Are You Alone on Purpose? (19 page)

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Authors: Nancy Werlin

BOOK: Are You Alone on Purpose?
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Her mother shook her head. “Alison? Do you . . . do you feel like you're”—she glanced at Adam—“just Alison, just yourself, when you're with other people? Like Paulina? I know you're not such good friends nowadays. But before? Didn't you feel Paulina liked you for yourself?”
Alison closed her eyes, and then opened them. “Maybe,” she said slowly. “I'm not sure.” She paused. Slowly, she added, “But I don't think I felt . . . entirely like myself when I was with her. She was always someone who didn't mind about Adam. That was always more important.”
“Oh,” said her mother.
There was silence. And into it, desperately, Alison found herself saying, “But with Harry, I'm just me. I don't know why. But I am.”
“Oh,” said her mother again.
Alison stood up. “I'm not very hungry,” she said. “I think I'll go back to my room.”
 
Alison went to bed early, but not to sleep. She lay stiff in bed, holding her stuffed crab, Josephine, replaying everything she had said, everything they had said. She could see the hall light; it was a bar of white under her door. They were still up; occasionally she heard a murmur. Finally, hours later, she heard them outside her door. There was a whisper of paper. And a minute later, the hall light went off and she heard their bedroom door close.
She sat up in bed and turned on her bedside lamp. There was an envelope on the floor near the door. After a moment, she went and got it, and climbed back into bed with it. She held it between her hands for a moment, and then reached into her night table drawer for the flashlight. She turned off the lamp and got way under the covers with the letter, the circle of light from the flashlight, and Josephine.
She opened the envelope and took out the pages. They were written out in longhand. She recognized her father's writing on the first sheet.
Dear Alison,
We do love you. I love you. Your mother has told me that you understand that love is complex. But it's simple, too, and what I feel for you began before you were born and long before you were who you are today. Maybe it's just biology, but fathers love their daughters, and it doesn't much matter who they are. Your mother doesn't want me to say this, but I love you because you're my daughter and that's all there is to it. That's rule number one. And Adam is my son, and I love him, and that's all there is to that, too.
But I also understand that, at least in our family, it isn't really that simple. You said you felt that you were just the one who wasn't autistic. Well, I am very, very, very glad you're not. I can't apologize for that. I can't tell you how surprised I was to hear you say that you felt we didn't love you for you. That was always so easy. The hardest thing for me has been learning to love your brother for who he is. But you—Alison, for me the whole world always lit up every time you smiled at me and called me Daddy. Maybe it was sweeter because your brother didn't. In fact, I know it was. But I don't know what to do about that. I've been staring at this paper trying to think of what else to say, and coming up empty. I'm afraid I can't help you. I don't know how.
I love you enough, and I respect you enough, to be honest with you, Alison. I don't know what else to do, at least not right now. Maybe later.
Love,
Daddy
The handwriting became her mother's.
Darling Alison,
I'm not like your father. We'd do better to talk, face-to-face, and I hope we can do that soon. But I wanted to have part of this letter, too. To say what I could to help you now. I wish I could help more.
You know that we were very shocked at what you said this afternoon. I have thought since that maybe I shouldn't have been.
You're right, in a way. You and Adam are twins, and from the time that we first noticed Adam was different, we've measured his progress against yours. You were cuddly; he wasn't. You talked; he didn't. It was so clear that he needed us more than you did. I look back, and I see that we've spent far, far less time with you than with your brother. So maybe it was inevitable that you'd come to believe we love you only because you're normal. It's the thing you've seen us focus on.
But, honey, it's not true. I just don't know how to convince you. I've thought and thought. I hope I'll find the right words later, when we talk. I don't have them now. I'm sorry.
Something else. You mentioned that you don't like it when I yell and scream about my opinions. I'm sorry that it upsets you. But what I think I would like is if you would yell and scream back. Like today. I'm proud of you, honey. I'm proud that you stood up and told us what you were feeling. I think it's one of the most important things that happened today. That was you being you, wasn't it? I don't remember you ever letting go like that before. You've been hiding how you felt from us, but not anymore. So I think you can be you—just you—in our family. It's already beginning.
About Harry. I do feel uncomfortable about him. It's hard for me to forget the past. And you're very young. I'd like us to talk about boys sometime. You probably don't want to, but I insist. I suppose if Harry helps you feel good about being yourself, then I will try to get used to him. I can't promise more than that.
Let me know when you're ready to talk. It doesn't have to be right away. Whenever you're ready.
What your father said about love and children. That goes for me too, honey. So much.
Love,
Mom
P.S. I hope this helps.
It did help, Alison thought. It did help some, even though she knew that they still didn't understand, not fully. And maybe never would.
They had their own worlds, separate from hers, and they understood things differently. But they did love her, their way. It was something. Maybe it was enough.
It would have to be.
And, anyway, tomorrow she would see Harry.

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