SABBATH FLAMES
by
Shula J Asher Silberstein
Copyright
Copyright Shula J Asher Silberstein 2011
Published by Narrow Path Publishing at Smashwords
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The first Shabbat she spent alone, Meira lit the candles out of habit. The table was set beautifully, more beautifully than it ever had been when she and Jonathan were together. She put the silver candlesticks her mother had given her in the center of the table, in front of the loaf of challah and the bottle of wine. Both the challah and wine were real―none of that Italian bread and sparkling grape juice Jonathan always insisted on using instead―and she'd used her fanciest dishes to set two places. She'd read in some magazine that if you set an extra place, the company you were craving would come. Besides, it helped her forget that she was completely and utterly alone.
After she lit the candles, she put her hand near the flame, then pulled it towards herself in a circular motion as if she were calling the flame itself into her heart. For a second, she felt an intense longing for something . . . else, something without words. She closed her eyes and tried to pray.
Their first Shabbat together, Jonathan turned up in a pair of jeans and a stained t-shirt. Meira was in the kitchen working on the lasagna when he knocked on the door. She called to him to come in so she wouldn't be interrupted.
"Don't leave your door unlocked," he said, coming up behind her in the kitchen. "You never know who might walk in on you."
"I was expecting you," she said. "I don't leave it open all the time."
He paused, his lips on the back of her neck. After a minute, he kissed her very lightly and laughed. "What's for supper?"
"Lasagna. Here. Measure out the cheese for me." She handed him a metal measuring cup. He pushed the cup aside. It clanged into the sink. "Don't need it. Gimme the cheese." She handed him the bag and he ripped it open. He made a mountain of cheese on top of the noodles, then got on his knees to check it out. "There. That looks about right."
"It's not." Her voice rose a little despite her best efforts. She wanted to make a perfect dinner for him, and he was ruining it. But she didn't want to fight, not tonight, not the first time they were together on Shabbat.
"It'll be fine." He put his arms around her and kissed her hard. She felt like he was taking possession of her and she liked it . . . .
And then a year later the fight happened. The stupid, ugly fight just because she―
Meira opened her eyes. She was not going there tonight. She said the Hebrew prayers hurriedly, trying to shut up the voice in the back of her head that kept saying now that maybe Jonathan would come back, maybe it wasn't over, maybe it could still be resolved.
She'd set the table for the woman of her dreams, not for him. She had to. He couldn't accept her, not all of her. He couldn't accept that she felt the same way about women as she did about him.
And if he couldn't accept that, there was no point.
She poured herself a glass of wine so that she could sit on the couch and imagine someone―a female someone―was about to knock on the door.
Shabbat was a dismal failure. No one knocked on the door, no one called, nothing happened. Meira ended up drinking wine by herself and going to bed early.
The whole week was like that. Every night she went to bed earlier and earlier. She wasn't tired, just cold because it was the middle of October and winter was starting to sneak up before she was ready for it. She was always more exhausted when she woke up than when she went to bed; she huddled under the covers for as long as she could get away with and still make it to work on time. The only thing that got her out of bed at all was the thought that maybe today she would hear from Jonathan.
The phone stayed quiet until Thursday afternoon. It wasn't Jonathan then, either. It was her mom. "Hi, sweetie. I was wondering if you needed challah for tomorrow."
Meira leaned against her car door. "Nah," she said. "I'm kinda taking a break from Shabbat."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"Yeah, well." The wind bit at her fingers as she fumbled with her car key. She hurried to get it into the lock. "I do."
"I figured we'd go to Whole Foods," Mom said. "We can eat at the salad bar afterwards. Unless you'd rather eat at home."
Meira sighed. Why did her mother always do this? It wasn't just that she wouldn't take no for an answer; she ignored all No's as if they didn't exist, especially when they came from Meira.
"Salad bar's fine," Meira said.
"Great. I'll pick you up in half an hour." Mom hung up.
Meira yanked the car door open and plopped into her car, letting it slam behind her. Now she had to rush home instead of exploring a side street she had never gone down before. She had wanted to see what stores lay on that street. Window-shopping took her mind off Jonathan. Now she was going to be stuck with his ghost the whole way home.
