Say, do you like to watch football? I bet you don’t but if you do I wonder what your favorite team is. I know you like Michael Jackson a lot. Do you play any sports at school?
Your Old Dad,
Rick
“He doesn’t live too far away,” I say.
“That’s right,” says Patrice.
“I could go see him and give everyone a break when he gets back.”
“I know this is all pretty exciting,” says Patrice, “but you’ll have to meet Rick a few times before you go to his house.”
I look down at the ground. I am thinking.
“Ginny, do you know what the word respite means?” Patrice asks.
I shake my head no.
“It means taking a little break. I know it’s awfully soon, but like I said—Anyway, your parents are hoping that after you get to know Rick a little better, you can go have a respite with him. That way they can spend some time alone together with Wendy, and you can get to know your Birth Dad. He’s so, so happy to have finally found you. And after that—well, we’ll see. What do you think?”
I nod my head yes three times. “Yes,” I say. “I think it’s a great idea.” But Rick won’t be home for approximately two weeks. I don’t know if my Baby Doll will be safe with Gloria until then.
“Honestly, I think it’s a little soon myself, but it’s much better than the other alternative your mom and dad are thinking about. So you’ll be going to meet Rick on Saturday the 20th.”
I sit up straight. “Where will I go to meet him?”
“To the park, like he said. The arrangements were made right around lunchtime. You’ll go there with both of your Forever Parents on Saturday the 20th, and your Grammy will come out to watch Wendy.”
“I start basketball next week,” I say to Patrice.
“That’s right,” she says. “Special Olympics starts back up this month. Maybe you could mention that to Rick in your next letter. Maybe you could invite him to come watch some of your games.”
In my brain I picture Rick. My Birth Dad. He is sitting on the bleachers at school watching me make hook shots and jump shots and layups. Rick is not a big man. He will be a small man with skinny shoulders and long black hair and a small nose. He will smile all the time and wear white, white socks with black shoes. And big sunglasses.
He will be my biggest fan.
“And we should probably talk about the interview,” says Patrice.
I come up out of my brain and make sure my mouth is shut tight and look up at the ceiling like I didn’t hear. Because I don’t want to go to the interview. Thinking about the interview makes me want to climb into a suitcase and zip myself in. Because at the interview I have to talk with a detective and tell him all the things Crystal with a C did and said. Instead of going to the trial. But I don’t want to talk with a detective even if a bunch of social workers will be there. Because detective is another word for police officer.
“It’s coming up soon,” says Patrice. “But maybe we can talk about it on the phone in a day or two. Would that be all right?”
I come up fast out of my brain. “Yes, that would be all right,” I say.
EXACTLY 8:24 IN THE MORNING,
MONDAY, NOVEMBER 8TH
The secretaries in the office at school are smiling at my Forever Sister. It is on the counter asleep in its car seat. My Forever Mom is standing at the counter smiling while the secretaries make their lips look like round circles and say “Oh!” and “So cute!” and “B-eau-tiful!” It is like they remember only long vowel sounds.
I am sitting on the edge of a long bench right next to a garbage can. There are lots of crumpled papers inside and some shavings from a pencil sharpener. A cinnamon oatmeal granola bar wrapper and a brown apple core with exactly two bites left on the side that I can see.
“And how is your husband?” one of the secretaries says. The older one. I know she doesn’t like me one bit. She’s here every time I come into the office to talk with the principal. She always tells me to sit in the same place. The far, far end of the long wooden bench that is in front of the glass wall facing the hallway. It is like the spot at the end of the bench is only for me.
“I understand they had a hard time finding someone to fill in for him up at the high school. And they say he’s got just enough sick days to cover the rest of the year. He’s doing the right thing, of course. I mean, no one would ever question that. It’s just that a whole school year is a long time. And what about you? Is your partner able to take all your patients? So glad you came in with the baby!”
She glances at me. Like I am a dog who chewed someone’s shoes. I make a frowning face at her.
“He’s doing just fine,” says my Forever Mom. “Today he’s at the doctor’s—high blood pressure—which is why I’m here for Ginny’s intake. And yes, Dr. Win is taking my patients for now. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
Then the other secretary says, “I think someone’s waking up!”
My Forever Sister’s foot moves. The two secretaries take big breaths and hold them. Their eyes and mouths get big and freeze.
My Forever Sister goes back to sleep.
Then the secretaries start talking. “Is she eating rice cereal? And is she sleeping through the night? You know, I used to give my daughters rice cereal in a bottle right before—”
In my brain I remember my Baby Doll. It never had rice cereal or people to smile at it. Or a car seat or a mom who wrapped it up in nice blankets.
My leg starts kicking the leg of the bench with the back of my heel.
“Ginny, would you please stop that?” says my Forever Mom without looking because she is looking at my Forever Sister who is asleep like a doll or a dead cat or something. Like a plastic electronic baby that doesn’t even move. They don’t understand that when a baby sleeps it’s time to leave it alone and go find food. Find something you can chew up so that it’s soft enough to put in my Baby Doll’s mouth and help it swallow. Go find something to eat so my own belly won’t be so tight. And push my arms out straight and move my shoulders because I’ve been holding my Baby Doll so long to keep it happy that my whole body hurts, hurts, hurts.
