The Story of Us by Catherine Hernandez

Author:Catherine Hernandez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Canada
Published: 2023-01-06T00:00:00+00:00

7

Hello! Holy moly was that ever a good nap. I don’t want to brag or anything because I understand that sleep gets progressively crappy as we age, but wow. That was restorative. I think I grew a little. What do you think? Does this onesie look tight on me now? Have my cheeks gotten fuller? I feel fuller.

We’d better get started as I’m already feeling foggy about where we left off. This is going to happen, I’m afraid. I was reminded by the Maybe Babies that the more I come into this new body of mine, the less I will remember. And they were right. It happened just the other day, when I learned how to open and shut my hands. Ma was standing over me singing some godawful repetitive song. I found myself copying her movements, manipulating my fingers like hers to mimic twinkling stars. It’s a silly song. I don’t know why it ever caught on. I copied her, Ma started freaking out like I had invented the wheel. She squealed and took pictures. When the flash went off, there was this shift. Like . . . how can I describe it? There was a flash, and then there was a section of my memory, my Before Memory, that was erased. No. Not erased. Dulled. Like, I remember the basic shape of Lola Daning’s face and the small moles that dotted her neck. But the sound of her voice. What was the sound of her voice?

Okay. Back to what I have to tell you. And this part is important. It’s important, but it’s also difficult, I’m afraid, as all apologies are. She made mistakes with you, Liz. Lots of mistakes. She treated you like a nuisance. There was something about you being an elder rather than a child that Ma had to adjust to. While engaging with kids was easy for her, she found talking to you difficult at first. It did not come easy. You would call her Jane. She did not know who Jane was, and she did not want to play along and would correct you. And correcting you would inevitably make you nervous and scared, especially when she had to touch your body, like when she bathed you or brushed your hair. The entire day would be ruined with you fighting Ma over the smallest things such as putting on your shoes or swallowing your food. If Ma wasn’t Jane, then who was this person puttering about the house? Your confusion frustrated her. Maybe even angered her. Instead of playing this annoying game of correcting the demented old lady, she did her job, thinking that cooking, cleaning and physically caring for you was the job.

Ma would wake up at seven and get your breakfast ready. Two squares of toast, one with margarine and cheese spread, one with peanut butter and strawberry jelly, just the way you like it. Start the coffee machine for her, the kettle for your tea. Not at the same time, to avoid short-circuiting the badly wired kitchen.

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