by Aimee Herman
“Well, I had a sense after the second week of group. I didn’t initially make the connection, but then I started to think that it might be you. So, the night you and your mom came over for supper, I moved it to an obvious spot in his bedroom and hoped you’d grab it. Maybe he didn’t intend for you to read it, Eleanor, but he was writing to you. Reaching out somehow. I just wish he could have been a little louder about it.”
Suddenly, your mom started to cry. By now, we were upstairs, stopped in the bathroom. I ripped off some toilet paper and handed it to her.
“Yeah, but the thing is he couldn’t. Or he felt like he couldn’t. His only way was writing, I guess. I’m so glad you shared his journal with me. Helaine, the thing is that I really thought he was awful. I mean, he bullied me pretty bad. But reading his notebook, I realize that we weren’t so different. We could have been friends. We could have been really good friends.”
By then, we were both crying. She hugged me and we both got a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror and started to laugh.
“Yup, typical Thanksgiving,” I said. “Tears and over-sharing,” I smiled.
After dinner of homemade chicken soup, turkey, roast beef (Greta insisted), cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans with fried onions spread on top, and some kind of black bean dish that Flor brought that tasted so good I almost forgot about all that meat, we found ourselves in the family room. My stomach looked and felt as though a fully inflated balloon was living inside of it.
I felt overly aware of wanting to make your dad comfortable, I’m not sure why. Maybe I felt a little guilty that I already didn’t like him even before we met, based on some things you had written in your journal. Conversation flowed throughout dinner, until the moment Shirley pushed it in a dangerous direction.
“What made you want to be a pastor, Mr. Bianchi?” Shirley asked.
He slowly put down his fork and grabbed the napkin from his lap to wipe his mouth.
“When I realized how important it is spread the word of God,” he said, plainly.
“Burt writes the most beautiful sermons,” Helaine said.
“I grew up Catholic, but don’t practice too much these days,” Flor said.
“You said it right. It’s all about practicing. I like being part of something that reminds me that the work is never done,” your dad said.
As I sat, cutting the gristle away from the roast beef, I glared at Greta, trying to silently scream at her to change the subject. Dad always said two things that should never be discussed with mixed company: religion and politics.
“. . . and that’s why I believe we were in a much better place with Bush. I just don’t trust these Democrats. And what these kids are being taught in school? Health class should be about just that: health. Sex talk should come from the parents. And don’t get me started on this epidemic of homosexuality in . . .”
Oh no, oh no! James, I almost started screaming. Anything to get us off the do-not-discuss topics. Luckily, Shirley saved us all.
“Well, I must confess I cannot wait to try your coconut cream pie, Helaine. Is it a family recipe?”
And then, we were onto dessert and recipe-swapping and goodbyes.
James, even though I’m an atheist, I do think religion is cool. I mean, all these different traditions and wardrobes people wear to celebrate their God and prayers and songs. I think it’s beautiful, actually. Stained glass and organ music and the smell of polished wood from the pews (when I was a kid, I called them pee-ews because I hated the way the polish smelled, but now I really like it). But what I don’t like is when a religion tries to exclude someone because of what they believe or how they are. It made me think of one of your journal entries I just read.
DEAR ELINORE,
I’VE STOPPED GOING TO CHURCH. I USED TO BE ABLE TO GO AND JUST IGNORE HOW IT MADE ME FEEL. I DON’T BELIEVE IN HELL, IN A PLACE WHERE PEOPLE ARE PUNISHED. I MEAN, WE DON’T REALLY HAVE TO WAIT FOR DEATH FOR THAT. I BELIEVE DEATH IS DARK AND QUIET AND THERE IS NO FLOATING OR VISITING PEOPLE WE LEFT BEHIND. IT’S JUST THE END. I’M PLENTY READY FOR THAT. I USED TO LISTEN TO NIRVANA IN MY HEAD DURING THE SERVICE. I KNOW ALL THE SONGS SO WELL, THAT I CAN JUST IMAGINE THEM AND THEY PLAY AUTOMATICALLY.
