembling hands.
“I know. It’s okay.” I reach over to the bedside table and grab a handful of tissues. “Shhh. It’s okay.”
It takes her a long time, and almost an entire wastebasket of tissues, to calm down enough to say more than that.
“She could’ve told me. She could have just told me. I would have helped her. She’s my sister!” she sniffles.
“Maybe she thought she was doing what was best for you.”
“By lying to me? About this?!”
“I know.”
“I would have listened. If she’d just told me, I would have listened.”
“I know.”
“She could have told me. I would have listened.”
“I know.”
“Hello?”
“I’m outside your house. And I know that sounds really creepy, but I really need to see you. And I think if I wait until morning, I’m going to lose my nerve. Let me in?”
She appears in her bedroom window. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”
“I don’t.”
“Adam...”
“Just let me in. Please.”
“Fine.” Her curtain falls back into place. A door slams. Footsteps echo down the stairs. The front door swings open. “What is it?”
I snap my phone shut and pocket it. “Can I come in?”
“I guess.” She steps aside to let me in, setting her phone down on the table by the door. “Adam, what are you doing here? It’s like --”
“Two in the morning. I know.”
“Is your dad okay?”
“He’s fine. Relatively. I... Sit down.”
She sits tentatively on the arm of the couch, the distant light from the kitchen bathing her in a soft glow. “What’s going on?”
I sit down across from her in her mother’s rocking chair, cracking my knuckles. “I’m listening.”
“Listening to what?”
“What you have to say.”
Her face softens. “Adam...”
“I steamrolled you. I was freaked out and stupid. I’m not saying I want to get back together. But I want to... I want us to make an informed decision. For what it’s worth.”
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, then sighs. “Okay. Um... Adam, seriously, this is kind of...”
“I know. It’s stupid. Never mind. I’ll just... Go.” I stand, shoving my hands in my coat pockets. “Thanks for putting up with me.”
“Adam.”
“Sorry to wake you up.”
She leaps up and grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around. “Sit down.”
“Chelsea, you don’t have to.”
“I love you. I’ve told you that a hundred times, once in maybe the scariest speech I’ve ever given, and I... That’s what I have to say. Okay? That’s what I have to say.”
“It’s like you have our whole lives planned out for us. We’re just kids.”
“So you want us to break up just because we’re young and we don’t know what we’re doing? You know why people break up? Because they don’t fit together anymore. You’re trying to do a preemptive break-up. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t break up with me now because you think that when we’re forty we won’t get along anymore.”
“You love me more than I love you.”
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“You want us to get married.”
“When did I ever say that?”
I sigh. “You said... I don’t know. You wanted a family. Like, now.”
“I wanted a father for... For my kid. It’s not the same thing. It wasn’t about you. It was about taking care of...” Her voice trails off.
“I don’t want to commit.”
“I know.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“If it bothered me, I would break up with you.”
I stare at her, her features barely visible in the dark, her face tilted up to look at me. “We break up too much.”
“I know.”
“I’m sorry I’m a dick.”
“I’m sorry you’re a dick, too.”
I step back, shrugging her hands off my shoulders. “So... What are we?”
“Relationship status? I don’t know. ‘It’s complicated’.”
I roll my eyes. “Seriously, though.”
“I don’t know. What do you want to be?”
“I don’t know.”
She smirks. “Maybe we should get married.”
“I think I might officially break up with you for real now.”
She laughs. “You can’t break up with me unless we’re together.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” She loops her arms around my neck and kisses me lightly, then pulls away quickly, crossing her arms. “I’m going back to bed. You should go home.”
“Will do.”
“And Adam?”
“Yep?”
“Get some sleep.”
But there’s somewhere else I need to go first.
“Hi, Adam.”
I manage a slight wave. “Hi. Is it open?”
She nods. “Open and empty. Will you keep an eye on things? I could really use a smoke break.”
“Sure.”
The door is always unlocked. There have been a lot of arguments over the years about whether it’s really wise, to leave it open like that. They compromised. Volunteers sit sentry during the night, supposedly to keep the riffraff out. But would they really turn anyone away? I don’t know.
If they’ll let me in, their standards must be pretty low.
But tonight, I’m not here to break windows or carve expletives in pews. I’m not here to destroy things. I’m tired of destroying things.
I’m here to listen.
I walk hesitantly into the sanctuary, pulling the door shut behind me. The only light on is the one over the cross. I choose a pew near the back, kneeling awkwardly, resting my head on my folded hands.
“You’re kind of a dick sometimes, you know?”
My voice echoes through the sanctuary. Sometimes, like now, it catches me off guard how much it sounds like my father’s.
“I mean, I get it. You don’t have to beat me over the head with it. Listening is important. Job had to listen to you, and Addie would have listened to Allie, and everything was basically fixed with Chelsea when I told her I wanted to listen to what she had to say. It’s kind of heavyhanded, don’t you think? I get the point. I’m supposed to listen to you. You know what you’re doing.
