by Mark Tiro
What could it hurt? I asked myself. It was just one small thing. And in any event, I could barely read any of my scribbling by this point anyway.
The one little thing that I added to the end of my list was this. I wished that when I went home, I could have a normal family, that dad would live long enough to see me grow up.
I wished for Sean to be happy, to get married and have a family.
There was someone I was missing, but I couldn’t think of who. I put the pen down and looked off into the distance trying to remember what I was missing. I let my mind wander and lapsed into a daydream.
At last, it finally came to me. A memory flickered, though it wasn’t much more than a name.
Tom.
I realized now that in all my frenetic action to fill my list with only good things, I had scarcely given Tom a thought.
As soon as I’d written the words, a memory flickered.
It was a memory of previous things I’d put on my list going really, really wrong. Actually, as soon as I’d thought of this, I realized that there were lots of these memories.
But it was too late now.
My wish for Sean to be happy had been the last thing I’d written on my list. Without thinking, I’d put down my pen. While I was daydreaming and my mind was wandering, that old familiar popping sound with all the changes it brings had come and gone. I had been so absorbed in my thoughts that, this last time—I hadn’t even noticed.
The next time I looked up, I found myself sitting at home again, in my room, drained and completely exhausted.
On the table next to me sat the list. It was opened to the page I’d just finished writing in. Next to it sat the pen.
22
Twenty-Two
“Are you just about ready to go?”
“What?” I stammered at Sean, who was poking his head in the door. The last thing I remembered was my frenzied writing, filling my list, one last thing, one last time…. But Sean seemed anxious to get moving, and so I tried to pull myself together as best I could.
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready.”
I looked around my room to see if I’d laid out any clothes to wear. That’s when I noticed the first difference.
On my bookshelf, there was a framed picture of our whole family. It was Sean, me and Tom in the front with mom and dad behind. It looked like it could’ve been taken yesterday… except that everyone looked happy.
Happy.
Like, literally—everyone. Even mom. Even Tom.
Even me.
I shuddered as the thought of him came into my mind. It was still something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, though.
“We’re going to watch Tom. His team made the conference finals. If they win today, they’ll make sectionals. They’re good enough this year that they may even be able to make State.”
“And mom? She has enough energy to come?”
“Of course she does,” he grinned. “I know, though, huh? She does so much, taking care of dad and us. She’s like that bunny that just won’t stop.”
Okay. That proves it. Something’s definitely not right.
This is not right. None of this is right.
I wanted to scream it out, but I decided to keep quiet, to see what else might have changed, too. Just in case.
“Okay, just give me a second to get ready,” I said. “I’ll be quick.” I said it calmly.
Sooooo calmly.
The second the door closed, though, I grabbed my pillow, put it to my mouth and screamed into it as loud as I could.
What is this? I raged. What has happened?? What have I done???
“Done.” I moved the pillow and repeated the word slowly. Deliberately.
I am just done with this, I resolved. Done. Done!
Then I threw the pillow down, dove back onto my bed, and grabbed my list.
This is it, I thought. This is too much. Everything just revolves around Tom like nothing ever happened, doesn’t it? Just like he’s a saint. I simmered and fumed. He’s always the golden child!
I raged. In my mind, I raged like there was no tomorrow.
And mom? And dad, too? And this damn list! This list—whatever I had written in those last frenzied entries—it was all just too much. I just couldn’t take it anymore.
I slid down on top of my bed, coming to a rest with my head buried in my hands.
What else have I changed? What else have I done?
I opened the list to the last page. This is it, I finally decided. I’m going to cross off all that craziness and then, I’m going to throw this list away forever.
I put the pen to the paper, getting ready to scribble it all out, when something on the pad caught my eye.
It was something I’d never seen—never even noticed—before.
What I noticed was this: I must have made those last frantic entries entries by writing over something else that had been there before. Looking closer now at those last, manic entries, I could see clearly that they were written over something. They were covering up other writing.
I had no memory of this. I don’t remember there being anything else written on these pages.
And yet—here it was.
What I could see now was that I had clearly tried to erase off whatever wishes had been written there, and—in my last, manic attempt to write new entries, I had just covered over the old entries with new ones.
What on earth could they possibly be? I looked closer. Yep. Those were definitely words under there. I wondered whether I’d still be able to make out what they said?
I knew Sean was waiting for me, but this’ll just take a second.
I took the pen and turned it around, flipping off the cap. There was a small eraser underneath. It was like the kind you might see on one of those re-useable pencils. Probably completely useless, or so I thought.
