Saturday, January 25, 2025

The Autobiography of Someone Else - 20

Harry’s family moved to Boston or one of those towns near Boston because his mom got some hifalutin job as a nutritionist at a university and at the same time she got sick with cancer. I went up to visit a couple times. At first everything was normal and people went to school and work and gathered ‘round the kitchen table for dinner to talk about their day. But then Susan stayed in her bedroom more and more, a pale green oxygen tank visible between the doorway and her bed. God knows what was going on in there, something out of reach or even impermissible to us, the living. I knew she was in there—or was it her?—calling out in a soft, hoarse whisper, a voice not her own, for a man that’s not her husband in a house that’s not her house. Death.

My dad picked me up and we drove home and Mom and Dad had the biggest fight ever. At first I figured it was my fault. Like Mom was blaming me for needing Dad, for taking him away all day. But then I heard her say did you fuck her? My God no, honey. She’s dying. That wouldn’t stop you before. What are you talking about, before? That never stopped you before. Stopped me what? When? Stopped you fucking a dying woman. A woman who would soon be dead. You’re not talking about that again are you? You damn right I’m talking about that again. Please don’t talk about that. So did you fuck her? Answer me. Answer me! Of course I didn’t fuck her. Well you should have fucked her. Don’t say that. Please. You should’ve fucked her while you had the chance. You should’ve fucked a dying woman. Go ahead. You can fuck her when she’s dead for all I care.

Someone slammed a door. My dad I guess. Sis was in her room. I knew I was supposed to comfort her.