Only Children

by Rafael Yglesias

  “What don’t you understand?”

  “Don’t children go to school and stay?”

  “Yes, when they go. This is just a visit.”

  “Oh.” Why visit? Well, it’s good. I don’t want to stay. Not with the sky so flat and gray.

  “Here we are,” Mommy said, and they climbed steps, went through tall doors, like the lobby doors, wood and glass. There’s a boy with a Transformer. They’re not so good. Oh, but look! It looks like a dinosaur!

  It was hot in the room. He wished he had a toy. Not a Transformer. Well, maybe. The dinosaur— Mommy was talking to a woman.

  “Hello, are you Luke?” She was smiling hard, kept her teeth turned on for so long without laughing.

  Mommy will tell her I’m Luke.

  “Yes,” Mommy said. “This is Luke.”

  “We’re going to go in this room and play for a while.”

  Luke moved toward the woman’s hand and let her take hold. But then she turned, moving at the door—but Mommy!

  “Mommy!” Luke called. She wants to come too.

  “Luke,” the woman said, turning her teeth on again with no laughter. “Your mommy knows she’s not allowed to be with us while we play. She’s going to wait here—”

  “In this chair,” Mommy said, and sat down.

  “And she’ll be right there when we’re through.”

  Something I can’t stop. That hurt, the crying was going to start. I want to stop things sometimes. Well, no arguing. We’re just gonna play. Stop crying, Luke.

  He pushed the tears back in his eyes. The room was pretty big and had lots of things.

  “I have that,” he told the woman. She had turned off her teeth at last.

  “Yes? I have some shapes we can play with. Would you like to do that?”

  She’s got a triangle. I bet she asks—

  “Do you know what shape this is?”

  Oh, this is like Mister Rogers and Sesame Street. “It’s a triangle,” he said, and tried to laugh. “You can’t play with a triangle. They’re too pointy.”

  The woman turned her teeth on again; only this time, she laughed too.

  MOMMY GRABBED him. Her arms hugged him tight. He pressed his stomach into her breasts, felt them hug his tummy. He wrapped his legs around her and covered himself in her neck; her hair, smooth and long, touched his cheek. “Mommy,” he sang to her.

  “My baby,” she said into his ear. “I missed you.”

  “He was a very good boy,” Daddy said.

  “Of course you were,” Mommy said, and bounced him on her hip. “Now let’s go in and say hi to Grandma. Give her a big kiss ’cause she’s not feeling so well.”

  She let him down on Grandma’s furry rug and he ran, watching the edges of his shoes disappear. He ran down the hall and into Grandma’s pink room. She was in bed, way up, sitting up like a stuffed animal.

  “Bubeleh! My grandson,” she called.

  “Hi, Grandma.” She looks sad. Say something to make her smile. “I’m much bigger than the last time you saw me,” he said. Daddy had told him that.

  “You are, darling. Come here and let me give you a hug and kiss.”

  Byron climbed up the puffy mountainside. Her bony hands took hold of him. She brought him close and he kissed her cheek, her melted cheek. “Mmmm,” she said. “You taste so good.”

  Her breath splashed his face. She smelled like garbage. “You smell, Grandma,” he said, and tried to squirm out of her arms.

  “Oh, my God!” Grandma said. She let him go.

  “Byron!” Mommy said.

  “Don’t yell at him,” Grandma said. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom. I haven’t gargled today.”

  “Hello,” Daddy said.

  “Hello, Peter,” Grandma answered. “I need some privacy, I’m in my nightgown.”

  Daddy took him out. “I’m hungry,” Byron told him.

  “Let’s go in the kitchen.” The kitchen was yellow and its floor was black and white like checkers.

  “Grandma has Oreos.” Byron pointed to the cabinet where they were kept.

  “I think you should have—”

  “I just want one cookie!”

  “Okay.” Daddy found the box and began to crackle the paper inside.

  I’ll open it up and lick the sweet white off first. “Why is Grandma still in bed?”

  “She’s sick, Byron. Here you go.” Daddy came with the box. It was full of cookies.

  “Is Grandma going to die?” Byron asked.

  “No, what gives you that idea? Where do you get that idea?”

