Since You Left Me (23 page)

“I was thinking a lot about you last night. Your situation,” he says.

“You mean school?”

“Not so much that. There are other schools. Other places to learn. You can always live a Jewish life. Nothing can prevent that if it’s what you want.”

“True,” I say. “If it’s what I want.”

“I was thinking more about your mother leaving.”

“What about her?”

“Did you ask her to stay?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Herschel says.

I think about that. I’ve tried all these way to manipulate Mom, change her mind, get her to see that we’re worth it. But did I ever ask her to stay?

What do you want?
Mom said in the car yesterday.

But I didn’t answer. You shouldn’t have to ask your own mother to be a mother, should you?

“What does it matter now?” I say. “She left us. It’s too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Herschel says.

“What about God’s will?” I say. “If it’s God’s will for her to go, there’s nothing I can do to keep her here. You’ve said as much yourself.”

“Since when do you believe in God?” he says.

And then he smiles.

I glance through the open door behind me. Sweet Caroline is crying on the sofa while Dad rubs her back in little circles. He looks like he’s about to cry himself.

Maybe Herschel’s right. Maybe it isn’t too late.

I jump up.

“Dad! Start the car,” I shout.

“We have to pack your stuff first,” he says. “The list says—”

“Forget the list. We have to go now.”

Sweet Caroline looks at me like I’m crazy.

“Where are we going?” Dad says.

“We’re going to get Mom back,” I say.

Sweet Caroline leaps off the sofa.

“Let’s go!” she shouts.

We race to the car. Herschel follows us.

“What are you doing?” I say to him. “It’s Shabbat. You can’t be in a car.”

“I can if it’s life or death,” he says.

“Red lights are optional.”

That’s what Dad says as we shoot through the intersection accompanied by a chorus of honking horns.

“Careful, Daddy,” Sweet Caroline says.

Dad snorts and drives faster. He slides through stop signs, speeds up when he sees yellow lights, tailgates, and passes on the right. He gets us to the airport in record time. I’ve never been so grateful to have a maniac driver for a father.

He pulls up to the white loading area in front of the Tom Bradley International Terminal, and I’m out of the car before it even stops, Herschel and Sweet Caroline racing along behind me.

“I’ll catch up to you!” Dad shouts after us.

We’re heading for the security check-in when I realize we’re in trouble.

“Boarding passes, please,” the TSA agent says. He’s tall and serious, a fifty-year-old guy who looks like a presidential candidate, a great mane of white hair on top of his head.

“We don’t have boarding passes,” I say. “We’re trying to get to our mother before she leaves the country.”

The agent looks us over. I’m sweating through my T-shirt, Sweet Caroline is fidgeting next to me and marching in place, and Herschel is in full Jewish garb, nervously spinning his hat on his head. We’re like an airport security training poster.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t let you through.”

“We lost our mom,” Sweet Caroline says. She starts to cry. It’s gotten us through a lot of jams in the past.

Not this time.

“Rules and regulations,” the TSA agent says, holding up his hand in a
stop
gesture. “I’ll call it in. We’ll make an announcement so your mother will know where to find you.”

“You don’t understand,” Sweet Caroline says.

“We have to get through!” I say, a little too loudly, because the TSA agent stands up from his chair and fingers the radio on his shoulder.

“I need you to take a step back,” he says firmly.

His partner stops what he’s doing and stands up, too, bracing for trouble.

“We’re going to get arrested,” Sweet Caroline says, panic in her voice.

“Why would you be arrested?” the agent says. He reaches towards something on his belt. Restraining cuffs.

Saying you’re going to get arrested in an airport these days pretty much guarantees that it’s going to happen.

I look at Herschel. His eyes are closed and he’s praying.

“Not now,” I say, and I nudge him.

He holds up a finger for me to wait, his eyes still closed.

He finishes, then opens his eyes. He seems calmer. He says to the TSA agent, “Please, sir, may I have a word with you?”

The TSA agent looks him up and down.

Herschel motions for us to step back, and we do.

The TSA agent nods once. He and Herschel step to the side to converse.

