Free The Mourning After by Rochelle B. Weinstein Page B

are staining her face.
    “Mommy, stop it,” Chloe cries, before running to Levon and throwing her arms around him.  “Daddy, make her stop.”
    Paralyzed.  That’s how they all react to Madeline’s wild outburst.  Levon eyes his father, trusting that he will take the first required step in calming her down, but he sits there, trancelike, not uttering a word. 
    Last night must have been a dream. 
    “Mom, you’re scaring Chloe.”
    This appears to knock some sense into her, or it is the sound of their doorbell cascading through the room and disbanding her torment.  Her screams soften into whispers, and she slowly begins to wind down.  The doorbell rings again and no one moves, afraid that anything might send her back into a state of abandon. After the fifth ring, Levon walks away from his second meeting with disaster in less than two weeks and approaches the double doors leading into their home.  Peering through the peephole, he finds two familiar eyes staring back at him.  He opens the door and greets his grandmother who is dressed in a head to toe neon pink jogging outfit.  His grandfather is not far behind.
    “What the heck took you so long, Lev?” 
    She is breathless from her morning jog and whips past Levon in a cloud of baby powder, hairspray, and some other pungent odor.  Grandpa Sid is panting, holding onto the doorframe before slinking off to his bedroom.
    “God damn dogs.”  She is pulling off her white sneakers with one angry tug.
    “What’s wrong, Gram?” Levon asks, although he already knows by the strong scent.
    “Dog crap, that’s what’s wrong.  All over the front yard.”
    Levon stifles a laugh. 
    “What happened to people cleaning up after their animals?  What’s this world coming to?”
    Grandma Lyd is a feisty, old devil.  He remembers her most memorable line when she called during Rosh Hashanah.  Levon answered the phone in a blistery tone, and she said, “What’s a matta, someone blow the shofa’ in your ear too loud?” 
    Levon silently thanks her for the intrusion.  She is heading for the kitchen, a sneaker in each hand, and Levon follows closely behind.  He knows what she will find when she steps into their new kitchen—his mother on the floor in a ball, Chloe crying in a corner, his dad with his head propped on the table.
    “What’s going on?” she asks Levon.
    “You’ve just stepped from one pile of shit into another.”

Chapter 7
    As expected, returning to school is an ordeal.  Levon’s attendance is met with scorn and speculation.  Although his teachers, classmates, and various friends of David’s make admirable attempts to hide their chatter, there is no mistaking it fills the hallways. 
    Rebecca is conspicuously absent—her helm outside the gym doors vacant—and it occurs to Levon, in the shadow of the sweeping space, that abandoning his family to return to the social populace may be premature. He walks through the tan hallways in a catatonic daze with his head folded down low and treads his sneakers along the white tiled floors. 
    Clusters of students traipse by him, some knocking into him, others clearing a space for him to pass, and though their mouths are moving in audible tempo, Levon can not make out any discernible words.  If they are averting their eyes or if they are whispering into the palms of their hands, he is unaware.  He is focused on the sterile floor in front of him.  With his folders and textbooks held close to the buttons on his shirt, his academic armor buffers him from stares and glares. 
    Levon moves from period to period in slow moving, languorous motion. By the time the bell signifies the end of the day, he has a thundering headache and can barely swallow.  It takes all of his strength to push through the metal door leading outside where he is greeted by a plume of warm, fresh air and the realization that David is not there to drive him home.  That David will never be there to drive him home again is the scary