  He had to pull the cookie pieces in different directions to get them unglued from the sweet white. “Mommy said when people get old, they die. What happens when they die?”

  Daddy looked into the box of cookies. He stared at it.

  “Mommy said nobody knows for sure,” Byron said. “But that’s crazy.”

  Daddy took out a cookie and ate it himself. “When people die, they rest. They rest and they’re happy,” Peter said.

  “Grandma’s resting. Is she going to die and rest more?”

  “No,” Daddy said. “She’s going to have an operation to make her feel better. She has to rest for the operation.”

  “I don’t want to die.” The white was gone. He put the cookie pieces back together.

  A nice sandwich.

  Mommy came in fast. She came right down to Byron. “Honey, please don’t say anything to Grandma about dying.”

  “Is she—” Daddy nodded toward Grandma. There were funny noises from the hallway. Noises like Grandma, but not.

  “Yeah. She’s upset,” Mommy told Daddy. She hugged Byron and put her face to his. Her breath splashed him, but it was hot and didn’t smell. “Please, Byron. It makes Grandma cry if you talk about dying. Please don’t say anything about it.”

  There’s something wrong about dying. Maybe you die if you’re bad.

  “I won’t say anything!” he shouted. He grabbed Mommy. “I promise I won’t say anything! I’ll be good. I’m a good boy, Mommy.”

  “I know you are, Byron. It’s okay, it’s okay.” Her neck covered him and he could put his face on her springy breast. “Would you like another cookie?”

  Wow. Another cookie for being good. “Yes!” he shouted.

  16

  LUKE CAUGHT the words in his stomach, stuck there at the bottom, and blew them up, leaves swirling in the wind, magic appearing from his mouth. “Byron,” he said. The words were almost out, almost free from the secret Luke. The Luke with power. “You know, Byron, you’re not older than me. I mean, you’re a little bit older—”

  “That’s right!” Byron hopped. Byron pulled at Luke’s arm. Come on.

  Pull against him. I’m heavy. Too heavy to move. “But we’re really both the same age.”

  “No,” Byron said, and pulled harder, now using both hands.

  I’m a heavy weight. I’m a big heavy box no one can lift. Byron’s face got round. His eyes swelled. He can’t move me!

  “Yes,” Luke the immovable said. “We’re both three. That’s the same.”

  “That’s right,” Pearl said.

  Francine slapped Byron’s tushy. “Let go of Luke! What you doing!”

  I’m the World Trade Center and he can’t pull me down.

  Byron teetered, a tall pile of blocks, leaning, going—Byron fell at Luke.

  Hold him up—I can’t—

  The cement was sharp and flat and hard. His brain bounced up to the blue sky and down again against the rough and the hard street. The hot sun hurt the ache, warmed the pain.

  Pearl and Francine yelled at Byron. I’m not getting up. I can’t tell him any more things.

  Francine slapped Byron across the face. He cried. Pearl picked up Luke. She put her hand on the softened part of his head. Her fingers melted inside and made the hurt more.

  “Ow!” Luke told her. Saying that made him cry.

  “You pulled me down!” Byron shouted. Francine’s hand was still on Byron
’s face: red ghost fingers blinking white and red.

  Luke fought to get out of Pearl’s fat black arms, heavy and wet, smothering him. “Let go!”

  “He’s all right,” Francine said.

  Everybody who’s hurt is all right to Francine.

  “Now say you’re sorry, Byron,” Pearl said, and pushed Byron at Luke.

  “I’m sorry,” Byron said. “Let’s play now.”

  You’re not older than me. You’re not stronger than me.

  “Come on, Luke!” Byron said, and grabbed Luke’s hand again.

  “Byron!” Pearl yelled.

  I’m not here. Someone else is being pulled. I’m not here.

  “Let’s play now, Luke, okay? I don’t wanna argue anymore.”

  Someone else is playing. Someone else is being pulled.

  THE WORDS came out terrified, not as he had wanted to pronounce them. They trembled in the air, fluttering baby birds on their first flight: “I’m here to see Larry Barrow. My name is Peter Hummel.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” The receptionist was neutral. She didn’t acknowledge his scared tone.

