I don’t know. It’s one poem that some guys who write bad lyrics for themselves decided to use for a song. It’s kind of like Sean getting all into the cooking—everybody wants me to find my Bliss but I am just trying stuff. Well, whatever. It’s way better than everybody being freaked out about how I am wrecking my life.
And speaking of which I am out of math class which I guess means no early decision to Harvard, ha ha, even though Sean when I said that said no you just write some essay about how much you learned from your grief and blah blah and they will ignore this year. Which would be okay if I wanted to go to Harvard but I totally don’t.
Went out to dinner with Karen which means I guess Sean ate frozen burritos again. I was pretty afraid that she was going to be all weepy or whatever, but we just talked about stuff and she did give me the vagina power speech but it was way less painful than I thought it might be. It was actually kind of nice, I mean, whatever, it’s not like I’m going to talk to Sean about this (anyway, what does he know, he just beat off into a cup, which is actually just as gross or maybe grosser even than thinking about moms having sex), so it was nice to feel like I could maybe talk to Karen or ask her something and she wouldn’t freak out on me. But I did want to make her a bingo card that said “sex positive feminism” on it because I guess that is the official name for vagina power.
So I am having a good week Fluffy which is I guess an occasion but of course I am still worried because both Karen and Sean are starting to make noises about Christmas, which I totally don’t want them to have their stupid tug of war over me again and also stupid holidays are going to remind me of everything. I kind of just wish I could skip it completely, just pretend it’s not happening, but I guess even if I could get Sean and Karen to agree I am going to see George Bailey every time I turn on the TV so oh well.
I don’t know. I feel like some good stuff is starting to happen—like no more math homework until summer school, which I wasn’t going to do any anyway, but now I can stop feeling guilty about it—and I think Christmas is just going to screw me up again, like I am just going to fall right back to punching the shit out of hockey players or something. Maybe I should write a metal song about punching hockey players.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Xmas
Hello! Well, I am writing with my Rosalind update. As you may or may not know, Rosalind is some kind of heavy metal songwriter now, as a band known as Child Soldiers Run Amok has put one of her poems to music. She showed me the poem—it’s pretty alarmingly dark, but I am taking the point of view that if she can work those feelings out in verse, she’ll stop punching hockey players.
In any case, I am eagerly awaiting the demo CD with the song on it.
I spoke to Rosalind’s math teacher, who informed me that Rosalind could only pass if she got nothing but 100s for the rest of the year, which seems incredibly unlikely, so I did some persuading with the administration to get Rosalind into a cooking class during that period. She is going to do math in summer school. Apologies if she’s told you all or any of this. What I have noticed in the last week or so is that Rosalind seems to be doing very well—that is to say, while she still retreats to her room early and often, she no longer appears to be moping around constantly. When she learned that the band was going to use her poem, she came out of her room smiling and practically jumping around—happy and enthusiastic in a way that I have read about in Eva’s letters but never seen personally before then. It was a really wonderful moment.
I’d love to hear what you’ve noticed recently, or if you got any pertinent information at dinner the other night. I’d also like to know what kind of plans you are making for Christmas. My father is coming to town, and I am in the process of trying to set things up, and I thought you and I should touch base around this issue so that we don’t end up with overlapping and competing plans. Thanks, and I will talk to you soon.
—Sean
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Xmas
Sean,
Thank you for the update. I would say that Rosalind seemed upbeat and chatty at dinner the other night in a way that reminded me of her old self. I am optimistic. I have mixed feelings about the whole poetry/metal thing. You know how I feel about the negativity in that music, but I am glad that something made Rosalind happy. I hope it’s a phase and there are no skull tattoos on the horizon.
Thanks for asking about Christmas. I have once again ducked out of the family gathering in Cincinnati, so obviously want to see Rosalind during this time. As you might know, Sandy and Eva always threw a well-attended Christmas dinner, and I do think it would be good for Rosalind and, yes, me too, for her to have access to that tradition.
I have, in the past, taken one for the team in the name of maintaining this tradition: Once I sat next to this guy Raoul who—well, had we not been at Christmas dinner, I think I would have forsaken my nonviolent convictions and strangled him. Indeed, though you and I have had our moments, I would rather share a desert island with you than another meal with him.
