All That's True

by Jackie Lee Miles

  Skipper McCoy is leaving to go to another radio station, somewhere in Chicago. Guess he wants to break everyone’s heart before he goes, so they’ll remember him. Good luck. Everyone has probably killed themselves already, at least the ones that have a broken heart. I’m okay, but then no one’s broken mine since Rodney and that’s been a while, but I’m not sure about all the others out there. I’m about to pick up the phone and call the station to let them know they should lighten up, even if Skipper is going away. But then I hear Petula Clark singing “Downtown” and it sounds very upbeat and I figure maybe someone else already called in. Skipper is singing in the background, sounding very happy, so he must be glad to be going to Chicago.

  “Downtown! Downtown!” he sings into the microphone, and he has a really good voice. Then he plays Frank Sinatra. Frank is singing Chicago, and Skipper starts singing “Chicago, Chicago, my kind of town.” Then the music just sort of disappears and he says, “Now, remember, folks, if you get in the Chicago area be sure and switch to WLMU on your dial. Talk to you soon!” Then you hear him again, over Frank Sinatra, “Chicago, my kind of town!”

  Next a commercial comes on and the program’s over. I really like Skipper McCoy. I wonder if they’ve hired somebody good to take his place. I plop back on my pillow and think about the decision I’ve made. I’ve decided not to have anything to do with my father anymore. It will be much better this way. Why let him be the one to cut me off, like Julia’s father did to her? I’m trying to figure out a way to tell my mother. This is the type of thing that will upset her. Knowing my mother, she’ll just want us to carry on like always and pretend everything’s okay, when everything pretty much sucks when it comes to my dad.

  I haven’t thought of any good way to bring the subject up when my mother pops her head into my room.

  “Rosa has dinner ready, Andi,” she says. She has one of her house dresses on and an apron around her waist, which means she was in the kitchen helping out, when I know for a fact Rosa would prefer otherwise. My mother’s not much of a cook and she tends to get in the way. She fusses with the salad greens, like they haven’t been torn into the right bite size pieces, or she picks up a knife and starts rechopping the herbs that Rosa is ready to put into the pot. I’ve seen my mother do this and when she does Rosa’s eyes are twice their normal size.

  My mother is sitting at the dining room table when I get downstairs and her apron is nowhere in sight. So at least she won’t be serving. The last time she did she slopped sauce all over the dining room tablecloth. She insisted on changing it before we could continue and dinner was mostly cold by the time it was finally on the table. Which was okay, but my father made a big deal out of it. That was when he was still here. I wanted him to put his arms around my mother and nuzzle her neck like they do in the old movies my mother and I watch together sometimes and tell her how wonderful she is to try and serve him. It never happened. He sighed and got an irritated look on his face and never even got up to help her clear the dishes so she could change the tablecloth. He just pushed back from the table, put his napkin on his lap and waited like it was a major inconvenience. My mother just smiled and fussed with the linens and said, “We’ll be ready in no time.”

  I stew over the memory and feel happy that I’ve made the decision to not see my father anymore. He’s a crumb-bum. Now, I just need to find a way to tell my mother, without upsetting her too much.

  ***

  Just like I figured, my mother is not happy with my decision. She motions for me to follow her into the library. I watch as she opens the blinds and lets the morning light pour in. It’s Saturday. Rosa is busy in another room. I can hear the vacuum cleaner humming away.

  “Andi,” my mother says. She fusses with the back of her hair. She does this when she’s not certain what to say. Her hair is pulled up into a soft curve and fastened with a barrette. While she fusses with it, some of it falls out of place. She looks so beautiful, like a commercial where the model pulls her hair pin out of place and her hair cascades all around her shoulders. Not that all of my mother’s hair has done that, but I can easily picture that happening with my mother’s hair, if she keeps fussing with it. I look at her and wonder how my father could possibly ever fall out of love with her. She’s perfect. I watch her mouth as it forms words. Her lips are perfect, too.

