How to Know When This Part’s Over
Just before you all eat, you call Ma. The moment you say “Hi, Mom, it’s Ariel,” she starts yelling at you. She calls you untrustworthy. She grounds you for the rest of the year. She yells the whole story to you, and you hold the phone away from your ear. Jane and Leah both hover around you, listening, because they can hear her just fine as she hollers through the receiver.
She says that Peggy called and asked if Jane was there, because the director called Peggy when Jane didn’t show up. Daddy told her you said you were doing tech for the play, but of course the director said you weren’t there, either, and hadn’t signed up for tech. Then all three parents drove around town, trying to find you and Jane. After that, they went back to their apartments and waited by the phone.
“My head is about to explode!” Ma says. “Are my daughters trying to kill me? Would it be easier for both of you if I just dropped dead?”
You start crying. “Ma, I’m so sorry I worried you. But I’m not sorry for finding Leah. I will never be sorry for that.” Ma is suddenly quiet.
Leah takes the phone from you and only says one thing to Ma. “I’m bringing Ariel and Jane home tonight. With Raj. There is nothing you can do to stop me.” Then she hangs up, and Ma doesn’t call back.
After the phone call, you all try to calm down and eat the meal Raj has made. He calls it chana saag, which in Hindi means chickpeas with greens. He spoons it over a mound of soft, fluffy rice, and maybe it’s because you’re starving, but it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted. Then you leave the apartment, and Raj gets a taxi to Grand Central.
You don’t have time to get tickets at the booth, and you all run to make the train. It’s crowded. You find a three-seater and a seat across the aisle for Raj. The conductor comes around and asks for money. Raj quickly takes out his wallet. “Four one-way tickets, please. I’m paying for them, too,” he explains, pointing at Leah, you, and Jane.
The conductor looks at Raj and then at you, Jane, and Leah. “Miss, do you know this man? He says he wants to pay for all of you?” he says to Leah.
“Of course I know him,” Leah says. “He’s my husband.” You notice several people on the train turn and look. The conductor gives you all the once-over again. You suck in your breath. It seems as if he doesn’t believe her.
“If you say so,” he says without a smile and walks off, shaking his head.
You watch Leah. She bites her lip. Raj reaches across and puts his hand on top of hers.
“Maybe he just said that because you look too young to be married,” you offer.
“I don’t think so,” Leah says in a low voice.
“It’s going to happen,” he says. She leans her head back against the seat. You take her other hand, and she holds it for a long time.
When the train pulls up to the small platform in the center of Eastbrook, it’s past ten. Leah gets up quickly, leading the way. She pauses on the platform for a moment, looking around.
“I’m home,” she says quietly to herself. You and Jane follow Leah and Raj and walk the fifteen minutes to your apartment building. When you get to Jane’s floor, she hugs Leah, Raj, and then you. “This was one of the best nights of my life,” she whispers in your ear. “I know that sounds weird because our parents are mad at us and everything is kind of a mess, but it was just . . .” She stops, thinking. “So real, like we were all finally living our lives.”
You know exactly what she means. Now you were people who did things, who could do things, real things, important things.
“Thanks, Jane. You’re a good friend.”
She pokes you gently on the shoulder. “A good friend or your best friend?” she asks.
Your heart lifts. “Best friend,” you say. You already think of Jane that way, but it’s the first time anyone has ever wanted to be yours. Jane smiles and nods.
She starts to open the heavy stairwell door that leads to her floor. “And remember, whenever you’re not sure about things, just ask yourself: What would Elizabeth Taylor do?” she calls over her shoulder and then heads to her apartment.
Leah and Raj walk behind you for the next flight up. You turn when you get to your floor.
“Leah,” you say.
“Yes?” she answers. Her face is pink, and a gleam of sweat shows on her forehead. You hope this isn’t all too much for her and the baby.
