“I’msad,” I finally muttered. Although my words were practically inaudible, Mama understood me. She always understood me.
“We are too, honey. Your father is truly sorry. Foreverything.”
“Stop, Mama! I’m not sad abouthim.”
A long moan sounded on her end. She so wanted our family to be normal. “Is it Ron?”
“No!I mean yes, I’m always sad about Ron, but right now I’m sad because ...” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I just sat on my end of the phone, wailing.
It made Mama cry too. “Sad because why?”
“Because . . . I’m inlove.”
There was a long, long pause, then finally, “If you’re in love, why on earth are you crying?”
“Because I’ll never be able to measure up to his old girlfriend.” My nose jammed with mucous. I heaved for air. “She’s so beautiful.”
“So are you.”
“Not compared to her.”
“Come home, honey. We can talk about it here.”
Going home sounded pretty good. At least I’d be warm. And dry. And have a soft bed to sleep in, with food on the table. I had enough money for the bus ticket. Plus a candy bar or two and a Coke along the way. I knew the pain I’d be up against at home. That pain seemed better than this pain.
“Maybe,” I said, my chin trembling.
“Your father and I miss you terribly. He has so much to tell you. We both do.”
I panicked. “Please don’t put him on the phone. I don’t want to talk to—”
“He’s not here, honey. He’s at church.”
My veins burst with relief. But it was only four o’clock at home. Sunday-evening services started at five thirty. “Already?” I asked.
“There was a deacon meeting. I’m to meet him there.”
“A deacon meeting.” The stench of bitterness traveled through my nostrils and lodged inside my throat. “Dad is such a hypocrite, such a pharisee. Why can’t you see that, Mama? The rules he makes us follow aremessed up. Do you honestly believe God minds if I listen to rock music? Or if I dance? If loving either of those things means I’m going to hell, then I guess I’ll be on fire for eternity.”
“Suzannah!Don’t you ever speak that way again!” she exclaimed, adding a loud groan. “Your father feels terrible about what happened. He—”
“He called metrash, Mama.”
I could hear her pain in the long silence that followed. “You arenottrash. And he knows it. He ... has realized all kinds of things. He wants to apologize.”
I sneered. “With what? A present? Forget it.”
The operator broke through with a demand for seventy-five more cents. I dropped all the change I had into the slots.
“Your brother’s deployment has changed everything,” Mama continued, after our conversation had been restored.
“I’ll say it has. Our family is screwed up. You can’t even see it.”
Mama paused. “I do see it. I just don’t know what to do about it.” Her voice trailed off, as if all her energy had been depleted.
“I do. You can leave him. We can move somewhere else. It’s nice up here.” As soon as I saidup here, I knew I had goofed.
Instead of challenging me, she just wasted our phone time with a long stretch of silence. Thank God she didn’t ask me to defineup here.