“Ginny, stop!” says my Forever Mom.
I kick hard one last time and swing my leg at the garbage can. It makes a loud noise and knocks over. I am glad. My Forever Sister’s tiny fists rise above the edge of the car seat. The secretaries and my Forever Mom all make breathing sounds and look at it. Then at me. With angry faces.
“Ginny,” my Forever Mom says, “can you just, please, sit there and be patient? And pick up that garbage can. You almost woke Wendy up.”
I get up and bend down and pick up the garbage can. I put the crumpled papers back in. I pick up the apple core. On the other side is a whole other bite I didn’t see. I want to put the apple core behind my back and hide it but I won’t because everyone is watching. Patrice told me how my Forever Mom breast-feeds Baby Wendy but I still feel like I have to find food for it and chew it up to help it eat.
I look at the apple core in my hand. I fight hard to make myself drop it back in the garbage.
“How do you like being a big sister for the first time, Ginny?” the younger secretary says.
It is a question she shouldn’t have asked. Because I don’t know how to answer it. To answer it I would have to be nine years old again on the other side of Forever. I would have to subtract myself from this side in order to get back.
“Ginny?”
“What?”
“Do you like being a big sister?”
I let out a big breath. I nod my head yes.
EXACTLY 5:53 AT NIGHT,
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 10TH
I am in the car going to Special Olympics with my Forever Dad. I am wearing my blue T-shirt and short sw
eatpants, the ones that show my sneakers and socks. The laces are pulled nice and tight. I am ready for anything.
When we get to the parking lot at school there are a lot of cars. It’s dark and so it’s hard to see. My Forever Dad reminds me not to open the door and jump right out. I need to wait for him to come and open it. It’s not a good idea to run across a parking lot because you could get hit by a car or a minivan or maybe even a motorcycle. Motorcycles are extremely dangerous if you aren’t wearing a helmet.
As I walk I think about Gloria. If she knew my practice was at six every Wednesday she might come to see it. She might even try to kidnap me. She is impulsive enough to try. And then she would get in trouble with the police. So I look around. I don’t see the Green Car anywhere in the parking lot but I do see a police car. I stand close to my Forever Dad. He waves at the police officer in the car and the police officer waves back.
I put on a frowning face and cross my arms.
In the school we walk to the gym. When we get there I see Brenda Richardson and her mom and dad. Brenda Richardson is a new kid who goes to Room Five. I see Larry and Kayla Zadambidge and a lot of other kids. Some of them are kids from school but some are from other towns. I don’t know their names. They have so many different heads and they are moving so fast that I can’t count them. Larry sees me and waves one of his arm braces.
Ms. Dana is one of the coaches. She shows us how to line up with partners and pass the basketball back and forth. She shows us how to shoot layups and foul shots. She shows us how to put our arms up so that people on the other team can’t pass the ball. There’s a lot to learn but I’m good at learning so I like it.
The other coach is Coach Dan. He’s mostly nice but he’s also a man so I don’t talk with him. I talk only with Ms. Dana.
Everyone at Special Olympics gives each other hugs when they make mistakes but I don’t like hugs so I get high fives instead. I love Special Olympics. It is like Bubbles finding a lot of other chimps or Little Michael Jackson finding his brothers or Michelle Whipple finding a whole bunch of Michelle Whipples even though Michelle Whipple is a real asshole which is mostly an expression. Because a person can’t be an asshole for real. But Special Olympics is the best. It is the bomb which is what Larry says and I can’t wait to come back to Special Olympics next week on Wednesday at exactly six o’clock after supper.
Alison Hill throws the ball to me. It bounces far down the court. I have been practicing only a little while but now I need a drink.
I see my Forever Dad and walk to him. The time is exactly 6:13. He is sitting on the bleachers with the other Forever Parents talking with a man wearing a leather Patriots jacket and a leather Patriots hat. I ask my Forever Dad for my water bottle. He hands it to me and I take a drink. “Are you having a good time out there?” he says.
“Yes, I am,” I say when I finish drinking because if you talk while you drink the water will fall out of your mouth. Juice does that too. And milk. When milk falls out of your mouth you have to wipe it fast with a cloth to soak it up and suck on it. In my brain I see my Baby Doll lying on my quilt.
Then I remember. I remember what I’m supposed to be doing. I’m supposed to be back in the apartment taking care of my Baby Doll. Or up in Canada taking care of it. I am not supposed to be playing a game.
Someone yells my name. I don’t know who it is and I don’t care. Because I am sinking into my brain.
“Ms. Dana taught you a new kind of pass tonight,” my Forever Dad says.
I don’t see him. “I need to go back,” I say.
“All right,” he says.
I turn and take two steps.
“Ginny?”
I come up out of my brain and look around. I see the bleachers and the lights and the gym all around me. I am confused.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” my Forever Dad says.
I look at my hands. I am still holding my water bottle. I give it back to him. He laughs. The sound makes me smile a little.
