by Mary Hogan
“Are you in my class?” Mr Tilden asked.
I nodded. Handed him my note from the nurse. He read it, nodded himself, then looked at me with pity. To make matters worse, Mr Tilden gently put his arm on my back and led me to a desk like I was an invalid. To make matters the worst they could possibly be, he said, “Brian, could you please get up and give Elizabeth your desk?”
“It’s Libby,” I squeaked. But I’m sure no one heard because Brian, some grubby-looking guy in the front row, groaned and said, “I thought gimps go in the back.”
EIGHTEEN
Nana walked Rif to the front gate of Sunset Park the next morning. I stayed home. I blinked a lot and told Mom I had a horrific headache, blurred vision, and dizziness. None of it was true, of course. But, man, I deserved a day off. Maybe the whole semester. Enduring the first day at my new high school dressed like a suburban mom with a giant white turban on her forehead was more than any fourteen-year-old should be required to bear.
My first day had been one humiliation after another. Barbara Carver was the only person who said a word to me all day. And, like some demented sports announcer, she ran the instant replay reel over and over.
“. and there you were, splat, in the gutter! You passed out! Splat!”
I felt like a virus spreading through campus. As I moved towards groups of giggling kids, they clammed up, looked away, melted off. No one wanted to get near me. Like they might catch me or something.
“. and there was blood on the sidewalk and everything!” squealed Barbara. “Spalat! ”
“I’ll make chicken soup,” Nana declared, once she heard I was staying home from school.
“Hmm?” Mom wasn’t paying attention because she had a job interview at Wal-Mart, and Dad, bizarrely, decided to spend his day on the couch watching soap operas in Spanish.
“Ella tiene una problema con su espina.”
“¡No!”
“Si. No tiene sensibilidad en sus piernas.”
“¡No!”
“Si.”
Just when you think your family can’t get any weirder.
So Nana scuttled off to her kitchen, Mom waddled to the bathroom to varnish her hair with hair spray, and Dad reached his arm up from the couch to open the refrigerator and pull out a six-pack of cola.
“I’m feeling a little less dizzy,” I said, though no one even came close to caring.
Since I knew Nana’s chicken soup would begin with an actual chicken, I figured I had a least half an hour before anyone noticed whether I was dead or alive. I decided to take a walk, work off a few extra calories so I could eat a noodle or two. All the kids would be at school; I wouldn’t “infect” anyone.
Reading my mind, Juan Dog stared hopefully in my direction, licking his tiny lips.
“Okay, you can come.”
Thrilled, Juan Dog leaped off Dad’s lap and ran to my feet.
“I’m taking Juan for a walk, Dad.”
“Bueno.” His eyes never left the tube.
Stifling hot air swallowed me up the moment I stepped into the glaring Barstow sun. I lowered Juan Dog to the pavement and watched him sniff and hop around, his tiny feet scorched by the scalding cement.
“You asked for it,” I said.
My forehead was already sweating into my bandage. My lungs even felt hot. But soon, as before, the dry heat felt good. It calmed me, in spite of myself.
“Get your head wet, Gracie!”
A female voice floated on the air as Juan and I passed Eden Way on the way to the pool.
“The water isn’t going to bite you, Gracie!”
The same two old women I’d seen the last time were there. Charlotte was wearing her signature straw hat; Mim’s skin still rippled like cake batter. They were both standing at the edge of the pool shouting to another old woman who doggypaddled her way through the deep end, the rubber flowers on her bathing cap flapping with each pawing stroke. “Stick your head in and swim, for heaven’s sake!”
Gracie continued bobbing; Charlotte and Mim kept yelling at her. “Your head! Dunk it!” As I quietly circled around the fence to the other end of the pool area, I saw an old man in a wheelchair parked near the shallow-end steps, clapping his hands together and grinning. His smile was all gums.
Yip!
“Shhh, Juan.”
Yip, yip! Excited by the action, Juan Dog barked again. Yip!
Charlotte jerked her head up and shrieked. “It’s the grandchild and the puppy!” She trudged over, swung open the gate, and flagged me in.