“No matter what Ma and Daddy think, I support you and Raj. I don’t want to ever be separated like that again, because I couldn’t take it. Do you promise to never leave me?” You hold out your pinkie.
“I promise,” she says and hooks her pinkie around yours.
“May I?” Raj says, holding out his pinkie.
You’ve never done a pinkie swear with a man before. You laugh nervously. “Okay. Sure.” You hook your fingers together.
“There,” Leah says. “The promise is fully sealed.”
When you reach your apartment, Leah rings the bell. You hear footsteps coming toward the door, your parents’ hushed voices saying something to each other, and then a pause. Leah makes a funny sound, sort of like a sigh, sort of like a little cry.
“It’ll be okay,” Raj says.
“How do you know?” Leah responds, but before Raj can reply, the door opens slowly. Daddy stands there with a strange look on his face, almost like he’s embarrassed.
“Ari,” he says, first looking at you. “You had us so worried.”
You take a step inside. “I know, Daddy. I’m really sorry,” you say, but he isn’t listening anymore. Ma is standing by the kitchen, her hand on the counter as if it’s holding her up. Ma and Daddy both look at Leah. Leah holds Raj’s hand tight, and they stay in the hallway, waiting. Daddy is waiting. Ma is waiting, too. It starts to make you feel small and invisible. But that’s not who you want to be anymore. That’s not what you feel inside.
“Aren’t you going to invite them in?” you say. All four of them look at you. “Because this is your chance,” you continue, looking at your parents. “To change things.”
Daddy looks surprised but walks toward Leah. She takes a step toward him. You watch Ma. She’s still gripping the counter. Leah lets go of Raj’s hand and walks a little closer. Then Daddy leans in and hugs her for a long time. You turn, and Ma has left the counter. She’s left the room. You blink just to be sure you’re not imagining the empty space she was just standing in.
“Ma?” Leah says, releasing Daddy.
“Maybe she needs more time,” Daddy says.
Leah doesn’t say anything. Raj takes her hand again and leads her to the couch so she can sit down. You sit down on the other side of her. All this time, you wanted to believe that if Ma could just see Leah again, it would fix everything. But sometimes things don’t get fixed. They stay broken no matter what anyone does or how much love there is.
Then Ma comes out of her room. She’s holding the finished yellow-and-white blanket she’s been crocheting. She walks toward all of you on the couch. You and Raj stand up, leaving Leah sitting there, watching Ma. You both move away and let her sit down next to Leah.
“I made this for the baby,” Ma says, handing her the blanket. Leah takes it, runs her hands over it. Ma is also holding a piece of paper. “I wrote that last letter before I was in the hospital. Did Ari tell you I went to the hospital?” she asks.
Leah nods. “She did.”
“When I went to the hospital, I was so dizzy and in pain. I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t speak. I thought I was having a stroke. Not knowing if I’d see the light of day or ever see your face again made me really think. I wrote this letter a few weeks ago. I just didn’t know where to send it.”
Leah hugs the blanket to her. Then she takes the letter from Ma. “I’ll read it later,” she says.
“I’ve certainly had too much tsuris for one day,” she says and quickly looks at Raj. She
nods, and it’s hard to tell what she means by it. You wonder if it’s simply a yes, that she’s saying yes now to all of it. Then she turns her eyes to you. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, Ariel,” she says, her voice a little harder. Then she goes back to her bedroom. You reach out and touch the blanket sitting in Leah’s lap. It’s much softer than you thought it would be.
That night, you sleep on the couch. You haven’t read the new letter Ma gave Leah, but the way Leah’s face looked, the way she teared up on the couch after she read it, it seemed like a good thing. Raj and Leah are staying in your room and will head back to the city in the morning. A part of you is sad you don’t get to sleep in the same room as Leah and finally see her actual self in the bed next to you. You’ve wished for it for so long.