Mom was already waiting in front of the house when Meira pulled up. Meira pretended not to see her as she pulled into the garage. She deliberately took her time going inside and checking her mail. She had nothing but a bunch of flyers that had been stuffed into everybody's mailbox. She threw them away as hard as she could before walking slowly out to the car.
Mom looked perfect. Her brown hair curled around her forehead and mascara highlighted her dark eyes. Except for the little bit of gray blending into the front of her head, Meira thought she looked like a prettier version of herself.
"So what's this about you giving up Shabbat?" she said as Meira struggled to get her seatbelt on.
Meira didn't have the words to explain the disconnection she felt from the whole Friday night ritual, and even if she had Mom was the last person she wanted to share those feelings with. "It's just not my thing," she said. "Jonathan was way more into it than I was." She expected tears to spring to her eyes at the mention of Jonathan's name; to her surprise her body reacted as if him being gone was normal.
"Jonathan." Mom nearly spat the word, as if his name were some horrible curse.
"Mom . . ." Meira said, then thought better of it and cut herself off.
They were quiet for a minute, then Mom said, as if the conversation had never been interrupted by anything unpleasant, "I ran into Mandy Dreiss at temple last week."
"Oh?" Meira had no idea who Mandy Dreiss was.
"She misses her son terribly. He just left for Israel, you know."
"Ah." Meira leaned back against the seat as her mother braked at a red light.
When they got to Whole Foods, Meira remembered everything she hated about the place. It was so crowded they had to drive around the huge parking lot four times to find a space, and inside the store buggies went every which way and people kept getting in each other's way. Meira's chest tightened until she was hardly breathing; she was relieved when Mom said, "Let's hit the salad bar first. We can get the challah later."
There weren't as many people at the salad bar; Meira guessed that five o'clock was a little too early for most people to eat. The greens looked fresher and brighter than the boxed salad she had been eating all week to save money, and the olives were in some kind of vinegar that smelled wonderful. She quickly deflated, though, when she saw the signs all around that said salad was $7.99 a pound. There was no way she could afford a decent sized meal.
Mom was already filling her plate with lettuce. "What are you waiting for? Dig in."
Meira could feel her face getting hot. She looked down at the ground, the tears that hadn't come earlier threatening to overtake her now. The check she'd just gotten was nearly spent already between her rent and her water bill. And Mom could never understand that.
Mom glanced at her. "If you're worrying about the cost, stop. I've got it covered."
"Thanks," Meira mumbled. Her cheeks got even hotter and she thought she might throw up. What kind of 25-year-old woman needed her mother to pay for her when they went out? She walked through the salad bar, taking food without thinking about it. None of it looked interesting to her anymore. She just wanted to eat and get it over with.
After Mom paid, they sat down at a small table. "So," Mom said, "what was wrong with last Shabbat?"
"Nothing." A longing for Jonathan suddenly seized her. She looked over Mom's shoulder for anyone who looked like him, anyone she could pretend was him coming towards their table. A guy throwing away his leftovers had a nice butt, but he was too short. Meira couldn't help looking anyway.
Mom raised her eyebrows.
"It . . . it just wasn't the same without Jonathan. You know?" Meira stared into her salad, begging herself not to cry in front of her mother.
"You," Mom said, "need to get out of the house more." She bit into her lettuce; the crunching made chills run down Meira's back. "You're too young to be sitting in that apartment pining away over a boy."
"I loved him, Mom."
"I know you did." Mom played with the diamond ring she always wore. "And I loved your father. But I couldn't stop living just because he was gone." Mom took another bite of salad, then pushed her plate away. "If you're looking for something to do –"
"I'm not."
"If you're looking for something to do, there's plenty going on at the temple."
Meira didn't answer. Mom's temple was the last place she wanted to go. She was sure Mom just wanted to push one of her friends' sons on her, and she didn't particularly want to explain that she was looking to date women.
"Think it over," Mom said. "There's too much Jonathan in your apartment. You need to get away from it."
Meira stuffed her mouth full of lettuce so she wouldn't have to talk anymore.
A few days later, Meira woke up to tears on her pillow. She'd been dreaming of Jonathan. She was sure of it.
