by Judy Blume
What a sickening letter! No wonder my father was mad. It didn’t even mention him.
I handed the letter back to my father, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t know what I was supposed to say.
“They’re coming on April fifth,” my father said.
“Oh, then I won’t see them after all,” I said, brightening. “I leave for Florida on the fourth.”
My mother looked at my father.
“Well,” I said. “Isn’t that right? I leave for Florida on the fourth!”
They still didn’t say anything and after a minute I knew—I knew I wasn’t going to Florida! And then I had plenty to say. Plenty!
“I don’t want to see them,” I shouted. “It isn’t fair! I want to go to Florida and stay with Grandma. Daddy—please!”
“Don’t look at me,” my father said quietly. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t send them a Christmas card.”
“Mom!” I cried. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t! It’s not fair—it’s not!” I hated my mother. I really did. She was so stupid. What did she have to go and send them a dumb old card for!
“Come on, Margaret. It’s not the end of the world,” my mother said, putting her arm around me. “You’ll go to Florida another time.”
I wriggled away from her as my father said, “Somebody better call Sylvia and tell her the change in plans.”
“I’ll put the call through and Margaret can tell her now,” my mother said.
“Oh no!” I shouted. “You tell her. It’s not my idea!”
“All right,” my mother said quietly. “All right, I will.”
I followed my parents into their bedroom. My mother picked up the phone and placed a person-to-person call to Grandma at her hotel. After a few minutes she said, “Hello, Sylvia … It’s Barbara.… Nothing’s wrong.… Everything’s fine.… Yes, really.… Of course I’m sure.… It’s just that Margaret won’t be able to visit you after all.… Of course she’s here … she’s standing right next to me.… Yes, you can talk to her.…”
My mother held the phone out toward me. But I shook my head and refused to take it. So she covered the mouthpiece and whispered, “Grandma thinks you’re sick. You’ve got to tell her you’re all right.”
I took the phone. “Grandma,” I said, “it’s Margaret.”
I heard Grandma catch her breath.
“Nothing’s wrong, Grandma.… No, I’m not sick.… Nobody’s sick.… Of course I’m sure.… But I do want to come, Grandma. I just can’t.” I felt the tears in my eyes. My throat hurt when I swallowed. My mother motioned for me to tell Grandma the rest of the story. “I can’t come to Florida because we’re having company that week.” Now my voice sounded very high and squeaky.
Grandma asked me, what company?
“My other grandparents,” I said. “You know, Mom’s mother and father.… Nobody invited them exactly … but Mom sent them a Christmas card with our new address and now we got a letter saying they’re coming and they want to see me.… Well, I know you want to see me too. And I want to see you but Mom won’t let me.…”
Then I started to cry for real and my mother took the phone.
“We’re all sorry, Sylvia. It’s just one of those things. Margaret understands. I hope you do too. Thank you, Sylvia. I knew you would.… Yes, Herb’s fine. I’ll put him on. Just a minute.” I ran upstairs while my father said, “Hello, mother.”
Are you there God? It’s me, Margaret. I’m so miserable! Everything is wrong. Absolutely everything! I guess this is my punishment for being a horrible person. I guess you think it’s only fair for me to suffer after what I did to Laura. Isn’t that right God? But I’ve always tried to do what you wanted. Really, I have. Please don’t let them come God. Make something happen so I can go to Florida anyway. Please …
21
That week my mother went crazy cleaning the house, while I waited for something to happen. I thought it would be a telegram saying they weren’t able to come after all. I was sure God only wanted to punish me for a little while. Not for the whole spring vacation.
“Cheer up, Margaret,” my mother said over dinner. “Things are never as bad as they seem.”
“How can you be glad they’re coming?” I asked. “After all those stories you’ve told me about them—how?”
“I want to show them how well I’ve managed for fourteen years without their help. And I want them to see my wonderful family.”
My father said, “You can’t expect Margaret to be overjoyed when her plans have been changed at the last minute.”
“Look, Herb,” my mother said. “I haven’t forgiven my parents. You know that. I never will. But they’re coming. I can’t say no. Try to understand … both of you … please.”
My mother hadn’t ever asked me to do that before. Usually it was me asking her to try to understand.
My father kissed her on the cheek as she cleared away the dishes. He promised to make the best of it. I promised too. My mother kissed us both and said she had the best family in the world.
On April fifth my mother and I drove to Newark Airport to meet them. My father didn’t come. He thought it would be better if he stayed at home and greeted them there.
All the way to the airport my mother briefed me. “Margaret, I’m not trying to make excuses for my mother and father. But I want you to know that your grandparents have their beliefs too. And fourteen years ago … well … they did what they thought was right. Even though we know it was cruel. Their beliefs were that important to them. Am I making any sense to you?”
“Some,” I said.
When they announced the arrival of flight #894 from Toledo I followed my mother to the gate. I knew it was them right away. I knew it by the way they walked down the airplane stairs, clutching each other. And when they got closer I knew it by my grandmother’s shoes—black with laces and fat heels—old lady shoes. My grandfather had white hair around the edges and none on top. He was shorter and fatter than my grandmother.
