"Can't we just move on? Can't we just live? Jesus, I've tried. I try. Please, can't we just do it?" I continue to look at her. I let all the questions linger. Then I turn back to Cleo. A second later, I hear Suze crying, sniffling softly. I don't know how many more times I can make her apologize, how many more different ways I can have her say it. I know the next step is on me. Whatever it is. Cleo continues to eat, looking up at us, absent in all of this. Then there's the crash as a plate smashes against the wall. Suze lets out a scream and grabs the whole mound of washed cutlery next to the sink and sweeps them all clattering to the floor. Cleo starts to cry, loud, and looks at her mother. I move to Cleo to pick her up but Suze has stopped. She's sobbing now. I kneel next to my crying Cleo and I turn and look at Suze. Her chest is heaving. She still has some forks and knives clutched in her hands. Cleo continues to cry hard, wailing, and then she sees the forks and knives in her mom's hands and she starts screaming. Tears stream down her face, her round small face. She's terrified, getting hysterical, and then she looks at me and blinks and sheets of tears roll down. They pop off her face and hit the tray of her highchair. I lean in to try and calm her and brush some of them away but she swipes at my outstretched fingers and screams even more, shakes her head crazy. She grips the tray and twists at it, pounds on it, like she's trying to break it, bangs on it with all her strength. She's going mad. I feel helpless. All I want to do is reverse this moment, draw back time. I can take away her wet stained face, dry it off. Her screaming is deafening. It rings in the room and drowns out any other sound. Suze steps forward, mumbling through her sobs, trying to explain. I hear her say over Cleo, "Please, I'm sorry, we can move, let's just move, maybe we can just go, please, the three of us, together., But I can't respond. I'm in my head again and I've started to trace the tears on Cleo's cheeks. I imagine the streams rising instead
168 I ALAIN DOUGLAS PARK