Life As We Knew It lawki-1 Page 24

  “Yeah,” I said. “I just don’t have an actual journal anymore. I use notebooks. But that’s what I’m writing. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I just wondered why. I mean who are you writing things for?”

  “Well, not for you,” I said, remembering how Mrs. Nesbitt had burned all her letters before she died. “So don’t get any ideas.”

  Jon shook his head. “I don’t want to read about any of this stuff,” he said. “Do you reread it?”

  “No,” I said. “I just write it and forget about it.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Well, don’t worry that I’ll read it. I got enough problems.”

  “We all do,” I said.

  It’s funny how sorry I feel for Jon these days. I’m 2 1/2 years older than him and I feel like I got those extra 2 1/2 years to go to school and swim and have friends and he got cheated out of them. And maybe he’ll live 2 1/2 years longer than me, or 20 years, or 50, but he’ll still never have those 2 1/2 years of normal life.

  Every day when I go to sleep I think what a jerk I was to have felt sorry for myself the day before. My Wednesdays are worse than my Tuesdays, my Tuesdays way worse than my Tuesday of a week before.

  Which means every tomorrow is going to be worse than every today. Why feel sorry for myself today when tomorrow’s bound to be worse?

  It’s a hell of a philosophy, but it’s all I’ve got.

  December 19

  Lisa’s baby was due about now. I’ve decided she had it and it was a girl. I’ve named her Rachel.

  Somehow that makes me feel better. Of course I have no idea if she’s had the baby and if she has, whether it’s a boy or a girl or if it’s a girl what her name is. Technically speaking, I don’t know if Lisa is still alive, or if Dad is, but I really prefer to think they are. I’ve decided they made it to Colorado, and Dad got Grandma out of Las Vegas and they’re all living together: Lisa and Lisa’s folks and Dad and Grandma and baby Rachel. When the weather improves, somehow he’ll come back for us and we’ll all move to Colorado and I’ll get to be baby Rachel’s godmother, just like I was supposed to be.

  Sometimes Colorado becomes like Springfield used to be for me, this fabulous place with food and clean clothes and water and air. I even imagine that I’ll run into Dan there. After I’ve cleaned up, naturally, and eaten enough so that I don’t look like a walking corpse. Also my hair has grown out. I look great and I bump into him and we get married.

  Sometimes I speed things up and Rachel’s our flower girl.

  I bet Mom and Matt and Jon all have fantasies of their own, but I don’t want to know what they are. They’re not in mine, after all, so I’m probably not in theirs. We spend enough time together. We don’t need to hang out in each other’s fantasies.

  I hope Dad and Lisa are okay. I wonder if I’ll ever meet Rachel.

  December 21

  Mom put her foot down (her good one) and we’re back to doing schoolwork. At least it gives us something to do besides laundry and playing poker.

  Right now I’m reading about the American Revolution.

  The soldiers had a tough time of it at Valley Forge.

  My heart bleeds for them.

  WINTER

  Chapter Eighteen

  December 24

  Christmas Eve. And the most wonderful thing happened.

  The day was just like any other. We’ll have a big meal tomorrow. (And of course, though Mom and Matt and Jonny don’t know it, they’re all getting presents. I am so excited at the thought of giving them things.) No laundry, though. We draped the clothesline with tinsel and hung ornaments on it. Matt called it a horizontal Christmas tree.

  Okay. That means today wasn’t just like any other.

  We sat around this evening and started talking about Christmases past. At first you could see Mom didn’t know if that was a good idea. But she didn’t stop us and we all had stories to tell and we were laughing and feeling great.

  And then in the distance, we could hear singing. Actual caroling.

  We put on our coats and gloves and boots and went outside. Sure enough, there were a handful of people singing carols down the road.

  We immediately joined them. Thanks to the path Matt and Jon had shoveled we didn’t have too much trouble getting to road level. (There were some icy patches and I wasn’t crazy about Mom coming along, but there was no stopping her.)

