Code Name: Whatever

by Emily Asad

  Chapter 14: Darcy

  Statistic: Children in repeat divorces have lower grades and their peers find them less pleasant to be around

  I didn't ask Mom if I could have Darcy over next Wednesday. I simply told Roger I’d be holding a slumber party, and he said he’d pass it along.

  “How many people?” he asked, as if having a friend over to the house were perfectly normal.

  “Just one,” I had said. Since he didn't object, I took it as a sort of approval. Just to be on the safe side, I made sure that the house was extra clean on Tuesday, since a dirty house made Mom even more irritable.

  I had never seen Darcy so excited. It turned out that nobody had ever invited her anywhere before, not even to a birthday party, and she was extremely grateful.

  We talked during the entire bus ride home. It was a new experience for both of us, since we were both bookworms and introverts. We had a lot in common, actually – more than I realized. Darcy liked to sing as much as I did, but didn't try out for any of the choirs because of their evening performance schedules.

  “I never know when I’m going to have to make a trip to the hospital,” she confessed. “So I try to avoid any extracurricular activities where somebody would depend on me. I could never be in a play. You did really well, by the way. How long have you taken ballet lessons?”

  “Lessons? Never.”

  “Really? That was raw talent? Wow. I wish I had your skill. I have to work at dancing.”

  “You dance?”

  “Sure. Tap dance.”

  She was my instant idol. “Oh, man! I’ve always wanted to learn how to tap dance.”

  “Why don’t you take lessons?”

  “We can’t afford them. We can never afford anything. You know what I do, though? I watch all those old black-and white Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies, and sometimes I copy the routines.”

  “You’ll have to show me. Maybe I can give you some pointers.”

  “That would be cool.”

  When we got home, we dropped Darcy’s bag on my bed. For once, I managed to talk Peter and Becky into doing their chores so I wouldn’t have to – all their sweeping, dusting, vacuuming, and scrubbing – and as for dinner, I put two frozen pot pies in the oven. I often made large batches and froze them for times when I didn’t feel like baking. Tonight was one of those times. I prided myself on my foresight.

  When that was done, I introduced Darcy to my sanctuary. She had never been in a barn before, either.

  “My parents were kind of worried that I might be allergic to the animals, but they laughed when I told them how stupid that sounded.” At my blank look, she explained. “What are allergies compared to cancer? I can handle a couple sneezes! It’s the chemotherapy that I despise!”

  “What’s it like, having cancer?” I realized how brutal the question sounded, and rushed to cover it up. “Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry. That was an awful question.”

  She shrugged. “It’s actually a good question. Most kids are afraid of me. I don’t know. It’s different from your life, I guess, but it’s normal to me. I spend a lot of time in the hospital, and my parents worry a lot. I also think about dying more than you probably do.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Yeah, sometimes. I really like living. I’m going to miss this world when I go.”

  “Isn’t there a cure?”

  “Not for what I have. I went into remission last year, but it came back a few months ago. Different form, much more aggressive.”

  I gulped. “But you’re not going to drop dead right here in my barn, though.”

  She giggled, clutched her throat, and fell into the hay. “Nah. I haven’t had a chance to ride your horse yet.”

  “Well, saddle up, then! You’re in for a treat!”

  “Isn’t it too cold to go for a ride?”

  “Sissy. This is Minnesota. It’s not cold until the thermometer shatters.”

  “No, really. I can’t be out in this weather.” She looked at me anxiously, as if hoping that she wasn't spoiling anything.

  “I usually don’t go out in this weather either. But the horses need to be exercised, so I take them to the paddock, which has a covered area. There, see? It’s like going outside without having to face the elements. No wind. It’s almost warm.” I pointed out the window.

  She smiled in relief as she looked at the huge garage-like building that had been built on top of the hill beside the paddock. It was where we kept our chickens, geese, ducks, and rabbits. Instead of having a complete basement, however, the building took advantage of the hill and had a three-walled area that the horses could just walk in to whenever they needed a respite from the elements. In the summer, it was cool. In the winter, it was relatively warm. The ceiling was high enough that I could ride Charlie, and it was big enough to provide adequate exercising room.