The spirit of the meal, though of course it was not explicitly Christian, was always one of goodwill and forgiveness, and so if you’d like for the three, or, I suppose, four of us to do Christmas together, I think that would be a good addition to the tradition.
Jesus, that’s a really backhanded invitation. I mean it as an olive branch, but I’m not very good at this stuff. So let’s all do Christmas together, assuming you want to.
—Karen
Dear Dad,
Thanks for your letter, and I am sorry it has taken me so long to respond I hope you are still planning to come up for Christmas. You made quite an impression on Rosalind She has been talking a great deal about “following her bliss.” She always says it sarcastically, but she says it so often that I believe she is really pondering it. I will say, also, that I enjoyed seeing you and having a real conversation and perhaps beginning to build a relationship as adults. I appreciate the apology, and I promise not to batter you with my old resentments as long as you live up to your end of the Tarkus bargain.
Speaking of music, Rosalind’s bliss apparently includes being a songwriter, as some metal band that her friend’s cousin is in put one of her poems to music. The words are alarming, and the music is something I might have enjoyed when I was sixteen that just made me grind my teeth. I suppose that is the point. The poem is depressing and seems to me a pretty transparent metaphor for the author. (It’s called “Girl in a Cage.” I am reminded about how John Lennon said he eventually figured out that he’d written “Crippled Inside” about himself. Well, perhaps comparing Rosalind to John Lennon indicates wishful thinking about her musical prospects, but I think the song is more about her than she realizes.) I am not concerned about the depressing lyrical content, though—in some strange way, it seems healthy to me. Healthier, anyway, than breaking the noses of hockey players. (Did I tell you about that? Did she? Quite a story.)
I bullied the school and got her taken out of math class and put into cooking class. She will not tell me anything about cooking class. I have no idea what to make of this information, but I am assuming she would tell me if she hated it.
Well, it is late at night and I suppose I should go to bed so that I can properly bully school systems in the morning. I have made plans for us to have Christmas dinner with Karen, who is Rosalind’s “aunt” I told you about. She drives me nuts, but I am going to suck it back for Ros’s sake. Perhaps that is the mark of a real family. In any case, I am glad you are coming for a number of reasons, but not the least of which is that I will just feel more comfortable at Karen’s house if I feel like I have an ally, which I hope is what you are. In any case, I will see you next week. Maybe you can bring the novel. I’d love to see it, if you’re willing to show it.
Love,
Sean
Dear Fluffy,
Okay, well, school has been o
ut for 2 days and I am losing my fucking mind here, it’s like I can’t stay in this house but I can’t go anywhere, I hate Christmas so much I want to scream. Apparently we are all going to have Christmas dinner at Karen’s house, which is just, I am afraid she’s gonna cry again, I am going to be jealous that Sean was able to get one parent back anyway, I am going to scream.
No, it will be fine.
No, it won’t. I feel twitchy, like I am going to jump out of my skin or something. Which I guess is kind of nicer than feeling flat, or different anyway, but I am afraid it’s coming back, like I am just holding it back and the dam is going to break and I am going to be the one crying before Karen can even start, like where the hell are my mommies if this is Christmas, why the hell can they even have it, they should just cancel it or get some green guy to steal it or something.
I watched that on TV last night and had to go to my room and cry because I don’t even know why because I want to kick Cindy Lou Who’s ass, I want to get out of my skin and go live in somebody else’s, somebody normal, somebody who can just be happy on a happy day instead of losing their mind, or anyway just getting jittery and sad and fuck this.
The thing is nobody asked me shit about Christmas. Sean and Karen all worked this thing out, we’re gonna pretend we don’t hate each other for one day, so we can be like a family or whatever, but nobody asked me and I don’t want to have Christmas because my fucking family is dead! I don’t want any of it!
Shit. Fluffy you are not helping me tonight, I am just getting worse, because before I was jittery and now I am jittery but I have these tears rolling down my face and I can’t, do it Fluffy, I can’t have stupid Christmas without my moms, I can’t do it, I won’t do it. Good night.
