“My wife.” Daniel must have seen the look of surprise on Sam’s face. “She may not have shown it all the time, but notwithstanding the fact that she stayed with me, your mother was one of the most intelligent people I ever knew.”
“I don’t suppose she gave you any advice for making the meaning less painful?”
“Not one that didn’t involve a bottle.”
Sam let herself out the front door without looking back.
4
At 10:46 a.m., after Beth had spent an hour playing with Hips, she exited the number four subway at the last stop, joined by twenty other pilgrims. Together, but without saying a word to each other, they walked to the ornate gated entrance that had been unlocked and opened precisely a minute earlier. The operators of Woodlawn Cemetery well understood that the living had no patience for delays caused by the dead.
Andy watched as Beth strode through the entrance and started on the winding path through the graveyard. He didn’t make a habit of following people; he recognized he was weird, but tried to draw the line at that sort of weird. It was just that the night had been particularly bad—the “filled with memory” kind of bad—and there was something he needed to know. He had long ago lost the type of coping mechanisms that would allow him to put off his quest for an answer for a more convenient time. So he’d blown off his morning classes and followed her.
Beth paused at an angry gray headstone.
John “Johnny” Miller
1996–2013
Beloved Son and Brother
Why?
She dropped to the ground before the marker, bowed her head, and closed her eyes. To Andy’s amazement, Beth began to chant in a low but sweet voice: “Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad—”
Andy knew it would be offensive to remain hidden any longer. He cleared his throat.
Beth’s eyes flashed open and she spun toward the sound, her face bright red. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I, um… followed you.”
“I can see that, but why?”
Andy was surprised at how angry she sounded. He should’ve anticipated that. Stupid boy, he chided himself, and lowered his eyes. “I had a question.”
“And it couldn’t wait?”
Andy shrugged. “Not too good at that.”
“Don’t lurk,” Beth scolded. “Come and sit down like a normal person.”
Andy was grateful for the invitation and complied. “What were those words you were singing?”
“It’s a Hebrew prayer called the Shema.”
“You know Hebrew?”
“Some. Less and less every day. You said you wanted to ask me something?”
Andy tried to compose his thoughts into language that would make sense to someone outside his head. “Dr. Sam told me you tried to help Little Bro.”
“Who?”
“The dog I brought in yesterday. You were there when he died.” Andy’s demeanor transformed despite his efforts at control. His current expression was more appropriate for the terminally ill, the lonely elderly, or parents who had thrown dirt on the coffin of a child; it had no place on the face of someone so young and luminous. “What happened?”
Beth stared at her fingers. “You should speak to Sam.”
“She left before I could see her. I just want… please?” he asked again, this time just short of begging.
“There was so much going on, an awful lot of blood… honestly, I didn’t even know he was dead. Sam had to tell me. He was alive one minute and the next he was gone. It happened so fast.”
“Do you think he felt any pain?” Andy asked. What he really wanted to know was more elemental and selfish and likely unanswerable—would it have made any difference if I had been there?
“I don’t think so. He was pretty well out of it. Drugged up. I think whatever that dog was seeing in the end wasn’t in that room.”
The silence dragged on between them as Andy processed that answer. It sounded true to him. In the small voice of a child, Andy asked, “Does that prayer bring comfort?”
“Depends… I guess.”
“Can you teach it to me?”
Beth slowly enunciated each syllable of the prayer and waited as Andy repeated her words. He quickly memorized the prayer and recited it by himself to the stone.
“Thank you,” Beth said once he had finished.
“Who is he?” Andy asked timidly.
“Someone who once came to me for help.”
“And?”
“And, what?”
“And you don’t want to talk about it. I get it.” Andy rose to his feet and examined the other stones nearby—first the ones to the left and then those to the right. Most looked abandoned. “What a mess.” He began pulling some of the dead weeds and clearing the old scrub from those plots in the worst condition.
Beth watched him for a moment and then joined in. They tugged at the dead plants with determination and ferocity, as if clearing away the decay might mean something to those beneath their feet.
“Why don’t people come to take care of their own?” Andy asked as he yanked at a thorny weed.
“Too hard, I guess,” Beth said, grabbing another handful of dried brush. “It’s one thing to remember the face or voice of a dead loved one, but another to know you’re standing on their actual body. Your mind can’t pretend that they weren’t real or deny that they’re really gone forever. You’re only separated by six feet of dirt, but you could dig to infinity and never get back what you lost. So we avoid. The dead always seem to make ghosts of the living.”
“Why do they hold such power? I mean, whether it’s their memory, or fighting against their memory, they’re always there. Sometimes even more than when they really were standing beside you.”
“I think you need to find someone a bit better at living than the humiliated and humbled recovering drug addict sitting before this gravestone to answer that one.”
Dirt and scratches soon covered their hands, but, working together, Beth and Andy cleared out the entire area.
