by Mary Amato
“I’d kill to go to Aruba,” Fin said. “I have to go to Minnesota with my family. In a car.”
Cassie didn’t even respond.
I got dropped off at a redbrick house with one sad yellow balloon tied to the doorknob. Joy told me the birthday girl was a six-year-old named Lindsey. Six. That had to be easier than dealing with pretweenies. A frazzled-looking woman answered with a phone in her hand. “Hold on, Kevin!” she yelled into the phone, and then she pulled me into the house. “Thank goodness!” She led me through the living room and showed me a door to the basement. “Go on down. I’ll be down in a second.” She disappeared into a bathroom.
I stood for a moment, adjusting my cups and fins, intending to give myself a pep talk, when from behind the closed bathroom door, the woman let loose with a string of swear words that would make a pirate blush. “No, it’s not all right, Kevin. I’m sick of your excuses.” She said his name as if she were spitting it out. “You’re never here, Kevin. It’s your daughter’s birthday. I know you can’t do it for me, but you could do it for her.” The smell of cigarette smoke started seeping through the crack below the bottom of the door. I heard crying. “Don’t bother coming home, Kevin. I’ve had it.”
I figured the best thing I could do was to keep the kids entertained. The stairs led down to a depressing, low-ceilinged room with a TV, a rug that smelled like cat pee, and some beanbag chairs. The Little Mermaid DVD was on, running the scene in which Ariel’s father trades his life to set her free of the curse.
The girls weren’t watching, though. One girl, the tallest and most conventionally pretty in the room, was holding court. “We can’t all be mermaids,” she said. “I think Lindsey should be Flounder, and Ruthie and Katie should be Flotsam and Jetsam and — ”
The girls caught sight of me at that point and started squealing.
Amazing things, lungs. Tiny ones can produce enough air for really loud noises. The squealing grew even louder, and the girls began to crowd around me.
I began the script. “I’ve been swimming around all day searching for a special birthday girl to see — ”
“Me! I’m Lindsey!” A short girl lunged forward and hugged me. She was adorable — pudgy with a front tooth missing.
“It’s Lindsey’s birthday,” the tall girl said. “It’s my birthday in two weeks. And I’m having an even bigger party. I’m getting the princess.”
I smiled and made my way over to the middle of the room, the girls still trying to hold on. “Wow. You guys are like barnacles.”
Behind me, the tall girl crouched down and peeked under my costume. “She has feet!” More squealing as the tall girl, named Cory, tried to lift up the flounces that served as the fins of my tail.
“Stop that,” I said. “Yes, I have feet.”
“You don’t look like Ariel at all,” Cory said, and turned to Lindsey. “This isn’t a good one.”
Lindsey looked like she was going to cry. If there had been a utility closet nearby, I would have told the mean Cory that it was Ursula’s lair and locked her up in it. “I’m not Ariel,” I said. “I’m a different mermaid.”
“Is that your real hair?” Cory asked. “Because it doesn’t look very nice.”
I squelched a burning desire to kneel down, look her straight in the eyes, and say: Is that your real personality? Because it’s about as appealing as a sea slug.
“We’re supposed to play a game and get a prize,” Cory said. “The Ariel at my cousin’s party did that. You’ve got the stuff in there.” She tugged at my bag.
“You are not allowed to touch a mermaid’s purse,” I said. “That’s actually rude.”
The girl’s face darkened. She turned to Lindsey and said, “Let’s have the cake now. This is boring.”
Lindsey looked as if she were dying, as if any moment, angels would descend, weeping, to carry her limp soul to heaven. “Okay,” she said, and started following Cory up the stairs.
“Everybody, freeze!”
Miraculously, the girls froze. Lindsey looked at me, eyes big and trusting. Something about the way she believed in me, even though I was obviously a fake, gave my fragile ego a boost of vigor and vim. I stood up, adjusted my wig, and grabbed my trident. “I have a proclamation. We’re going to play a fun game, and since it’s Lindsey’s birthday, she gets to go first.”
“When it’s my birthday, I’m going first,” the tall girl said.
“Yeah? Well, that’s not today, is it?” I gave her a wicked smile. “After Lindsey, we’ll go in order of size. Shortest first and tallest last.”
Okay, that was mean, but it was immensely gratifying to see that brat’s face when she looked around the room, realizing that she was going to be last.
I turned my attention to Lindsey and let her set out the props for the game and made sure to move the basket close enough that she got it on the first try. I made up a silly song about how wonderful she was and put a string of fake gold pearls around her neck.
Her smile was beautiful.
After the party, I sailed out the door, powerful in a goodness-and-light kind of way, like a mermaid superhero, like maybe I could save the Lindseys of the world from depression, one birthday party at a time.
15
UKE LOVE
JOY HANDED OUT our paychecks, and Fin and I squealed like piggies. We had a plan to head straight for the ATM and then the music store. Hayes asked if he could join us, and I was happy to notice that Cassie overheard. Oh, and I made sure to let her know that a wonderful girl named Cory had booked her for a princess party in two weeks. “You’ll just love her,” I said.
