When You Were Older (retail)

by Catherine Ryan Hyde

  ‘We won’t, though,’ she said.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘I’m sorry I said what I said. It was stupid. And naïve.’

  ‘No. It was refreshing. More than you know.’

  Then, just when I thought I might’ve skated by it, she asked where I’d been at 8:46 and 9:03 the previous morning. And I had to take a deep breath and tell my story all over again.

  11 September 2001

  I OPENED MY eyes and looked at the alarm clock. It was 8.13 a.m. And I was supposed to be in to work at eight thirty for Sturgis’s meeting. Apparently I had pushed the ten-minute snooze button at least five times without realizing it.

  The next few minutes of my morning were an exercise in speed. Speed showering. Speed shaving. Speed dressing.

  Then it hit me. What a waste of energy. It was all for nothing. I was going to miss that meeting no matter what I did. I could be on the platform right now, waiting for the PATH train, and it would still be a no-go. I could be on the train, heading out of the station, and it still wouldn’t work. So I took a minute for four or five gulps of too-hot coffee, which had already brewed on a timer.

  I wanted to call Sturgis and tell him I’d be late and I was sorry. But by then it was almost 8:35 a.m., and I thought it would be worse to interrupt his meeting.

  Crap. Crap. Crap. This was the worst. The absolute worst. The worst possible thing that could have happened to me. The job meant more to me than anything, than my own life, than the world. Why did I keep screwing up like this? Why?

  I sat a second or two with my head in my hands, then headed out the door.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Great,’ I said out loud. ‘How absolutely perfect.’

  I almost didn’t get it. But then I thought, Sturgis. It’s Sturgis, wondering where I am. Then I thought, No. Couldn’t be. He’d call on my cell, thinking I’d be most of the way there. Then I thought, Just let it go. To hell with it. Then I thought, I already missed the meeting. I’m already late.

  I decided to pick it up. If it turned out to be important, I’d ask whoever it was to call on my cell while I headed for the train.

  ‘Hello?’ I said. Probably telegraphing a lot of irritation.

  ‘Rusty?’ A man’s voice. ‘Is this Rusty?’

  I felt a pinch in my chest. Not long later it would grow into a crushing sensation. Like a vise clamped on to my heart. I had no idea, at the time, how long it would choose to stay. And how little power I would have to send it packing. I only knew that somehow, for some reason, I was receiving a call from a world I’d left behind. This fictional place called Kansas. Because nobody called me Rusty. Not in the real world.

  ‘This is … Russell. This is Russell Ammiano.’

  ‘Rusty. Good. This is Phil Jespers. From Norville. Remember me?’

  ‘Oh. Mr Jespers. Right. Sure. Mark’s dad. From … next door.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I’m kind of in a—’

  ‘Hold that thought a minute, son. This is hard. This is bad. I wish … oh, hell … well, it doesn’t matter what I wish, does it? Are you sitting down? You might want to sit down for this.’

  That’s when the pinch turned into a vise.

  Something happened to Ben, I thought. Sad. How sad. But I’d survive. But my poor mom …

  I sat.

  ‘It’s about your mom,’ he said.

  ‘My mom?’

  ‘Oh, God, Rusty. I wasn’t gonna be the one. The doctor was gonna call you. But I said, “No, let me.” I said, “Rusty knows me. It’ll be better from someone he knows.” Now I wish I’d kept my damn mouth shut.’

  A long pause.

  ‘My mom?’ I said again.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Rusty. She passed away.’

  Some time went by. I think. I’m not sure how much.

  ‘That doesn’t … seem … I mean … What happened?’

  ‘Well, we’re not exactly sure yet, but the doctor thinks either a stroke or a brain aneurysm. He’s gonna do an— He’ll look into it. We’ll know more soon.’

  Some more time went by.

  ‘Where’s Ben?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s with us. Just right at the moment, we’ve got him. But that can’t last. God knows, Rusty, I hate to hit you with everything at once like this. Just hate it like the devil. But this has got to be said. You need to get back here and take him off our hands. The sooner the better.’

  I looked out the window. At my office across the river. I thought, I can’t do that. I’m already late for work.

