The sound of her voice makes me think she’s been crying.
“But I really need to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just going to say it so we don’t draw this out.”
“Okay.”
“James and I had sex.”
I sit straight up in my bed. “You’re kidding, right?” Please let this be a terrible joke.
She doesn’t respond for a long moment.
“Why?” I say loudly, falling back hard against the headboard.
“Why? That’s not what I expected. More like What? How? When? But not Why?”
“I thought you were waiting for the right person. Until you were older, until you were in love.”
“I did.” There’s a defensive tone in her voice now.
“You did want to wait, or James is the right person?”
“I don’t know.”
My mind can’t even make sense of this. I stare out toward the balcony where soft light comes through in gentle streams. This can’t be true.
“Ruby?”
And the fearful tone in her voice sends away all the questions and angry feelings. This is Kate’s life-changing moment, one of those momentous passages like graduation, when we got our periods, marriage, first love, first sex . . . My best friend has had sex.
She’s only fifteen years old, and then I realize how that sounds like an old judgmental woman. I don’t want to be judgmental. And it’s not like we don’t know a lot of people even younger than fifteen having sex. It didn’t bother me when it was them.
Kate has had sex!
“I’m not ready for this,” I whisper without meaning to. A sadness washes over me.
“I know you aren’t.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not really a big deal.”
“And yet it’s one of the biggest deals of your life.”
“People make too much of it.”
And for that, I feel even sadder. Kate’s not going to tell me her true feelings right now anyway. It’s like the time she stole a pack of gum because some kids dared her to do it. When she told me, I was worried the police would arrive at any second, while she acted like she hadn’t done anything wrong. Hours later she started crying when I won hopscotch three times in a row and started walking down the road. I asked where she was going and she yelled, “I’m taking the gum back.”
We went together. I wanted to sneak the gum onto the rack, but Kate walked straight up to the cashier and plopped the pack onto the counter. She still had tears in her eyes.
The clerk nodded and said, “Thank you.”
Kate nodded back and walked out of the store with me standing there gaping.
Kate.
But this wasn’t a pack of gum . . . and she couldn’t take it back.
“How did it happen? Are you okay?” I try sounding interested, not angry. Why am I angry?
“Yeah, I’m okay. You know I’ve been seeing him for a while now.”
Why didn’t I talk to her more about him when she was here? Why didn’t I see this coming? Why didn’t she tell me, ask me if she should do this? What kind of best friend am I?
“You’ve been dating less than a month!”
“He’s going to Shasta College and transferring to a state university next year. He and a longtime friend have an apartment—just like we want to do in a few years. Meegan’s sort of dating his roommate, so we’ve been over there a lot.”
“Meegan,” I say, rubbing my forehead and walking to the balcony doors.
Meegan and I don’t like each other. That Kate is hanging out with her disturbs me. Meegan started smoking pot with her older sister in seventh grade. Now she’s graduated to sophisticated drugs. But Kate and Meegan’s families have been close since they were toddlers.
“James’s uncle brought Jet Skis, and I rode with him all day. He was totally into me, showing me how to drive. We explored all over Shasta Lake, just the two of us. He . . .”
I feel tired suddenly, and I don’t want to hear more of this story.
“What did Meegan say?”
“She said welcome to being an adult.”
“She would say that.” Then I pause. “I’m sorry. Do you feel like an adult?”
“No way. I feel exactly the same.”
But I can’t imagine such a thing not affecting her, or anyone really. But then, what experience do I have? Kissing is as far as I’ve traveled down that road.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Do? I’m not going to do anything. I’m in love with James.”
Kate won’t analyze all of this like I will. She’ll probably wonder at her emotions, be surprised by them, and then we’ll talk more about it. For now, she has told me. That’s what she needed to do, and now she’s done it. Suddenly my love for her floods over me, and I wish I could give her a long hug.
“Listen. Let’s talk more tomorrow then. I’ll ask special permission from Mom.”
“Sounds good.”
“Just . . .” I want to say, Don’t have sex again. Be careful! Are you using protection? Don’t be dumb. Why don’t you dump that jerk? Stay away from Meegan. But of course I don’t. “Just know that I love you.”
I can hear her smile.
“Thanks. That’s what I needed to hear. I love you too.”
There’s no way I can sleep after that conversation. I can’t fully process all the sudden changes in our lives.
The open balcony doors send in a stream of cold air and moonlight. I pull a sweatshirt over my head and step onto the cold tile. The railing already has a slight dampness of morning dew, though it’s many more hours before dawn.
The garden is filled with light and darkness, and I wish as I so often do for the skill to paint such a scene in the way I want. My paintings are nothing close to what I want them to be. Kate would laugh at that, probably bring up my pottery wheel disaster.
But with film, it’s as if the puzzle pieces come together. So here I am discovering new things about myself, finding direction, even while making mistakes and being completely confused about other things. My relationship with my family is all different. I’m not sure where God fits in my life. I have friendships that maybe God wouldn’t want, and yet I really love Frankie especially and even London.
Some things are completely messed up. Other things are finally found.