“Got your suit on?” she asked.
“No, I was just taking a walk,” I said.
“Nonsense! Get in here.”
“What’s that on your forehead?” Gracie shouted from the side of the pool.
I shouted back, “A bandage. I fell.”
“Concussion?” she asked.
“No,” I said. Gracie shrugged and resumed doggy-paddling.
Mim called from the far end of the pool. “Did you bring your swimsuit?”
“Um, no.”
“That’s okay. I have an extra in my locker.” She turned and lumbered into the rec room.
“No . thanks . really . ”
Charlotte said, “I’ll mind the little one while you swim.” Then she snatched Juan right out of my arms. Startled, I warned again, “He doesn’t like strangers.” But just as he’d done with Mim before, Juan nestled his little head into the drape of flesh beneath Charlotte’s chin and went right to sleep.
“Well, he sure likes me,” she sniffed. I felt betrayed. The little runt.
“Here it is!” Mim sang, returning poolside dangling a turquoise-and-orange flowered one-piece that was obviously several sizes too big for me, not to mention too hideous to wear.
“I don’t really swim,” I said lamely.
“Nonsense!” said Charlotte.
“There’s nothing to it,” Gracie called from the pool. To prove it, she pushed off from the edge and took a full ten minutes to reach the other side. The old man in the wheelchair clapped and made weird smacking noises with his gums.
“It oughta fit you just fine.” Mim held the bathing suit up and squinted. Apparently she was blind, or in major denial about her size. “You’re welcome to borrow it.”
“And the pool’s just been cleaned,” Charlotte added, stroking Juan’s head and murmuring, “there, there.” Juan was softly snoring like a little sewing machine. Rat, tat, tat.
“Thanks, but I was just exploring.”
“Why not explore the deep end?” Gracie shoved off again and doggy-paddled across. The old man clapped again.
“As soon as school lets out, I was hoping to find some kids my age.”
Charlotte, Mim, and Gracie glanced at each other then exploded in laughter. “Kids her age!” The man in the wheelchair erupted in a silent, toothless laugh.
“Or college age,” I mumbled, trying to sound mature. That made them laugh even harder.
“Hon, this is a retirement home,” said Charlotte.
Despite the heat, my insides froze. Strangely, the lapping of the water became louder than Charlotte’s voice. Still, I heard her repeat “A retirement home.” It echoed in deep slow motion: Re . ti . er . ment . hooommme.
Gracie offered helpfully, “Irene what’s-her-name on Paradise Way is only sixty-two.”
“A retirement home?”
“Didn’t your grandmother tell you?”
“A retir—”
“The only reason they let you live here is because your grandma built this rec centre.”
Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
“She invested almost all of your grandpa’s life insurance money right here in Sunset Park!”
“Last year, we added a DVD theatre!” Gracie yelled from the pool.
Charlotte said, “Your grandmother helped make Sunset Park one of the most desirable mobile retirement homes in the area. There’s a waiting list a mile long.”
“Some of us simply refuse to expire.” Gracie gig
gled.
“They squeezed your family in at the head of the line.”
Stunned, I tried to move but couldn’t.
Charlotte said, “Why not take a dip, hon? Like I said, the pool’s just been cleaned.”
“This suit oughta fit you just fine,” Mim repeated, shoving it into my hands.
In a surge of desperate energy, I crammed the bathing suit under my arm, yanked Juan Dog from Charlotte’s chins, and bolted for the gate.
Gracie yelled after me. “Look! I can dunk my head!”
The gate slammed shut behind me. The last thing I heard was Charlotte shouting, “No running around the pool!”
NINETEEN
I staged a hunger strike. It was the only way I could protest forcefully enough. Slowly, I’d waste away. Nourishment would pass these lips only when my parents restored the life they stole from me. I’d stop the secrets and lies right here, right now.
On the outside of my slammed bedroom door, I posted a sign that read NO FOOD. NO WATER. NO VISITORS. To my astonishment, everyone obeyed. I lay there for hours. It was the first time my family ever did what I asked them to do. Nana didn’t even attempt to deliver her promised chicken soup.
