“I’m trying to quit, I promise,” she said as she exhaled a big cloud of smoke.
“I know, Mom. It’s okay.”
She stared at me, her eyes narrowed. She was onto me.
“Stacy, what’s wrong?”
Mom can read all of us girls like a book. There was no use telling her I was fine, so I told her about Bobby. The last thing I wanted was for her to cry, but I had to tell her. I needed to tell someone.
“Oh, baby. Come here.”
And she put her cigarette down and reached out to me and took my hands in hers, and that really got me. Then when I couldn’t see her anymore, because my eyes were just filled, I wiped the tears off on my sleeve.
“Poor Bobby. That poor boy. Oh, his parents. I can’t imagine how they must be feeling.” She picked her cigarette up and took a drag, then put it down again. “You know, Stacy, I was so afraid you’d get hurt.” She was wiping her eyes now. “He’s a troubled young man. I was so afraid you’d get your heart broken. And I’m your mother, I’m supposed to protect you from things like that.”
“I know, Mom. But how do you protect your heart from getting broken? How do you manage that?” I asked, begging her for an answer.
Mom took another drag of her cigarette and stood there for a minute.
“Sometimes the only way is not to get started, you know what I mean? You have to be careful who you get involved with. But even that doesn’t always work. Sometimes you can’t really tell what someone’s like on the inside until you really get to know them.”
My mom, who’s been so strong since my dad died, stood next to me with tears rolling down her face.
“Stacy, sometimes life is just hard, you know? Too hard. I just wish sometimes it could be a little easier.” Then she sighed and shook her head, like it was too much to deal with, and she kind of seemed to just brush off her sadness, release it.
It was starting to get cold, and my nose was already numb at the tip. We stood next to each other on the patio, not saying anything while she finished her cigarette, then she stubbed it out and turned to me, saying in a soft voice, “You know what we need? We need not to be sad for a while. We need a good laugh. Come on.”
I followed her back inside, and I watched as she rummaged through our TV cabinet, through our collection of DVDs.
“This is what we need right now.” And she held up Airplane, the dumbest movie in the world.
“Oh, no, Mom. Not that.”
“Oh, yes.” And she gave a little smile, and we sat on the couch together, watching the dumbest movie in the world, saying lines along with the actors, because this was one of my dad’s favorites, and we’ve seen it a million times.
Surely you can’t be serious.
I am serious…and don’t call me Shirley.
If only real life were more like the movies, where you can just change the plot around when you need to, where the girl and boy ride off into the sunset, always a happy ending. Not that I want life to be like the movie Airplane though, because that would just be weird, and life can be weird enough as it is.
December 13 -
Marking Time
At work at my ridiculous job, I spent hours that felt like days going through Sylvia’s files and shredding old receipts. The shredder was starting to feel like a family member, I’d spent so much time feeding it paper. When I finished shredding, Sylvia handed me a stack of about a million holiday cards to hand address to make them seem personal.
Just when I felt like sticking a fork into my arm so I could actually feel something, it was time to go home.
When Roman dropped me off, I noticed that our condo didn’t look like Christmas at all. No mistletoe, no wreath on the door. Mom will probably drag the tree out of the garage soon, though, when she realizes that Christmas is less than two weeks away and she hasn’t done anything to prepare for it.
I gave up on hearing from Bobby. After asking Becca about fifty million times if she’d heard anything about him and her just shaking her head; after asking every person at Brookside, including Dante, and him telling me, “No, baby. I don’t know where Bobby is. And even if I did know, I couldn’t tell you,” after asking every random person, including Katie with the wide eyes, I gave up.
It feels like I’m marking time, counting the days until winter break. At school, I’m just going through the motions, going with the flow, trying to be as sociable as I can. Since nothing is obviously wrong with me, like my leg in a cast or something, nobody seems to notice anything at all.
In Algebra, I sat there as Ms. Harper passed out the tests with the familiar queasy feeling that I usually feel before a math test. But this time when I looked at my sheet, at all the problems, the numbers actually made sense to me, like they were actual numbers and not some strange, foreign symbols.
When I finished, I put my paper on Ms. Harper’s desk, and I felt pretty confident except for two problems I was a little iffy on. I sat back at my seat and thought about Bobby, who I’ve managed to think about only twenty-three hours a day instead of twenty-four.
Maybe we’ll meet again someday. Maybe.
December 15 –
Happy/Sad
I got my Algebra paper back with a big B plus marked on it. I was over-the-moon happy, and I said a quick mental thank you to Bobby and did a little happy dance in my seat.
