Cammy
They always fight. They don’t think I hear it but I do. I’ve always felt like my parents adopted me thinking it might stop them from fighting.
For a long time I’d say “don’t fight” and that would be enough. They’d look at me and they’d remember the original purpose of me: to make them better. A little girl to bridge the gap between them. A trial child. Like when couples get a dog before they have a baby … to see if they can handle the responsibility. I’m their experiment. The thing is I don’t know how they could’ve thought they did a good enough job with me to move on to the real thing. They had Andrew and Jamie on purpose so obviously they figured they did something right with me. But really all they do is fight. I don’t know what that something right was.
I’d say “don’t fight.” I remember seeing my mom’s eyes fill with tears and I’d hug her to make it better. Then I started getting sent to my room or outside to play even though there weren’t that many kids my age on our block at the time. I was eight or nine maybe. They’d raise their voices, remember I was there and one or both of them would send me out of sight so I wouldn’t remind them their mission failed. Adopting me only made things worse between them. I was a walking reminder of the fact that they once had hope for something better. I was supposed to be that something better. I’d send me outside or up to my room, too, if I were them. I’m definitely not something better. I’m something worse.
Samantha
A day after the nothingness of our marriage is finally acknowledged, on Sunday night, I find myself in a bathroom stall at the deep-dish pizza place with my head against the cold metal stall, crying. Back outside, across from our table, there is a young couple trying bites of each other’s pizza and laughing at each other’s jokes and listening intently to the other’s stories. Did we used to be them? Now we are nothing, Bob and I. We are nothing. And here I am sobbing, pulling out squares of toilet paper piece by piece because the roll is locked in place. Someone in the next stall sniffs a signal that I’m not alone.
When I get back to the table Cammy of all people sizes me up and leans over and asks me if everything’s okay. It’s the first time in weeks she’s looked out from the curtain of her oily hair. I tell her I’m fine, just blew my nose. I think I’m coming down with a cold I say.
“We ordered a large cheese and a small veggie,” Bob says, folding his menu. “If you want a salad the guy’s right over there putting in our order, just go tell him.”
The next day I’m at the sink wiping the counter clean of cereal dust from the Cheerios box Jamie shook clean. I put the milk back in the fridge and slide the English-muffin crumbs from under the toaster into the palm of my hand. The air in the house is pressurized like when only one car window is cracked open. The vacuum of nothingness. Shit! Nothing? Shit. Do I feel nothing? I feel nothing. I can’t really remember what it was I thought was so great about him. Why did I marry him? I was in such a rush. Why the hell was I in such a rush? No. Stop it. Stop thinking, Sam. Just stop.
I should take the toaster apart to empty it clean, it’s been ages since the last time, that’ll keep me from nothing. The metal tray on the bottom pops off easily. I’d thought I’d have to pry it off so I used too much force and the seeds and burnt edges and shriveled-up raisins from toasted bagels scatter on the floor.
We were in such a hurry to grow up. Maybe that was it. God, what were we thinking. Stop it. Stop thinking. I sweep the toaster debris into the dustpan and it strikes me that the floor hasn’t been swept in a while. I get to the bar stools and I figure I might as well get them out of the way. Mom always used to use that cliché: anything worth doing is … wait, how does that go? Huh. Anything worth doing is worth doing well? Does that apply to marriage or chores? Maybe it was some kind of code she slipped me. Did she know she was going to die before I’d understand it? Did she hope I’d remember so it could help me at a time like this? Did she really think marriage was something worth doing? Of course she did. She of all people.
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