They looked around a bit before my mother called out, “Here we are—over here.”
They walked toward us, growing more excited as they recognized my mother. She gave each of them a short hug. I just stood there feeling dumb until my grandmother said, “And this must be Margaret Ann.” When she said it I noticed the cross around her neck. It was the biggest one I ever saw. And it sparkled!
I didn’t want them to touch me. And maybe they could tell, because when my grandmother bent over, as if to kiss me, I stiffened. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.
I think my mother knew how I felt because she told them we’d better see about the luggage.
When we got home my father met us at our front door and carried in their suitcases. They had two of them. Both brown and both new.
“Hello, Herb,” my grandmother said.
“Hello, Mrs. Hutchins,” my father answered.
I thought how funny it was for my father to call her “Mrs.”
My grandfather shook hands with my father. “You’re looking well, Herb,” he said.
My father pressed his lips together but finally managed to say, “Thank you.”
I thought, this is harder on my father than it is on me!
My mother and I showed my grandparents to their room. Then my mother went down to see about dinner. I said, “If there’s anything you need, just ask me.”
“Thank you, Margaret Ann,” my grandmother said. She had a funny way of scrunching up her mouth.
“You don’t have to call me Margaret Ann,” I said. “Nobody does. Just Margaret is fine.”
My mother really made a fancy dinner. The kind she has when she’s entertaining friends and I’m sent to bed early. We had flowers on the table and a hired lady to wash the dishes.
My mother changed into a new dress and her hair looked nice too. She didn’t look like her parents at all. My grandmother changed her dress too, but she still had the cross around her neck.
At dinner we all tried hard to have a co
nversation. My mother and my grandmother talked about old friends from Ohio and who was doing what these days. My grandfather said mostly, “Please pass the butter … please pass the salt.”
Naturally I used my best possible manners. In the middle of the roast beef course my grandfather knocked over his water glass and my grandmother gave him a sharp look, but my mother said water couldn’t possibly hurt anything. The lady from the kitchen wiped it up.
During dessert my mother explained to my grandparents that she had just ordered all new living room furniture and she was sorry they wouldn’t be able to see it. I knew she hadn’t ordered anything yet, but I didn’t tell.
After dinner we sat around in the den and my grandfather asked my father such questions as:
GRANDFATHER: “Are you still in the insurance business?”
FATHER: “Yes.”
GRANDFATHER: “Do you invest in the stock market?”
FATHER: “Occasionally.”
GRANDFATHER: “This is a pretty nice house.”
FATHER: “Thank you. We think so too.”
While my grandmother talked to my mother about:
GRANDMOTHER: “We were in California over Thanksgiving.”
MOTHER: “Oh?”
GRANDMOTHER: “Yes, your brother has a wonderful wife.”
MOTHER: “I’m glad.”
GRANDMOTHER: “If only they were blessed with a child. You know, they’re thinking of adopting.”
MOTHER: “I hope they do. Everyone should have a child to love.”
GRANDMOTHER: “Yes, I know.… I’ve always wanted dozens of grandchildren, but Margaret’s all I’ve got.”
Then my mother excused herself to pay the lady in the kitchen, who signaled that her taxi was waiting out front. So my grandmother turned to me.
“Do you like school?” she asked.
“Most of the time,” I said.
“Do you get good marks?”
“Pretty good,” I said.
“How do you do in Sunday school?”
My mother came back into the den then and sat down next to me.
“I don’t go to Sunday school,” I said.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Father … (That’s what Grandmother called Grandfather. He called her “Mother.”)
“What is it, Mother?” Grandfather said.
“Margaret doesn’t go to Sunday school.” Grandmother shook her head and played with her cross.
“Look,” my mother said, trying a smile. “You know we don’t practice any religion.”
Here it comes, I thought. I wanted to leave the room then but I felt like I was glued to my seat.
“We hoped by now you’d changed your minds about religion,” Grandfather said.
“Especially for Margaret’s sake,” Grandmother added. “A person’s got to have religion.”
“Let’s not get into a philosophical discussion,” my father said, annoyed. He sent my mother a warning look across the room.
Grandfather laughed. “I’m not being a philosopher, Herb.”
“Look,” my mother explained, “we’re letting Margaret choose her own religion when she’s grown.”
“If she wants to!” my father said, defiantly.
“Nonsense!” Grandmother said. “A person doesn’t choose religion.”
“A person’s born to it!” Grandfather boomed.
Grandmother smiled at last and gave a small laugh. “So Margaret is Christian!” she announced, like we all should have known.
“Please …” my mother said. “Margaret could just as easily be Jewish. Don’t you see—if you keep this up you’re going to spoil everything.”
“I don’t mean to upset you, dear,” Grandmother told my mother. “But a child is always the religion of the mother. And you, Barbara, were born Christian. You were baptized. It’s that simple.”
“Margaret is nothing!” my father stormed. “And I’ll thank you for ending this discussion right now.”
