the table with the box of tissues and the jar of stones—and I felt as if I were waiting for the end of a story, for the moment when the crisis passed and the characters wisely understood what had happened to them and someone shut the book with a satisfying snap. But what if the story didn’t end, and the book stayed open?
“You wonder what you’re supposed to do with what?” the Grandma Therapist asked.
“This.”
I couldn’t look at her. I tried to gesture but ended up just turning my hands palm up in my lap.
This thing,
I wanted to say to her.
This giant shape always pressing and bruising and taking up every single particle of air between us.
The Grandma Therapist leaned toward me. “Are you talking about sadness?”
I could barely speak above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it,” I said. “What do other people do with it? Where do they put it?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Sometimes they carry it with them,” she said. “Because they aren’t sure what else to do.”
I nodded.
“But sometimes they open it up like a package in the presence of a person they can talk to,” she said. “Someone they can trust.” She held out her hands. “Any person who is carrying a lot of sadness,” she said, “needs to be able to rest sometimes, and to put it down.”
58
“So I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” Jimmy said when I answered the door and found him standing on the porch. “But I figured you’d be home and I got inspired, so I brought you this.” He held out a plastic food container and took off the lid.
“That’s kind of a weird-looking snack,” I said.
“Actually, it’s incredible.” Jimmy didn’t wait to be invited; he came right into the house and followed me to the study. Dora and my mother were out somewhere, so we were alone. “It’s basically chickpeas and feta cheese and mint,” he said. “This stuff is nutritious. It’s got protein, and something else. I forget what. Dairy or something. If you ever decide to be a vegetarian you could practically live on it.”
“I’m not a vegetarian.”
“Why don’t you get us some bowls and some spoons?” Jimmy sat down. When I came back, I found him engrossed in a commercial for tampons. I had to wave the spoons in front of him. “Jimmy?”
“What? Sorry: I don’t usually watch TV,” he said. “You know the average kid watches a thousand hours during the school year?” He dished out the salad. “So how’s she doing?”
I ate a couple of chickpeas, carefully dragging the chunks of feta to the edge of the bowl. “She’s doing okay.”
“She doesn’t look it,” Jimmy said. “If you want my opinion.”
“I don’t want your opinion. And I don’t want to argue about it,” I said.
“Who’s arguing?” A few flecks of mint colored the corners of his mouth. “Actually, I came over because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Surprise,” I said. “We’re already talking.”
“Yeah. Here’s what I’m thinking, though,” Jimmy said. “I’m thinking that maybe this situation is getting beyond you.”
“Just leave it alone, Jimmy,” I said.
He ate a spoonful of salad. “You don’t know what she might be involved in.”
“She’s not ‘involved in’ anything.” I picked up the remote and changed the channel. “Last time you criticized me for always talking about Dora. And now here you are, talking about her again.”
“Here I am,” Jimmy agreed.
We stared at the TV for a while. “You know what I’ve noticed about you?” I asked. “You never say you’re sorry about my sister. That’s what other people say. Either they pretend they don’t know anything or they say, ‘I’m sorry to hear about your sister.’ But you never say that.”
“Do you want me to say it?”
“No.”
Jimmy put the lid on his plastic container. “I’m going upstairs.”
“What for?” I got up and followed him. “You’re not going to shave your head again, are
“You wonder what you’re supposed to do with what?” the Grandma Therapist asked.
“This.”
I couldn’t look at her. I tried to gesture but ended up just turning my hands palm up in my lap.
This thing,
I wanted to say to her.
This giant shape always pressing and bruising and taking up every single particle of air between us.
The Grandma Therapist leaned toward me. “Are you talking about sadness?”
I could barely speak above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with it,” I said. “What do other people do with it? Where do they put it?”
She didn’t answer right away. “Sometimes they carry it with them,” she said. “Because they aren’t sure what else to do.”
I nodded.
“But sometimes they open it up like a package in the presence of a person they can talk to,” she said. “Someone they can trust.” She held out her hands. “Any person who is carrying a lot of sadness,” she said, “needs to be able to rest sometimes, and to put it down.”
58
“So I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me,” Jimmy said when I answered the door and found him standing on the porch. “But I figured you’d be home and I got inspired, so I brought you this.” He held out a plastic food container and took off the lid.
“That’s kind of a weird-looking snack,” I said.
“Actually, it’s incredible.” Jimmy didn’t wait to be invited; he came right into the house and followed me to the study. Dora and my mother were out somewhere, so we were alone. “It’s basically chickpeas and feta cheese and mint,” he said. “This stuff is nutritious. It’s got protein, and something else. I forget what. Dairy or something. If you ever decide to be a vegetarian you could practically live on it.”
“I’m not a vegetarian.”
“Why don’t you get us some bowls and some spoons?” Jimmy sat down. When I came back, I found him engrossed in a commercial for tampons. I had to wave the spoons in front of him. “Jimmy?”
“What? Sorry: I don’t usually watch TV,” he said. “You know the average kid watches a thousand hours during the school year?” He dished out the salad. “So how’s she doing?”
I ate a couple of chickpeas, carefully dragging the chunks of feta to the edge of the bowl. “She’s doing okay.”
“She doesn’t look it,” Jimmy said. “If you want my opinion.”
“I don’t want your opinion. And I don’t want to argue about it,” I said.
“Who’s arguing?” A few flecks of mint colored the corners of his mouth. “Actually, I came over because I wanted to talk to you.”
“Surprise,” I said. “We’re already talking.”
“Yeah. Here’s what I’m thinking, though,” Jimmy said. “I’m thinking that maybe this situation is getting beyond you.”
“Just leave it alone, Jimmy,” I said.
He ate a spoonful of salad. “You don’t know what she might be involved in.”
“She’s not ‘involved in’ anything.” I picked up the remote and changed the channel. “Last time you criticized me for always talking about Dora. And now here you are, talking about her again.”
“Here I am,” Jimmy agreed.
We stared at the TV for a while. “You know what I’ve noticed about you?” I asked. “You never say you’re sorry about my sister. That’s what other people say. Either they pretend they don’t know anything or they say, ‘I’m sorry to hear about your sister.’ But you never say that.”
“Do you want me to say it?”
“No.”
Jimmy put the lid on his plastic container. “I’m going upstairs.”
“What for?” I got up and followed him. “You’re not going to shave your head again, are
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