She was squashing my brownie into my hand. I pulled away.
“I’m not going to get better…”
The words ran around in my head, not making any sense.
“What do you mean, ‘not better’? Everybody gets better!”
“No, Sarah. Sometimes people die.”
“No! You’re not going to die!” Somebody was screaming, and Mom put her arms around me.
I pulled away from her and looked at Daddy. He would tell me she was lying. But he was crying too, and he was nodding.
“No, you liar!” Somewhere in the back of my head an alarm was going off, ringing, ringing. I put my hands over my ears, but it wouldn’t stop. Then, Daddy was reaching to answer the telephone. Mom had picked up the flower, the flower I had picked for her. She was rolling it between the palms of her hands, back and forth, back and forth. And some of the petals were falling on the tablecloth.
I DON’T REMEMBER MUCH OF THE REST OF THAT DAY, EXCEPT that I felt hateful. Mom went to her office and closed herself in, and I went to my room and slammed the door as hard as I could. I know I was crying, and I was angry too, but why I was angry, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was because I wondered why Mom was doing this to me. Why was she sick? And what did she mean she wasn’t going to get better? That wasn’t fair! Besides, she couldn’t know that for sure. People got better all the time. I cried for a long time, and after a while Daddy came to my room and asked if I couldn’t stop. He said I was making it harder for Mom. Hard for her? What about me? But I didn’t say that out loud, and after Daddy went, I got a sweater and left the house and ran down to the corner. It was almost three o’clock, and I would wait for Robin.
I stood there a long time, waiting and thinking, and soon kids began coming home from school. Jeff Cooper and a bunch of his friends came by, and Jeff began teasing me about playing hooky. I turned my back, trying to ignore him, but I thought about what it would be like to tell the truth, to turn around and say, “Stuff it. I wasn’t playing hooky. I was home because my mom came home from the hospital. Because she's going to die.” I wondered what he would say to that. But I didn’t say anything at all, and the boys left. After a while, everyone was gone, but still no Robin. Then I remembered. Gymnastics practice! How could I be so dumb? I ran all the way to school and into the gym.
Robin saw me before I saw her, and she waved to me from the top of the ropes. I sat down on the crash mat and began pulling off my sneakers, getting ready to climb up, but in a second, she had slid down and was sitting beside me. “What happened? You sick today?” she asked. “How come you’re here now?”
“I wasn’t sick,” I answered. “Mom came home from the hospital today, and my dad let me stay home to see her.”
“Wow, that's great! How is she?”
“Sick.”
“What do you mean, sick? She's not better?”
I shook my head. “She says she's not.”
“What's the matter with her?” Robin was frowning at me. “What's wrong?”
“She has cancer, some weird kind of cancer. Her kidneys.”
“Oh, God!” Robin whispered, and her eyes got wide.
I swallowed hard, then blurted it out, even though I had just promised myself that I’d never, never tell anyone. “She says she's going to die. People don’t die from that—not all the time, do they?”
Robin shook her head no, but still had that awful look on her face.
“She can’t die!” I said, and for the first time since that morning, since Mom told me, it began to seem maybe real. I just looked at Robin, tears forming in my eyes, and she looked back. And then we both turned away from each other.
“Maybe they’re wrong,” Robin said after a while. “Doctors make mistakes, you know. And nobody can say for sure that somebody else is going to die.”
I nodded miserably, but forced myself to answer. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then I blurted out something I hadn’t meant to say, something I didn’t even know I was thinking. “But she's so—I mean, she's my mother. Mothers don’t die…”
“They made a mistake,” Robin said, and now she was beginning to sound more sure of herself. She shook her head vigorously back and forth. “Some people die, but not your mom. She's really healthy. She’ll make herself get better. Not everybody dies from cancer. Lots of people live and get better. Remember Kim in fourth grade? She had bone cancer, and they moved to be nearer the hospital so she could have her treatments. And she got all better.”
“But this is some weird kind of cancer, Mom said, something that starts with an m, but I can’t remember what she called it.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Robin sounded sure of herself. “She's going to get better.”