Sweet Caroline clasps my elbow, her fingers digging into my flesh.

“We have to hurry,” she says.

“I know, I know,” I say.

I keep imagining Mom getting on the plane, the plane taxiing out slowly, then taking off just as we get there. If we ever get there. It’s not looking good.

The TSA agent argues with Herschel, but Herschel remains calm. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he keeps talking, smoothing his
payis
with long strokes.

Just when I think it’s a lost cause, the TSA agent steps back and Herschel motions for us to come towards them.

“I’m Episcopalian,” the agent is saying to Herschel as we get to them.

“God bless you, Edward,” Herschel says to him, and they shake hands.

“Follow me, kids,” the agent says. “Open it, Jerry!”

The gate clicks, and we’re suddenly bypassing the security check in.

“Me plus three,” the agent shouts as we race past a phalanx of police officers.

Before I can even understand what’s happened, we’re running through the airport with the TSA agent shouting, “Clear a path!” to the people in front of us.

People jump out of the way and let us pass.

“Left turn,” the agent shouts, and we race down the corridor.

We burst into the hall that feeds into the boarding gates.

“64B,” I shout, and we head for the gate, the agent leading the way.

When we get there, it’s already empty. The gate agent is closing the door.

“We’re too late,” I say.

“What your mother’s name?” the TSA agent says.

“Rebekah Zuckerman,” I say.

He runs to the gate agent, says a few words to her, and she unlocks the door. He disappears down the gangway. We’re left there looking at one another.

“Is this the right flight?” Herschel says.

“Maybe we missed it,” Sweet Caroline says.

“I don’t think so,” I say.

A minute passes, but it feels like hours.

Mom peeks her head out of the door. She looks around, confused, until she sees us.

“Oh my God,” she says, and she runs over and throws her arms around me and Sweet Caroline.

“I thought I wouldn’t get to say good-bye to you,” Mom says.

“Me, too. I’m sorry, Mom.”

She hugs me even harder. Then she notices Herschel behind us.

“You brought Herschel?” she says. “How did you all get here?”

“It’s a long story,” I say.

I put my hand on Sweet Caroline’s back.

“Give us a minute?” I say softly.

She nods and steps back to where Herschel is waiting.

Mom says, “I thought a lot about what you said, Sanskrit. About the choice I’m making. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I feel confused now.”

“Confused about what?”

“About India. About leaving my family.”

“Really?”

She looks back towards the gate, then at me.

“There you are,” Dad says, jogging up behind us escorted by the other TSA agent. “Jesus H., you
can’t pee in this place without a secret service detail.”

“Your father is here, too?” Mom says.

“He brought us.”

Mom looks surprised. She takes a curl of my hair between her fingers. Her skin is cool against my neck.

“I’m lost,” Mom says.

Her voice is small and high like a little girl’s.

“Tell me what to do,” she says.

This is what Herschel was talking about, the moment I can ask Mom to stay. I’m trying to form the words when the guru appears at the gate door with the agent behind him.

I expect the guru to come out and grab Mom, but he doesn’t. He stays there, framed in the doorway. He smiles at me—a kind smile like he’s glad to see me here. But how can he be glad?

I look behind me at Sweet Caroline, Herschel, and Dad.

“Sanskrit?” Mom says. She holds my face in her hands. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

All I have to do is tell Mom I want her to stay. That I need her here.
We
need her.

She’ll stay. I can feel it.

But then what?

Will she suddenly love Sweet Caroline and me like she’s supposed to? Will she be a mother to us?

Will she be happy?

The guru is watching us, giving us space.

I hate him so much.

But I try to see him through Mom’s eyes. He is her future. Her spiritual partner. Her chance for love.

I can barely think of him like that, but barely is enough. Because it gives me some perspective on Mom. She’s been happy since she met him. I haven’t seen her like this in years.

No. I’ve never seen her like this.

I open my mouth to tell Mom to stay, and something comes over me. A different feeling. Like the feeling I had at Dr. Prem’s.

I feel lighter. I can breathe.