I didn’t want to listen anymore. How could they talk that way in front of me! Didn’t they know I was a real person—with feelings of my own!
“Margaret,” Grandmother said, touching my sleeve. “It’s not too late for you, dear. You’re still God’s child. Maybe while I’m visiting I could take you to church and talk to the minister. He might be able to straighten things out.”
“Stop it!” I hollered, jumping up. “All of you! Just stop it! I can’t stand another minute of listening to you. Who needs religion? Who! Not me … I don’t need it. I don’t even need God!” I ran out of the den and up to my room.
I heard my mother say, “Why did you have to start? Now you’ve ruined everything!”
I was never going to talk to God again. What did he want from me anyway? I was through with him and his religions! And I was never going to set foot in the Y or the Jewish Community Center—never.
22
The next morning I stayed in my room. I wouldn’t even go down for breakfast. I caught myself starting to say, Are you there God, but then I remembered that I wasn’t talking to him anymore. I wondered if he would strike me down. Well, if he wanted to, that was his business!
By afternoon I couldn’t stand being in the house, so I asked my mother to drive me downtown to meet Janie for a movie. My mother agreed that I needed to get away for a few hours. Janie and I met at the drugstore on the corner, across the street from the movie theater. We were twenty minutes early so we went into the drugstore to look around. Mostly we liked to inspect the sanitary napkin display.
After a few minutes of looking, I whispered to Janie, “Let’s buy a box.” It was something I’d thought about for a while, but wasn’t ever brave enough to do. Today I was feeling brave. I thought, so what if God’s mad at me. Who cares? I even tested him by crossing the street in the middle and against the light. Nothing happened.
“Buy it for what?” Janie asked.
“Just in case,” I told her.
“You mean to keep at home?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I don’t know. My mother might not like it,” Janie said.
“So don’t tell her.”
“But what if she sees it?”
“It’ll be in a bag. You can say it’s school supplies,” I said. “Do you have enough money?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Now, what kind should we buy?” I asked.
“How about Teenage Softies?” Janie said. “That’s the kind Gretchen uses.”
“Okay.” I took a box of Teenage Softies off the shelf. “Well, go ahead,” I said to Janie. “Take yours.”
“Okay, okay.” Janie took a box too.
I also grabbed a purple pocket comb to make it look like we were really shopping.
We walked to the check-out counter with our stuff and walked away just as fast when we saw that there was a boy behind the cash register.
“I can’t go through with it,” Janie whispered. She put her box back on the shelf. “I’m scared.”
“Don’t be a dope. What’s to be …” I was interrupted by a saleslady in a blue doctor’s coat.
“Can I help you, girls?” she asked.
Janie shook her head but I said, “We’d like these please.” I took Janie’s box back off the shelf and showed the saleslady what we’d selected.
“Fine, girls. Take them up to the cash register and Max will wrap them for you.”
Janie didn’t move. She looked like she was cemented to the floor. She had this dumb expression on her face—between crying and smiling. So I grabbed her box and headed for Max and the cash register. I plopped everything down in front of him and just stood there not looking at his face and not saying anything either. He added it all up and I motioned to Janie to give me her money. Then I said, “Two bags, please.” Max took my money, gave me some change, which I didn’t bother to count, and presented me with two brown bags. That was all there was to it! You’d think he sold that kind of stuff every day of the week.
I said, “School supplies.”
I went to my room with my purchases. I sat down on my bed staring at the box of Teenage Softies. I hoped God was watching. Let him see I could get along fine without him! I opened the box and took out one pad. I held it for a long time.
Finally I got up and went to my closet. It was dark in there. Especially with the door closed. I wished I had a huge walk-in closet with a light and a lock. But I managed anyway. I stuck the pad between my legs, then pulled up my underpants. I wanted to find out how it would feel. Now I knew. I liked it. I thought about sleeping with my pad that night, but decided against it. If there was a fire my secret might be discovered. So I took it out, put it back in its box and hid it in my bottom desk drawer. My mother never checks there because the mess makes her positively sick!
The next morning my grandparents announced they were moving on to New York.
“You told me a week!” my mother said. “You said you were coming for a week!”
“We did say that,” my grandfather told her. “But we’ve decided to spend the rest of the week in New York, at a hotel.”
“I see,” my mother said.
My father hid behind his newspaper but I saw the big smile. All I could think of was that they ruined my trip to Florida and now they weren’t even staying. It wasn’t fair! It was really a cheat!
When my mother got back from driving them to the bus my father said, “How much do you want to bet it was a trip to New York all the time. They just stopped in to see you because it was convenient.”
“I don’t believe that!” my mother said.
“Well, I believe it,” my father said.
“They ruined my vacation,” I said.
Nobody answered me.
23
That night the doorbell rang at eight. We were in the den. I said I’d see who was there. I opened the front door.
“Grandma!” I screamed. I threw my arms around her. “What are you doing home?”
“If Mohammed doesn’t come to the mountain—the mountain comes to Mohammed.”