I knew she was trying to reassure me, and I wanted to believe her. “You really think so?”
“Really.” She nodded.
I didn’t know how she could be so sure, but it did make me feel better. “Okay,” I said. “Let's climb the ropes. But Robin…”
She looked at me.
“Robin, don’t tell anybody, okay? I don’t want anybody to know.”
She nodded, and we both climbed the ropes then and worked on our routine. The gymnastics show was still many weeks away, but we had a lot of work to do. Robin hadn’t said anything in a while about chinning off that bar that Mr. Anderson had warned us away from, and I didn’t mention it, either, just hoping she had forgotten all about it.
When practice was over, we walked home slowly. Now that daylight saving time was over, it was almost dark, and the darkness so early made me feel sad. “Robin?” I said. “Think you could come home with me? Maybe we could have dinner together. You could call your mom and ask?”
“Would your mom want me there—you know, being sick and all?”
“I don’t think she’d mind,” I answered, even though I wasn’t sure of that. I was sure, though, that I didn’t want to go home alone, and having Robin there would make it better. “Come on, you can call from my house.”
Robin nodded and we walked the rest of the way home in silence. The porch lights were on when we got there, and lights were on in Mom's office too. I wondered what she was working on, what she was thinking about. But once inside, I could hear the stereo and smell coffee. It was the first time in weeks that things seemed normal. “Mom?” I called. “I’m home.”
“In here!” The answer came from her office, and I went over and opened the door.
“Hi, Mom! I brought Robin with me, okay?”
Mom was at her desk, and she looked up and smiled at us. “Hello, Robin. It's good to see you again.” She sounded happy, and she was smiling, just the way she used to, but I couldn’t help noticing how tired she appeared and how the dark spots under her eyes seemed even darker in the light from the desk lamp.
“Hi, Mrs. Morrow,” Robin said. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too,” Mom agreed. “Hospitals stink.” She turned to me then. “I was getting worried about you. Where did you go?”
“To school. Gymnastics practice. Sorry I forgot to tell you.” What I didn’t tell her was that I was mad and hadn’t wanted to tell her where I was going—that she could do the worrying for once. What I said out loud was, “Can Robin stay for dinner?”
Mom nodded immediately, as though she didn’t even need to think about it. “I don’t know what we’re having, but as soon as Daddy and I decide, we’ll get it started. Robin better call her mom, though.”
We both nodded, and we went into the kitchen, closing the door to Mom's office behind us. In the kitchen, Robin said, “She doesn’t look bad. Just tired.”
I nodded. “And she's working.”
“She’ll be okay,” Robin said. She picked up the phone and dialed her number while I stood and waited. I listened when she got her mom on the phone, but then I noticed that she had turned her back to me and was talking very quietly. I wondered if her mom was mad that she hadn’t come home right away, and since I could see that she wanted some privacy, I walked away a li
ttle.
After a minute, I heard her hang up, and I turned around. “You allowed?” I asked.
Robin nodded, but she didn’t say anything.
“Was she mad?” I continued.
“Nope. She just gets weird sometimes. Sad.”
“Why sad?”
Robin shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t think she does, either. My father says she's depressed.”
“Depressed?”
“Yeah. Sad. It's a disease—at least, that's what my father says. She takes medicine, but it doesn’t always help.”
“Sadness is a disease?”
Robin nodded. “I know it sounds weird, but that's what he said. But if she keeps taking her medicine, she’ll get better. And she goes to a doctor, so it will help.”
“I hope so.” I felt uncomfortable. “Robin,” I said, “I didn’t know…”
“I know. I don’t usually tell anybody. But…” She shrugged, but she didn’t continue. Still, I thought I knew what she meant. Maybe she meant that now that I had told her about my mom, she could tell me about hers.
“I’m starved,” I said, trying to change the subject. “I could eat a horse.”
“Me too.”
“A horse?”
