Code Name: Whatever

by Emily Asad

  Chapter 19: Spring

  One can sometimes love that which we do not understand, but it is impossible clearly to understand what we do not love. – Leo H. Grindon

  Peter discovered Mouser’s kitten the next day when he and Roger came to check on the sheep. I tried to keep him from going up into her private domain, but he refused to listen. She was alarmed and distraught. Her fur puffed on end so that she looked like a dirty snowball, and the hissing noises had been enough to make Peter think she had rabies. He snatched the kitten away from her, however, before I could stop him.

  Mouser’s kitten was accustomed to being petted, and so had no fear of Peter. Mouser herself, however, was in a panic.

  “Make Peter put him back!” I shouted to Roger, who was examining the baby sheep.

  “What’s going on?”

  Peter displayed the kitten proudly. “I’m going to call him Peter.”

  “That’s a stupid name. Give him back.”

  “Let him keep it. He’s not hurting it.”

  “No, but he’s making the mother anxious. Look.” I pointed upstairs, where Mouser had poked her head down through the hole in the ceiling and was watching her baby fretfully.

  “She’s just a stray. She’ll get used to it. It’s better for the kitten to have a good home than to starve,” Roger shrugged.

  I gritted my teeth. “Does he look like he’s starving? I feed him every day! If anybody should lay claims to him, then he belongs to me. And I say he belongs up in the loft with his mother.”

  Peter made a face. “He’s mine. I found him!”

  “I found him first.”

  “Children! Stop arguing.”

  I hated being called ‘children.’ I was sixteen, no longer a child. “Fine. If he gets to keep the kitten, then I get to keep the cat. Didn’t you say we have a rat problem in the house? Mouser’s good at catching mice. I’d like to keep her in my bedroom with me.”

  “She’s probably got rabies,” said Peter. “Or worms.”

  Roger looked at us – the kitten, Peter, and me. Mouser had made her way down to the lower level, and padded her way over to my feet. She looked terrified of the others, especially Roger, who was probably the tallest human she had ever encountered. Even so, she put a paw on my leg and let out a plaintive ‘meow’ that clearly asked for help in getting her kitten back.

  I scooped her up into my arms, where she trembled and tried to hide in my coat.

  Roger’s face was pensive. “You’ve worked a lot with that animal, haven’t you?”

  “Yes,” I said, somewhat defensively. I didn’t know if he was going to make me promise to not feed them anymore, or say that we had to keep them in the barn. Once the idea of keeping Mouser in my bedroom had been verbalized, I really wanted it to come true.

  “You’ll have to pay for her vet bills. She’ll need shots. And food. And a litter box.”

  He was giving me permission to keep her!

  “You mean…”

  “She obviously likes you. And I don’t like having mice in the house. That kitten’s too young to do anything useful yet. You may as well keep… what’s her name, Mouser… in your bedroom. Just don’t let her get in your mother’s way.”

  “I won’t!” I promised.

  Peter took his kitten up to the house immediately. Mouser jumped out of my arms and followed her baby all the way up to the porch. I held the door open and coaxed her inside. She crouched low to the ground, tense and ready to flee, and twitched her tail. I had to carry her up to my room.

  We decided that, for now, the kitten would sleep in my bedroom with his mother until he adjusted to the house. Mouser had obviously been someone’s pet before, because she curled right up on my pillow as if she had a perfect right to be there. I worried about fleas, but even they could not quell my jubilation at having my own cat.

  March and April were always the hardest months to deal with in Minnesota, at least for me. The weather was deceptive. At thirty-five degrees above zero, the snow and ice began to melt. Technically, that meant it was warm enough to wear shorts and tee shirts. Of course, whenever I did that, I ended up with a cold, but wearing full layers was too warm. So we generally ended up staying inside, fretting to be outside, and growing more irritable until the weather finally warmed up.

  Cabin fever is a dangerous phenomenon. It can breed some explosive situations, like the one that occurred toward the end of March.

  I came home from school in a bad mood. The story Mrs. Putnam had submitted in November had been rejected.

  “Don’t be so depressed,” she told me. “I sent it to several contests; this isn’t the only one. You always get rejections. It’s just a matter of finding somebody who likes what you have to say.”

  I hated rejections. Plus, I had pulled a calf muscle in gym class, and gotten a B on a math exam. So when I arrived at home to find an extra-long chore list, I felt quite sorry for myself.