The day was sunny and unnaturally warm for February, a day to make your own dream come true.
The guy at Tenley’s rolled his eyes when I walked in the door.
“She has the money!” Fin said.
With a dramatic flourish, I pulled the cash out of my purse — crisp twenties.
He stepped from behind the counter without saying a word and walked over to where the ukes were hanging. No reaction. No congratulations. No whoop or holler. No jig dancing. I guess some people live their lives minimalistically.
He took the one I wanted off the wall and handed it to me.
“Don’t you want to play them all?” Hayes asked. “To make sure you get the right one?”
One quick snort came out of Grumpy Gus.
I plucked each string: Mine, mine, mine, mine.
I’d say the sound was like music to my ears, but that wouldn’t do it justice.
After I paid, the guy handed me the receipt and my change. The whole thing took less than two minutes.
“That’s it?” I was incredulous.
“What did you expect?” the guy asked.
“I don’t know … to fill out a form … or take an oath or a test,” I said, “or go through some training process, like you do when you get a driver’s license or adopt a baby.”
“At the very least, a parade,” Hayes added.
“Congratulations,” the guy said, and sat on his stool and began leafing through a magazine.
“Thank you for shopping at Tenley’s Music Store,” Fin said with a slightly wicked smile. “We know you could have purchased this online and appreciate your business.”
The guy looked up at Fin with a cold stare, and we left.
“Have a wonderful day,” Hayes called back.
I didn’t care. I took off the tag that was tied to a tuning peg and started dancing with the uke cradled in my arms.
The guys laughed. “Minerva just got a puppy,” Fin said.
Downtown Evanston was hopping. People were out shopping, doing errands. As we walked down Dempster, I strummed a few chords, and the sound of those four strings ringing out in the middle of all that ordinary pedestrian traffic was magical. I could see myself reflected in the store windows: a girl with a uke sticking out of her backpack, walking down the street with her friends. An object can’t miraculously make your life perfect, but every time I saw my reflection, I had
to smile.
“Stop,” Fin said. “Let’s busk.”
“What’s that?” Hayes asked.
“To sing on the street, play for money.”
Hayes smiled. “I had no idea there was a word for that.”
“My Fair Lady,” Fin said. “My first musical. I wanted the part of Freddy or Henry Higgins, but I got busker.”
I had memorized three songs from the uke songbook that Fin had given me for my birthday. I started to play “Somewhere over the Rainbow.” Fin took off the hat he was wearing, set it on the ground in front of us, and started singing harmony with me. Hayes played the part of the appreciative audience by putting a dollar in the hat.
People started smiling at us. A woman stopped and dropped her change into the hat. An old guy gave us the thumbs-up. Hayes joined in singing, and then who should come along? Fin’s parents and his two little brothers on their way to get soccer cleats. I am happy to report that they whooped and hollered when they saw us and went crazy over my new baby. Inspired, I started wailing on the uke, playing this hoedown, old-timey song that I was making up on the fly — spin your partner round and round — and everybody started square dancing.
Sometimes, you have these perfect moments, these moments that are stuffed with a thousand times more life than they can seem to hold; and you want to laugh and cry at the same time because you are so happy, and yet you know the moment is going to end and eventually your soul is going to settle back down.
There was something about singing out there on the street with Fin and Hayes, something about the blue of the sky, something about Fin’s parents and brothers dancing, their faces, the way they were just letting it loose, something about having that uke in my arms, the simplicity of the strumming, the fact that all this joy was coming out of four little strings that belonged to me. It got me right in the heart.
Saving my wishes,
Holding my breath,
Outside that window,
Too broke to take that step.
But now I promise
To nail the test,
Take the oath to pursue
My happiness. Oooh.
Finally, I’m right where I want to be.
I’m right where, I’m right where I want to be.
Finally, I’m right where I want to be.
Right where I want to be.
Are you that person?
You know the one
Longing to say out loud
What you really want.
You draw a picture,
Show what you need,
Tape it up on the wall
So everybody sees. Oooh.
Finally, you’re right where you want to be.
You’re right where, you’re right where you want to be.
Finally, you’re right where you want to be.
Right where you want to be.
Sing the day, sing the sky,
Sing the paycheck, sing the hi.
Drop a dollar in my hat.
Nothing better than that.
Oh! Hey, people
Passing on by,
Consider what you miss
If you keep it quiet.
(Don’t keep it quiet, don’t keep it quiet.)
Finally, we’re right where we want to be.
We’re right where, we’re right where we want to be.
Finally, we’re right where we want to be.
Right where we want to be.
16
SCHADENFREUDE
IN THE NEXT DAYS, I could have concentrated on my uke and how fun it was that Fin and I were spending time with a new friend, but that would have been way too healthy.
Minerva, thy name is weakness. I had to go on to Cassie’s blog again.
A fresh entry. No comment from Keanu Choy yet.
