Authors: Natalie Taylor
Signs of Life (31 page)
But there’s more to it than the cold realities that we have to deal with as adults. I want my students to see the symbols in their own lives, how there are things that are more than just things, there are things that hold meaning. I want my students to learn that life can change if they want it to. I want them to know that language limits our understanding, and words like
family
and
resolution
aren’t as simple as we think. I want them to see that authors and real people make choices that can change the course of where you go and how you feel. I want my students to see that sometimes fiction has answers because our own lives don’t, and sometimes we like seeing things resolved in books because the reality is, it’s the only time where problems end neatly or where problems end at all. I want my students to see books as a way to learn about other people and other worlds, but also as a place to learn about themselves.
How would I write a college essay today? Describe a setback you have had in your life. How did you resolve it? But it seems that the first thing you realize when you lose your innocence or come face-to-face with the reality of life is that some things don’t get resolved. In
A Separate Peace
, Gene Forrester, the narrator, is best friends with Finny. Through the first few chapters, however, the reader realizes that it’s not the best friendship. Gene has this strange hate for Finny. Finny is perfect at everything and Gene articulates his feelings as “enmity.” In the midst of their summer session at Devon School, Gene, Finny, and a few other friends are climbing a tree and jumping into the Devon River. Finny is out on the end of the branch, preparing himself to jump, when Gene, who is on the same branch but holding on to the trunk, jounces the branch. Finny loses his balance because of the jounce and tumbles awkwardly. He severely breaks
his leg and his perfection is lost. Eventually a complicated scene involving another slip and fall results in a tricky surgery and Finny dies. The reader knows, the boys at Devon know, and even Finny knows that it all started because of Gene’s jounce of the branch.
Fifteen years after Finny’s death, Gene goes back to Devon. He walks back to the athletic fields where he and Finny used to walk together every day. On the particular day of Gene’s visit, it’s pouring rain. He is soaking wet. His shoes are covered in mud. Knowles writes, “Anyone could see it was time to come in out of the rain.” For fifteen years Gene has been standing in that rain. For fifteen years he’s been in the same spot. What would Gene write for his college essay fifteen years after his friend’s death? “I killed my best friend. I’m still dealing with it.” And he’d probably go home and dry himself off and he’d still feel like shit. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe after fifteen years of thinking about one summer, he has come to peace with it. But what does that even mean?
So is this it? After we lose our innocence we spend the rest of our lives in some sort of recovery from tragic events only waiting for the next punishing blow. It is a wonder that we don’t die thinking,
Ugh, thank God that’s over
.
It’s amazing to read these essays because these students have so much ahead of them, but some of them have already seen huge challenges. So what is my lesson to them? Buckle up, it’s only going to get worse from here. What is John Knowles’s lesson? What would any of our authors say about setbacks and resolutions? I don’t know. I think they’d say that these are the moments that are worth thinking about and worth writing about.
I do know that for the first time in my life, I feel like I understand these books and these authors. We see characters losing their minds because they are put in incredibly challenging
situations, but this year instead of calling them crazy, I realize that this is what it means to be human—to go back to the emotions and reactions in us that transcend time and space. Grief, love, pain, the ache for power, the need for acceptance, the strength of family. What could I possibly have in common with a black woman from rural Georgia in the early nineteenth century or a wealthy bachelor from New York City during the Jazz Age? What could Celie and Gatsby possibly share when everything about their lives is different? But don’t you get it? We have everything in common. All of the things that make me hurt also make them hurt and all of the things that alleviate my pain are the same things that alleviate their pain.
I don’t know how to show this to my students. But maybe over time, maybe little by little, I will tell them about how these books helped me and I will try to make them see what happens when you open a book and let an author tell you a story.
At the end of the year I make each student write out his or her own six-word memoir. I read my favorites over and over.