They stood back and took in the results of their effort. Andy read part of an inscription. “‘Rachel Stoner. Born 1987. Died 2001. Nevermore in my arms. Forever in my heart.’” He moved to another stone. “‘Isaac Janson. Born 1990. Died 2003. My son.’”
Hot, silent tears spilled down Andy’s cheeks, but he kept moving from stone to stone, a bit manic, reading aloud as he went. “‘James Pelra. Born 1993. Died 2007. Safe in the hands of God now’… ‘Mandy Brown. Born 1994, died 2006. I will always remember you.’”
“Jesus. They’re all kids,” Beth said. “I never noticed. So many children. That’s so sad.”
“No, no. Not sad,” Andy said, smiling through his tears. “Don’t you see? Johnny’s not alone. These children are not alone. None of them! They will all grow old together for eternity. They’ll always have each other. They’ve found a family again.” Andy stopped at the last headstone in the row. “‘Abraham Sauls, 1998 to 2014.’” The rest of the words were in Hebrew. “What’s this one say?”
Beth studied the inscription carefully. “‘Lefanim tziporim afot letoch chalunot.’ In English, ‘Because sometimes little birds fly into windows.’”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think someone meant it as an answer to the question on Johnny’s stone. It’s an idiom—roughly it means ‘shit happens.’” Beth shrugged. “That’s not a very comforting view of the universe, is it?”
“I don’t know.” Andy dried his eyes with his denim sleeve. “Maybe it actually is. If things happen for no reason at all, maybe the moment is really all you ever have.”
Beth studied Andy’s face for a long minute, her head cocked to one side, deciding something. “Can you find a small stone for me?” she asked finally.
Andy searched the ground for a few seconds, picked up a stone, rejected it, then picked up another. He showed the stone to Beth. “Good,” she said. “Now put it on top of Johnny’s gravestone.”
/> Andy complied, but looked at Beth quizzically. “What’s it mean?”
“It means that he’s not forgotten. That someone was here and cared.”
Andy selected another rock, and then another. Soon his hands were full. He placed a stone on each of the nearby grave markers.
When he was done, Andy wiped his hands on his jeans. The sleeve of his jacket pushed up on his arm, revealing markings on skin. Four vertical lines that ran deep into the tissue.
Beth couldn’t take her eyes away and Andy made no effort to hide the cuts. “My old professor used to tell us that horizontal lacerations are a cry for help; vertical cuts are a plea for an ending,” Beth said. “You really meant business, didn’t you?”
“I did, yeah.”
“You must have been in a lot of pain.”
Andy nodded. “Taking control hurts. But there are all different kinds of pain.”
“You done with that option?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Andy appreciated the absence of judgment and interrogation. Still, this was much more than he usually shared and he felt embarrassed at his disclosure. “I’ve got to get to class.”
“I’ll ride with you?”
Andy nodded. Together they left the dead of Woodlawn and walked back to join the living on the number four subway.
5
They had been driving for almost an hour in complete silence. Sam was so jittery that this time she couldn’t even pretend to be asleep. She was certain that Tom had started to say something several times.
They passed a sign for a full service rest stop and Tom hit his blinker.
“I need coffee,” he said.
He pulled off the ramp and into a crowded parking lot.
“You want anything?” Tom asked.
“I’ll use the bathroom,” Sam said.
They entered the building together, passing a “Liberty, New York, Welcomes You!” souvenir shop. While Sam found the bathroom, Tom stopped at a Top Hat Donuts counter and joined a long line of customers.
Tom was still on the line when Sam found him. “What’s the holdup?” she asked.
She glanced at the counter and saw the problem. There was only one employee, a teenager with a name tag reading “Jimmy.” As Jimmy moved behind the counter to fill orders, Sam noticed that he dragged his left leg while his left arm hung useless at his side.
“Just busy,” Tom said.
“They could’ve given the kid some help,” Sam said.
“If they need to hire a second, then Jimmy probably wouldn’t have a job.”
The line, although moving now, was becoming increasingly restless. A few customers grumbled audibly. Jimmy must have heard them, because he started sweating.
Tom cleared his throat and said loud enough so the rest of the line would hear him, “You know how it is. People are very accommodating about disabilities—until it delays their lattes. Then all bets are off. Another proud human history moment.”
The comment shut everyone up.
By the time Tom and Sam arrived at the counter, Jimmy was shaking. “Just take a breath,” Tom said. “Ignore the assholes. You’re doing fine.”
“I heard what you said in the line. Thanks,” Jimmy said.
“I admire your courage,” Tom responded.
“You know, I see these people walk in and out of here every day. They open the door without thinking which arm they need to use. They aren’t afraid of those four front steps. People take so much for granted.”
“But hopefully you remind them.”
Jimmy poured Tom’s coffee and handed it over. “On the house, sir.”
Tom pulled out a twenty and, when Jimmy was turned away, shoved it into the tip jar.
“Can you grab us a seat?” Tom asked Sam. “I need to get something from the shop.”