  (“Do you want me to tell you not to see Larry?” Kotkin had asked at that morning’s session.

  (“I don’t know.”

  (“Then why are you telling me you plan to see him?”

  (So you’ll tell me not to. So you’ll tell me to. “I don’t know,” he answered.)

  “Does he know what this is in reference to?” the receptionist asked.

  Does he ever. Imagine Larry at his desk—safe, smug about his dirty secrets, sure of his invulnerability, and now I’ve come. I’ve come grown. Powerful, able to destroy. At last, on equal terms.

  What will he think? Do I have a gun? Do I have a lawyer? Be scared, Larry, be confused. Like me, feel the dread, the uncertain sickening doubt.

  The receptionist accepted Peter’s stammered answer: “I’m an old, uh, acquaintance. Personal, not business.”

  What did she mean by that look? That snicker? Does Larry often have boys visit him in the office?

  I’m not a boy.

  (“What will you say to him?” Kotkin asked.

  (I’m floating on Kotkin’s couch, floating on the sea of my unconscious, buoyant, just above the great dark ocean, giving the back of my head to the depths. “I don’t know.”)

  A secretary appeared. She seemed uncertain. “Hello. I’m Larry’s assistant, Maria. He’s in a meeting. I don’t want to interrupt him. Can you tell me what this is about? Maybe I can be of help?”

  Peter felt his anger gather at his brow, a black cloud storming in front of his vision. You can’t escape me like this: with secretaries, with the platitudes of business. “No,” Peter said, and his true voice, his adult voice, was back. A trace of contempt played in the polite melody: “I’ve known Larry since I was a child. He might not remember my last name, although I’d be surprised. I was best friends with his cousin Gary. He’ll remember me if you mention Gary.”

  “I see.” She was stuck for a second. “Well, I don’t know how long he’s going—”

  “I’ll wait.” Peter sat down on the gray modular couch. I’m here to stay.

  THIS TIME Diane was determined to say her conditional good-bye. Lily was scheduled for a 7:00 A.M. operation. Open-heart surgery for breakfast.

  Diane stayed with Lily until 10:00 the night before, the end of visiting hours, sitting all day in an uncomfortable armchair beside Lily’s hospital bed.

  Lily was terrified. Her head was propped up by a triple layer of pillows. They diminished her face, held it still, halfway in a cave. She peered out like a cornered animal. Lily’s bony hand gripped Diane with relentless pressure. Even when Lily reached for another sip of ginger ale, or for a tissue to wipe away the slow, steady stream of tears, her hand stayed flexed around Diane’s palm. Lily’s skin was pasty, her forehead as frail as a newborn’s, and her lips trembled continuously so that hard consonants were lost and speech became a plaintive whimper of vowels.

  “They dope you up—so you don’t remember.” Lily said this every hour or so.

  “That’s good,” Diane said.

  “But it hurts just the same. You just don’t remember later.” Lily swallowed. “What about the blood? How do I know they won’t give me something in the blood.”

  “They check the blood, Ma.”

  “They check everything! But things still go wrong!”

  “Ma,” Diane said softly, hopelessly. Don’t worry, Ma. Everything’s going to be all right. I love you. Say it. “Don’t worry, Ma—”

  “I can’t help it,” Lily said, and she was crying again. “I just wanted to die in my sleep. That’s all I asked of God, that He kill me in my sleep.”

  Lily had never spoken of God before. She was so self-centered that even the most powerful being Lily could imagine was cast as a breaker of promises. Not a savior to humble herself before, but just another disappointment. Shut up, Diane. Shut up.

  “Everything’s going to be all right, Ma.”

  Lily sighed to end her weeping, a heavy, almost sexual pause. “I know. I’m a very weak person. I’m scared of everything. I never wanted to be alone, to handle anything by myself. And your daddy left me alone—I should have killed myself when he went.”

  A nurse appeared. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave in five minutes.”

  “Can’t they make up a bed for you here?” Lily whispered to Diane. She knew that had already been refused.

  “I’m going to get you something to help you sleep,” the nurse said. She had overheard.

  “Drugs. That’s their answer to everything,” Lily said.