IM from Rosalind90
Rosalind90: K8?
Redchordfan03: IN THE HIZZOUSE
Rosalind90: CANT SLEEP. Y R U AWAKE?
Redchordfan03: I NEVER SLEEP. SLEEP IS 4 THE WEAK!
Rosalind90: IM GLAD U R UP. I M SAD, FREAKING OUT, CRYING, BASICALLY A MESS.
Redchordfan03: Y?
Rosalind90: XMAS, DEAD MOMS, SAME OLD SAME OLD. I MISS THEM REALLY BAD AND EVERYTHING XMAS REMINDS ME, CANT STAND IT. XMAS SEEMS WRONG WITHOUT THEM.
Redchordfan03: SORRY. XMAS SUCKS HERE TOO. TOYS 4 TWINS, LUMP O COAL 4 ME IF I GET ANYTHING, EVERYBODY LOOKS AT ME LIKE THEY WANT ME 2 LEAVE.
Rosalind90: HATE IT CANT STAND BEING ME I JUST WISH I COULD RUN AWAY NOT DO XMAS. I WAS OK FOR LIKE 2 DAYS, NOW IM AFRAID IM GONNA GET SAD AGAIN 4EVER.
Redchordfan03:
Rosalind90: FREAKING OUT, CAN’T DEAL. REGULAR DAYS R OK, BUT XMAS IS NOT OK AT ALL.
Redchordfan03: WANNA LEAVE, GO C UR MOM ON TV?
Rosalind90:?
Redchordfan03: GOOGLED HER SHOW, THEY HAVE 4 EPISODES AT SOME TV MUSEUM IN NYC.
Rosalind90: IVE NEVER SEEN IT. IT MIGHT MAKE ME SAD. BUT THEN I AM SAD ALREADY.
Redchordfan03: ILL BOOST MOMS CREDIT CARD, BRING MY ID SO WE CAN STAY IN A HOTEL.
Rosalind90: IT SOUNDS COMPLETELY INSANE BUT I DAMN SURE CANT STAY HERE.
Redchordfan03: THERES A BUS FROM CHINATOWN AT 6 A.M. IT COSTS 15 BUCKS. MEET ME THERE.
Rosalind90: UM …
Rosalind90: OK. MEET U AT THE CHINATOWN T STOP AT 5:45.
Redchordfan03: THIS WILL ROCK! BEST XMAS EVER!
Rosalind90: YEAH. C U IN 4 HOURS!
Dear Sean,
Good morning. I am sorry, I mean I actually am sorry because I know that I am going to tell you not to worry and you are going to worry anyway, but really you shouldn’t.
Basically I can’t deal with Christmas, so I am running away. From Christmas. Not from you. I appreciate everything you have done with school and the food and with everything, I mean, you are doing a good job really, it’s just that you are not my moms, and Christmas without them feels wrong, and I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to sit in my room and cry, I don’t want to sit there eating Tofurky and pretending that I am happy because I am really sad.
This kind of freaks me out because I thought I was done being sad, but whatever. So, anyway, I am leaving town for two days. I do not have suicidal ideation and I am not going to hurt myself or any hockey players. That is a “Rosalind almost got expelled” Joke. I just can’t be here, I just can’t do Christmas.
I will be back, and probably you will be mad and ground me, and Karen will yell at me and cry about how could I do this to her, but I’m really not doing this to anybody. I just have to do it for myself. I am with Kate and we have money and a place to stay and I will not end up like some girl in a Lifetime movie or something. I’m just kind of taking an unexpected vacation.
Like I said, I am sorry, but I guess not sorry enough not to do it, but anyway, please don’t worry because I am fine. Say hi to Niall for me and tell him I am sorry I missed him.
Hee Haw and Merry Christmas,
Rosalind
Dear Fluffy,
I am on the Lucky Wah bus and we are somewhere in Connecticut. Kate is asleep which I can’t believe because she had that gigantic coffee from Dunkin Donuts, and also I am here clackity clack clacking on the keyboard because I brought you along Fluffy so that Sean would not read you and try to figure out where I am which you know he would do.