Just before noon, Mom poked her head in. About time, I thought.
“Guess what?” she said.
“What?” I asked indignantly.
“I got a job! I start tomorrow! The jewellery counter. Can you believe it? It’s the best department in Wal-Mart. They have a new shipment of cubic zirconia coming in. Guess who is in charge of arranging the display case.”
“Congratulations,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Thanks, sweetie. You sure you don’t want anything to eat or drink?”
Defiantly I stated, “Yes. I’m absolutely sure. No way am I eating a single solitary bite or drinking a sip.”
“Okay, then. I’m off to get a manicure. I want my nails to look perfect when I show customers our new line.”
Mom left and I fell back on my bed. What was wrong with these people? What good is a hunger strike if no one notices?
Feeling utterly powerless, I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances: I waited until I heard the screen door close behind my mother’s rear end, and I snuck in the living room to find the cell phone Dad had hidden. Our regular phone wasn’t installed yet, and, in retaliation for his forced sobriety, Dad had forbidden us from using his cell.
“We’re a family,” he’d said. “We’ll suffer together.”
Finding his phone was a piece of cake. Spanish soap operas blared on the television. Dad was asleep and snoring on the couch, an empty cola can rising and falling atop his rounded gut. I tiptoed into my parents’ bedroom and searched through Dad’s dresser. Bingo. I found his phone in five minutes flat.
“Nadine?” The moment I knew school was out and her cell was on, I dialled my best friend’s number.
“Libby!” she screamed. “How are you?”
“Life sucks,” I said, borrowing a phrase from my brother.
As I was taking a breath to fill Nadine in on all the hideous details of my hideous new life, she said, “I miss you so much! I’ve been dying to talk to you! Thank God you have a phone. What’s your new number?”
Before I could take a breath, she was off and babbling again. “Curtis and his older brother and I went to Zuma Beach Monday after school and it was so cool. The sun was hot and Curtis looked even hotter in his wetsuit. I so wish you were there. He surfs! Did you know that?”
“No, uh—”
“School is a nightmare without you. My whole day is dismal. How’s your new school? Fernando High is exactly the same old drag.”
“You think Fernando is a drag,” I began.
“Just a minute!” I heard Nadine shout to someone, then to me she said, “I can’t believe this! I have to go. My ride is here. Paige’s mom is dropping us off at the mall.”
“Paige?” My heart fell to the floor.
“You remember Paige Dalton? She’s great. You’d like her.”
Paige Dalton was a cheerleader. Paige was friends with Carrie Taylor. How had my best friend become friends with Paige Dalton in less than a week?
“Paige is friends with Curtis. That’s how we met.”
Ah.
“Can I call you later?” Nadine asked, obviously impatient to get off the phone. “What’s your new number?”
“We don’t have a phone yet. I’ll call you.”
“Oh, Libby. I miss you so much.”
“I miss you too, Na—”
“I’m coming!” Nadine hollered to the gaggle of girls I could hear in the background.
“I have to go, too,” I said loudly. “My friend Barbara Carver is showing me around Barstow tonight.”
There. That’ll get her.
“Awesome,” Nadine said sincerely. “When we get our driver’s licences, we can all hang out.”
I tried not to feel the sting. I could hear Nadine climbing into Paige Dalton’s mother’s car. Digging my fingernails into the hard plastic of the phone, I said, “Our new house is amazing. There are lots of cool kids around here, too. They hang out at this old landmark McDonald’s in a bunch of railroad cars. You have to see it. It’s awesome. And my school, well, there’s so much going on I don’t know when I’ll have the time to do homework.”
“Wow, Libby. I thought you said your life sucks.”
“Yeah, well, that was just an expression. Kids say that around here . when they think something is, um, good.” I winced.
“Ah.” I didn’t fool Nadine for a second. Which made me feel even more humiliated. I wanted to delete the past five minutes, start over.
“Call me?” Nadine asked sweetly.
