Page 133 - Contrast2012

astically. I made myself some pasta and drank the remains of a bottle of
wine that was in the cabinet. It smelled and tasted like mildew, but there
was enough left for what I wanted out of it. I lay in bed, listened to the
radiator and drunkenly tore strips of fabric off the edge of my pillowcase
until I fell asleep.

§

I woke up on Friday to a call from my sister, who I hadn't
spoken to in three years.

"Pat;' she said, her voice choked with tears, "I have some bad
news."

I grumbled.

"Pat, mama's dead.

I hung up the phone and went back to bed for five hours.

§

I woke up later that same day to four messages on my answer-
ing machine. My boss had called me four times to let me know I had
been fired. I rolled my eyes, got out of bed and sat in my armchair for
most of the rest of the evening, listening to the radiator and smoking
my last pack of Basics. The armchair was old and ragged and ugly, but it
was my grandfather's, and my mother had kept it in her apartment until
I moved out, when she gave it to me as a housewarming present. I hadn't
. spoken to my mother in about a month, hadn't seen her in even longer,
and didn't know why or how she died, just that she did and she didn't
even give me fair warning about it. I didn't know how to react. I didn't
mourn-I just sat in my chair and did nothing. I dreaded the funeral,
and having to see all of my family members and pretend to be sad and
give my speech about how she was in a better place and how God was
taking care of her now. I was never a convincing liar-I was worried
that the family would give me shit if they were to ever learn the sad
truth: that I didn't love nor even care for my mother, and her death truly
meant nothing to me.

My inability to mourn saddened me more than my loss.

§

Saturday was the Sabbath. I had gone to synagogue, not ex-
pecting anything and not knowing in what it would end up like. What-

contrast I 131