The Letting Go

by Deborah Markus

  She also didn’t look away when I met her gaze, the way the other kids tended to. They seemed to think I was blind and deaf. If they wanted to point and whisper, I couldn’t stop them, but it was ridiculous how shocked they looked when I showed any signs of noticing. You mean her parents were murdered and she can hear?

  Idiots.

  Violet wasn’t like that. When I caught her staring and did a bit of staring back, Violet didn’t jump guiltily and pretend to have been looking at something else the whole time, or look quickly down at her worksheet and then glance up again in a few seconds to see if she’d gotten away with it.

  Not Violet. She returned my gaze steadily, not the least bit disconcerted. I was the one who finally had to look away, feeling as if I’d lost some sort of contest.

  I saw Violet looking at me again while one of the more hateable kids was delivering a book report. A boy who liked to point and laugh on top of staring and whispering.

  Even if he’d been nice, it would have been torture listening to him struggle to talk about an idiotic story when I wanted to be home reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

  I looked out the window at freedom, and then glanced around the room to see how impressed everyone else wasn’t with Tommy’s report, and that was when I saw Violet staring at me again. She had a faint smile on her face, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking and couldn’t have agreed more.

  This time when I looked away first, it was to keep from bursting out laughing.

  After school that day, I was about to walk home when I noticed Violet standing next to me.

  “Let’s go to my house and play,” she said without preamble.

  If it had been anyone else, I’d have thought they were trying to win some kind of bet. Go be friends with her, I dare you. Oh yeah? Well, I dare you to. Or else I’d have thought she was trying to impress people. This is my friend Emily. Her mom and dad were killed all over the place.

  But Violet wasn’t like that. She didn’t have anything to prove, didn’t care about impressing people. She just did what she wanted to do, because she wanted to do it.

  And today she wanted to play with me.

  “I can’t go anywhere without asking first,” I said, as if this were the kind of request I fielded all the time.

  Violet nodded, unsurprised. “Then let’s go to your house today, and tomorrow we can go to mine,” she said.

  “Don’t you have to ask your parents?” I asked.

  “I can call them from your house. They won’t mind.”

  We walked together for a minute in silence. Then, as if to get it out of the way: “Your parents were killed, weren’t they?”

  I nodded.

  Violet nodded, too. Her expression was even more fierce than usual. “That’s awful,” she said.

  She didn’t have that ooey-gooey tone of voice so many people did when they talked to me. Violet sounded angry.

  I nodded again. Maybe I should have been angry at the inherent silliness of Violet’s statement. Of course what had happened was awful. It was so far beyond awful that there weren’t words for it.

  But—there weren’t words for it, and Violet had tried to find words anyway. And she didn’t say anything about how someday I’d feel better, or ask any creepy questions about what any of it had looked like.

  And there was something wonderful about Violet being angry about my parents being killed. As if we were already friends, and Violet took what had happened to me as a personal affront.

  It seemed quite clear that once Violet was in charge of the world, this sort of thing wouldn’t be allowed to happen anymore.

  If Violet had been allowed to live, she would have grown up to be president, or possibly queen.

  “Do you like the Narnia books?” I asked.

  We outgrow love, like

  other things

  And put it in the Drawer—

  M isn’t going to the Stephen James tribute tomorrow, so I have to.

  Ms. Lurie was pleased when I said I’d go, but she knows something’s happened. I’ve noticed some concerned glances at M as well as at me.

  It doesn’t matter.

  This is no different from how things were before.

  She’s known me for a long time. She should be relieved I’m getting back to normal.

  Called back.

  Was able to stand up long enough to wash my face this morning.

  Ms. Lurie says not to worry or try to hurry and everything will be fine.

  The show is not the show,

  But they that go.

  Menagerie to me

  My neighbor be.

  Dr. Gray came by today and says I’m fine. A little dehydrated. Nothing worse.

  Mrs. Weston (Call me Ruth, honey) is sitting with me on the porch. She doesn’t try to make me talk. She has her knitting and I have my notebook.

  Mostly I’ve just been looking at nothing.

  Doom is the House without

  the Door—

  ’Tis Entered from the Sun—

  And then the Ladder’s

  thrown away,

  Because Escape—is done—

  Back in my own room. Finally.

  I barely knew Hawthorne even had an infirmary, and now I’ve memorized every nonexistent crack in its walls.

  I’m stronger, but I’m not strong enough to leave. I’m not sure I ever will be. I can’t imagine it.

  Leave Hawthorne? I can’t even leave my room.

  I don’t know what can happen now.

  It struck me—Every Day—

  The Lightning was as new

  As if the Cloud that instant

  slit

  And let the Fire Through—

  “I don’t understand what happened to the sun.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was so bright. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was like—the opposite of an eclipse. Double sunlight.” I looked at her hopefully. “That’s why I got such a bad headache. That’s what started it.”

  Ms. Lurie smiled at me sadly. “There was nothing wrong with the sun that day, Emily. There barely was any sunlight. They were even worried they’d have to reschedule because of the weather—so much of the celebration was supposed to take place outside—but in the end it didn’t rain. There were just a lot of clouds feeling sociable.”

