“Not because of you guys,” I said. “C’mon now, Bessie.”
“She said it was too hard. She said that things were going to change, that we’d have to start going to regular school, that she couldn’t do it anymore. She said that our dad wanted us to be normal. She said that it would never happen.”
“I’m sorry, Bessie,” I said. Roland curled up, and I put my arm around him.
“She took all these pills,” she said. “We watched her take all these pills. And then she died.”
“Oh my god,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Bessie looked like she was entirely empty of emotion, like there was nothing inside her. She looked over at Roland, who nodded.
“She told us to take the pills, too,” she finally said.
“What?” I said, though I understood perfectly fine. What else could you do but pretend that you didn’t know that was possible in this world?
“She had these two little plates with pills on them for me and Roland. And she said to take them. And she had these huge glasses of orange juice. She was crying and said that this would make all of us feel better.”
“But we didn’t take them,” Roland said, his voice scratchy.
“I told Roland not to take them. We just put them in our pockets and pretended, and Mom didn’t even notice. We drank all this orange juice, and it was so much that we had to pee. But then Mom made us go into the bedroom and we all got into the bed. And she said we had to go to sleep, even though it was daytime. And Roland was on one side of her and I was on the other. And I couldn’t see him. Mom was between us. And I put my hand on Mom’s chest, and I felt her heartbeat, and it was fine.”
“I’m sorry, Bessie,” I said, because I wanted to have just a little bit of time, a moment before I had to hear the rest, because I wasn’t ready to hear it.
“And it took forever, but then Mom fell asleep. And I had my hand on her chest. And it took forever. It took so long. And I had to pee so bad, so I just peed in the bed.”
“And I peed the bed, too,” Roland offered.
“And then she was really asleep. And I told Roland that we needed to get up. So we got up, and Mom was still asleep. And I knew that she was dead, because I felt her heartbeat. And then we changed our clothes because they were wet. I made us peanut butter and crackers, and we ate them. We took all the pills out of our pockets, and we flushed them down the toilet. And then we went outside. We went into the front yard. And then we both caught on fire. It was really big, the fire. It was more fire than we’ve ever made, our whole bodies. And the grass around us caught on fire. And then a tree caught on fire next to us. And somebody, people who lived, like, a mile away, saw the smoke, and they called 911. And that’s how they found us. And that’s how they found Mom.”
And then she was quiet. And Roland was quiet. We were all breathing, in and out, deep breaths. Our hearts were so steady, so strong. If there were a button that would end the world, and that button were right in front of me, I would have smashed it so hard at that moment. I often thought about a button like that, and when I did, I always knew that I’d push it.
“That’s awful,” I said. “And that wasn’t your fault. Your mom was going through something, and she didn’t mean to hurt you guys. She just couldn’t think clearly.”
“Sometimes I think we should have just taken those pills,” Bessie said, and I was about to cry, but these kids, who had been so fucked over by life, were not crying, and it felt like such a wimpy thing to do if they were holding it together.
“Then I wouldn’t have met you,” I said. “That would suck for me. I’d have been so angry.”
“You’d have been pissed off,” Roland offered.
“So pissed off,” I said. “You guys are so cool, and I’d be sitting at home, all by myself, no friends, and I’d never know you guys had ever existed.”
“You’d be so fucking pissed off,” Bessie said, and it seemed to sound exactly right to her.
“So fucking pissed off,” I agreed.
“I do want to learn math,” Bessie said, and I almost laughed because, Jesus, what the fuck was she talking about right now? My muscles were so tight I thought I was dying, but I said, “I’ll teach you math. We’ll go slow.”
“But not today,” Bessie said.
“Not today,” I said. And after a few minutes, I took the towel and threw it into the garbage can.