And you’re not going anywhere.”
“But he will forget me. I mean, he won’t forget me because he’ll have pictures and memories, but after a while, I mean a long while, he will. Like when he’s fifteen or twenty-five, or when he’s getting married, he’ll try to remember what I smelled like, my voice, how it felt to have me hug him, and he’ll realize that I’m fading. That the pictures and videos are vivid, but what’s in his heart is more like a whisper.”
“You’re larger than life. Trust me. First of all, how could he forget all of the horrible meals you’ve subjected him to? Or the Halloween costumes you made him—never store-bought? I mean, what kid is going to forget the year his mother made him a shark costume, complete with the world’s biggest cardboard fin? Or the lobster costume when he was obsessed with crustaceans? And what about how you’ve never missed a Little League game? All this while Spawn is fucking the Child Bride and living in London. You were—are—there for him, Lily, and he will hold onto that forever. Along with all the new memories. Because I intend to dance with you at his wedding.”
“David can’t raise them.”
“No. He can’t.”
“My parents are both dead. I have a cousin who’s a lush in California whom I haven’t seen in fifteen years.”
“And you’re an only child. Which, frankly, beats the god-awful sister I have.”
“That leaves you, you know.”
“Please…I will always be here for them, you know that.”
“But you hear what I’m saying.”
“I hear you. But they belong with family.”
“ You’re their family. We’ll table this for now. To be discussed in the near future.”
“Tabled. Now what do you say we pop in a video of Vivian Leigh in Waterloo Bridge , bawl our eyes out and mutually swoon over the late, great and very beautiful Robert Taylor.”
“Now there’s another man we can agree on.”
“Certainly. Not like that little boy-toy actor you like. Orlando Bloom.”
“Please. He is very sexy.”
“You need to like some real men.”
“I won’t even touch that one, Michael.”
“Want some popcorn?” I sat up.
“Couldn’t keep it down.”
“Warm ginger ale?”
“Sounds heavenly.”
I went downstairs to get her some ginger ale and to get the video. The house was quiet. Tara was sleeping at her girlfriend Jody’s house, and Noah was long since asleep. I found myself staring out at the lawn from the kitchen window. We’d had a snowstorm two days earlier, and everything still looked pristine out in the ’burbs. For some reason, the sight of the snow, the quiet house, the little stained-glass suncatchers Noah and Lily made and baked in the toaster oven and stuck with suction cups to the window, I felt this lurch of emotion inside of me and I started to cry. I slid down to the floor and sobbed into my knees for a good ten minutes. The thought that she spent nights wondering if Noah would forget her, if she would become this faded ghost in our hearts, destroyed me.
I collected myself, rinsed my face with some cold water, wiped my eyes in her ratty pale blue dish towel, and went back upstairs with soda and the movie. In hindsight, it was a bad choice. At first, we sighed over Robert Taylor as the dashing Roy. He swept Vivian Leigh, as the young ballerina, right off her feet. Every glance between them was straight out of old Hollywood. Roy was dreamy; she was the innocent. By the end of the four-hankie sobfest, Vivian Leigh’s character of Myra had given up on life. She walked in a trance, along Waterloo Bridge, dazed by her own heartache. For the second time that night, I cried. Myra died right there on the bridge. But Roy had a good-luck charm from Myra in his pocket, and there he was, thirty years later, standing on Waterloo Bridge remembering everything about her. It was as if Myra was still alive. Myra. Lily. Was there any doubt she would stay in our hearts?
18
Curveball
An excerpt from a novel by Michael
“But he will forget me. I mean, he won’t forget me because he’ll have pictures and memories, but after a while, I mean a long while, he will. Like when he’s fifteen or twenty-five, or when he’s getting married, he’ll try to remember what I smelled like, my voice, how it felt to have me hug him, and he’ll realize that I’m fading. That the pictures and videos are vivid, but what’s in his heart is more like a whisper.”
“You’re larger than life. Trust me. First of all, how could he forget all of the horrible meals you’ve subjected him to? Or the Halloween costumes you made him—never store-bought? I mean, what kid is going to forget the year his mother made him a shark costume, complete with the world’s biggest cardboard fin? Or the lobster costume when he was obsessed with crustaceans? And what about how you’ve never missed a Little League game? All this while Spawn is fucking the Child Bride and living in London. You were—are—there for him, Lily, and he will hold onto that forever. Along with all the new memories. Because I intend to dance with you at his wedding.”
“David can’t raise them.”
“No. He can’t.”
“My parents are both dead. I have a cousin who’s a lush in California whom I haven’t seen in fifteen years.”
“And you’re an only child. Which, frankly, beats the god-awful sister I have.”
“That leaves you, you know.”
“Please…I will always be here for them, you know that.”
“But you hear what I’m saying.”
“I hear you. But they belong with family.”
“ You’re their family. We’ll table this for now. To be discussed in the near future.”
“Tabled. Now what do you say we pop in a video of Vivian Leigh in Waterloo Bridge , bawl our eyes out and mutually swoon over the late, great and very beautiful Robert Taylor.”
“Now there’s another man we can agree on.”
“Certainly. Not like that little boy-toy actor you like. Orlando Bloom.”
“Please. He is very sexy.”
“You need to like some real men.”
“I won’t even touch that one, Michael.”
“Want some popcorn?” I sat up.
“Couldn’t keep it down.”
“Warm ginger ale?”
“Sounds heavenly.”
I went downstairs to get her some ginger ale and to get the video. The house was quiet. Tara was sleeping at her girlfriend Jody’s house, and Noah was long since asleep. I found myself staring out at the lawn from the kitchen window. We’d had a snowstorm two days earlier, and everything still looked pristine out in the ’burbs. For some reason, the sight of the snow, the quiet house, the little stained-glass suncatchers Noah and Lily made and baked in the toaster oven and stuck with suction cups to the window, I felt this lurch of emotion inside of me and I started to cry. I slid down to the floor and sobbed into my knees for a good ten minutes. The thought that she spent nights wondering if Noah would forget her, if she would become this faded ghost in our hearts, destroyed me.
I collected myself, rinsed my face with some cold water, wiped my eyes in her ratty pale blue dish towel, and went back upstairs with soda and the movie. In hindsight, it was a bad choice. At first, we sighed over Robert Taylor as the dashing Roy. He swept Vivian Leigh, as the young ballerina, right off her feet. Every glance between them was straight out of old Hollywood. Roy was dreamy; she was the innocent. By the end of the four-hankie sobfest, Vivian Leigh’s character of Myra had given up on life. She walked in a trance, along Waterloo Bridge, dazed by her own heartache. For the second time that night, I cried. Myra died right there on the bridge. But Roy had a good-luck charm from Myra in his pocket, and there he was, thirty years later, standing on Waterloo Bridge remembering everything about her. It was as if Myra was still alive. Myra. Lily. Was there any doubt she would stay in our hearts?
18
Curveball
An excerpt from a novel by Michael
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