“I told her if we could work things out, you might be staying with us for a while. And I told her about your offer.”
“What did she say?”
“She wanted to know all about your pregnancy—have you been eating right, taking your vitamins, are you sure it’s a girl, do you ever have any cramping or spotting, is the baby active, etc., etc. I’ve told her we’re not making any quick decisions.”
“But Penny wants my baby, doesn’t she?”
Nikki sighs.
“Yes.”
“I knew it,” I say, smiling.
“But it isn’t just Penny’s decision. You know?”
Chapter
15
Back at the home I have to go through the whole search thing again—stripped down, checked for cuts, bruises, needle marks, new tattoos or piercings, any changes at all, and, of course, the lice check. But no matter how quickly Ms. Smeal jerks the lice comb through my hair, she can’t catch a snag. Right now, I don’t care how awful my hair looks. Her disappointment makes it all worthwhile.
The things I wore out of here are sent off to laundry and I get another batch of plain label clothes, including shoes. Smeal takes my backpack, with my notebook and Ordinary People, and puts it back in the mesh bag.
“Miss F. let me keep those,” I say.
“Running away changes things.”
I get a new badge—Level Three.
Everybody from my section crowds around me at dinner. When they’ve all run out of things to say about my hair, they start pounding me with questions, getting all buzzed about how they would have done things differently.
Where’d you go? . . . How’d they catch you so soon? . . . Did you get high? . . . Shit—that’s the first thing I’d do . . . Anytime I run I’m gone for at least a week . . . One day’s not even worth the fuckin’ trouble . . . You must have gone the first place anybody’d know to look for you . . . Did you see your boyfriend? . . . Get a good hot lay? . . . blah, blah, blahdie-blah.
I take a bite of rubbery, institutional spaghetti and think about last night’s quesadilla, made just for me. I think about the long, hot, private shower, a yard with roses, a purring cat lying across my legs, a computer hooked up to the Internet, a telephone, a nice room, a comfortable bed, waking up when I want to, going to bed when I want to, all of those things I never thought twice about before, things my outside friends take for granted, things that might be mine again at Nikki and Penny’s.
Dericia starts in on me after lights out.
“How stupid was that to run someplace where they’d deliver you right back here?”
I turn my face to the wall and hold the pillow over my head, trying to block out her voice.
“And a teacher??? You went to a teacher!”
I count to ten.
“That’s about the biggest pussy thing I ever heard!”
I shove the pillow off my head and turn to face Dericia.
“Shut the fuck up!!!” I scream. “Just shut your dirty fuckin’ mouth!!!”
Raiders stomps into our room and leads me out. At least I get to sleep by myself, even if there is an attendant sitting right outside the door of the tiny, windowless room.
Miss F. tells me I’ve lost the privilege of going to the TAPP school. Boo-hoo.
“Can you get my backpack for me?”
“I only do favors for people I trust,” she says.
On Monday two new girls, one fifteen and one sixteen, show up in Ms. Guerra’s classroom, making a group of seven. On Tuesday we’re back to six. This time it’s Amanda who’s run.
“It’s the holidays,” Madison says.
“What’s that mean?”
“You know. Things get crazier around the holidays. Haven’t you ever noticed that?”
I shake my head.
“More people run away. More kids get beat up. More people go homeless. You know.”
I’m still trying to figure out what Madison is getting at when she heaves a sigh of frustration.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot who you are,” Madison says, all sarcastic. “Probably nothing like that ever went wrong in your goody-goody little world.”
“You don’t know shit about my world,” I tell her.
In the living room I pretend to read Gone with the Wind, but really I’m just staring at the page, trying to figure out what’s next. Somehow I’ve got to get out of this place. I’m turning into someone I don’t want to be—losing my temper, losing my vocabulary, forgetting how to be the person my dad and Grams taught me to be. If I lose that, what will I have left of them? What will I have left of me?
Raiders stands over me, waiting for me to look up.
“Autumn?”
I pretend to be engrossed in the book.
“You have a visitor, Autumn.”
I look up now, and so does everyone else in the room. Having a visitor is a first for me.
“Who is it?” I ask, closing the book and getting up from my chair.
Raiders hands me a slip of paper. “Jean Nicholson” is printed on the line next to “Name of Visitor.” I follow Raiders down the hall to the common room. As a Level Three I can’t go anywhere unescorted.
Nikki is sitting on the couch closest to the door. She stands and greets me with a big hug.
“Just ring the buzzer when you’re ready to leave, and I’ll come back for her,” Raiders says.
“Okay,” Nikki says, going back to the couch.
I sit down beside her. I can’t believe she’s here! I can’t believe I’ve actually got a visitor.
“I’ve got good news for you,” Nikki says, all smiles.
“What?” I say, afraid to even think about the possibilities, afraid to get my hopes up.
“I’ve been talking with your social worker, and filling out papers, and getting references for her. She’s agreed to let you spend tomorrow and Thanksgiving with me, then I’ll have to bring you back Friday morning.”
“Cool,” I say, happy I’ll be getting out of this place even if it’s only for two days.
