“You know what you need?” Meg rested her shoulder against the locker beside mine. “You need a break.”
“If you say so.” I shrugged. Why wouldn’t Meg go away? I didn’t get a break.
“Excuse me, Megs.” Matt emerged from the crush of hallway walkers. “I need to get my stuff.”
“Sure thing.” Meg tugged on my sleeve. “Hey, Keziah, we’re all hanging out on Friday night. We’re going to do the whole dinner and a movie thing. We’d love for you to join us.”
“We?” Matt repeated as he opened his locker. “I’m going too?”
“No. It’s a girl’s night. Okay, Kez, I’d love for you to go, too.”
“I can’t. Oma wouldn’t like it.”
“She’s your grandmother. Grandmas love it when their grandkids have fun. It’s all part of the grandparents spoiling you syndrome.”
You have yet to see how Oma treats Phebe. That would dispel your syndrome. “Oma isn’t quite like that.”
“Keziah, please.” Meg tightened her grip. “At least promise me you’ll ask your grandmother if you can go?”
“Okay.” Anything to make Meg go away. I would ask, but I would also do one better. I would tape-record the conversation to play back for Meg later. After Meg got a whiff of the tears and screams, the why-do-you-hate-me-so-much, she’d never ask me to hang out again. I could be left alone with my misery.
****
When I told her about the offer, Oma smiled. “That’s so nice. I love it when you have friends.”
I blinked. Oma will change her mind before Friday.
When Friday came around, Oma went through her dresser and took out a sleeveless beige shirt with pink curlicues. “Here, why don’t you wear this? I’ve never worn it, but you’ll look decent in it. There’s not much that looks nice on you since you ruined your hair.”
I accepted the shirt, but I didn’t wear it. I’d expected Oma to change her mind about allowing me to go out, so when Meg pulled her car into the driveway, I realized I didn’t even want to go out. Oma preferring I stay home had been a truth, but it had also become an excuse. Without that, I was stuck going and having to socialize. I hadn’t had to do that in a long while.
Awesome.
I groaned as I picked up my purse. Oma stood in the doorway waving, a huge smile on her face.
“Have fun, Keziah! My, you have such nice friends.” Oma winked. “They remind me of the Goat Children.”
“Sure.” I hesitated with my hand on the screen door, then rushed back to give Oma an embrace. “Bye. I’ll be home soon.” I didn’t want to release her frail body. If only my hug could make her strong again.
“And I’ll be here if the Goat Children haven’t whisked me away.” Oma laughed.
The sound echoed in my ears as I stepped through the snow on the porch to the driveway.
Meg drove and Olivia sat next to her in the passenger’s seat, a girl from economics. Marianna, another girl from school, sat in the backseat. I opened the back door and slid into the only empty spot.
“Hey,” Meg sang. “See, I told you your grandmother would be okay about you going out.”
“She seems cool.” Olivia chewed a hangnail.
“My grandparents in Mexico—” Marianna began, but Meg cut her off.
“Cool it, Anna. You can sprout your Mexico stuff all the time at school, but we all know your parents are from Louisiana.”
“And,” Olivia contributed, “your real name is Louisiana. Marianna’s your middle name.”
“Please.” Marianna rolled her eyes. “So you say.”
“Your name is Louisiana Marianna?” I tried to smother the giggle, but it escaped anyway.
“Smith,” Marianna added. “My last name is Smith. So you see why I don’t go around bragging about being named Louisiana Smith.”
Meg laughed as she backed out of the driveway. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be so horrible.
****
I am nine years old today. Oma takes me on a shopping spree. I get to buy anything I want, but I know not to ask for too much.
“Oma doesn’t have a lot of money,” Mama reminds me before I leave home.
I request new pants, a new shirt, and a porcelain doll from the toy store. It reminds me of the one in my favorite movie.
Oma gets us matching, lime green, fingerless gloves. We wear them every day.
Chapter 27
“Let’s eat at Applebee’s,” Olivia suggested.