Madison Brixton is tall with long blond hair and is drop-dead gorgeous. She did her ninth-grade research project on the modeling profession. Madison is very sassy and is not afraid to question teachers or administrators. She has an equally sassy, equally gorgeous twin sister. Madison’s favorite character from eleventh-grade English is Lady Macbeth. Her six-word memoir: Twin versus twin: Competition’s a bitch.
Steven McCain loves being the dominant force in class discussions. Even when he hasn’t done the reading homework, he loves to argue with people. A few months ago he protested the administrative decision that made all students wear I.D. tags at school. He read his protest speech to our English class. During our poetry unit, he vehemently argued the D+ he earned on his essay. His six-word memoir: Self-confidence is not a crime.
Doug Treen was one of the two students to incorporate Guitar Hero into an Honors English presentation, which was the worst presentation I’d ever seen. They were outraged at their low grade. He openly admits when he doesn’t do the reading and never seems fazed by his own laziness. Although I do not know any of the details, I do know he is very mischievous; he’s been called out of class a number of times to see the assistant principal. Doug’s six-word memoir: Tried humble pie. Tasted like shit.
How can they be so profound and so ridiculous at the same time? The beauty of being a teenager.
• • •
June 15 is Father’s Day. I make the executive decision to have Kai baptized on Father’s Day. My family rallies. Dr. Harnish also rises to the occasion. We have a beautiful, quiet little ceremony. Later that evening my mom comes over so I can go for a jog and enjoy the summer air. I turn down my street and see a rainbow streaking across the sky.
Then it is June 16, the day before the one-year anniversary of Josh’s death. Battersby calls to talk to me about tomorrow. She says, “Just so you know, it ends up being pretty anticlimactic.” On the one-year anniversary of her mom’s death she thought something big would happen, or the day would make her feel a certain way, or she would suddenly see something differently, but it wasn’t like that at all. The day comes and goes like any other.
I go through pictures of Josh. Part of me wants tomorrow to be here and gone. Part of me wants time to stand still. I go through all of the stuff from Josh’s funeral. I look at the program. The picture we chose for the front of the program was
taken when he was walking into the church for our wedding rehearsal. I reread all of the cards people sent me. I’ve kept all of them in a box near my bed. I find my speech from Josh’s funeral. I haven’t looked at this since the day I read it last year. I don’t know why, but this feels like an appropriate time to read it again.
As you can imagine, it is difficult for me to find the words to accurately describe my husband at a time like this. How can I possibly find the words to paint his tremendous personality and love of life? Because of this, I will draw from someone else’s words. My older brother, Adam, is getting married this July. A few months ago Adam and his fiancée, Ellie, created a website featuring all of the wedding party with small, concise biographies. Josh’s biography reads as follows:
“QUESTION: If Superman and the Flash raced to the end of the Universe, who would win? ANSWER: Josh Taylor. Yes, the groom’s Brother from Another Mother is a superhero. If Lance Armstrong, Indiana Jones, Jack Bauer, Emeril, and the cast of Jackass had a baby—a blond barrel-chested baby who was addicted to Moomer’s ice cream—it would be Josh or Diz (or “Dizzle” if you’re addressing him formally).”
I couldn’t think of anything better. When Adam and Ellie posted this, Josh was so complimented, he read it three times out loud. Although the short biography makes us smile, it also reminds us of who he was. Josh was the boy who lived. He lived in every moment. He tried everything, risked anything, and never wasted any time. That is why I married him, for his spontaneity and pure love of being alive. That is why so many of us were drawn to him, because when he was around, we smiled and laughed.
In addition to his heroic qualities and super strength, Josh was also defined by the people around him. The most daunting
task of being Josh’s wife was trying to understand and be a part of all of his formerly developed relationships. I can remember even last spring, I would come home from work, tired, looking forward to a quiet evening at home. Josh would then insist that he wanted to run “a few” errands, and we would be back in no time. And no matter where we went we always ended up stopping by Margaret’s house, then Deedee’s house, and then we’d see one of the Quarts in their yard, so we’d chat with them. And then on the way out of the neighborhood we would see the Jabborris, the Getzes, then we’d go to the pet store to visit all of his friends there, and then to my parents, and then, maybe we’d go home.
