That Slight, Slight Noise (and Those White, White Walls) Det Slak, Slak støy (og de hvite, hvite vegger)

Published in Written in the Dirt , April 2004 Publisert i Skrevet i Dirt, april 2004
Teen Ink , February 2002 Teen Ink, februar 2002

Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.

I flushed the commode, washed my hands, and dashed into my room to catch my phone on its fourth and last ring. Jeg rødmet de commode, vasket hendene mine, og sprang inn på rommet mitt for å ta telefonen på sin fjerde og siste ring.

“Hello?” I answered. "Hallo?" Svarte jeg.

“Hey, Mary, it's Mommy.” «Hey, Mary, det er mamma."

“Oh, hey, Mom. "Hei, mamma. How are you?” How are you? "

There was a near inaudible sigh. Det var en nesten uhørlig sukk. “I'm fine. "I'm fine. How are you?” How are you? "

“I'm good. "I'm good. So how's everything going?” So how's everything going? "

That slight, slight sigh again. Som liten, lett sukk igjen. “Oh, it's okay. "Oh, it's okay. I was calling you because I got this email address… You can send me a message, I won't be able to reply, but you can email me and leave me a message telling me to call you or something.” Her words nearly slurred but that transparent thought she might be drinking faded quickly, because I wanted it to. Jeg ringer deg fordi jeg fikk denne e-postadressen ... Du kan sende meg en melding, vil jeg ikke kunne svare, men du kan sende meg og la meg en melding som ber meg ringe deg eller noe. "Hennes ord nesten sløret men at transparente trodde hun kunne bli drikker falmet raskt, fordi jeg ville ha det til.

“Oh, okay, cool.” "Oh, ok, kult."

“It's nine oh two. «Det er ni oh to. Eight six two-” Åtte seks to-"

Okay… Oh, so this is like an answering machine?” Ok ... Å, så dette er som en telefonsvarer?

“No, you type it in and you can email me.” "Nei, du skriver det inn og du kanne email meg."

“Oh, all right. "Oh, all right. So it's…” Så det er ... "

“Nine oh two. "Ni oh to. Eight six two.” Åtte seks to. "

“All right.” I jotted the numbers down on one of the pink Post Its that decorated my desk. «All right." Jeg noterte tallene ned på en av de rosa Post Dens som dekorerte mitt skrivebord.

“Six oh, seven five. "Six oh, sju fem. At teleh dot net.” På teleh dot net.

“Okay, got it.” "OK, got it."

“If you have time tonight, email me and I'll call you later to tell you if I got the message. "Hvis du har tid i kveld, email meg og jeg ringer deg senere for å fortelle deg om jeg fikk meldingen. I'm not sure how it's supposed to work.” Jeg er ikke sikker på hvordan det skal fungere. "

Sure, I'll email you. Klart, jeg e deg. So how are Uncle Paul's kids?” My mom babysat for her brother's two elementary-school children. Så hvordan er onkel Paulus barna? "My mom babysat for hennes bror to barneskolelærer barn.

“Oh, they're good.” There was another slight sound in the background, I could hear or maybe imagined her molars grinding or her lips smacking. "Å, de er gode." Det var en svak lyd i bakgrunnen kunne jeg høre eller kanskje forestilt seg Kennel Klub sliping eller leppene Smekke. “Shelly and Jacob brought home their report cards today.” "Shelly og Jakob hentet hjem sin rapport kortene i dag."

“Oh yeah? "Oh yeah? So how's the weather? Så hvordan er været? Is it cold yet?” Er det kaldt ennå? "

Those slight, slight, pauses. De svak, svak, pauser. “Yeah, well, it was thirty degrees this morning.” "Ja, vel, var det tretti grader i morges."

“Oh, wow.” I said it, knowing I was the patronizing Californian daughter. "Oh, wow. Sa jeg det, visste jeg var nedlatende californiske datter. Thirty degrees did sound cold, but so did a lot of things. Tretti grader gjorde lyden kaldt, men det gjorde mange ting.

“Did you know Grandma and Grandpa Miller came to visit?” I wanted to suck my words back in as quickly as I said them. "Visste du at bestemor og bestefar Miller kom på besøk?" Jeg ønsket å suge mine ord igjen så fort som jeg sa dem. It was hardly a big deal that my dad's parents came to visit us–they did often–but Mom had been wanting to see us lately. Det var neppe en stor avtale som faren min foreldre kom for å besøke oss, gjorde de ofte, men mor hadde ønsket å se oss i det siste.

“Oh, yeah, Steve told me. "Å, ja, sa Steve meg. Are they still there?” Er de fortsatt der? "

“No, they left on Tuesday.” "Nei, forlot de tirsdag."

