This World We Live In ls-3

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  I knew we had to get back into the house, but I had so many more questions. “Where’s she from?” I asked. “Did she tell you anything?”

  Jon shook his head. “I did most of the talking,” he said. “But she must have told Matt. He wouldn’t have married her if he didn’t know more about her.”

  I had a feeling there was a difference between exchanging vows in a motel room and actually being married, but Matt apparently didn’t care. “We’d better get inside,” I whispered. “Before Mom divorces them.”

  Jon laughed nervously. I guess he’d been thinking the same thing since yesterday morning.

  “You’re back,” Mom said as Jon and I walked in. “We were just chatting. Syl’s such an interesting name. Is it short for something?”

  “It wasn’t the name I was born with,” Syl said. “It’s for Sylvia Plath, the poet.”

  “I know who Sylvia Plath is,” Mom said.

  I looked at Syl then, and I could understand why Matt had fallen in love. She’s gorgeous. We’re all thin now, but she looks intentionally thin, model thin. It was like the entire world came to an end just so you could really notice her cheekbones. And her hair. None of us have much hair, since we cut it months ago when it got hard to wash. But Syl’s hair is a braid to her waist. And even though the ash in the water makes everything look dingy, somehow her hair and clothes look clean. Or at least cleaner than I’m used to.

  “Syl’s great,” Jon said. “She cleaned the fish.” He bent over and stroked Horton, who was the only happy one in the room. It probably helped that Jon reeked of fish.

  “That was very nice of you, Syl,” Mom said. “I doubt Miranda was looking forward to that.”

  I hadn’t given cleaning fish any thought whatsoever. “The cellar’s flooded,” I said, to hold up my end of the conversation. “Mom and I tried to dry it out yesterday, but it was too much for us.”

  No one else seemed interested. “I thought I’d take the sofa-bed mattress,” Matt said. “And move it into my room for Syl and me. If we push the furniture around, the mattress should fit on the floor.”

  “I found an electric space heater,” I said. “You could keep it on, and whenever there’s electricity, it’ll warm the room up.”

  “That would be great,” Matt said. “Thank you, Miranda.”

  “We moved the firewood into the pantry,” I said. “We were thinking about using the dining room and the kitchen as bedrooms. Maybe you’d prefer that.”

  “No, we’ll have more privacy in my room,” Matt said.

  Mom looked like a volcano waiting to erupt. “Saying a few words doesn’t make you married,” she said.

  “Of course it does,” Matt said. “That’s what marriage vows have always been, saying a few words. Yeah, Syl and I didn’t have a minister or bridesmaids or rice, but that doesn’t make us any less married. Not in this world, Mom. No one has bridesmaids in this world.”

  “They could go to City Hall on Monday, Mom,” Jon said. “If the mayor’s there, he could marry them.”

  “Jon, stay out of this,” Mom said. “You, too, Miranda.”

  It’s kind of hard to stay out of things when we’re all living in the same room. “Come on, Jon,” I said. “Let’s get Matt’s room ready for them.”

  “Stay where you are!” Mom said. “Matt, you and Jon will sleep in the dining room. Miranda, Syl, and I will share the sunroom.”

  “No,” Matt said. “Syl isn’t some stray cat I picked up on the road. We’re married and we intend to stay that way for the rest of our lives. If you can’t accept that, we’ll leave.”

  I thought about how I’d run away a couple of days before, how easy it is to get lost forever, how easy it is to end up just another dead body on a mound. “Don’t go,” I said. “Mom doesn’t want you to go. You know that, Matt.”

  Mom inhaled, like she was shoving the lava back into place. “Syl,” she said. “Please understand this isn’t about you. I’m sure you’re very nice. If Matt had brought you home under different circumstances, ordinary circumstances, I’d be delighted.”

  “These are ordinary circumstances,” Matt said. “And they have been for a year now. Mom, Syl’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel alive now. I don’t know if I’ll still be alive six months from now. But whatever time I have, I’m going to spend it with her.”

  “And you, Syl,” Mom said. “Do you feel the same way?”