  I looked at my watch. 8.39 a.m.

  ‘I can’t drop my life and take care of Ben,’ I said.

  ‘Well, then drop your life for a minute and figure out who can. Because I sure as hell can’t. And somebody sure as hell has to. Look. You have to come home anyway, to make arrangements for your mom. While you’re here, you’ll just have to make some choices about Ben. Maybe you’ll decide he needs to be in some kind of a home. Nobody can make that decision for you. Or maybe you can figure out somebody else he can be with. But one way or another, you’ve got to get yourself out here. Sooner, not later.’

  I watched, as if from some other location than my own body, as all the fight drained out of me. All the resistance. He was right. This was unavoidable. I’d just have to call Sturgis and tell him my mom died. I wasn’t even late for work any more. I hadn’t overslept. My mom died. So I couldn’t come in at all. He would understand that.

  Anybody would understand that.

  Wait. My mom died?

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll get online right now, and book a flight. I’ll keep you posted. Let me give you my cell number.’

  ‘I’ve got it. It was on the side of your mom’s fridge. Along with this one.’

  ‘Right. So … I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Rusty? I’m sorry. Patty’s sorry. Mark’s sorry.’

  Wow, I thought. I must be one sorry son of a bitch.

  I hung up the phone and found a plane ticket online. It took no time at all. Outrageously expensive, but what did I expect? Same-day tickets are like that. And I had no idea how I’d get … there … from the airport in Wichita. Would the Jesperses pick me up? Long drive. How much would it cost to rent a car? A lot, I figured.

  But I still hadn’t called Sturgis.

  I glanced at my watch again. 8.44 a.m.

  I had him on speed dial. I figured I’d get his voicemail, because he was in a meeting. But he must’ve checked his caller ID. Because he picked up.

  ‘Ammiano,’ he said. ‘Where the hell are you?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Home? What are you doing home?’

  ‘My mom died.’

  The words sounded weird coming out of my mouth. And I thought he wouldn’t believe them. Because I didn’t.

  ‘Oh, my God. That’s terrible. What happened?’

  ‘They’re … not exactly sure yet. Maybe aneurysm or stroke. So listen. I booked a flight. I have to go.’

  ‘Of course you do. Go. Take care of things. Don’t worry about us. We’ll manage. God. I’m sorry, Russell.’

  ‘I’ll call you when I know more about when I’m coming back.’

  ‘No worries. Just go.’

  I clicked the phone off.

  I sat for a minute or two with my head in my hands, the heels of my palms pressed too hard against my eyes. So when I lifted my head and opened my eyes, my vision was weird. Spotty. So it took me a minute to realize that it wasn’t any kind of optical illusion. There really was smoke and fire coming out of the North Tower.

  I’ve told the story many times since. More times than I can count. But I’ve never told this part. I’ve never answered the question of what I felt in that exact moment. I’ll answer it now.

  Relief.

  This sweeping wave of relief. I actually laughed a little short bark, out loud. And then I said out loud, to the empty room, ‘Of course.’

  I should have known it was just a dream.

  I
mean, my mom suddenly dies and I have to drop this whole life I’ve worked so hard to earn, and go back to Kansas and take care of Ben? I should’ve known right then. I shouldn’t have had to look up and see my tower burning to know it was only a dream.

  Now everything made so much sense.

  Except it didn’t feel like a dream. But a lot of times dreams only feel like dreams later. After you wake up.

  My cell phone rang. It was still in my right hand. It startled me.

  I clicked it on.

  It was Kerry.

  ‘Oh, my God. You’re there. You’re answering. Nobody else is answering. Wait. Where are you? Are you at work?’

  ‘No, I’m home.’

  ‘Turn on the TV. Oh, no. Wait. You can see it out your window.’

  But it was too late. I was halfway to the TV. So I went ahead and turned it on.

  And, as I’d gotten up, as I’d put one foot in front of the other, I’d known. I was awake. I just knew. I could just tell.

  ‘Jeff called me,’ she said, ‘and we talked for a minute, but then he got cut off.’