Honestly though, as much as I tried not to hope for it, I wanted the good news to be that I was going to live with Nikki, not just visit.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning and we can do some shopping,” Nikki says, tugging on my sweatshirt. “Maybe do a little clothing upgrade for you.”
“I can’t have any clothes of my own,” I tell her.
“You can keep them at my place, to have whenever you visit.”
So . . . more good news—Nikki expects other visits.
“Thanksgiving we’ll go to my friend’s house for spectacular food.”
“I’d be happy with another one of your mean quesadillas,” I say, laughing.
“Oh, no. Once you’ve tasted Ella’s corn and walnut dressing, you’ll be throwing rocks at my quesadillas.”
We both laugh at that one, then Nikki turns serious.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay.”
“And the baby?”
“Okay, I guess. I could show you the sonogram, if they’d let me get my stuff back.”
“You mean you can’t even keep your sonogram with you?”
“It got locked up with all of my other stuff. It’s in my book.”
“You can’t have a book here?”
“Well, I could for a while, but then when I got back from your place they took it away again.”
“Your book? Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess they’re afraid . . . like anything from the outside might have something hidden . . . or to show they’re boss, or something.”
“Well, maybe I can get it back for you. I’d like to see the sonogram.”
That’s more good news, I think, that Nikki wants to see the sonogram. Maybe things are looking up.
Wednesday morning Miss F. walks me up to the reception room where Nikki’s waiting. Before she signs me out, Nikki asks if Miss F. will release my backpack to her custody.
“I’d like to see Au
tumn’s sonogram, and it would be good if she could have her book to read, too, in case she gets bored with my company.”
I’m surprised when Miss F. calls and asks that my backpack be brought out. She’s still hecka mad at me for running away.
“We’ll have to take it back when Autumn returns,” she says, handing the backpack to Nikki.
“Thanks,” Nikki says.
We walk through the doors out into the bright, sunny day. I think about Madison, and Dericia, and the rest of them back inside. Even when they get to be in the outdoor courtyard, the wall is so high it’s like the sun never quite shines in there. I breathe deeply, breathing in freedom.
Our first stop is at a dress-for-less place where Nikki buys me a long, light blue top, and a short, but full enough to fit over my belly, denim vest. Nobody but Dad and Grams ever bought clothes for me before, and it’s strange watching Nikki put down $62.73 for stuff for me.
“I can pay you back when I get my dad’s wallet and Gram’s purse back,” I tell her.
“Don’t worry about it! You still had your deposit money left in the team bank account, remember?”
“For new uniforms?”
“Yeah. I didn’t order one for you, because I didn’t know where you were.”
She looks at my shoes.
“Those can’t offer much support. Let’s swing by the shoe department.”
Even though I hate the shoes from the home, I tell Nikki they’re fine. I’m pretty sure the leftover deposit money wouldn’t cover shoes, too. What I really need is a better bra, but I’m embarrassed to say so.
Our next stop is at a place called “Polly’s Pies.” It’s down a long driveway, tucked behind a dry-cleaning plant, in a converted garage. It’s hard to believe anybody’d ever find this place, but there are people lined up clear outside the door and halfway down the driveway. We take our place in line.
“I may not be a great cook, but I know where to buy the best pies in the whole San Gabriel Valley. That’s my Thanksgiving specialty.”
“Grams used to make pumpkin pies every Thanksgiving.”
“Before she went blind?”
“No. I never knew her before she was blind.”
“She baked pies? Blind?”
“Yeah. And cookies, too.”
Nikki laughs. “I can’t even do that stuff with 20-20 vision!”
We take a few steps forward.
“What were your other Thanksgiving traditions?” Nikki asks.
“Well . . . we always had turkey with cornbread and sausage dressing. My dad made that. And we always invited some people from my dad’s work. And we had a rule that at least one of the people we invited wouldn’t have had anywhere else to go on that day.”
“Nice,” Nikki says, smiling. “When I was growing up we had all the aunts and uncles and cousins over to our house. Everyone would bring stuff and we’d have volleyball and croquet set up in the back yard . . . it was great. There were so many of us, the kids would eat outside on ping-pong tables. My parents still do that.”
“Do they live a long way away?”
Nikki looks along the line of people in front of us.
“You can go sit in the car if you’re tired,” Nikki says. “We don’t both have to stand in line.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “I like being out in the open like this, not all fenced in like at the home.”
“Yeah, and it’s great weather, isn’t it? Penny says she practically freezes to death every time they leave her parents’ house, and here we are in short sleeves, basking in the sunshine.”
We move along in silence, a few short steps at a time. Then Nikki says, “To answer your question, my parents only live about eight miles from me. They’re still in the house I grew up in.”
We’re almost to the front of the store now, and I hear a squawking, “Polly wanna pie? Polly wanna pie?”
“That’s the famous Polly. Wait ’til you see her,” Nikki says, laughing.
She turns her face to the sun, eyes closed, breathing deeply, almost as if she were somewhere else, like maybe on a beautiful beach instead of standing in line in front of an old garage. Then she opens her eyes and turns to me.
“It’s funny, all of those Thanksgivings at my parents’ house, with tables and games set up outside—I don’t think it ever rained. Like New Year’s Day. It almost never rains on the Rose Parade, you know?”
