Rise the Euphrates by Carol Edgarian

Author:Carol Edgarian [Edgarian, Carol]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Narrative Magazine
Published: 2015-02-16T08:00:00+00:00

I THOUGHT of heading for the grape arbor behind the house or hiding myself in the bushes next to the barbeque. But my feet had a different notion. They carried me down the driveway, past the rows of cars. At the corner, by the hemlocks, I turned and walked on. It felt good to keep moving. My patent-leather shoes clicked on the cement walk. Hours would pass before anyone noticed I was gone.

I walked along Victoria Road, and then I climbed Steele Road. At the top, I turned, up the street to the Vartyans’ driveway. Empty garbage cans were tossed onto the lawn and the grass badly needed a trim. The house looked deserted, the blinds drawn.

I was about to turn back when Theresa appeared at the door, dressed in a lime muumuu.

“Hi,” I said.

She nodded and held open the door as I went inside. Mrs. Vartyan was propped up in her chair.

“Oh, Seta,” Mrs. Vartyan said, not at all surprised to see me. “Theresa and I are so sorry.”

Theresa fished a Kleenex from a box and handed it to her mother, who wiped her nose.

“Honey, your mother, did she come, too?”

“She’s home,” I answered.

Mrs. Vartyan raised the skin above her eyes. “Well, it’s you we wanted to see anyways. We were hoping you’d come. Isn’t that right, Theresee?”

Theresa nodded. “Have a seat,” Mrs. Vartyan said, and pointed to the chair where Casard sat the last time. Theresa squatted on the hassock in front of her mother.

Mrs. Vartyan said, “Your Grandma, oh, Seta, she was my true friend.” Tears ran in rivulets down the sick woman’s cheeks.

She reached out a hand and with an iron grip pulled me onto the arm of her chair. I looked down at her. She put my hands on top of hers on her lap. We studied these four hands.

“You be a nice girl for your Grandma,” she said. “So up in heaven she forgives herself? So she knows whatever was her secret, it was okay-okay.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. I squeezed my eyes closed, determined not to cry.

Mrs. Vartyan unstacked our hands, then stacked them up again. “Seta, honey, don’t ask too much of yourself. You want to be angry. Okay. You want to have lots of friends and forget about your Grandma, fine. The day you were born she was at peace. That’s all you need to know. Just be sure, when the time comes, you face the dead with an open heart. It’s the only way.”

As she spoke, Mrs. Vartyan’s words caused the knot in my throat to tighten, until I thought I might choke. The air behind that knot, at last having no place to go, flowed out of me and, behind it, tears. I wailed like a child, as the woman with the ravaged face patted my knee. Theresa disappeared into the kitchen, and I was meant to take as much time as I needed.

When Theresa finally returned, she was holding two bottles of cola. Mrs. Vartyan took the bottles from her daughter and handed one to each of us.

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