  Forever—is Composed of Nows—

  I still don’t remember it all, which is fine with me considering what I do remember.

  No matter what Ms. Lurie says, the sun really was seemed to be mercilessly bright. I remember thinking this was what it would be like to live on a planet in orbit around Sirius.

  Even in the car it was bad, and I was in the back and not next to a window.

  I remember getting to town and being afraid to get out of the car. Even with the roof and the doors, it was already so bright in there—terrifying, merciless light. As soon as I stepped outside, I knew I would be utterly exposed, and I was. It was as if there was no shade in all the world, no shelter. The sun was a spotlight I couldn’t get away from.

  No one else seemed to notice anything amiss. I think that was the worst part of that moment. Feeling singled out by the light. Surrounded and alone.

  I did manage to stand up. I got out of the car by myself and I stood and waited for whatever would come next.

  There was a terrible sound and it went all through me. I thought it was drums—those huge ones you have to hammer with mallets as big as axes. I thought how awful it was going to be to have to listen to whoever’s idea of music this was.

  But it wasn’t music. It was my heart, pounding so hard I thought everyone must be hearing it.

  I’m having a heart attack, I remember thinking very distinctly. And then: but I’m only seventeen.

  But since when was that enough to save anyone?

  I remember Brianna saying, “Well, let’s get this over with,” and then, “Hey—are you okay?”

  I remember nodding and hoping that my hand resting on t
he car for support looked casual.

  I remember thinking just let it be quick and not being sure what “it” was and not much caring.

  I remember Ms. Lurie asking me something, and me trying to stand up and walk normally, and then everything is like a deck of cards that’s been shuffled once too often.

  It feels as if first I was in the car being sped back to Hawthorne and then I was on the ground surrounded by a crowd of people.

  No order, no reason to any of it.

  Lucy’s voice was shrill and distant, and there was a man with hippie hair and a grave, compassionate face helping me with something. Giving me something?

  Brianna said, “I can call so she knows to expect you.”

  There was a door that opened and a door that closed, but I’m not sure they were the same one.

  Of our greatest acts we are ignorant. You were not aware that you saved my life.

  “What did that man give me?”

  Ms. Lurie looked tired and anxious. She’s worried I’m not eating enough and I guess maybe I’m not, but it isn’t my fault. I do feel very hungry. I want to eat. It’s just that I’ll suddenly get a specific food in mind, and then that’s all I feel I can eat.

  My stomach has turned into a toddler.

  It’s sad because Miss Miller has apparently taken my illness or ailment or whatever we’re calling it as a challenge. I hope everyone else at Hawthorne is getting fair shares of what are undoubtedly wonderful soups—bowls of which it must be a pain for Ms. Lurie to keep lugging up to my room.

  Unfortunately I’ve never been that fond of soup, and I like it less than ever now. Too hot. Too salty.

  All I feel like eating today is ice cream, but that’s not something we ever have at Hawthorne. All that refined sugar, and, anyway, I doubt it would survive the drive from town.

  “What man?” Ms. Lurie asked.

  “The big one with all the hair.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said. “I don’t remember anyone giving you anything.”

  I nodded, picking up a piece of bread experimentally. Could I have some? Just a little? Bread is nice. Everyone likes bread.

  My stomach sneered, and I put the bread down and stirred a little more sugar into my tea.

  Sweet was all I wanted these days, and that bread had cheese baked into its crust.

  Ms. Lurie sighed. I imagined how horrified she’d look if I asked her for some chocolate milk instead.

  And cinnamon toast. On white bread.

  “He did,” I said. But I didn’t argue any more, because just then I remembered what that man had given me.

  Everyone in the world had swooped in when I’d fallen, but he’d been the one who kept them away when there wasn’t room for me to breathe, when I wasn’t even sure I remembered how. He’d said something, and they’d all stepped back a bit.

  And then he said something to me. Told me to look at his shirt, which was huge, just like he was.

  Now tell me what color it is.

  I could feel Ms. Lurie nearby, but I couldn’t see her.

  How do you spell that color?

  I couldn’t talk, but I could think, and I could certainly wonder what kind of idiot this man thought I was.

  His eyes were still grave, but he smiled a little. Had he heard me?

  I don’t think I was talking, but maybe I was.

  Now spell it backwards.

  That was harder than it should have been. Everything was too bright. (It was, Ms. Lurie.)

  How many two-letter words can you make with those letters?

  Ow.

  Lo.

  Ye.

  Oy, if that counts as a word for people who aren’t Jewish.

  Wo? Dickinson spelled it that way once in a poem, but I don’t know if that was because they really spelled it like that back then or if she was just a bad speller.

  I don’t remember getting back in the car, so I don’t know if he really picked me up and eased me into the front seat. It seems to me as if he did, and weirdly I don’t think I minded.

  I do remember puzzling out the three-letter words I could use those letters for, and then the four-letter words, and I felt dimly annoyed that he hadn’t worn an orange shirt so I’d have more letters to work with.

