This House is Ours -4 (Patreon)

Sunday -

Sometimes, we can hear them. Our uncle Frank, our grandmother, visitors we don't even know, standing outside our mother's door. They all say the same words. You have to pull it together. You have to come back to us. You have to eat. You have to bathe. You have to be a person again. For your children.

For Simon and Sunday.

They need you.

They lost their father.

All they have left is you.

You can't go.

That isn't fair. I don't think that is fair. We lost our father. But she lost more. Why won't they just let her grieve? Why won't they let her make her own decisions? Why are they using us against her? Like we're weapons. I am not a weapon. Simon is not a weapon.

We are not a chain around my mother's waist. We do not want to keep her here, like nails in her feet. We are not nails in her feet.

And then one night, after the rest had gone, our uncle Jonah's voice stayed in the hallway, quieter than the others had been. We had to open our own door to hear what he was saying. To see him. He was leaning against the wall beside our mother's room.

"I could not live without Frank," he said. His Haitian accent, his warm voice, his sincerity, it all felt quieter when he spoke slowly. "I could not and I would not live without him. Kids or not. Friends and family or not." He slid down, so he was sitting on the carpet.

"You don't have to come out," he said. "You don't have to come out for the world to keep going. You don't have to come out for your children to be okay. You don't have to eat for your children to be okay. You don't have to think positive or go for walks. You don't have to take a bath. You don't have to be a person again.

"They are safe. Frank would die for them. And they love him too. The summers when we took care of them were good. They were very good. If you go away…" He stopped speaking for a long pause. "I know what it's like to feel empty and alone when there are people all around you. People always say they can't imagine what you're going through, and they're sorry. But of course they can imagine it. They just don't want to. It is inconvenient. They want everything to be alright again. As soon as possible."

Frank coughed in their bedroom, but Jonah didn't even look up.

"Nothing will ever be alright again," he said. "I know."

There was another long pause.

"Maybe a bath isn't the worst idea though," he said and there was a muffled sound like a laugh, from behind her door. Jonah smiled and began to get up. We closed our door as quietly as we had opened it.

Later that night, when everyone had gone to sleep, Simon and I sat in the dark outside her closed bedroom door again. Every night. Just to be near to her. We sat ourselves down on the carpet, his back against the wall beside her door, mine against the railing. The wallpaper looked like muddy water in the dark. Simon tapped a small hello on her door. I tapped another. Not a knock. We weren't door to door salesmen. We were just there to be near to her.

I always sat facing him. It felt less lonely that way. We were both there, and if we were there, maybe she was too.

She didn't have to eat. We were okay. We were okay and she didn't have to eat for us to be okay. She didn't have to come out of her room for us to be okay. She didn't even need to have a bath for us to be okay.

She didn't have to be a person.

Simon reached out and held my hand. He loved me.

I loved him, too.

Letter

Dear Simon,

Dear Sunday,

I don't know how many letters it takes to say goodbye.

I guess I'm not saying goodbye. I guess I'm just talking. I hope you can hear me talking. Even though there are so many voices now.

You're going to hear nasty words at my funeral, after I am dead, but don't for one moment believe that you are overhearing whispers. You are the intended audience.

It is so easy to actually whisper. To really and genuinely whisper. To lean close til your mouth is against his ear, and speak low. You don't hiss. You aren't on TV. A whisper is an intimate thing.

You will be witnessing a performance. "I want to be heard not wanting to be heard."

And the words they want you to hear? They will be cruel. They will be weapons. You're going to hear that I was selfish. Cruel. Weak. Bad, no good, very bad. You will hear that I chose myself over my children.

Which is fair enough.

I did choose myself.

I hope you grow up knowing that it is okay to choose yourself. Because it took me too long, it took me so much pain to finally figure that out.

So many nights waiting for everyone to go to sleep so that I could sneak downstairs to the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror.

The woman in the mirror was broken, and weak, and she loved your father. I knew I couldn't kill myself. I wasn't allowed. That was stupid, weak, cruel, bad, no good. Selfish. Think of the children. But what if I could just kill HER? She was always going to die, anyway. I could kill her. And maybe something stronger would take her place.

If I could kill your mother, something would grow to fill her body and it could raise you. It would be like stone. Acheless. Solid, through and through. It would endure.

So I took a kitchen knife, and with a fast, firm jerk, I slashed at her face on the left side. Your mother always had nice cheekbones. Kill the cheekbones. I slashed again, harder. The knife wasn't sharp enough. The cheekbones were still there. A little trickle of blood, and your mother's blank face still looking back at me. So I went and found another. A paring knife.

I fit the knife in the tiny, failed groove I'd already created and I slashed faster. Kill the cheekbones. I slashed harder. And there it was. A bright shock of pain. A moment with no me.  And then blood. Blood that wouldn't stop at first.

I sat on the floor clutching my face and throbbing with light, and I felt outside of her. I could just watch her sitting there, pathetic. Eventually I came back, but it was something. And I thought it might be possible.

It might be possible to kill myself, and live.

-

Frank and Jonah 4

The bedside light was on. Frank was pretending to read.

"I didn't mean you," Jonah said.

"No, you're right. I don't. I don't understand her," Frank said. "And I don't want to understand her. I know she's sad. I know she loved my brother. But she has children. What good would it do to understand her? So that I can forgive her when she kills herself? When she leaves them alone?"

"I have been somewhere near to where she is," Jonah said. "In my life."

"You don't have children!" Frank said. Then he lowered his voice.  "Children. How can anything be more important than that? Or is it that I'm too lazy to understand. Too comfortable in my bubble. I just want things to be normal and convenient again as soon as possible? She should just suck it up?"

"I know that is not what you think."

"Maybe it is. Sometimes it is."

Jonah began to undress.

"I wanted her to know she was seen," he said. "Maybe that will help. Maybe not. And you are not selfish. I did not marry a selfish man. You are kind and generous and you are doing your best. You don't understand her because you are not her. You have not lived her life. Your brain does not flash and strobe the same way."

He climbed into bed.

"And you see more than she sees, right now. You see her children. You see them slipping out at night to wander. It hurts you that they've stopped talking, and you can't imagine why it doesn't hurt her, too. How can she not see? Your heart is open and your eyes see more than hers."

"And I'm handsome." Frank said. His voice was softer. "Don't forget that."

"And you are handsome," Jonah said, unwilling to be distracted. "But we can't just chastise her through her door again and again and hope that will fix her. She needs to know she isn't alone, and she is loved. And she is broken, yes. It is okay to let her know that we can see. We can see she is broken. And that it isn't selfish to be broken. It isn't evil."

"But it is selfish, Jonah. Her children should mean more to her than this. She doesn't see them at all. They are down the hall, and she hides. How can a mother just turn off that part of her brain? How can a mother-" he stopped himself from raising his voice. "Those kids need their mother, and she's got her head up her own ass so far she can't even see that? No, I don't understand. It has been months. She's been to the hospital three times now. And we hide it for her. We don't tell them anything. Enough is enough."

"I have never been a mother," Jonah said. "I suspect that, like everyone else, they each have their own mind. They each have their own delicate hearts that can break in unexpected ways. I expect they are just people. And people can be blind and stupid and selfish."

"You just said she wasn't selfish."

"I said she needed to know she isn't alone. She needs to know that we can see what she is going through, without judgment."

"Well, then I guess she's lucky she has you to lie to her. I hope it helps her sleep at night."

Jonah rested his head on Frank's chest.

"I hope so too," he said.

-

------
Read the other chapters here.