Maybe it’s the ceramic gnome in the garden sitting beneath a moonlight glow, but I suddenly think of Mac’s imaginary friend, Beano. Beano went on vacations with us to Yellowstone National Park, camping along the Oregon coast, and many other places. At night he listened to whatever book Mom was reading to Mac. Beano was around years longer than Carson and I thought he should have been. My mom always thought it was cute and imaginative, telling us to stop teasing Mac about it.
How strange that I think of Beano now. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he’s here.
I’ll have to ask Mac.
Sometimes I wish I could go back and be a little kid again. I’d take Kate with me, and my brothers. Beano can come too. We’ll be happily insulated in our childhood, safe from growing up and from the mistakes we make that affect the rest of our lives.
I’ll be in Cottonwood this weekend. It’s the place of my childhood. But with the years of change and over a month living in Marin, I wonder how to return to my home that isn’t really home anymore.
chapter nineteen
So this is what it’s like to be in a time machine.
It’s been one month since I left Cottonwood, but it seems like years. When the familiar signs come into view—Main Street, Bowman Road Exit—it’s like I’ve gone back in time and only I know it. The rest of the world has no idea how much everything has changed, what’s been occurring in the time warp. To all of them it’s been the blink of an eye.
Well, it’s something like that.
Mom stops by the ballpark, which some people call “the largest church in town”
due to the dedication and sports worship that goes on in the bleachers and out on the fields.
The dirt parking lot is packed, the three fields all in progress, from tiny players in oversized uniforms to players who hit and throw like pros, though they’re all under twelve. My third cousin Jimmy is playing, so the ballpark is the switching place for me to leave Mom and go to Dad.
“Why do we have to meet here?” I ask again. “I hardly even know Jimmy.”
I can’t even remember the last time I talked to him, but since he’s my dad’s cousin’s son and Dad likes to watch a ball-game under any excuse, this is the plan, as Mom reminds me again.
I can’t believe it’s been over a month since I saw Dad. Terrible as this sounds, it’s almost like I nearly forgot him in a way.
“There’s your dad’s truck,” Mom says, and Austin parks behind it.
Mom and Austin are going with Carson up to Oregon to visit friends after they drop Mac and me off.
We unload our stuff into the back of Dad’s shiny red truck, say good-bye to Mom and Austin, then go searching for Dad. I spot him standing by the bleachers, his gaze going over the parking lot and then landing on me.
Dad takes me in his arms and raises me off the ground. I’m little next to him, and suddenly I want to cry like a child—even worse than when I saw Kate when she came to Marin.
“There’s my girl. It’s about time you came to see me.” His voice is like home, and he gives me another squeeze.
Mac hugs Dad too, then sees one of his friends and rushes off to play.
Dad hands me a bag of sunflower seeds. His hands are thick and calloused. He winks and puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.
“Where’s Tiffany?” I ask, not seeing her in the bleachers.
“She’s working most of the weekend, so I’m all yours,” he says with a smile that wrinkles lines near his eyes.
A deep love for him fills me, and an entire month of missing him rises. I follow him up into the bleachers, saying hello to several parents I recognize. Dad has two bleacher cushions waiting for us, and we sit and spit shells into an empty soda can. My mouth is soon salty and raw, reminding me of the years when Carson played and we’d sit like this, eating seeds.
“How’s city life?” he asks, then stands up suddenly. “Oh, did you see that hit?”
“It’s good,” I say when he sits back down. I’m not even interested in the game, but the nearness of Dad is surprisingly comforting. “I’m getting more involved with that film group I told you about.”
“So you’re gonna make movies?”
“Yeah, that’s what we’re doing. Maybe you can come down and see some?”
“Can’t you bring them up here?”
“Um, I don’t know. They put on this big Premiere Night at the Underground—you know, the coffeehouse and cinema that Aunt Jenna owns. It’ll be next month.”
“We might be able to come down for that.”
And with the we I think how awkward it’d be to have my dad and Tiffany with my mom and Austin all at the same event. We’ve never had anything with all of them together except for pickup/drop-off things.
Grandma Hazel arrives, and we wave her up. I spot Grandpa Joel talking with his usual animation with another old-timer. My grandparents on my father’s side look like a poster version of those cute old couples. But though Grandma Hazel looks cute, she’s usually as sour as the green apples she grows in her front orchards that she always wants me to eat.
Dad gives up his cushion, and she sits in front of me, patting my knee in greeting. My nose fills with the scent of talcum powder.
“Oh, I think you’ve grown, and you don’t have on as much eyeliner as you did the last time I saw you. That is a big improvement.”
“Thanks, Grandma.”
Dad winks at me.
“Did you listen to your grandma about what I talked to you about?”
“Yes, Grandma.”
“There aren’t any gangs down there, are there?”
“No, quite the opposite.”
“What’s the opposite?” Dad asks, prying himself away from the game.
“The school I go to is mostly filled with very well-off kids.”
Grandma gives her typical stern expression. “Don’t let them intimidate you. You stand up to them and let your light shine. The rich have a harder time coming to Jesus, you know.”
“Yeah, the whole eye of the needle thing,” I mumble and suddenly wish Carson were here. Carson enjoys getting Grandma riled up by telling her about the evils of the world that he’s supposedly heard about, or mixing up Scripture to get her flustered.
