by Naomi Geiser
The time on the car shows 17:12. It’s only been six minutes since we left, but my body seems to have been sitting for hours. My legs are already tingling, I’m sitting awkwardly, and I don’t know where to put my hands. I’m afraid of making too much or too little noise. I can’t decide if this silence is a burden that absolutely must be lifted or if it’s a precious tribute to Luke’s father who was just buried a few hours ago. I’d like to try to say something, but I’d hate to be dismissed like the traditional CD. Even its good old melodies didn’t satisfy Luke. As soon as he heard the first notes, he ejected the disc and stuck it in the door. Now, only his constant glances in the rear-view mirror give rhythm to our voyage.
“Achoo!”
“Bless you.”
My sneeze was a real survival reflex, like blinking eyes to protect oneself from a projectile, it was unconscious, but it saved me from my mutism. I take his answer as a sign that I can keep talking. “Hey honey, how are you holding up?”
“Uhum”
I recognize this pattern. The tone of his acquiescence gives it away. It’s always the same that shows me he wants to scream and shut up at the same time. It pains me to see him like this, but it doesn’t scare me, it’s one of those moments when we complement each other well. So, I go for it. “Your speech was beautiful Luke.”
He responds with a frown and an inverted smile, with the corners of his lips pressing against the bottom of his face. It starts to rain a heavy downpour that crashes loudly against the car window. But I don’t give up, it’s the sound of my voice that he needs, I think. “What are you thinking about?” I ask him.
“The Titanic.”
His answer surprised me. “Are you scared that your car will flood with all this water?” I ask him, with a smile that is only slightly more cheerful than his previous one.
“No.” And it’s him who gives the first real smile. It lasted half a second, but it was often enough for him to start talking. “No, the funeral made me think of Titanic, the movie.”
“What do you mean?” I encourage him.
“Remember when Rose unhooks Jack from the raft and he sinks into the water?”
“Ow, yeah … “
“Well, the funeral reminded me of that. You see a loved one literally disappear under the ground and there’s nothing you can do. It’s just like that. It’s kinda weird.”
“Yes, it is, it’s violent. He has a habit of minimizing what he feels, so I try, with my words, to show him that his emotions are valid. But he doesn’t respond. The drops on the glass are so bright now that they seem to be reflected in his eyes. Luke doesn’t like to cry. Maybe that’s why he fiddles with the wiper lever too hard. I stop him and take his hand, put it on my thighs, and a tear falls on his.
I try to think of my next comment, my next question. But the image he used gives me chills. I suddenly feel like my belt is too tight. I miss his father too, he was a righteous, wise man, proud of his son and his choices – he was proud of me too, he told me this. But I know Luke is hurting more so I feel guilty for having thought of my own sadness for a moment. I just need to find a word, a phrase that can comfort him. But I can’t think of anything better than telling him:
“I’m so sorry Luke.”
He holds my hand a little tighter. We complement each other well in these moments. His grip reminds me that silence doesn’t equal distance or a embarrassment.
Words are still too painful at this point. He will tell me memories of his father that I don’t yet know about another time. For now, he expresses his sadness, his gratitude and his love with drawings. Clouds, flowers and hearts, … everything with the simple movement of his thumb on the back of my hand.