I notice the carpet, that awful pattern you see in hotel lobbies, airports, and other public spaces. I follow the lines of the pattern. All roads lead to Mom. All roads lead away. It depends on your perspective.

Mom is lost. She said it herself. Nobody leaves her kids unless she’s lost.

I pull Mom closer to me, so close that my face is right up against her ear.

“I want you to go to India,” I say. “I want you to find yourself.”

“Do you mean it?”

I nod.

Mom bursts into tears.

“I want you to find out who you are so you can come back and be our mother.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Mom cries so hard that she grabs onto me for
balance. She makes blubbering sounds, and snot comes out of her nose. It’s not pretty.

She sinks down to her knees in front of me, still holding on.

“Why are you crying?” I say.

“I’m so happy,” Mom says. “And sad, too. I’m everything all at once.”

Mom pulls me down to her and covers my face with kisses.

“Love and Sanskrit,” Mom says. “That’s how I’ll remember this day. The two gifts you’ve given me.”

The guru comes forward. “We have to go,” he says.

He puts his hands on Mom’s shoulders and she rises. I stay there, sitting on the ground.

“I love you, Sanskrit,” Mom says.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

She kisses me, then goes to Sweet Caroline.

“Don’t go, Mommy! Please!” Sweet Caroline says.

Mom hugs her.

“Sanskrit, do something!” Sweet Caroline screams, not understanding what’s happening.

Mom envelops her in a hug.

The guru and I look at each other.

He presses his palms together at chest level.

“Namaste,”
he says, and he bows deeply to me.

“Namaste,”
I say.

“Closing the door,” the gate agent says.

Mom and the guru join hands and walk onto the
gangway. The agent closes and locks the door behind them. The TSA agent stands by the door, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes.

The hall fills with people. People leave, more people come. It’s the rhythm of the airport. I sit down on the floor as people pass around me.

I feel pressure on my back. It’s Sweet Caroline. She hits me.

“I thought you were going to make her to stay!” she says.

She slams me on the back.

“I hate you!” she says.

The punches become slaps, and then Sweet Caroline collapses into tears.

“She needed to go,” I whisper. “She’ll be back. I know she will.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

She slumps down to the floor behind me and puts her legs on the outside of mine. She hugs me tightly, her arms around my chest. I hear her sniffling and feel her nose running wet through my shirt.

Dad is watching us, unsure what to do. I can see that he wants to help, he just doesn’t know how. He finally takes a step towards us, but I give him the
one minute
finger.

I shift around so I’m facing Sweet Caroline. We hug each other, curled together on the floor.

“Your makeup is running,” I say.

Sweet Caroline dabs at her eyes.

“Does it look bad?”

“It just looks like you’ve been crying. You shouldn’t be wearing makeup, anyway. You’re only twelve.”

“Give me a break,” she says. “All the girls wear it.”

I say, “If all the girls jumped off a bridge, would you?”

“That’s a lame Dad line,” Sweet Caroline says.

We stand up. Dad waits for us across the way with a big goofy smile on his face.

“I’ve already got a father,” Sweet Caroline says. “Sort of.”

“Good point,” I say.

“But I could use a brother,” she says.

“You’ve got one.”

She holds my hand.

“We have to take care of each other,” I say. “It’s not going to be easy.”

Herschel is talking to Dad now. It looks like one of those man-to-man talks Herschel specializes in.

An engine roars as Mom’s plane pulls back from the gate. Sweet Caroline turns and runs to the window. I join her. We stand together, watching until Mom disappears.

“We’re truly sorry
it didn’t work out.”

This is what the dean says in his office the next day. I would accuse him of grandstanding, of trying to look good in front of everyone, but there’s nobody here except him and me.

It’s my exit interview from Jewish school.

“We had high hopes for you,” he says. “Not just because we wanted you to do well, but because we know how much it meant to your zadie.”

That last part really stings.

“I was a long shot,” I say. “Even I knew that.”

“There are no long shots in God’s world,” the dean says. “If God’s reach is infinite, then what does it matter how far we are from him? The greatest distance is nothing to the Almighty.”