michael leviton


My ex-friend Hillary had been driving her father’s car so she’d adjusted the rearview mirror appropriately for her height. They were going out to dinner that night. The family got in the car and her father, in the driver’s seat, sighed like someone had done something horribly stupid. "Hillary," he said, "The rear view mirror is pointing at the ground. You can’t drive like this. You need to use the rear view mirror, Hillary."

"But the mirror doesn’t point to the ground for me. I’m not as tall as you," she replied.

"Hillary," he said, "It’s just not safe."

This summer, my younger sister fought harder with my mother than I’d ever seen. It was upsetting to witness so I went upstairs to try and call my friend Noa. I was in a paranoid state where I thought she didn’t want to speak to me anymore. I believed this because we hadn’t spoken in a while and we used to talk all the time. I called Noa’s mother to ask for her current phone number. I told Noa’s mother I thought perhaps Noa didn’t want to talk to me any more. "Well, you’re not the only one," she said. "Noa hangs up on me every time I call her. I’ve had enough. She’s not my daughter anymore." She gave me the phone number and sadly hung up. I felt that all the daughters in the world had suddenly declared war on their mothers and it bothered me so much I went to sleep. 

I used to have to talk to Noa really late at night because of some rule of her mother’s she never explained to me. Back then, Noa always whispered on the phone. Sometimes she’d suddenly stop in the middle of whatever she was saying and shout, "Oh, Mom, I’ve only been on for a minute." Then I’d hear indecipherable
screaming followed by a dial tone. 

Noa’s mother went to Noa’s elementary school when Noa was in first grade and told the principal that her daughter wouldn’t be allowed to do homework anymore.

"But she has to do her homework or she won’t be ready for junior high," the principal said.

"Well, we’re a no homework family," Noa’s mother replied. "Either she’ll get all her work done during school or she’ll take days off to do it. She works for hours and hours at home. I don’t get to spend time with her. So, from now on we’re a no homework family."

Noa’s mother decided that she wanted a child once while painting. She was painting without really paying attention to what she was making. In the end, she’d drawn a pregnant woman with a turtle in her belly. So, she decided it was time to have a baby. She called up an old boyfriend and asked if he’d be the father of the child
without raising it. The old boyfriend decided that was okay and Noa was born.

My ex-friend Daniel’s Dad used to tell Daniel to bring home hot girlfriends so he could masturbate thinking about them. He told Daniel that, when it came down to it, all he really wanted to do was get stoned and watch porno movies. Often when people spoke about things they valued or things they wanted someday to do, Daniel
would tell them what his father wanted out of the world. For him, that always ended the conversation.

My friend Alexis never knew her father. He left when she was a baby. Then once in high school, she had a dream she called him and talked to him. When she awoke, she still remembered the number. She dialed it and her father answered. 

One afternoon this summer, my mother knocked on my door and asked if I wanted to read the journal she’d kept when I was a baby. She told me a lot of it would probably be boring. After she left the room, I opened it and found that it was addressed to me. It started with "Dear Michael". It wasn’t like a journal but like a letter
to me. Inside, it said that she’d written it for me just in case she died so I’d know how she felt about me. It started a couple weeks after I was born. It’s so incredibly moving to read. I brought it with me to school to read in times when I need a catharsis. It’s not only intense to read about how loved I was as a baby but just to read about what I was like in general. It says when my Mom put me on the floor, I’d turn over on my stomach and crawl a few inches and then cry to be put back in my original place. She says I would cry unless she was holding me so I’d just lie on her lap and she’d talk to me all day as if I understood everything she said. In the book, my mother says over and over that she can’t wait until I can really understand her, that she can’t wait for me to tell her things back so she can know me.