  “Don’t make up your mind so soon about your father,” she says. “It takes time to—to—well, to adjust. Eventually, this situation will become more familiar to you and—”

  “They’re having a baby!” I blurt out. “It’ll never be familiar. We’re supposed to be a family and he just goes and starts another one.”

  I tell her all about Julia and what happened to her and explain that I never want that to happen to me and she must let me decide. My mother sits back and sighs. Her face is pale, but her cheeks are flush like I’ve slapped her.

  “Andi,” she whispers. “Just give it some time.”

  I nod my head like I’m agreeing with her, but I’m not. I’ve given my father all the time I plan to. It’s over. He can go on with his life and I’ll go on with mine. I lean over and hug my mother. She smiles. She thinks I’m mulling it over. If only she knew.

  Chapter Seventy-three

  I am having brunch at the Ritz-Carlton with my mother, Beth, and Dr. Armstrong. All three of his children are with us, along with his two grandchildren, Zachary and Elizabeth. Elizabeth is four and Zachary is one. He’s just started walking and is toddling all over the place. I get to watch them and I’m having a very good time. Elizabeth has a little purse she carries around. She’s sitting on my lap. Zachary is back in the high chair the maître d’ brought to the table.

  “What do you keep in your purse?” I ask Elizabeth.

  She opens the clasp and pulls out a plastic baggie with photos inside. I watch as she pulls them free from the plastic.

  “This is my friend, Charlie,” she says. “We take ballet together. See?” She puts the picture almost under my nose.

  I lower it to take a good look. Charlie is a pretty blonde-haired girl and at least a foot taller than Elizabeth.

  “How old is Charlie?”

  “She’s four, like me,” Elizabeth says, proudly.

  “Goodness, she’s a big four,” I say.

  Elizabeth takes the picture back and stares at it carefully. Her brow is wrinkled and her lips are pursed together tightly. “Well, next year when I’m five,” she says. “I’ll be a big four, too!”

  I laugh and give her a hug. Children are wonderful. They really do say the darndest things.

  “My hamster died,” she says. “I liked him a lot and I hugged him too hard and his tongue came out and he died.”

  There is a very sad look on her face. I glance at her mother, who shakes her head, as if she is saying, “Don’t go there.”

  “But I’m getting another one,” Elizabeth adds. “I’ll just hug him sort of hard. That should be okay, right?”

  I’m not sure how hard to hug a hamster. “Maybe just hug him gently,” I say.

  She looks at me like the word gently is not in her vocabulary.

  “What I mean is, don’t hug him hard at all. Hug him soft.”

  “Okay,” she says and settles down into my lap. “I’ll just hug him a little.” She lets out a deep sigh. Her mother smiles at me like I’m doing everything right and really I’m not doing anything at all but listening.

  Beth invited Adrienne to join us. She’s home from Zaire for a short visit to raise more funds at her church. When Adrienne arrived at our house the day she returned, Beth came bounding down the steps when the door chimes rang. I was on my way to answer it myself. Beth flung the door open and threw her arms around her, which wasn’t so unusual because they’re friends after all and Beth has not seen her for a while. But then Beth leaned in and kissed her right on the mouth! I wasn’t sure what to do. Then it hit me. All of it. Why she ignored Parker all those months they were engaged. Why she was relieved not to be getting married. She was
struggling all along with her sexuality and nobody knew. It made me very sad. Poor Beth. She’s been suffering silently all this time.

  I watched them walk into the entrance hall hand in hand. They looked like lovers. Then I realized, they are!

  Later Beth explains her choice to my mother, who takes it all in stride, but I’m sure when my father finds out he will lose all his hair over it. I can just hear him. It makes me laugh right out loud.

  “Andi,” my mother says. “Goodness, what is it?”

  “Nothing, I’m just happy,” I say. And I am.