Dad pours more seeds into my hands. “Are you still getting good grades?”
“Yeah.”
“No boyfriends, right?”
“Not yet,” I say with a smile.
“You don’t need no city boy,” he teases. “Let’s find you a rancher with thousands of acres, and then your brother and I will move there with you. You can have ten little kids and grow your own garden.”
“Okay, Dad. I’d be really happy doing that.”
The thing is, I don’t think Dad is really joking when he says things like that. I wonder if I disappoint him a little with my love of art, the city, culture, and travel. Those interests make me more like Mom than like him. And since they’re divorced, does he dislike this part of me?
“Are you getting involved at a church yet? Does your mother attend church?” Grandma Hazel asks with the look of perpetual disapproval she wears when she asks about Mom.
“Yes, she and Austin attend church.”
“What kind of church?”
“Hey, Mom,” Dad says with a serious note beneath his light tone. “Let’s watch the game or talk about other things.”
“If you’d attend church more too, young man . . .” She stands. “I’ll go get your grandpa to stop talking and come see his granddaughter. ”
She leaves, and Dad puts his arm around me. “So what do you want to do this weekend? It’s all for you and your brother.”
“Whatever you want to do. It doesn’t have to be anything special. But, Dad, I want to see my friends too. Can Kate stay over part of the time?”
The soft lines on his tanned face are deeper than I remember. Even with his hardware store, Dad often works beneath the sun, so he’s perennially brown on his arms, face, and neck. We tease him about his white legs and chest when summer comes and he first reveals them. I move close to let someone by and catch a whiff of his aftershave, the Brut he’s worn since I was little.
“Whatever you want, sweetie. You know I’ll only ever have one little girl.” He kisses the top of my head like I’m all of six years old.
“I know, so go ahead and spoil me rotten.”
After the game, we go out for pizza and then rent DVDs. Mac and Dad fall asleep on the couch. When my stepmom, Tiffany, gets home after midnight in her nursing scrubs, we make tea and talk about life in Marin.
Dad wakes up then and kisses me good night.
“I miss you. I really do,” he says as he heads to bed.
“I miss you too, Dad.”
“Wake up, wake up!” Voices part the fog around my sleep. A group of faces stare down at me with a room in the background that I don’t recognize. Then I see Kate smiling and laughing. I still don’t know where I am, then I spot Tiffany’s sewing machine in the corner and the dresser and computer that Dad gave me.
I’m at Dad’s. And my friends are here—Felicity, Izzie, Jeffers, Claire, and then I see Nick leaning against the doorjamb. And seeing him, I suddenly feel that old attraction rise up. Oh, but he’s in my room with a bunch of other people, and what the heck do I look like?
“What’s going on?” I try sinking into the pillow and covers.
“We’re taking you to breakfast, right now.”
“You are not.”
“We are!”
I peek out of the covers. “Okay, let me get dressed real fast then.”
“Nope
. You have to come just like that.”
Ugh, I know there’s no winning this one, despite all pleas and protests. I’ve been party to six different Rise & Go outings that first started with my church youth group in junior high. Usually near the unsuspecting friend’s birthday, we’d talk to the parents ahead of time, then show up and drag the victim out of bed “as is” to a restaurant for breakfast.
Since my birthday is near the Fourth of July, my humiliation was always spared.
“Come on, my pajamas don’t even match,” I say, trying for any last-minute humanity.
“Did that stop you guys on my birthday when I was wearing those striped pajamas with the flap over the behind?” Kate asks.
“Let me at least use the bathroom.”
“You have one minute.”
As I’m brushing my teeth, someone bangs on the door. “Come on, in there.”
“Brushing teeth!” I yell with a mouthful.
Pulling my hair into a ponytail, I cringe at my makeup-less face. Be brave, be strong—if a guy doesn’t like you for what you look like in the morning . . . yeah, right.
My friends who drive can’t drive other people for the first year of their license—California and its rules. My dad is always threatening to leave California because of the regulations on everything and go live in Idaho or Wyoming or the Yukon. So we pile into Dad’s extended cab truck. I brush a strand of hair away from my face.
“Don’t worry. You look good.”
It’s Nick, and he climbs over Kate to sit by me. She gives me the raised eyebrow and smile.
“So you like it down in Marin?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”
We make the usual small talk. He tells me about the baseball season starting and a football camp he’s going to back east in the summer.
At the Old Town Eatery, Nick sits beside me there too. I’m the only one in pajamas, and a few people at their tables smile and know it’s probably my birthday or something. Dad ends up eating with a guy he knows, leaving us “young folks” to spend time together.
My friends start catching me up on the month I’ve missed. There’s a surprising amount of information. Breakups, rumors, things they’ve been doing, a cute new foreign exchange student from Germany. I don’t know half the news, and it’s fun hearing about it all. A lot has changed, and yet, strangely, nothing has changed. But being around the noise and energy of my friends, several I’ve known since kindergarten, is so unlike the way it feels with my new friends. It’s like family, or being fully comfortable with your favorite people.
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