time this weekend wondering if she had misjudged him, and he kept tossing out these stupid accusations.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You know, I get that you have this whole dark and brooding thing going on,” she said, waving her hand in his direction. “But number one, it’s not working for you. And number two, it’s not working for your kids.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Jemima and Oscar need friends. That’s why she’s been stealing things at camp. She needs to distract herself because she doesn’t have anyone to hang out with. And Oscar goes along with it because he doesn’t know anyone, either.”
“I put them in camp so that they would make friends.”
“Yeah, but then you hole up here and ignore everyone in town. The parents start talking shit about you, and their kids hear it. Then no one wants to hang out with Oscar and Jemima. And you aren’t friends with anyone in town, so there’s no chance of a playdate. You do know what a playdate is, right?”
“Yes, I know what a playdate is,” Theo said wearily. “I do actually have friends, you know. They just don’t live in Callinas.”
“So find some new ones.”
“We’re only here a couple more months.”
“You don’t have to swear a blood oath of fealty to anyone. Just make some acquaintances.”
Theo raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t protest. He was no longer projecting his usual doom-and-gloom vibes, so Kate forged ahead.
“The town is having a Fourth of July party on the beach,” she said. “They have it every year, I guess. My aunt is helping organize it. Obviously it’s going to be extreme. And kind of stupid. And your worst nightmare. But you should come.”
Now he looked almost amused.
“Should I,” he said.
Probably people didn’t volunteer to help him very often. Either they didn’t think he needed help, or they were afraid to offer.
“Yes,” Kate said firmly. “I insist.”
MIRANDA
SERIES 2, Personal papers
BOX 9, Diary (1982–1993)
* * *
DECEMBER 9 1982
William from Downtown Studios has the new disease. I saw him today when I was coming out of my studio to go home and he was unlocking his door to go in. He looked fine to my eyes, maybe a little thin, until he pulled his collar down to show me the dark patches on his neck.
He said he didn’t know how long it would take. He just wanted to do as much work as possible before the end.
A literal deadline, he said, and then we began to cry.
I have to try.
I have to try harder.
SERIES 2, Personal papers
BOX 8, Medical records
FOLDER: Prescriptions and refills
* * *
Prescription issued 1/2/1983
1200 mg lithium as 600 mg 2x/day.
300 mg zimelidine. 1 pill 2x/day. Taper up from 150 mg: take 1/2 extra pill for 1 week, then switch to full dose.
Call prescriber or emergency room 911 with any symptoms.
<>
SERIES 2, Personal papers
BOX 9, Diary (1982–1993)
* * *
JANUARY 27 1983
I’m starting to see things again: the light against someone’s nose; a shapely leaf; the thick rippled veins on the grocery clerk’s arms, dotted with old needle marks.
I can take the subway again. I only lose a couple minutes here and there.
I see Theo again. I see his fat little body, his elbows puffed up like rice, his wet mouth. I have started to breastfeed him again sometimes, though it feels strange, like he is sucking out all my power through my breast. I can do this—I can be his mother.
I no longer think terrible things when I look at him. I only think about how tired I am and how I love him and how he needs a change of diaper. I hate changing his diaper. It makes me think of Tina smearing shit across the walls in Nangussett. Hieroglyphs. The stench.
I am not there anymore, I remind myself.
I am here. I am out.
Sometimes Jake and Theo and I are eating dinner and I see our reflection in the window and for a split second I think, that family across the way looks happy, and then I realize it’s us.
FEBRUARY 4 1983
Today I saw:
A reflection on the lake in Central Park. Clouds moving above, swish swish, their dark vulnerable stomachs turned down to the water.
A homeless woman with bubblegum rain boots.
Two safety razors Jake threw out, crossed in the garbage can in the shape of an X.
And I saw Theo as I think other mothers must see their children: a circle of small miracles. Each breath he takes, the soapy smell of his