But the apartment feels full, like the way it feels when you’re having guests over and the refrigerator is stuffed with food. You lie in the dark, watching the unfamiliar shadows dance on the walls as the curtains move a little when the wind sneaks through the spaces in the window frames. A car drives by, casting new shadows. But you’re not scared. You’ve never been less scared. Then you hear it, the low sounds of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band drifting from your room. Is Raj playing it for Leah? Are they remembering what last summer sounded like?
You get up and go over to the kitchen drawer and find a pencil and a small notepad. You start to write. It’s hard with the dull pencil and a small piece of paper, but it doesn’t matter.
The Yellow Baby Blanket
I knew what it was
and who it was for,
but I didn’t let myself believe it.
Next time,
when I doubt myself,
I’ll remember that blanket
and how soft
and real
it felt between my fingers.
You wake up to Leah’s kiss on your forehead. The light is barely coming through the windows. It’s early.
“We have to go. Raj has exams,” she says. “But we’ll be back soon, and I’ll call you tonight.”
“Wait,” you say, blinking back sleep. “That’s it? This part’s over?”
Leah stands up. “This part?” she asks.
“You know, the you-being-gone part. And Ma-and-Daddy-pretending-you-aren’t-with-Raj-and-that-you’re-not-their-daughter-anymore part.”
“Yes, I think it is,” Leah says and gently touches your cheek before walking away.
Raj and Leah leave, and you get ready for school. Ma comes out of her room, her hair messy, her long silk robe on, no makeup. She’s been doing that more lately, letting you see her undone. You used to think it meant she wasn’t feeling well, but this morning you see it differently. Maybe it means she’s caring more about her inside than her outside.
“Come,” she says and pats the chair.
You go over. You don’t know what to say to her. You want to shut your eyes tight and just get it over with, whatever punishment or words she’s going to hurl your way.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” she says.
You nod cautiously.
“I made a mistake. Your father and I, we made a mistake with Leah.”
You watch her hands. She plays with the thin gold wedding ring on her finger, turns it around and around.
“But, Ma, you fixed it, right?” The words come out of your mouth rushed, worried that if you don’t say them, they won’t be true.
“No, Ariel. I think you did,” she says.
You thought Ma was going to ground you until you turned eighteen. It makes you nervous, Ma saying nice things like this.
“I was livid yesterday,” Ma continues. “But I can’t stay mad, as much as you deserve it for scaring me like that. I don’t know how you found her all by yourself. I took one look at Leah. Her baby,” Ma says, her voice cracking. “And I thought about all the time I could have lost.”
You don’t believe it. Your mother is thanking you for something you did. Was it true? But then you remember the baby blanket, the poem you wrote last night.
“People think they have all the time in the world,” she says and waves her hand outward.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that everything counts, Ariel.”
You want to ask Ma what happened to all the letters Leah sent you. You want to ask her where she hid them or whether she threw them away. But right now, in the quiet of the morning, you just want to sit with her and not fight. You study her face. Her blue-green eyes, her round cheeks, her small pink mouth, the loose curly hair she normally hides by hot-ironing and pressing into a bun. A fighter, Daddy called her. You never realized how much you look like her.
How to Take Responsibility
Months later, everything is different but also painfully the same. Raj and Leah are still in the city. Leah calls once a week, but it’s mostly just you who talks to her. Things are still strained between her and Ma. Ma makes sure Leah’s feeling okay, then she gives the phone to you.
Something also happened with the butchers who wanted to buy Gertie’s. Daddy said the bank didn’t approve their loan, but you don’t really know what that means. It makes you hope that nothing is going to happen to Gertie’s, but Ma and Daddy still say it is. It’s just taking longer.
Today, there is another change. A substitute teacher sits at Miss Field’s desk. He has on dark square glasses, brown pants, a white shirt, and a blue tie. He tells everyone to simmer down and writes his name on the board. Mr. Carson, it says.
“Miss Field is out. I’ll be your substitute, and I expect you to be on your best behavior,” he announces and then starts calling attendance. He sounds like a robot and messes up most people’s names. After attendance, he writes Multiplying Fractions on the board. “Please open your math textbooks to page fifty-two.”
