| Out of Step |

Out of Step: Chapter 28

By Ariella Schiller | March 25, 2020

“Bella,” Naftoli says, “one bright and glorious day it will occur to you that not everything that happens in this family has to do with you”

There should be a law against excessive sympathy.

“I’m not going back to school,” I announce by way of greeting as I thump through the door.

My words are met by a roomful of shocked faces. “Uh, why is everyone in the kitchen?” I ask no one in particular, but with the question directed toward Ma, who is rolling out dough on the counter.

“Hamantasherins!” Shimshon crows happily.

Ohhh. With Purim fast approaching, and me having less than zero interest in holiday spirit, Mommy must have turned toward her less helpful offspring, a.k.a. my brothers.

I ruffle Shim-Shim’s hair and muster up a smile.

“Anyway, I’m not going back to school,” I say.

Ma claps the flour off her hands and plops a piece of dough down in front of each brother.

“Et tu, Naftoli?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “I’m not ashamed. Chocolate filling is chocolate filling.”

I hide a grin at this profound statement and turn back to Ma.

“So, what happened?” she asks me, now handing out circular cookie cutters.

“Uch, nothing happened exactly. It’s just the overall atmosphere. Everyone is so….” I search for the correct word but draw a blank. “They’re just all too much,” I finish lamely.

Ma raises an eyebrow. “I hear. That’s hard, sweetie, I’m sorry.”

I let out a huff of air and look around for an available seat, but the male population has taken every single one.

I lean on the counter. “So, what’s this year’s grand theme?”

Ma wrinkles her nose.

“We’re being parrots!” Shimshon crows.

I blink. “You are?”

“Pirates,” Chemia clarifies.

“Ohhh.” Oh. “Because of me?” I ask, only half-joking. “I’m the one-legged Captain Blackbeard?”

“Chas veshalom,” Ma says automatically. “And no, of course not, don’t be silly.”

“Hmm, steer into the skid and all that?”

“Bella,” Naftoli says, “one bright and glorious day it will occur to you that not everything that happens in this family has to do with you.”

I glare at him and then decide to spar with humor instead of anger.

“What a perfectly ridiculous thing to say,” I snap in a lofty British accent. “Of course the world revolves around me.”

The little kids laugh but Ma just looks relieved. Gosh, you’d think I was usually difficult to be around or something.

***

I hop back into the kitchen later to taste the fruits of the afternoon’s labor.

Peering down at the lopsided, misshapen hamantaschen, I sigh. Looks like I’ll be baking after all.

I slide four onto a plate, pour myself a large glass of chocolate milk, and head upstairs. I think about studying but I have no desire to do anything, so I sit by the window eating burnt raspberry jelly hamantaschen and staring into space until the sun sets.

***

Rehab is exhausting. Ma drops her car keys on the counter and looks at me sympathetically. “Ice cream and then a hot shower seem like what the doctor ordered,” she says, opening the freezer.

“No, the doctor actually ordered me to stop dancing and consequently ruined my life,” I say snarkily.

I think I hear a sigh emanating from the freezer’s depths, but I can’t be sure.

We eat our dulce de leche in silence and then I head my slow way up the stairs while Ma puts up dinner. I want to help her, I do, but I also want to turn the music up in my room and then scream as loud as I can, and well, you know, priorities.

But I don’t do that either.

Instead I reach for the chocolate bar Goldie dropped off yesterday and munch on it slowly while staring out the window until the sun sets. I don’t shower either.

I crawl into bed at only nine-thirty and watch my phone blow up. I put no effort into answering the calls or reading the text messages, just turn it on silent and watch the screen flash blue every few minutes.

I wake up suddenly in middle of the night. My foot hurts and I need a drink of water. I reach for my cell and press the screen. Six missed calls, eight new messages. I think about reading them, but it requires far too much effort. I lie back on the pillows without getting a cup of water and cry myself back to sleep.

***

The bus comes and goes the next day, I hear it beep, hear Ma calling and Daddy telling her to let me be.

I lie there wearily until my eyes close again.

When I finally sit up, it’s noontime. I’ve already missed chatzos, which I notice with a pang of regret, but I now have no reason to get out of bed.

Minchah, I think drowsily, and then fall back asleep.

“Bella Rena, wake up. Now.”

I sit up, disoriented, to find Ma sitting on my bed, face set in hard lines.

“Whaaat?” I ask grumpily, rubbing my eyes.

“What do you mean ‘whaaaat’”? Ma exaggerates my whine. “It is four p.m. You did not go to school. You did not daven. You did not eat. Get. Up.”

I blink at her. “Why?”

She stares at me. “What?”

“Why? Why should I get up? Look, Mommy. Look at my room.”

I gesture wildly at the surrounding four walls. Together we look around.

Ma takes in the ballet paraphernalia, the pink motif, the piles of ballet clothes and shoes, the inspirational dance quotes I’d hung up, and nods slowly.

“Perhaps,” she says, “it’s time to redecorate.”

(Originally featured in Mishapcha Jr., Issue 804)

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