While I'm Falling Part 19

"You know, the cats that sing? They're real cats. Meowy Christmas Meowy Christmas?" She looked back at all of us, incredulous. "Oh my G.o.d. You don't know it? My whole family loves it. And we're Jewish." She shrugged, shaking a bag full of sand. "They do 'Hava Nagila,' too."

The cats helped quite a bit. I put the CD in my little player, and almost right from the start it was funny. It wasn't so funny that you would die laughing, but it was hard to listen to and keep a straight face. By the end of "Silent Night," even Inez had cracked a smile. We all kept working, filling the bags with sand, which felt smooth and soothing in my hands. I felt as if I were decompressing, some hidden muscle in me finally relaxed. We were all quiet for a while, and there was only the sound of the cats and the music and sometimes some of us laughing.

Of course, I thought of who would love this, who should've been in the room. I touched my mother's arm. "Did you ask Marley?" I whispered.

She nodded without looking at me.

"Is she in her room?"

She nodded again. She still didn't look at me. But when I stood up, shaking sand off my hands, she reached above my boot and squeezed my knee.

The gray carpet in front of Marley's room already looked a little more faded than it did in the rest of the hallway-it was the only section that regularly got sunlight. She almost always left her door open when she was home-a steady, hopeful invitation to anyone walking by. Or almost anyone. From the hallway, I could see just the tip of one of her pig slippers on the floor. I hid behind the wall when I knocked.

"Come in."

I moved quickly to the interior of the room. As soon as she saw me, she looked back down at her work.

"What do you want?" she asked.

She was sitting at her desk, or what I a.s.sumed was her desk-the room was clearly divided in two. The bed behind me was as neatly made up as a store display, with a floral dust ruffle that matched the sham pillows. Sorority letters, painted blue with tiny daisies, hung on the wall overhead. On the bureau sat several framed pictures of tan, smiling girls in formal dresses, their heads resting on each other's shoulder, their arms almost always interwined. I squinted at each picture, trying to pick out Marley's roommate. It wasn't all my fault that I couldn't do it. She really wasn't ever around.

The other bed was unmade. The quilt that Marley always dragged out to the lobby was twisted across the bed, and a pillow, with a pillowcase that did not match anything, had fallen to the floor. In the corner of the room, wadded up on the floor, was the flowered dress she'd been wearing when I yelled at her. The French horn lay at the foot of the bed, looking beautiful and complicated with all its swirling tubes.

"What do you want?"

My gaze moved over her bulletin board. She'd tacked up a postcard of a boy with a french fry in his nose, and another of a ferret getting a bath. She had a large black-and-white poster of a man in a bow tie blowing into a French horn, but even that was just taped to the wall. There was only one framed picture, and it was on her desk. A woman in black gla.s.ses sat at a piano, with a little smiling girl next to her on the bench. I bent over and squinted to get a better look.

"Is that you?" I asked. "Is that you and your mom?"

She picked up the picture and turned it so I could no longer see the front. "Don't come in here and ask me things. Don't come in and ask about my mom. You've never even been in my room before." She looked up again. "What do you want?" she asked. "For the last time. I'm busy. Obviously."

I stood on my toes to see what she was working on. Sheet music was scattered across her desk, her own handwriting scrawled above and below and beside all the rows of notes. I don't know why this struck me as strange. I had an idea of people who played instruments just sort of magically picking them up and playing them. I knew they must practice. But I didn't think of them as studying music, thinking about it, the way I might think about a book.

"Will you please come down to my room?" I started to sit on her roommate's bed, but then thought maybe I shouldn't. "We're making luminarias. You already know that. You should come down, Marley." I ducked, trying to catch her eye. "Please? I really wish you would."

"I'm never going in your room again."

"I'm sorry," I said.

She looked up. Her nostrils were flared, and her eyes were blank with sadness. I understood then how much I had hurt her, and also how much she was already hurt.

"I appreciate that. Now please go."

I held up one finger, trying to think. Just that morning, during the exam, I had struggled to come up with solutions to one problem after another. I had gotten most of them wrong. But not all of them. I tried to think.

"What if I leave?" I asked. "What if I go right now, and I promise not to come back for several hours? I mean, it's me that's the problem, not the room. Right?"

Headway. She lifted her eyebrows. "That would work," she said.

I told her I just needed a few minutes to get my things. Baby steps, I told myself. She wouldn't forgive me all at once. And that wasn't the point anyway. She needed the company more than I did, and I at least owed her that.