  Syl looked straight at Mom. “I have nothing,” she said. “My family is gone. Everything I used to think was important is gone. Matt says he loves me. How can I not love someone who says he loves me?”

  I thought about the man Syl had been with. I wondered if he’d said he loved her and if she loved him because he’d said so.

  “You will not be dead in six months,” Mom said. “None of us will be. Obviously I can’t pretend I’m happy about all this. We’re long past the point where you’d believe me. But I don’t want Matt to leave, and I don’t want him to threaten that he’s going to every time we get into a fight. We’re a family.” She paused. “Now the family has one more member,” she said. “I would have preferred bridesmaids and rice and a little more warning, but that’s just the way it is. We’ll have fish for dinner and that box of rice pilaf Miranda found. String beans. A wedding feast.”

  Matt got up and hugged Mom. “You’ll love Syl,” he said. “I know you will. Like a daughter.”

  Given the kinds of fights Mom and I have, I don’t think that’s a fate Syl will relish.

  Chapter 6

  May 14

  We spent most of the day getting the water out of the cellar. We took turns filling the pails and emptying them. It was a long, disgusting, cruddy day. The electricity never came on, which didn’t help.

  Two things, though. Syl worked just as hard as the rest of us. And we didn’t sing, so I guess we’re not crazy.

  May 15

  Matt and Syl biked to town today to get our food, and to see if they could get more now that Syl’s a member of the family, and to ask the mayor to make her an even more official member.

  Jon and I volunteered to go with them. “I could be your bridesmaid,” I said to Syl, “and make Mom happy.”

  But what made Mom happy was keeping Jon and me home to do our schoolwork. I guess the somewhat more official wedding day of our brother didn’t justify ignoring algebra and Shakespeare.

  Mom didn’t supervise us, though. She spent the day in Matt’s bedroom, cleaning it. Matt’s been too impatient to bother.

  “We should be going through houses,” I said to Jon. “We’re going to need more toilet paper now that Syl’s here.”

  “Another bike, too,” Jon said. “People left all kinds of good stuff behind.”

  “I don’t suppose they left any steak,” I said. “I’m getting tired of shad.”

  “How do you think I feel?” Jon asked. “It’s all we ate last week.”

  I’d been so taken aback by Syl’s existence, I hadn’t thought about what she’d be eating. The shad’s made a huge difference. Instead of sharing a can of this and a can of that and a can of something else, we’ve had a can of this and a can of that and some fish. But the shad can’t last forever, and then we’ll be back to a can of this and a can of that and a can of something else. Only with one more mouth to feed.

  All of which was a lot more on my mind than Romeo and Juliet when Matt and Syl got back.

  “The mayor wasn’t there,” Matt said. “Mr. Danworth said he’d tell him to come next Monday, so we’ll go back then.”

  “What about food?” I asked. “Will they give us an extra bag?”

  “Not this week,” Matt said. “Maybe next week if there’s enough. It doesn’t matter. Syl and I can share my food.”

  “No,” Mom said. “Syl’s a member of this family, so we’ll all share.”

  “That’s fine, Mom,” Matt said. “But I don’t want you eating less so the rest of us can have more.”

  “Share and share alike,” I said,
picturing what that would be like once the fish supply runs out. Oh, well. I’m used to being hungry.

  “We could go back to the river tomorrow,” Jon said. “Matt and Syl and me, and catch some more fish.”

  “We should,” Matt said. “I don’t know how much longer the shad will be running, but we should get as much as we can. Syl and I will go. Jon can stay home with you and Miranda.”

  “I never get to go anyplace,” I grumbled.

  “Jon, you go with Matt,” Mom said. “Syl will stay home with Miranda and me so we can get to know each other better.”

  “Mom,” Matt said, and he sounded exactly like me. I guess whining is a family trait.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Syl said. “Besides, you’ll catch more fish if you aren’t distracted.”

  Jon snickered. Matt looked like he couldn’t decide who to kill first.

  “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning,” he said. “And get back Wednesday night.”

