Normalish

by Margaret Lesh

  “Stacy, you bring up an interesting point. Your dad. What do you think he would have to say about what you did? Do you think he’d be happy about it?”

  Duh, Joy! I know you’re not that dumb. Way to make me feel like an idiot. Jeez! (She has a way of doing that.)

  I didn’t want to be rude, so I tried to give her a thoughtful answer. “Joy, my dad was a life coach. His whole mission in life was helping people achieve their goals, find their passion. So, no, I think he’d be disappointed that I made that particular choice.”

  Joy peered at me with her eagle eyes and asked, “Do you think it was a mature thing for you to do?”

  (I don’t think she thinks I’m a complete idiot, but at times like this, I wonder.)

  “No, I don’t think it was a mature thing for me to do.”

  And we talked about making better choices and how I needed to not be such a loser.

  Food for thought, Joy!

  Later I thought about my session and wondered if things would have been different if my dad were still around. And then I thought, What a useless thing it is to think that way. I mean, who knows? If my dad were still alive, maybe I never would have gone to stupid Chelsea’s stupid party and made out with snake-y Anthony. But then maybe I would have.

  Sometimes people just do stupid things.

  And they were just windshield wipers. And it was, like, over a week ago.

  January 15 –

  The Wrath of Summer

  Summer had it out with me after school. Apparently, she’s been mad at me for a change. (Which is, I have to say, kind of awesome.)

  When Summer’s Marine Bradley reported for his boot camp after Christmas, leaving Summer brokenhearted and devastated, unsure how she was going to survive until she was reunited with him again, I let her down, ignoring her messages. When she saw me waiting for Roman in the parking lot after school, I felt her wrath. (And Summer’s never been one to suffer silently.)

  “Stacy, what happened to you? You really hurt my feelings! How come you didn’t call me back? I called you at least twenty times.”

  Well, maybe three times. Summer’s such a drama queen.

  Ugh. “I’m so sorry, Summer.”

  But I couldn’t get myself to call her back, I just couldn’t. I didn’t feel like socializing, and I didn’t really feel like going into what happened to Bobby. It was too heavy. I’d been seriously trying not to dwell on it or else I’d end up spiraling back into my depression, back into that dark black hole.

  “Somebody close to me died, and I just couldn’t deal—with anything.”

  “Oh, Stacy. I’m so sorry! Who? Who died?”

  Typical Summer—she must know everything that happens at all times.

  I waved my hand away in an attempt to change the subject. “Nobody you know.”

  She looked disappointed. “I wish you would’ve called me, we could have been sad together, you know?”

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t even manage to do that—call anybody. Too sad and depressed.”

  And despite trying not to be sad and depressed, I felt myself starting to slip back into that familiar place.

  Summer looked concerned, like she was actually thinking about someone besides herself for a change. She can be pretty okay sometimes, I guess. Maybe having to deal with heartbreak made her a little bit more sensitive to other people and their problems. Maybe.

  “Stacy, come spend the night Saturday. We’ll give each other pedicures and catch up, watch a movie. Maybe drink a few wine coolers. You know, have fun.”

  That did sound fun. Except for the wine coolers. Gross. Summer will probably drink one and a half, get all tipsy, then fall asleep.

  “’Kay, Summer, let’s do it. For sure.”

  January 17 –

  Summer’s House

  Mom dropped me off at Summer’s house just in time for me to say hello to her mom, Evelyn, who was putting on earrings for her big date. She’s been married and divorced three times and is still looking for Mr. Right.

  Evelyn’s kind of a trip. Ever since I’ve known Summer, she’s asked me about Mom and whether she was dating anybody yet, like she couldn’t imagine being without a man for more than five minutes.

  “Oh, Stacy. How are you?” She gave me a little hug. “It’s so good to see you. How’s your mom? Is she seeing anyone yet?”

  Some things never change.

  She put her little jacket on, picked up her purse, gave Summer a kiss on the cheek, and said goodbye.

  “I’ll see you girls later. Have fun tonight.”

  And she was off like a shark cutting through the water in search of rich prey. Summer just shook her head.

  “Mom’s got a new boyfriend. This one’s supposed to be serious.” She looked skeptical.

  “Well, you never know, Summer. Maybe he’s ‘The One,’” I said, with little air quotes. Summer rolled her eyes.

  It occurred to me right then that Summer and Evelyn are the same person.

  Summer had the night planned. First we made nachos with tortilla chips, cheddar cheese, guacamole, and sour cream. She snuck some of Evelyn’s berry wine coolers for us to drink, which were way too sweet for me. (And gross.) It tasted like berry barf, so I switched to Dr Pepper.

  After Summer finished her first one and was starting to get a little silly, she demanded that I put highlights in her hair, which I’ve never done. I was a little nervous about experimenting and turning her into a human troll doll. I pictured her walking around school with burnt orange hair. For some reason, I didn’t think she’d take it very well.

