aunt and her uncle fascinated Mary Grace, but she
learned early not to share that with her mother. Even a simple comment that
Aunt Maggie had given her a piece of coffee cake would end up with her mother’s
stinging words, “You think she bakes it herself? It is from the store. Stupido .”
Her father, on the other hand, encouraged her to go downstairs to
be with Aunt Maggie, but told her very clearly that it was better to leave
Uncle Paul alone. “ Bambina , Uncle Paul he no likes too much noise. He no
like people all around when he is home, so when you see he leaves the porch and
goes up the stairs, he wants to be by
himself. He no wants to see your bird puz zle.” But, that wasn’t so.
Uncle Paul liked to talk to her. When they met alone on the porch he would tell her stories about a beautiful place in the
boot called It aly where the trees spiraled up to the sky, and the chiesa had a tower so tall it rose above the trees.
Besides, in a small house of five people, it
was dif ficult
to not cross paths. For Uncle Paul to get to his space, he had to pass through
the porch, where Aunt Maggie often was sitting, and then go past her apartment,
up the steps to Mary Grace’s family’s apartment, and then down the hall and
through the bathroom to get to the attic steps. If Mary Grace was sitting in
the hall doing a puzzle and someone was in the bathroom he waited there in the
hall, and he smiled, made faces at her, and
mimed the birds flying. Still, it was obvi ous, even to a child, that
there were more than physical walls and stairs between all of them, and some
things she didn’t know how to ask her parents.
Could Mary Grace go back now?
Back then, when arriving home from grade school each day Mary Grace wanted to stay with Aunt Mag gie
on the screened-in porch. Aunt Maggie, not wanting any trouble, would coax her.
“Go say hello to your Momma.”
When she did as her aunt told her, her mother was either in the
living room staring at the black box of the television, or in the bedroom with
all the blinds closed tight. “Momma, I’m home.”
“Go downstairs. Go outside. Just leave me be.”
Te resa
wouldn’t turn her head to see her daughter.
Mary Grace took a deep breath and reasoned that this many years
out, she could handle a brief visit back to the family house, the house she had
hoped to avoid forever after she left at sixteen years of age. What she never conceived was how the visit would begin to
un ravel the whole of their lives, beginning with her childhood bed—the
couch.
The Couch
Chapter 2
MARY GRACE HAD felt sickened by the thought of interacting with
her mother. She ran conversations through her mind as she drove and reminded
herself again that she had promised her dad. When she arrived she went first to
the house, and Aunt Maggie’s downstairs’ apartment, and maybe to put off the
inevitable a little longer decided to call the hospital. She spoke with someone in the emergency room. “Your mother is a
vic tim of a heat stroke that has put her into a coma, and the next
twenty-four hours will tell us . . . ”
Is this the end? Mary Grace’s knees were shaking, but in her
head she was angry, and her heart was ice cold.
When Mary Grace went to the hospital an hour later, the
interaction in the hospital was surreal—her mother lying on an air conditioning
mat and hooked up to a respirator, her mother who she had not seen for so many
years, left Mary Grace feeling oddly suspended, not emotional at all, and
asking herself, “Who is this woman?”
Did she even recognize this person lying there? Why should she?
She didn’t know how to interact with this nonresponsive stranger. The ICU
nurse, whose name was chalked onto a board across from her mother, Nurse
Belinda, encouraged her to talk to her mother. “She may hear you.” But, Mary
Grace had nothing to say to her mother. Instead she told Nurse Belinda she was
going to have to leave. Nurse Belinda rattled on about how
learned early not to share that with her mother. Even a simple comment that
Aunt Maggie had given her a piece of coffee cake would end up with her mother’s
stinging words, “You think she bakes it herself? It is from the store. Stupido .”
Her father, on the other hand, encouraged her to go downstairs to
be with Aunt Maggie, but told her very clearly that it was better to leave
Uncle Paul alone. “ Bambina , Uncle Paul he no likes too much noise. He no
like people all around when he is home, so when you see he leaves the porch and
goes up the stairs, he wants to be by
himself. He no wants to see your bird puz zle.” But, that wasn’t so.
Uncle Paul liked to talk to her. When they met alone on the porch he would tell her stories about a beautiful place in the
boot called It aly where the trees spiraled up to the sky, and the chiesa had a tower so tall it rose above the trees.
Besides, in a small house of five people, it
was dif ficult
to not cross paths. For Uncle Paul to get to his space, he had to pass through
the porch, where Aunt Maggie often was sitting, and then go past her apartment,
up the steps to Mary Grace’s family’s apartment, and then down the hall and
through the bathroom to get to the attic steps. If Mary Grace was sitting in
the hall doing a puzzle and someone was in the bathroom he waited there in the
hall, and he smiled, made faces at her, and
mimed the birds flying. Still, it was obvi ous, even to a child, that
there were more than physical walls and stairs between all of them, and some
things she didn’t know how to ask her parents.
Could Mary Grace go back now?
Back then, when arriving home from grade school each day Mary Grace wanted to stay with Aunt Mag gie
on the screened-in porch. Aunt Maggie, not wanting any trouble, would coax her.
“Go say hello to your Momma.”
When she did as her aunt told her, her mother was either in the
living room staring at the black box of the television, or in the bedroom with
all the blinds closed tight. “Momma, I’m home.”
“Go downstairs. Go outside. Just leave me be.”
Te resa
wouldn’t turn her head to see her daughter.
Mary Grace took a deep breath and reasoned that this many years
out, she could handle a brief visit back to the family house, the house she had
hoped to avoid forever after she left at sixteen years of age. What she never conceived was how the visit would begin to
un ravel the whole of their lives, beginning with her childhood bed—the
couch.
The Couch
Chapter 2
MARY GRACE HAD felt sickened by the thought of interacting with
her mother. She ran conversations through her mind as she drove and reminded
herself again that she had promised her dad. When she arrived she went first to
the house, and Aunt Maggie’s downstairs’ apartment, and maybe to put off the
inevitable a little longer decided to call the hospital. She spoke with someone in the emergency room. “Your mother is a
vic tim of a heat stroke that has put her into a coma, and the next
twenty-four hours will tell us . . . ”
Is this the end? Mary Grace’s knees were shaking, but in her
head she was angry, and her heart was ice cold.
When Mary Grace went to the hospital an hour later, the
interaction in the hospital was surreal—her mother lying on an air conditioning
mat and hooked up to a respirator, her mother who she had not seen for so many
years, left Mary Grace feeling oddly suspended, not emotional at all, and
asking herself, “Who is this woman?”
Did she even recognize this person lying there? Why should she?
She didn’t know how to interact with this nonresponsive stranger. The ICU
nurse, whose name was chalked onto a board across from her mother, Nurse
Belinda, encouraged her to talk to her mother. “She may hear you.” But, Mary
Grace had nothing to say to her mother. Instead she told Nurse Belinda she was
going to have to leave. Nurse Belinda rattled on about how
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