  Peter never did his chores. I could yell at him all day long and threaten him with death itself, and he still wouldn't do his chores. I always ended up doing them for him, because if I didn’t, then Mom would get upset at me. Not him, me. So unfair.

  Enough was enough. I made dinner and swept the kitchen, but I left all his chores undone. When Mom came home, she noticed.

  “Beverly, why wasn’t the vacuuming done?”

  “Peter said he didn’t have time.”

  “Why didn’t you do it for him, then? You know that I’ll punish him for not doing his chores.”

  If I hadn’t been in such a bad mood, I never would have said what I did. “What a fat lie! You always say that, and I always tell you that he doesn’t do his work. Then I do it for him. You never punish him. He never does chores. I’m so tired of taking care of your house for you.”

  Mom’s temper ignited instantly. “How I raise my children is my business, not yours. It’s not up to you to keep track of how I deal with Peter.”

  “You’re never home to raise your kids. You’re never involved, in any case,” I blurted. I knew I was pushing buttons. I didn’t care.

  “How dare you raise your voice to me, young lady? Of course I’m involved. Watch your mouth.”

  “Well, I’m not doing Peter’s chores anymore. Or Matt’s, or Becky’s. I’m not your slave. If you want them to do their work, you get them to do it. I’ve had it.”

  “You’re part of this household, and you’ll do what I tell you to do. I can’t take care of all the cleaning – I work all day long.”

  “You have evenings off, same as me,” I snapped. “Not that you do anything in the evenings anyway. You always have a headache.”

  She crossed the room and stood directly in front of me. “If you don’t like how I run things, then you’re free to leave.”

  I clenched my fists. “I might do that. It’s not like you’d notice. You never notice anything I do, except when I do something wrong.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Everything that I had suppressed over the past several months bubbled out. “It means you’re a lousy parent. You’re never there. You skipped my school play, my concert, my talent show, and my state competition. Ha! I bet you didn’t even know that I tried out for the state choir. I told you, but I knew you weren’t listening. You never listen to me.”

  “You never tell me anything. You like to keep your information to yourself. You sneak around and hide out in the barn all the time!”

  “I’m only trying to avoid you because you always yell at me. I can never have a conversation with you without you yelling at me.”

  That earned me a slap.

  I slapped her in return!

  We stood there, both of us shocked. I had never returned a slap before. I was supposed to stand there and take it, defenseless, hands at my side until she was done. It was the proper punishment for being disrespectful, after all.

  She glared at me with icy eyes. “Get out of my house. GET OUT!”

  “Not a problem!
I’m not coming back.” I ran upstairs, grabbed my suitcase, and began packing. This time, I was serious about running away. It might make her realize how much she depended on me. Who would make dinner in the evenings? Who would clean the house? Who would take care of the animals? Not me! I wouldn’t be there!

  My heart stung me as I thought about abandoning Gallant Rose. I thought about taking her with me, wherever I was going, but Mom would probably press charges against me for being a horse thief. If I was going to run away, I needed to be as free from legal constraints as possible.

  And then I saw Mouser.

  My agitated, jerky actions had caused her to take refuge underneath the bed. She was hiding from me, trembling.

  I couldn't leave my cat behind. I had spent too much time getting her to trust me. She wasn't like a dog, who would stay by my side through thick and thin as we wandered around the state trying to survive. She was a stray, accustomed to fending for herself, and would probably return to the farm after our first night under the stars. She would abandon me.

  I was tired of losing everything I cared about. I had invested too much energy into her to just leave. I threw myself on the bed and tried to coax her to me. She was too afraid to come close. I would probably have to spend a few days repairing the damage that my temper had caused.

  And it was all Mom’s fault.

  My conscience scolded me. You’ve never really told her how you feel. You just always assume she knows. You should talk to her.

  I don’t want to talk to her! She wouldn’t listen anyway.

  She deserves a chance. Everyone has a reason for their actions. Maybe she’ll tell you hers.

  Now, although it was my least favorite class last year, Speech made some interesting points. Once we had talked about people’s motivations and getting them to listen to what you had to say. We had also discussed conflict resolution. I suddenly remembered that one strategy was to pick a point that we wanted to resolve, and then stay on track until we came to a solution. If other arguments tried to tempt us away, we were supposed to ignore them until the first problem was solved. I decided to try it with my mother.