  The road itself is still covered with 3 feet of snow. Nobody’s been traveling on it, so we created our own paths.

  It was thrilling to be outside, to be singing, to be with people again.

  I recognized the Mortensens from about half a mile down. The other people I didn’t know at all. But our road is funny. Even in good times we didn’t socialize with most of our neighbors. Mom says when she was growing up she did, but so many of the old families have moved out and new people have moved in and neighborliness has changed. Now being a good neighbor means minding your own business.

  As we trudged and sang (loud and off-key), another family joined us. We ended up with 20 people acting the way people used to. Or at least the way they used to in the movies. I don’t think we’ve ever had carolers before.

  Finally it got too cold even for the most dedicated among us. We finished with “Silent Night.” Mom cried and she wasn’t alone.

  We hugged each other and said we should see more of each other, but I doubt that we will. We don’t want anyone else to know how much food we have or firewood. And they don’t want us to know, either.

  Still it was a wonderful Christmas Eve. And tomorrow is going to be even better.

  December 25

  Absolutely the best Christmas ever.

  We woke up in great moods and we talked all morning about how much fun it had been to go caroling the night before. We don’t even like the Mortensens, but seeing them last night, knowing they were still around and healthy was incredibly reassuring.

  “We made a joyful noise,” Mom said. “It’s good to remember what joy feels like.”

  And lunch. What a feast. First we had beef broth with oyster crackers. Our main course was linguini with red clam sauce and string beans on the side. Mom even pulled out the bottle of wine Peter had brought ages ago, so we had wine with our dinner.

  For dessert, Mom served the lime Jell-O I’d gotten at the free-food handout last summer. I don’t know when she made it, but somehow she’d slipped it past us, and it was an incredible surprise.

  So much food. So much laughing. It was great.

  Then we all kind of hemmed and hawed and harrumphed and excused ourselves. I went up to my bedroom to get every body’s presents, and much to my surprise, Mom and Matt and Jon also went upstairs to their rooms.

  When we met back in the sunroom, we were all carrying presents. Only Mom’s were wrapped with real gift wrap, I’d used magazine pages for my presents and Matt and Jon used grocery bag brown paper.

  But we were all surprised. So many presents.

  It turned out there were two presents for each of us and one for Horton.

  Horton opened his first. It was a brand-new catnip mouse.

  “I got it at the pet supply store,” Jon said. “I didn’t tell anybody because I figured I was just supposed to be buying food and litter. And then I figured at least Horton should get a present for Christmas so I held on to it.”

  It was actually a present for all of us. Horton immediately fell in love with the mouse and licked it and jumped on it and acted like a kitten. I thought about how scared I’d been when he’d run away. But he knew what family was, too, and he came back and we were all together, the way we were meant to be.

  Mom told us to open our presents from her next. “They’re nothing special,” she said. “Peter got them for me from the hospital gift shop before it closed.”

  “That makes them more special,” I said and I meant it. “I wish Peter could be here with us.”

  Mom nodded. “Well, open them already,” she said. “Just don’t count on their being
anything fancy.”

  My fingers trembled when I carefully removed the gift wrap. It was a brand-new diary, a really pretty one with a pink cover and a tiny little lock and key.

  “Oh, Mom,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  Jon’s present was a handheld battery-run baseball game.

  “Don’t worry,” Mom said. “Batteries are included.”

  Jon’s grin was so bright he could have lit up the whole room. “This is great, Mom,” he said. “Something for me to do.”

  Matt’s present was a shaving kit. “I figured you were due some new razor blades,” Mom said.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Matt said. “I’ve been feeling a little scraggly.”

  I insisted Mom open my present next. She unwrapped it, and when she saw it was a box of actual chocolates, her jaw dropped.

  “They’re probably a little stale,” I said.

  “Who cares!” Mom cried. “They’re chocolates. Oh, Miranda! Of course we’ll share. I can’t eat the whole box by myself.” She stopped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, I didn’t mean that the way it came out!”

