Notes on Your Sudden Disappearance

by Alison Espach

Suddenly, it was the ease of the conversation that made everything so uncomfortable. The awareness that talking had become too easy between two people it was supposed to be difficult between.

It was only when Dad ordered Mom to stop crying that I understood we were bullies. We ordered her to be happy as if we knew what it meant to be happy. As if a person was not happy because they simply forgot to write it on their to-do list. We knew from experience that nothing we said or did would work, but we couldn’t help ourselves; it was our job as the slightly happier people to make her happier. We were like corrupt policemen at the dinner table. We applied blunt force. We did not listen very well, and often spoke in commands. Go outside. Get a job. Do some gardening. Take a walk. Try harder. Don’t give up. Don’t be depressed. Stop crying. Which was exactly the kind of instruction that made a crying person cry harder.

That is what Peter taught me. But pretending to be normal in front of Billy suddenly seemed like a giant waste of time. I was tired of lying. There’s no point in lying. The truth always rises, like a bloated body in the water.