if someone forgot to mow their grass and it became so wild it took over the world. She laughed, and when she smiles it makes my whole body feel like it’s glowing. I tried hard to listen while she read and not lose my concentration from the shape of her lips and wideness of her dimly lit hazel eyes.
In the morning, we ate pancakes smeared with organic peanut butter—the kind where the oil becomes the main ingredient, holding the good stuff hostage—and tons of maple syrup. My Aunt Renita gave it to us last Chanukah. That was before she divorced my Uncle Greg. I always liked her better, and now I never get to see her because my Uncle Greg is Shirley’s brother. Divorce sucks.
James, I feel like I really got to know Aggie last night. We shared so much with each other.
“I mean, I really liked Staten Island, but I think my dad needed a change. He’s a little better now since . . .” Aggie said.
“Since what?” I asked.
“My . . . my mom died two years ago.”
“Oh, Aggie, I am so sorry.”
“Yeah, it’s still so weird to say out loud. She . . .” Aggie looked down at the floor. I watched as she poked her fingers into the tiny holes created from her hair weaved into itself. “This may sound strange, but I’m grateful to have been left back. When she died, I just couldn’t handle things, I was so angry. It’s like our house just crumbled, you know? How was I supposed to still go to math class and do that stupid physical fitness test in gym? Ughh . . . why do we even do that every year? Anyway, my grades just tanked and I was left back.”
“What . . . happened to her? To your mom? I mean, if you are okay talking about it. I don’t want to—”
“Breast cancer. She had it for awhile. We really thought it would just go away. And it did. I mean, it vanished for a few months, but it was always there, like wind, you know? Wind is just really angry air. And cancer is just really angry cells, I guess. She used to brush my hair every night. Every single night. She’d sit behind me and I could feel every hair on my head being touched by her. Pulled at, but never hurting, you know? And she’d just listen as I told her about my day. Who I crushed on. Who I was mad at. What I was learning in school or having trouble with. Obviously, I could brush my own hair, but it soothed her to do it, even before she was sick. For that reason alone, I don’t think I could ever cut my hair. It has memorized her brushstrokes.”
“Oh, Aggie,” I dripped out.
She grabbed her braid, resting on her shoulder, and swung it toward her back.
“So, I just stopped going to school. My dad was grieving pretty hard then too, so for weeks we just sat on the couch together watching old episodes of Murder She Wrote and Cagney and Lacey, my mom’s favorite television shows. She recorded almost all the episodes. But then the school finally called my dad. I guess that’s some kind of felony. They said I was in danger of failing my classes and that I went over the limit of absences. My dad . . . he’s pretty tough. I mean, my mom’s death definitely softened him. But when they called him, he didn’t even argue. He just cried. My dad cried on the phone to the principal.”
For a while, we sat in silence. I just wanted to glue myself to her, so she could feel bigger or stronger.
“Sorry,” Aggie looked up at me with damp lashes. “I didn’t mean to get all dark. It brought my dad and I closer and I’m glad we’re here. We needed to leave Staten Island behind. And I got to meet you.”
This made me smile so big, I thought my cheeks would crumble.
“So, you still haven’t told me who you’re writing to.”
“I’ve been writing to James.”
“James? The kid who—”
“Yeah.”
“Were you friends? I didn’t realize . . .”
“No, I mean, not at all. Actually, he bullied me. I guess writing to him helps me understand a little bit more. Actually, it’s helping me to understand myself more. Shirley . . . my mom . . . she tried to kill herself earlier this year.”
“Eleanor.” I watched Aggie’s eyes grow larger.
“Yeah. Speaking of it getting dark.” I tried to smile, which was easy to do around Aggie. “Anyway, I’m still working on forgiving her and understanding all that. I go to a suicide survivor support group once a week. Actually, I met James’s mom there.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath and could feel my lungs expanding. “She’s really nice. And the group helps me to be around others who understand. It’s all just so hard.”
“Definitely.”
“Ugh, it’s bad enough being a teenager with a body that’s changing whether I want it to or not.”
“What don’t you want?” Aggie asked.
No one ever asked me this, James. After this horrible year of almost losing Shirley and Gret going to college and barely seeing Dad, no one has asked me what I want or what I don’t.
“I don’t want what I know I’m supposed to be getting.”
“What do you mean?” Aggie asked.
“Breasts. And . . . don’t make fun, but I haven’t gotten my period yet.”
“Oh! You’re lucky. I got mine in fifth grade, can you believe it? I feel like an old pro now. I actually really like tracking my cycle. My mom gave me a calendar when I first got it. I got in the habit of writing it down. It’s kind of beautiful to get to learn my body like that. She was all about how the moon follows us, changes its shape as we do. As women, you know?”
“I guess I don’t feel that way at all. I feel like I don’t know my body.”
“Well, you’ve got your whole life to learn it, right?”
Aggie grabbed my shoulders and shook me a little and then we collapsed. There was so much more I wanted to tell her, James. But I was scared she’d stop being my friend like Dara. We just became friends, some things I need to stuff further down until they get too big to fit into my pockets.
It is almost noon now and Aggie’s fork still rests against the plate she ate on. I’m not ready to wash it. Nothing is the same, yet I am. Or perhaps I am not. Perhaps I will never be the same and the same no longer exists.
Last night, Aggie said that we are onions. Always unpeeling, making people and ourselves cry as we unwrap. I have so many more layers, James. I feel like I’m just starting to unravel and see what has been hiding in me. What was hiding in you? Were there things you were afraid to unwrap?
Monday, November 1
Halloween used to be my favorite holiday and I didn’t even dress up. I guess eighth grade was my last costume celebration; I was a news reporter. Did you like Halloween, James? Aggie was going to stay over and help hand out candy, but then she remembered she had a math test today and had to study, so I wound up giving
