“I know you and your mother have been through a very difficult time, Emmie,” he began, “but I also know how proud your father was about your grades. You and I know you can do much better than you’re doing.” I looked down as he spoke, and when I didn’t respond, he said, “Let’s just leave it at that, but you know I’m available anytime to help you. Just ask.”
I nodded, but I didn’t even say thank you. I was still drowning in self-pity. He had thrown me some rope. All I had to do was take hold, but at the moment, I didn’t care. I was still angry about Papa’s death, confused about Roxy, and annoyed with my classmates. Doing well at school had lost all attraction for me. It was unfair to treat my teachers with such indifference, I knew, but I seemed incapable of changing. I didn’t mind the silence and the self-imposed solitude. For now, staying to myself and pulling my head in like a turtle were more comfortable than anything else. It was truly as though my face had forgotten how to smile. Laughter was a thing of the past, a distant memory. Even when I heard other students joking with one another, I looked at them as if they were Martians.
I did get a similar short lecture from most of my other teachers over the next two days, and finally, Dr. Walter, our school dean and counselor, called Mama and told her to consider sending me to a therapist. At first, all that did was get me angrier. I was angry at myself more than at anyone else for letting this happen and hurting Mama, but for now, it was more convenient to blame the school. Mama, of course, blamed herself.
“I should have been paying more attention to you. Your father was always more involved in your schoolwork than I was,” she said after she told me about the call she had received. She had been waiting for me in the kitchen when I returned. This particular day, she had gotten dressed. Lately, she had our food delivered most of the time, and as far as I knew, she rarely left the house. I was sent out to the store whenever something was missing.
“I’m not failing anything, Mama. I don’t know why he had to call you and make such a big deal of it.”
“It is a big deal, Emmie. You know your father would never have been satisfied with your just passing everything, and you wouldn’t have been, either.”
She was sipping some tea. Now that she was wearing one of her nicer dresses, I could see how she had become much thinner. She had put on some makeup, but she still looked pale and wan. Her eyes were sleepy all the time, but now they were even duller, her lids quivering to stay open. Everything, even the smallest thing such as lifting a teacup, seemed to require a greater effort.
“I know you are not happy at the school,” she continued, “but I thought you would do the good work you always have done until we could find another school for you. You can’t go on like this, Emmie. You don’t have any friends or talk about anything at school the way you used to. Maybe it’s not a bad idea for you to see a therapist.”
“I don’t need a therapist to tell me what I should be doing in school, Mama. I’m sorry I let it go this far. I’ll work harder.”
“But you won’t be happy, will you?”
“I’ll try,” I promised.
She nodded softly, but I could see there was something else. I could always tell when Mama had a secret. She had a way of shifting her eyes so that she was looking past me and not at me.
“What is it, Mama? There’s something else,” I said, thinking that perhaps Roxy had finally contacted her, perhaps had even been there.
“I don’t want you getting nervous and all worked up, especially now.”
“Why would I?” I leaned forward. My heart, which had been almost hibernating in my chest, came to life and began to thump.
She pressed her lips together and took in a long breath through her nose. “I didn’t have a good result on a test.”
“What test?”
“I had my annual exam last week.”
“I didn’t know you were having that done.”
“It was scheduled some time ago, and you know how it is with some of these doctors, you don’t want to postpone. It would take months to get resched
uled.” After another pause, she said, “I didn’t want you having something else to worry about,” she said.
“What test?”
“The Pap smear. They’re doing it over. Lots of times, the first result can be an error.”
“What if it’s not?”
“We’ll deal with it,” she said firmly. “Let’s not think the worst of everything.”
“When do you do the test again?”
“Soon,” she said. She smiled. “It’s going to be just fine.”
“Oh, Mama, with all this on your mind, I’m sorry I gave you something else to worry over. I’ll do better in school. I promise.”
“Sure you will,” she said.
I hugged her. We held each other a little longer than usual, and then she began to prepare our dinner. She tried desperately to get me to think of other things while we ate. She told me about her family in France and how Uncle Alain had called her twice that week already.