The same thing would happen at Elk Lake. I remember the first time Josh and I went up there, just the two of us, I was looking forward to a romantic weekend with just him and me. But before we even parked the car we had to stop at Aunt Cass’s and Uncle Terry’s, then off to see Andy and Mary, then to the Boyntons’, then Moomer’s, then to the Blues’, stop by soccer camp, and the list goes on and on.
And finally when Josh and I planned our wedding, we had to talk about who was invited. We agreed the first people on the list would be our families. So I wrote my family down. I interpreted the word as literally as possible. My nuclear family, my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Everybody was somehow related, everybody fit on the same tree. And when it was Josh’s turn, he created a list of people, but hardly any of the people on his “family” list were actually related to him. Not to mention I had to stop him after a hundred or so names. “But Josh,” I would say, “Uncle Alex and Aunt Jane aren’t really your aunt and uncle. Uncle Mel isn’t actually your mother’s brother. Your mom doesn’t even have any brothers, but there are still twenty-seven men listed as ‘uncle’ on your
list!” But he would look at me as if I was speaking in another language. It didn’t make sense to him. These people were his aunts and uncles, they were his family. But that was who he was, he loved all of you as if you were his family. And you are his family, as I have come to realize over the years.
I know a lot of you look at me and think, what will she do? And of course I ask myself the same questions. But I look at everyone in this room and think, what will they do? What will any of us do? He was loved by so many. He was a huge part of so many lives, not just mine. All of you considered him more than just a friend, but you considered him a brother and a son.
In reflection of those afternoon drives, trips to Elk Lake, and our wedding list, I have concluded that Josh was raised by a village. He has an incredible mother, and that mother was smart enough to rally the support around her. This is a sad day. But the strength of the village does not diminish when one of their own is lost. From looking at all of the people in this room, I can tell you that it is the people in this sanctuary that have carried me through the last several days. And as I think about what an upstanding human my husband was, I am incredibly saddened to think he won’t be here for our son. But it fills me—literally fills me—with joy to know that I am having his son. And while I have all of you here listening to me, I need to add, as Josh would have wanted me to inform you, the work of the village is far from over.
So what do we do now? I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself that for four days. But I do know we must remember. We must remember everything about him. And there is nothing more painful than remembering Josh, because we have to admit he is a memory, but we have to. It is the most painful but most necessary thing we can do. When Josh was here, I always thought, like so many of you thought, he was the strongest
person on the planet. He really would win a race across the universe. And although he is no longer here, I feel as if his strength has been infused in me. It has to be. And it has been infused into Deedee, Chris, Ashley, and all of the rest of us. We have to be as strong as he was, as he would have been. It is our only way. Thank you for being here.
I don’t know how I was able to write this. I don’t know how I was able to say this out loud in front of a sanctuary full of people. I can hardly read it now. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say it out loud again without crying after the first three words. I don’t know who or what occupied my body in the days following his death. One time someone told me that the only time you have all of your friends and family in the same place to celebrate someone is at his wedding and his funeral. I am relieved that I was able to properly commemorate my husband, but it still perplexes me to no end that his wedding and funeral were eighteen months and one day apart.
June 17. I spend the day at my parents’ house. We sit outside on our old red bench, pushing Kai on the swing that hangs from the linden tree in my parents’ front yard. We don’t talk about Josh. We just sit and push the swing. It is the only thing we know how to do today.
As the sun sets Kai and I go back to our house. I make dinner. Ashley, Deedee, Mathews, and Maggie come over. Everything is solemn. Even my rickety dining room chairs seem to have quieted down for the evening.
Kai is the beam of light. Everyone wants to hold him and give him a bath and make him smile. He is the only thing worth smiling about today. I don’t think he will ever know how he has saved all of us.
