penultimate moments
Two days later is the eve of the Bar Mitzvah. Whizzer’s no better. He knows he’s no better. Everyone seems to be convinced that he’s a little better. He doesn’t wanna shatter their illusions. He can’t remember his middle name. He doesn’t tell anyone. Doesn’t wanna make it worse for them.
And it is awful for them, really. They try to hide it, but he sees it in their eyes. Sees it in the sharp intakes of breath Trina thinks he can’t hear. Sees it in Marvin’s lingering touches to his arms, his face, his lips, as if he’s trying to hold him down somehow. Hold him back. Stop him leaving. Sees it in Mendel’s soft, pitious smiles which last for just a moment too long. Sees it in the way Charlotte holds his hand when she takes his blood pressure in the morning. Sees it in the look Jason gives him just before he closes the door last thing at night. Pained. Like he has something important to say, but somehow can’t articulate it. Whizzer knows that look well. He’s seen it a million times in Jason’s father. Delia, though. She’s the worst at hiding it. Sure, she keeps it up most of the time, perching on the edge of his bed and insisting on feeding him mouthfuls of kugel or babka and stollen with her same old sunny smile, but she can’t do it all time. Sometimes the smile cracks, like when she catches his eye just before he falls asleep, or when she sees him laugh properly. Sometimes she has to rush out, Charlotte close behind her, and take a breather. He feels like hell for putting her through this. Oh well. It’ll be over soon.
He doesn’t care. He’s not scared. It was always inevitable. He’s not scared. He doesn’t cry at night when he’s sure Marvin is asleep. He doesn’t sob like a baby when Delia’s mom comes to visit and tells him she’s proud of him. He doesn’t grip onto Marvin’s arm and beg him not to leave just before he has to go in for another transfusion. He doesn’t scream into his pillow when he’s sure nobody’s about to walk in. He doesn’t stay up until five in the morning, worrying that he’ll be cut off from G-d’s people when he’s gone, like his dad always said he’d be. He doesn’t. He’s not scared. He’s not scared.
So it’s the bar mitzvah eve and he’s pretty sure Marvin’s asleep, so he’s got a moment to breathe. A moment to shut his eyes and try to process the idea that he will be gone soon. Dead. He puts his hand on his heart and tries to imagine it not beating. He feels sick. Just as he feels a sob build in his throat Marvin stirs and sits up. Takes in the image of his boyfriend, familiarising himself with the concept of dying. Feels more than a little ill. Whizzer notices him staring. Cringes. Apologises. Tells Marvin to go home, to not worry, that he’ll be fine. Marvin pulls him close. Tells him to go to sleep. Kisses the top of his head. Starts waxing poetic about how wonderful it is that they love each other. Whizzer tries to be dismissive. Whizzer fails. He can feel his spine against the mattress. He hasn’t been this thin since he was twenty. It’s ugly. He feels ugly. He tries to forget being ugly and focus on Marvin. Marvin’s hands. Marvin’s eyes. The smell of Marvin’s cologne on his stupid ugly cardigan. Whizzer loves the stupid ugly cardigans. Whizzer loves the stupid awkward smiles. Whizzer loves Marvin. He whispers it as he thinks it, in hebrew and then in english. Marvin says it back. Whizzer forgets how terrible things are, just for a moment.
Just as the moment is ending, Charlotte and Delia appear. Walk as fast as they can to the bedside. Cordelia effectively pushes Marvin off the bed so she can lay next to Whizzer (‘I dated him for longer than you, I’ve earned this!’) and cosies up to him. Marvin leans on Charlotte, who punches him in the arm in a most supportive manner. And they talk. About what? Nothing. Happy nothings. Whizzer feels like they could be at a kickback or at home right now. Feels better than he has in days. Delia has her arms wrapped around him and is holding on with a vice-like grip. He tells them all the story of the first time Cordelia went to shul. She tells them the story of teaching Whizzer to knit and how the hat he made looked like a dick. They’re not the best stories, not the funniest, but the space needs filling and Whizzer and Delia hate the quiet.
They stay like that for a few hours, then it’s bedtime. Hometime, for Charlotte and Cordelia and Marvin. Whizzer doesn't want them to go, but he can’t articulate it. He’s so tired. So fucking tired all the time. Delia gives him one last warm safe vanilla scented hug and Charlotte pats his cheek. He wants them to stay. They tell Marcin they’ll wait outside. Marvin kisses him once, twice, three times. Tells Whizzer he loves him. Whizzer’s too tired to say it back, so he taps his own heart. Marvin nods with tears in his eyes, then leaves. Whizzer murmurs the shema and falls asleep.
When he wakes up he makes a decision. No more tears. No more terror. No more. He swears on his mother’s life that he will not be afraid, that he will push through and welcome death like a new friend. He will play pretend beautifully and hope that the house is not brought down. He falls back to sleep with an air of nonchalance. He can do this.