“But it’s not fair. I listened to him. I used to listen to him. And you gave him some fucked up disease that made him mute. The one person who knew how to talk to me. The one person who got me. And you fucked him up beyond all recognition. That’s so incredibly unfair. And yeah, maybe I should be outraged on his behalf, or Grandad’s, or even my mother’s, but I’m pissed off for me right now. This is me being mad on my own behalf. You suck if you think this is doing good things for me. We’re broke, and he’s going to be dead soon, and I’m tired of saying goodbye to him all the time. And you suck. If this is your idea of a plan, you should get a new job. Your plan blows.”
It’s so quiet. Snow casts odd shadows on the stained glass windows as it builds on the panes. I don’t know what I was expecting, coming here. Some kind of epiphany, maybe. More than a one-sided conversation. I have my father for those.
“I’m trying to listen to you. I am. I get that this whole thing seems kind of out of place, that me in a church voluntarily is kind of different, but I’m trying. I’m trying to reach out to you. Reach back.”
“Adam?”
Startled, I turn to face the voice. Grandad stands by the door, eyeing me quizzically.
“What are you doing here?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. I could ask you the same thing.”
“I come here when I can’t sleep.” He walks slowly over to me and sits in the pew behind mine. “Why aren’t you at home?”
“I don’t know. Things there are kind of crazy. Addie found out about Will.”
“I know. Your mother called and told me.”
“Chelsea and I got back together.”
“When?”
“About half an hour ago.”
He laughs. “Carpe Noctem, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Your father was always a night owl.”
“Really?”
He nods. “I’d wake up and he’d be down in the living room, just reading. He liked the quiet. Don was always so loud. It drove your dad crazy, sharing a room with him. There was always music, or the telephone, or some excuse to make noise. Dennis just wanted to sit and read.”
‘What did he read?”
“Oh, comic books and stuff like that. He picked up some classics once he got to be about your age, but he only ever seemed to read them because they made him feel important. He liked books without much substance. He was such a serious kid. I think it helped him relax.”
“Did he ever read the Bible?”
I don’t know why I ask. It just seems an appropriate topic somehow, sitting in a church in the middle of the night.
Grandad laughs. “When he met your mother, he stayed up three days straight reading it. He’d told her on their first date that it was one of his favorite books, and he was terrified that if he didn’t have it read through before they saw each other again she would call him out as a fraud.”
“He had it bad.”
He smiles. “He was hopelessly in love with her. He was such a quiet kid, but when she was around he couldn’t stop talking. She made him so nervous. It took him three years to propose because he was so sure she would say no.”
“It didn’t bother him? That she was so religious?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“But he wasn’t. He never was. He never came to church with us when I was a kid.”
“It never bothered either of them. I suppose it wasn’t important.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s all that’s important to her. That’s who she is.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
I shrug. “I mean, it’s the truth.”
“Maybe,” he says quietly, looking at me over the top rim of his glasses, “It’s not that it’s important to her, so much as that it’s important to you.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” He looks at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You might be right. It’s too late for your old grandfather to be awake. I think I’m going home.”
“Okay.”
“Are you coming?”
“I think I’ll stay here awhile.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, I kneel again, shaking my head.
“You’re a piece of work. Why is it so urgent that I reconcile with my mother?”
Silence.
“Is he going to die? You can tell me. He’s going to die soon, isn’t he? That’s what this is about. That’s why everyone and his dog is on me lately to talk to her.”
Silence.
“Merry fucking Christmas to you, too.”
Word Count (this update): 3003
Word Count (total): 42008
That church scene was rewritten upwards of five times. I still hate it, but for the sake of my sanity and the 8K I have left to go, I gave up on it. I'm trying to tie up all the loose ends, which is an incredibly messy process, and certainly not an enjoyable one. At any rate, I'm very nearly caught up again, and hope to pound out another 3K tomorrow. Thanks for reading!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
November 25th (Very late): I picture you in the sun
“I’ve been calling.”
I stare at her for a moment before opening the door wider and waving her inside. “I know.”
She shoves her hands in her coat pockets. “And you haven’t been picking up.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
I sigh. “I thought we talked about this.”
“You talked. I didn’t get to talk. You did. You talked and then you hung up on me and it’s been four days and you haven’t picked up your phone yet.” She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before continuing. “Look, I’m not trying to be the psycho ex-girlfriend here. But you’re just kind of being a jerk.”
“Okay.”
“’Okay?’ It’s not okay, Adam. Jesus. Did you really think... Look, I know I was a bitch to you that day, and everything, but --”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?”
I sigh. “Not right now, Chelsea.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Then... Fine. Then stay. But I am. Leaving. So, uh... Whatever.” I open the closet and grab my coat. “Make yourself at home.”
