Page 27 of The Story of You
Silas – February - April 1985
Turning sixteen in February was a huge step forward in my life. I got my license as soon as I was able. Father was happy to be relieved of yet more duties. I was happy to be free of the house. I’d worked my ass off and got the school year done in December. Homeschooling was a lot easier for me than being in school. I began working on my grade eleven stuff and my plan was to keep going until I was done. The future was more uncertain than it had ever been. It was better if I tried to graduate as soon as possible. But the short break in schoolwork left me with time to take Oliver around town. He chattered in baby babble, and I’d grab his bare foot as I talked back to him and drove us around. We were best friends.
We’d pick Darry up from school and go for ice cream or fries at the Malt Shoppe. We’d hit up the after-school matinee at the drive-in movie theater. Oliver was too young for indoor movies, but at the drive-in, we could keep him busy and watch the movie at the same time in the car.
Grocery shopping—a former chore—was fun. “I want cookies, Silas,” Darius said.
“Yeah, fuck it. Get whatever you want.” I threw a few frozen pizzas in the cart. Not on the list but Father had said to use the credit card for whatever we wanted and besides, I made the lists now. I was putting frozen pizza on it.
April came fast. It was the week of Darius’s twelfth birthday. We’d made it almost a full year, a year seemed like twenty. Oliver was close to walking. He was the world’s most adorable menace, getting into everything. He managed to rip up an entire roll of toilet paper. He knocked the sugar canister and sent it flying across the kitchen—sugar, sugar everywhere—and he figured out how to pull all the pots and pans out of the cupboard. I let him do that last one when Father wasn’t home. It kept him occupied long enough for me to do up the dishes.
I planned to make Darius his favorite kind of cake—black forest. I’d become quite the Holly Homemaker. I pulled out a recipe book and mixed it up between chasing after Oliver and prepping dinner. I iced it while Oliver napped. I was fucking proud of the job I did. It even had chocolate shavings and fresh cherries for decoration.
“Looks nice, Silas. What’s that for?” Mama said.
I looked at her funny. “Darius’s birthday is tomorrow, Mama.”
Her face twisted up like she was trying to remember but couldn’t. Something was happening and it was bad. I tossed the cake in the fridge. “Mama, c’mon. Get your shoes on. We need to go to the hospital.”
I probably should have called an ambulance. Instead, I stuffed her and Oliver into my car and raced them to the emergency. I was grateful when they said it was medication related rather than anything serious like a stroke or epilepsy. The medication affected her thyroid, which resulted in temporary memory loss. It was a matter of switching medications, which she would see her doctor about on Monday.
The next day something magical happened.
It was as if Darius had wished for Mama to come back for a day. Forhisday. I’m still not sure if I believe in the divine, but there’s no other explanation for what happened. Mama shouldn’t have had the neurotransmitters for such a feat.
She woke up that morning and took Oliver from me. “Hey baby,” she said to me.
“Morning, Mama.”
“Let’s make Darry all his favorites today. And I haven’t picked up his present, how about we do that? We’ll leave baby with his daddy and we’ll go shopping.”
No way was I leaving Oliver. “Let’s bring him with us, Mama. Oli loves shopping.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
I was uneasy. She acted as though the past year never happened. Oliver didn’t even know how to say daddy, nor had anyone referred to Father as Oliver’s daddy, except for a few odd times. But I wanted the time with her however long I would have it, so I ignored what I needed to.
Mama put one of her prettiest dresses on. It didn’t fit her as well as it used to—snug in some places, loose in others—but she still radiated beauty. Her hair had grown back a dull curly brown after all the chemo. When she noticed her blonde returning, she’d got me to shave her head. It was growing in nicely but still short from that haircut, so she donned one of her long, blonde wigs. She put make-up on. She wore the pearls Father bought her when we found out she was pregnant with Oliver. She was a fresh spring day.
She bounded around the shopping center with new life. It was hard to believe she was the same person who had forgotten her favorite son’s birthday yesterday. She bought the store for Darius. We got decorations and enough food for the neighborhood. “Invite everyone,” she said.
I took Darius and Oliver around, knocking on doors to tell all to swing by for burgers. My little cake wasn’t enough for a whole neighborhood, so I didn’t bother to take it out. Mother had made me stop by the bakery anyway and get a large-slab vanilla cake. Everyone showed, somehow miraculously not having plans even with the last-minute invite. Father flipped burgers and hot dogs, Mama made drinks and served them. Oliver kept pointing to the colored lanterns saying, “Hi, Baba. Hi,” which meant he wanted to touch them. I stole the covering off one and let him stick it in his mouth. No one cared.
Darius was quiet the whole day.
When Mama doted on him, he brightened. He was as he’d always been with her. They had their strange conversations. They understood each other. They danced and laughed. He told her he was going to tame lions when he got older, and she said she’d make sure to follow him around and attend every show. She pretended she was a fairy and he pretended he was Peter Pan.
But when she wasn’t looking at him, he turned off like a light switch. He somehow knew that the magic that possessed her would end when his birthday did. He was preparing himself to grieve her again.
As always, Mama brought life to Father. He could function again. He was himself too. For real. He talked to the neighbors like the charmer he was. He smiled handsomely. He picked Oliver up and bounced him on his hip while he flipped burgers and sipped his beer. I got a glimpse of how it should have been.
At the end of the night, Mother and Father said goodnight to the three of us and went to the room they used to share together, the one Father stayed in on his own now, giggling and teasing each other. I saw Father pinch her ass like he used to. “Aleksander Randall!”
“Watch out, Helena. I’m coming for you.” She ran and he chased her.
“Good lord,” Darius said, heading toward the fridge. “I hope they use protection. I love Oliver but you don’t need another baby.”
Speaking of, he was passed out on my shoulder. This was easily the best day of his life so far. Usually, babies didn’t get cake till their first birthday, which was next month for him, but I let him have some of Darius’s.
