34 Pieces of You by Carmen Rodrigues

Author:Carmen Rodrigues [Rodrigues, Carmen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781442439085
Publisher: Simon Pulse
Published: 2012-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

16.

You’re only a year older than me, but you’ve always been so much wiser to the way this world works. How everything we’ve accumulated . . . mud on my thigh, or a dandelion clinging to the back of my wrist . . . can be washed away.

Sarah

AFTER. FEBRUARY.

Another Sunday and my sisters go to church. I imagine them folded into pews, hymnbooks pressed against their thighs as they sing songs, hold hands, recite the Lord’s Prayer.

I am home alone, with a soggy bowl of Cheerios in my lap, awaiting their return. And when they return, I watch them, trying to decipher their native rituals. I’ve learned many things about Sundays. But mostly I’ve learned that Mom sees and knows nearly everything, even if she pretends she does not.

She clears her throat when Meg mentions that Dad isn’t home this Sunday like he promised. Sighs resolutely when Jess pretends to eat her food before pushing it aside. Smiles patiently as Mattie struggles to read a Dora the Explorer book.

When Meg, still in her Sunday best, races suddenly toward our living-room window, Mom chides her for her dangling barrettes and impossibly slippery hair. Meg ignores Mom and draws the plaid curtains aside, knocking a silver picture frame onto the carpet. She squeals, “He saw me! Oh my God!” Her cheeks turn pink, but she brazenly presses her body to the windowsill. “Oh, wait.” She slowly exhales, staring at the nameless boy who is her latest fascination. “Wait.”

Tires squeal. Meg dissolves into laughter. Mattie hops off Mom’s lap, wanders to the window, and peeks outside. Jess pushes away her plate and joins the others to silently view the world beyond. Through the window, I can see that this day is glorious. Later it might turn cold and damp, but for right now the sun shines brightly and there is the promise of spring in the way the light wraps around the tree’s bark. For the first time in months, I want to go outside, feel that sunshine on my face.

I move closer, but not too close, stopping to retrieve the picture frame. I stare at the happy family—a much glossier version of the one I know. When I set it back on the table, Mom catches my eye and nods toward the girls. “To be young,” she says with a wistful smile, as if I am someone who has waged her own war with adulthood.

Now the room is absolutely muted—just the girls at the window and me staring at Mom.

Minutes pass, and the sounds begin to filter back in: Meg whispering to Jessie, and Mattie giggling.

Eventually, I go, “Mom . . .” And her head twitches in that mom way that means she’ll respond if my voice rises in panic; otherwise, the dimmer is on and she’s lost in her private thoughts. Still, the words continue forming slowly, first inside and then out: “Do you want to go for a walk—”

But my words are drowned out by Meg’s booming voice. “Oh my

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