“Seriously? You’re seriously doing this?”
I pull on my coat and open the door. “Yeah. I am.”
“You’re being kind of ridiculous.” She catches the door as it swings shut behind me, following me outside. “Adam. Seriously. We need --”
“We don’t need to do anything. We’re not dating. We’re not a couple. ‘We’ doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Why not?”
I roll my eyes and start down the walk towards the car, not looking at her. She runs to keep up with me.
“What changed?”
I shake my head, unlocking the car. “It’s not that easy.”
“Yeah. It is.” She pulls open the passenger door.
“Jesus Christ, Chelsea, I didn’t say you could come with me.”
“Then talk to me. I’ll get out if you just... Talk.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”
She sits down and buckles the seatbelt. “Then talk fast.”
I climb in and slam the door shut. “Are you seriously doing this?”
“You haven’t given me much of a choice.”
“Oh, God. I forgot to ask you how you wanted to be broken up with. Damn it. I knew I did something wrong.”
She crosses her arms. “You really don’t care, do you?”
“Of course I care.”
“No you don’t. You don’t care. Jesus, we’ve been going out for almost two years!” Her voice breaks. She looks away, shaking her head.
I sigh. “Don’t you think that’s... Long enough?”
“What, there’s a time limit on relationships? Seriously?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Yes you are. That’s not what you mean, but it’s what you’re saying.”
“Okay, fine. What do I mean?”
“You mean that you don’t love me.”
“This has nothing to do with that.”
She laughs. “Right. Sure.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Do you?”
I roll my eyes. “I just said --”
“You don’t.”
“Jesus Christ, Chelsea.”
“You used to,” she says earnestly, staring out the windshield. “I know you did. You used to...”
“Does it really matter?”
“Of course it matters! Are you stupid?”
“We’re not even together anymore!”
She bites the inside of her cheek, turning to look at me. “Why not?”
“What do you want, a list?”
“A list would be nice.”
I sigh, looking out the window. Snow falls haphazardly outside, individual flakes tumbling to the ground. “I don’t love you as much as you love me.”
“So you’re breaking up with me? That doesn’t even make sense.”
I tilt my head back, inhaling sharply. “We don’t belong together. I feel like you have my whole life planned out for me. Like... You want to be the one who’s there for me in the end, just to prove you can handle it. But that’s... It’s a long time from now. And I don’t want to spend my whole life with you, I don’t even... I just... If I don’t break up with you, I don’t think you’re ever going to be able to convince yourself to break up with me. So, yeah. I’m breaking up with you.” I pause, cracking my knuckles against the steering wheel. “Can you go now?”
“Okay.”
She climbs out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her. She gives me a long look through the window, her eyes bright with tears, before running to her own car and collapsing into the driver’s seat.
I gun the engine and take off without looking back.
* * *
“Chelsea came to see me.”
“Really?” Matt tosses me the bag of potato chips and leans back against the counter, sipping his soda. “She want to get back together?”
“I guess so.”
“And you don’t?”
I shrug. “I mean... I like the idea of having a girlfriend. I like the idea of having a life, period. But she’s... When she broke up with me, she said all these things, and I guess usually when people break up they say mean things because they’re angry? But she just said them like she was too tired not to say them anymore. And they were, I don’t know, true. I mean, her being pregnant wasn’t enough to make me want to commit to her. Seriously? If that doesn’t, then what will? I feel like she’s in this for the long haul and I’m just some chump who somehow got sucked up in her plans.”
He nods slowly, cocking his head to one side. “Makes sense.”
“I love her, I guess, it’s just... I don’t know, she says all these things to me, like I make her head quiet, or some shit, and it’s like... She really loves me. Like, in this big, ugly, intense way that I can’t even imagine. I just... I don’t feel that way about her. She doesn’t make my head quiet. She doesn’t bring out the best in me. Most of the time she brings out something really gross and awful in me. And that’s not... I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with her. Most of the time I don’t even want to spend a night with her. And I guess it’s been like that for awhile, I just haven’t wanted to see it. Because she gets me. And it’s exhausting, to get to know somebody well enough that they get you. And it was just... Convenient. I guess. But that’s not how she feels about me. I’m not convenient for her, I’m messy and annoying and difficult, but she wants to be with me anyway. And it just doesn’t seem fair.”
“But you love her.”
“Sure. I just... I don’t want to be with her forever. And it seems like that’s what she wants from me.”
He nods. “Right.”
“I just feel kind of guilty about the whole thing.”
“You want my opinion?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“No, seriously. I don’t want you to get all huffy over me meddling.”
“I said sure.”
“Okay.” He clears his throat, shifting his jaw from side to side for a moment before continuing. “I just... It doesn’t seem like you’ve heard much of what she has to say about this.”