  Although we’d only had the horses for a few months, I’d become somewhat an expert on their care. I showed Darcy what my mother had shown me: how to saddle and bridle Charlie, and how to mount him. She squealed when I got her up in the saddle, and held onto his mane for dear life.

  “Use your knees to grip him, instead of holding his mane.”

  “Does it hurt him?”

  “No, but it’s a bad habit. And don’t hold the saddle horn, either. Keep yourself upright. Good. Ready? Let’s go.”

  “Wait. Take a picture first.” She withdrew a small camera from her coat pocket. “I’m a big believer in pictures.”

  I obliged and was glad that Charlie did not spook at the flash.

  We walked out to the paddock. I had Charlie on a long lead. I stood in the center of the shelter and whistled to him. He began to trot in a slow, easy manner. Gallant Rose knew that her turn was coming and stayed out of the way, toward the back of the building where it was warmest.

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Darcy said more than once. “It’s on my list, but I didn’t think I’d ever do it!”

  “What list?”

  “I keep a to-do list. Things I want to do before I die. That might be in twenty years or fifty, but I don’t want to waste a single day. So I made a list.”

  “I have a list, too, but it’s different.” I told her about the New Me Project and how I was trying to remake myself, especially since my original name had been taken from me.

  “So that’s why they call you Margaret Beverly.”

  “Among other things, yeah.” I explained that I tried to identify flaws or faults or bad habits in myself, and how I worked on them. Like my temper. I had a bad temper, but I fought to keep it under control – especially since I had seen what it did to my mom. I told her about my ‘Rules for Happy Living’ section, and the ‘When I Grow Up’ section – things I couldn’t work on now but kept in mind for the future. I even had the guts to tell her about my ‘Romance’ section and my odd ideas on love and marriage.

  “Have you ever had a boyfriend?” she asked.

  “Nope. I don’t plan to have one until I find someone who’s worthy. What’s the point of losing your heart and having it smooshed, especially when you can’t do anything about it?”

  “Well, I’ve had a boyfriend and I thought it was worth the trouble.”

  I looked at her curiously. “Where is he?”

  She licked her lips. “He died last year. Leukemia.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “I’m glad I got to know him. You’re right, we were too young to ‘do anything about it,’ as you said, especially the getting married part, but it was nice. Especially the kissing.” She stifled a mischievous grin.

  I was intrigued. Mom never talked this frankly to me about boys and girls, and birds and bees. I had to ask: “Did you have sex?”

  “Nah. We made out a lot, though. I didn’t know if I’d ever get the chance again. That was two years ago, just before the cancer was at its worst. The doctors all said I was gonna die. I pulled through, though.”

  “I guess I hav
e old-fashioned views on relationships. I’m gonna be a virgin when I get married. And I don’t want him to have any weird diseases, or ever having gotten anyone pregnant.”

  “Oh, I’ll still be a virgin,” she said. “But I don’t know if I’ll expect him to be one. I think I’m gonna want someone with a little experience, so at least one of us knows what we’re doing.”

  It felt strange to talk about something as intimate as sex with someone who was a relative stranger. For some reason, however, it felt as if I had known Darcy my whole life. She was easy to talk to. We bonded almost immediately.

  I think it was our common bond of utter loneliness that drew us together at first, but it was our common interests that forged the friendship. We both liked the same books and the same style of music. We both liked to discuss intellectual things like the origin of the universe and ways to revolutionize society.

  After dinner – which, by the way, Darcy kept telling me was the best pot pie she had ever eaten, thank you! – we went upstairs to my bedroom. Erika had decided to stay at her mother’s for the evening, so we had the room to ourselves. Matt took a few pictures of us making goofy faces and then retreated to his own bedroom, where he was spending a good deal of time lately in his effort to avoid Mom.

  Darcy brought a photo album with her, which was a great way of talking about memories. She told me that she would be adding today’s photos to her album. I was flattered.

  I brought my own album from downstairs and we traded stories.

  “My most embarrassing moment?” I had to think about that one. There were so many. “I’ve got it. Last year, after the school play, we watched the videotape at Paul’s house. His parents were really great, they had a nice house, but they had a rule about no shoes in the house. It kept the house cleaner, especially with all the snow and gravel, but the problem is that I have smelly feet. Really stinky, you know? I pleaded with them to let me keep my shoes on, but Mrs. Gossman was pretty insistent. She made me take my shoes off.”