  What was my biggest argument? What was it that made me the angriest? I thought about it and fixed it in my mind, like Mr. Belkin had suggested. I steeled myself against any other arguments and focused on just one. Now, to confront Mom.

  I found her downstairs, staring out the window.

  “I thought you were leaving,” she growled.

  “I want to,” I replied candidly. “But I want to stay even more.”

  “I don’t care what you do.”

  “Well, I do. I’m tired of arguing with you. You’re not my enemy; you’re my mother. Other girls can talk to their mothers but we always end up yelling.”

  She did not look at me. Her silence either meant that she was ignoring me, or that she was listening. I took my chances.

  “Look, the reason I’m so upset with you is because you’re never home.”

  “I work. Someone has to pay the bills.”

  “Let me finish,” I said with patience I did not feel. “I feel ignored. I know you have to work during the day, but you’re home during the same hours I am in the evening. But we never see each other. I want to talk to you more. I don’t know much about you, really. I don’t know what you were like in third grade, or even what your favorite food is. I know more about my gym teacher than I do about you.”

  “What do you want to do, talk? Okay, let’s talk. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Nothing, right now, except that I want you to be more approachable. I feel like you shut me out. You don’t care about anything I do.”

  “Of course I care!”

  “So how come you never attend my events? Why weren’t you there for my play? My fire-juggling demonstration? My talent show? Maybe you didn't notice, but I didn’t even invite you to the upcoming spring concert because I knew you wouldn’t come.”

  She shrugged. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “And you’re planning to have a migraine for my spring concert?”

  She glared at me.

  I drew a deep breath. “You’re sick all the time. You need to see a doctor. I’m leaving the house when I’m eighteen, and you only have two years left with me. If you want to miss out on my last two years, that’s your business. I’m almost to the point where I don’t need you anymore. Do you really want that to happen?” I felt so mature, guiding the argument with the finesse of an experienced lawyer. Mr. Belkin’s speech class suggestions were working.

  Her face was stony, almost hateful. But she didn't disagree with me.

  I had presented my case, now it was time for the solution. “I feel like you’re losing me. I don’t want to be around you anymore, and I don’t like feeling that way. I mean, if you don’t want to be around me, then that’s another case altogether. What will it be?”

  Those icy blue eyes almost burned a hole through me. “What will what be?”

  “Are you going to come to my spring concert, or are you going to lose me?”

  “That’s so stupid. Of course I’m coming to your concert.”

  “You always tell me that, and then you never come. I just want to spend time with you. I want you to be proud of me.”

  “I am proud of you.”

  “So prove it. Come support me.”

  She threw up her hands and walked away a few paces. “I’m doing all that I can! What more do you want? I work my butt off to provide you with a place to live and food to eat. Do you think that those animals are free? No! They’re expensive. But Roger and I wanted to give you kids the opportunities we never had, like living on a farm. Remember when you were in fifth grade and I worked four jobs just to put you through private school for a few years? I wanted you to have a solid education so you don’t end up like me!”

  “I don’t want your money, Mom. I want your time. A few hours in the evening once or twice a week is all I’m asking for. Remember when we used to play Scrabble when I was younger? We used to talk a lot back then. Or movie-and-popcorn night. We didn’t talk much, but at least we were in the same room together. And don’t worry about my grades. I’ll probably end up with a scholarship to something or another. And even if I don’t, I’m taking classes at the college next year so I can graduate with an Associate’s degree when I get my high school diploma.”

  “You never told me about that.”

  “You never ask.”

  It was the old rhetoric again. We lapsed into a defeated silence.

  Mom broke it with a sigh. “You’re getting too old too fast. I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”

  “We can learn. Wanna play Scrabble?”

  She squinted. “I have a headache right now…”

  My hope dissipated. I knew the tactics from Speech class would never work. They were just theory, after all, not for practical use in the real world. I had wasted my time.

  She folded her arms. “I suppose I can take some aspirin. Maybe we can get a game in before dinner’s done cooking.”

  The sun had come out and melted the ice off my world! I grinned at her and hurried to set up the game.