“She told me she wanted to be my family.”
“Does she say that now or did she say that when she was pregnant?”
I nod. “Point taken.”
“It just seems to me like yeah, when she was pregnant, she started making plans, and those plans included you being there in the long term. Which obviously scared the shit out of you, and I get that. But it’s like, now that things have gone the way they have, you guys still have a relationship. And it’s not that things are going to be exactly the same as they were before, and it’s not that you have to stay together, even, it’s just... I think if you’re looking for reasons to leave her, you’ve picked all the wrong ones.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. It probably came out wrong. Just... You can’t take things she said then and translate them to now. That doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t... It just doesn’t work. It’s like, she was probably rethinking her college plans to some extent when she found out she was pregnant, thinking about staying closer to home so that her parents could help out. Fine. But now that she’s not pregnant, don’t you think she’ll go back to her original plans?”
“I mean, I guess. But it’s different.”
“Yeah, of course it’s different. But you keep talking about what you think, based on presumptions about what she thinks. And you... I mean, you can’t know what she thinks if you don’t talk to her.”
“Interesting.”
He sighs. “You’re not going to talk to her, are you?”
“It’s just... We’ve been dating forever. And I don’t think... I mean, I don’t see the point in going to all this effort to make it work, when we’re going our separate ways in a few months, anyway.”
“The point? The point is that you love each other and you don’t just ditch somebody you love because things suck all of a sudden. Like, what’s the point in visiting your dad? Really? You’ve said yourself that he doesn’t know you’re there. You’ve said yourself that it feels futile and it makes you angry. What good does it do you? But you spend like, hours a day there. Because you don’t just ditch your family.”
“But... I don’t know. I mean, it’s different with my dad. He’s... You know. It’s just different.”
“Jesus, Adam, how long have you and Chelsea been dating?”
“Uh... Like a year and a half. Since the end of sophomore year.”
“She’s basically family. You talk to her more than you do your family. You bitch about her more than you do your family. At the very least you should call her and ask for her side of the story. Her new side. And if you still want to break up, that’s fine, but if you’re going to break it off, you owe her that much.”
I crack my knuckles. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
I pull open the chips and sit down on the edge of the table. “So, my mother told me I should come to Bible study tonight.”
“Doesn’t she tell you that every week?”
“Not really. It kind of caught me off guard.”
He nods. “Are you gonna go?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to... I don’t know, get along with her. She said she really wants me to come. It’s just... I mean, it’s Bible study. And it doesn’t help that I burst in there a couple weeks ago calling her a cheating whore.”
“No kidding.”
“I just... I don’t know. Now that Dad’s having all the heart problems and everything... Or I guess, now that we know about them, there’s this sense that I need to patch things up with her. I don’t even know where to start, though. I mean, seriously? Every time we have a decent conversation it ends in one of us storming out of the room. It’s like... We just don’t know how to talk to each other. We don’t have anything in common.”
“You want my advice?”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“Dude, she’s your mom. She will talk to you about anything you want. A fifteen minute conversation about exactly how many granules of sugar you like in your coffee would probably be the highlight of her day.”
“I mean, yeah, we can make mindless small talk. But... I don’t know. Things are just really tense.”
“Do yourself a favor?”
“Sure, why not.”
“Just... Go to Bible study. Tonight. She’s trying. You should try back.”
* * *
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.
I crack my knuckles.
“Tonight,” she says, speaking now to the six dozen people crowded into the room, “we’re going to talk about Job. I know that Christmas is next week, and maybe you all were expecting to talk about the Nativity story. To be honest, we could. It would make sense. The Nativity is a beautiful, beautiful story, and if any one of you hasn’t read it, you absolutely should. But tonight, tonight the focus is on Job. My son’s favorite.” She smiles down at me, rolling her eyes and laughing lightly. “This is my son Adam, for anyone who doesn’t recognize him. Adam hates the book of Job. I think a lot of people do. It’s not very uplifting. It’s not a feel-good book. But it’s my favorite, and it’s one I find myself coming back to almost daily, because even though it’s ugly and awful and it doesn’t give us any of the easy answers, it reminds me that trusting God, no matter what happens, is the most important thing.
“So let’s talk! I don’t see anyone unfamiliar in here; is anyone new this week? No? Awesome. Let’s jump right in, then. What do we know about Job?”
A middle-aged woman in the third row raises her hand. “He was cursed by God.”
“Interesting that you would say that. It’s not that you’re wrong, it’s just how you phrase it. Was he cursed? I think so. I really do. But the way we think of curses, or at least the way I think of curses, are as some kind of retribution. As if Job were being punished. But he wasn’t, was he?”
“No,” answers a man, sitting on the end of the front row. “It says in the very first verse. ‘The man was blameless.’”
“Right. So he wasn’t being punished. He had done nothing wrong. So why did God curse him?”