  I think about all my father’s attempts to see me and that makes me happy, too. It’s good to be the one in charge. Each time he comes to the house, I tell my mother in no uncertain terms that I’m not going to even so much as talk to him. And I certainly am not going to go out to dinner with him. He sends me three long letters. They’re under my mattress. I like to read them late at night over and over again. They all say the same thing. He misses me. He loves me. He wants me to be part of their family. He wants me to come and visit. Donna will be having the baby soon and I will be a big help to her. Wouldn’t I like to give them a chance? Not on your life, I want to say, but I’m not speaking to him. I know that sounds very cruel, but I think of how he dumped us and how he treated my mother all those months when she was drinking and here she was just grieving over losing Alex and then I think of how he was sneaking around behind my mother’s back when her heart was breaking for Alex and her knowing all along what he was up to and then I just go back to never wanting to see him again. Besides, if I started seeing him again, he would probably just get used to me being around. And he and Donna will probably have other babies, and I’d get lost in the shuffle. I can’t bear the thought, so I just keep staying away.

  When we get back from the brunch, my mother calls me to come down from my room. I run down the stairs thinking that she has a surprise for me. Sometimes she gets me a little gift, for no reason, really, and she wraps it up in fluffy pink paper. Halfway down the stairs I see that my father is at the bottom of the steps. Donna is right next to him. Her belly is huge. Then I remember, the baby is due next month, so it should be big. I stop on the step I’m on and freeze. What am I supposed to say to him?

  “Andi,” my father says. “Come down here right now.”

  Right. Like he is in charge of me. I don’t move.

  “Andi, this has gone on long enough. Now you come down here right now!”

  I turn around and run back upstairs. My mother follows. I slam my door shut. At least my mother respects my privacy. She doesn’t barge in. She knocks on the door. “Andi, sweetie, can I come in?”

  Why not? Let me hear what she has to say.

  “Alright,” I say, and the door opens before I finish speaking.

  My mother comes over to the bed and sits down next to me. “Oh, Andi,” she says. “You’re being so difficult and that is so unlike you.”

  I told you she always thinks the best of me. Basically, I think I’ve always have been difficult, but she’s the only one who doesn’t see it that way. I lie down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. It has this very interesting pattern. If you look really hard you can make out miniature stalactites. They’re right there hanging from the ceiling. I count each and every point that’s protruding. My eyes get lost and I lose track. I can hear my mother. She’s trying to explain to me why I’m being difficult.

  “Andi, they only want you to go to dinner. Would that be so much?”

  I sit up straight on my bed and rub my eyes. I’m not sure if I can see straight any more. “I’ve already had dinner,” I point out.

  “Alright, supper,” she says. “They want you to join them for supper.”

  “Well, they can forget it!” I say and plop back down on my bed.

  My mother looks at me like she cannot believe that she’s heard me. I sit back up and slam my fists at my sides. They hit the bed like they’re made out of cotton.

  “I can’t stand it!” I say. “They’ve started a new life, they’re having a new baby and I can’t stand it.”

  My mother puts her arms around me and pulls me to her. “Andi, my sweet girl,” she says, and turns me around and looks me straight in the eye. “If I can stand it, you can stand it.”

  ***

  My mother is right, but there is one thing about trying to change your mind about something. It doesn’t necessarily change your heart. I walk back down the staircase and confront my father again. Donna’s belly is sticking out like a watermelon, but her cheeks really are glowing, just like I read in a magazine. I turn to my father and say, “I told you. I don’t want to see you anymore. Please leave me alone.”

  I march back up the steps and walk right past my mother and go into my room and slam my door. Then I lie down on my bed and cry my eyes out. If you want to know the truth, I was hoping my father would march right up those stairs and yank me by the back of my head and say, “That’s not good enough, Andi! You forgot one thing: I want to see you!”

  He didn’t.