  “It’s easy. I do it all the time.”

  With the stereo blasting in the background, Summer sat on a stool in her kitchen, and I concentrated as I painted little sections of her hair with the smelly dye concoction, hoping I wouldn’t screw up and turn her hair orange, which, luckily, I didn’t. It turned out great.

  “I love it. Okay, now your turn.”

  “What?”

  “I picked up a box for you too. You really could use some color, girlfriend.”

  Yeah, I could use color. Lots of color. My life has been so drab and gray for too long.

  “Okay, Summer. Make me beautiful. Or something.”

  She was almost over her tipsiness. I sat on the stool as she painted the little sections of my hair, giggling, which kind of worried me. But when she was done, after I rinsed my head under the kitchen faucet, I looked in the mirror at my wet hair, and I saw the little streaks of light blonde, and I have to say, I was a little excited.

  With our hair still wet, we soaked our feet and gave ourselves real pedicures, then I painted her fingernails (hot pink), and she painted mine (sparkly pomegranate). We were laughing, and it felt good, like old times. Just what I needed.

  We sat letting our nails dry, and Summer told me about Bradley and how after boot camp, he was going to go into mechanic school, and it made me think of Bobby, and I got a little sad.

  “I don’t know where he’ll be stationed, but hopefully Camp Pendleton. I just love it down there by the beach, San Diego. I’ll be moving down there after graduation—if he’s still there—and we’ll get a little place off base in Oceanside.”

  She has it all planned out, their lives together. So like Summer. But I hope it works out for her. I really do. Then I told her about Bobby, about how sweet and gentle he was. About his tattoos and how he looked like the bass player for Green Day. About how he promised to come to see me when I graduated. About how he died.

  “Oh my God, Stacy! I’m so sorry.”

  She was already crying, probably from the wine cooler, but I wasn’t, because I don’t think I have any tears left in me, and I really couldn’t go back to that sad place.

  Summer reached out and took my hand, careful not to mess our fingernail polish, and held it for a second.

  “You know, he’s in Heaven, Stacy. I really believe that. He’s probably watching over you right now, like a guardian angel.”

  Summer’s very religious. Eve
n though she’s slept around a little bit and started going to parties when she was twelve, she goes to Mass every Sunday and has these deep beliefs in God and everything. But still, it’s a nice thought, Bobby in Heaven watching over me. Bobby and my dad playing pool together (with Jimi Hendrix on in the background).

  We put on our second coat of fingernail polish and sat quiet for a while, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet. There was just nothing more to say.

  January 18 -

  Mass Appeal

  Summer was poking at me, trying to get me to wake up.

  “Ugh. What time is it?” I was trying to focus, groggy.

  “Almost nine. Mass is in an hour.”

  Crap.

  “Get up, Stacy. Mom bought donuts.”

  “All right, all right.”

  I staggered out of bed and focused my eyes on Summer who was dressed and looking all fresh and bouncy.

  God, what is her problem?

  Just like old times, I was sitting in the pew next to Summer while she chattered at me.

  I wonder if she’s ever heard a word the priest has said.

  Evelyn looked over at us, shushing us when Summer wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. Usually I don’t care about church. Today, though, I tried to focus, tried to get something out of it. I hadn’t been inside a church since the last time I spent the night at Summer’s in the eighth grade.

  When the priest had us bow our heads, I did something I hadn’t done for a while, I said a little prayer, but this time it wasn’t to heal Becca, it was for me. “God, please help me. Please help me.” That’s all I could say—and I said it over and over—but it was pretty all-encompassing; I think it covered my bases.

  Summer made me go up to the altar rail with her and kneel on the little pads for Communion, even though I’m not Roman Catholic. I’m pretty sure God doesn’t care though; it’s not like he was up there checking our IDs. I put my hands out just like she did, and the priest gave me his blessing as he dropped the wafer into my hands, but this time I actually felt something. This feeling of peace came over me, just washing me. I don’t know why or how.

  Maybe God felt like I’d been through enough. Maybe He just wanted me to know He’s got my back, that there’s more to life than wallowing in my own crapulence. I don’t know what it was, but it made me feel good, and the feeling of good stayed with me a while.

  January 23 –

  Unexplanations

  When I saw Joy, I told her about my God experience. She was looking at me with her usual intense look, but then her face changed, and she smiled this big smile.

  I asked her for a change, “So what do you think about that?”

  “Stacy, I think that in this world, there are so many mysteries. There’s so much more than we can ever hope to understand.”

  Well, that cleared things right up.

  “Just take it for what it is. Don’t analyze it. We don’t have to analyze everything, you know.”