“So are you guys still trying to come out during winter break?” "Så er dere fremdeles prøver å komme ut i løpet av vinterferien?

“Oh, I think so. "Å, jeg tror det. We're still trying, but we have to start paying for car insurance soon, or maybe even right now. Vi er fremdeles prøver, men vi må begynne å betale for bilforsikring snart, eller kanskje akkurat nå. And then, I went to go take my license test, but they told me I need driver's training since I'm under eighteen, so now we have to sign up for six hours of classes and it's more than a hundred bucks for each of us.” Og så gikk jeg for å gå ta min lisens test, men de fortalte meg at jeg trenger førerens trening siden jeg er under atten, så nå er vi nødt til å melde seg for seks timer med klasser og det er mer enn hundre dollar for hver av oss . "

“Yeah.” I heard what annoyed me, but what I liked to pay attention to: those slight, slight personal noises. "Ja." Jeg hørte hva irritert meg, men hva jeg likte å være oppmerksom på: de små, små personlige lyder. “Well, I'd really like to see you guys.” "Vel, jeg liker å se dere."

“Yeah, me, too. "Ja, jeg også. I'd really like to go down there soon.” Jeg hadde virkelig lyst til å gå ned dit snart. "

“I'd like to go visit you guys in California.” "Jeg vil gå besøke dere i California."

“Yeah,” I said, almost uncomfortable. "Ja," sa jeg, nesten ubehagelig. There was what was best for everyone, and then there was what meant a couple of weeks of smiles between welcoming and departing tears. Det var det som var best for alle, og så var det det betydde et par uker mellom smiler innbydende og avgående tårer.

“Oh, yeah, I wanted to tell you guys… With my disability, you should be able to apply for more grants. "Oh, yeah, ville jeg fortelle dere ... Med funksjonshemming min, skal du kunne søke om mer tilskudd. I was trying to work it out for Steven, but with you it'd be easier, just to list me as your parent. Jeg prøvde å jobbe den ut for Steven, men med dere det ville vært enklere, bare for å liste meg som forelder din. Because with Dad's and Christine's salary-” Fordi med far og Christine lønn-"

“It's too much for scholarships!” I laughed, and wondered if I should wish to suck back in my comment and laughter, too. «Det er for mye for stipend!" Jeg lo, og lurte på om jeg skulle ønske å suge tilbake i min kommentar og latter også.

“Yeah. "Ja. Cause I'm not getting anything. Cause I'm ikke får noe. Someone should get something outta my disability.” Noen burde få noe ut av mitt handikap. "

I giggled again, pretending her comment was a light joke. Jeg fniste igjen, lot hennes kommentar ble en lett spøk. My laughter covered those slight noises. Min latter dekket de små lyder.

So anyways, could you remind Daddy to get my Section Eight application? Så anyways, kunne du minner pappa for å få min Section Eight søknaden? I left him a message but…” Jeg lot ham en melding, men ... "

“Yeah, sure.” "Ja."

“You know what, maybe you could get it. "Vet du hva, kanskje du kunne få det. Just call up the welfare office and ask for housing authority.” Bare ringe opp velferd kontoret og be om bolig myndighet. "

I scribbled on a pink Post It as my eyes let me know they'd enjoy tears spilling out. Jeg skriblet på en rosa Post Det som mine øyne kan gi meg de ville nyte tårer søle ut. “Okay,” I said, thinking I controlled my voice. "Ok, sa jeg, tenkte jeg kontrollerte stemmen min.

“All right, honey.” She yawned in the background. "All right, kjære." Hun gjespet i bakgrunnen. “I'm going to let you go now; I need to get to bed.” "Jeg skal la deg gå nå, jeg trenger å få til sengs.

“Yeah, it's late over there, huh?” I tried to steady my wobbling voice as shady, transparent thoughts of my mother's, not just lost potential, but wasted and solid talent was made apparent through this phone call. "Ja, det er seint der borte, ikke sant?" Jeg prøvde å stø meg wobbling stemmen som lyssky, transparente tanker om min mors, ikke bare mistet potensial, men bortkastet og solid talent ble gjort tydelig gjennom denne telefonsamtalen.

“Yeah. "Ja. I need to wake up at six.” Jeg trenger å våkne opp klokken seks. "

“Well, all right, Mommy.” "Vel, greit, mamma."

“Good night, honey. "God natt, kjære. I love you.” Jeg elsker deg. "

“I love you, too. "Jeg elsker deg også. Good night! God natt! Take care.” Take care. "

“All right.” "All right".

