The Optimist

by Sophie Kipner

  ‘Mom,’ I said.

  She looked over at me with eyes so heavy her spine might have collapsed under the weight of them. I remembered what Ernesto told me all those years ago and how good it had made me feel. There I was again, wanting to encourage her and let her know that we were so close and that she was perfect and to not give up because it wasn’t her fault men couldn’t see how amazing she was. I was too young then to realize that my reassurance had no weight because I hadn’t found what she was looking for, either.

  ‘Your heart is like a Christmas tree,’ I told her. ‘Right now it doesn’t have any lights on and it seems sad and lonely, but soon you’re going to shine and sparkle. You’re going to have so much glitter and drip with so many love ornaments people are going to have to wear sunglasses to look at you.’

  ‘I’ll be that sparkly?’ she said, lighting up. ‘That bright?’

  Yep, I nodded. ‘You’re even going to need another outlet to plug all the fairy lights in.’

  She smiled and summoned me to join her on the couch, both our knees hugging our chests and our hearts and our bodies. I had forgotten about Ernesto and Carlos and about the past because the future was looking so good. We nestled into each other, tightly curled. Part of me hated that she was sad, but her needing my comfort warmed us both. Once she knew love again, in the way I was going to prove it to her, she’d want to be this close to me without a reason. I couldn’t wait for her not to need it. I couldn’t wait for her to want my attention, my love, just because.

  The Date

  When I was eighteen years old and in my senior year at Malibu High School, I completely ended my obsession with Mexicans. And it wasn’t just because of the men; it was because of the food.

  This was during the period of time when my mother dis­covered gin and started collecting a wide variety of birds, most of which were, unsurprisingly, lovebirds. She had birdcages all over the house; I think at one point there were about ten of them, each of which were busy with all sorts of singing and tweeting, imploring us, as my mother noted, to just ‘sing and fly’ away with them. I didn’t even need to see the writing on the wall; the bird shit was all over the floor.

  My mother asked me if I was going to go to prom; clearly she didn’t realize that the last thing I wanted to do was spend time with people my own age. Most women like older Ωmen, am I right? Younger men, or men my age, just lacked the wherewithal older men possessed. I tried to give them a chance but it just never felt right inside, where it’s supposed to. My sister married a guy her own age and, besides their adorably insane by-product, it didn’t end so sweetly.

  ‘I don’t know, baby,’ my mother said, brushing the hair out of her face with her shoulder because there were no hands free. She was full of bird. ‘I just feel that maybe going to prom is one of those things you do to mark the beginning of a new time. It’s partly ridiculous but I also think that the twee factor is quite alluring. You shouldn’t say no to things like that.’ She paused to whistle, watching the birds flit about. She’d let them fly around the house for a while during the afternoons as she’d throw back a Klonopin with a chaser of that newly beloved gin. And she wondered why no one ever came by anymore.

  This whistling as she worked invited the tale of Snow White to take hold. But instead of calming us, it just made the whole situation more chaotic. Whistling and flying birds in an enclosed space is a frightening combination. It was like living in Hitchcock’s The Birds. Ducking and weaving, like Ali, punching the air in fright, blocking shapes and shadows. ‘Maybe Milk could take you, as friends?’

  ‘Oh come on, Mom,’ I said. ‘First of all, yeah right. Second of all, no way. Third of all, he’s got a girlfriend or something, so I’m pretty sure he’s not available. Besides, I thought you’d hate the convention of prom and anything so expected.’

  ‘I do,’ she said, stopping to whistle as she dusted, a bird on her head and shoulder while another peeked out of her dressing gown, ‘but I also think you shouldn’t ever rule ­anything out.’ Again, very confusing advice to receive. No wonder I am the way I am. It’s as if I’ve had no choice. ‘Oh!’ she yelled, scaring off some birds into flight. ‘You and Bridget should go together. I loved going to dances with girlfriends. A real “fuck you” to society!’

  ‘Well, it’s not so risqué anymore, Mom,’ I said. ‘A lot of people go with friends.’