  I burst out laughing. Jon kept asking what the joke was but that only made me (and Mom) laugh louder.

  So I told Jonny to open his present from me next. He ripped into the paper and then flung the top off the shoe box. “I don’t believe this!” he shouted. “Matt, look at these cards. Look at them. There are hundreds. And they’re old. They’re from the ’50s and ’60s. Look, Mickey Mantle. And Yogi. And Willie Mays. I’ve never seen a collection like this before.”

  “I’m glad you like them,” I said, relieved he didn’t ask where they came from. “Matt, you go next.”

  Matt opened my present to him. “What?” he said at first. “I mean, this is really nice, Miranda, but I don’t think I understand.”

  “Oh,” I said. “I know the pictures are all colored. But the pencils were in great shape and I thought you could draw on the back of the pictures. You used to draw really well and I thought maybe you’d like to do it again.”

  His face lit up. “That’s a great idea,” he said. “You keep your journal and I’ll draw pictures of all of us. Thanks, Miranda. I’m going to love these pencils.”

  If I’d known he was going to draw us, I’d have looked for gray pencils. But he seemed excited and that made me happy. “Open our present next,” Jonny said so I cheerfully did. It was a watch.

  “How did you know I needed one?” I asked. “You keep asking what the time is,” Matt said. “It wasn’t too hard to guess.”

  I almost asked where the watch came from, but then I really looked at it and saw it had been Mrs. Nesbitt’s. It was an old-fashioned watch, the kind you have to wind every day. Her husband had given it to her and I knew how much she cherished it.

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s a beautiful gift. I love it. And now I’ll stop pestering you.”

  “I guess this present is the last one,” Mom said. “But honestly this whole day has been such a gift. I don’t need any more presents.”

  “Open it,” Matt said, and we all laughed.

  “All right,” Mom said. She took off the grocery bag paper and fell silent. “Oh, Matt,” she said. “Jonny. Wherever did you find this?”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Mom showed me what she was holding. It was an old black-and-white photograph of a young couple holding a baby. It was even in a frame.

  “Are those your parents?” I asked.

  Mom nodded and I could tell it was all she could do to keep from crying.

  “And that’s Mom in the picture,” Jon said. “She’s the baby.”

  “Oh, Mom, let me see,” I said, and she handed it over to me. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Where did you find it?” Mom asked.

  “In a box at Mrs. Nesbitt’s,” Matt said. “I saw it was old photographs and I brought it back here. She labeled all the pictures on the back. It was Jon’s idea to go back and find a picture frame it would fit in. I didn’t remember ever seeing the picture before, so I thought maybe you didn’t have it.”

  “I didn’t,” Mom said, taking it back from me. “It’s summertime and we’re on the back porch. How funny. We’re in the exact same place, only now it’s been enclosed. I must be about six months old. I guess we were visiting my grandparents. Mr. Nesbitt probably took the picture. I think I can make out his shadow.”

  “Do you like it?” Jon asked. “It isn’t like it cost anything.”

  “I love it,” Mom said. “I have so few memories of my parents and so little to remember them by. This picture—well, it takes me back to a different time. I will cherish it always. Thank you.”

  “I think I’ll start sketching,” Matt said. “I’ll do some preliminary sketches before using my pencils.” He grabbed some of the paper bag, pulled out the black pencil, and began drawing.

  Then Mom did something that made me even happier. She opened up her box of chocolate and read the diagram very carefully. Then she took the top off the box and placed 12 of the chocolates in it and passed it over to us. “You can all share this,” she said. “The rest is mine.”

  I loved that I was going to get to eat some chocolate but that Mom respected the fact it was my gift to her and not to all of us.

  The Christmas after Mom and Dad split up, they both went crazy buying us presents. Matt, Jonny, and I were showered with gifts at home and at Dad’s apartment. I thought that was great. I was all in favor of my love being paid for with presents.

  This year all I got was a diary and a secondhand watch.

