Distant Flickers: Stories of Identity & Loss by Multiple Contributors

Author:Multiple Contributors
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Paul Stream Press, LLC
Published: 2022-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

DIARY OMISSIONS: THE HOUSE ON EDGEWOOD ROAD

Elizabeth Gauffreau

April 17, 1907–June 1, 1907

BROTHER AND I WERE STILL so very young the first time Father took Mother away, not long after we moved into the new house on Edgewood Road. Father had designed the house himself, and it was big—not as big as Uncle Henry and Aunt Lucy’s grand house on the hill, of course, but it was big for us, with four bedrooms, front and back porches, and a sunroom looking out through the trees. Father was so proud of that house. While it was being built, he would take us to see it every Sunday after church, all of us dressed in our Sunday best to gaze at the hole in the ground, then at the outlines of walls and roof empty against the sky.

The day began the same as any other. We saw Father off to work in the morning as usual, the three of us each receiving a kiss in turn at the door before he set off smartly down the walk, his portfolio tucked under his arm, his hat tilted just so.

Brother and I ran upstairs while Mother cleared the table and began the breakfast dishes. I heard the hot water running downstairs, the heavy plates thunking on the bottom of the sink, the silverware rattling in on top of them.

Ready for play, Brother and I ran down the front stairs and through the hall, slowing the clattering of our shoes as we reached the shiny kitchen linoleum. Mother stood motionless at the sink, the plates and bowls arranged in descending order in the dish drainer on her right, a stack of greasy pans on the counter on her left, the suds gone from the water, her red wet hands resting on the rim of the sink, tears running down her face.

I stopped and asked what was the matter, was she sick, was she sad, but she shook her head and motioned with her hand for me to go away.

When Brother and I came in for lunch, we found that Mother had not moved from the sink, the water gone cold in front of her, the tears dried on her face. She did not answer when I called her. Brother ran up the hill to Aunt Lucy’s house because he was younger and more afraid, while I stayed behind with Mother, crying, unable to pull one of her hands down from the rim of the sink to hold. Aunt Lucy telephoned Father in the city, and he came home and took Mother away.

Cousin Charlotte came to stay with us. We didn’t like Cousin Charlotte much. She was prissy, and the only reason she’d come to help us while Mother was away was that Aunt Lucy made her. When Brother and I asked where our mother went, why Father took her away, Cousin Charlotte said that Mother needed a rest. When Brother demanded to know why Mother couldn’t take her nap at home, Cousin Charlotte called him a naughty boy and sent him to his room.

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