I hung up and went back to the bathroom, to continue my shower. Jeg hang opp og gikk tilbake til badet, for å fortsette min dusj. I looked in the mirror as my face began to scrunch, trying to squeeze out the tears. Jeg så i speilet så ansiktet mitt begynte å Scrunch, prøver å presse ut tårer. Ridiculous black tears trickled down my cheeks. Latterlig svart tårene rant nedover kinnene mine. Earlier that night I had reveled in perfecting my Halloween make up. Tidligere på kvelden hadde jeg fråtset i perfeksjonere min Halloween sminke.

I hopped in the shower and sobbed, hardly weeping though. Jeg hoppet i dusjen og hulket, knapt gråt skjønt. My face continued to scrunch, in sobs and in laughter as I thought cynically about my little moment. Ansiktet mitt fortsatte å Scrunch i gråt og latter som jeg tenkte kynisk om mitt lille øyeblikk. I thanked God for Him being in my life; I would have thanked Him for guiding me had my thoughts not been floating around, bumping into each other. Jeg takket Gud for ham å være i mitt liv, jeg ville ha takket ham for å guide meg hadde mine tanker ikke flyter rundt, bumping inn i hverandre. My pitiful mother, my pitiful mother, it's so sad all that could have been of her life, but I know plenty of other people with such wasted potential, but this is my mother, but you're a lucky girl if your largest problem is feeling sad about your mother, yes, lucky, thank you Lord, I know so many people have it worse than me, but stop crying, oh, now you're laughing, yes? Ynkelig min mor, min ynkelige mor, det er så trist alt som kunne ha vært i livet hennes, men jeg vet mange andre mennesker med slike bortkastet potensial, men dette er min mor, men du er en heldig jente hvis største problem er følelse trist om moren din, ja, heldig, takk Herre, jeg vet jeg har så mange mennesker det verre enn meg, men stoppe gråt, oh, nå er du ler, ja?

My face convulsed more as I realized how uncommitted I was to this moment, this being one of the very few times I cried and wanted to let “it” all out. Ansiktet mitt convulsed mer som jeg innså hvor uncommitted jeg var til dette øyeblikket, dette var en av de ytterst få gangene jeg gråt og ville la "det" alle ut. But let what all out, my mind demanded. Men la det hele ut, krevde mitt sinn. Where is this crying getting you? Hvor er dette gråter får du? How is this not just a big distraction (oh, the evils of the word!) from all the things you'd like to accomplish? Hvordan er dette ikke bare en stor distraksjon (oh, the onder av ordet!) Fra alle de tingene du ønsker å oppnå?

I knew I'd write this all down, and I laughed, but what might have been audible was drowned by the shower. Jeg visste jeg ville skrive alt dette ned, og jeg lo, men det kunne ha vært hørbar ble druknet av dusjen. I bet you're just clinging to this moment because you just want something to write about, my mind insisted. Jeg vedder på at du er bare klamrer seg til dette øyeblikk fordi du bare vil ha noe å skrive om, mitt sinn insisterte. I laughed and sobbed again. Jeg lo og gråt igjen.

I got out of the shower and brushed my teeth. Jeg kom ut av dusjen og børstet tennene. I smudged the mist on the mirror so I could see my face. Jeg flekkete tåken på speilet så jeg kunne se ansiktet mitt. I was always interested in how my face looked before, during, and after a good cry. Jeg var alltid interessert i hvordan ansiktet mitt så ut før, under og etter en god gråte. I liked my wrinkled brow and ruddy complexion against the white, white bathroom walls. Jeg likte min rynket pannen og rødlig ansiktsfarge mot den hvite, hvite bad vegger.

I went into my room and saw my computer waiting for me, waiting for me to process my little conversation-turned-moment into neat, black words. Jeg gikk inn på rommet mitt og så meg computer venter på meg, venter for meg å behandle min lille samtale-vendt-øyeblikk til neat, sort ord.

Oh, but my curling hair can't wait. Å, men min krøllete hår kan ikke vente. Before I blow dried it quickly, I tried to reflect more on my mom's misfortune, but I'd already mentally and emtionally filed that experience under “Not-Really-A-Big-Deal.” I was disappointed in, but proud of, myself. Før jeg blåser tørket det fort, prøvde jeg å tenke mer på moren min ulykke, men jeg hadde allerede mentalt og emtionally arkivert at opplevelsen under "Ikke-Really-A-Big-deal." Jeg var skuffet, men stolt av, jeg. My, what large emotional defenses you have, I thought. Min, hva store følelsesmessige forsvar du har, tenkte jeg. I grinned at my still wrinkled brow and still pink face. Jeg gliste på mitt fremdeles rynket pannen og fremdeles rosa ansikt. It contrasted nicely with the beige, beige walls of my bedroom. Det kontrast pent med beige, beige vegger av soverommet mitt.