“Listen.” Julia’s mother’s voice turned sharp. “You seem like a kind, young gentleman, but I must insist that you stay far, far away from my daughter.” Henry stepped closer to the older woman in hopes of seeing her face. How much of Julia was in this woman? “I can’t do that,” he said. “I’m the only one keeping your daughter alive.” “She throws away her life every other day. She’s no longer afraid of death. Tell me, how is she living?” Julia’s mother also advanced forward, holding an arm out and pointing a finger at his chest. “Without you, she would be able to get past all this fighting. She would be able to grow up and do something good for this world.” “If it wasn’t for me, another daughter of yours would be ashes,” said Henry. He pushed her finger away. With her other hand, Julia’s mother very neatly put the boy to sleep by pressing her thumb into his neck. Laying him on the grass, she went into her kitchen to retrieve her set of knives and then she chopped Henry into tiny pieces. The whole night she spent making meals out of Henry’s body and the golden peaches. She used up every bit she could and buried Henry’s toenails, fingernails, hair, and other inedible parts around the pumpkin patch.
In the morning, Julia’s father couldn’t get over the glorious aroma from the kitchen. He ate as much as he could and packed more into Tupperware containers for lunch. “My wife loves me so much,” Julia’s father bragged to his clients at work. “Her cooking proves it to be so.” Julia couldn’t get out bed because she was in too much pain. Even turning her head induced a jarring ring through her body. Blood was all over her pillow and sheets. Her nose was bent, her mouth wounded, and some teeth were missing. A rib poked out of her back. Eyes swollen. When her mother entered the bedroom, Julia could barely hear her mother’s screams. An ambulance rushed Julia to the hospital. All she asked for was Henry. Instead they gave her morphine. “Now you can stop fighting,” her mother whispered into her ear. “And start doing something good for your body.” “There is no such thing,” said Julia, her eyes trained on the hospital’s white ceiling. A trickle of blood dribbled down the corner of her mouth. “You are so young! Think of all the wonderful things you have to look forward to. All the places you could travel, all the things you could learn, the people you could meet.”
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BUCKMAN JOURNAL