Back in my room, I grabbed my bag and my coat and my keys and announced, to no one in particular, that I had to leave for a while, and that Marley would be coming down. My mother and Gretchen watched me move around, but neither of them said anything. I didn't know where I would go, what I would do with the afternoon.

Before I actually left the dorm, I stopped by Gordon Goodman's office. He frowned when I used the words "candle" and "paper bag" in the same sentence. But when I told him about Inez, and how homesick she seemed, he scratched his chin and looked thoughtful.

"Tonight?" he asked. "You want to put them out tonight?"

"Tonight would be best," I said. If we had to fill out forms and wait a week, Inez would be right: where we lived would not feel like our home.

"I'll make some calls," he said. "Come on in and sit down."

He had a tall stack of papers and a calculator on his desk, but he moved both to the side. I said I could make the calls myself if he told me who to call and gave me the numbers. He seemed pleased that I offered, but he waved me off. Housing would want to talk to him, he said. And he was already on a first name basis with almost everyone at the fire department, because of all the stupid false alarms.

"I think it's great that you're doing this," he said, the phone tucked between his head and shoulder. His smile was so approving that I felt guilty. He thought the idea had been mine. I couldn't tell him that my mother was the one who had organized everything, or that after two days, she was doing my job far better than I had in four months. All I could do was sit there and look grateful as he made four phone calls and spent a total of twenty-five minutes on hold.

I was grateful, and also, despite my misrepresentation, encouraged. Some people would always go out of their way to help, once they saw that you were really trying.

When we got approval, I texted Gretchen: they could put the luminarias out that night. I suppose I could have called, and maybe heard a group reaction to the news. But by the time I walked out of Gordon's office and past the beeping video games in the lobby and out into the afternoon, I felt so awake and calm in my own head that I didn't want to talk at all. The sky was still clear, the air cold, but I felt fine once I started walking.

The bookstore gave me two options: I could get cash back for my chemistry book, 30 percent of what I paid for it, or I could get 40 percent in trade. I picked out a used copy of Middlemarch, Middlemarch, some gum, an organic peanut b.u.t.ter dog treat shaped like a candy cane, and a red knit scarf on clearance. some gum, an organic peanut b.u.t.ter dog treat shaped like a candy cane, and a red knit scarf on clearance.

"You sure you don't want to keep it?" the cashier asked. He touched the cover of the chemistry book. "You look a little sad to see it go."

I wouldn't have said I was sad. But I understood what I was doing. At that moment, I was no longer thinking about quitting or even deciding to quit; I was actually quitting. And it was hard to look at that brick of a book and not think of all the long days and nights I had spent with it, trying harder than I'd ever tried at anything in my life. And now all that work, all that trying and worrying, was for nothing. I had failed.

The Union was decked out for the holidays, too. There were blinking lights and large banners wishing all of us a happy Christmas, Kwanzaa, and Hanukkah. I used the change from the bookstore to buy coffee and some pistachio nuts. I found an empty armchair that faced a window big enough for me to see much of the sky, the first clouds of the probable snow hovering on the western horizon. I looked at my watch. I'd told Marley I would be gone for several hours, and I hadn't been gone for forty-five minutes. I crossed my legs. I uncrossed them. I crossed them again. I looked out at the sky. Whenever my father had taken his rare breaks from work, for holidays and family vacations, he often moved this way, jittery and anxious, unsure what to do with himself.

But I just needed to get used to it. For the rest of the afternoon, I read. Middlemarch Middlemarch was as thick as my chemistry book, but I turned the thin pages easily. I'd watched the movie of it with my mother and Elise two summers ago, right before Elise's wedding. We'd all been horrified when Dorothea married the old, unfeeling man, and we felt bad for her once she realized what a mistake she'd made. At the next commercial, Elise clicked her tongue. "No divorce back then. She's screwed. This is sad." But my mother had already read the book, and she told Elise to just wait. Sure enough, almost as soon as the movie came back on, good luck-and that's all it was, really-the creepy old husband died. was as thick as my chemistry book, but I turned the thin pages easily. I'd watched the movie of it with my mother and Elise two summers ago, right before Elise's wedding. We'd all been horrified when Dorothea married the old, unfeeling man, and we felt bad for her once she realized what a mistake she'd made. At the next commercial, Elise clicked her tongue. "No divorce back then. She's screwed. This is sad." But my mother had already read the book, and she told Elise to just wait. Sure enough, almost as soon as the movie came back on, good luck-and that's all it was, really-the creepy old husband died.

When the credits rolled, Elise clapped. "So she gets to be happy at the end. Aww. Nice." She clasped her hands beside her head. I was still thinking of the last line. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts. There was more, but I'd already forgotten it. There was more, but I'd already forgotten it.

