by Jack Weyland
She continued. “I had scholarships all the way through college.” She sighed. “And then . . .”
“What?”
“Looking back, I can see I should have gone to law school in Colorado, but . . . I did so well on my exam to get me into law school, that I talked myself into going to the very best school that would accept me. And that was Columbia University. The scholarship pool, at least for me, dried up, so I had to take out school loans.”
“You’re doing okay, though, right?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ve got a good job here, so I’ll just keep working until my loan is paid off. That might take two or three years, but I’ll get it paid off and then I’ll be free to do what I want to do.”
“I still don’t understand why you went on a mission after you finished law school.”
She let out a big sigh. “Two weeks after I passed the bar exam, my mom was in a car accident. She never regained consciousness. She died two days later.” Her eyes were glistening with tears.
“I’m so sorry.”
She nodded. “Thanks. I’m okay now, but at the time I fell apart. I’d put all this effort into trying to make it right for my mom, and all the moms like her in the world . . . and just when I was in a position to begin doing it, she . . . died.”
There was a set of crystal salt and pepper shakers on the table. She picked the salt shaker up, and grabbing a napkin from a wooden holder, slowly and methodically cleaned the finger marks from the glass.
“How did you get through all that?” I asked.
“Not very well. My dad and his second wife came to the funeral. I yelled at him at the cemetery and insulted his wife. I blamed him for everything bad that had ever happened to me and my mom.” She sighed. “And then . . . I went back to our apartment and started to sort things out, what to keep, what to throw out, what to give to charity. Two days later the room was empty . . . and so was I.”
She continued to fuss over the saltshaker. “My bishop and his wife came by a few days later. He asked me to consider serving a mission. He told me ward members would pay for it. I told him no at first, but then, after two months, I decided it might be the best thing for me.”
“You never told anybody about this on your mission, did you?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me.”
I rested my hand on hers. “Thanks for telling me.”
She nodded. “I just wanted you to understand why I came across as a little strange on my mission.”
“How did Thomas come into your life?”
She sighed. “I almost hate to tell you.”
“Why? You didn’t meet him in a bar, did you?”
She smiled. “No, nothing that exotic. It was while I was at Columbia Law School. I had zero social life, but one night, in a weak moment I guess, I visited a Web site for LDS singles. In our biographical information, we both listed we wanted to be lawyers. So that’s how we started e-mailing each other. He was a senior at Michigan State. I guess if my mom hadn’t died, we’d be married by now.” She sighed. “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you’d like.”
“I know.”
She looked at her watch. “I’d better go.”
I walked her out to her car.
“Thanks for a fun night,” she said.
“It was the tomatoes that did it for us, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, magic tomatoes,” she said with a slight smile. “Can you believe we’re the same two people who fought so much on our missions?”
That made me laugh. “No. You’re entirely different than I thought.”
“You think we could be friends?” she asked.
“I’d like that very much. But there’s something you should know about me.”
“What?”
“I play the piano.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. My second mom made me take lessons.”
“You think you could accompany me at church on Sunday?”
“I could try. You want to get together tomorrow after work and practice? In fact, come for dinner.”
“You will check with your grandparents about me coming, won’t you?”
“I will, but they’re crazy about you. I’m sure they’d love to have you.”
“All right, tomorrow it is.”
I opened the car door for her. “Good night, Brianna.”
“Good night, Adam.”
I watched her drive off, then went inside and hauled the harp upstairs. No more embarrassing, unscheduled concerts for me. Next I carried the two boxes of my mom’s things to my room. In putting everything away, I was impressed with the paintings she had done.
Maybe I could do this too, I thought.
I grabbed a sketchpad and tried to draw a headshot of Brianna. It turned out awful, but it had enough promise that I felt if I practiced, I might be able to make a portrait of her good enough to give her as a present.
A few minutes later, after saying my prayers and crawling into bed, I started to think about my first mom.
It was a weird impulse, but I wanted to talk to her, so I pulled a quilt from the foot of my bed and I went to her closet and sat down.
It would have been too strange to talk to her out loud, so it was more like thinking than talking. But in my head I told her I wished she hadn’t got sick and died. I told her I wished I could meet someone who was like her, someone who knew how to enjoy life and have fun, someone who would make me laugh, someone who would make me happy, someone like Brianna who I could talk with about anything.
I told her I felt sorry for Brianna, who had been first abandoned by her dad and then had lost her mom to an accident.
I told my mom I was beginning to think I was more like her than I was like either my dad or Lara. I told her I wished there was some way I could know if she’d heard me and if she understood.
I waited for an answer. But nothing happened. So I went back to bed and soon fell asleep.
In the middle of the night, I awoke to the sound of a harp being played. It was so real, that I sat up in bed. The room was dark, but for an instant it looked as though a woman dressed in a flowing white gown was seated at the harp, gently strumming it.