  After that, we each made a conscious effort to not argue with each other, and to spend some time talking together each night. We reinstated movie-and-popcorn night. Throughout March, we did the dishes together after dinner, even though that was my job. She even taught me to crochet, and we made squares together for an afghan for my bed. We talked about the upcoming obedience trials at the State Fair in August, and how I hoped that Gallant Rose would take the blue ribbon. She promised to teach me a few tricks with my horse that might impress the judges. To my surprise, she kept her word.

  We opened up to each other in a way we never had before. I did have my reservations, however, and waited for her newfound energy to burn off before she grew tired of me. When April arrived, and we were still on speaking terms, I relaxed a little bit. Only one thing stood in the way of my complete confidence i
n her: the spring concert.

  It came during the last week in April. This time, there had been no hassle with fancy, expensive gowns. The theme was ‘early rock’n’roll’ which meant poodle skirts for the girls and jeans with white tee shirts for the guys. It was the same theme as my eighth grade concert, so I already had a poodle skirt. And it still fit, too.

  The past few months had taught me a few tricks with makeup, which I applied with a relatively steady hand. The results were nowhere near as dramatic as Erika’s transformation had been, but at least my lipstick was straight and the colors looked nice.

  Matt drove me into town when he went to work at the restaurant.

  “Good luck,” he said as he dropped me off.

  “Thanks. You’ll be here when it’s over?”

  “I might be late. I’m closing tonight, but I should be done around eleven or so.”

  “I’ll wait right here for you. The weather’s nice enough now. I’ll be fine.”

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  I changed my outfit in the girl’s bathroom nearest the choir room. It was fun to see the other girls’ poodle skirts. Some of them had crinoline slips that made the skirt full and fluffy; others had intricate designs embroidered on them. Mine had been sewn with three large circles of red, blue, and yellow on the bottom left side of the skirt – my personal juggling emblem. It wasn’t exactly authentic rock’n’roll garb, but it was personal.

  “You ready to jitterbug?” asked Luke as we once again stood in line and waited for our cue.

  “I can’t wait,” I replied.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. I wanted to give this to you. I made a copy for myself.” He withdrew a photo from his back pocket and handed it to me.

  It was me – in my royal purple gown. Someone had taken a picture of me at the fall concert, probably by accident, and Luke had tracked it down. The fact that he made a copy for himself did not escape my attention.

  “I think that day was the turning point in my career,” I joked, but I was halfway serious. Erika’s makeover had given me direction. It’s funny that polishing my appearance would have had such an impact on my behavior, but it did.

  “Do you have a pocket, or do you want me to hang onto it for you?”

  “I have a pocket. Thanks, Luke.”

  As before, Mrs. Crofton paced back and forth in the halls, making sure that everything was just so. We sang our first number, retreated to the back room, and waited for the other choirs to finish their songs before we wrapped up the evening. As before, I haunted the wings, looking for my mother, who had promised to be there.

  I did not see her. She was not coming.

  Again.

  I kicked myself for believing in her, for being so foolish as to think that things might have changed. I had to take a drink of water to relax my throat.

  Luke found me beside the water fountain. “She didn’t come again, huh?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Don’t take it personally. My folks work in the evenings. The only one who can come is my brother. He’s out there in the front row.”

  “Well, my mom’s not at work. She’s sitting at home right now, probably watching television. If she had an excuse, it would be different.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

  “She could still come.”

  I chuckled. “Where would she sit? The seats are packed. Everyone’s parents bought tickets to this concert, except mine. And yours.”

  “Well, look at it this way. You get to dance with me, the most handsome junior in the entire school. What do you say we go out there and cut some rug, huh?”

  He took my hand and led me back to where the others were waiting. We heard the pounding feet of the other choir leaving the stage, and we took our positions in line.

  As the curtain parted, just before the lights blinded us so we could not see the audience, I spotted my mother. She had taken a seat next to Luke’s brother – the only empty seat in the entire auditorium.

  “Oh my gosh! There she is!” I nudged Luke in the ribs.

  “Who? Your mom?”

  “I can’t believe she came. I thought she wasn’t going to show!”

  “What’s that beside her leg? Oh, look – she brought you a flower. Maybe she was late because she was buying it for you.”

  I stifled a giggle. “I can’t believe she came,” I repeated.

  I sang louder and stronger than ever before, and my dances with Luke were probably the most energetic of all the couples. I don’t really remember much of the concert itself, except that my mother was there. She was there – for me. She loved me after all!