“To test him,” someone offers.
“Exactly. The whole idea of Job, what’s at the very heart of his story, is the idea that anybody can be a good person if he or she is untested. It’s not hard to love God when everything’s going your way, right? God had to know if Job’s faith was real. So He tested him. He killed his livestock, his family. He destroyed Job. He took Job’s perfect, God-fearing existence and turned it upside down. And Job was distraught, but he passed God’s test, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but God was kind of a dick about it.”
My mother looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “He did. He passed. His friends tried to convince him that he should forsake God, and Job looked to God for answers that he never received. But he trusted. And, remarkably, he praised God. He said, ‘The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’ Blessed be the name of the Lord. Job is the ultimate disciple of God, isn’t he? It’s not just that he doesn’t forsake God; he actually exhalts Him!”
“That would never actually happen, though.”
She looks down at me. “What, Adam?”
“That would never happen. Nobody’s actually like that. Nobody would do that. Job is just some unreachable ideal of piety. People aren’t like that. People are angry and vengeful and if you kill someone they love, they don’t forgive you, and they definitely don’t praise you. It’s just... It’s bullshit. Job is bullshit.”
Everyone stares at me. No one says a word.
“You’re right.”
I look up at her, startled. “What?”
“You’re right. I’ve never met anyone like Job. I’d like to. I can’t even imagine how much I could learn if I did. But do you think that, just because none of us are like him, his story is worthless? Don’t you think we could, at the very least, become better people just for trying to emulate Job?”
“God is supposed to be benevolent,” I reply. “And they say that free will, that’s what creates all the evil. That it’s man who is his own undoing. But that’s so not true. Yeah, if some guy shoots you, that was a product of free will. It’s bad enough that it’s not your fault, but it fits with the theory. Even starving people, fine, a product of free will. People throw out tons of food in rich countries, and there isn’t enough of it in poor countries. Unequal resources is human will begetting death and hunger. That works. But what about, I don’t know, diseases? How exactly does Dad fit in with all of that?”
She blinks a few times before turning to the group. “He’s talking about his father. My husband. Most of you probably know, but he has Huntington’s Disease. He’s been suffering for a long time.” She turns back to me. “I’m actually glad that you’re asking that. Because that’s what Job is all about. Diseases like Dad’s, or like anybody else’s, they’re not something we really understand. They just seem like malevolence, on God’s part. Destruction for the sake of destroying something. But that’s how it appears to us. We weren’t there! God gives this beautiful speech in Job about how He was the only one who was there when the universe was created, how He is the only one who can possibly understand its complexities. People get sick because God feels, or knows, really, that it’s necessary. It’s not that they’re being punished, and it’s not that anyone at all did anything wrong to make them that way. They just... Are. And it doesn’t seem fair, but justice isn’t something we get to decide. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s God’s plan. We just have to trust Him.”
I roll my eyes. “You seriously believe that? That Dad is dying for some greater good? How can you even say that with a straight face? Oh, God knows that Dad had to get sick. If he’s all-powerful like he’s supposed to be, then why couldn’t he find a way to get the same ‘greater good’ without killing my father?!”
“You can’t ask questions like that, honey. You can’t! That’s... That’s everything that the book of Job was given to us to warn against. You can’t question God, you can’t --”
“Yeah. I can. And... Given to us? What kind of shit is that? Like, thank God, I was just about to be tortured and discontent because my father’s dying this horrible death and I probably will, too, but I have Job and his shining, superhuman example to see me through! I’m so grateful!”
“But that’s what the Bible is all about, Adam. It’s about giving us examples. It’s about showing us people who are just like us, and people who are nothing like us, and giving us something to aspire to. It’s not supposed to alienate you.”
“Too late.” I stand, tossing my Bible onto the chair and picking up my coat. “I tried.”
“I know,” she says softly. “Thank you.”
I pull on my coat and walk out, looking straight down at the ground. It doesn’t help. I can feel them watching me.
Just before the door slams shut, I hear my mother, her voice shaking. “I told you he hated Job.”
* * *
Word Count (this update): 3155
Word Count (total): 38952
Almost to 40K. I'm actually feeling inspired today, and I'm trying to hit 40K before bed, but I decided to post this now. I've mapped out everything, K by K, until 50K, which seems to be making everything much easier. I do believe I might actually finish this thing! There was a whole lot of doubt there, at one point, but today has been a good day. Thanks for reading!
I stare at her for a moment before opening the door wider and waving her inside. “I know.”
She shoves her hands in her coat pockets. “And you haven’t been picking up.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
I sigh. “I thought we talked about this.”
“You talked. I didn’t get to talk. You did. You talked and then you hung up on me and it’s been four days and you haven’t picked up your phone yet.” She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment before continuing. “Look, I’m not trying to be the psycho ex-girlfriend here. But you’re just kind of being a jerk.”