“I’ve never been to one,” I said.
Olivia smacked my arm. “That does it. We’re eating there.”
“You’re in for a big treat,” Meg gushed as she parked the car. “It’s one of my favorite restaurants. You’re going to love eating here.”
The glow of the restaurant lights cascaded over the seats. The hostess sat us with a beaming smile. Looking at the menu, though, proved there were few vegetarian options. I ordered a veggie appetizer.
“I can’t believe you’re a vegetarian,” Olivia said. “I could never live without a good steak.”
“I need my burgers,” Marianna said.
She and Olivia slapped hands.
“Don’t you have any pets?” I swirled the straw through my lemonade.
“I have two dogs,” Olivia said, as Marinna answered, “I have ten cats.”
“Jinx. We said it at the same time.” Olivia laughed.
“And she really does have ten cats.” Meg blew bubbles into her diet Coke.
“Don’t you realize pets are animals, too? Would you eat your pet?” I pressed. “Can’t you imagine what it must be like to be meant for slaughter? What gives us the right to mass murder living things?”
“But animals eat other animals,” Olivia argued.
“Only as much as they can eat. Pounds of meat go bad every day.”
“Only pounds?” Marianna gasped and rolled her eyes.
I winced.
“Enough of these downer talks.” Meg tapped her fingernails over the tabletop. “Let’s see if we can get the waiter to serve us some alcohol.”
“No, thanks.” I took a long sip of my lemonade. Friends were cool, but not ones who didn’t understand my life choices. I put up with enough crap from Oma.
When the meals arrived, I ate in silence, listening to Marianna gush about her boyfriend.
“Manuel is so sexy with his shirt off!”
At least we’ll be quiet in the movie.
After the car doors had slammed shut, Olivia kicked the windshield from her seat. I jumped, but Marianna and Meg kept talking about Manuel.
“Let’s go to the park instead,” Olivia suggested.
Meg chuckled. “You mean our old haunt?”
“Awesome!” Marianna clapped her hands. “Keziah, you’re in for it.”
My stomach churned. Uh oh. I didn’t want to go to an old haunt at a park. “It’s winter. Isn’t the park closed?”
“Technically, yeah.” Meg nodded. “They plow one of the parking lots, though. I guess that’s so park management can still keep an eye on things.”
“Won’t we get into trouble?”
“That’s what’s so much fun about it,” Olivia said.
“Shh,” Meg hissed at her friend. “We won’t get in trouble. People do it all the time. They go cross-country skiing and snowshoeing. We’ll just go hang out at the playground. It’s really peaceful. You’ll love it.”
I might start to enjoy myself. They weren’t that bad.
Yes, I was going to make the best of things.
****
A wooden fence surrounded the New Winchester Park, only the tops visible above the buildup of snow. Meg turned into the main driveway, the pavement dusted in white. She drove past the empty baseball field and a wooden pavilion with snow-covered picnic tables inside. Beyond the maintenance building and soccer field, Meg pulled into a parking space and turned off the car.
“We’re here,” Olivia sang. “Welcome to our hideout.”
I peered out the window at the white wond
erland playground. Car doors slammed and I realized everyone except me had gotten out. I pulled on the handle and swung my door open, dropping my feet into snow that crunched, deep enough to reach my ankles.
Meg popped the trunk and Olivia pulled out two beers. She tossed one to Marianna, but her friend dropped it. Laughing, Marianna picked it up and blew snow off the lid.
“Want one?” Olivia asked Meg.
Meg glanced at me before shaking her head. “Nah, I’m driving.”
“How about you?” Olivia asked me.
“No, thanks.”
Meg led the way through to the playground. I swore under my breath as snow deep enough to reach our knees soaked through my cargo pants. Marianna used her bare hand to brush off a swing and sat down, wiping her palm across her coat.
Olivia and Meg did the same, sitting to face me. Marianna popped the lid on her beer and drew a long gulp, smacking her lips.
