Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Watermelon



We had been in the house for about one week. Events were passing quickly. We had hired a cook, her name was Leena. She also spoke Telugu, Hindi, as well as English. She was a Catholic, and seemed able to cook well. On several grounds, we felt we had an affinity with her that was great and we were sure she would help. She had lived with a foreign family before, and even stayed with these people in Cyprus for a few years. She was a welcome addition to the family, and we were happy to have her. The idea was that I would be so busy that I would not have the time to cook, and she was also very inexpensive. Even though I loved to cook for Byl and the boys, I was going to see what it was like to leave the cooking to someone else. Also, our kitchen was filled with tools, utensils, and devices that I was unfamiliar with. So, it was just fine to leave it to someone who could navigate around that place.

It was hard adjusting. We were in a hard place, and we had a million things coming at us, emotionally, physically and in terms of setting up a whole new life. We had seen our new home, our new schools, a new work place, and our new city, and we were having a hard time thinking of it as home. Especially the house, we really felt we had seen a different place than this during our visit in May. We had a completely new life and we found that we had to tap into some pretty deep stuff, emotionally. And we had to lean on each other.

The kids really wanted watermelon. I bought one and left it in the kitchen. Later that day, the five of us sat at the dining room table and asked Leena to cut up the watermelon. She was in the kitchen preparing the night's dinner, which she did very early every day. She said she would cut up the watermelon and bring it to us. It was hard getting used to giving someone orders and having them obey them without question.

I said it with a smile, and had "please" mixed in with the request, but I was still asking someone else to cut up a watermelon for my husband, myself and our kids.

We heard the knife sink into the watermelon. The five of us were sitting around the table quietly, still not fully engaged with the new time zone. We were just starting to sleep through the night, but they were not good nights of sleep. So, a watermelon would be just right. She sunk it into the watermelon again. Only the second cut, so I considered how slowly people cut watermelons in India. Then I realized that was a ridiculous idea.

She walked out of the kitchen and said quietly, "It's spoiled."

We all just sat there. What do you do when a watermelon is spoiled? That's it, there was nothing to do.

"What does that mean?" asked Jonah.

"It's rotten, honey," I replied.

"No watermelon?" he asked.

"Not this one, sweetie." I told him. "It's yuckie."

His jaw dropped in shock. It was a weird reaction, but Jonah was very dramatic. Liam clicked his teeth in disappointment. But Aidan took it the worst. His bottom lip started to quiver. Not a mild tremor, but a big one. His eyes welled up. "I just wanted watermelon," he said,"that's all." His speech was halted like it does when he's really upset. Basically, he was talking through crying, but was holding back his tears with all he had.

He shot across the room and entered the back stairway, running up the stairs to his room. I got up from the table and ran after him. I entered the stairway and could hear him up at the top. I ran faster. I got to the top and ran in his room. He was lying face down on his bed, crying. Not the normal crying that comes from fighting with Liam or Jonah, but a kind of crying I had never seen before from Aidan. He was weeping with his whole body, letting out sobs. I sat down on the bed next to him. I started to cry, too.

"Hey, honey, are you ok?" I asked him.

He cried and yelled into his pillow, "Get out!"

"Sweetie, I just...."

He screamed louder, "Get out!!"

I started to rub his back. He flung his arm around backwards and hit
my arm. I rubbed his back again.

"Sit up, sweetheart," I said.

"No!"

"Please? For mommie," I said again, tears streaming down my face.

He sat up, his face a swirl of tears, his eyes red. His blue eyes were electric due to the white part being so red. Poor Aidan was trying to inhale and it was coming through in bursts and gasps. It was the kind of cry I had not seen from him before.

"Honey, we'll get another watermelon," I told him, knowing full well that it was about much more than the watermelon. He leaned into me, and I picked him up and put him on my lap. Only a few more years of being able to do this, he was heavy.

"I hate India. Why did you you bring me here?" he said.

"Honey, you'll make friends. School starts next week."

"I don't want to go there. I want to go back to North Carolina." His declaration was pretty normal. I could admit to some of the same feelings myself. What had we done?

I held him tight onto my chest, and kissed his wild head of hair. He was so dear, I started to cry all harder.

"I hate it, I hate it , I hate it," he said.

"I know, sweety," I told him, as I hugged harder. There wasn't anything more to say, he just needed to let it out.

I walked downstairs about ten minutes later. Byl and the boys were sitting around the living area. Byl was watching cricket. Jonah was cutting up paper, he seemd to be able to do that all day. Liam was sitting at the table pulling his fingers, cracking his knuckles. He seemed to be able to do that all day, too.

Byl got up and walked over. "How is he?" he asked.

"He's okay, as okay as he's going to be for a while," I said.

Again, what had we done? I had brought the idea up of moving to India, so I suppose I had more to do with the situation than anyone.

I really, really hoped this would work out.