Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso
Page 16
to my heart: Hey, what did you do with my little Ladybird? I want my Melinda back. Sorry, Dad, Ladybird has changed.” She closed her eyes, her nose wrinkled up at the bridge. “ How could I do that to him? Dad was so successful, and look at me.”
Howard didn’t know what to say. Melinda shifted in her seat and continued, “It wasn’t long until you became enraged at the mention of that day. We all learned not to talk about it with you. That was when New Howard was born. You basically quit eating, got skinny as a twig. You quit playing baseball because several of the boys on the team were at our house that day, and naturally the topic would come up. You stopped hanging out with your friends because even though they respected your situation and didn’t utter a word, they still knew about it—heaven forbid. Sorry.
“You severed ties with everyone who knew about it except for family; you were stuck with us. But you sure let us know the topic was off-fucking-limits. And then, after enough time passed, you didn’t become upset over the inference of that day. Nope, New Howard was puzzled by the mention of that day and the incident. You not only didn’t know what we were talking about, you began inquiring: you were genuinely curious. Good for Howard! everybody secretly thought. But not so good for Melinda. You packed up and moved away from the hell-house while I continued living there, now alone. I lost the only person I could commiserate with. Not that we’d talk about what happened, but sometimes it’s just comforting to be with someone who shares your pain, who knows what it’s like to be thrust into hell and claw your way out alive.”
She blew her nose and threw the wadded paper-towel defiantly on the floor. She glimpsed another wadded paper-towel on the coffee-table, picked it up and threw it. Classic Melinda behavior, Howard thought.
“I feel like such a shit,” Howard said plaintively. “I should’ve been there for you. Well I’m here for you from now on. You have my word.”
“I know you are, Howard. I’m sorry for making you feel guilty. You did what anybody would’ve done—including me, if I knew how. What you did for me this morning, it touches me.” She tore another strip of paper-towels. They’d be soaked through soon enough. “I know that I didn’t show it. I was skeptical. I’d have bet my life that you wouldn’t have gotten all tough shit on me. And that’s what I need in my life more than anything. I haven’t been reprimanded or disciplined since I was nine. It must be a natural reaction for parents when their child or children go through what we went through. They don’t feel that their precious little darlings deserve to be punished ever again. That the agony they went through constitutes a lifetime of impunity, leaving us free to become little bastards at everyone else’s expense. When Mom and Dad found out I was doing drugs, they asked me to quit. Asked me to quit. Politely, I might add.”
She leaned over and squeezed his hand. “How you treated me when I got out of jail today: only a brother who truly loves his sister would have done that.” She let go of his hand and retreated back into the plumpness of the couch. “I have a whole new respect for you. I’m so proud of you, Howard. And more than anything, I love you.”
“Stop, you’re making me cry,” he said with an abashed grin.
“Making you cry? My eyes are going to be sore tomorrow.”