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Show Moon -186 thick white hair and wonderful hands that could drive a car, push a lawnmower, touch her hair in the sunlight. Before they reached Evanston, Michael took an exit along Lake Shore Drive and parked the car at the edge of the lake. Concrete blocks jutted out of the steep slope to the water like giant stairs. Seagulls circled and cried. Michael turned to Anne and said, "I have to say something. I have to tell you I'm truly sorry for what I did to you when we were young." Mother, did Michael actually say this wondrous thing? Is that something a grown brother would do, a person who'd started out bad? Can a person become that good? It's a rare love indeed that admits to having been wrong and cares enough to say it out loud. I don't know, but I'm in a position to decide that this is exactly what happened. I want for it to have happened to me, too. But that isn't something I feel I have the power to invent for myself. I can, however, give this experience to you, my mother. I give you the gift of humble apology from the man who once stole you away from yourself. I can't give you the love of a husband, but I can give you back your brother. Your face grew hot with remembering. The old anger rose up. You remembered the stolen pennies, the wine, the hand under your nightgown, but this was all mixed up with the sunlight around his head, your worship of him as he mowed the lawn. He'd made it impossible, I think, for you to know that love could exist apart from hate and fear. With such knowledge, what does it take to forgive? The two of you sat silently for a while. He touched your hair and you decided. You said, "Thank you." |