petted him, rocked him. She felt a kind of shift as he started to go, and she watched as one of his pupils fully dilated. Before the other pupil dilated and he stopped breathing, he looked up into her eyes, and he lay one paw gently on her breast. All the pain he’d been enduring up to that point, and it was considerable, seemed to vanish.
She hopes, if she dies today, she can feel the way he seemed to. Or like Meghan’s grandfather, who at the last moment of his life sat up in his hospital bed, looked across the room at something no one else could see, and said, “Is that you?” He smiled a glorious smile and died. Just like that. “It was like a movie,” Meghan said. “It was really weird but also really beautiful. It made me not afraid to die. I mean, for a while, at least.” She and Meghan had talked a lot about death that day, lain on the floor eating leftover fancy cheeses and crackers that Irene had brought home from a party and talked about what dying might be like for them, what it really meant. Could it be true, as some religions suggested, that life was only what you had to slog through in order to reach the afterlife? Sadie had always taken offense at such a notion, and so had Meghan. As her friend had put it that day, How can you look at a sunset and suggest that this life is meant only to be endured? Or, you know, a baby?
Sadie stares at the ceiling, slows her breathing. In an odd way, relaxes. If she dies today, she got to live. And now she’ll see what happens next. She hopes she can come back and tell others not to worry.
And if she is allowed to live, she … What? She imagines herself walking away from the shed, whole and uninjured, released back into her life. She imagines walking in the door to their flat and seeing Irene in the kitchen, imagines calling out, “Mom?” and Irene turning to see her, her face lit up like it always was when she came home, then changing when she saw that something had happened. Or maybe she wouldn’t tell her mother. Maybe she would keep it to herself instead of feeding Irene’s fears. Maybe there would be something noble in that, turning the tables and protecting Irene, for a change. And so now she imagines walking in, making excuses to her mother for her absence, making her believe that it was a mini-rebellion, and she was sorry for any worry she’d caused, then going into her bedroom and sitting at the side of her bed and holding her old stuffed animal rabbit against her middle, smelling her child self at the top of its head.
She thinks if she does get to live, if she does get to walk out of here like that, she will forgive the man, so that she can unburden herself as much as she can of everything that has happened today. She will forgive him so that he does not own any part of her life. She knows how to do that.
When Sadie was in seventh grade, her best friend turned against her. It was for no reason Sadie could discern; the girl just chose suddenly to make Sadie’s life miserable. When Sadie visited her dad not long after all that abuse started, she told himabout it. He listened, lying on the floor of her bedroom as she lay in bed. It was always her favorite time with him, when they talked before she went to sleep. And when she had finished talking, he told her about how kids could be really vicious at that age, especially girls, and that what her friend was doing had way more to do with her own self than with Sadie. He said, “I know you feel bad about it, but here’s what I want you to do. Create an imaginary box. Into that box I want you to put all the wrong things Isabel did to you. Put all those things in there, and put your hurt feelings about those things in there, too. And then put the box high up on an imaginary shelf. Just put it away. You don’t have to deny anything, but you don’t need to have it out, either. Just put it away, and maybe someday you can look at it again and see it another way. Most of all, remember this: You didn’t
She hopes, if she dies today, she can feel the way he seemed to. Or like Meghan’s grandfather, who at the last moment of his life sat up in his hospital bed, looked across the room at something no one else could see, and said, “Is that you?” He smiled a glorious smile and died. Just like that. “It was like a movie,” Meghan said. “It was really weird but also really beautiful. It made me not afraid to die. I mean, for a while, at least.” She and Meghan had talked a lot about death that day, lain on the floor eating leftover fancy cheeses and crackers that Irene had brought home from a party and talked about what dying might be like for them, what it really meant. Could it be true, as some religions suggested, that life was only what you had to slog through in order to reach the afterlife? Sadie had always taken offense at such a notion, and so had Meghan. As her friend had put it that day, How can you look at a sunset and suggest that this life is meant only to be endured? Or, you know, a baby?
Sadie stares at the ceiling, slows her breathing. In an odd way, relaxes. If she dies today, she got to live. And now she’ll see what happens next. She hopes she can come back and tell others not to worry.
And if she is allowed to live, she … What? She imagines herself walking away from the shed, whole and uninjured, released back into her life. She imagines walking in the door to their flat and seeing Irene in the kitchen, imagines calling out, “Mom?” and Irene turning to see her, her face lit up like it always was when she came home, then changing when she saw that something had happened. Or maybe she wouldn’t tell her mother. Maybe she would keep it to herself instead of feeding Irene’s fears. Maybe there would be something noble in that, turning the tables and protecting Irene, for a change. And so now she imagines walking in, making excuses to her mother for her absence, making her believe that it was a mini-rebellion, and she was sorry for any worry she’d caused, then going into her bedroom and sitting at the side of her bed and holding her old stuffed animal rabbit against her middle, smelling her child self at the top of its head.
She thinks if she does get to live, if she does get to walk out of here like that, she will forgive the man, so that she can unburden herself as much as she can of everything that has happened today. She will forgive him so that he does not own any part of her life. She knows how to do that.
When Sadie was in seventh grade, her best friend turned against her. It was for no reason Sadie could discern; the girl just chose suddenly to make Sadie’s life miserable. When Sadie visited her dad not long after all that abuse started, she told himabout it. He listened, lying on the floor of her bedroom as she lay in bed. It was always her favorite time with him, when they talked before she went to sleep. And when she had finished talking, he told her about how kids could be really vicious at that age, especially girls, and that what her friend was doing had way more to do with her own self than with Sadie. He said, “I know you feel bad about it, but here’s what I want you to do. Create an imaginary box. Into that box I want you to put all the wrong things Isabel did to you. Put all those things in there, and put your hurt feelings about those things in there, too. And then put the box high up on an imaginary shelf. Just put it away. You don’t have to deny anything, but you don’t need to have it out, either. Just put it away, and maybe someday you can look at it again and see it another way. Most of all, remember this: You didn’t
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