We both turned. Mom and Daddy were standing in the doorway to Mom's office, their arms around each other, and they were smiling at us. “Would you settle for hamburgers?” Daddy said. “How about if we go out for some?”
“Okay!” Robin and I both said at the same time.
“Get your coats,” Daddy said. “Let's go.”
We got our things, and we all went down the walk together and piled into the car. Mom was leaning hard on Daddy's arm, just the way she had that morning when she came home from the hospital, but she seemed better, and she was laughing.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“A special place,” Mom answered. “I heard about it at the hospital, and I think we should try it. Horse burgers are their specialty.”
“Yuck!” I answered.
I turned to Robin, and she was smiling. She poked me in the ribs, then leaned over and whispered, “Your mom is fine. She's going to be fine.”
GOING OUT TO DINNER WAS FUN, AND WE LAUGHED A LOT, and neither Mom nor Daddy said anything more about Mom's being sick. I kept sneaking looks at Mom, trying to see how she really was, but I couldn’t tell much that way. Mostly, she appeared tired and kind of skinny, but not really bad.
Later that night, when I went to bed, Mom came in and sat on the side of my bed just the way she used to, and she didn’t say anything about being sick then, either. But I was afraid that if she stayed, she’d start talking about it, so I yawned and told her I was super tired. I was, too. The night before, I had been so excited because Mom was coming home that I had hardly slept.
The next morning things were just the way they used to be. Mom was up early and dressed, working in her office before I even came down. I made my breakfast, and while I ate, Mom brought her coffee to the table and sat with me. Then I left for school, and Mom went back to work. While I walked to school, I thought about it. Mom looked pretty good, and she seemed just the same. So why had she said what she said yesterday? Was it just in case—just in case— she didn’t get better? She sure looked as though she was going to be all right, just the same as always. At school, when I said that to Robin, she agreed that Mom had been just the same the night before. Exactly.
I didn’t stay for gymnastics practice that day. It had been so long since I had gone home from school and found Mom there that I wanted to get home on time and see her and talk, just the way we used to. It was a little after three-thirty when I burst into the house. “Mom!” I shouted. “Hi, Mom, I’m home!”
“Hello, honey, I’m in here.”
In her office, not in bed! I was so glad, because for a minute, when I opened the front door, I had been afraid I’d find her in bed like that other time.
I opened the door to her office. She was sitting in one of the big chairs, her feet up on another chair, reading from a folder in her lap. She smiled at me. “Hi, sweetheart.”
“Hi. How do you feel?” I couldn’t help asking it, but I turned away and looked out the window before she could answer.
“Not bad. A little tired.”
“Good.” I was so relieved that I smiled at her. “I’m starved. I’m going to get a snack. Want anything?”
Mom smiled back. “Not really. But you get yours, and after you’re finished, there's something I want to do with you.”
“Yeah, what?” Right away, I thought of clothes. We’d go clothes shopping!
“Laundry,” Mom said.
“Laundry! How boring.”
Mom smiled again. “How necessary.”
I went back to the kitchen, feeling good but a little puzzled. Mom had never asked me to help with the laundry before. I didn’t even know how to run the washer or anything. But I guessed that if she was sick, she’d need help, at least until she was better. I made toast with cinnamon sugar and ate about half a loaf, and when I was almost finished, Mom came into the kitchen. She sat down at the table across from me.
“Looks like you haven’t eaten in a week,” she said.
“I’m finished now.” I dusted toast crumbs from my mouth and hands and stood up. “What do you want to do about laundry?”
“I want to teach you how to do it.”
“Boring,” I said again.
“Necessary,” Mom said again, and we both laughed.
We smiled at each other, and then Mom stood up and put both arms around me. “Oh, Sarah,” she whispered.
I pulled away quickly. “Come on,” I said. “Let's get it over with.” I turned to the laundry room just off the kitchen. “What do I have to learn?” I reached into the dirty-clothes bin and started pulling out things, Daddy's pajamas, my jeans, my white gym socks, and all the other stuff. It smelled terrible. “Dump it in, dump in soap. How much?” I turned to Mom. She hadn’t moved from where I had left her in the kitchen, but when I looked at her, she came toward me slowly.
