who’d single-handedly wrecked her family eight years ago—was setting in.
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. I’m a bad mom, I don’t even know my son, and he’s suicidal and I suspected nothing. You know how I found the pills?”
Claire shook her head.
“I was looking for my car keys. I was yelling at him because I was late for my eight o’clock class and I couldn’t find my damn car keys and was blaming him for it. I shook out his backpack and there they were.” She took a deep breath, partly for effect, but also partly to steel herself for admitting the horrifying truth. “He told me later that he had been planning to do it in the school bathroom
that day
.”
Julia flashed back to the scene, of turning the whole house upside down looking for those keys. Screaming at Eli, pontificating about how she doesn’t “just misplace things” and how he is always,
always
getting into her belongings without permission. God, she could lecture almost better than her father could. And the poor kid, still in his boxers with sleep-funk hair, his body peach-fuzzy and immature, stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her. Listened to her. Took the lecture. Just took it. Never argued. Never defended himself.
Why don’t you fight back?
she’d felt like yelling at him, but she supposed she knew the answer. She’d been lecturing him for fourteen years; he’d probably learned that arguing only led to more lecturing.
And then she’d dumped out the backpack and found the plastic bag full of pills. And the whole world had seemed to stop. She’d even heard the kitchen clock ticking in the background. She wasn’t sure if she’d breathed. She was afraid to look up, to let her eyes meet her son’s eyes. Acknowledging what she’d just found would mean she would have to accept what it meant for her family.
She told Claire how she’d remembered about her class, and that her job was the only thing that made sense to her at that moment, so she had simply palmed the bag, stuffed it in her pocket, and barked out a gruff “You’re late for school.” She hadn’t even talked to him about it until two days later over take-out Chinese, when he’d confessed to her what the pills were intended for, what he’d been planning.
And the keys had been in her laptop bag the whole time.
“Well, thank God you found them,” Claire said. “The pills, I mean, not the keys. Has he . . . ?”
Julia shook her head again. “No, he hasn’t tried anything else. But now that I know about it, he . . . you know, I realize he says it a lot. And has been for a long time. ‘I hate my life. I’d be better off dead. I should be dead right now. Tomorrow I won’t be here anymore.’ That kind of thing.”
“Jesus, why isn’t he in a hospital right now? I mean, he’s seeing a shrink, right? You’ve got him on antidepressants? You’ve got to take that shit seriously, Queenie.” Claire tossed her untouched cigarette out near the first one, where it smoldered in the wind until the tiny pellets of icy snow tamped it out.
“I do take it seriously,” Julia snapped, taking one last, long, shaky drag off her cigarette and snuffing it out on the bottom of her shoe like the first. “But . . . how was I supposed to know what to do? I have my students, and Tai and . . . and then Dad died, and I . . . I don’t know, I thought this might be my chance to reach him. Get us alone, just the two of us. Talk a little. Show him what my life was like growing up. Get him away from the pressures of school and . . .” She rubbed her face with her palms. “God, I don’t know! It’s just not as easy as that. Kids aren’t as easy as that. You can’t just put a bandage on this and wait for it to go away.”
Claire was silent for a minute, then put up her hood as if in thought. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I think so. I hope so. I don’t know.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
Julia looked horror-stricken. “No. Absolutely
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. I’m a bad mom, I don’t even know my son, and he’s suicidal and I suspected nothing. You know how I found the pills?”
Claire shook her head.
“I was looking for my car keys. I was yelling at him because I was late for my eight o’clock class and I couldn’t find my damn car keys and was blaming him for it. I shook out his backpack and there they were.” She took a deep breath, partly for effect, but also partly to steel herself for admitting the horrifying truth. “He told me later that he had been planning to do it in the school bathroom
that day
.”
Julia flashed back to the scene, of turning the whole house upside down looking for those keys. Screaming at Eli, pontificating about how she doesn’t “just misplace things” and how he is always,
always
getting into her belongings without permission. God, she could lecture almost better than her father could. And the poor kid, still in his boxers with sleep-funk hair, his body peach-fuzzy and immature, stood in the kitchen doorway and watched her. Listened to her. Took the lecture. Just took it. Never argued. Never defended himself.
Why don’t you fight back?
she’d felt like yelling at him, but she supposed she knew the answer. She’d been lecturing him for fourteen years; he’d probably learned that arguing only led to more lecturing.
And then she’d dumped out the backpack and found the plastic bag full of pills. And the whole world had seemed to stop. She’d even heard the kitchen clock ticking in the background. She wasn’t sure if she’d breathed. She was afraid to look up, to let her eyes meet her son’s eyes. Acknowledging what she’d just found would mean she would have to accept what it meant for her family.
She told Claire how she’d remembered about her class, and that her job was the only thing that made sense to her at that moment, so she had simply palmed the bag, stuffed it in her pocket, and barked out a gruff “You’re late for school.” She hadn’t even talked to him about it until two days later over take-out Chinese, when he’d confessed to her what the pills were intended for, what he’d been planning.
And the keys had been in her laptop bag the whole time.
“Well, thank God you found them,” Claire said. “The pills, I mean, not the keys. Has he . . . ?”
Julia shook her head again. “No, he hasn’t tried anything else. But now that I know about it, he . . . you know, I realize he says it a lot. And has been for a long time. ‘I hate my life. I’d be better off dead. I should be dead right now. Tomorrow I won’t be here anymore.’ That kind of thing.”
“Jesus, why isn’t he in a hospital right now? I mean, he’s seeing a shrink, right? You’ve got him on antidepressants? You’ve got to take that shit seriously, Queenie.” Claire tossed her untouched cigarette out near the first one, where it smoldered in the wind until the tiny pellets of icy snow tamped it out.
“I do take it seriously,” Julia snapped, taking one last, long, shaky drag off her cigarette and snuffing it out on the bottom of her shoe like the first. “But . . . how was I supposed to know what to do? I have my students, and Tai and . . . and then Dad died, and I . . . I don’t know, I thought this might be my chance to reach him. Get us alone, just the two of us. Talk a little. Show him what my life was like growing up. Get him away from the pressures of school and . . .” She rubbed her face with her palms. “God, I don’t know! It’s just not as easy as that. Kids aren’t as easy as that. You can’t just put a bandage on this and wait for it to go away.”
Claire was silent for a minute, then put up her hood as if in thought. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I think so. I hope so. I don’t know.”
“You want me to talk to him?”
Julia looked horror-stricken. “No. Absolutely
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