A Life Worth Living (18 page)

Gaby was woken up by the house phone ringing. She looked at it for a moment, and when it kept ringing, she got up to answer it.

“Hello,” she said in a croaky voice.

“Gaby?”

“Oh, hi, Noa.”

“Are you sick?”

“Um, yeah, I am.” Gaby attempted a feeble cough.

“Why didn’t you call to let me know you weren’t feeling well and couldn’t come in to work today?”

“I guess I forgot.”

“Uh huh. Yesterday also?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Uh huh. Do you think you’ll feel well enough to come in tomorrow?”

“Um…” Gaby leaned her head against the plastered wall and thought about returning to the non-stop noise and busy work of the
gan
. “I don’t know.”

“Uh huh. I think we need to talk.”

“Okay,” said Gaby, already knowing what Noa had in mind. “I’ll come soon.”

She made herself a cup of coffee and looked around the room. She used to think it was cute but now it just seemed stuffy and dirty. She couldn’t wait to get out.

After the appropriate amount of time passed, she pulled her long black skirt on over the pajamas she had worn for two days straight and walked over to the
gan
. Noa was bustling around the room, cleaning up the wreckage caused by thirty babies and their caregivers.

“Hello, Gaby,” she said when Gaby walked in.

“Hi.”

“Come, let’s sit.”

Gaby sat on a tiny toddler chair and Noa loomed over her in a normal-person-sized desk chair.

“Let me ask you straight. Are you happy here?”

Gaby thought for a half-second and then shook her head.

“Do you think you’re fitting in well here?”

Another shake of Gaby’s head.

“So what are we doing?”

“I, um, I want to…” Gaby trailed off. She had no idea what she wanted to do. None of her attempts ever came to anything. First seminary, and now this. What was the point of trying anymore?

Noa raised her hands palm upwards and then placed her hands on her lap. “Listen. This is what we’re going to do. Call your family and tell them you are coming home. We owe you some money from your allowance, and I added money for a bus ride home. Here is the schedule.” She handed Gaby a computer print-out of an Egged bus schedule and a white envelope with a few bills. This was something she must have prepared before Gaby arrived for their meeting.

Gaby took the envelope and the bus schedule from Noa wordlessly, managing a small smile. She didn’t even know people could get fired from
sherut leumi
, yet here she was, being politely asked to leave.

“It was nice meeting you.”

“Yeah, same here.” Gaby walked out, not sure how she felt about anything. It was embarrassing that she got fired, but at least she didn’t have to suffer through work at the
gan
anymore.

She stopped by her adopted family to say goodbye, blaming her abrupt departure on a family emergency. Everyone hugged her goodbye, and Chana gave her a silver fish chain, each fish printed with a different good luck symbol. Gaby thanked her tearfully and promised to keep in touch. Then she went to tell Shira and Devorah Leah the news.

The girls consoled her, but they both knew how much Gaby hated her job. They promised to come back to Shiloh for
shabbatot
more often and quickly helped Gaby pack her things so that she could make the bus that night. She had no desire to stay in the kibbutz, this place that held all these conflicting memories, any longer than necessary.

Chana arranged for Oren to give Gaby a ride to the bus stop. She climbed into the cab of his pickup, cursing the fact that the man liked driving around every night. If only he had had the flu the other night.

But there was no point in blaming Oren. The break-up was going to happen sooner or later. The painful truth was that she just wasn’t that into Hillel, even though he was the nicest boy she had ever met. But how could she have hurt him so badly? What type of cheap, easy, evil person was she? Fresh remorse coursed through her, and she opened her eyes wide to keep the tears at bay.

Oren let her off just as the bus pulled into the station, and she scrambled to pay for her ticket and get her bags underneath the bus. Finally, she found a seat and sat down, slightly out of breath either from the physical exertion or from holding back her sobs.

The bus pulled out of the station and headed south, toward Jerusalem. Once they reached the capital, she would need to catch a bus back to Shiloh, back to square one.

Everything she touched turned to dust. She had been so sure she was going to do better this time around, but she failed. Everything was ruined, her relationship, her job… what was left?