  When it was over, I rushed down to greet her before she could move anywhere. Not that she was leaving, of course, but I wanted to be near her.

  She seemed kind of embarrassed and very shy. I flung my arms around her and bounced up and down. “I’m so glad you came! I’m so glad you came!”

  She patted my back. “These are for you,” she said, breaking the embrace by handing me two yellow roses.

  I buried my nose in their soft fragrance. They could have been wilted dandelions for all I cared.

  Luke stood beside his brother and grinned at me.

  My mother noticed. “Are you going to introduce me to your… boyfriend?”

  Luke laughed. “Not boyfriend… not yet, at least. I’m still working on that part.”

  I began to blush. “Um… Mom, this is Luke. Luke, my mother.”

  “Mrs. Shenton,” she said, sticking out her hand.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Oh, my gosh!” I exclaimed. “I need to call Matt and tell him not to pick me up, since I’m riding home with you.”

  Luke waved at us. “See you in class, then.”

  “Good night. Thanks for everything!”

  I practically bounced out to the car. I know I bounced. My ponytail swished every which way. The ride home was not awkward or silent, either. Mom asked all the right questions about choir, from our music to the choreography and costumes, prompting a thorough dissertation on the goings-on of A Cappella Choir. I chattered away like a gaggle of geese. I doubt if the geese could have been noisier.

  “So you liked my concert, then?”

  “Very much. I had a lot of fun.”

  Our conversation was light, and not tense at all, so I thought I could get some answers. “If you liked it so much, why didn’t you come to the others?”

  She sighed. “I don’t know much about music. I thought it would be stuffy and boring, or that I would be expected to make intelligent conversation about the pieces. And I thought that the other parents would be wearing their fanciest clothes. I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

  “You could never embarrass me,” I smiled. “Never. I’m so glad you came.” I felt Luke’s photograph in my pocket, and pulled it out. “Oh! Here, I wanted to show you the gown I wore for the last one. I just got a copy tonight.”

  She pulled into the garage and turned the car off. She studied the picture for a minute. She was so quiet, I was afraid that she was angry with me for wearing such a low-cut, tight dress and so much makeup.

  I had to know, even if she was upset. “Well?”

  “You look like a model,” she breathed. Her eyes grew wet. She blinked. “You’re so pretty. You must be so proud of yourself.”

  It was not what I was expecting. “Erika helped me with it. She knows a lot about makeup and hair.”

  Mom nodded. “I was never very good with those things. I remember when you were eleven and you wanted me to braid your hair. I told you I couldn’t do it, but you thought I didn’t want to. You were so mad at me. So I checked out a braiding book from the library so I could learn, but I could never get it right.”

  “I remember that book. I learned how to do Becky’s hair from that.”

  “You were always quicker at those things than me,” she shrugged.

/>   “I didn’t know you even tried,” I said in a quiet voice.

  “Yeah.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand, and then turned to me. “Look, sweetie, I know I haven’t been the kind of mother you wanted, but I do try. I feel so inadequate. You’re so much like me that I don’t know what to do with you. I see myself in you, but you’re doing everything I wanted to do and never had the courage for.”

  I was stunned. “Like what?”

  “Like track, and choir, and grades. I was good in school, but I never had any friends. You have so many. You even have a boy who likes you. I spent most of my high school years in the corner somewhere, avoiding people.”

  “Me, too! I don’t have many friends at all. Darcy was the first, but she died. And Luke was my choir partner until he learned how to juggle. We became buds because of that. I always thought you were popular in school.”

  “I thought you’d think I was a real loser if I told you about the real me.”

  “You could never be a loser. I’m proud to have you as my mom. I’d choose you if I had to be born again.”

  It was her turn to be shocked. “You… you would?”

  I grinned. “Yeah. I would. Scout’s honor.” I held up three fingers.

  She shook her head. “Scout’s honor. You’re crazy.” She put her hand on the keys, which were still in the ignition. “Well, I’m not going to sit here all night long. Do you want to go get some ice cream?”

  “Go back into town? Won’t it be too late by the time we get back? I thought you wanted to go to bed.”

  “What I want,” she smiled, “is to spend some more time with my beautiful daughter. I can sleep after you graduate. What do you say?”

  What did I say? I said a whole bunch of things – during the ride into town, over a huge banana split, and all the way back to the farm.