Lisa Turner’s hand shoots up.
“Mr. Carson?”
“Yes,” Mr. Carson says.
“When will Miss Field be back?”
Lisa might be annoying, but she always asks the questions everyone wants to know.
“I’m not privy to that information,” he says and starts writing on the chalkboard again.
“Mr. Carson,” Lisa says again.
He turns around and sighs. “Yes,” he says.
“Why is she out? Is she sick?”
“Again, I’m not privy to that information,” he says and goes back to writing.
“Mr. Carson,” Lisa says. “What does privy mean?” You suddenly admire her guts in a way you’ve never admired her before. Lisa’s gift to the world.
“Young lady,” he says. “Privy means having the knowledge of certain information, which I don’t have. I will not be answering any more questions related to Miss Field. Now please turn your attention to your math textbooks.”
Miss Field is probably just sick, but somehow you feel like this is your fault, Miss Field not being here. You spend the day trying to pay attention, but you can’t. Every day, you’ve been eating lunch and typing out your poems with Miss Field in your classroom. Sometimes another teacher comes in and sees you and asks why you’re in the classroom, typing. Miss Field just says, “Oh, Ariel’s working on a special project.”
You eye the lonely-looking Selectric sitting on its desk. There was a part of you that thought Leah being back would make all the other hard things fly away, but they’re still here.
An aide stops into the classroom and gives Mr. Carson a note. He looks at it.
“Ariel Goldberg?” he asks.
You look up, surprised. “Yes,” you say. Mr. Carson looks around, not knowing where the reply came from.
“Making trouble again, just like all you Jews do,” Chris Heaton whispers at his desk. You freeze. “And she’s not here to protect you,” he says.
You think about the fear that Ma and Daddy didn’t want to show anyone after
someone drew Nazi swastikas on the bakery windows. You will not show him your fear. “I can protect myself,” you whisper back.
“Oooh, I’m scared,” he says and wiggles his hands by the side of his face.
“Excuse me,” Mr. Carson says, walking toward both of you. “Ariel?” he asks.
You nod.
“Here,” he says and hands you a hall pass. “The principal wants to meet with you.”
Your heart starts to beat faster. Chris has a smirk on his face.
“Go on,” Mr. Carson says, and you clutch the pass as you walk toward the door.
“Yeah, go on,” Chris says.
“One more word, young man, and you’ll have a month’s worth of detention,” Mr. Carson says quickly, and Chris shrinks back. Maybe Mr. Carson isn’t so bad.
You start to walk out, then turn. Mr. Carson is facing the blackboard again, and Chris is watching you. You look at him and cross your wrists like Wonder Woman does when she blocks evildoers with her golden wristbands. Take that, you think. Chris looks at you, confused.
You walk down the quiet hallway, turn left, then right, and find yourself in front of the front-office lady, Mrs. Jones.
“Can I help you?” she says.
You hand her your hall pass. “I’m supposed to see Mr. Wilson?”
“Your name, dear,” she says.
“Ariel Goldberg.” There’s a tremble to your voice. You’ve never actually spoken to Mr. Wilson. You’ve only seen him in the hallway, giving the thumbs-up to students, asking them for hall passes or telling them they have detention.
She picks up the phone and says your name.
“Go on in,” she says and points to the door behind her. You walk around her desk and pull open the heavy door.
“Hello, Miss Goldberg, have a seat,” Mr. Wilson says, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands behind his head. You look at his desk, which has a bunch of PEZ dispensers displayed on it. There’s Popeye, Snoopy, a fireman, Mickey Mouse, Batman, Spider-Man, and Superman, but no Wonder Woman.
“So,” Mr. Wilson says, breaking you out of your PEZ trance. “What can you tell me about Miss Field? I hear she’s been helping you?”
How to Find What You're Not Looking For Page 19