Around her, the other passengers were loudly talking to each other, and she plugged her ears with ear buds so that she wouldn’t hear their happy normalcy. She picked a song at random to distract her, and the mournful voices of Linkin Park singing
This is My December
filled her ears.

Although it wasn’t yet December, and there wasn’t any snow on the ground yet or most likely ever given the temperate weather of the northern
Galilee, the song felt custom-made for her, and not in a good way. She had given it all away and got nothing in return. She pulled up the hood of her old yellow sweatshirt to hide her face so she could cry in peace against the cool glass of the window.

Gaby caught the last bus into Shiloh and got off at her stop. She walked up the hill, pulling her suitcase behind her in what felt like fitting retribution: She will always be pulled down by her baggage.

Her mother was sleeping by the time she walked into the house, but Rafi came into her room as she sat there, looking around at her cheerfully painted walls of purple and cream. What was she thinking? This was a room for a little girl.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” Gaby said. “I need to paint this room again. These walls are closing in on me.”

“Maybe when you’re done, you could paint my room. You promised you would do that.”

Gaby looked at her little brother, standing there with an anticipatory gleam in his eye. Always the optimist; nothing fazed him. “I’d love to. What color do you want?”

“Um,” he said, looking around. “What about green?”

“Sure, I could do like a green and gray. That would be nice.”

“Yeah, that would be cool.” He sat down on her desk chair and swayed his feet to an imaginary beat.

“Rafi,” Gaby said in a small voice.

“What?”

“I can’t believe I’m back here.”

Rafi looked at her, his big brown eyes struggling to come up with a response. Finally, he said, “I’m glad you’re back.”

Gaby smiled wanly. “Wake me up before you go to school tomorrow. I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Really? Thanks, that would be awesome!” Rafi left the room with a bounce in his step and closed the door behind him.

Gaby pulled out her phone and looked at Hillel’s number. Impulsively, she pressed his number to dial it. It was pathetic, but she didn’t have anyone else to call.

After four rings, after she was sure the call would go straight to voice-mail, he picked up with a tepid hello.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“What?” he said.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, figure it out on your own.”

“Hillel!”

“What?” he said again.

“I’m home. I left the kibbutz.”

“Oh,” he said, a hint of sympathy in his voice. “Are you upset about that?”

“I hated the job, but I just feel like such a loser that I couldn’t finish out the year.”

“You’re not a loser,” he said softly.

There was silence on the line for a minute or two.

“You really hurt me,” he said.

“I know.” And then she added, “I am so, so sorry.”

“Well, I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Okay.”

“So… good night.”

Gaby listened to him hang up. Then, she laid her head down on her unmade bed and stared at the purple walls of her room. What on earth had she been thinking?

***

In the morning, she woke up as soon as she heard Rafi moving around in his room. Her mother had already left for work. Thank God, that confrontation had been delayed for a little bit longer at least. She went into the kitchen and rifled through the fridge and cabinets.

“There’s not much here,” Gaby said to Rafi as he came into the kitchen.

“I know,” he said, sitting down at the wobbly wooden table.

“Doesn’t Mommy do any shopping?”

“Sometimes. She works a lot.”

“No kidding. Well, there’s eggs and a couple of potatoes. I think I can do something with that.” She washed and began to peel the potatoes. “So what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing much.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s Hillel?” Rafi asked, an impudent smirk creasing his cheek.

“Huh?” Gaby turned to look at him. “How do you know about Hillel?” she asked suspiciously.

“I saw him one time. It was early in the morning.”

Gaby winced, remembering the night Hillel had slept over. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He was nice.”

“He was nice.” She turned back to counter. “I messed things up, Rafi,” she said after a minute.

“We all make mistakes,” Rafi said, sounding wise beyond his years.

“But what if I did something really bad?”

“So do something really good,” Rafi said confidently.

Gaby gave a short laugh. “That’s a good answer, monkey face.”

“Don’t call me monkey face! I’m almost thirteen.”

