She then informed me of our homework assignments, because she wasn’t coming over. Her mother wanted her to go with her to buy some new clothes for the approaching winter.
“If you want, you could come along. Maybe you’ll see something you want or need.”
One of the things I liked about Lila was how casual she was about inviting me to do things with her family. My other girlfriends were tentative about it. I think they believed my participating in events with their mothers or mothers and fathers would be painful for me. It was reminding me that I didn’t have parents, only grandparents. Even when Grandma Arnold was alive and well enough, we didn’t do half as much as my girlfriends and their mothers did together. The truth was, I did feel different and a little uncomfortable doing things with my girlfriends and their parents. How could I not remember times I had gone places with my own parents or with just my mother? Lila either was indifferent to my feelings about it or never really noticed.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll just stick to my homework and be sure I feel better for tomorrow.”
“There’s talk of a party next weekend,” she said. “Audrey O’Brian’s parents said she could use their basement, and you know how big that is. We could hold a school dance in it. They have that jukebox and pool table. It’ll be lots of fun.”
“Maybe I won’t be invited.”
“Oh, no. I already spoke to her,” she followed too quickly, almost swallowing back her words.
“Spoke to her? What’s that mean?”
She was quiet, knowing she had taken a step too far to pull back. “Oh, she was just worried you weren’t ready yet,” she finally revealed.
“So she thought I might spoil her party, depress everyone?”
“Oh, no, no.”
“What did you do to convince her I was ready?” I added. How can yo
u think like that, anyway? I wondered. Was getting over your little brother’s death something you declared “done” at some point so that you could be “ready”?
Again, she was silent.
Another thought occurred to me. “Lila? You didn’t say anything about the boy in Willie’s room and what we did with my brother’s toys?”
“Oh, no, no, no. I just told her you needed to get out and be with your friends now. It would be good for you.”
“Good for me?” Funny how fast you can become a charity case in this world, I thought, now thinking of both myself and the boy.
“Yes. She agreed, and she was happy about your coming. Really. Everyone wants you . . .”
Don’t say “to get better,” I thought. Maybe she heard me think it.
“To be part of everything.”
“I’ll think about it,” I added.
“Aaron is hoping you’ll come,” she sang.
“I said I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. I’ll check on you later,” Lila said.
“Right.”
Check on me, I thought. See if I’m still here.
And what if I had really been sick last night and this morning? I wondered. What if I had died? Would Grandpa Arnold go looking for a poor girl my age who needed tender loving care and put her in my room, give her my clothes, my things, and call her Clara Sue?
After I hung up, I did get into my homework. I wanted to do whatever I could not to think about it all, even though it was nearly impossible. Right now, all my good memories of my parents, my grandma Arnold, our seemingly charmed lives, full of laughter and the wonderful surprises Daddy would bring home to my mother and Willie and me, seemed more like fiction. Was there really ever a time when I felt safe and protected, when the worst disappointment might be having to go to sleep too early or having it rain on the day we were going to the funfair? Could I say we lived a charmed life, never wanting for anything?
We didn’t simply have expensive clothes and cars and homes. Our family was glued together with love. Kisses fell over us like warm raindrops. Not a day went by without warm hugs. We truly cherished one another and welcomed every chance to touch one another. Laughter was the music we heard daily. It got so that I never even contemplated real sadness and unhappiness.
Perhaps there was a part of me now, a part that was self-protective, that deliberately made my memories of good times distant and vague. Anyone who had gone through what I had could spend the rest of her life in a sulk, hating the sunshine, hating the smiles on other people’s faces, and even hating the sound of her name, for no one said it as beautifully as my parents and Willie had. Not even my grandfather or Myra or My Faith. Remember and suffer, I told myself, or get up and do everything you can to forget and live.