The Shiksa Syndrome: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

what the perception, there are always scars. But the heart must be our most resilient organ for, over time, though it never forgets, it heals.
    The whole time I dated Peter, I didn’t visit Sam.
    “I had a boyfriend, but we broke up,” I tell him now. “He’s not ready.” The loss of both men feels overwhelming. “He’s not steadily employed. He’s not Jewish. And . . . and . . .” No longer able to stop the tears, I don’t even try.
    It feels good to let it all out. It takes up so much space, and there’s really no place to put it. I feel I’m a groundhog who sees its shadow and wants to retreat to her burrow. I look out. My mother’s caught up, and parks a safe distance from the gravesite.
    I say the Kaddish, then place three stones on Sam’s headstone. One for his past. Another for the present we had. And the last for the future; one we did not share, and one I am left to discover on my own. I kiss two of my fingers and place them on his name. Sam.
    Honk! Honk!
    “I’m hungry, Aimee,” Maddie screams from the car. “Come on, already.”
    Sentimental indulgence not my mother’s strong suit, it makes her nervous to indulge mine. I walk to the car and think of Grandpa Jack and Sam. They missed meeting each other here by six months. I wonder if they have Starbucks in heaven. I hope they meet for coffee. And I hope the refills are free.
    “I see you’ve been crying. So what do you accomplish by visiting him?” Maddie, I see, has been crying too. I can’t protect her tears, what makes her think she can protect mine?
    “Ma, you’re so warm and fuzzy, I just don’t know how to contain myself.”
    This gives us both a chuckle.
    “You’re a good navigator, so get me out of here, okay?” Maddie hands over a map of the cemetery grounds. I direct her to make a left when we reach the first juncture. For someone who doesn’t drive, I have a pretty good sense of direction.
    We find a good diner off the Southern State Parkway. Two orders of pancakes with Canadian bacon and eggs later, we drive on three more parkways until we reach the Triborough Bridge. My parents always have a car in the city. It’s something Sid will never be without. But when it comes to parking, don’t ask.
    My mother was the one who got stuck spending
hours
all those mornings sitting in the car. Waiting for the time she could move it and park across the street. They were counting on me for some relief, but that never happened.
    A good driver’s ed student in high school, I was confident behind the wheel and scheduled for my road test. But just as my mom and I were headed out the door, the phone rang. Grandma Frieda had had a heart attack. First I thought it was a joke, for whatever reason she was afraid for me to drive. But when she passed away, I became incredibly spooked and let it go for years.
    Back up to speed—new learner’s permit, driving course, the works—I made an appointment, again, to take the test the week of my birthday, right after I turned twenty-nine. Yes. And Grandpa Jack died. I couldn’t have possibly passed the test then. Sam finally got me back on track. But believe it or not, it was on my calendar to call and schedule a road test on September 11.
    The alternate-side-of-the-street parking hell paled in comparison to that one. Even now, as my mother talks, I quietly turn to the open window and spit into my forefingers. Pooh-poohing away the fear the memories stir. But all the drama did get Sid to agree to a garage. Back in the city, it’s always heaven to pull right in.
    My mom’s cell rings when we are out on the street. The weather not too cold, I interrupt to say, “I’m walking home through the park,” and give her a kiss before I go.
    “Wait a sec.” She closes the phone. “Come up for a bit.” Maddie’s eyes shine. “We have a surprise.”
    I love the word
surprise.
So even if it’s just to show me she learned how to work that
farkakte
printer, I’m game. But turns out it’s much bigger