  “No,” Mom said. “Stay until Friday. Jon’s algebra’s a lost cause, and the longer you’re there, the more fish you’ll bring home.”

  “Mom,” Matt said, “could you and I talk about this privately?”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Mom said. “You and Jon do the hunter-gatherer thing. Syl and Miranda can roam around the neighborhood looking for boxes of rice pilaf. I’ll stay home and worry about all of you. That’s the appropriate division of labor.”

  Syl burst out laughing, but when none of us joined her, she stopped.

  “Come on, Matt,” Jon said. “We’d better catch lots of fish before we start chopping firewood again.”

  For a moment I felt sorry for Matt. In an ordinary world he wouldn’t have to leave his wife of four days to go fishing with his kid brother. Then again, in an ordinary world he wouldn’t have exchanged vows with a strange girl the day after meeting her. At least I assume not.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Matt said. “And back Friday. After that Syl and I will never be separated again. Is that understood?”

  “Nobody’s suggesting otherwise,” Mom said. This time Syl knew better than to laugh.

  So tomorrow Matt and Jon will be leaving again. Who knows. Maybe when they get back, Jon’ll have a wife of his own.

  May 16

  Syl and I went house hunting right after breakfast. I guess she was glad to be away from Mom. I know I was.

  “Matt tells me you keep a diary,” Syl said as we biked down the road.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s only for me, though. No one else reads it.”

  “I know,” Syl said. “It’s just funny to think of someone writing about me.”

  “Didn’t you ever keep a diary?” I asked.

  “For school once,” she said. “But I made up stuff.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Were things going on you didn’t want people to know about?”

  “Nothing was going on,” Syl said. “Nothing ever went on. But I felt if I put my thoughts down on paper, they wouldn’t belong to me anymore.”

  I’d never thought of it that way, and I didn’t think I wanted to. Mom, Matt, and Jon have always respected my privacy, or at least the privacy of my diaries. We don’t have any other privacy. It feels strange sharing the sunroom with Jon but not Matt. Less crowded but more intimate somehow.

  “I can’t get over your hair,” I said. “How long it is. How pretty.”

  “Hair is an asset,” Syl said. “You should grow yours.”

  “Maybe someday,” I said. Someday when water isn’t gray.

  We rode silently for a while, and I waited for Syl to ask me questions the way Jon said she did. But I guess I wasn’t as interesting as baseball.

  It didn’t matter. Once we started breaking into houses, I could see how good Syl was at things. At Mom’s insistence we entered each house together, but thanks to Syl, there wasn’t a wasted moment. We went through a dozen houses, top to bottom, inch by inch, garages and sheds included. We didn’t find that much, and we didn’t celebrate when we did find something. No bursting into song over half a roll of toilet paper.

  We did find two electric space heaters, though, one for each of us to bike home with. Now, if we ever have electricity, we’ll be able to warm up the kitchen and the dining room.

  When we got back home, I went up to my room and hid all my diaries in the back of my closet. They’re my thoughts and I want to keep them that way.

  May 17

  I wish Syl hadn’t said anything about my diary. I can’t blame Matt for telling her, but I really wish he hadn’t.

  I’m writing this entry in the kitchen using one of the flashlight pens Jon found for me. Mom’s asleep in the sunroom, not that it ever mattered before. I’ve written in my diary with her and Matt and Jon in the room for months now. But even though I know Syl’s in Matt’s room probably asleep, I feel like somebody’s looking over my shoulder.

  Last summer Dad and Lisa were here, on their way out west. With six of us in the house I felt more private than I do right now with just three of us here.

  Not that I have anything to write, except to say these diaries are mine, for my eyes only.

  May 18

  Today’s the first anniversary of the asteroid hitting the moon.

  A year ago I was sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school. Matt was in his freshman year at Cornell and Jon was in middle school. Dad and Lisa had asked me to be godmother to their new baby. Mom was between book projects.

  I know I’ve gained a lot in the past year, but I woke up this morning and all I could think about was everything I’ve lost. No, that’s not right. Not everything, everybody. Everything doesn’t matter, not really. After a while you get used to being cold, and hungry, and living in the dark.

