Breathing Lessons (1989 Pulitzer Prize) - Anne Tyler [41]
After Sunday dinner with her family, Maggie and Boris went out on the porch. Maggie lazily toed the porch swing back and forth while Boris discussed his political aspirations. He said he figured he would start small, maybe just get on the school board or something. Then he would work up to senator. "Hmm," Maggie said. She swallowed a yawn.
Then Boris gave a little cough and asked if she had ever thought of going to nursing school. That might be a good plan, he said, if she was so all fired up about taking care of old people. Probably this too had some connection with his career; senators' wives didn't empty bedpans. She said, "But I don't want to be a nurse." "You were always so smart at your studies, though," he told her.
"I don't want to stand at a nursing station filling out forms; I want to deal with folks!" Maggie said.
Her voice was sharper than she had intended. He drew away.
"Sorry," she said.
She felt too big. She was taller than he when they were seated, especially when he hunkered down, as he was doing now.
He said, "Is something troubling you, Maggie? You haven't seemed yourself all spring vacation." "Well, I'm sorry," she said, "but I've had a ... loss. A very close friend of mine has passed away." She didn't feel she was exaggerating. It did seem, by now, that she and Ira had been close. They just hadn't consciously understood that.
"Well, why didn't you say so?" Boris asked. "Who was it?" "No one you knew." "You can't be sure of that! Who was it?" "Oh, well," she said, "his name was Ira." "Ira," Boris said. "You mean Ira Moran?" She nodded, keeping her eyes down.
"Skinny guy? Couple of classes ahead of us?" She nodded.
"Wasn't he part Indian or something?" She hadn't been aware of this but it sounded right. It sounded perfect.
"Of course I knew him," Boris said. "Just to say hello to, I mean. I mean, he wasn't actually a friend or anything. I didn't realize he was your friend, either." Where does she get these characters, his beetled expression was saying. First Serena Palermo and now a red Indian.
"He was one of my favorite people," she said.
"He was? Oh. Is that right. Well. Well, you have my condolences, Maggie," Boris said. "I just wish you'd told me earlier." He considered a minute. He said, "How did it happen, anyway?" "It was a training accident," Maggie said.
"Training?" "In boot camp." "I didn't even know he'd enlisted," Boris said. "I thought he worked in his father's frame shop. Isn't that where I got our prom photo framed? Sam's Frame Shop? Seems to me Ira was the one who waited on me." "Really?" Maggie said, and she thought of Ira behind a counter, another image to add to her small collection.
"Well, he did," she said. "Enlist, I mean. And then he had this accident." "I'm sorry to hear that," Boris said.
A few minutes later she told him she'd prefer to spend the rest of the day alone, and Boris said that of course he understood.
That night in bed she started crying. Speaking of Ira's death out loud was what had done it. She hadn't mentioned it before, not even to Serena, who would say, "What are you talking about? You barely knew the guy." She and Serena were growing apart, Maggie realized. She cried harder, blotting her tears on the hem of her sheet.
The next day Boris went back to school. Maggie had the morning off and so she was the one who drove him to the bus station. She felt lonesome after she had said goodbye. It suddenly seemed very sad that he had come all this way just to see her. She wished she had been nicer to him.
At home, her mother was spring cleaning. She had