"You better not." she told me before she left when I wondered about it aloud. "You have to take better care of yourself so you can look after Mama better, too," she warned..
Mama needed looking after. She had withdrawn into herself so deeply we both thought it would be difficult, if not impossible, to bring her back out.
"We're all she has now." Brenda said, "You've got to get her to think about herself. Be cheery, upbeat. Join something like the drama club, if not one of the teams. Make her come out to see you do things. You understand. April. It's going to be up to you now,"
I nodded, terrified of the responsibility.
"Maybe Uncle Palaver will be back soon." I said.
"He won't, and besides, he won't be here long if he is. That's not the solution. April. Mama is our problem."
She smiled.
"You'll be all right. You'll see," she said. "I'll call often, and you'll come visit me when you can." "Really'?"
"Of course," she said. "I'll want you to bring Mama to the big games. too."
I didn't think I would cry the day she left. I was older now, not only because of time but because of what we had experienced. I wanted to be more like Brenda. I wanted to have her strength and her steely eves and stoic face when I would most need it.
Mama had given Brenda her car, since we had Daddy's car now, too. I watched her pack and helped her load the car. When it was time for her to go. Mama and I walked out to the driveway to hug and kiss her good-bye.
She glanced at the basketball net and
backboard. She squinted. and, like her. I could hear Daddy's laughter.
"I'11 tell you both a secret," she said, still looking at the net. "It didn't matter that he wasn't there at the end, that he didn't come with you to the games and cheer with you."
She looked at me. Her gaze was firm, her eyes assured and focused the way she could make them when she put her whole heart into what she would do or say.
"He was always there. I saw him." "Yes," Mama said, nodding and smiling.
"Don't you go gaining back a single ounce. April. I'm warning you," she said.
"I won't. I promise."
She got into her car and started the engine.
"Be careful, honey," Mama said.
Brenda nodded and winked at me. My big sister winked at me, and then she drove off slowly, turning out of the driveway and moving until she was c,one.
Mama shook off a sob and put her arm around me.
We stood there staring after Brenda, both of us scared to admit how afraid we were of the silence that lingered.
Both of us scared of tomorrow.
6 Celia's Visit
Summer seemed to take forever to end after Brenda left us. I would sit on the grass and then lie back and look up at the sky, just watching the wind move clouds lazily. Sometimes I did it right after one of my runs. I fried having the same enthusiasm about the exercise that I had when Brenda was running beside me or just ahead of me. It was harder to keep it up. but I wanted to do it for her as much as for myself. I couldn't disappoint her. I didn't want her to give up on me.
But it was a lonely time for me. The few friends I had were away for the summer at camps or on family trips. It got so I wanted to sleep later so there would be less time to be awake and the day would pass faster. I was actually glad when school finally began, even though I had a hard time getting back into a regular schedule of activities. I just wanted to drift like those clouds I watched.
My English teacher quoted Henry David Thoreau one day and said. "Time is the stream I go a fishing in." We were learning how different authors treated the concept of time in their works. Thoreau, he said, didn't live his life according to any schedule or any clock. He didn't have appointments hanging over his head. He ignored it all and enjoyed life. When I heard all this and read some of it. I became envious. How wonderful not to care about anything but the moment, to be able to relax and daydream with no one standing over me, reminding me of my
responsibilities.
I also wondered, why teach us about Thoreau? Why torment us? How could we escape from reacting to the ringing of bells, being late, worrying about tomorrow and the days left until an assignment was due? How could we escape from torturing ourselves about our future, our graduation day? For us, the clock was ticking like a time bomb. Time wasn't a stream. Minutes weren't drops of water. They were little bees stinging us every time we dared slack off.