Donorboy (13 page)

—Sean

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: détente

Grandmother? Grandmother! Well, I guess I'll take the ball-busting as a sign that you are doing better than you think you are, which is also what I think about your parenting, but far be it from me to spoil the pity party over there.

I'm glad you went to the doctor, but don't think I am buying this “I'm over doctors” bullshit, as you scope out Marcia version 5.0. (Yeah, I know 3.0 was a lawyer, Oedipus, and 2.0 was whatever the hell she was, a consultant or something, but you know what I mean. Go find a waitress to date and buy her a white lab coat if you have to indulge this thing. Jesus.)

My sister-in-law had a pretty serious trank jones, so I am not going to tell you to take the pills. I guess if the landscaping or friendly ghosts are doing it, then go hang out with the dead people. Just don't go all Harold and Maude on me.

Well, preparations are already under way for the big trek to Virginia for Thanksgiving. What are you going to do? Going to Philly?

—Dave

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: True confessions

Rosalind—I have two things to tell you. Both of them spring from my recent trips to the cemetery to visit your mothers' graves. The first is that I thought I should offer to take you with me, or have you meet me there, or something. I have found, strangely, that being there actually lowers my stress level significantly. I thought you might, well, if not enjoy a trip there, then possibly like to have the opportunity.

Or possibly not. I visited my mother's grave three times and eventually stopped going because I didn't feel that she was there, and it depressed me.

Which brings me to my next point, or, rather, confession. It is likely that you will find this bizarre, corny, or stupid, but I did actually talk to your mothers while I was there. Now, I did not hear anything back from them, I got no messages from the other side that I need to relay, but it occurs to me that this shows that I am not the perfect cynic I described to you. That is to say, I don't really believe it's going to work, but I do it anyway. I don't know what this says about me, but there it is.

I should tell you, or, at any rate I want to tell you, and this is the kind of thing that I am never good at saying in person, that one of the things I did was to thank them for allowing me to be a part of this. I feel lucky to know you.

Ahem. In any case, let me know if you'd like to go with me. It's a very beautiful place.

—Sean

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: True confessions

Sean,

Thanks. I mean, thanks for saying nice stuff about me. I mean, yes, I do think you are a corndog ©, but I used to hear a lot of nice stuff about me all the time, and these days it's mostly about how I am this problem child or whatever. So thanks.

I don't really want to go to the cemetery, though. I don't know—I don't feel like I need to be there to think about them, and I don't want to go and just get sad. Thanks, though. I will let you know.

—R

ps—sometimes I talk to them too even though they never answer me. I guess I am a chip off the old block or something.

Dear Fluffy,

The grounding thing has actually been a boon to my social life, and I like to say “boon” even though that is the name of some tool administrator in the Charlesborough Public Schools. But anyway, now I can sit with Sasha and Kristen and Sara who I hate, I mean Sara is the only one I hate sorry for the misplaced modifier or dangling or whatever the hell, but anyway, I sit with them at lunch and then go to the diner after school.

You will be happy to know that I stopped smoking. Jen got suspended for three days apparently because she told her guidance counselor to go fuck himself, and I decided that the Alone Sad Girl pose kind of sucked in there, so I just went and had regular lunch and kind of pretended to be normal and yes it was just pretending, but I kind of wonder if it's like crossing your eyes or something and you get normal if you just pretend to be normal enough.

Anyway, since Charlesborough is smoke free I can't smoke in the diner, and so if I have to go outside to smoke that kind of defeats the purpose of being there and being social, and that leaves home, but I don't really want Sean's crappy lectures anymore.

The amazing thing I have to say is that today I don't feel terrible. One thing is that Kate gave me this painting she did of the girl in the glass cage, and it is really good, and she was like I think you should have it and thank you for taking me there because I got inspired and now I go there all the time to sketch. All I could think is that she and Sean are going to see each other there and that would be pretty funny. Anyway, I really like Kate's painting. It looks cool except that the glass is kind of breaking, and I was like what is that, and she was like well, I felt bad for her so I decided to bust her out of her cage. I am a dork so I asked if she really did because that would mean she was breaking shit at the cemetery, but she was like no, I just did it in the painting and I felt like a total geek.

Which I guess if I can feel like a geek or like worry about feeling like a geek that is almost a normal thing, and like I said I feel like a pretty good imitation normal person today. I miss my moms but I don't feel like shit. I didn't do my homework, but I don't feel like crying, I just feel like somebody who had a day today instead of some sad girl who dragged her sorry ass through the day which is good, but I guess I worry a little bit about losing my sadness like Lisa said because that's sort of what I have that connects me to Mom and Mommy. Even though they would have been “in a state” if I had been all sad while they were alive, and they would want me to be happy, which I think is what Karen said to me when she was weeping one day, but anyway.

So the only bad thing is that I have like fries and a coke or now that it is getting a little nippy I will get a cup of coffee because that is a pretty good pose too but not as bad for you as smoking even though it gives you bad breath too.

But so I get home and I want something decent to eat, and all we have is this frozen vegan shit, which is okay and even good, but it doesn't feel like real food and even though I told Sean we always used to eat like this, I remember that we did at least used to have a real dinner on like Saturday or something, and we have basically never had one here.

So, anyway, I cooked dinner, which was not a big deal, it was some recipe in some hippie cookbook that Sean strangely has even though he obviously never cooks, since finding a pot was a big challenge, but anyway, I didn't think it was a big deal, just some stuff from cans that I mixed together in a pot, but Sean just about cried, actually I think he did cry because he said he wanted to wash his hands but then came back all red-eyed, so either he got high in the bathroom which I doubt or else he was crying for some reason. He was all like, “wow! this is really great! I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!” and then he kept saying that stuff over and over.