  But you can’t get used to losing people. Or if you can, I don’t want to. So many people in the past year, people I’ve loved, have vanished from my life. Some have died; others have moved on. It almost doesn’t matter. Gone is gone.

  I was lying on my mattress in the sunroom, thinking about how today was the first anniversary and whether I should mention it to Mom. I know dates because of my diary, but calendars vanished along with everything else during the past year. Somehow I felt the anniversary was like the mound of bodies, the kind of thing you keep to yourself.

  But the one thing I’ve gained this past year is a sister-in-law, and over breakfast this morning (a shared can of sweet potatoes, not the breakfast I had a year ago), Syl brought up the subject.

  “Today’s the first anniversary,” she said.

  “Of what?” Mom asked. “Oh, it’s been a week since you and Matt exchanged your vows. Well, he’ll be back tomorrow and you can celebrate then.”

  “No, Mom,” I said. “Today’s the first anniversary of when everything happened. It happened a year ago today.”

  “Has it only been a year?” Mom asked. “Time sure passes when you’re having fun.”

  “May 18th,” Syl said. “I’ve been keeping track of the days for a while now. I felt I should do something significant on the anniversary day.”

  “Significant like what?” I asked. “You got married a week ago. It’s hard to be more significant than that.”

  “Something more global,” Syl said. “Maybe an offering to the moon goddess.”

  “Not my firstborn,” Mom said. “He’s not available.”

  Syl laughed. “I’m not about to sacrifice Matt,” she said. “But there must be something we could give up. Something that matters, that Diana will accept.”

  “Diana’s the goddess of the hunt,” Mom said. It always amazes me she knows stuff like that.

  “She’s also the goddess of the moon,” Syl said, proving she had every bit as much useless information as Mom did. “Apollo, god of the sun, is her brother.”

  “Maybe he’s the one we should make an offering to,” I suggested. “We need sunlight a lot more than we need moonlight.”

  Syl shook her head. “It all began with the moon,” she said. “We
should start there.”

  I looked around the sunroom. Horton was sleeping by the woodstove. He’s gotten thinner the past couple of weeks, but I wasn’t about to offer him to any goddess.

  “Maybe Jon’s baseball card collection?” I said. “Diana might like a Mickey Mantle rookie card.”

  “No,” Syl said. “The offering has to come from us. We’re Diana’s handmaidens.”

  “I know,” I said. “We’ll give Diana some fish.”

  “No,” Mom said. “We need that fish. Diana can eat out on her own dime.”

  Syl looked at us. “What do you cherish most?” she asked.

  “My children,” Mom said. “After them my home. And they’re all off limits to Diana, Apollo, and any other god who might happen by.”

  “My diaries,” I said.

  “No,” Mom said. “Off limits also.”

  I had mixed feelings about that. Mrs. Nesbitt, I remembered, burned all her letters before she died. Not that I’m planning to die in the immediate future, but if I burned my diaries, I wouldn’t have to worry about Syl reading them.

  “I don’t mind,” I said.

  “I do,” Mom said. “Your diaries are the only record of this family’s existence. They’re our link to the past and the future. I won’t let you destroy them. Not on a whim.”

  “I don’t have anything else,” I said, thinking about how pathetic my life was, that I didn’t have a single possession worthy of an offering to a goddess I hadn’t known existed ten minutes before. “Oh, I do have some trophies, from when I skated. Maybe Diana would like those.”

  “One trophy,” Mom said. “That third-place one you got. The tacky one.”

  I ran upstairs to my bedroom and found the tacky third-place trophy. I clutched it for a moment, thinking about that competition. I’d fallen twice. If I’d only fallen once, I might have come in second, but the girl who won was really good, and there was no way I could have gotten first.

  I’d been ten. Mom and Dad were there, and even Dad, who loved to encourage all of us to do better at our sports, could see the difference in quality between me and the girl who won. On the drive home, instead of talking about my practicing more and harder, he said how proud he was of me, the way I’d gotten up after both falls and continued to skate well enough to medal.