My mother got up from the couch to stretch. "I don't know if I'd say she's happy." She'd looked at the stairs, her brow furrowed. My father had already gone to bed. "You should read the book," she said.

And so I did, for almost that entire, cold afternoon, sitting there in the Union. Even from the start, there was so much the movie had skipped over. Since they could remember, there had been a mixture of criticism and awe in the att.i.tude of Celia's mind toward her elder sister. The younger had always worn a yoke; but is there any yoked creature without its private opinions? Since they could remember, there had been a mixture of criticism and awe in the att.i.tude of Celia's mind toward her elder sister. The younger had always worn a yoke; but is there any yoked creature without its private opinions? I underlined sentences, dog-eared pages. I underlined sentences, dog-eared pages. Here is a mine of truth, which, however vigorously it may be worked, is likely to outlast our coal. Here is a mine of truth, which, however vigorously it may be worked, is likely to outlast our coal. When I looked up, the setting sun was bright in my eyes. The sky was clear, with just a few wispy clouds edged in orange and red. It hadn't snowed yet, and maybe it wouldn't. When I looked up, the setting sun was bright in my eyes. The sky was clear, with just a few wispy clouds edged in orange and red. It hadn't snowed yet, and maybe it wouldn't.

But Inez was right. I could see that as soon as I turned the last corner of my walk home. Even on dead gra.s.s and soggy ground, the luminarias were beautiful, perhaps because there were so many, all of them flickering in swirling patterns and lining the sidewalks around the dorm. A few people were out walking around them, quiet; and above me, in hundreds of windows, faces pressed against dark gla.s.s, so many hands cupped around eyes, looking down.

The fire alarm went off before dawn. My mother groped her way to my bed and grabbed my arm in the darkness.

"It's okay." I yawned before I opened my eyes. I sat up slowly and turned on my lamp. "It's just an alarm. We have them all the time."

I had to repeat all this twice. The alarm was so loud that even Bowzer could hear it; he was at her feet, trembling, and he looked as if he were trying to burrow into her shins, to work a hole right through her leggings and skin.

I held him back as she pulled on her boots, and she held him as I put on mine. In less than a minute, we were ready to go, with Bowzer b.u.t.toned under my mother's coat. Before I opened the door, she looped her arm around mine.

"I love you," she said. She looked at the floor. She wasn't kidding around. "I want you to know that. Okay? I think you're pretty great."

"Mom." I leaned toward her. "I love you, too. But really. It's just an alarm."

Out in the hallway, which was not, in fact, full of smoke, my mother walked slowly, with her chin lowered to keep Bowzer's head pushed down. All around us, doors were opening. Girls in pajamas stepped into the hallway swearing, their hands clapped over their ears.

"I need to go on ahead," I yelled. The alarms were louder in the hallway. "You should go find Marley, and have her wait with you. She doesn't have a car."

Just as we pa.s.sed Marley's door, it opened. My mother turned back to me briefly. Both of her hands were occupied, so she sent me on with a nod of her head.

So it was Marley who was with her on the way down the stairs, and it was Marley who would tell me later how Bowzer popped his head out of my mother's coat just as they were filing out the double doors. The security monitor, Marley said, was meaner than he'd needed to be. She didn't know his name-it was the one with the pierced nose and the pretty girlfriend. My mother seemed to know him. He tried to take the dog. She wouldn't let him. He told her she couldn't leave, and that she had to come with him. And he kept calling her Mom.

Marley was surpised by what my mother did next, though when I heard, I wasn't. She'd become fearless, but she wasn't a fool. When Jimmy put his big hand on her elbow, she did what any middle-aged stowaway who had recently gone through Strength Camp might at least attempt when holding an elderly dog and confronted by vindicitive dorm security. She pointed over his shoulder, slipped into the crowd, and ran.

Gordon Goodman rubbed his eyes, one elbow propped on his desk. His white T-shirt was on backward, the tag sticking up under his chin.

"You can't have dogs in the dorm," he said. He turned and looked out his window, squinting at the rising sun. Just a half hour earlier, the fire trucks, unneeded once again, had turned off their lights and rolled away. I wondered if, on mornings like this, he regretted abandoning law.

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry."

He looked back at me, annoyed. We both knew he wasn't chastising me. He was just talking to himself, trying to sort through the problem. I'd already told him about my mother getting kicked out of her apartment, having nowhere to go.