It seemed like the answer to my wish, that my first mom had come and was playing her harp for me. I wanted it to be her because I wanted to know that she still cared about me. And I wanted her to know that I was learning about her and that her hope that she would be important in my life was coming true.
I’m not sure how long I lay in my bed, trying to extend the fantasy, but eventually I noticed the wind was blowing, and every time there was an especially strong gust, the blinds and curtains would billow into the room, touching the strings of the harp and making a small sound.
It’s just the wind, I thought. That’s all it is.
I got up and shut the window and went back to bed and soon fell asleep for the rest of the night.
7
The next morning, my grandfather and I did some yard work at the apartments. Eddie had an old pickup truck with a trailer hooked on, which he used to haul his mower and other tools. He asked me to mow the lawns while he worked in the flower beds.
I was hot and sweaty after I finished, so I sat down near to where my grandfather was working and guzzled water and ate an apple.
He said, “Hard to beat a job like this, right? Here we are, as free as a bird. We’re not stuck in some office. We’re working on our tan, and we’re enjoying Mother Nature.”
A white-haired woman, well past retirement, walked briskly by us.
“Mrs. Emerson, how’s your kitchen faucet working these days?” my grandfather cheerfully called out.
She seemed happy to see him. “It’s worked just fine since you fixed it, Eddie. Thank you very much.”
“Glad to help out. Give me a call if you have any problems.”
“I will. Thanks.”
A few minutes later a little girl about five years old approached us, carrying a paper plate
of cookies. Her mom stood at the door to their apartment, watching her progress.
“I have some cookies for you, Mr. Riley,” she said with a big smile.
She was so excited that just before reaching us she let the plate tip enough that three of the five cookies accidentally slid off the plate onto the ground.
She turned and looked helplessly at her mom. She looked as though she was about to burst into tears.
“Oh, boy, there’s nothing I love more than cookies that have been on freshly cut grass!” Eddie said with a big smile, reaching to swoop them up.
The girl looked confused. “You do?” she asked with big eyes.
“Are you kidding? They’re the best kind. Could I have the ones on the lawn? Adam here can have the others.”
“Wait a minute! I want the cookies on the grass too!” I complained.
“Well, Teresa, I see we have a problem. I want the cookies on the grass, and my grandson, Adam, wants the cookies on the grass too. How can we solve this problem?”
She thought about it and then smiled and tipped the plate so all the cookies fell to the ground.
“Good thinking! Now we can all have cookies that have been on the grass!” my grandfather said. “And I very much hope that you can join us too!”
He looked over at her mother, who nodded. “I’ll come back in ten minutes,” she said.
“Let’s have a tea party!” I said.
The little girl and I sat cross-legged on the grass while my grandfather sat on a low retaining wall next to us. We ate cookies and drank our tea, which was just water from our water jug.
“I had a little girl just like you once,” my grandfather said. “We had tea parties too, she and I.”
“What happened to her?”
He nodded. “Well, she grew up and became a wonderful wife and mom, just like your mom is now, and just like you’ll be some day.”
That wasn’t the whole story, of course, but enough to satisfy Teresa.
A few minutes later Teresa’s mom called for her.
“Can I stay longer?” Teresa pleaded.
“I’m sorry, but we need to go to the store now.”
“But we’re having a tea party.”
“You can have a tea party the next time Mr. Riley comes.”
Teresa shrugged, said good-bye, and ran to join her mom.
We finished up there, went home for lunch, then drove over to another apartment building.
“So how do you like working here with me?” Eddie asked as we were driving.
“Actually, this may be the best job I’ve ever had,” I said. “It sure beats sitting around putting together Web sites.”
“Yeah, it’s fun. You know what? Life is for fun. I learned that from your mom.” We pulled into a parking spot at the apartment building and got out of the cab of the truck.
“So, how did you and Brianna get along last night?” he asked.
“We had a good time.”
He smiled. “Glad to hear it. She’s a fine person. She’ll make some lucky guy a great wife.”
“True, but it won’t be me. She’s practically engaged.”
“You never know. That could change.”
When she got off work that afternoon, Brianna came to my grandparents’ for dinner. After we finished eating, she and I went to the piano to see if I’d be able to accompany her when she sang in sacrament meeting.
She propped up the book in front of me. I’d never seen so many notes in my life. It was way beyond what I could play. I thumbed through the pages. “Who wrote this stuff anyway?” I asked.
“Handel,” she replied.
“My gosh, did he get paid by the note?”
She laughed. “Maybe so. Look, let’s just try some hymns.”
Out of kindness to me, she had us do a few easy hymns. Then, after gaining some confidence in me, she said, “Let’s try my favorite hymn.”
She turned to “Each Life That Touches Ours for Good,” sat down next to me on the piano bench, momentarily rested her hand on my back and said, “Whenever you’re ready.”
I wasn’t prepared for her singing voice. It was clear and pure and beautiful.
I made a mistake. “Sorry.”
She leaned into me. “It’s okay.”
