Julia Pierpont - Among the Ten Thousand Things

Where, at home, Deb was packing and Simon was shouting.

“It’s not fair. You can’t do this to people.”

“Simon, if you get a suitcase together now, Donald can still come over, he just can’t sleep here.” Deb was on her knees, half-engulfed in the hall closet, where they kept luggage and warm but ugly coats. She’d made her first very big decision. Classes, her own and her children’s, had ended, and she would take the three of them to Rhode Island. To Jamestown, and the little house they owned with Gary, which they hadn’t gotten around to renting out this summer.

She’d received a call not an hour before from Susan Haber, the mother of those awful twins. Her girls had brought something home with them, something Kay had written. Disturbing in nature, she’d said. Disturbing how?

“Well, sexual,” Susan had said. “Obviously inappropriate.”

“That doesn’t sound like her.”

The Haber woman had read some excerpts: “Jerry wants Elaine to show it to her. Elaine says, ‘Oh God, I’m so—’ ” Susan coughed, and the words did sound like someone Deb knew.

She’d talked herself into Rhode Island in the (minor) frenzy she’d worked up waiting for Jack and Kay as the time under the TV changed from five to six, and in her head she’d talked everyone else into it too. Izzy had asked where they were summering. So? Here was summer. They’d meant to go every year. So? The last time they’d gone she’d been breastfeeding Kay. But what about the plumbing and pipes and gas or electric (she wasn’t sure if it was gas or electric or if it could be both)? What about the breakers? Well, what about them? I’ll hire someone, I’ll hire someone!

She bought three tickets for the next morning train.

Unlucky for Simon to walk into that, Deb’s electric atmosphere. His day was shitty already. He and Donald had stopped for burgers at the diner down the hill. With classes over, it was more crowded than usual, and they’d had to stand at the counter while Simon tried not to get caught watching Jared and Elena together in a booth that could have seated four, and might have, had the Confucianism presentation not gone so badly. Mr. Dionisio had given them a B, low in the world of oral presentation. It wasn’t the grade, he knew, that bothered Jared, who was already in at Emory, but that the script had come across stiff and embarrassing. Another group had handed in 108 blank pages on their topic, Zen Buddhism, and got an A.

On the train into Manhattan, Simon had for once been appreciative of his friend’s talent at one-sided conversation, which today confined itself mostly to his position on a variety of superhero franchises. Thank fuck that Simon hadn’t said anything yet about what had happened with Elena, who since that Monday had ceased to know him at all. A common thing in high school, selective social amnesia, especially among pretty girls. Donald got off the train two stations early to pick up his copy of 2K with the plan of meeting back at Simon’s house.

That plan was being challenged now, and he would not give it up. “What do you mean ? There’s nothing in Rhode Island!”

“There’s country there. There’s water and trees.” She pulled a dusty duffel from behind two tubes of Christmas paper. “There are lighthouses. Will this work?”

“You’re not listening to me!” He kicked the air behind his mother, which she could not see, and stomped his foot, which she could hear.

“Simon, come on!” She stood to face him, brushing the floor from her clothes.

“I never have anything. Don’t you think I’ve been through enough?”

“This is what we’re doing.” She didn’t shout, but she didn’t have to. It was enough of a change just to sound this way, severe.

“Jesus, fuck. ”

“Stop.”

“Fuck, it’s not fair, fuck. ”

“Stop.” There, she’d shouted. Also, she’d grabbed him by the arm, very hard, and held it until he pulled away.

“Ouch.”

He went to his room, and when she came in a few minutes later, he was packing. Her voice was changed again, back to soft. “Sweetie? Sy? You can still have Donald over tonight, you know? Just not to stay.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want him to come here.”

“But you two could still—”

“I already told him no, okay?” He was grabbing clothing by the armful and dumping it into the rolly suitcase they’d bought him a few years back. There were still airport tags looped around the handle from the London trip.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind.”

“I still think this is the stupidest fucking thing.”

She went back out to the living room, to knot toiletries inside produce bags from Fairway, and to watch the clock until Jack and Kay came home, ten minutes later. Deb studied her daughter, who didn’t look at all changed from that morning — those words she’d written nowhere on her face — and she didn’t want to embarrass Kay, didn’t want to broach the subject the wrong way. When she announced her decision, Jack raised every objection she’d rehearsed already.

“What car will you use?”

“We won’t need a car.”

“If there’s an emergency?”

“They have taxis there too.”

“You know how much work that house is going to need?”

“I know, cobwebs! I’ll deal with it.”

“What about the pipes? Something bursts? I’ll stay out of your way here.”

“Sy’s too old for camp and Kay doesn’t really like it, right?”

Kay took her cue: “Not really.”

“And I hate this city,” Deb added, and went to pack her closet.

“You don’t,” he said, following her. In the bedroom he shut the door and asked, “Why?”

“Because, I can’t — it’s too confusing right now.” She swung open the closet, disappearing behind the mirrored door, which reflected the made bed and bookcase behind.

“ Why is it confusing?”

“Don’t.”

“I’m just saying the fact that you’re confused, that means something. You don’t think that’s a good sign that means something?”

“I don’t think we can have any kind of signs.”

“But we should deal with this together.”

“If we do that, then I won’t make the right decision.” Knocking the closet further open so that Jack was faced with his own reflection.

“How do you know what’s the right decision?” Jack moved closer in the mirror, saw himself say, “If being with me is going to influence you, how is that wrong?”

“You can’t force me into this.”

“Who’s forcing? At all?” He’d gotten loud again without realizing. Wasn’t he calmer than this? Wasn’t he much, much calmer than he seemed? “Come on, I know. Don’t go. Don’t be out there alone.”

Deb looked at him, her arms full of soft, woven things. “We won’t really be alone. We’ll have Gary.” She hadn’t meant to bring Gary into this. She’d gone off script.

“You don’t know he’s there now.”

“He will be. We spoke,” she said and went back out to the hall.

Jack’s wife and his old college roommate spoke. Another of the small things that alienated him, in increments, from his own life, like coming home to find the furniture rearranged. Like the time the corner bagel shop had closed without warning. The bagel shop had become a hat store had become a place for pet accessories, tiny tubed sweaters and gold leashes.

He was being subtracted from everything, like a character made to look at the world, how life would go on, after he died.

The kitchen table does not disappear because the room is empty and the doors all closed, and other people’s lives go on without you in them.