I am wicked smart except that I did actually forget to turn my phone off, so I had to just not answer when he called because I am afraid I’d feel guilty and go back or tell him where I am or something, so I turned it off and put it in my bag. So apparently we are going to New York to watch Single Dads Club, which is completely stupid but what the hell. Kate said she is sure that the museum is open on December 24th, which if it isn’t I am going to beat her like a hockey player, no I will just maybe order room service or something. I don’t know, Fluffy, this is a crazy thing to do, like a totally crazy thing, but whatever, maybe I am totally crazy. Anyway I felt totally crazy at two in the morning, and now I just feel kind of crazy and I want to just have fun and not worry about who is worrying, but I am finding that hard while Kate snoozes and everybody else talks in Chinese and occasionally looks over here like they have never seen a girl with red hair before which maybe they haven’t.
Anyway I am tired too because I totally didn’t sleep last night and so maybe I will try to nap before we get to NYC because what the hell else can I do.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Hee Haw and Merry Christmas
Ros,
Are you checking e-mail? Will you check my text messages? My voice mails? Will my wireless modem card work so I can send this? I am plagued with questions.
First and foremost, of course, is this: Where are you?
That is to say, I have deduced that you are in New York City, which, as near as I can determine, narrows my search area down to a few square miles and a few million people.
You didn’t really think I was going to sit home and have Christmas with Dad and not worry about you, did you? Do you understand that this is just not how families operate?
Actually, I shouldn’t say that, because this does appear to be how Kate’s family operates, to some degree. By now I hope you have discovered that Kate’s mom has canceled her credit cards. She definitely appeared to be more concerned with their disappearance than Kate’s. We spoke only briefly (I got the number from the metal bassist himself, who said, “Geez, I hope they’re okay. That was a dumb thing to do.”), but she told me twice of “the light Emma and Madison have brought to our lives,” which simultaneously annoyed the hell out of me and explained a great deal about Kate’s willingness to bug out for Christmas.
Yours, though, remains a mystery to me. Am I like that in some way? I suppose I must be not giving you something you need. You said in your note that you couldn’t do Christmas. Did it occur to you to mention this to me? Do you think I don’t understand how hard Christmas is?
I’m sorry—I appear to be berating you. Perhaps I won’t send this at all. Well, I suppose there isn’
t any harm in writing it, since even if I did decide to send it, the likelihood that I could get my phone and modem to work together at the same time is even smaller than the likelihood that you are eagerly checking e-mail wherever you are.
But I don’t know what else to do. I miss you, I am worried about you, I am so angry at you I could scream. I suppose ultimately I feel betrayed—that I have tried in every way I know how to show love and care for you, and you just spit in my face with this kind of behavior.
Well, that is petulant. In that case, I am definitely not sending this. In which case, can I tell you that if anything has happened to you, I am going to throw myself under this train. I suppose this is next to impossible to understand at age fourteen, but I can’t imagine that my life would be worth living if you came to harm while you were under my care. Somehow the fact that I have been this worried twice before and everything ended up coming out fine is not consoling me.
Well. Indulging my petulance isn’t helping me. Where are you? How on earth can I find you? Dad promised to scour the lowlife hot spots (you’ve scotched his Christmas plans too, by the way), but even now I believe you have more sense than that. What is in New York that you want to see? Surely if you just wanted to hole up in a Red Roof Inn, you could have done that somewhere that was within reach of the commuter rail, and your Lucky Wah adventure would not have been necessary. (If I may digress, I am very proud of the way we figured that out—got the ATM address where Kate used the purloined card—and yes, I did feel a twinge of affection for your friend because her pain-in-the-ass mother had no idea how Kate might have gotten the PIN) and, with the help of Karen’s incredibly rusty Cantonese from her ESL days in Hong Kong (interesting story, actually—do you know it?), we found that you went to New York.
I will digress, since you’re never going to read this anyway, and say that a positive side effect of this, assuming we find you alive and unharmed, is that Karen and I have had some time on the train to talk, reconcile, whatever. Anyway, I am feeling a great deal less antagonism toward her than I used to. She is also worried to death about you, though you probably know that and selfishly choose to disregard that. Ah, there’s my anger peeking through again.
Donorboy Page 15