I kind of can't stand him when he is all goopy like that. And maybe that is why the babes do not hang around, because it's like he's this puppy dog that you kind of want to kick, which is a mean thing for me to say about him, and maybe I should stop but then again saying mean shit about your parents is I guess what normal kids do so there we go he is a goober.

Rosalind
—

Under this note you will find a stack of vegetarian cookbooks. You should, of course, feel free to never look at them. I certainly didn't bring you here to cook. Unless, you know, you want to. So, if you want to, I thought I would facilitate that for you by adding to our pathetic stock of one cookbook. (This gem from the 1970s was left in my childhood home by one of my dad's girlfriends. When I left home, I harbored some illusions that I might someday learn to cook, so I took our only cookbook. I am fairly certain that Dad never noticed.) This cookbook is entertaining as an artifact of the
1970s
—
please check out (and, hopefully, mock) the ENTIRE CHAPTER about how “smoking grass before a meal brings you closer to the essence of the food,” and subsequent recipes for stoners with the munchies. Most of these seem to involve at least a pound of cheese, which apparently was the vegetarian standard in the 1970s
.

So, in any case, if you find that you enjoy cooking, here are some cookbooks (and, in the refrigerator, you will find some actual vegetables that have not been processed into a frozen or boxed entrée). I paged through some of them and found some recipes that might be likely Thanksgiving winners (I have decided to forgo the pathetic bachelor-size Butterball in honor of your vegetarianism). I thought we might spend the day cooking some wild rice and cranberry casseroles. Or something. Failing that, I also bought the full Tofurky meal, which I must confess sounds vile, but I do think it's important to have a backup plan
.

Out of room on this paper and going on too much anyway. Lawyer
.

—
Sean

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Thanks

Hey there, I got home from school a while ago and I wanted to say thanks for the cookbooks. I did not notice the weed chapter before you pointed it out, so now I am going to try it so I can get closer to the essence of my food. Don't have a heart attack, I am just joking.

Anyway, you were right that that was super cheesy and not just because every recipe has cheese in it, ha-ha. I am looking through all these and thinking about eating all this stuff, which is kind of a fun thing to do especially because no offense, but the stuff that comes wrapped in plastic was starting to get a little old.

Anyway, thank you, and don't worry I don't think you are trying to make me the scullery wench. Even though that is a pretty good phrase.

—R

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Rosalind—please read before deleting

Dear Karen:

Hello. I hope you are well.

I went to Forest Hills a few days ago to visit Sandy and Eva's graves, and, though this is not why I'm telling you this, I will say that I think you did a fantastic job picking the stones. They look great, and really put the others in that section to shame. Which, of course, is not why one buys a nice stone, but I am nervous and therefore babbling. Please bear with me.

So I went to Forest Hills not only to see the stones, but to ask Sandy and Eva for some assistance with Rosalind. I did not receive any direct response, but today it struck me that I was foolish to ask Sandy and Eva for assistance when you, being alive, are in a much better position to help. I hope that didn't sound flippant. I didn't intend it to.

This is obviously difficult for me. I understand that you were/are angry about my taking custody, and I know that our contact around Rosalind's nocturnal adventures was less than cordial. Still, we do both love Rosalind and want the best for her, even if we may disagree about what might constitute the best.

I know that you have been an important presence in Rosalind's life, and I am convinced that her dread at disappointing you has been a consistent positive force for her. Still, the fact remains that we have here a young woman who is having a very difficult time and making some bad decisions. I think it's to her benefit if we talk to each other about her rather than trying to glean whatever information we can by talking to her.

I guess I just feel that while I could certainly use some helpful insights, Rosalind would also benefit from having the adults in her life be on the same page.

Please let me know what you think, and thank you in advance.

—Sean

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Rosalind—please read before deleting

Sean—

Okay. Much as it pains me to admit this, I do think you are right. I worry about Rosalind all the time, and I would like to hear something from another adult, even yourself.

Sorry. That sounded petty because it was. So before we start working together, as it were, I really feel that I need to clear the decks emotionally. Otherwise, I will just be continuing to take potshots at you as a way of venting the anger I haven't fully assimilated.

So, let me say that I think your taking Rosalind was incredibly selfish. I don't think it's best for her, and I don't think it's what Sandy and Eva would have wanted. I think it's incredibly arrogant for you to assume that the fact that you provided some ejaculate fifteen years ago makes you in any way qualified to act as a parent to a child you don't already know. Especially, I'm sorry, but here it is, when there is someone who has known her her whole life who's willing and ready to take her. If I didn't care for her so much, I'd tell you to suffer on your own and go to hell.

As it is, you have selfishly, arrogantly, and unjustly taken this child that I care very deeply for, and my feelings for her need to take precedence over my feelings for you.

All right. Now that that is behind us, I can say that I am very concerned about what Rosalind is telling me, or not telling me. She seems to be drifting away from Sasha and her other friends, but she hasn't said anything about who or what is taking their place. Frankly, I'm afraid she's in the thrall of some kind of abusive boyfriend or something—someone or something who can occupy so much of her mental space that she can forget about her grief. Did you know that forty percent of people who join cults are recently bereaved? I don't think that's an accident. There's a hole in her life right now, and I would really like to know what's filling it, but she won't tell me.

I guess that's about all I have for you right now, but I'd be interested to hear anything you have to say.

—Karen