  I was trying to listen to her and the TV at the same time.

  ‘A plane?’ I said, only vaguely aware that I was answering the TV, not Kerry.

  ‘I tried to call back,’ she said, ‘but all the circuits are busy. I called everybody’s work number, but I couldn’t get through. And then I remembered to call Jeff on his cell. But it was weird, Russell.’ She started to cry, but kept talking. ‘He just said it was hot. And that he loved me. That’s all he would say. And then I called you. Because I know your cell number. Can you see what’s going on?’

  ‘Wait,’ I said. Under no circumstances could I keep up with all this. ‘How could you have had time for all those calls in … like … a minute?’

  A brief silence.

  ‘It hasn’t been a minute, Russell.’

  I looked at my watch. 9.03 a.m. Somehow, impossibly. 9.03 a.m.

  ‘Get your telescope, Russell. Tell me what you see.’

  But I just stood. For a second, I just stood. I didn’t want to go get my telescope. If I did, I would see.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ Kerry shrieked. ‘Do you see that?’

  I looked up to see the second plane heading for the South Tower.

  ‘Do you see that?’ I asked.

  I didn’t know how she could see that. She lived in mid-town Manhattan.

  ‘I’m watching it on TV. Oh, my God!’

  We both watched the second plane slice into the South Tower. Just slice in. Like a door opened up and let it enter. On an angle. With a burst of fire around the corner, as if it might burst its way back out again. But I can’t remember if I could see all that from out my window. Or if I’m remembering what I saw on TV.

  ‘Russell,’ she screamed. ‘What’s happening? Why is this happening?’

  ‘This is not happening,’ I said. It was a theory, anyway. ‘Is it possible that this could be a dream?’

  ‘No, it’s happening. Get your telescope.’

  ‘Hang on,’ I said, and threw my cell phone on to the couch.

  I got my telescope.

  Here’s what I saw.

  Smoke. Tons and tons of smoke. Gray and black. Both. And it didn’t only come from the diagonal gash, but from the windows of upper floors. And the roof line. It seemed to come from the roof line.

  And paper. I saw lots of paper. It looked like a tickertape parade, except I could tell that each tiny bit of confetti was a whole sheet of paper.

  And then I saw him. But who? I don’t know. Somebody. I knew he wasn’t one of ours, because he was in a window at least two floors down from my office. Maybe three. He was standing in a broken-out window. Standing on the ledge.

  And then he just sort of … fell forward. It was a broad move. It was purposeful. He didn’t lose his balance. He pushed off.

  Believe me. I had a telescope. I know. I saw.

  I followed him with the telescope part of the way down.

  I watched his tie fly upward in the air current, standing straight up beside his neck. I watched the open flaps of his suit jacket flutter out toward his outstretched arms. He had his arms outstretched. As if he could fly. And the fabric of the jacket reached out. Almost to his wrists. Not quite. And it made it look like he had wings.

  And just for a minute I thought, He’ll fly. He wouldn’t have fallen forward if he didn’t think he could fly. He’ll fly.

  He didn’t.

  I lost him behind a building a little more than half the way down.

  I could hear Kerry yelling something from the couch.

  I picked up the phone and held it to my ear. She was yelling, ‘What do you see? Russell? What do you see?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just smoke. I can’t see anything. All I can see is smoke.’

  Part Two

  That’s a Hard Question

  15 September 2001

  IT WAS ABOUT seven in the evening. Still my first full day … back.

  I was plowing through my mom’s papers. A little stack of files I’d found in a drawer in her bedroom. I can’t even really say what I thought I was looking for. But I knew it when I found it.

  It was a thin file marked: ‘Final’ decisions. Just like that. With quotes around the word final. As if it might not turn out to be so final as she’d thought.

  Inside, I found papers informing me she’d chosen cremation. And had already paid for it.

  ‘Whoa!’ I said out loud.

  It was something like saying, ‘Bingo!’ which was too old-fashioned. Or, ‘Oh, snap!’ which was too hip-hop modern. But this was good. I mean, as good as something can be when it relates to your mother’s recent death.