But then I wondered—what if I’d used this same eraser before? What if I’d used it before, but I just didn’t remember it? Had I become so focused… no, so—obsessed—with this list and all its magic and craziness and everything that I’d just paid no attention to what was already there?
And most importantly—what exactly had I erased in order to make room?
Something inside me snapped. I was very determined now. Whatever was under there—I was going to find out.
Once I realized they’d gone wrong just like everything else before them, I’d intended simply to cross them off. But now I decided on something else. Now, I realized exactly what I needed to do.
Now—I had a new plan.
I turned the pen around. I pushed the eraser down to the page.
I started erasing the wishes I’d written.
One line first. Then I inhaled and let out a breath across the page, blowing all that icky eraser junk away.
And then I looked.
Sure enough, something was written there. I could make out some fragments of words here and there. But I still couldn’t quite read what was written there, underneath. And so, I put the eraser back and erased another line. Again, I blew away more icky eraser junk.
Then I looked again.
Still not enough yet.
As hard as I looked, I still couldn’t make out what lay beneath… not without more. And so I repeated this again, erasing the line above that, and then the line above that one.
I erased the entire section.
I erased as quickly as my hand would move across the page. The only time I slowed down was on that last part. That was the part where I had wished for a normal family.
I went extra slow on that part to make sure I didn’t miss erasing anything.
Normal families were overrated. This much, at least, should’ve been obvious before. I kicked myself for not realizing sooner.
Then I took the back of my hand and swiped all that eraser crap out of the way, into the air… out of my life.
When I finally finished, I took a deep breath. I was ready to do this. I threw the whole list down on
the bed. Sure enough, I could see from here. There was something written under there.
I was about to lay down on the bed to begin reading when I heard Sean’s voice boom from downstairs.
“Maya! We need to get going now!” Sean called up. “If we don’t go now, they’re not going to let us in. Come on!”
“Fine. I’m coming,” I shouted back as I glanced down at the list.
Seeing what was written under there would have to wait—at least until I got back from Tom’s game.
And just exactly how was Tom’s game?
It was, in short, the most miserable two hours of my life that I could remember.
To start with, I was sandwiched between mom and dad, and so I didn’t even have Sean to commiserate with.
That was okay, I suppose. Mom seemed normal enough, or something similar. It’s just that—I don’t actually remember her ever being normal. And so, the whole experience of sitting next to her when she was like this left me feeling more than a little unnerved.
And also, while she might have been normal to me—she wasn’t completely normal.
We were somewhere a third of the way up from the court. But I had a front-row seat for listening to her berate my dad about how he should have taken better care of himself and not gotten the whole family in this predicament by having a heart attack.
“You should have eaten my food!” she said to dad more than a few times. At first, he had tried to protest, to defend himself. He must’ve quickly figured out that he didn’t have the strength to fight her anymore, though. After that, he just sat there silently while she kept going at him.
“You just had to go out and eat that bad American food, didn’t you? And look what you’ve done now to us! What’d you think was going to happen? Why do you think I took the time to cook for you every day, to pack your lunches to take to work? Why? Do you know? Why?”
Dad just sat there, silently. He looked stunned at her barrage, like a boxer who’s taken one too many punches but has to make it one more round in order to get one final paycheck.
“What’d you think, that I wouldn’t notice you spending my money, going out to lunch every day you were at work? ‘With your co-workers,’ you said. Yeah, right. I’ll bet you were having an affair. I wonder what’s her name? You’re not even man enough to admit it, are you?”
Sitting there between them, listening to her abuse, I decided then and there that I was not going to move from that seat.
I used to be afraid of mom when she’d go on her tears like this.
No more.
The bathroom could wait until we went home. I was not going to move from between them. Not because I wanted to be anywhere close to her. But I just couldn’t leave my dad alone with her.
She never once made him lunch, I thought. Not once! She barely even got out of bed before we made it home from school in the afternoon. He gave everything for her, for our family. He damn near put himself in the grave providing for our family. And all she could do now, while her little golden child Tom was playing the biggest stupid game of his high school career, was berate dad for having a heart attack.
I raged violently, silently. To myself. Oh yes. Oh yes. Push that down, I roared to myself. Push that rage down. You will get your chance, I told myself. Don’t worry. As soon as you get home, you will get your chance.
At some point during the 3rd quarter, I finally snapped.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Drive me home, Sean.”
“What? The game’s not over yet—”
“Now, Sean. Drive me home now. Now! And bring dad. We’re taking him home with us!”
23
Twenty-Three
“What’s wrong?” Sean asked as soon as we’d walked in the door.
“I don’t want to talk about it now. Just give me some space.”