I swallowed. “Sure.”
“Luv ya.”
“I love you, too,” I said, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt. The silence pierced straight through to my heart. Nadine was gone, off with her cheerleading, mall-shopping friends. Soon to experience a serious kiss. Aware that her former best friend was a liar. Falling back on my bed, tears flowed like the tide at Zuma Beach.
The next morning, I refused to get out of bed. I lay there beneath my covers, the air-conditioner blowing full-blast, Juan Dog curled up at my feet like a hairy, big-eared snail.
Mom knocked. “You okay, Libbydoodle?”
“Yeah, right.”
“How’s your head?”
“My head is fine,” I growled.
“Good. I’m off to work!”
I said nothing. No way was I going to reply, “Have a good day!” Not when my parents had moved me into a retirement home, for heaven’s sake. Not when my own mother didn’t notice that I was starving to death and refusing to go to school. What kind of parents did I have? I could lapse into coma! What did they care? As I lay beneath the covers, my stomach rumbling, I considered never talking to anybody again. What was the point? My life was over.
“Wish me luck!” Mom sang. Then she vanished without waiting for me to wish her anything. Not that I would wish her anything good. Not in a million years.
Shortly after I heard the front door slam three times, I heard the refrigerator door open and a pfftt sound as Dad plopped down on the couch and popped open a soda can. Then I heard voices.
“So you claim he promised to pay for the damage?”
“I never promised to pay!”
Apparently, Dad had shifted from watching Spanish soaps to watching Judge Judy.
“I have him on tape!”
Feeling majorly depressed, I sank into the mattress, determined never to get up again. To pass the time, I slathered lotion on my arms and smeared some on Juan’s head, making his little hairs stick straight up in spikes.
“Anybody home?” Someone was on the other side of the door, tapping softly.
“Go away,” I grumbled.
“Okay.” It was Nana. I heard her footsteps walking away.
“What do you want?” I called, loud. The footsteps returned.
“I brought you a little something.”
“What is it?”
“Can I come in?”
I sighed. “All right.”
Nana opened the door, entered, and shut the door behind her. She held a plate in her hand, covered by one of those metal warmers they use for room service in fancy hotels. “Thought you might be hungry,” she said. Did I smell butter and garlic? Something green . basil, maybe?
“I’m not,” I lied. The aroma of whatever lay beneath the metal cover was unbelievably alluring. My mouth drowned my tongue in saliva.
“My mistake.” Nana quietly turned to leave with my food in her hands. Man, she was good.
“My life is over,” I declared.
Nana turned back and sat next to me on the bed. “How much longer do you have?”
Groaning, I asked, “Why won’t anyone take me seriously?”
“I’m sorry, Libby. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry about that, too.” She made another motion to leave. What was wrong with this family? Didn’t anyone care that I was wasting away to dust?
“If you change your mind, I’ll be in my kitchen making grilled scallops over frisée for lunch,” Nana said, placing the plate on my desk and reaching for the doorknob.
“How could they?” I blurted out.
“How could who?”
“How could my parents move us into a retirement home?!”
“Ah.” Nana returned and settled herself on the edge of my bed. “I was wondering when you’d notice all the wrinkles around here.”
“How could they?”
“Do your brothers know?”
“I don’t think so.” Though Rif had noticed that the speed limit inside the trailer park was fifteen miles per hour, and most drivers drove ten.
“What were they thinking? I mean, my parents might as well have moved us into a convent!”
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s just so . so . ” I stopped. How could I tell my grandmother how I really felt? This was her home, after all. How could I tell her I didn’t want to live with a bunch of old farts? In a trailer? The humiliation of it! Would Nana ever understand how much my family embarrassed me, how I begged God, “Please, don’t let me become my mother?” Or how my own father – her son – made me feel so confused and unsafe? It’s awful to watch my dad disappear into alcohol, to have to tiptoe around him, making sure no one says out loud what we’re all thinking. My family hides, so no one will see him. We feel ashamed of ourselves because we’re so ashamed of him.