When I waved my paper in front of Bethany and Rose, they were happy for me, of course, but not ecstatic.
“Hey, that’s great,” Rose said.
“B plus?” Bethany said as a question. (I don’t think she’s ever gotten less than an A on anything ever.)
“It’s okay, you guys. It’s huge for me—maybe nobody else in the world.”
The two of them exchanged glances. Rose noticed Darrell and her attention turned elsewhere.
I was in such a great good mood that when I saw snake-y Anthony in the hall on the way to fifth period, I actually said hello to him, because I felt so on top of the world—fearless.
“Hi, Anthony,” I said with confidence, like I wasn’t afraid of him at all. (And I’m not. He’s just a big dog turd as far as I’m concerned.)
“Uh, hi, Stacy. Long time no see.”
I ignored this opportunity to say something sarcastic like, “Gee, I wonder why, you big jerk.” Instead, I gave a confident nod and said, “Yeah, it has been.”
And I kept walking; I didn’t even slow down. Our little “encounter” at Chelsea’s party felt like a million years ago, the night I thought I’d never get over. It’s almost as if it happened to a different me.
On the drive home from school, I showed Roman my math paper, and he was happy for my B plus too (because that’s the kind of guy he is), but he was more happy because Becca was coming home.
“That’s great, Stacy,” he said with a nod that was a little more animated than usual.
“Happy, Roman?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when she gets home?”
He didn’t say anything; his eyes were straight ahead on the road, but he grinned.
“Um, forget I asked.”
We laughed. Things are looking up.
December 16 -
Homecoming
Mom brought Becca home, and just like that, she started getting back into the swing of things; it was as if she’d never left. Her bottles of medications are set out on the kitchen counter so she’ll remember to take them in the morning and at night. She’ll still be going to her group therapy twice a week, but that’s pretty much it for her. She’s back doing her regular Becca thing (whatever that is.).
I sat on my bed, watching her unpack, and the person I saw was different from the one I knew before she went into Brookside. Now she seems a little more thoughtful, and nicer. I’m hoping she isn’t as big of a slob, but that’s probably hoping for too much. I have to admit, I really got used to not sharing a room.
But we are actually talking to each other now. We chatted as she organized.
“Becca, it’ll be fine.” Of course, I have no way of knowing this, but still.
“Oh, I’m not scared or anything. It’s just…weird. You know?”
“Yeah. It is weird.”
And it really is. After everything that happened, to just pick up and return to the way things were. It’s weird.
I watched her put her socks and underwear away. We chatted about life—about anything that came to mind.
My phone rang, and I looked at the number. It was normal. Except it wasn’t.
The thing that I’d waited for and thought about so many times. The thing I’d wished for. The thing that was so important to me at one point in my life, as important as oxygen or food or water. The “thing” was Anthony. (Really.)
Anthony called me.
“Hi, Stacy.”
“Anthony? Zarate?”
“Yeah, it’s me. You sound surprised.”
Well, duh.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
But it wasn’t a good surprised like someone calling me and telling me I’ve won concert tickets or the lottery, it was more like a surprised shock, like, “What the hell?”
Becca stopped putting her things away and was mouthing, “What’s he doing calling you?”
I waved my hand at her to stop so I could concentrate.
“So how’s it going? It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I just wanted to call you and see what’s up.”
He was so nonchalant, like he didn’t have a clue about how he devastated me, leaving me gasping for air, broken in a heap. “It’s been a while?” What kind of weak thing was that to say?
One one-thousand, two one-thousand. I waited, trying to form some kind of response.
Becca was standing there mouthing, “What? Whaaat?” while I sat tongue-tied.
“Uh, Stacy? Are you still there?”
What is he doing calling me? Why now? What does he want?
I wanted to scream at him, but then there was that little pull. I hate that pull. I hated that I was still this pathetic creature waiting for any crumbs he threw me.
“Um, what did you want, Anthony?”
It sounded rude, but really, I wanted to know. And I was furious with him, and he never even knew it. (Because he’s an idiot.)
“I saw you at school yesterday, and I’ve been thinking about you—that we should go out. It’s been a while.” He was so smooth and casual, like it was nothing. “Anyway, I thought maybe you’d want to go to Danny Quinn’s party on Saturday.”