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Spring break is over and I go back to school assuming that it will be the same old same old. Then, out of the blue, my home room has a new boy and what do you know? He’s the boy of my dreams. I know I thought Anthony was, and then later I thought Rodney was, but when you really meet the one you are meant for, it’s like all the ones before are nothing. Nothing! Elliott Chambers. This is the one I am going to marry. He’s everything. He has an English accent. His father’s in the military, so he’s been all over the world, well mainly China, and Germany, and England. Mostly he was raised in England. So I’m not sure if he ended up where he was born and is English or just sounds like he is. I love his accent. I’m convinced it’s the way we should all be speaking English. Just like Princess Diana and Prince Charles, whose marriage—according to the papers—is on the rocks. What does that say for my mother and father? Royals can’t even stay married. This should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I really like Diana and I love my mother. Both men in their lives have not lived up to what they said they would do in their wedding vows, stay married ’til death us do part. Men lie.

  That gets me thinking that maybe Elliott will be the same way. I probably shouldn’t get involved, but he’s already paying a lot of attention to me and it’s hard not to pay attention to that kind of attention. Just this morning he asked me if I’d like to go skating on Saturday.

  “I can meet you there,” he says.

  “Okay,” is all I manage.

  He has light brown hair and blue eyes. There’s a cut over one eye that’s left a scar. I wonder if he gets into fights or something. Or maybe he’s just clumsy and runs into things.

  “What time?”

  “What time?” I’ve lost my train of thought.

  “Skating,” he says, like where have I been?

  “Oh—uh, maybe one o’clock,” I answer, then, I remember I’ll be at Sunny Meadows reading to Elizabeth. “It’ll have to be three o’clock. I’m an Angel at Sunny Meadows. I have to read. That is, I volunteer to read. I’m not really an angel or anything like that. They just call us that.” I’m babbling. I could kick myself, but my mouth won’t shut up.

  “An angel, huh?” He grins. “Well, the afternoon session ends at four. That would only give us an hour.”

  “Okay.”

  “No, I mean, maybe we should pick another Saturday.”

  “I have to read every Saturday.”

  He puts his hands in his pockets and just looks at me. What? I’m supposed to rearrange my life for him already?

  “Maybe some other time,” he says. He shrugs his shoulders and walks away.

  We haven’t even started this romance, and already things are getting complicated.

  ***

  After school I decide to walk home. I know, I’m not supposed to, but who cares? I’m feeling really down anyway. Getting into trouble can’t make me feel any worse that I already do. I look around to see if I can spo
t Julia. She takes the number eleven bus. It’s already pulled away and mine is next in line. I turn around and walk away. I’m thinking about Elliott and how I could have helped things turn out differently so we’d be going skating after all. Maybe I should have said, “I’m supposed to be at Sunny Meadows Nursing Home—I’m a reader—but I probably could make arrangements. You know, change my day.”

  But then he would have thought I was too eager and all the stories in Seventeen say to be a little mysterious. Guys like the chase. They want what they think they can’t have. If that is the case, Elliott doesn’t get it. He walked away like, too bad for her. When he said maybe some other time, he didn’t sound like he meant it. He could have been saying, see you around, and it would have come out the same way. No big deal here, girlie—I wasn’t sure I wanted to go skating anyway.

  If he was getting ready to like me, he probably will get over it, pronto. Maybe I could call him up and explain that we could go skating on Friday night instead. But I don’t have his number and even if I did, it would be so pushy, me calling him. I could leave him a note with my name and telephone number on it and just write, “Hey, give me a call sometime.” That might work.

  I’m mulling that over when I look up and there’s a mother pushing her baby in a stroller. There’s a little girl about three hanging onto the handles. She’s having trouble maneuvering the stroller in the right direction. The mother places her hands over the little girl and guides her along. The little girl smiles and says, “I can do it, Mommy.”

  That is so cute. A little butterfly just flutters inside me. Soon that will be Donna, pushing her baby along, maybe a toddler hanging on the handle and another one on the way. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so cute anymore. Now what kind of person have I become that I don’t find that cute? I’m not liking myself very much. I think back to when my father was still with us. I liked myself fine. He’s turned me into a monster. He’s dumped our life upside down and has changed my once-nice personality into a grumpy one.