If she wanted to yell at me, she could have easily done it at home. So what else could she want?

I can’t stop thinking about Shulamis. She reminds me so much of my youngest son. He could have had such a nice life, if only I had caught it earlier. But I missed the boat, I wasn’t vigilant enough. I let my son do as he pleased, thought that by letting him leave yeshivah and go to work, I was doing the best thing for him. But I didn’t realize that, just like in yeshivah, you can’t be part of things in the office unless you can read. The only job Yonah could find was a cleaning job. Not even a clerical job — there was nothing for Yonah, nothing for the boy who couldn’t stop the letters from the crazy dance they performed every time he tried to read. That’s how he described it to me once.

“It’s like the letters have their own schedule, and I chase them, and they run away from me. I can’t even see them; they’re halves of shapes — just one big mess.”

I didn’t know of anything I could do to help him. I thought I was doing the right thing.

But then, too late, I learned I was wrong. Time does not go backward. It only goes forwards, and if I can’t change the shrieking absence of my favorite child in my life, I will at least help other parents so they don’t fall into the same trap.

“Shulamis?”

“Coming!”

I hurried out into the car, zipping up my jacket. This autumn seemed colder than last year. It’s been awhile since my mother and I went out together. Life’s been hectic. My older sister just left to seminary, and I knew my parents were struggling to pay the exorbitant tuition. My brother’s bar mitzvah was coming up, and my little brother’s upsheren… My mother was busy, working overtime and trying her best to manage everything.

We drove in silence. I was wondering why my mother chose tonight, just after the phone call they got from school reporting that I refused to go to tutoring. If she wanted to yell at me, she could have easily done it at home. So what else could she want?