  What he gave me was small and impossible to see but it was everything.

  He gave me something to think about other than terror and pain.

  Eight Saturday noons ago, I was making a loaf of cake with Maggie, when I saw a great darkness coming and knew no more until late at night.

  I don’t remember falling, but I must have. Why else would I have been on the ground?

  Ms. Lurie shrieked, but I didn’t know what she was saying at first and then I wasn’t sure she meant me.

  There are a lot of Emilys in this world.

  Men do not call the surgeon to commend the bone, but to set it, sir, and fracture within is more critical.

  Mrs. Weston checks on me every day, though I don’t know why she bothers.

  I’m exactly the same as ever.

  I’m making a lot of work for her. This job was like retirement for her before I came along.

  Maybe it was retirement. She and Ms. Lurie are old friends; maybe Ms. Lurie offered her this post so she could relax and put her feet up and always have time for a chat when Ms. Lurie has a few minutes free.

  Mrs. Weston’s a nurse practitioner, which I guess is something halfway between a nurse and a doctor. It’s certainly more than sufficient for Hawthorne’s quiet needs.

  Before I fell, all Mrs. Weston had to worry about was coddling seasonal allergies, monthly cramps, and occasional minor injuries. There was a sprained wrist my first year here, and pretty much nothing interesting since.

  Maybe Mrs. Weston’s secretly been bored out of her mind all these years, and checking my pulse and temperature is the highlight of her day.

  I don’t know who she thinks she’s helping, but if it makes her happy she’s welcome to try.

  The doctor calls it “revenge of the nerves”; but who but Death had wronged them?

  Dr. Gray came by to see me today, and just in case anyone’s listening she is not welcome to come poking and prodding in my room.

  I don’t need one more person worrying over me.

  I certainly don’t need someone to “talk things over with,” and I’d appreciate it if Dr. Gray stopped sprinkling therapists’ business cards all over my bed when I’ve just made it.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m working.” I waved at the books and papers I’d scattered artfully around my bed and desk.

  “Ms. Lurie says you don’t go out.”

  “If I’d known I could get free room service just by staying in my room all day, I’d have started a long time ago.”

  “Speaking of room service, she also says you aren’t eating.”

  “I eat sometimes.” My toddler-stomach tends to sleep through breakfast. Or maybe it just doesn’t mind porridge.

  “Sometimes is a start. But from what Ms. Lurie says, you’re not having nearly enough.”

  “I’m fine,” I repeated. “In fact, I’m so well, I’m worried I’ll get too healthy if I eat all the food they serve around here.”

  “Emily.”

  “It’s true. Nothing but whole grains and vegetables as far as the eye can see. Haven’t you ever heard of too much of a good thing? I’d be taking my life in my hands if I tried to live on that without some cake to balance it out. Or cookies. Or cinnamon rolls.”

  Dr. Gray looked half amused and half as if she was looking for loopholes in the “do no harm” part of that oath she’d taken. “I don’t remember learning anything like that in medical school.”

  “Maybe you missed that day.”

  Thank you for the delightful cake, and the heart adjacent.

  “Emily.” Ms. Lurie sounded fondly exasperated, as if I were a kitten who’d just clawed her favorite sweater. “For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted to eat?”


  I put my fork down, but only because there was nothing more for it to do.

  I’d been planning at first to ignore the strawberries that came along with the shortcake and whipped cream she’d brought me, on the grounds that fruit is still health food no matter how heavily disguised it is, but Miss Miller had drizzled them with chocolate.

  “You hate junk food,” I pointed out. “You’re always saying how terrible it is for us, and how Americans eat more sugar in a month than some countries have in a decade.”

  “As a rule, yes, that’s true,” Ms. Lurie said. “I absolutely don’t think sugar and fat are things we should consume in great quantities on a regular basis, the way too many people in this country do. People who know better and who can afford to be rational eaters. I know I can get a bit evangelical on that point.”

  I didn’t know how to answer that.

  “But there’s a time and a place for everything, Emily. Moderation in all things, including moderation. Especially if you didn’t feel as if you can eat anything else. We all have times like that.”

  That doctor is pretty sharp. I’ll have to write her a thank-you note and add it to the mail-this-after-I-die pile.

  “And I do believe in listening to cravings,” Ms. Lurie went on. “If your body is shouting for something, there’s usually a reason. A good one.”

  She looked as if she’d like to speechify some more, but I was half-unconscious from the relief of being full for once, so she cut it short and picked up my empty plate. “Would you like some more?”

  I shook my head.

  “Something else, maybe?”

  “Not now, thanks.”

  “Emily.”

  I opened my eyes all the way.

  “I wish you’d tell me what’s troubling you.”

  I looked down again, wishing I’d stopped a bite or two earlier.

  “But what I wish more than anything is that you’d talk to someone. Anyone you feel comfortable with.” She smiled a little. “All right, maybe not some strange man at a bus stop, but someone safe. Someone trustworthy. We really do have a lot of someones like that at Hawthorne.”