Dad had his back turned to us and was hanging up his coat in the closet. “And take care of dad,” I added. “When she gets back with Tom—keep her away from him.”
“But Maya? It’ll help to talk about it, won’t it?”
“I just need a little space. Please?”
“Okay. But come get me if you need me.”
I took off my shoes and walked up the stairs, toward my room.
As I passed it, the door was closed to the room Tom and Sean shared. I went into my room, and I closed my door, too.
I slammed it closed.
Then I tore off my coat and dove onto my bed. I reached over for the list that had caused so many problems. I moved my hand over the comforter, feeling around it for the pen. I found it after a few seconds.
That’s it. The list. It was still lying open to where I had erased those last entries. I remembered. I took it in both hands, held it open, and began to read.
As soon as I began reading, my eyes immediately landed on what had been written there, underneath.
My hidden wishes.
These were the ones that had been written there, underneath, back who-knows-when. These are the ones that had been there before I’d covered them over in that one final manic session.
Those frenzied, manic, final wishes—I had erased them all tonight before I’d gone to the basketball game. And now that they were gone, I could finally see, for the first time, what they had concealed.
This. They had concealed this. My secret hidden wishes.
So this is what I had intentionally written over long ago. They’re starting to come back to me now.
But why had I covered over these?
Or maybe there never really was anything there before? I racked my brain, trying to remember. Had I really written over anything? Why would I do that?
But as soon as my eyes lit them though, I knew.
I knew these were my words.
I knew these were my deepest wishes.
Before my desires for a normal family, before Angel and Steve and all those desires to control everyone and everything and make them all into nothing more than I would have them be—I’d had these wishes.
These were what I had really wanted… before. And yet, these were also what I’d been afraid to even think about or remember. I’d been so afraid that I’d intentionally written over them. I’d tried to push these things down. I’d tried to cover up what I’d really wanted… to obliterate them.
And yet… here they were.
And now… I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t afraid to look.
I had never felt strong enough to look at what was right here in front of me.
Now I did.
“I am determined to see the truth.”
Just that. Just those words.
Those were the words. They were written there, in my own handwriting. Those were the words, clear as day. Underneath all my fevered attempts to cover them over, to forget the truth, to avoid ever raising my eyes up to look at it again—my simple desire was still there. It had never really gone away, and now it was right in front of me. Again.
“I am determined to see the truth.”
I read this again, playing the words over in my mind. They were simple, obvious, beautifully clear….
And too late.
Like watching a dam break in stunning slow motion and realizing too late that this breathtaking thing you were seeing was the exact thing that was about to overwhelm you—the truth flooded in now.
It flooded into my mind, overwhelming me.
Yes, above all else, my deeper wish had been to see the truth.
And now the deluge was here… and there was absolutely nothing I could do so stop it.
I held my list up as tightly as I could. In one defiant, determined sweep, I ripped its pages out as hard as I could.
I tore them apart.
No more magic. No more wishing for things.
I. Am. Done.
The last shreds of the list fell in scraps on the floor at my feet.
I didn’t notice.
I didn’t notice because as they drifted down, I knew there was still one more thing I need
ed to do.
Now, I was ready. And determined.
I was finally ready to look at what I’d forgotten, what I’d sworn never to look upon ever again.
I was determined to see the truth.
I turned around and walked.
I walked with my eyes wide open.
I turned around and with my eyes wide open, I walked back… into the room.
Into that room.
24
Twenty-Four
The whole room—my room—dissolved. Suddenly, I found myself in a different room… watching from the side, like seeing a movie.
A girl walked into the room.
There was an older boy in the room. The girl talked with him a little. It looked like she was… not uncomfortable. That’s not the right word. It’s like they knew each other, but… wait. Wait a minute, this girl looks familiar. I think maybe I know her, but… who is she?
I can’t place her.
It’s becoming a little clearer now. No, she isn’t uncomfortable. It’s the opposite. She’s too comfortable. I don’t know how I know, but I know. She doesn’t know, but I know. She has no clue.
I know. I don’t know how, but I know. Reflexively, almost unconsciously, I cringed. It only lasted a second. The next thing I knew, I was bracing myself.
It was instinct.
For what—I didn’t know. But I found myself clenching up anyway, bracing myself for… what?
Then I gulped—also a reflex. In this case, it was the reflex to resist the urge to throw up.
I took a step back and tried to catch my breath. I surveyed the scene. It was unfolding in slow motion… devastating slow motion, like a cross between a daydream and imagination.
Or maybe a nightmare.
But like a bad movie when you’re already in too deep, I forced myself to keep watching. I tried to detach because I hate watching these kinds of things. But still—here I was. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