“Okay.”
“’Okay?’ It’s not okay, Adam. Jesus. Did you really think... Look, I know I was a bitch to you that day, and everything, but --”
“That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?”
I sigh. “Not right now, Chelsea.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Then... Fine. Then stay. But I am. Leaving. So, uh... Whatever.” I open the closet and grab my coat. “Make yourself at home.”
“Seriously? You’re seriously doing this?”
I pull on my coat and open the door. “Yeah. I am.”
“You’re being kind of ridiculous.” She catches the door as it swings shut behind me, following me outside. “Adam. Seriously. We need --”
“We don’t need to do anything. We’re not dating. We’re not a couple. ‘We’ doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Why not?”
I roll my eyes and start down the walk towards the car, not looking at her. She runs to keep up with me.
“What changed?”
I shake my head, unlocking the car. “It’s not that easy.”
“Yeah. It is.” She pulls open the passenger door.
“Jesus Christ, Chelsea, I didn’t say you could come with me.”
“Then talk to me. I’ll get out if you just... Talk.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t have time for this.”
She sits down and buckles the seatbelt. “Then talk fast.”
I climb in and slam the door shut. “Are you seriously doing this?”
“You haven’t given me much of a choice.”
“Oh, God. I forgot to ask you how you wanted to be broken up with. Damn it. I knew I did something wrong.”
She crosses her arms. “You really don’t care, do you?”
“Of course I care.”
“No you don’t. You don’t care. Jesus, we’ve been going out for almost two years!” Her voice breaks. She looks away, shaking her head.
I sigh. “Don’t you think that’s... Long enough?”
“What, there’s a time limit on relationships? Seriously?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Yes you are. That’s not what you mean, but it’s what you’re saying.”
“Okay, fine. What do I mean?”
“You mean that you don’t love me.”
“This has nothing to do with that.”
She laughs. “Right. Sure.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Do you?”
I roll my eyes. “I just said --”
“You don’t.”
“Jesus Christ, Chelsea.”
“You used to,” she says earnestly, staring out the windshield. “I know you did. You used to...”
“Does it really matter?”
“Of course it matters! Are you stupid?”
“We’re not even together anymore!”
She bites the inside of her cheek, turning to look at me. “Why not?”
“What do you want, a list?”
“A list would be nice.”
I sigh, looking out the window. Snow falls haphazardly outside, individual flakes tumbling to the ground. “I don’t love you as much as you love me.”
“So you’re breaking up with me? That doesn’t even make sense.”
I tilt my head back, inhaling sharply. “We don’t belong together. I feel like you have my whole life planned out for me. Like... You want to be the one who’s there for me in the end, just to prove you can handle it. But that’s... It’s a long time from now. And I don’t want to spend my whole life with you, I don’t even... I just... If I don’t break up with you, I don’t think you’re ever going to be able to convince yourself to break up with me. So, yeah. I’m breaking up with you.” I pause, cracking my knuckles against the steering wheel. “Can you go now?”
“Okay.”
She climbs out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her. She gives me a long look through the window, her eyes bright with tears, before running to her own car and collapsing into the driver’s seat.
I gun the engine and take off without looking back.
“Chelsea came to see me.”
“Really?” Matt tosses me the bag of potato chips and leans back against the counter, sipping his soda. “She want to get back together?”
“I guess so.”
“And you don’t?”
I shrug. “I mean... I like the idea of having a girlfriend. I like the idea of having a life, period. But she’s... When she broke up with me, she said all these things, and I guess usually when people break up they say mean things because they’re angry? But she just said them like she was too tired not to say them anymore. And they were, I don’t know, true. I mean, her being pregnant wasn’t enough to make me want to commit to her. Seriously? If that doesn’t, then what will? I feel like she’s in this for the long haul and I’m just some chump who somehow got sucked up in her plans.”
He nods slowly, cocking his head to one side. “Makes sense.”
“I love her, I guess, it’s just... I don’t know, she says all these things to me, like I make her head quiet, or some shit, and it’s like... She really loves me. Like, in this big, ugly, intense way that I can’t even imagine. I just... I don’t feel that way about her. She doesn’t make my head quiet. She doesn’t bring out the best in me. Most of the time she brings out something really gross and awful in me. And that’s not... I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with her. Most of the time I don’t even want to spend a night with her. And I guess it’s been like that for awhile, I just haven’t wanted to see it. Because she gets me. And it’s exhausting, to get to know somebody well enough that they get you. And it was just... Convenient. I guess. But that’s not how she feels about me. I’m not convenient for her, I’m messy and annoying and difficult, but she wants to be with me anyway. And it just doesn’t seem fair.”
“But you love her.”
“Sure. I just... I don’t want to be with her forever. And it seems like that’s what she wants from me.”
He nods. “Right.”