SO WHEN EVERYONE ELSE WAS SINGING “O FOR A THOUSAND TONGUES TO SING”, I WAS SECRETLY LISTENING TO “HAIRSPRAY QUEEN”. THE ONE THING MY DAD CAN’T CONTROL: WHAT I THINK ABOUT. HERE’S ANOTHER THING. SOMETIMES I’D IMAGINE BRIAN’S TONGUE IN MY MOUTH WHILE DAD WAS DOING HIS LONG-WINDED SERMON. THE SMELL OF BRIAN’S BREATH, A LITTLE LIKE SLAMI SALAMI AND SWISS CHEESE, BUT PROBABLY BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT HE ATE BEFORE WE KISSED.
I BELIEVE IN GOD. BUT I BELIEVE IN A GOD THAT BELIEVES IN EVERYONE. MY GOD IS DEFINITELY DIFFERENT FROM MY DAD’S.
Friday, November 26
Dear James,
Greta came into my room before I even had the chance to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“You up? I can’t believe how full I still am. Hey, scooch over.” Greta slid beneath the covers and I could smell coffee on her breath.
“You know, I miss you,” she said.
I smiled. “Are you . . . are you okay?” I asked.
“The truth is, I kind of almost dropped out this semester.”
I just stared, waiting for her to go on. The way the early morning sun was streaming through my window was cinematic. Beams of sunshine bursting through the glass, creating shadows all over my room. It was difficult not to immediately think about Aggie. I just know that she would have not only noticed the light, but she’d stop everything to grab her notebook and write its description down.
“I didn’t. I mean, I’m still there. I’m going to classes, but I wound up dropping two of them: Philosophy and Intro to Sociology. Eleanor . . .” She paused, grabbing at her hair and swinging all of it to the side. She let it rest on her right shoulder and I watched her study the ends as though someone had written messages on them or something.
“Ugh, I need a haircut. I should have asked Mom to make me an appointment.”
“Greta?”
“I . . . I wasn’t going to tell you. I don’t know. Maybe . . . maybe it’s not necessary for you to know. I guess, I . . .”
“I don’t understand.”
“That guy I told you about. The one I was dating, you know? Well, it started to get kind of serious. And umm . . . well, I know you know I’ve been on birth control.”
“Uhh—”
“El, I know you used to snoop in my drawers.” She laughed, clearly finding some sense of humor over my invasion of her privacy. She grabbed my knee and squeezed it. “I love you. Even though you’re the biggest snooper in the world! Anyway, last month, I . . . I got an abortion.”
We sat inside that sentence for a really long time. I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t know if I should hug her or cry.
“Jenné came with me. She’s in my Lit class and she’s like my best friend there. She understood. I mean, she actually got an abortion when she was a senior in high school. Believe it or not, her mom took her. Can you even imagine Mom doing such a thing? I could never, ever tell her. It all kind of happened like a dream. A fog or whatever. I was late, which I never am. And I hated myself so much because I stopped taking my birth control—”
“Why?”
“It was making my skin break out all the time and I just hated all the side effects, you know? I feel like I gained so much weight from it. I mean, I know there’s that freshman fifteen thing, but it’s not like I eat all the time. Mom hasn’t put you on it, has she?”
I looked at her, unclear as to what she was asking me.
“I mean, you are too young to be having sex, Eleanor, but it’s about precaution. Also, plenty of girls go on birth control just because their periods are awful. Remember Heather? She would bleed out through her under—”
“Yuck. Enough said.”
“Well, when you’re ready, just know that Mom will take you. Anyway, we used condoms. Most of the time. And I guess this particular time . . .” Greta’
s voice trailed off and I watched her mouth still move a little, but it was as though someone turned her sound off. I wasn’t used to her being so open and free with me. I liked it.
“It’s weird. I knew almost right away. I know that sounds strange, but really I did.” Greta stopped and I watched her move her eyes around, as if searching for a translation.
“I remember the first time I went to the store to pick up tampons. What a nightmare. Usually Mom bought them for me, but I really needed some and none of my friends had any. So, I went to CVS and of course Kurt Ettinger was working there, who I had a major crush on at the time! Why is it so embarrassing, you know? It’s like a necessary thing. And boys must know that we wear them. But at the time, I was mortified. I was probably sweating a lot and made absolutely no eye contact. I think I threw in a pack of gum or something, thinking he’d focus on that over the super-super-absorbent tampons. Nightmare! Anyway, I kind of felt that shame when I had to buy a pregnancy test. It’s like such a strange thing because I felt totally judged.
