Aquarium

~ ~ ~

My mother crushing me in a hug, her breath fast and hard. Have you lost your mind? You can’t do that. You can’t just run away into the snow.

I couldn’t see her face, and she could have been anyone. How do we know to trust any form?

Steve was just being an idiot, sweet pea. There are no snowmen. Come here, Shalini, she said, and then Shalini was mashed into the hug, the three of us standing in the snow while Steve and my grandfather waited at the edges, both probably in fear.

I’m sorry, Steve said. I just thought it would be funny. I didn’t know you could believe it. Frosty as some kind of evil clown. He’s just Frosty the Snowman.

Stop, my mother said.

He’s got a button nose, I think, not even a stick one.

I could see snowmen again, their stick noses and some with eyes not of stone but of buttons, larger and black and shiny.

Jesus, my mother said. Shut the fuck up about Frosty.

I’m just trying to say he’s not scary. He’s got his stick hands poking out saying hi. Steve laughed then. Okay, I’m sorry. That was too much. I just can’t stop, though. You have to admit it’s funny they ran from the snowmen.

Wow, my mother said, letting go of us. It’s really still funny for you.

Sorry, Steve said, but he had a grin. Sometimes a Frosty will have two heads and one can come off and roll around on its own.

I didn’t think to follow their tracks, my mother said. That’s how panicked I was. I just ran anywhere. And after doing that, running in circles, where are the tracks then? I could have lost them.

But we didn’t.

Yeah, my daughter and her little friend haven’t died, so it’s all okay.

Sheri. That’s a bit extreme. They’re okay, and they’ll laugh about this later.

Ha ha, my mother said. We’re going home.

Just let me get a tree.

They’re shivering. Hurry up.

Steve looked into the trees, all too large, an old forest. Let’s try along the road, he said. There are smaller ones there, I think, and I’ll just top one.

My mother held our hands as we walked back to the road. I was still looking around, and now not only for full bodies but for heads on their own, large snowballs that would roll to the side and reveal a face.

My grandfather walking just ahead in an old wool army coat, pea green, and a hat with earflaps. A heavy form through the snow, clearing the way, like some guardian, making everything safer.

I had snow down both boots, icy and hard against my shins. This is the farthest I’ve ever been from home, I said. Ever.

No, Shalini said.

It’s true. I’ve never gone anywhere. This is the farthest.

That’s embarrassing, my mother said. For me. Don’t ever tell anyone that again. And we’ll go places now.

You’ve really never been anywhere? Shalini asked.

No.

You have so much to see. We have relatives in Geneva and Nairobi and Connecticut and Sydney. Every place is so different. My mother speaks five languages.

Well you’re with a bunch of hicks now, my mother said. Welcome to America, where we speak American and that’s it. Sorry to disappoint. I can promise you I know nothing at all about the larger world. I’ve worked and I’ve stayed here. My plans have never been more than a week in advance.

I hope you’ll see Europe, my grandfather said, taking a quick glance over his shoulder. And I should have gone back, in peacetime. I know it’s changed, but I’d like to go back.

Well, my mother said.

What happened when she died? my grandfather asked. What happened right after? How old were you and where did you stay? I know I have no right, but I’ve worried about this, over and over. If you were still under eighteen, how did you survive, and what happened to her? Was there a funeral? Was there any money for a funeral?

My grandfather had stopped and turned around, facing my mother, standing there in the snow with his arms hanging. My mother stopped also.

You don’t get to ask about that time.

You said earlier today you wanted to be asked. All the way driving here I was thinking it was over, that you’d never forgive me. But then I realized you were just saying you wanted to be asked. You wanted me to show some interest. And Sheri, you’ll always be the person I love most in this world. I failed, I abandoned you, but I still loved you and thought of you every day. And I need to know how bad it got. I need to know how bad I was. I need to know the end of that or I’ll always imagine it worse.

It was worse. It was worse than you imagine.

Tell me then. I need to hear.

I don’t owe you that.

I know, but tell me anyway. Give us a chance. How can we get along if the most important part isn’t known?

My mother looked over to where Steve was climbing a tree with his saw. Not too big a tree, maybe twenty-five feet, and all of it pulsing each time he pulled upward. Branches moving in unison like a sea anemone in current.

I can’t, my mother said. Because when she died, it wasn’t in the hospital. There was no help. She was just in her bed, and I was only sixteen, and there was no money by then.

Tell me.

You weren’t there. That’s the main part.

I know.

And there was no phone by then, or electricity, and we hadn’t paid rent, and there was not a single dollar.

What did you do?

I left her there, in her bed, for a long time. I just left her.

How long?

I don’t know. Maybe four or five days or something. I can’t be saying this in front of Caitlin.

What did you do after the four or five days? Did you call someone, or did someone come?

No one came. We had dropped off the edge of the world. We didn’t pay rent, but no one cared about that, even, it was such a shitty place. And it was cold, snowing. That might have been why no one came. But there was no heat in the house, so she didn’t smell any worse than before. She could have stayed right there through the winter. I thought about that, about just leaving her. I thought about hitchhiking and going somewhere else.

Why didn’t you?

I don’t know.

There was a loud splintering, and we all looked over at Steve as he clung to the trunk and the part above him fell away, a slow and cushioned fall twisting and dusted in white, and what remained of the tree open now to the sky.

No need to rush over and help, Steve yelled. The snowmen can help if I need it.

I danced, my mother said. That’s the part you’re looking for. That’s how I bought food and started paying rent again and got the electricity turned back on.

You danced?

Yeah, the strip club that was close to us on the highway, Don’s. That’s what you wanted to hear, right? How low I went?

No. It isn’t like that. I want to know because I care, because I’m sorry, because it’s all my fault and what I have to make up for.

You can’t make up for it. I was sixteen and showing my cunt to truckers. How are you going to make up for that?

My grandfather just stood there with this awful grimace on his face and his eyes closed. His arms in close like he was hugging himself, but hands clawing. We watched him, a shape of suffering. Waiting there in the snow together, waiting for what? What could ever help us? Sound of Steve dragging his tree through the snow. We can vamonos, he said. Caballeros.