I nod.
“Anyway, I don’t think they have to set tables up outside anymore, unless they just want to. Some of the cousins have moved away, and some of the older generation are gone . . . It’s still a pretty big group though, I think.”
“Why don’t you go there on Thanksgiving?”
“I lost my invitation.”
Another silence. More attention to the line.
Then, in a voice so soft I can barely hear her, she tells me, “When Penny and I got together, my father . . . he’s . . . he can’t accept the fact that I’m a lesbian. My mother would still welcome me, but he won’t. My mother and I went out for a pre-Thanksgiving lunch on Sunday. That’s my family tradition now—my blood family.”
Nikki turns her face back to the sun, but not before I see her tears. I finger the little heart in my pocket, wishing Nikki, too, had had a father with lasting love.
Finally we get inside and up to the counter.
“Polly wanna pie? Polly wanna pie?” the parrot squawks again.
People laugh every time the parrot squawks, but I think it could get irritating fast.
Nikki gives her name to a woman wearing a black apron with a parrot embroidered on the front. The woman goes to the back room and comes out with two large pie boxes and two small ones.
“Two apple and two chicken pot,” she says, smiling.
“Right,” Nikki says.
She pays for the pies and we walk out past the line, which now reaches nearly to the street.
“It’s a good thing we got here early. By seven this line will be longer than the one at Disneyland’s Splash Mountain.”
Back at Nikki’s I get the sonogram-bookmark out of my backpack and show it to her.
“God! It’s not exactly the Gerber baby,” she says, laughing. “Do you mind if I scan it and email it to Penny?”
“You can have it if you want,” I tell her.
“No. I’ll just scan it. I don’t want you to lose your place in the book.”
We’re eating the chicken pot pies and watching women’s soccer playoffs when the phone rings. Nikki answers in the kitchen, then comes back to the den. She points to the mute button on the remote and mouths “Do you mind?”
I shake my head and mute the sound.
“Not beautiful!” she says, laughing, watching the silent game. “No! It’s absolutely porcine!”
She listens for a bit, then says, “There are vegetables in the pot pie . . . Hmmm . . . Yeah. Okay . . . So how’re Thelma and Rod?”
Nikki takes the phone back to the kitchen and finishes her conversation beyond my hearing. I pick up the remote and turn the sound on again.
Thanksgiving morning I put on my new clothes. I like wearing something that belongs just to me, instead of getting some faded, pre-worn sweatshirt from a pile of rejects.
Nikki knocks at the door of the pink bedroom.
“Mind if I come in?”
“No. I’m just putting on my shoes.”
“I got my morning run in,” Nikki says, going to the chest of
drawers and pulling out a stack of neatly folded shirts.
“I do four miles usually, but I did six today to balance the ton of mashed potatoes and gravy I plan to put away.”
She takes the T-shirts to the bed and lays them out, one by one.
“I miss running . . . and sports,” I tell her. “I feel like my muscles are turning to mush.”
“You’ll get it all back, after the baby.”
Nikki looks up from the T-shirts.
“Hey, you look nice,” she says, kind of like she�
�s surprised.
“That blue’s a good color for you.” She looks directly into my eyes, long enough that I have to look away.
“No more dark circles under your eyes, either. You’ve lost that ‘death warmed over’ look you had when you got here last Saturday.”
“It helps to be able to sleep in a quiet place,” I say.
Nikki nods and turns her attention back to the shirts on the bed.
“I’m choosing my costume,” she says, looking from one shirt to another. “Part of our Thanksgiving tradition is that we all wear something to dinner that shows what we’re thankful for. Or something we hope for.”
She picks up a pink shirt that says “Race for the cure.” then folds it up again. There’s a shirt with a picture of the earth that says “Save our planet,” one that says “Hate is not a family value,” and one with a big picture of a smiling baby.
“Penny wore this last year, when we were still trying the turkey baster trick.” Nikki sighs. “She’d probably wear it this year, too, if she were here.”
“But this year it would be a real thing.”
“Well . . . she’s very excited about the . . . your . . . offer.”
Nikki refolds the earth shirt, and puts it on top of the smiling baby shirt.
“I guess all of those bad experiences got me out of the baby mood . . . Do you see anything here you’d like to express yourself with, for Thanksgiving? Not that you have to do that, but if you want to . . .”
I shake my head no. I would like a clean planet, and a cure for cancer, and I agree that hate is not a family value. But nothing jumps out at me as the thing I’d like for my own personal Thanksgiving statement. Besides, I’m really, really, tired of wearing other people’s clothes.
Nikki puts the shirts away.
“I think I’ll just wear one of our team shirts,” Nikki says. “That’s something I’m thankful for, and also have a lot of hope for.”
If I could magically come up with the perfect T-shirt, I think it would have a picture of Penny on it, wearing a gold medal around her neck, because what I most hope for is for Penny to win Nikki over, and for them to get my baby. Letting me stay with them could be part of the adoption agreement, and then . . . well, I don’t have it all figured out yet, but if Penny gets her way . . .
No More Sad Goodbyes Page 14