“Weeks earlier, I went to the store and bought a ton of junk food. Just a buffet of sugar, you know? And the girl behind the counter couldn’t care less that I was feeding my body toxins. But a pregnancy test! It’s like I could feel her bury me in judgment!”
I laughed, secretly wishing that she was still living here or that I was living closer to her so that I could have gone with her. I would have even bought the pregnancy test for her myself. Of course, I didn’t tell her this. Instead I remained silent.
“Would you believe that the lady behind the counter actually said, ‘good luck’ to me right before I left?! But her tone, El. Like pity. Like such fear that a young person would dare bring another baby into this world. And who knew pregnancy tests were so expensive!”
“So . . .”
“So, I went back to the dorm and luckily it was the middle of the day. I totally skipped classes. I had to. It’s all just a bunch of stalls, but I was the only one there. I waited five minutes and then . . . two lines.”
“Two lines?”
“Pregnant. What does it say about me that I didn’t even think for a moment that I’d keep it? I just knew I’d get an abortion. There was no other option. I mean, I know in theory I could have done the adoption thing or even keep it. No, no. I just couldn’t. I mean, I barely know how to do my own laundry. I always shrink things. My life would be . . .”
Greta stopped again. No words, though her lips continued to quiver as though sound was echoing out. I waited.
“Jenné had confided in me that she’d had an abortion. I knew I could tell her and she could help me out. So, I went to Planned Parenthood. This place where women can—”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. You can get abortions there?”
“Well, yeah, but at first I just spoke with someone. This really nice lady who was super kind to me. And she told me about my options. I learned about what really happens during an abortion and how my body might feel afterwards. She told me to think it over for at least a week. Actually she said, ‘Make a decision in your mind and then live inside that decision for a week. Think about your body and mind. Think about regret and acceptance.’ Then, she told me that when I was ready, I could make an appointment. So, I thought. And thought. And then I made my appointment.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Mostly afterwards. It was such an intense decision to make and I was just really in a bad place. It made me scared that I would lose it like Mom did. Because it’s in us, you know? That crazy. I mean, I got really sad afterwards. Not from regret, but just that I had sucked this part of me—that I never even got to see—out of my body.”
“What about the guy? Did you tell him?”
“I wasn’t going to, but then Jenné said I should. That it was his right to know. I told him before I made the appointment. He was glad I decided to get an abortion but made no effort to come with me or call to see if I was even okay afterwards. He didn’t even offer to help pay for it. I hate him now. Anyway, I am telling you this because I don’t want you to make the same mistake. Of getting pregnant, you know?”
“I’m not too worried about that.”
“Well, good. But also, you never know.”
“I’m pretty sure I won’t be getting pregnant accidentally,” I smiled.
“El, you know I started having sex in high school.”
“Yeah, I know. I almost lost the ability to eat that time I overheard you and Vegetarian Todd.”
Greta laughed so hard that the bed shook.
“Greta . . .”
“Do you think differently of me now? Are you disappointed in me?”
“I’m definitely not disappointed in you,” I said. “I can’t . . . actually I’m just really surprised that you told me. It means a lot to me.”
Great smiled slowly. A hesitant spread of her lips. And then she leaned over and hugged me.
James, I felt you beside me, nudging me not to wimp out. I know I’ve created a version of you in my head that may not be so accurate.
“And El, I’ve wanted to reach out about James. I’m really sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I didn’t . . . we barely . . . it was more upsetting because of just, you know, it didn’t have to happen. But I feel lucky that I got to meet Helaine. I actually feel helpful, being able to talk with her and listen too.”
“Definitely. I’m glad you’re still going to the support group. And mom said she’s been going to one too? How’s she really been? She seems in good spirits, but she does love cooking for people. Actually, it was cool to have some more people here. Without Dad, it’s quiet. Emptier, you know?”
