This Is Not a Love Story: A Memoir by Judy Brown Page B

because Nachum was destiny sent from Heaven’s throne. She said that it didn’t matter where he was sent from because what Nachum had was genetic, and everyone knew this meant that all the grandchildren would be crazy like him. She also said that maybe Nachum was meant to be, but not nearly meant enough. The rules of shidduchim were still much more meant, and those were what would be.
    I wanted to tell my mother that because she had selfishly not given Nachum away, I would never get married. I had no preordained partner in Heaven. I wanted to tell her that I wished she would be more like the other mothers, less tall and strong. I wanted to tell my mother this, but I did not.

Seventeen
    Months had passed since my brother had come back from Israel—fall and half of the winter—and the very special Chush school had still not made him normal.
    I began my forty-day fast.
    The second fast was harder than the first one. By the third day, I realized it would be easier if I stayed home from school, away from Nechy’s sour candies and Blimi’s stupid cheese snacks. I could be hungry at home.
    This should not have been a difficult matter. After all, it was my rightful turn to be sick. A few weeks before, I had made a deal with Miri after she stayed home from pre-1-A with a fever. I told her that I’d give her the pack of stickers I had stolen from Rivky if she would let me have a turn at being sick. She had had the fever three times already, and I hadn’t gotten it even once. She said okay, grabbed the stickers, and stuck them all over the walls. But the next time came and there she was, taking my turn, burning up with fever again. I told her that she was a liar, and it was my turn to stay home from school. She should get out of my mother’s bed now.
    Miri cried. She pushed me away and called my mother, who came quickly down the hall.
    “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Why are you bothering her? And why are you still in pajamas?”
    But before I went to my room to get dressed, I had the last word. I warned Miri that I would never make a deal with her again; that God sent liars like her straight to the fires of Gehenim for eternity and more. Also, she had better give me the stickers back like new, exactly the way they were when I stole them.
    I went to school, finished snack and lunch, and said a prayer to absolve the food. I did this for the next three days. Two psalms absolved a sandwich, five a Super Snacks bag, eight for Milk Munch, and three for a piece of fruit I didn’t even want.
    Still, deals with sisters were easier than deals with God. It was clear when you were cheated and when you weren’t. And when you were, you could pinch that sister, push her, stick out your tongue and make her cry. Then at least you felt better. With God, it wasn’t so simple.
    On the seventh night of the fast, I said fourteen psalms for eight Peanut Chews. Then I said my nightly prayers. I was just settling under my covers, chewing on gum my mother forbade in bed, when my father’s voice exploded down the hall.
    I had never heard my father sound like that. “You’re wasting your time!” he shouted, as if he had forgotten that we were sleeping nearby. “You can’t fix that kind of thing!”
    My mother’s voice rose. “Our child is not a waste of time!”
    My father banged the table. “A waste! A waste! You’re living in a dream!”
    My mother responded sharply. My father argued back. Then there was a harsh sound: the squeal of the chair as it was shoved back, hitting the counter. I heard my father stride down the hallway. The front door slammed shut and he was gone.
    I breathed deeply. I was furious.
    My teacher said there were things we mortals couldn’t understand. Only God knew. Only God saw. Only God could decide what was good and what was not, and it was our job to accept it with blind faith, because the ways of Heaven are mysterious and silent.
    But I knew that this wasn’t silence. This was ignoring. My family