“You should eat something,” she said.
With extreme exertion, he sat up. The sandwich on the plate was ham and Swiss on rye. He was grateful that she’d made it, too sick with exhaustion to want it. He thought of the cinnamon toast that Sharon had offered him that morning, the eggs she’d scrambled him on other mornings. He thought of how happy she’d been to see him, how full of plans for their future. The pain behind his eyes became unbearable.
“Oh, honey, Clem, sweetie, what is it? Why are you crying?”
He had so much misery to express and only one way to do it. When his mother put her arms around him, he struggled to maintain some shred of strength and dignity. But, really, he had none.
It was interesting to note that, when his tears subsided, the sandwich looked more appealing. He also wanted a cigarette. These were the same appetites that returned after sexual release.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” his mother said. “Do you not really want to be in the army?”
Someone had left a paper napkin on the table. He blew his nose with it, and his mother sat down across from him. In her glass was some brownish vermouth.
“We can call the draft board in the morning,” she said. “You can say you changed your mind. No one will think any less of you.”
“No. I’m just worn out.”
“But that can affect your judgment. Maybe if you got some rest—this is such a crazy thing.”
“It’s not crazy. It’s the one thing I’m sure about.”
From his mother’s silence, he could tell that she was disappointed. Her way as a parent had always been to offer suggestions, hoping he would see that they were sensible, rather than telling him what to do.
“Do you remember what you told me?” he said. “That sex without commitment is a bad idea?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Well, so, I’ve been with a girl. A woman. It’s been the most amazing thing.”
His mother’s eyes widened as if he’d stuck her with a needle.
“But you were right,” he said. “If there’s no commitment, people get hurt. And that’s exactly what happened. She’s horribly hurt.”
The misery rose in him, and his mother reached across the table for his hand. Not wanting to cry again, he pulled it away.
“We broke up,” he said. “This morning. Or I broke up with her. She didn’t want to.”
“Oh, honey.”
“I had to—I’m leaving school.”
“You don’t have to leave school.”
“I did a horribly cruel thing to her.”
The misery overcame him. While he struggled to master it, his mother stood up and went to the stove. He heard a whoosh and smelled smoke. The weirdness of her smoking brought him back out of himself.
“Don’t you want to go outside?”
“No,” she said. “This is my house, too.”
“Why are you smoking?”
“I’m sorry. It’s been one thing after another today. I’m sorry you’re hurt. I’m sorry about—what’s her name?”
“Sharon.”
His mother drew hard on the cigarette. “It’s just hard for me to understand. If you were happy with her, why are you leaving school?”
“Because my lottery number is nineteen.”
“But why now? Why not wait another semester?”
“Because I’m too crazy about her to keep my grades up. As long as I’m there, I only want to be with her.”
“But that’s—” His mother frowned. “Are you quitting school to get away from her?”
“I’m pulling a B average. I don’t deserve a deferment.”
“No, no, no. You’re not thinking straight. Do you love her?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes. I mean—yes. But it doesn’t matter. It’s too late.”
His mother went to the sink and ran water on her cigarette.
“It’s never too late,” she said. “If you love her, and she loves you, then don’t leave her. It’s as simple as that. Do not run away from the person you love.”
“I know, but…”
His mother wheeled around from the sink. A strange light was in her eyes. “It’s not right! There’s nothing more terrible you can do!”
He’d never felt afraid of her before. She’d always only been his mother, small and soft, ever-present but diffuse. His fear deepened when she went to the wall phone by the dining-room door and took the receiver off its hook. She thrust it in his face.