  That was funny, coming from someone who analyzes everything. But I tried to follow Joy’s advice and just go with it, keep the peaceful feeling with me for a while.

  Whoever thought I’d find peace through Summer? All I can say is: wow.

  January 30 –

  The Thing About Summer

  Summer and I have been spending a lot of time together. She’s not in social butterfly mode anymore since she’s waiting for her true love to get a weekend pass home. The idea of hanging out at high school parties for Summer is like—well, going back to middle school. She’s so over all that. So I spend the night at her house or she spends the night at mine (but not as often or else Mom has to drive her home early in time for Mass).

  When I told Joy about our renewed friendship and how we’re kind of back to being best friends again, she questioned me. (The choices thing again.)

  “Stacy, do you really think that’s a good idea? You could be setting yourself up for disappointment. Is that something you want?”

  Sometimes it’s really hard for me not to say something like, “Duh, Joy! How dumb do you think I am?” But I don’t. I guess that shows maturity on my part.

  “It’s different now, Joy. I’m not worried.”

  She kept looking at me with her intense, hawk eyes, not saying a word.

  “No, really. I’m different. I’m not going to let Summer get to me anymore.” And I’m not. I see Summer for who she is, maybe more so than anyone else in the world. And I’m not the same person I was a few months ago. Summer can’t hurt me anymore. This I know. “She’s already disappointed me. I know she can do it again. It’s okay.”

  Joy nodded. “All right. Just as long as you stay away from the Anthonys of the world. And watch the Summers.”

  “Watch the Summers, stay away from the Anthonys. Got it.”

  Joy seemed happy.

  So I have a kinda-sorta best friend, Summer. For now.

  February 2 -

  David Copperfield

  In English class, Mr. Selden assigned our quarterly book report.

  “I want fifteen hundred words, no padding, due before we leave on spring break. Don’t disappoint me, people. This is worth a third of your grade.”

  Where have I heard that before? Chad gave a loud groan over the fifteen hundred words, and I was about to offer to help him this time, then I remembered horrible Vanessa and decided to keep my mouth shut. I looked over the books on the list and decided on David Copperfield since I’d already read it over the summer and didn’t feel like actually putting real work into anything. Fifteen hundred words. Piece of cake.

  I heard Daria give a big sigh and turned to look at her. She was looking a little over-the-top depressed for some reason.

  Hey, that’s supposed to be my thing. I’m the depressed one.

  “So what book are you doing your report on, Daria?”

  She looked up, confused. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you hear Mr. Selden? He wants a fifteen-hundred-word book report from one of the books on the list. Due before spring break.” She remained confused. “Are you okay?”

  Daria was completely wrecked, messy hair and everything.

  “I saw Coach Rob’s fiancée yesterday after school. He kissed her. I think their wedding’s still on.”

  Well, duh! Of course it is. What in the world is wrong with her?

  “Um, Daria, you know, even if Coach Rob wasn’t engaged, it’s not like you two could date or anything. I mean, it’s against the law, for one thing. He’d be fired and arrested. It’d be all over the news. I don’t think he’d ever actually go out with one of his students, you know?”

  “Teachers and students date all the time, Stacy.”

  Well, maybe in Bizarro Universe, not the one we happen to live in though.

  “I mean, I’ll be eighteen in a few years. He could wait for me.”

  “Daria, forget about him, okay? He’s not ‘The One.’ Isn’t there anyone around here you’re interested in?”

  “Stacy, you don’t understand, so don’t bother. I’m in love. I’ll always be in love with him.”

  Poor Daria. Poor Coach Rob. I thought for a second about giving her Joy’s card since she was a perfect candidate for therapy if there ever was one. But not today, not in the mood she was in. Maybe some other time.

  February 21 -

  Beach Party

  For an hour after I got to work, I sorted plastic bottles and cans and paper products into separate bags since Sylvia gave me the unchallenging task of sorting the recyclables before I tackled the more challenging task of alphabetizing her file cabinet. It could have been worse, though. I could have been doing Roman’s job of cleaning the toilet. Luckily, Sylvia likes me.

  Sylvia and Julio—Roman’s dad—are taking a little anniversary trip to Hawaii, so naturally we decided to throw them a send-off, Hawaiian-themed luau party so Sylvia could break out her purple muumuu and rock out to Don Ho and whatever other Hawaiian music Roman was able to download.

  After f
inishing our boring, work-related tasks, we got down to business.

  Becca helped us hang some beach towels on the walls. Plastic leis were everywhere because we bought a bag of one hundred for ten dollars at the party store.

  I wore a grass skirt and coconuts (over my clothes). Roman found a black Hawaiian shirt somewhere. (It had little skulls all over it, but it was definitely Hawaiian). Becca wore a black sarong, and Sylvia wore her purple muumuu with the oversized hibiscus flowers.