  ‘Whatever,’ she huffed, nuzzling a docile beak.

  I went into my room and shut the door, picked up the phone and called Bridget.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi Bridge!’ I said, hopeful. Eager, possibly too eager-sounding since I didn’t really care about prom anyway. It was definitely too conventional for me, but I just hated the thought of missing out. ‘Who are you going to prom with?’

  ‘Um,’ she started. ‘Jordan.’

  ‘I thought you broke up?’

  ‘Well, we’re back together. Are you going?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Was kind of hoping to go with you.’

  ‘I’ll see you there, though,’ she said. ‘It’s gonna be fun, but maybe it would be kind of awkward if you went alone?’

  The idea of getting dressed up to feel uncomfortable wasn’t my idea of an ideal night. I wanted a friend to go with but Bridget was taken already. I went downstairs and found my mother watching The X Files on TV too loudly.

  ‘I’m not going,’ I told her.

  ‘Why?’ she muttered. ‘Because you have no one to go with?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?’ Ugh. I hated it when she was right. She was only half listening because she loved David Duchovny and never could look away when he was talking. Sometimes she told me it was like he was talking to her. And she believed it.

  She stopped for a moment while Gillian Anderson was speaking and added, ‘I thought you loved dancing alone anyway. What’s the big deal?’

  ‘I do have some pride, you know,’ I said. ‘So annoying that Milk has a date. He never has dates and now when I need him, he’s busy. Typical!’

  My mom rolled her eyes as a commercial break came on, taking her out of her dream world with David.

  ‘If I were you,’ she started, ‘I’d go as a social experiment. See how people interacted, like you were a spy or something. A body language spy . . . how fun!’

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘that’s a great idea. That way I’m learning, and the best case situation, I meet an amazing guy in the parking lot who might happen to be walking by who needs a dance partner or something.’ In truth, I hated dancing alone because it reminded me of my mother after everyone left her parties. That’s partly why I’d always join in: I didn’t want her to be dancing by herself.

  ‘There we go!’ she yelped. ‘My baby, the optimist!’

  *

  On my way to the prom, I was so happy I pulled over at a little Mexican joint along Pacific Coast Highway. The dance was just up the road in Malibu, so I had time for a quick stop. I wouldn’t be eating all night so I needed to make sure I had sustenance to keep me going. I ordered three shrimp tacos with extra sauce because I love a little spice.

  Man, those tacos were really good, but not when you’re trying to be stealth, slithering across a lawn outside a community-center-turned-prom-destination with a bloated stomach. I felt like a fat James Bond.

  I wore a satin dress just in case I met someone wonderful, but since the dress was somewhat tight, I had no leeway to wiggle. It was like trying to mountain climb with my thighs taped together. A mermaid on land. They’re not prepared for that shit; carrying dead weight is a bitch. If I’d known how tough this was going to be, I would have started doing pushups a month earlier in preparation.

  I stopped just on top of a little grassy mound in view of the crowds inside. The community center was brand new, with huge glass windows all around so people could see the ocean, which of course was in my favor because what let them see out let me see in. A few boys in twelfth grade were drinking out of
brown paper bags off to the side. Younger boys might fool their chaperones but they certainly didn’t fool me!

  I saw Milk laughing with a group of friends, his hand on the back of his ‘date’ as if he were just being gentle but boy oh boy, he had no idea about body ­language. Zero seducing skills.

  Instead of getting annoyed, I realized that this was my first field study in body language, although clearly I already knew more than they did. I took out my binoculars from my purse to get a better look. Milk’s date was playing coy, laughing into her chest like she lost something in her cleavage. Everyone was clueless.

  Taking in the gestures around the room, I realized that not everyone was touching his date so tenderly as Milk had been. Some were eating each other’s faces; some looked (and it could just be because they were far away) as if they were eating each other’s hair. But for the most part, I watched ­couples slow dancing at arms’ length, as if syphilis could be caught from a pant leg. I watched as others dirty danced like they were Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. I witnessed K-Ci & JoJo making even the hardest people soft with their song ‘All My Life.’ The cold ocean air highlighted the drool that was falling out of my mouth. There was so much, I must have been slobbering for a while. I hated it when that happened; I was such a goddamned hopeless romantic.

