Donorboy (6 page)

I used to look over at this table just the way I noticed people looking at this table today, like there go the freaks with the weird hair and clothes and too many piercings and the fact is that they have been way better to me than my own non-druggy friends the bitches without problems or anyway the bitches with different problems, but I shouldn't even say that because Kristen anyway is very nice and I do know that Sasha was trying, it wasn't like she didn't try.

So I guess except for the fact that I am still an orphan living in some strange guy's house, things are looking up. Except I still haven't done any work in geometry or history or earth science or espanol unless you count watching
Dos Mujeres, un Camino
which I did for like ten minutes last night with the captions on so I could read the words but I still didn't understand it. But I am pretty sure one of the mujeres is in love with that guy with the long hair.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

That subject line is a Roberta Flack joke. She also did “Killing Me Softly,” which was a big hit for the Fugees a few years ago. Of course, now that I think of it, you were only five or six when that came out, and so you might not even know what I'm talking about. Lauryn Hill … well, never mind.

The meeting certainly was a disaster. Of course, as I look at it now, I am not certain what I hoped the meeting would accomplish, except to show you that I care about the fact that you are failing everything. Except English. I have no idea if it was a success in that respect and if knowing that I care might be counterbalanced by the fact that your counselor obviously doesn't.

In any case, should we ever have another meeting at school (perhaps it could be something along the lines of “Rosalind has really turned it around!”), I would deeply appreciate it if you could share your intelligence with me. That way I will have a better idea of what to say. Also I might be able to compete with you on the bingo front, which always makes it more entertaining. I won during the last diversity training, having put “baggage” in nearly every square. I raised my hand and said to the facilitator, “When you described the cycle of oppression, I thought about this Haitian client that I just couldn't connect with and I thought, ‘Bingo! That's it!'” There were audible groans from my co-conspirators.

Well. Several days ago I promised to tell you about the first time I saw you, so here we go with that. After you were born, I went to the hospital and saw you with your moms. Looking at it objectively, of course, you were a baby much like every other baby, but I couldn't believe what I felt. I looked at you in Eva's arms and saw the most perfect, wonderful baby ever in the history of the universe. This may sound corny and unbelievable, but I honestly felt like my heart would explode. It was the strongest emotion I have ever felt, tied with intense grief, which is saying something.

I am at a loss as to how to explain this, but feeling that much love is terrifying. I was very young, and therefore terrified of the responsibility of raising a child, but I was also terrified of the way looking at you made me feel. It was an entirely positive feeling, but, well, as I said, it was terrifying. I hope you will get an opportunity to experience the same thing. But not soon. In any case, your mothers and I had essentially agreed that I was not going to be a real parent to you. I always assumed that I wasn't really supposed to participate—that in addition to the lack of St. Vitus' dance in my family history, my youth was a positive factor in my selection because it implied that I would not try to be your father. That sounds unfair to your mothers, so let me say the following things. First of all, when they asked me what I envisioned my role to be, I panicked and mumbled something about how I wasn't ready for any kind of responsibility. My memory is that they appeared relieved at this answer, but I may be projecting my own relief that they accepted my answer well. They did say they would leave the door open should I change my mind. Once I actually saw you, I was terrified of the strength of my emotion, so I went to law school and worked hard and didn't socialize with anyone, and eventually I fell out of touch with your mothers. This was my own doing. I didn't know how to conduct myself around you, and, as I said, I was frightened, so I backed off. I do believe that they were sincere about the door being open to me having more of a role in your life, but I never walked through. I am sorry about that. When I reflect on my life I see a series of missed opportunities, and that is certainly the greatest one.

Your mothers wrote to me every year on your birthday with a picture and an update on how you were doing. I rarely wrote back but always appreciated the letters. I still have them if you would like to see them. They are in the black photo album on the bottom shelf in the living room.

Well, I do have schools to sue here, so I must return to work. My coworker Ramona informed me that there is a new and delicious vegetarian restaurant a mere ten minutes out of my way on the way home. I will come home bearing takeout tonight, so don't fill up on enchiladas. (I found them somewhat of a letdown after the pleasant surprise of the high-quality burritos. Well, I guess nobody bats a thousand …)

—Sean

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

I know you care about me failing everything. The only problem is that I don't. I actually kind of wish I did, but I don't.

Don't be so hard on yourself about not being around. I am actually not trying to be mean, but it's not like I missed you, if you know what I mean. I had two great parents which is more than a lot of kids have.

You are right about bingo. Next time I am putting “down the road” like three times. Unless next time actually is down the road, in which case I don't know what he would say. That is a conundrum. I will ponder and get back to you.

4/15/94

Dear Sean:

Here's a copy of Rosalind's preschool picture. She is doing wonderfully well
—
still a little shy with the other kids, but the teachers love her, and she does have a couple of good friends in her class. They come over here for play dates sometimes and play house for hours. It is very cute and also a little scary to hear our words coming out of her mouth when she is being “mommy.” “Now, honey, you are getting all wound up! Do you need a time-out?”

She has a bike with training wheels that she likes to ride, but she is still afraid to go down hills. So we have to put the bike in the car and drive to the Arboretum where it's flat
.

She will begin kindergarten in the fall, but after two years of preschool, I don't think it will be too much of an adjustment. I do worry about her being shy in new situations, but both Sandy and I were shy too, and we turned out okay
.

Finally, she always makes up songs that make us howl with laughter. Yesterday she sang this one that went something like, “Oh, when we go to P-town this year … I hope we don't have a house with a leaky roof … that Mom will say I can't believe what we paid for this fleabag flophouse … and it doesn't rain every day … because I hate playing Sorry.”