We started over. A short time later I messed up again. “Look, I’m not good enough for you. You need someone with, oh, I don’t know, actual talent.”
“You’re doing okay. Really, and I’m sure you’ll get better.”
“I don’t want to ruin it for you. Maybe you ought to ask someone else.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. We’ll practice until we can do it without any mistakes.”
The next time we made it through the first verse with no problem.
The second verse went okay too.
I was excited as we began the third verse.
“‘When such a friend from us departs, We hold forever in our hearts,’” she sang, and then she stopped.
“Did I do something wrong?”
She didn’t answer. I turned to look at her. There were tears in her eyes.
“Sorry.” She used her thumb to brush a tear from her cheek.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.”
“I’ll be right back.” She stood up and left the room but came back a moment later, carrying a box of tissues. She plucked a tissue then put the box on top of the piano and sat down next to me again.
I didn’t know what to say and sat staring straight ahead, as if I were concentrating on the music. When she didn’t say anything, I glanced over at her. She was gazing idly at the piano keys.
Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “This song always reminds me of my mom. I miss her so much. I could always talk to her about anything. She knew me better than anyone else. Even in high school, when girls usually distance themselves from their moms, I’d come home from school and tell her everything. She got me through some really hard times.”
“How did it help to talk to her? Did she give you the answers you were looking for?”
“Not really. Mostly she just listened to me. That’s what helped the most.”
I could do that, I thought. I could do that for Brianna. I could just listen.
It was as if the thought had come from outside of me, encouraging me to try to listen to Brianna the way her mom would have done.
I wasn’t exactly sure how to do it, but then I remembered the times when I would come home from school upset about something that had happened to me that day. Lara would listen and ask questions and then try to make me feel better.
Brianna began. “A few months after my dad left, we were living in a tiny apartment. My mom was working as a waitress, and we barely had enough money to pay the rent and buy food. Christmas was coming, and we had no money. A few days before Christmas, the bishop stopped by with two big boxes of food and presents for my mom and me.”
“I bet you and your mom were happy to get some help.”
“Yes, of course, but . . .”
“What?”
“In one of the boxes were some clothes for me. Some of the girls in the ward had donated them. The bishop hadn’t told anybody who they were for, so the girls didn’t know it was for me. And the things they’d donated were much more expensive than anything we would ever be able to afford. But once I realized where they’d come from, even though they were really nice, I went to my mom and told her I couldn’t wear any of them.”
“How come?”
“Because the girls would recognize them and know who was being helped.”
“I didn’t think about that.”
“It was too much for me to take. I didn’t want everyone to know how poor we were.”
“I can see why you’d feel that way,” I said. “So what happened?”
“My mom let me pour out my heart about how unfair everything was. I couldn’t see how my dad could leave us and hook up with another woman and not miss a
beat. The world seemed like it’d been set upside down. My dad had broken his marriage covenants, had run off with another woman, was living with her, and yet as far as we knew, he’d never missed a meal and always had the money he needed, while my mom and I were living on practically nothing. I remember saying, ‘It’s not fair.’ And my mom said, ‘Life is not always fair.’ Maybe that’s when I decided to go into law, to try to make life fair for other people.”
“What happened to the clothes you were given?” I asked.
“That was an amazing thing. My mom altered them enough so the girls who gave them to me wouldn’t even recognize them. It took her hours to do. And she was already working long hours anyway, but she’d come home every night and sew. It must have taken her a week, but when she was done, everything looked so good. I had girls in church coming up to me and asking me where I’d bought the dress I was wearing. And, for all I know, that girl might have been the one who donated it.”
“I wish I’d known your mom.”
“Thanks. I wish I’d known your mom too.”
We talked for thirty minutes before we started the third verse again. She asked me to sing with her.
“I don’t think so. I’m really not a singer.”
“Please.”
I sighed. “All right.”
We sang the fourth verse.
For worthy friends whose lives proclaim
Devotion to the Savior’s name,
Who bless our days with peace and love,
We praise thy goodness, Lord above.
When we finished, she reached for my hand. “I think you are the kind of a friend who blesses your friends with peace and love.”
“I’d like to be that kind of a friend to you.”
“I can use all the friends I can get.”
“Me too.” I said.
She pulled her hand away. “Maybe we should do another hymn,” she said.
I looked at my lonely right hand. “I could play one-handed if you want.”
She playfully elbowed me in the side. We started through the hymnbook, finding here and there a song to do.
We sang for another half hour.
There was something besides music going on that I think we both felt. Something neither one of us dared comment on. It had to do with being physically close to one another. It’s hard to describe except to say that our bodies were somehow aware of each other. Not in an inappropriate way, and not something we would even mention to each other but, as we sat there, when we would lean against each other, or our arms would brush, or when our shoulders touched, or when she put her hand on my back to reassure me that I wasn’t that bad of a singer, the simple touch seemed to be amplified a hundred times.