I’d heard about Danny’s parties. Danny’s a senior, and when his parents go away, he throws keg parties and charges five dollars a head. Couples have sex in the bathrooms and the closets and anywhere two people can squeeze in together—dark corners, basements, beanbag chairs. Who knows? I mean, I’ve never been, but you hear stories. There is no way in hell my mom would let me go to one of Danny’s parties—Becca and Roman would see to that—but, really, I didn’t want to anyway. I wasn’t ready for that, especially with Anthony and how grabby he is. There was only one reason he’d want to take me to a Danny Quinn party.
All these thoughts passed through my head in a second, and I felt the anger building. I didn’t want to be used and thrown away like a piece of garbage. By anybody.
“There’s no way my mom’s going to let me go to Danny’s party, Anthony. No way.”
“That’s cool. We can do something else. How about a movie?”
How about a movie? It sounded so innocent, the way he said it, so casual. But I didn’t trust him. At all. I thought for a second about Bobby and how he made me feel when I was with him—how he’d never use me and throw me away like trash.
“No,” was all I said. My voice was clear and strong.
Silence on the line for a second, like he had to process or didn’t understand what I’d just said.
“No?”
“I’m not going out with you, Anthony. Not now, not ever. Just so you know.”
Silence again.
“Why?”
His question hung there for a couple of seconds. He didn’t know? He didn’t know!
“Why?” I said to him, “Why?” I repeated a little more loudly. “Because you’re an idiot!”
He hung up on me.
My body was electric with power. I was a queen, and Anthony was the snake that slithered at my feet. I could have just brought my scepter down on him and bashed him in the head with it, but I decided to let him go (because that’s the kind of all-powerful being that I am).
Becca stood there in front of her dresser with a pair of underwear in her hands, mouth gaping open.
“Dude! That…was…awesome.”
She was impressed with me. So was I. Anthony’s hold over me was gone. Like magic.
I thought about Bobby for a second, and he felt almost like this dream, like I’d created this fantasy with him where everything was good and beautiful. He was my dream guy, tattoos and all. Always gentle and sweet and kind and happy to see me, telling me how special and beautiful I was. I really missed him.
The rest of the day, I walked taller. (Being an all-powerful queen will do that to a person.)
December 19 -
Reunited
The last day of school before winter break arrived just as I couldn’t take one more day.
During lunch, I saw Summer sitting by herself on a bench in the quad, which is a rare thing, for Summer to be by herself. We haven’t talked in a really long time, but I stopped and sat down next to her.
“What’s up, Summer?”
“Stacy.”
Her voice was flat, unemotional. She didn’t seem too happy to see me, probably because the last time we actually had any kind of interaction we almost got into a fistfight. For some reason—well, the reason was Anthony—I realized I didn’t want a jerk like him to come between us. We had been friends first, after all. And maybe Summer wasn’t the very best friend in the world, but still, she was my friend. And I missed her.
“Look, Summer, I just wanted to let you know, no hard feelings about Anthony. He’s a jerk. I’m so over him.”
She laughed. Not the reaction I expected.
“Yeah, me too. He really is a jerk.” She kind of spit out the word “jerk” like it was a bad taste in her mouth. “You know, I slept with him,” she said offhandedly, like it was no big deal.
Me: mouth open.
“Really? Did you want to?”
Summer rolled her eyes. “He was getting a little pushy, but it’s not like I didn’t really want to, it’s just I probably would’ve waited a little while, you know? Anyway, I’m so over him too.”
Summer. It figures. She was so matter-of-fact about the whole thing.
“So what happened between you two anyway?” I asked.
“The jerk never called me. Can you believe it?”
I totally could.
“I did it with him, then that’s it. Nothing. And lemme tell you, it wasn’t all that great either.”
She said this part while looking over the top of her sunglasses for emphasis. I sat, not knowing what to say. What a weenie.
“Anyway,” Summer continued, “you know, I’m seeing someone else, this guy Bradley. It’s pretty serious.” She looked over the top of her sunglasses again.
“Bradley. Do I know him?”
“No, he graduated last year.”
Just like Summer. She’s like an adult already. She acts like she’s got everything—life—all figured out.
“So, Stacy, why don’t you come spend the night after Bradley goes to boot camp.”
“Boot camp?”
“Yeah, he—what do you call it?”
“Enlisted?”
“Yeah, he enlisted with the Marines. He’s leaving right after Christmas. I’m really gonna be upset—devastated—when he’s gone. You can come cheer me up, have a sleepover, and go to Mass with me in the morning. Just like old times.”
“I’d really like that.”
Except for the Mass part.
“So we’re good?”
“Yeah, we’re good. Call me when he goes to boot camp.”
December 19, Later –
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