  It filled me with an unfamiliar feeling. At least, recently unfamiliar. Like I’d been cut a break. For a change. Something had actually gone right. Even righter than expected.

  ‘What’d you say, Buddy?’ Ben called in to me.

  He was in the TV room by himself. Watching cartoons. With the volume up loud. Even out here in the living room I could tell that Daffy Duck thought it was ‘wabbit’ season, and Bugs Bunny thought it was duck season, and each thought Elmer Fudd should shoot the other and not them. Following every sound of a cartoon shotgun blast, a dribble of low-pitched laughter from Ben.

  ‘Nothing, Buddy. I just found something.’

  ‘Something bad?’

  ‘No. Good. Very good.’

  It was good for so many reasons. I was still counting all the reasons as I spoke.

  Good, because it meant I didn’t have to somehow find thousands of non-existent dollars for a traditional funeral. Even better because I didn’t have to stress that I was making the wrong choice, handling things in a way she wouldn’t have wanted. And another reason. I had my doubts about Ben and the traditional funeral. You know, with the open casket, and the dear departed dressed and made up to look remarkably lifelike. How would Ben react to a sight like that? He was still waiting for her to come back. Obviously. I’d been having a nightmare fantasy that he’d pick her up from the coffin and carry her home, and no one would be able to stop him.

  And a final blessing: a memorial, with a nice photo, and an urn of ashes, was not nearly so time-sensitive. Which made it more Ben-sensitive. We could wait a month if we needed to. Two, even. Give him more time to adjust.

  I looked up to see him standing in the TV room doorway, his head nearly pressing the top of the door frame.

  ‘What’d you find?’

  ‘Some plans Mom made.’

  ‘Why good?’

  ‘Because they let me know what she wanted me to do.’

  ‘Oh. What?’

  Now, how was I going to answer that one? Sometimes the truth just doesn’t fit the moment.

  ‘Kind of a long story.’

  ‘Why don’t you just ask her when she comes back?’

  ‘Because … Buddy … she’s not coming back.’

  Ben turned and disappeared back into the TV room.

  I
decided I’d be a better brother if I didn’t just let it go by.

  I joined Ben in the TV room, where I picked up the remote and muted the sound on his cartoon.

  ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘I’m watching this!’

  ‘But I want to talk to you.’

  ‘Leave it on, though.’

  ‘I can’t think and talk to you with all that noise.’

  ‘Leave it on quiet.’

  ‘But then you’ll listen to Bugs Bunny and not me.’

  ‘No. I’ll listen.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Yeah. Promise.’

  I de-muted the sound and turned it down to barely audible. I watched Ben lean in a little closer to try to hear. But then the cartoon ended, and a commercial came on, and I muted the sound again, and he turned his head toward me. But still with his gaze off at an angle toward the rug.

  ‘I don’t think you know what it means when somebody dies,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It means you don’t see them again.’

  No answer from Ben.

  ‘Like Sandy. Remember Sandy?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Our dog. Our collie dog. Remember?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh. Too bad. I thought you might remember Sandy.’

  ‘I don’t, though.’

  ‘Let me see if I can find a picture. Maybe that’ll help.’

  I leapt to my feet and hurried into the living room, hoping the old photo album was right where it had always used to be. In the compartment under the end table next to the living room couch.

  I opened the little compartment door with the brass handle, reached in, and there it was. I felt it immediately. It was huge, an ancient antique wooden scrapbook with leather hinges. It had lived in our family much longer than I had.

  I heard the volume come up to blasting again on the TV. Sylvester and Tweety Bird.

  I rummaged through photo after photo of my mom and dad, doing my best not to get distracted by emotion. I could always do that later. Right at that moment I had an important brotherly role to perform.

  And then, there she was. Sandy. A perfect Lassie lookalike. A beautiful dog. It stretched my heart painfully to look at her photo. She’d been there when I was born. Sometimes I think she was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. Sometimes I think I mistook myself for a puppy at first. I’d loved her abjectly, completely. I’d been devastated by her death. I’d been maybe six when she died. And I hadn’t understood. I’d wanted to see her again, and I couldn’t understand why no one would help.