Thursday Evening

Thursday Evening

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

     There is silence at last.  My mother looks at me like I’m crazy.  My hands are still covering my ears, my head bent into my chest.

     “Meg…”  She is whispering…careful, very careful.  No.  She can’t do this to me.

     “No.”  One step back-me.  “No.”  One step forward-her.  “No! Stop it!”  I turn and run out the back door.  Running, running in bare feet through the rain.  The wind blows hard catching the leaves and throwing them in my face.  Can’t everyone just leave me alone for once?  “Stop it,” I cry.  But they don’t care about one meagre human girl child.

     I crumple, exhausted, in a soggy pile.  Where I am?  The beach parking lot.  There’s sand everywhere.  The waves crest white.  I think I’m crying, but I’m not sure.  The wind is harsher here near the water.  I have no jacket.  Just a shirt and sweats.  But I couldn’t stay there a minute longer.  She didn’t—doesn’t—understand.  The words I say mean nothing to her.  Nothing…nothing…. It sounds like the waves.

     I’m shivering, shaking so badly I can’t brush my hair from my face.  I pull myself into a ball.  Tighter, tinier.  Keep the heat in.  There is no heat.  I can feel the heat being sucked from me.  The ocean wants to eat me.  I should have never come here.  It’s too angry to understand and I don’t know what to say anyway.

     My heart’s beating faster.  I can’t move, even if I could, where would I go?  Home, home, go home.  I can’t, didn’t I just say that?  I can’t spend another minute there.  Ronnie then?  Ronnie, Ronnie.  The name sounds funny, doesn’t it?  Kind of ugly, really.  She wants to be like Lily—that’s my cousin, I think I said that before, didn’t I?  She likes Lily.  She’s so daring.  Whatever.  I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up, but I don’t say those kind of things.  Never, never.  Those kind of words hurt people.  Tear holes in them that you can’t put a band-aid on.  That’s what they say, isn’t it?

     Be genial.

     That’s what my mother says.  Genial.  Ge-ni-al.  Funny.  Keep saying it.  Genial, genial, genial, genial, genial, ge—wait.  A car.  Do cars come down here in weather like this?  God, it is feezing.  My fingernails are purple, my hands vaguely blue.  That’s not good is it?  No, no.  Bad, very bad.  I think.  Maybe I’ll die.  Wonder what that would be like?  Cold.

     I miss the summer.  Those hot, hot summer days when we all thought we would melt.  Hot, happy days.  Maybe not happy.  But I can pretend, can’t I?  I was always smiling.  I am always smiling.  Showing off the teeth my mother paid for.  Be genial.

     Now what the f**k does that get you?

     Oh.  I’m sorry, so sorry.  That’s not the kind of thing you say…even in your head.  I can be genial.  I promise.  No, seriously, I can prove it.  Watch.

     I’m sorry about the weather.  It doesn’t usually rain like this.  In a few days it’ll clear up and then we can go down to the water.  It’s cold, but it’s still a lovely atmosphere.  There’s a nice little restaurant down the street.  Bread bowls are a kind of specialty down here.  I think you would enjoy them. *Smile*

     See, that’s called genial.  I spend most of my time saying things like that to people.

     But genial’s not always enough.  Nope.  At home and with friends I am kind.  That’s a harsher sounding word isn’t it?  Doesn’t role off your tongue like genial.  More demanding.  It expects more.  I’m good at this one too.

     It goes like this—

Scene

I’m coming home from school having just taken a test and given a horrible presentation.  The presentation was screwed up by some jackass who ditched class and took the report I had written with him.  Don’t you just love working in groups?  Also, Carol was feeling blue because she was on the rag—oh, no.  Sorry, sorry…that’s not how you phrase it.  Also, Carol was feeling blue because it was that time of the month.  My mother comes up to me exhausted.  She lunched today with Mrs. Yang and Mrs. Noska.  Also, Mrs. O’Brian, but she wasn’t expecting her.  She spent the morning baking a cake only just got home from the luncheon at three.

 

My mother: Meg, I’m so sorry you had to walk home.  I would have come and gotten you, but Mrs. Yang telephoned thanking me for coming over and she wanted to know if I had invited Mrs. O’Brian.  Of course it was the second part that she really called about.  Mrs. Noska must have invited her.  Oh, I don’t know. (She rubs her temples and acts generally put out.)

 

ME: Oh, no, it was no problem at all.  It’s close to five now, so why don’t you relax on the couch while I make dinner?  I’ll have everything ready in time, don’t worry.  (*Smile*)

 

MY MOTHER: God.  Thank you Meg.  You’re a doll.  (She kisses my forehead and gives me a hug…or rather something that can pass as a hug.  Then she sits on the couch and enjoys one of her shows.  She turns back to look at me and gives me a *Smile*)

 

     That’s kind, isn’t it?  After all, I had just walked for close to an hour in the drizzling rain carrying three of my textbooks…all in heels.  I could have gotten a ride home, but when she called it was 3:30 and school had already been out for fifteen minutes.  No one was there.

     So what did I do?  I postponed my homework and changed my wet clothes so I could make a dinner my mother said was a tad bland and dreadfully overcooked, but nice just the same.  *Smile*

     I think that’s kind.  I try anyway.  They say it makes the world a better place, and I don’t want to be sent to Hell when I die, do I?

     Another car?  I didn’t think they came down here.  I’m warmer now.  Almost hot.  That can’t be good, can it?   Black spots float, swim, and circle in front of me.  Kaleidoscope.  I had one once…everyone had them.  I think it broke. 

     Someone is walking toward me…I think.  The temperature it falling again.  Colder, colder.  Antarctic.  I don’t think I could ever live there.  Who is that?

     “Meg?”

     “John?”  What is he doing here?  Another black spot claims my vision.

     “Meg?”  My mother.  What is she doing here?

     “Hang on.”  Who is that?”

     I can’t see.  Goddamn it! … Oh, thank God.  I see.  “John.”  He’s carrying me, but I can’t feel his hands.  I’m already somewhere else.

     “Hang on,” he says.  To what?  But my mouth won’t work anymore, and I feel bad.  He looks so worried.  Don’t worry.  Everything’s going to be fine.  That’s what I should say.  People say it all the time.  It’s something better that genial and different from kind.  Comforting they call it.  Never believe them.  Don’t worry.  *Smile*