“I just feel kind of guilty about the whole thing.”
“You want my opinion?”
I shrug. “Sure.”
“No, seriously. I don’t want you to get all huffy over me meddling.”
“I said sure.”
“Okay.” He clears his throat, shifting his jaw from side to side for a moment before continuing. “I just... It doesn’t seem like you’ve heard much of what she has to say about this.”
“She told me she wanted to be my family.”
“Does she say that now or did she say that when she was pregnant?”
I nod. “Point taken.”
“It just seems to me like yeah, when she was pregnant, she started making plans, and those plans included you being there in the long term. Which obviously scared the shit out of you, and I get that. But it’s like, now that things have gone the way they have, you guys still have a relationship. And it’s not that things are going to be exactly the same as they were before, and it’s not that you have to stay together, even, it’s just... I think if you’re looking for reasons to leave her, you’ve picked all the wrong ones.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. It probably came out wrong. Just... You can’t take things she said then and translate them to now. That doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t... It just doesn’t work. It’s like, she was probably rethinking her college plans to some extent when she found out she was pregnant, thinking about staying closer to home so that her parents could help out. Fine. But now that she’s not pregnant, don’t you think she’ll go back to her original plans?”
“I mean, I guess. But it’s different.”
“Yeah, of course it’s different. But you keep talking about what you think, based on presumptions about what she thinks. And you... I mean, you can’t know what she thinks if you don’t talk to her.”
“Interesting.”
He sighs. “You’re not going to talk to her, are you?”
“It’s just... We’ve been dating forever. And I don’t think... I mean, I don’t see the point in going to all this effort to make it work, when we’re going our separate ways in a few months, anyway.”
“The point? The point is that you love each other and you don’t just ditch somebody you love because things suck all of a sudden. Like, what’s the point in visiting your dad? Really? You’ve said yourself that he doesn’t know you’re there. You’ve said yourself that it feels futile and it makes you angry. What good does it do you? But you spend like, hours a day there. Because you don’t just ditch your family.”
“But... I don’t know. I mean, it’s different with my dad. He’s... You know. It’s just different.”
“Jesus, Adam, how long have you and Chelsea been dating?”
“Uh... Like a year and a half. Since the end of sophomore year.”
“She’s basically family. You talk to her more than you do your family. You bitch about her more than you do your family. At the very least you should call her and ask for her side of the story. Her new side. And if you still want to break up, that’s fine, but if you’re going to break it off, you owe her that much.”
I crack my knuckles. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good.”
I pull open the chips and sit down on the edge of the table. “So, my mother told me I should come to Bible study tonight.”
“Doesn’t she tell you that every week?”
“Not really. It kind of caught me off guard.”
He nods. “Are you gonna go?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to... I don’t know, get along with her. She said she really wants me to come. It’s just... I mean, it’s Bible study. And it doesn’t help that I burst in there a couple weeks ago calling her a cheating whore.”
“No kidding.”
“I just... I don’t know. Now that Dad’s having all the heart problems and everything... Or I guess, now that we know about them, there’s this sense that I need to patch things up with her. I don’t even know where to start, though. I mean, seriously? Every time we have a decent conversation it ends in one of us storming out of the room. It’s like... We just don’t know how to talk to each other. We don’t have anything in common.”
“You want my advice?”
I shrug. “Whatever.”
“Dude, she’s your mom. She will talk to you about anything you want. A fifteen minute conversation about exactly how many granules of sugar you like in your coffee would probably be the highlight of her day.”
“I mean, yeah, we can make mindless small talk. But... I don’t know. Things are just really tense.”
“Do yourself a favor?”
“Sure, why not.”
“Just... Go to Bible study. Tonight. She’s trying. You should try back.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.
I crack my knuckles.
“Tonight,” she says, speaking now to the six dozen people crowded into the room, “we’re going to talk about Job. I know that Christmas is next week, and maybe you all were expecting to talk about the Nativity story. To be honest, we could. It would make sense. The Nativity is a beautiful, beautiful story, and if any one of you hasn’t read it, you absolutely should. But tonight, tonight the focus is on Job. My son’s favorite.” She smiles down at me, rolling her eyes and laughing lightly. “This is my son Adam, for anyone who doesn’t recognize him. Adam hates the book of Job. I think a lot of people do. It’s not very uplifting. It’s not a feel-good book. But it’s my favorite, and it’s one I find myself coming back to almost daily, because even though it’s ugly and awful and it doesn’t give us any of the easy answers, it reminds me that trusting God, no matter what happens, is the most important thing.
“So let’s talk! I don’t see anyone unfamiliar in here; is anyone new this week? No? Awesome. Let’s jump right in, then. What do we know about Job?”
A middle-aged woman in the third row raises her hand. “He was cursed by God.”