  “What’s so embarrassing about that?”

  “Ten minutes later she asked me to put them back on – because so many people were complaining about the smell! I could have died of shame!”

  We laughed, and then I asked her what hers was.

  She got very quiet, and looked down at the carpet. “It was that moment in the bathroom when Naomi was telling everyone I was gay.”

  “I’d be embarrassed, too.”

  “No, the worst part was when I showed you my stomach pack and you ran away. At least, that’s what it felt like. I was really mad at myself for telling you my secret. I just wanted you to understand why I look the way I do. That’s what was embarrassing.”

  “Well, you didn’t scare me, not then, not now. And now you know better.”

  We smiled at each other.

  “Can I tell you a secret?” I said. “Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  “I’m good at secrets,” she said.

  I trusted her. “The reason I keep my List is because I’m terrified of becoming a statistic. I see so many other kids going through the same thing, and they all end up alcoholics, or pregnant, or committing suicide… I just want to live a normal life. I want to make good decisions and be a happy, successful adult.”

  “I believe you will. If that’s what you want, then it’ll happen. You’re already proactive instead of reactive.”

  “Huh?”

  “Like my cancer. I’ve been fighting statistics, too. I was supposed to be dead by the time I was ten. I’m already sixteen. I’m defying the odds. The thing with you and me is that we plan for the worst possible scenario and then take steps to avoid it. You keep your list, I do my meditations. The key is planning. You're pretty mature for your age, by the way.”

  I flushed at the compliment. “You are, too. Though some people call me an old lady because I don't act my age."

  “I'm an old lady, too," she replied. "I’ve seen a lot of things that most adults never have.”

  “Yeah. Me too. Except that most of my ‘life experience’ is by proxy. I watch.”

  “That’s your strategy, then. I mean, we’re teenagers,” she continued. “We’re still defining ourselves. We’re supposed to make mistakes, and learn from them, and learn from other people’s mistakes if we can.”

  “You know that, and I know that, but why can’t anyone else seem to understand? I mean, what makes me so special that I can see what to avoid, when everyone else in my situation seems to fall apart?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe you think about things more. Look at Naomi Bell, for example.”

  “What about Naomi?”

  “She’s a statistic. Her mom’s an alcoholic, and her dad cheats all the time. He even got a young woman pregnant. Naomi has a half-sister she’s never met, and the baby’s mother is on welfare. That’s why Naomi hates you so much – you represent all the things she fears.”

  “But my mom’s never been on welfare.”

  “Your mom’s divorced. What’s to keep Naomi’s parents from divorcing? Then Naomi will be just like you. She’s terrified of that.”

  “And that makes her a statistic?”

  “Yep. She’s already had two abortions.”

  I was shocked. “You’re making that up.”

  “My dad works with hers. They play golf together sometimes. I swear it’s true – her dad told my dad everything.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know.”

  “She hides it well.” Darcy narrowed her eyes at me. “You know, the ancient Guarani Indians of South America used to be cannibals. They captured their enemies instead of killing them, so they could eat them at a victory celebration.”

  I furrowed my eyebrows, disgusted. “What does that have to do with Naomi?”

  “The Guarani had a special ritual with the enemy’s eyeballs. It was an honor to eat an enemy’s eyeballs. Guess why.”

  “They were the tastiest part?”

  She laughed. “Nope. It was considered a special blessing to be able to see the world through an enemy’s eyes.”

  “Ah. I see where you’re going with all this.”

  “Maybe it’s none of my business,” she shrugged, “but I used to be like you. I used to think about things from my own little point of view, until I learned to think like other people. I used to hate my doctors and their endless injections. Therapy hurt. But then I realized that the people who hurt me the most were really trying to save my life. They wanted to help me.” She leaned back. “I’m sorry. I’m starting to sound preachy. I don’t mean to offend you.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not offended at all. It’s nice to talk to someone about these things.” Even so, the atmosphere had grown a little too tense for comfort, so I tried to crack a joke. “Well, Naomi’s convinced that you’re gay. So when she sees us together tomorrow, she’s gonna say we’re lesbians.”

