Chapter 9 New beginning

Can you stay here all day?mother asked. She stood by the stove, scrambling eggs with a plastic spatula.The toast bounced out of the toaster.A piece of cream is placed on the dining table.A pot of coffee stands beside the cream.I slumped back into my chair, still feeling dizzy and barely able to even swallow food.I felt like if I moved too fast, everything would burst.She wore an apron around her waist.From the first time I saw her this time, she acted as if today was just another normal day, as if I had surprised her by my sudden visit and she made me breakfast in return. Charlie, can I?She said: Spend the whole day with your mother?

I heard cream and scrambled eggs sizzling in the pan. how?she says. She picked up the pan and walked over to me. Why don't you talk? It took me a few seconds to make the sound, as if I had just rediscovered how to speak, to make the sound on command.How should you talk to the dead?Is there another language?a password? mom.I finally whispered: This is impossible. She scooped up the egg with a spatula, put it on my plate and chopped it up.I stared at her veiny hands operating the spatula. eat.she says. Things apparently changed at some point in American history, when parents contemplating divorce, they both communicated the decision to their children.They sat the children down and explained the new rules.But my family fell apart before that moment of enlightenment came.My father said leave and left.

After a few days of crying and crying, my mother put on lipstick, painted mascara on her eyes, fried some yams, handed us a plate of food, and said to us: Dad will not live here anymore.That's it.It's like changing scenes during a stage play. I can't even recall a time when he put his things in order.We came home from school one day, and the room suddenly seemed a little bigger.There is some extra space in the living room cabinets.Tools and cardboard boxes were missing from the garage.I still remember my sister crying and asking: Did I cause my father to leave?She told my mother that as long as my father came back, she would be obedient.I remember I wanted to cry too, but I knew in my heart that from now on we were no longer four, there were only three of us, and I was the only boy among the three.At eleven years old, I already felt the need to be manly.

Besides, when I used to cry, my father always told me to cheer up.Cheer up, boy, cheer up.So, like any child whose parents have separated, I tried to behave in ways that would bring the missing one back home.So no tears, Cheek.You must not shed tears. For the first few months, we thought things were temporary.There was a fight.A period of calm down.Whose parents don't fight, right?Our parents will.My sister and I lay on the top step of the stairs and listened to their argument.I was in white underwear, my sister was in canary pajamas and ballet slippers.Sometimes their quarrels are about us:

Ryan, why don't you deal with it even once? This matter is not important. This is very important!Every time I play black face! Sometimes it's about work: Percy, you should put more effort into getting this right.It's not just the people in the hospital that matter. They're sick, Lane.You want me to say to them, I'm sorry, does my husband need someone to iron his clothes? Or about me playing baseball: Too much, Lane! He can stand out. Look at him, he is almost exhausted every day! Sitting at the top of the stairs, my sister would sometimes put her hands over her ears and cry.However I tried to keep listening.It's like slipping into the adult world.I knew my father came off work late, and for the past few years he would stay out all night, saying he was visiting the wine wholesaler.He said to his mother: Percy, if you don't talk to these guys, they'll gut you like a fish.I know he's working on an upcoming branch in Collingwood, about an hour's drive away.He works there several days a week.I know a new shop means more money and a better car.I know my mother doesn't like the idea.

So, yes, they fight, but I never try to second-guess the consequences.Parents in that era would not separate.They will find a way to reconcile.They stayed and worked together to get by. I remember attending a wedding where my father rented dinner suits and my mother wore a shiny red tux.At the banquet, the two of them stood up and danced.I saw my mother raised her right hand, and my father stuck her right hand with his big hand.In my little mind, I could see that they were the best couple in the room.My father was tall and strong, and unlike other fathers, his belly was very flat under his white shirt.Where is mother?She looks happy, smiling with oily red lipstick on her lips.When she looks happy, everyone takes a backseat and watches her.She dances so smoothly, you can't help but want to look at her.Her shiny evening gown moved with her as if a spotlight were shining on it.I heard some old ladies whispering at the dinner table: a little too much, should be more modest, but I can see that they are just jealous because they are not as beautiful as she is.

That's how I see my parents.They fight, but they dance together.I have often thought of that wedding since my father disappeared.I almost convinced myself that my father would come back to see my mother put on the red dress.How could he not come back and see?Later I don't think so.I came to see the gala the way I see a faded vacation photo.It's just a place you've been to a long time ago. What do you want to do this year?My mother asked me that, the first September after their divorce.The new semester is about to start.She was referring to new beginnings and new plans.The younger sister chose to watch the puppet show.

I looked at my mother with that first frown of displeasure that I would see a million times in the future. I want to play baseball.I said.