“Interesting that you would say that. It’s not that you’re wrong, it’s just how you phrase it. Was he cursed? I think so. I really do. But the way we think of curses, or at least the way I think of curses, are as some kind of retribution. As if Job were being punished. But he wasn’t, was he?”
“No,” answers a man, sitting on the end of the front row. “It says in the very first verse. ‘The man was blameless.’”
“Right. So he wasn’t being punished. He had done nothing wrong. So why did God curse him?”
“To test him,” someone offers.
“Exactly. The whole idea of Job, what’s at the very heart of his story, is the idea that anybody can be a good person if he or she is untested. It’s not hard to love God when everything’s going your way, right? God had to know if Job’s faith was real. So He tested him. He killed his livestock, his family. He destroyed Job. He took Job’s perfect, God-fearing existence and turned it upside down. And Job was distraught, but he passed God’s test, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but God was kind of a dick about it.”
My mother looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “He did. He passed. His friends tried to convince him that he should forsake God, and Job looked to God for answers that he never received. But he trusted. And, remarkably, he praised God. He said, ‘The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’ Blessed be the name of the Lord. Job is the ultimate disciple of God, isn’t he? It’s not just that he doesn’t forsake God; he actually exhalts Him!”
“That would never actually happen, though.”
She looks down at me. “What, Adam?”
“That would never happen. Nobody’s actually like that. Nobody would do that. Job is just some unreachable ideal of piety. People aren’t like that. People are angry and vengeful and if you kill someone they love, they don’t forgive you, and they definitely don’t praise you. It’s just... It’s bullshit. Job is bullshit.”
Everyone stares at me. No one says a word.
“You’re right.”
I look up at her, startled. “What?”
“You’re right. I’ve never met anyone like Job. I’d like to. I can’t even imagine how much I could learn if I did. But do you think that, just because none of us are like him, his story is worthless? Don’t you think we could, at the very least, become better people just for trying to emulate Job?”
“God is supposed to be benevolent,” I reply. “And they say that free will, that’s what creates all the evil. That it’s man who is his own undoing. But that’s so not true. Yeah, if some guy shoots you, that was a product of free will. It’s bad enough that it’s not your fault, but it fits with the theory. Even starving people, fine, a product of free will. People throw out tons of food in rich countries, and there isn’t enough of it in poor countries. Unequal resources is human will begetting death and hunger. That works. But what about, I don’t know, diseases? How exactly does Dad fit in with all of that?”
She blinks a few times before turning to the group. “He’s talking about his father. My husband. Most of you probably know, but he has Huntington’s Disease. He’s been suffering for a long time.” She turns back to me. “I’m actually glad that you’re asking that. Because that’s what Job is all about. Diseases like Dad’s, or like anybody else’s, they’re not something we really understand. They just seem like malevolence, on God’s part. Destruction for the sake of destroying something. But that’s how it appears to us. We weren’t there! God gives this beautiful speech in Job about how He was the only one who was there when the universe was created, how He is the only one who can possibly understand its complexities. People get sick because God feels, or knows, really, that it’s necessary. It’s not that they’re being punished, and it’s not that anyone at all did anything wrong to make them that way. They just... Are. And it doesn’t seem fair, but justice isn’t something we get to decide. I know it sounds cliché, but it’s God’s plan. We just have to trust Him.”
I roll my eyes. “You seriously believe that? That Dad is dying for some greater good? How can you even say that with a straight face? Oh, God knows that Dad had to get sick. If he’s all-powerful like he’s supposed to be, then why couldn’t he find a way to get the same ‘greater good’ without killing my father?!”
“You can’t ask questions like that, honey. You can’t! That’s... That’s everything that the book of Job was given to us to warn against. You can’t question God, you can’t --”
“Yeah. I can. And... Given to us? What kind of shit is that? Like, thank God, I was just about to be tortured and discontent because my father’s dying this horrible death and I probably will, too, but I have Job and his shining, superhuman example to see me through! I’m so grateful!”
“But that’s what the Bible is all about, Adam. It’s about giving us examples. It’s about showing us people who are just like us, and people who are nothing like us, and giving us something to aspire to. It’s not supposed to alienate you.”
“Too late.” I stand, tossing my Bible onto the chair and picking up my coat. “I tried.”
“I know,” she says softly. “Thank you.”
I pull on my coat and walk out, looking straight down at the ground. It doesn’t help. I can feel them watching me.
Just before the door slams shut, I hear my mother, her voice shaking. “I told you he hated Job.”
Word Count (this update): 3155
Word Count (total): 38952
Almost to 40K. I'm actually feeling inspired today, and I'm trying to hit 40K before bed, but I decided to post this now. I've mapped out everything, K by K, until 50K, which seems to be making everything much easier. I do believe I might actually finish this thing! There was a whole lot of doubt there, at one point, but today has been a good day. Thanks for reading!
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