  Darcy laughed. “I don’t care what she thinks. A wise teenager once told me to ignore her. It seems to work.”

  I laughed, too.

  Around ten o’clock, Darcy swallowed a handful of pills. I joked about them being the size of horse vitamins, and she said that’s what they felt like. Mom knocked on the door. “It’s bedtime,” she reminded us. “Roger and I are going to sleep. You can stay up for a while, but don’t let us hear you.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Good night, Mrs. Shenton.”

  “Good night, you two.” She actually smiled at us. I wondered if she thought it was about time I met another girl my age or what.

  Aside from the photo album, Darcy also had brought a chess board with her. It was more of a box that unfolded into a chess board, and the pieces could be stored inside. It was made of mahogany wood and glass. It was beautiful, and obviously frequently used.

  “This is my favorite game,” she said. “I wanted to share it with you.”

  “I don’t know how to play.”

  “That’s okay. It took me a long time to learn. But since you�
�re a juggler, I figured you’re both intelligent and persistent, and those are the qualities you need to play chess.”

  With a subtle challenge like that, who could refuse? “Bring it on,” I said, smoothing out the sheet on my bed so we could play up there.

  Darcy explained the pieces to me, and then ran me through a couple practice scenarios. It was easy enough to remember which pieces moved in what way, but trying to develop a strategy with them was almost impossible. Games were swift – they lasted about three minutes before I was checkmated. I lost twenty-nine games before I finally caught on to the strategy, and then it was another six before I put her in check for the first time. She was merciless. She didn’t give me anything; I had to work for everything. On my forty-second game, I managed to squeeze her into checkmate. It was an exhilarating feeling! I had learned to play chess – and I won!

  It was about time, too. We had played for four hours straight. “Oh, my gosh,” I said. “I can’t believe it’s two in the morning.”

  “I’ve never stayed up this late. Deliberately, that is. This is kind of fun, isn’t it?”

  “It seems so still and quiet. No wonder they call these the magical hours.”

  “Yeah, but we have to get up at five-thirty. I have to feed and water my animals, and the bus comes early when you live in the country.”

  She rolled off my bed onto the floor. The last item in her duffel bag was a sleeping bag.

  “Oh, you won’t need that,” I said. “Erika’s bed is empty. You can sleep there.”

  A mischievous grin covered her face. “This is a slumber party, right? I’ve never gotten to sleep in a sleeping bag before. This is probably the closest I’ll ever come to camping, since my mom hates bugs. It’s one of the items to do on my list, though.”

  “You’re sure? A mattress is more comfortable than the floor any day.”

  “But it’s not as much of an adventure,” she said, unrolling her sleeping bag.

  “Adventures are overrated,” I replied. “I mean, an adventure is a condensed version of real life that sounds more glamorous than it really is, and takes less time to recount than what really happened.”

  “Whoa. Say that again?”

  I laughed. “Basically, anything can be an adventure. Going to the grocery store can be an adventure, if you tell it right. But when it’s happening, it doesn’t seem like an adventure.”

  “You’re making my head hurt. I don’t think we should get into another discussion this late at night…”

  I giggled. “Why not? I’ve never stayed awake the whole night before!”

  She groaned. “I don’t think I have the energy.” As she snuggled down into her sleeping bag, she slipped a hand inside her pillow case. A fuzzy corner with loose threads spilled out.

  I pointed at it. "What's that?"

  She looked guilty. “It’s a secret.”

  “I told you mine. Your turn to confess.”

  “It’s my baby blanket,” she grinned. “I admit. I sleep with a baby blanket.”

  “That’s awful!”

  “I know. It’s just that I take it with me everywhere. Whenever I end up in the hospital, I take it with me so it feels like home. I can’t seem to leave it behind. It’s my one addiction.”

  “At least you don’t suck your thumb,” I chortled.

  “As far as you know. Wait ‘til the lights go out!”

  “I’ve got a flashlight. This I’ve gotta see.”

  I flipped the light out. We were so exhausted that we both fell asleep moments later.

  I never did find out if she sucked her thumb or not.