“Yeah, she’s been okay. I think she’s making friends. She’s mentioned a few names. Gret, do you ever feel like it could happen again?”
“It?”
“Shirley . . . trying to . . . kill herself again,” I said.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I try not to think about it. If I do, I’ll just obsess. We need to keep living life. That’s what Peter said, remember? He said living is contagious.”
“Yeah, I guess. I’m trying.”
“Tell me more. How’s Dara?”
When Gret still lived at home, we barely spoke to each other. It’s like we were strangers with the same last name. But now with her being away at college, it’s like suddenly we were more interested in each other’s lives.
“We hate each other,” I said. Then, I realized, that to tell her why we were fighting, I needed to come out to Greta.
Coming out: Take three!
James, have you ever accidentally swallowed a piece of celery without chewing? The feeling of its weight lodged in your throat, scraping its way down. You think you’re gonna choke, but your throat takes over and digests it, and it takes all the wind out of you. You need to lie down, catch your breath, maybe even take a nap. That’s how it feels to come out each time.
“Actually the reason we aren’t talking anymore is I guess she’s kinda homophobic.”
“Really? She was always cool to Flor. Did she say something mean about her?”
“No, not Flor.” Deep breath, Eleanor, you can do this. “Me.”
I looked at Greta and watched her consume my syllable, slowly figuring out what I was actually telling her.
“Wait, are you . . . did she . . . El, you’re . . .”
“Gay,” I said.
Every time we meet someone new, we have to tell them our names. It helps them identify us, give them a way to address us. But no one ever hears someone’s name and then says: nope, that name is disgusting, can’t be your friend now. I was thinking about this as I stared at Gret taking in my news because being gay is really just the same thing. It’s just a part of me. Like my name because I didn’t choose that either. Yet, unlike my name, someone may stop talking to me because of it. That part scares me. Kinda makes me angry too.
“Have you told Mom?”
“Yeah, and Flor too. They’re cool with it. I guess I wasn’t too worried. Are
you . . .”
“Cool with it? Eleanor, I’m amazed by you. For you to be so bold already. Doesn’t change how I feel about you at all. Wait till you get to college. So many people are gay and no one cares!”
My heart sunk. James, a few more years and you could have been out, maybe even in another state. Far away from your dad. But you couldn’t wait, I guess.
“I’m disappointed by Dara. What did she say exactly?”
“It’s more like what she didn’t say. I mean, actually, she kinda outed me to myself. Just because I cut all my hair off. And then when I said that I was a lesbian, she was weirded out. Worse, her stupid boyfriend made fun of me in front of her and she didn’t even say anything. But I’ve made a new friend this year and she’s really wonderful. She totally accepts me.”
“You gonna tell Dad?” Greta asked.
“Of course, just maybe not this weekend. I don’t know. You’re lucky. You don’t have to make some grand announcements that you’re straight. Everyone just assumes it already.”
DEAR ELINORE.
I SHARE A BIRTHDAY WITH WILLIAM PAILES. YOU PROBABLY DON’T KNOW WHO HE IS, BUT WHEN I DID A REPORT IN SIXTH GRADE ABOUT FAMOUS PEOPLE FROM NEW JERSEY, I LEARNED ABOUT HIM. HE’S AN ASTRONAUT AND WE WERE BOTH BORN JUNE 26TH, JUST MANY, MANY YEARS APART. WILL I EVER BE IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO BE MENTIONED IN SOMEONE’S SCHOOL REPORT? PART OF ME HOPES SO, BUT AT THE END OF EACH DAY I WONDER HOW I’LL MAKE IT TO THE NEXT.
Saturday, November 27
Dear James,
I may need to get a new notebook because so much happened yesterday, I can barely believe it all fit inside one day!
After a restless sleep full of dreams about dancing turkeys and oceans full of cornstarch and chicken bouillon, Shirley announced that she wanted to take me clothes shopping.
“You wear the same thing every day,” she said. “You’re beginning to smell.”
To say that I hate shopping is not strong enough. Is loathe meaner than hate? I would rather dig beneath my fingernails and pull them up. Then eat them. Then regurgitate them. Then eat that.