She lay still, staring at her ceiling, trying to make herself get up and start her day. It was Saturday, the day of rest. On Saturdays she used to go over to Jonathan's for the weekend. Her mind went around and around in circles, wanting him and hating him at the same time. After a while she made herself get up in the hopes that she could find something to distract herself from the pain.
She shuffled into the living room and plopped onto the couch, exhausted even though she'd slept for over twelve hours. She turned on the TV and flipped through channels. There was a cooking show on the Food Network; she stopped and watched them fry some egg rolls. Her stomach ached. All of a sudden, she was hungry.
She'd liked cooking, before Jonathan. He got bored eating at home all the time so they usually went out when they were together. His treat, of course, because Meira never had enough money. After they broke up, she didn't eat at all for a couple of days. She would plan to cook, she'd think about what she was going to cook all day while she was at work and even look up recipes online. But when she got home she'd feel too drained to get started. Eventually she bought a bunch of instant food to keep herself from dying of starvation.
Now egg rolls sounded like a good project to keep Saturday from feeling so empty. She went back in her room to get online and look up how to make them. Then she threw open her cabinets and searched for the ingredients. She had everything she needed except egg roll wrappers. She went back online to find out how to make the wrappers themselves, but she couldn't find a recipe.
There was no getting around it. She'd have to go out.
Meira's stomach growled and she felt dizzy. She made herself a bowl of instant oatmeal as a snack. After she'd gobbled it down, she threw her coat on and went out to her car, not bothering to change or to comb her hair.
It was raining, which meant traffic was heavier. Meira's thoughts were pulled back to Jonathan again and again. She turned on the radio, but every song seemed to be about people realizing they were in love or wishing someone would realize they loved them. So she switched it off again and tried to imagine the way the egg rolls would smell when they were done.
By the time she got to Walmart, Meira had a whole list of things she needed. Maybe she'd fry up some tofu. She could buy a bottle of sauce since she had no idea how to make an orange sauce or General Tso's sauce, and besides it would probably take too long. She'd also need some rice and perhaps a new bottle of wine to go along with the entire meal.
She of course could not afford any of this, but she had to eat. Maybe Mom would lend her some money later in the week.
She went to the produce section and got the egg roll wrappers and tofu first. There went $10.
She shuffled on to the rice aisle. There was a man looking at the hamburger helper boxes as she slid past. He had copper-colored hair that disappeared into the dip between his head and his neck, and he was just slightly taller than her.
From the back, he looked just like Jonathan.
Meira picked up a box of rice while she waited for the man to turn around. He turned towards her. It was Jonathan! Their eyes met briefly, just long enough that she knew he'd seen her. She pretended to be comparing prices on different rice packages while she tried to get her thoughts together.
Jonathan walked the other way down the aisle and disappeared.
She threw the rice into the buggy so hard it bounced. She was tired, so tired. She couldn't be in this store anymore. She got in line so she could spend money she didn't have and go home.
It was evening before Meira got around to making the egg rolls. She was too angry at herself for expecting anything out of Jonathan and she couldn't bring herself to get started.
But since she'd already spent the money, she might as well make the food so it wouldn't be a total waste. When the sun started to go down, she made herself get up and put her heaviest frying pan onto the stove. She didn't have a wok so it would have to do.
She mixed the filling without paying attention to what she was doing. How much time she'd wasted wishing she'd run into him! It hadn't changed anything. How could she have thought it would? Just because she was sick and exhausted from missing him didn't mean he felt the same way. He'd broken up with her, after all, not the other way around.
She turned on the stove while she put dollops of filling into the wrappers and rolled them. The oil sizzled angrily when she tossed the first egg roll into it with a metal spoon.
She watched the egg rolls fry, her mind still half on what had happened earlier. A thought popped into her head from nowhere: He isn't worth it. She shook her head, but the thought repeated itself.
He really wasn't. They'd broken up because he couldn't accept her . . . not all of her. And he was happy just to move forward and forget her.
What was she doing thinking about him? She'd said during that last fight that she had to explore her feelings towards women. Holding onto her memories of him didn't help her find a girlfriend.