Unfortunately, accidentally, I'd also told Jimmy Liff. He was on the other side of the interior window, pretending to fill out paperwork behind the front desk. Or maybe he really was filling out paperwork-on me and my mother. He stood just on the other side of the window, his head lowered, the top of his skullcap almost touching the gla.s.s. When I noticed him there, he looked up and smiled. I knew he'd heard every word.

Gordon tugged on his beard. "You don't have any relatives in the area?"

I shook my head.

"Any friends? Anyone she can stay with?"

"I think she's embarra.s.sed. And it's hard, because of the dog."

On the other side of the window, Jimmy pouted. It was over the top. It was like he was making fun of himself, for just how much of a jerk he could be. Gordon saw my face change and followed my gaze. He stood, opened the door, and told Jimmy that he could finish up whatever he was working on later. His voice was stern, and that was a little vindicating, but not much. I didn't care what Jimmy Liff thought about anything, and I doubted my mother did either. But I hated that he looked so pleased, keeping his eyes on mine as he sauntered past the window one last time.

As soon as he was gone, I started begging. I told Gordon my mother would only need to stay a few more days, and that Bowzer wasn't bothering anyone. No one had complained. And it was my mother who had organized the luminarias. She was the one who drove everyone to the store for the bags and candles. She was doing my job better than I was.

Gordon raised his eyebrows. For a moment, I thought I had him. Of course he would relent. My mother was too nice of a person to have to sleep in a van.

But he shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. "She can't stay, not with the dog." He frowned. He felt the tag under his chin, looked down, and tucked it back in his shirt. "Does she have anywhere to go tonight?"

"I don't know." I stood up slowly. My own head felt heavy on my shoulders. He was looking at his bookcase, at one of his glazed bowls.

"I'd like her to come back and talk to me. You think you can get her to do that? She's not in any trouble, okay? I just want to help."

"I'll ask her," I said. He was being polite. I kept moving to the door.

"Veronica!"

I turned around. He was on his feet.

"Are you going to talk to her today? Does she have a phone? Is there some way you can reach her?"

I nodded, though the answer to the last two questions was no.

She did call later that morning, from a pay phone outside a grocery store. But she didn't want to go talk to Gordon. No, she said, she wasn't scared of Jimmy. She hadn't appreciated him cornering her like that, telling her where she had to go. But she didn't care if he was around or not. She said she just felt bad about causing so much trouble for me. She sounded tired, but not particularly upset. "I'll come get the rest of my things later," she said. "I'll be fine, honey. Really. I just don't want to bother you for a while."

But I pleaded. I insisted. I told her it wouldn't take long, and that I would wait with Bowzer in the van. When none of that worked, I told her the real reason I needed her to come in was that I was about to get fired for keeping a dog in my room, and that I needed her to confirm my story, so my boss might give me another chance. I made my voice sufficiently righteous and whiny. It was for her own good, I told myself. Once Gordon met my mother, he could not possibly expect her to sleep in a van. She would charm him. He would understand that she didn't deserve any of this, even if she wouldn't get rid of the dog. He would bend the rules, and let her stay.

I was wrong. Twenty minutes after my mother walked into the dorm, she came back out to the van with a handwritten list of social service agencies and homeless shelters. Bowzer strained against my arm, trembling in his excitement over her return. As soon as she closed her door, I let him go, and he lunged, falling between her lap and the steering wheel.

"That's how he thought he would help?" I s.n.a.t.c.hed the paper out of her hands. My eyes moved over words: "shelter," "crisis," "homeless," "emergency." He'd neatly written out phone numbers and hours and rules. By one listing, he'd added, "Ask for Carla, re: gas voucher."

"I though it was pretty nice of him." She took off her hat and put it on the dashboard. "It's not his problem. But you wouldn't have known that, talking to him." She took the list back from me and studied it. She didn't look that bad, considering she hadn't gotten a shower that morning and she'd spent most of the day in the van. She was wearing the scarf I'd given her. In the sunlight coming through the windows, it looked itchy, made with cheap yarn. And the red was too bright for her face.

"He gave me some career advice, too." She looked up at me, smiling.

I waited, but she waved me off.

"What? What did he say?"

"Later. Maybe." She kept looking at the list. "None of these places take dogs."

"Mom. That doesn't matter. You're not going to a shelter."

She started to say something, but when she saw my face, she stopped smiling, and all at once, she looked as if the skin of her face had suddenly grown heavy. She put her hand over her eyes and turned away.

"Mom. Let me call Elise."

She shook her head. She still had her hand over her eyes, her elbow resting on the steering wheel. Bowzer sighed in her lap, content.