situation. He said he thought Thomas had had too much
to drink. Misha hugged me, in front of everyone. I'd caused a minor scandal in the presence of his colleagues, but he was
kind." She turns to me and studies my eyes, as if she sees something in my face she wants to describe, needs to talk about.
"Your father wasn't a bad man, Giselle."
I take the glass hanging loosely from my mother's hand and meet her gaze.
"I know, Ma, so what happened?"
"They kicked your father out on the street, like in cartoons, on his ass."
"God!"
"Yes. But there was a letter in the flowers with an address on it. He was going to work in a sanatorium, he'd come there to
tell Misha that he was going away"
"But then he got distracted? By you?"
My mother flushes and talks into her hands.
"There's something I've not told you before. I knew Thomas before I met Misha. We went to high school together, only he was
just graduating when I began school. He knew I had started nursing school, he knew my father, my mother. . ."
"Whoa. What do you mean you knew him? You knew Dad before you even met Misha?"
She ignores my question and rests her head on the top of my head as we sway into the last part of the afternoon. "Your father
never got invited back. Thomas was Misha's personal doctor, but Misha died not long after that big scene, their goodbye, I
guess. That's why I followed your father to the sanatorium, to get away from everyone, and everything," she says, as if it's
all clear, as if it's all completely logical.
My mother picks up her head and sniffs the air, turning away so that I can't see her eyes: story's over. She rocks the chair
with her heels. 1 think about how she says his name over and over, pushing out the edges of her lips and shifting her eyes
away. Misha. Quickly, so fast, I could almost pretend I didn't hear the rapture catching in her throat like a sob.
Generation time for TB is relatively normal for a highly contagious disease under unsanitary conditions. Transmission is via
airborne droplet infection: coughing, sneezing, and singing can transmit it.
Sol arrives in a beat-up old Chevy just as Mom is pulling out to go pick Holly up from the hospital. Sol goes over to the
car and introduces himself through the window. Mom gives him a big smile and then I can see her winking at me and giving me
the thumbs-up all the way down the street. I have a feeling I know what she will say later: "Gizella, you did not tell me
he was so warm. He's warm!"
"You mean hot, Mom . . . Yes, he's handsome."
I take my feet out of Holly's sneakers and snake them through the grass as Sol flops down next to me and kisses my cheek.
"That was relatively painless."
"I think my mother thinks you're good-looking."
"Well, can't say I blame her." Sol plucks the beer bottle out of my hand and takes a swig, then he tries to smell my armpit.
"Hey!"
"You smell good, like bleach and grass and sweat. Like tennis shoes and beer and lemon." He steals another kiss—a long one.
My head gets dizzy when he does that. I haven't eaten anything all day except an old lead-heavy zucchini muffin Holly brought
home from her home ec class, leaving the French toast Mom made me in the oven to dry out.
"What's on your mind, G.? You seem distracted."
I look at Sol's eyes, sombre and full of longing. I notice how when the light hits them they aren't black at all, but almost
hazel, warm, trusting. Suddenly, I'm filled with dread. The thought of going on with the rest of the afternoon, let alone
the rest of my life, is overwhelming.
"I don't know, I think I need another drink. I think you need one, too."
Sol jumps up. "I'll get them, just one though. There's a police press conference I gotta go to soon."
When he comes back with two beers, we clink bottles and I grab his hand and he kisses me again, filling up my delicate confusion
with his sunshine mouth until the dog next door starts barking ferociously.
"Sol?"
"Yeah?"
"I think my mother
to drink. Misha hugged me, in front of everyone. I'd caused a minor scandal in the presence of his colleagues, but he was
kind." She turns to me and studies my eyes, as if she sees something in my face she wants to describe, needs to talk about.
"Your father wasn't a bad man, Giselle."
I take the glass hanging loosely from my mother's hand and meet her gaze.
"I know, Ma, so what happened?"
"They kicked your father out on the street, like in cartoons, on his ass."
"God!"
"Yes. But there was a letter in the flowers with an address on it. He was going to work in a sanatorium, he'd come there to
tell Misha that he was going away"
"But then he got distracted? By you?"
My mother flushes and talks into her hands.
"There's something I've not told you before. I knew Thomas before I met Misha. We went to high school together, only he was
just graduating when I began school. He knew I had started nursing school, he knew my father, my mother. . ."
"Whoa. What do you mean you knew him? You knew Dad before you even met Misha?"
She ignores my question and rests her head on the top of my head as we sway into the last part of the afternoon. "Your father
never got invited back. Thomas was Misha's personal doctor, but Misha died not long after that big scene, their goodbye, I
guess. That's why I followed your father to the sanatorium, to get away from everyone, and everything," she says, as if it's
all clear, as if it's all completely logical.
My mother picks up her head and sniffs the air, turning away so that I can't see her eyes: story's over. She rocks the chair
with her heels. 1 think about how she says his name over and over, pushing out the edges of her lips and shifting her eyes
away. Misha. Quickly, so fast, I could almost pretend I didn't hear the rapture catching in her throat like a sob.
Generation time for TB is relatively normal for a highly contagious disease under unsanitary conditions. Transmission is via
airborne droplet infection: coughing, sneezing, and singing can transmit it.
Sol arrives in a beat-up old Chevy just as Mom is pulling out to go pick Holly up from the hospital. Sol goes over to the
car and introduces himself through the window. Mom gives him a big smile and then I can see her winking at me and giving me
the thumbs-up all the way down the street. I have a feeling I know what she will say later: "Gizella, you did not tell me
he was so warm. He's warm!"
"You mean hot, Mom . . . Yes, he's handsome."
I take my feet out of Holly's sneakers and snake them through the grass as Sol flops down next to me and kisses my cheek.
"That was relatively painless."
"I think my mother thinks you're good-looking."
"Well, can't say I blame her." Sol plucks the beer bottle out of my hand and takes a swig, then he tries to smell my armpit.
"Hey!"
"You smell good, like bleach and grass and sweat. Like tennis shoes and beer and lemon." He steals another kiss—a long one.
My head gets dizzy when he does that. I haven't eaten anything all day except an old lead-heavy zucchini muffin Holly brought
home from her home ec class, leaving the French toast Mom made me in the oven to dry out.
"What's on your mind, G.? You seem distracted."
I look at Sol's eyes, sombre and full of longing. I notice how when the light hits them they aren't black at all, but almost
hazel, warm, trusting. Suddenly, I'm filled with dread. The thought of going on with the rest of the afternoon, let alone
the rest of my life, is overwhelming.
"I don't know, I think I need another drink. I think you need one, too."
Sol jumps up. "I'll get them, just one though. There's a police press conference I gotta go to soon."
When he comes back with two beers, we clink bottles and I grab his hand and he kisses me again, filling up my delicate confusion
with his sunshine mouth until the dog next door starts barking ferociously.
"Sol?"
"Yeah?"
"I think my mother
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