I have no idea if that's funny if you can't hear her singing it. In any case, she is a delight, and she makes us laugh every day
.

Love
,

S&E

Dear Journal de dolor:

Good news, I think, which is that I randomly opened the black photo album and read some thing about when I was four and I cried and cried for like twenty minutes, big loud crying like the neighbors probably could hear, and I am still really sad which feels horrible but better than feeling nothing at all.

I miss them so much so much so much. I really really want them back right now. I feel the great big horrible hole that is like right in my stomach where they used to be or where I used to keep the love they gave me or something, but it hurts, and that is partly because my throat hurts from crying and my stomach hurts because I was bending over, and my shirt has snot on it because it was roping out of my nose and I didn't care, just kept crying and crying. I felt horrible and I still feel horrible, and I know I wanted this but I don't like this either.

I know it's stupid to ask why why did this happen, why me, why them, I don't understand why they died, I don't understand why I didn't. If I came along would I be dead too, or would we all be alive because they waited for me to put my shoes on or something, and the turducken truck killed somebody else or better yet nobody.

Nothing makes any sense. Lisa tells me I can't think about what ifs, that I will drive myself crazy, but if you could die because of some stupid decision, how can anything be important ever? Or not important? How do you ever know if you are making the choice that is going to kill you?

I guess you just choose things that feel good and say fuck it. Except nothing feels good right now, nothing at all feels good. I HATE THIS! HATE IT! Crying again, I hate my life, I hate everything, I hate everybody I hate this stupid fucking horrible sad life and I want my real life with my moms who love me back! Why can't I have it back?

Dear Fluffy:

I told Lisa about how corny the idea of a grief journal was, and she agreed that that was a pretty stupid name but said it sounded like it was good for me to write in it, so I could call it whatever I wanted. So I chose Fluffy. Mom's friend Rick had a lizard he called Fluffy and I always thought that was kind of funny, and so here we are with me and Fluffy, which maybe is lizardlike because it is ugly and unpleasant but I kind of like it.

So I don't know what to do about the black photo album. The black album. I think that's a Metallica record, or that's what Kate the Shoplifter said, but she said she likes
Ride the Lightning
better. Which I don't care about but I am writing so I won't have to think about my black album and whether I should read any more of what Mom and Mommy wrote about me, which I kind of want to but also don't. It made me too sad but I know there are thirteen more of them in there and I really want to read them all but it's like picking a scab or something. It's kind of fun, but sometimes you don't feel like bleeding again. Ooo, I am poetic. That is what you call an extended metaphor, and I know that so I am not failing English. Nobody really mentioned that I am getting a C-because I ace all the terms and vocabulary tests without studying but I never write the papers because who the hell wants to do that?

Anyway, besides the Black Album, I am invited to a party this weekend, because Sara's parents are going out of town, and Sasha came over with Kristen to invite me and they were all we really miss you and we're sorry if we made you mad or whatever and I felt bad for ignoring them and writing all kinds of mean shit about them because it looks like they at least care about me even if they bug me sometimes, and we had this big girly crying hug which was corny but felt nice anyway.

Of course Sara's house is in east buttfuck and I don't want to hitch a ride with some drunk person who will crash and kill us both or get us arrested or whatever. I should probably just tell Sean I am spending the night at my friend Sara's house, but I don't know what he would do or if he would want to call or something queer like that which would be mad embarrassing, so I think I am going to sneak out and go to Kristen's and have her sister drive us because he never comes in here once I lock myself in, so it should be all good.

I hope. I don't know how it's going to feel hanging out with them again. More like me, or more like who I used to be? I don't know but lunching with BWP is nice because they don't ask me about stuff but all the same it might be nice to hang out with some people who are happy sometimes too.

Dear Fluffy:

I am in some deep shit, and I guess I don't care. Apparently Sean knocked on my door last night because he saw something about Mom on TV, not like I wanted to see that shit anyway, some kind of tragic update on E! about how a former sitcom star was killed by turduckens, but anyway, he called Karen, he called the police, and when I got home this morning all I wanted to do was puke and sleep and I had to listen to him yelling at me about how he had the police out here and how worried he was and why didn't I just ask him and blah blah blah.

He called Karen and she wanted to put me on the phone and she bitched me out too, all did I know how worried she was and on top of Mom and Mommy dying she doesn't want to lose me too, and blah blah blah and I was like it's all about you, but I didn't say that, I just said sorry to her, which I didn't say to Sean even though maybe I should have because he looked bad like he did really worry about me but if he didn't knock on my stupid door he wouldn't have even known I wasn't there, and I need a better lock for my door or something because you can pick those doorknob locks with a bobby pin, which he didn't have but I guess he found something.

Whatever whatever, I am a big disappointment, I am a big pain in the ass, I hurt people's feelings, I am a horrible person, well, so what anyway, I had a really good time.

Everybody was there, and unlike last summer I was not too scared to drink so I drank something clear that tasted kind of like a nasty Sprite or something, but I guess I was pretty drunk because I did pass out last night or fall asleep or whatever, and then I woke up this morning with my legs all achey and I had to puke and Sasha held my hair like I did for her last summer and it was like old times or something. I guess I also had some elf in my brain with a hammer or whatever Sean's dorky hangover joke was. It is now four in the afternoon and I am just starting to feel normal, or sort of normal, but I didn't like the way I felt this morning but I felt really good last night, like I was really happy and my head was going to float off my body or something and I didn't think about being sad or feeling sad or anything. It was just like I was right there the whole time and I didn't have to worry or be sad about anything and I could laugh and laugh which I haven't done in a long time.