She laughed softly and shook her head. “Honey, that's not how you do it. You have to sort wash first. Dark colors, light colors, white things.”
“Oh, pooh! You sound like an ad on TV.”
“Wait till your blue velour sweater comes out gray from being in with the jeans and you won’t think so.”
“Is that really what happens?”
She nodded, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.
I turned away, bent over the laundry bin again, and tried to come up with things all the same color. I couldn’t look at Mom, wouldn’t ask her why she was crying.
Even though I didn’t ask, she started to talk anyway. “Sarah, it's the nuttiest thing, but you know what haunted me in the hospital when they first told me… about the cancer?”
I didn’t answer or look up, just stayed bent over the clothes bin.
Mom paused for a minute, then went on. “Thinking of leaving you, thinking of the little things, thinking of how you’re going to have to care for yourself. And all I haven’t taught you yet.” She paused for a long time, then spoke again. “Stupid things, like laundry. Who's going to make sure you have your blue velour clean when you want it, or your gym suit on Monday mornings? You have to learn that, honey.” I could tell she was crying, and I was crying too, but I wouldn’t look up. Nobody's ever stayed head-down in a laundry bin for as long as I did.
“Here's four pairs of jeans,” I said after a while, still without straightening up. “And black socks. Can they go in together?”
There was no answer, and slowly I stood up. Mom was looking at me, tears in her eyes. “You have to face it, Sarah. You have to. It won’t do any good to avoid it. Please! Please?” Her eyes were pleading with me.
I just shook my head. If I didn’t listen, if I made my mind as blank as possible, I could do it. I could feel nothing. I pulled the pajamas and white socks out of the washer, and put in the jeans and black socks. �
��How much soap?” I asked.
“A cupful,” Mom answered. There was no emotion in her voice then, just sort of flat. She leaned over the washer, pushed a button. “This is for a full wash,” she said. “If it's a small load, you push the one for small. Here…” She pushed another button marked COOL, then one that said LARGE, and then stood back. “Okay,” she said. “Large for a full load. Cool water for dark things. You’ll use hot water for white things.”
“That's easy,” I said.
Neither of us moved out of the laundry room for a while. Mom was blocking my way to the kitchen, and I’d have to look at her to get past. I was still keeping my mind blank, unfeeling. I just let it run around on things like laundry, like black socks. Mom still hadn’t moved, so without looking up, I said, “Anything else?”
“Yes. Books.”
I was so surprised, I couldn’t help turning to her then. She nodded sadly. “Yes, books. So many books I haven’t told you about, haven’t read to you. I want to buy you so many books now. You won’t understand some of them yet, but I want you to have them for later, for when you’re older. I couldn’t bear for you not to have read Isak Dinesen. She's a woman, you know. And Kazantzakis. Such funny names.”
“Stop it!” Tears were running down my face, and I put my hands over my ears. “Stop it!” I almost screamed it.
“I have to!” She put her arms around me. “I have to, Sarah. There's so little time. Please?”
“You can’t die! You can’t die, can’t die. You can’t…”
I was sobbing, and Mom had her arms wrapped tight around me as she rocked me back and forth, back and forth. Tears were streaming down my face as though something had broken inside. “Can’t die, can’t…” I looked up at her then, and I almost said it. “I—I…” But I choked it back. “I hate you!”—that's what I was going to say. “I hate you, hate you for doing this to me. Hate you for talking about dying.” But something made me stop, and Mom pulled me close. I tried to pull away, but Mom was amazingly strong, and she held me tight. And then I really couldn’t stop crying. Tears just ran out until I was exhausted, till I could hardly stand up, but after a long while, I couldn’t cry any more. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was just that there were no more tears left. My breath was coming in big, shaky sobs, and Mom began patting my back softly.
You Shouldn't Have to Say Goodbye Page 4