Then I hear another voice. The man in the leather Patriots jacket is laughing with us but he is laughing more than I want him to. More than he’s supposed to be. It is not a mean laugh but he is laughing way too much.
I look at him hard. He stops and looks away.
“Oh,” my Forever Dad says. “I almost forgot. I was talking with Grammy and Granddad. They asked if you might want to spend a few hours at their house on Saturday while your mom and I go somewhere. What do you think of that?”
“I can’t sleep over on Saturday, November 20th,” I say. The man in the leather Patriots jacket looks up at the ceiling. “Or on Friday, November 19th. Because on Saturday I’m going to the park to meet Rick and on Friday I need to get ready.”
“Good job remembering,” my Forever Dad says. “But I meant this Saturday, the 13th. And how do you feel about going to meet Rick, since you mentioned it?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” I say.
“Good. Now, let’s get you back out on the court! You sure do have some super-duper basketball moves.”
I go back to the court and when I get there Ms. Dana hands me a ball and tells me to pass it to Alison Hill. I look back at the bleachers. My Forever Dad is talking to the man in the leather Patriots jacket again. I still don’t know who he is but I feel different when I look at him. He makes me want to hiss.
EXACTLY 6:44 IN THE MORNING,
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 12TH
I am at the Blue House even though I should be at school. I have to miss school today so I can go to the interview. With my Forever Dad. We are leaving right after breakfast.
I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and pee and then I check the whiteboard. It is on the wall next to the kitchen on the way into the dining room. My Forever Dad put the whiteboard up when he stopped working at school for the rest of the year to take care of me. He said the whiteboard helps me order my day and not be so anxious. Every day he writes on it what we’re going to do. Today the whiteboard says Go to Wagon Hill and then Go to the interview and then Out for lunch and then Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.
Which is from a nursery rhyme.
We are going to Wagon Hill to get some exercise. Exercise makes us feel better, he always says. “And today I need you feeling really great so that we can get through the interview.”
I go to the table and sit down at my spot. Next to my milk are two pieces of toast and some vanilla yogurt and a bowl with nine grapes. “Where will we go at Wagon Hill?” I ask. I don’t like going to Wagon Hill because we always go for walks there. There are lots and lots of different paths to walk on and they all join up together so the walk never ends until someone says It’s time to go home but I never know when that will be.
“Oh, probably just for a little walk. Don’t worry—we have to be back to the car by nine-thirty in order to be on time for the interview, so we’ll aim to be back at the parking lot by then.”
I like that my Forever Dad helps me know when we’ll do things. He makes me feel calm and safe. Almost like Michael Jackson.
When we get to Wagon Hill we park the car and walk up out of the parking lot. There are big open fields everywhere with a river far away through the trees and an old wagon up at the top. There are paths that lead through the fields. In the summer the grass in the fields is so tall that the paths are like a maze. Someone cuts them out with a giant lawn mower.
“Do you want to walk to the river, or to see the wagon?” my Forever Dad says. He is wearing his green fall jacket and breathing heavy because we are walking.
So I say, “If we go to the river can we go swimming?”
“Ginny, it’s a warm day for November,” he says, “but it’s still much too cold to go swimming.”
So I say, “If we go to the wagon can we go for a ride in it?”
He says no again because the w
agon is an antique and there aren’t any horses.
So then I say, “Well how can I know where I want to go if there’s nothing fun to do in either direction?”
“It’s not about having fun today, Forever Girl,” he says. “It’s about getting some exercise.” He stops and leans against a big rock. “Just hold on a minute.”
I look at my watch. He makes a breathing sound.
“This is really tedious,” I say.
My Forever Dad laughs. And stands up again. “No, it isn’t,” he says. “I like spending time with you, you know. We haven’t really been able to do that since the summer. Let’s go up to the wagon. It’s a shorter distance.”
It gets windier as we walk up the hill. I have my red windbreaker on and I am glad. Then we get to the wagon. It is painted bright green. There are three other people there. Their jackets are open enough so that I can see what they’re wearing. None of them are wearing Michael Jackson shirts.
My Forever Dad sits down on a bench and leans forward with his arms on his knees. I ask if I can climb into the wagon. He says yes. So I climb up into the back. The floor of the wagon is made of six long boards. It looks like a place where Michael Jackson could perform so I start snapping the fingers of my right hand down next to my right leg. One, two, three, four. Then I bend my left knee and start moving my chin up and down.
I sing.
I sing “Billie Jean” in a low soft voice and when I get to the chorus I get louder and louder. The wind is blowing and my hair is blowing back. I look out over the fields and at the sky and sing just like Michael Jackson does. I say “Ooh-hoo!” and “Ow!” in all the right places.
Then I sing “Bad.”
And “Beat It.”
I do all the spins and stand on my tippy-toes. When I finish I see the three people who aren’t wearing Michael Jackson shirts. They are standing below me on the ground looking up. Their mouths are open. They have funny looks on their faces but then one of them starts clapping and the other two join in.
The Truth According to Ginny Moon Page 12