Slide - Kyle Beachy [92]
At the central fountain, children tossed coins into reflective water, then held greedy little palms out to parents for more. I followed my mother to the fountain's edge. Watching her sit, I was reluctant to stop moving, fearful of the sheer massiveness of this place overtaking us.
“Sit for a minute, son. I'm beat.”
I did. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small bundle of bills.
“Take this, please.”
“Five hundred dollars is bit much to throw in a fountain.”
“I wish I could give you more,” she said. “I'm not sure how much money I have. It's the strangest thing, to walk through the house and wonder what belongs to me. It's like a totally new set of things. Some of the furniture I had to talk him into buying. But so much is his. The computer. I mean, if we're being literal here, everything is his. Money. I've never thought so much about ownership before. What can I say is mine? My car? The washer and dryer? The garden is mine, of course, but you can't move that. The sunroom. Your father never wanted the sunroom. Potter, take the money.”
“I really don't want any more money right now.”
I watched her fold and unfold the bills, creasing and then rolling them and unrolling and folding the bills into halves. Not even close enough to pay off Edsel.
“Please. Take it from me.”
I did. I could hold on to it and use it for an emergency motel room in some distant but drivable location, some Floridian beachfront peach stucco demilitarized zone. I looked at my mother's profile, the bone of her nose. She blinked but was untroubled by the attention I was paying her.
“When did you know? Was it a moment after an event? Some night you woke up and knew? Or was it more like a slow rolling wave?”
“I can't say, son.”
“Start with a time. Please, serious. This is a reasonable and fair question. When did you know you were unhappy and that the only way to change any of it was to leave?”
I waited.
I said, “Alright, then. But can you describe the other side? For all the years? Something made you stay. A force. What was the force? Describe the force. Start with an adjective.”
“Okay, Potter. Okay.”
My mother stared at the floor and I put the money into my pocket. She reached one hand into the fountain and cupped some water she brought back to her lap. She rubbed her hands clean while drops fell onto her thighs and the marble floor beneath.
“There are some things, and I believe this, that are too big to understand. I don't mean God or the universe or those. But things that happen here on earth. And Potter, what's mind-boggling, truly miraculous if you stop and consider, is that these things, these trials, are happening all the time, every day all day long they're happening to normal people, and they talk about them, we get together and talk and cry, thank God there are people who listen, and slowly, gradually, they get better. The trials turn into memories. And we make progress and go forward. But nothing ever, ever goes away completely.” She turned to face me. “Do you remember what I used to sing? Nothing goes, a-way all the way.”
I looked away. A group of teenage girls passed in front of us, wearing tiny little clothes and squealing into their cell phones.
“The other day when you mentioned Freddy, it made me realize how long it's been since we talked about him. He was a wonderful, caring little boy, and sometimes I think how unfair it is that you never got to know him. He would kiss your head. He loved you. He'd kiss you and sing to you. We sang together. Your father couldn't believe how much Freddy loved you. We weren't sure how he was going to react to a little brother. You worry about that. And after the accident, Potter, in a lot of ways your father and I grew closer. My God, how much we doted on you and loved you. How badly we wanted you to have a brother or sister. Do you know that we tried? We did for a while.”
Again she paused, and the din of the mall carried on with one fewer instrument. I shut my eyes and waited.