  When the nurse returned with a sleeping pill, Diane said, “I’m going to stay fifteen minutes until she’s drowsy.”

  “I’m sorry,” the nurse answered, eyes blank, her voice mechanical, “but it’s against hospital procedures.”

  “Just fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s a rule. You wouldn’t want anyone to say later that we had done things wrong. That’s the kind of thing—”

  “I’m a lawyer,” Diane answered. This is my mom, after all. I can be obnoxious. “And I certainly wouldn’t want to have to waste my professional time on any of this. So I’m going to stay here for fifteen minutes as a visitor. Thank you.” Diane didn’t look at the nurse to judge her effect. She kept her eyes on Lily. The nurse remained for a moment, then left.

  Lily’s face was transformed. “You told her!” she said with a delighted smile, a Byron-smile of mischief and power. “You should have seen the look on her face!”

  “I was bluffing. There’s nothing I can do about her wanting to kick me out.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re a professional person. They respect that.” Lily seemed to have forgotten all her worries and self-pity. She smoothed the blanket down and pursed her lips. “My daughter. You told her.”

  I’ve sat here holding her hand and talking softly and she got more scared by the minute. Two sentences of bullshit and she’s happy. She wants me, after all the years of talk about my marriage, having children, worrying over my femininity, after all that, she really does want me to be in control, to be another Daddy, to be strong.

  “When the doctor comes out and tells you about the operation, I want you to get the truth out of him. Threaten him if you have to. I know he’s lying. Doctors don’t feel important unless they lie to you.”

  Diane wanted to say, You’re crazy, he’s not lying, but Diane knew now that wasn’t what her mother wanted. “Don’t worry, Ma.” This was her revised speech, her conditional good-bye. “I love you, you’re my mother. If they don’t take good care of you, I’ll sue them for every penny they’ve got.”

  Lily smiled. She put her head back on the pillow. She closed her eyes. She looked dead. She spoke in that pose. The sight of her, still, her head aloft on the pillows, was eerie. “I was very lucky to have you. If you had been a boy, you couldn’t have helped me and I couldn’t have helped you. If you ha
d been like me, weak and scared and silly, I couldn’t have made it through your daddy’s death. You didn’t need help. You gave it. My strong little girl.” Lily opened her eyes and they were swimming with love, with her easy tears of unhappiness, her eyes big and old and, like always, not seeing very clearly.

  “Okay, Ma,” Diane said, feeling her pretense about to collapse, unable to keep up the calm and strength on her face that was expected. She stroked Lily’s hand. “Go to sleep now.” Soothing a baby. “Go to sleep now.”

  NINA WAS ready for Eric when he came out of Luke’s room, finished with the bedtime ritual. “I’ve got great news.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been promoted again.” Eric said this pleasantly. He hadn’t objected to her job as Tad’s assistant, but Nina was convinced that Eric’s reserve over his own worries had evolved into deviousness. Ever since her mother had called and asked a lot of pointless, atypical questions about the well-being of Nina’s marriage, Nina thought something had to be up. Something more than Eric’s “I’m having a bad run of luck. That’s why I’m in such a shitty mood. I just gotta reposition stuff, then I’ll be okay,” something more than that was up.

  “No,” Nina said, excited. Here was a great present for Eric.

  She couldn’t say it in front of Luke and the wait had been almost unbearable. “I got the results of Luke’s IQ test. Well, not the results, they don’t give that out. But they tell you what’s on it. Here— I knew I couldn’t remember it exactly—I made some notes.” Nina took out the paper she had kept in her purse since morning. She had always known that Luke was bright, but the tester’s comments had astonished her anyway. “They do it by age levels. His vocabulary is at the top of the range, a nine—it goes no higher than nine.”

  “Nine?” Eric was shot with excitement, standing in the middle of the living room, going up on his toes, and then down on his heels, hands in his pocket, jiggling keys and money.

  “Nine years old that means. Vocabulary, his language was at the top. Nine. His math skills were eight. Then, in a category, I forget what she called it, abstract reasoning, cognitive something, anyway, she told me it’s very important because it measures ability, rather than acquired knowledge, was also at the very top, nine. Also orientation was nine.”