  Body language is a peculiar thing to study. Most of my subjects were pulling all sorts of weird tricks out of their hats. They did things such as stroking backs, like Milk did to his date, tossing hair over shoulders, giving each other evil eyes – thinking that was sexy, laughing when everyone else laughed, crossing legs, uncrossing legs, pretending to be Sharon Stone in Fatal Attraction. How ridiculous. Apparently, I was the only one who knew how to flirt and they all needed a bit of a lesson.

  My study was then violently interrupted when a gurgle came from where my Mexican food had made its home. It boiled inside for a while, painfully moving around, pushing air pockets. Making waves. I gasped as each gurgle settled into the lower part of my stomach. Silence. Phew. Then: my abs tightened and all at once I knew I had to find a toilet. Oh shit. Literally.

  With all my strength I held onto myself, my insides, and hobbled across the grassy lawn, past brown-bag-drinking seniors, through congregating chatty Cathys, through the ­raucousness that is the high-school prom, to the bathroom. There was only one restroom. Fuck.

  I waited outside the occupied toilet for a moment. Flush. Water. Dryer. Open. I ran in, accidentally pushing the guy on his way out and shut the door before anyone else could see me, hoping for a quick visit and swift return to the mound from where I left. But the minute I pulled up my dress, I realized my return wouldn’t be so fast. All of my insides felt like they fled me at once. How did this happen? Why now? Oh yes, I know why. Tacos. Not just any tacos: shrimp tacos. Not just one, but three. And not just any sauce: spicy sauce. Very spicy sauce.

  I could hear people start to gather outside the door. Some knocked. I heard a lot of ‘Someone’s been in there for-ever!’ and ‘Come on, I gotta piss!’ I’d say those were the nicest comments. I kept flushing the toilet to try to swallow up the sounds as food poisoning took a nasty, crippling hold on me. Drained me. Again, literally.

  Every time I thought I was finished and stood up to pull my dress down, thinking the worst was over, that I was okay, that it had all passed, my body betrayed me and I was right back down, dress up. Dying. I looked at my watch and realized I’d been in there for about thirty minutes. I desperately tried to clench, stay taut, but I couldn’t. I was sweating from feeling sick and hot and embarrassed and stressed that everyone was knocking on the door, waiting, anticipating. Sweat from dreading the moment I walked out and everyone saw who had clogged up the only toilet at prom. A prom I wasn’t even officially at.

  Another knock. ‘Are you okay?’ a voice said. I think it was a teacher. Someone had called the adults in. It was serious. Anger was building. Bubbling. About to burst. ‘Do you need help? You’ve been in there a while.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I replied, but flushed the toilet again as I said it, drowning me out. I hoped that the flush would dissolve the smell too. I was so panicked, looking around for a way out. I had to escape. I was too ashamed for everyone to know it was me in there.

  I spotted a small window behind me, pulled myself away from the toilet seat as fast as I could before another pang attacked me, and jumped up in my dress to the window as my legs dangled. Holding onto the window ledge with all my strength, my legs searched blindly below for something to help hoist myself up. I was halfway through the window before I realized I was stuck, half in, half out, like a turtle’s head querying from its shell, when my stomach began again to rumble.

  There I was: trapped, halfway through a window in a bathroom, in a prom dress, sweltering in a vicious battle with food-poisoning-induced diarrhea, exhausted, when I looked up and saw Milk, drinking a beer in the back of the building. His mother had just been diagnosed with cancer, so he was drinking a little bit more. You become cavalier about life when you realize it doesn’t make sense anyway.

  ‘Tabby?’ he asked, confused but tender.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, still halfway out, as if it were no big deal.

  ‘I know you like to do things your own way, but the door might be an easier way to get out.’

  He walked over to me, staring, hands on his hips. I could tell he smelt what I smelt, but he didn’t turn his nose up.

