Chapter 9
Family Conversation
While I was still digesting the surreal events of the night, I arrived for my hospital shift. Lily told me she’d have to leave for two days to visit her aunt.
In our family, three grown kids and only one car never worked smoothly.
I’m the middle child – between my older brother Eli, who had finished med school, and Rachel, the youngest. Growing up, Eli enjoyed all the perks of being firstborn, including priority use of the car.
Once he got married and moved out, that advantage passed to me, leaving Rachel with almost no chance.
This time, though, she must have really needed the car, or else my father wouldn’t have made a point of it.
I promised the car would be home by eight when I came for dinner.
I felt relieved that my father hadn’t asked why I needed it.
But my relief lasted only a minute, until the phone rang.
“What do you need the car for, if I may ask?” My mother’s voice broke my short-lived peace.
“Because I’m moving out,” I blurted, reluctant to share.
My short sentence, racing at the speed of light into my parents’ apartment, struck my father’s ears.
His hearing had been damaged by a blow to the head from a fellow Jewish prisoner at Majdanek, but even though it had worsened with age, this time he heard every word.
He wasted no time broadcasting my words live to my mother.
“Guta, he’s moving out.” And just like that, my father turned a dialogue into a three-way conversation. Two on the phone and a third from the gallery, as they used to say.
“Who?” My mother’s voice came from afar.
“Michael.”
“But his lease isn’t up. He has till the end of the month.”
“She says you have till the end of the month.”
“I know. I already paid, but I’m moving to another place,” I replied tersely, knowing there was no escaping this conversation now.
“He knows, but he’s moving anyway.”
“So he’s not coming home?” my mother pressed.
“You’re not coming home?” my father echoed.
“We’ll talk Friday night when I bring back the car. I’m exhausted – it’s been a crazy week, I’m dead on my feet,” I tried one last maneuver to shorten the family drama.
“He says we’ll talk Friday, he’s tired.” I’d failed miserably.
“What’s there to talk about? You can’t change his mind – so stubborn,” my mother’s voice was now closer to the receiver.
“There’s nothing to talk about … you’re stubborn,” my father added his own light commentary.
I held the receiver close, bracing myself for the sound of my mother’s tears.
Crying was her standard reaction to anything that upset her routine, no matter how trivial.
But this time, to my surprise, there were no tears.
On my way to bed, I felt oddly encouraged.
If this news hadn’t triggered her crying, maybe telling them about Lily won’t cause a breakdown.
A sick girlfriend, no less. I knew I’d dropped a rock into the small pond of our family, and naively thought that once I got through the first wave, the ones to follow would be easier to cross.
That was physics, after all. But life – especially with my parents – didn’t necessarily obey those rules.