“Chill, I’m sorry. I can’t help it if you look like a monkey.” Gaby picked up the peeler again and finished peeling the potatoes, thinking about Rafi’s answer. How much good would she have to do to make up for all the bad she did? Did she have enough time left in this world to pay that kind of karmic debt?

Once the peel was off, she used the peeler to make thin strips of potatoes, laying them on a plate as they came off the peeler. “Did Mommy say something about your
tefillin
? Are they coming yet?”

Rafi didn’t say anything, and Gaby looked back at him quickly. “Rafi? What’s wrong?”

“There’s no
tefillin
.”

Gaby mouth opened in surprise, and then she composed herself. “Well, what did Mommy say? Are they coming soon?”

“Mommy doesn’t know anything. If she did, would we be here?” Rafi asked sullenly, crossing his arms tightly against his chest.

“Rafi.” Gaby put down the peeler and went to sit next to him. “I thought you were happy here.”

“It’s fine. I am happy.”

“So what’s wrong?”

“Daddy isn’t coming to my bar-mitzvah. It’s gonna be so lame. I don’t even know if I’m going to have
tefillin
.”

“Are you sure Daddy isn’t coming? The bar-mitzvah isn’t for another couple of months. He can still buy a plane ticket and come.” Gaby knew the chances of her father jumping onto a plane and showing up to do his paternal duties were slim to none, but there was no point in dashing Rafi’s hopes completely. There was plenty of time for reality to hit him in the face.

Reality, however, seemed to have already met up with Rafi. He sniffled, obviously trying to stop his tears. “I’m supposed to have my
tefillin
by now. All the other boys in my class have theirs, even the ones that are turning thirteen after me. I’m the only one without it. And, even if I get
tefillin
, I have no one to teach me how to put it on. What am I supposed to do, walk up to some random dude in shul and ask him to adopt me as a son? I won’t even know how to say the
b’rachah
on the Torah when I get an
aliyah
. If I get an
aliyah
. I never saw anyone without a father get an
aliyah
to the Torah.”

Gaby rubbed his back helplessly and thought desperately of something to say. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get an
aliyah
. And I’ll talk to Mommy. We’ll figure something out.”

Tefillin
were expensive, at least a few hundred dollars for a cheap pair. She was sure her father was supposed to pay for it, but as was typical for him, he most likely reneged on his promise, just like he had promised to pay for her seminary and then didn’t.

Gaby didn’t know if her mother had the money to get Rafi a pair herself. Getting someone to teach him how to put on the
tefillin
and to make the
b’rachot
over the reading of the Torah was a different type of problem. Rafi was a smart boy, and he could probably figure out how to put on
tefillin
on his own just by watching the other men in shul, but he shouldn’t have to. He should have a father, a father who could teach him and support him. It wasn’t fair.

Rafi rubbed his eyes and shrugged Gaby’s hand off of him.

“Let me finish making you breakfast.” She got up and went back to the stove. Rafi left the kitchen and went to the bathroom.

Gaby fried up the thin potato slices in oil and added the eggs at the last minute. She sprinkled the pan with some salt and paprika, and divided it into two plates.

She brought the plates to the table and went to the stove to make herself a cup of coffee. Bringing her coffee with her, she sat down at the table just as Rafi came back into the room.

“What did you make?” Rafi asked. His eyes were red, but at least his voice sounded normal.

“It’s fried eggs and hash browns, or at least what I think are hash browns,” she said.

“Cool,” Rafi said, and he dug in as if the only thing on his mind was breakfast.

Gaby took a long sip of her coffee and watched Rafi eat. His problem made hers seem completely insignificant. Did it really matter who hooked up with whom and getting fired from a dead-end
sherut leumi
job? Rafi not getting
tefillin
in time for his bar-mitzvah would be the final breakdown of their family’s attempt to keep it together. It would show that even something as basic as a boy’s right to become a man could be forgotten.

Why should Rafi have to pay for other people’s mistakes? Her mother could not be depended on. She couldn’t manage to keep a loaf of bread in the house; how would she manage to arrange
tefillin
and a bar-mitzvah celebration?

There had to be a solution. What was it?