I’m so excited! The Shedd Aquarium is going to publish one of my photos in their new magazine, so I will officially be a published photographer! The topic of the issue is seahorse camouflage. Did you know that seahorses can change their colors and the patterns of color on their bodies to match sand or algae or other surroundings? Camouflage enables them to hide from predators, but it also makes it easier for them to ambush their prey! What do they eat? Teensy tiny shrimp, fish, and plankton.
Much to my dismay, [email protected] was blocked from making any further comments. Rattlefinks and fudderudder! What’s a girl to do? Create a new account.
[email protected] says:
Congratulations! Did you know that arrogance can never be camouflaged? It’s easy to spot when you know what to look for!
There is a vocabulary word to describe the twisted pleasure I got from dropping little bombs on Cassie’s blog: schadenfreude. It means feeling joy at someone else’s misfortune. Fin taught it to me. It’s German or Dutch or something. Schaden means “shadow” and Freude means “joy.” Shadowjoy.
It’s a terrible thing.
Look in all the windows
Of the houses on the street.
Pretty people with pretty secrets
Underneath their feet.
Cigarettes in the bathroom,
Smoke trails out like steam.
Close the door so no one
Hears you scream, hears you scream.
I got a secret.
I got a weakness.
Don’t want to feel it.
Keep it, keep it, keep it secret.
My father tiptoed out the door
To never-never land.
My mother gives me gifts that prove
She doesn’t understand.
I drop words like bombs online —
That’s my evil plan.
No one has to know
Who I am, who I am.
I got a secret.
I got a weakness.
Don’t want to feel it.
Keep it, keep it, keep it secret.
Behind the friendly eyes,
Behind the smile,
A shadow hides.
I wonder why there’s got to be a dark side.
I got a secret.
I got a weakness.
Don’t want to feel it.
Keep it, keep it, keep it secret.
17
NICE DADS & EMOTIONAL DISASTERS
PERHAPS IT WAS the desire to counteract all that negative energy with something positive that drove me to say yes to Fin when he suggested we pool the remainder of our paychecks to buy the FabAb Immediate Results Workout Program and to do the workout the night before our next gig.
The immediate result: abs of ouch and buns of oy.
Once again, you could find us hobbling toward the Get Happy office.
Joy saw us and said, “What now?” Then she noticed the uke sticking out of my backpack and said, “No way, Minerva. It isn’t in the script.”
Fin tried to lobby for me, but it was to no avail. Some people simply have no vision. Maybe if I had been able to bring the uke along, things would have gone better, but as Aunt Joan always says: If wishes were horses, we’d all have saddle sores.
Hayes and I were dropped off at a condo complex, one building apart. Joy told us to meet in the middle for the pickup when we were done and gave us extra brochures to hand out, just in case. Luckily the weather was warm, so we didn’t need our coats. “Stay in character,” she said.
The dad answered. Asian. Smudge of white frosting on his nose. Warm smile. “Let me guess. You’re the mermaid?”
“Fins, scales, and all,” I said.
“Come in.” He led me through a quiet house.
You can walk into some homes and get an immediate bad feeling, and you can walk into others and get this sense of calm. I could tell this was the house of a really nice family just by walking through it. I couldn’t put my finger on why. I mean, it wasn’t like, ah, the reason is because the sofa is facing southeast, which is the direction of peace.
“My daughter likes three things: soccer, strawberries, and The Little Mermaid.” He laughed. “If she could play soccer unde
rwater while eating strawberries, she’d be in heaven.”
“Soccer is great,” I said. “I always wanted to play on a team. But my mom thought participation in any sport would automatically lead to injury, disfigurement, or death.”
He laughed. “My wife is the coach!”
A sliding glass door led to the small fenced backyard where a half dozen little girls, all wearing huge soccer jerseys, were chasing after a ball. I guessed the Asian-looking kid with the long black ponytail was his. The blond mom was playing goalie. Luckily mermaids can’t play soccer; my gluts and quads would’ve screamed.
“Game just started. Kids against mom. I’m almost finished. Have a seat.” He handed me a strawberry to eat.
The kitchen smelled amazing. On the table was a large, white frosted cake. On it, the outline of a mermaid had been expertly drawn with chocolate icing, the long ponytail filled in. Two sliced strawberries formed the mermaid’s bikini top. The dad was now laying more sliced strawberries in a fish-scale pattern to fill in her tail. With extra batter, he had made cupcakes and had drawn seashells and starfish on them with caramel-colored icing.
“That’s amazing,” I said. “Are you a professional cake baker?”
“No. A graphic designer, but I’ll take that as a compliment. I do most of the cooking around here. I love my wife, but she’s a bad cook.” He made a funny face.
A chorus of cheers and high-pitched laughter came from the girls in the backyard. The mom was on her knees laughing, the girls jumping and high-fiving.
“First goal. Hold on.” The dad stood up. “Stay inside so they don’t see you yet.” He slid open the door, ran out, and cheered. His daughter jumped on him and he spun her around.
“Hey, whose side are you on?” The mom laughed and threw the ball at him.
The dad chased after the ball and kicked it to his daughter. His daughter passed it back to him. He turned sharply and kicked it right past the mom’s head into the goal.