  ‘I’m stuck,’ I confessed, ‘and I have a very upset stomach. ­Everyone’s been waiting for the bathroom for like an hour. I can’t go out the door. It’s really bad, Milk.’

  He leaned in a bit and reached out his hand as the door was now being kicked.

  ‘This is bullshit!’ some girl yelled.

  ‘Come on,’ he said as he pulled me through the window. It wasn’t what one would call a graceful exit. ‘I’ll drive you home quickly.’

  ‘But what about your date?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute. She won’t even notice I’m gone.’

  I fluffed my hair, as if that helped, as I gathered myself into an upright position. Milk told me to hold on a second as he walked around the building and into the main room. I ­followed in his shadow, sneaking around the side of the walls, so I could get a look at what he was doing.

  When I peeked around the corner, trying to stay out of sight, I saw a horde of people standing outside the toilet. The door still shut. Locked. Milk walked right through them, gently pushing them to the side, and kicked the door wide open to an empty room. A Tabby-free toilet.

  ‘No one’s been in there, guys. It must have been locked accidentally from the inside,’ he said, gesturing forward. ‘It’s all yours now.’ Everyone was confused.

  I saw him go up to his date, and whisper into her ear. I wondered what he was saying. I felt so stupid, too self-aware for my own good. He had to save me from myself; the worst feeling ever. I could barely look at him anymore.

  He changed the subject as soon as we got in the car.

  ‘So you like her?’ I asked him. ‘I’m sorry you had to leave her to help me. It’s prom. You’ll miss out.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I’m not missing anything. And honestly, it’s just a school dance. I can’t wait to be done with high school.’

  ‘Well, I owe you,’ I said, looking down, wanting to crawl under the car seat and hide. ‘Hey, are you okay to drive?’

  ‘Yeah, I just had one beer.’ He looked over at me for a second.

  ‘Get your eyes back on the road!’ I screamed, pointing. Smiling. Relieved I was out of there. Still woozy.

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Tony’s Taco Shack happened,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, man.’ He laughed and reached over to comfort me but ended up just messing my hair around. ‘The worst is over.’

  Milk stopped by the drugstore on the way back to my house and picked me up a bottle of Pepto-Bismol while I ran inside to use their toilet. I couldn’t even hold it until I got home. It was t
hat bad. He never mentioned how he opened the door from the outside to show the others no one was in there. He never mentioned how he covered for me, got me out of Dodge. Helped me to save face without anyone else finding out. The only problem was that even though no one else knew, he knew.

  ‘Thanks, Milk,’ I said as I skulked out of his car. ‘Are you going back?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, his cheeks lifting into that smile. ‘It wouldn’t be very nice of me to leave Heather alone at prom. I’ll call you in the morning to check on you.’

  As he drove off, I felt an unnervingly empty feeling. It shook me, the thought of wanting Milk to stay. The thought of being sad he’d gone back to take care of someone else. Did I have a crush on Milk? I imagined kissing him and shook my head, no. Shivers. It felt weird, because he was my friend. He was little Milk. It was strange, though; I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  The front door was unlocked and I caught my mom coddling and cosseting one of her many birds. I hated seeing her at home on a Saturday night. I wanted to walk in and find her gone, happy.

  ‘You’ve chosen birds over beards,’ I said.

  ‘Birds are safer,’ she told me. She didn’t believe it really. The minute a good beard walked into her life, though, she’d change her mind. That is, until he’d change his and she’d be back to birds again. And gin. And wine.

  My stomach rumbled and I buckled over.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she said casually, sort of examining me, sort of paying attention, but not really.

  ‘The most embarrassing thing happened tonight,’ I said, holding my stomach, still in my prom dress.

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ she started, forgetting why I was out, ‘and how’d it go? Learn anything about body language?’

  ‘I learned to never eat Mexican food before getting into a tight outfit, especially shrimp tacos.’

  ‘Oh, but they’re so good!’

  ‘Mom! It was really, really, really embarrassing because there was only one toilet and I was in there forever. People were pounding on the door and could hear everything. Milk saved me and drove me home.’