  Okay, I know this is corny, but this really is what Christmas is all about.

  December 27

  No Christmas vacation for us. I’m back at history, Jon at algebra, Matt at philosophy, and Mom at French. We share what we learn, so I’m getting a refresher course in algebra and keeping up with my extremely minimal French skills. And we get into some really heated discussions about philosophy and history.

  Also Mom decided that while Texas Hold ’Em has its good points, it isn’t enough. She dragged out our Scrabble and chess sets, and now we play them, too. We play Scrabble together (so far Mom’s on a winning streak), and anytime two of us are in the mood, we play chess.

  Mom got it in her head that even though none of us can sing, we should do a Sound of Music thing and sing together. If Julie Andrews ever heard us, she’d probably jump into the first available volcano. But we don’t care. We bellow show tunes and Beatles songs and Christmas carols at the top of our lungs and call it harmony.

  Mom’s threatening to make us darling little matching outfits out of the drapes.

  Winning all those Scrabble games is definitely going to her head.

  December 31

  Tomorrow I’m going to start using my new diary. It has a three-year calendar in it, so I’ll know what the date is. For some reason that makes me very happy.

  Matt has been sketching every chance he gets. He even goes outside and sketches our desolate winter landscape.

  When he was outside this afternoon, I decided the time had come to decorate the sunroom. Jon and I put nails in the plywood windows and hung up the paintings that Mrs. Nesbitt had left to him and Matt.

  Then I asked Mom where Matt’s sketch of me skating was. It took her a while even to remember it and then a while longer to figure out where it must be (back of the shelf in her closet). I put on my coat and gloves and went upstairs and found it. I also took a photograph of us kids, one of those Sears studio things that Mom had hanging in her bedroom, and brought it down as well.

  The sunroom always used to be my favorite room in the house, even more than my bedroom. But lately with the plywood, and four mattresses on the floor, and a clothesline that almost always has wet clothes hanging from it, and the smell of cooked canned food, and most of the furniture pushed out into the kitchen, and everything else in the room shoved to one side or another—well, it’s not going to win any decorating awards.

&n
bsp; When Matt came in and saw we’d hung all the pictures up, he burst out laughing. Then he saw the picture he’d drawn and looked it over carefully.

  “That’s really bad,” he said.

  “It is not!” Mom and I both said, and cracked up.

  We outvoted him so it’s staying up. Now I look at it and I don’t see some idealized version of me. I see a skater, any skater, at a moment of perfect beauty.

  I see the past the way I like to think it was.

  “I wonder if they’re dropping the ball at Times Square tonight,” Jon said. “It’s already New Year’s in a lot of places on earth.”

  I wondered, and I think we all did, if this would be our last New Year’s.

  Do people ever realize how precious life is? I know I never did before. There was always time. There was always a future.

  Maybe because I don’t know anymore if there is a future, I’m grateful for the good things that have happened to me this year.

  I never knew I could love as deeply as I do. I never knew I could be so willing to sacrifice things for other people. I never knew how wonderful a taste of pineapple juice could be, or the warmth of a woodstove, or the sound of Horton purring, or the feel of clean clothes against freshly scrubbed skin.

  It wouldn’t be New Year’s without a resolution. I’ve re solved to take a moment every day for the rest of my life to appreciate what I have.

  Happy New Year, world!

  January 1

  Matt informed us that he had made a New Year’s resolution.

  “You know something,” Mom said. “This is the first year I didn’t. I’m always resolving to lose weight and spend more time with you kids, and this year I actually lived up to those resolutions. I am now officially retired.”

  “That’s fine, Mom,” Matt said. “But I’ve resolved to master cross-country skiing. Jon and Miranda should learn with me. We can take turns with the skis. It’ll get us outside and give us some exercise. How about it?”

  Standing around in below-zero weather with the wind howling and falling into snowbanks didn’t sound like all that much fun. But Matt gave me one of those looks and I realized this wasn’t about fun and games. It was about being able to escape from here if one of us needed to.