Tom found Sam at a table three minutes later. He was carrying a small plastic bag from the souvenir shop. “You mind if we sit for a minute before we get back in the car?” he asked.
Sam shrugged. “You’re the one with the public health emergency,” she said coldly.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“I really don’t like to be manipulated.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That whole thing with Jimmy. You did that to show me what a good person you are, right?”
Tom stared at her. “For you? Really? Man, you are one self-involved human being.” He shook his head in a manner that Sam took as pitying. Tom took a small snow globe out of the plastic bag and set it on the table between them. A tiny sign inside the globe read: “Thank You for Visiting the Liberty Rest Stop, Liberty, New York.” “I pick one of these up for my son whenever I’m in a new city. He collects them.”
“The boy in the glove compartment?”
“Yeah,” Tom said.
“Cute kid.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m guessing the looks came from your wife.”
“Yes. Ex-wife. He had encephalitis when he was four. It left him with some gross motor deficits. His left arm is pretty much just for show.”
Sam felt her cheeks blush in shame. “I’m sorry.”
“It could have been a lot worse, so he was fortunate. But on the other hand, I got to explain to him why he can’t play basketball and football like his friends and probably never will. So I’m a little sensitive when it comes to disabled kids. And just for your own information, I know exactly what it is like to spend night after night in a hospital with a sick kid wondering if they will ever recover.”
“Just so you know, I’m feeling pretty small now.”
Tom nodded. “I bet. Let’s get going.”
On the way to the car, Tom kept pressing the heels of his hands to the sides of his head.
“Headache still there?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll drive.”
“I’ve imposed enough. I can do it.”
“Not looking like you do. This is self-interest. I want to make it back alive.”
Tom tossed Sam the keys.
Once they were settled back in the silent car and driving, Sam couldn’t escape her own self-judgment. “Does apologizing for the comment a second time make it any better?”
Tom appeared to think about that. “Don’t feel too bad. I haven’t exactly been a paragon of virtue with you.”
“So my dad was right? You are lying?”
“Not exactly.”
“Do tell, Walden.” After a few minutes of silence, Sam said, “I’m growing old here.”
“I’m just trying to think of how to begin. Do you follow politics at all?”
“Not at all.”
“How can you live in this city and not follow politics?”
“I assume all people in politics are lying to me about something.”
Tom shook his head. “Such a cynic. The truth is most people in politics are lying about something, but not everyone and not about everything.”
“Great. I feel very comforted. So assume I know nothing.”
“OK. The governor of New York is trying to be the president.”
“Yeah, that I know. He went through that whole weight-loss surgery procedure and all.”
“The governor and the mayor of New York City are not pals. My boss, the mayor, is extremely stubborn and opinionated. But she is also very loyal and, actually, one of the most honest politicians you will ever meet.”
“And I’m sure if she were a conniving, malicious liar, you would tell me.”
“Absolutely. Despite the fact that the governor and the mayor belong to the same political party, the mayor has refused to come out in support of the governor for president. She’s actually been very negative about him and what he’s not done for the city.”
“Yeah. I think I read that.”
“See? You do know. The governor will get the nomination without question, but he’s worried about losing New York in the general election polling. And there are those who believe if he c
annot carry his own state, he shouldn’t lead the nation. So the governor wants a huge New York show when he gets the nomination.”
“I saw the party preparations in the park. Very lovely.”
“He will not tolerate anything that might interfere with his New York coronation. That would be hugely embarrassing in his own backyard, so to speak, and set precisely the wrong tone leading up to the general election.”
“And a rabies outbreak without an identified source sets the wrong tone.”
“Right. And the other thing that sets the wrong tone is the mayor seizing control of the situation and forcing the governor to take a backseat. At the very first sign that the mayor is vulnerable—God forbid a bunch more kids get sick, or another one of them dies, or there’s a public disturbance that attracts media attention—the governor will step in and take control and try to make the mayor look like a bumbler. If that happens, all bets are off. He’s not a subtle guy.”
“But what does the governor really have the power to do?”
“A lot. It is a health crisis. There’s precedent for this. You remember the surprise Ebola quarantine for health care workers even though they tested negative?”
“Yeah, I get it. The governor gets to look all presidential doing the white knight thing and at the same time he makes the one who didn’t endorse him look like an idiot who can’t be trusted.”
“Yep.”
“What does the CDC really say about the virus?”
Tom shrugged. “Your father was right about that. We’ve been shut out on the granular, ‘let’s sit around a table and be honest’ stuff.”
“Why?”
“Dunno.”
“That sounds like bullshit.”
“It’s not. We assume the governor’s office told them to. He wants control of the flow of information. It all goes through him. The governor is very likely the next president of the United States. No one is anxious to piss him off. They’re not about to violate the law by withholding information from me, but they’re not leaping for the phone on the first ring either.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Not sure. Having your father on our team would’ve helped our credibility.”
“I did try.”
Just Life Page 12