I took my black gloves out of my coat pocket to brush off the last swing seat. I shook them off, snowflakes flying, and stuffed them back in. When I sat, water soaked through to my panties, nipping my skin. I placed my hands on the metal chains, but pulled back at their icy feel. How could the others grip like that?
“I wish I was a kid again,” Olivia sipped her beer, her pinky finger lifted.
“I don’t.” Meg pushed off from the ground, pumping her legs. “I love driving too much.”
“How about you, Keziah?” Olivia took another sip.
If I were a kid again, I’d think my family was perfect. I wouldn’t know about who my real dad is. “Sometimes.”
“That’s not a good answer,” Marianna said. “I like being a grown-up. Kids can’t have sex.”
“They aren’t supposed to have sex,” Meg corrected. “My little cousin told me the other day about doing it with some boy in her class, and she’s in fifth grade.”
I pictured Phebe. If my sister started having sex… I shuddered.
“Hey, you cold or something?” Meg asked. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine.” I rose from the swing. “I have to call my grandma and check on her. I’ll be right back.”
“Have fun,” Meg called.
Marianna poured beer into the snow. “What do you think frozen beer tastes like?”
“Dumbass, beer doesn’t freeze. It’s like soda.” Olivia giggled.
“It does so.” Marianna dropped onto her hands and knees like a dog to lick the beer snow.
I slammed the car door, sealing myself into what remained of the heat. I fished my cell phone out of my purse and dialed Oma’s number. I only half wondered if beer really did freeze.
On the eighth ring, my grandmother answered. “What?”
“It’s me, Keziah—”
“So you deign yourself to call me now?” Oma began to cry. “Where are you? I turn around and you’re gone. You just leave without saying goodbye now. Who are you? What have you done with my little Keziah?”
“You saw me leave with Meg!”
“Stop your lies. I don’t care anymore about you. Just go away and never come back!” Click.
“Oma? Oma!” I swore, ending the call. I dialed my condo in the city.
Mama answered on the first ring. “Keziah! Thank goodness, where are you?”
I looked out the window at Marianna licking snow. “I’m at the movies with a girl from school.”
“You know you can’t leave your grandmother at night.”
What?
“She’s worried sick about you. She’s been calling us every five minutes to come down and get you,” Mama continued. “If she knew how to call the police, she would have!”
“I told her where I was going, and she was cool with it.”
“Keziah, you know how your grandmother is. It’s your job to be there. You wanted to stay with her. You have to take responsibility for her.”
“But that’s not fair! I need a life and—”
“I wish I could be there for Oma, but I can’t.” Mama’s voice broke. “Do you want her to be scared and alone?”
“I’ll go home now.” I hung up before Mama could say anything else and I stormed back to the group. “I have to go home.”
“Are you nervous about the beer?” Marianna asked.
“I…no, it’s my grandmother.” I didn’t have to explain to them.
“It’s cool,” Meg said. “Family comes before friends.”
I wanted to say they weren’t really my friends, but I bit back the retort.
“I hope you had fun,” Meg said when she pulled into Oma’s driveway. “We’ll do this again sometime.”
“I can’t,” I muttered. “I can’t leave my grandmother alone.”
“That’s weird.”
Meg might have said more, but I slammed the car door. They weren’t great people and I was in trouble for trying to have fun.
I must have been the life of the party on the way back to Oma’s; I never said a word, my arms folded across my chest. What was there to say? Sorry my grandmother has dementia?
I stormed across the front porch, not caring how deep the snow was. The top layer had crusted over with ice, breaking against my thighs. I yanked open the screen door and reached into my purse for my key. The porch light wasn’t on, so I had to squint and angle my purse until the streetlight reached it.
“Great.” I must have left my key on the table. I’d done that a time or two.
I banged on the door, and Oma turned on the hall light. After marching across the floor and parting the door curtain, her eyes blazed fire and she walked away. The light switched off.
I pounded on the door harder. “Oma, it’s me. Let me in already.”
Silence. I swore as I pulled my cell phone out and called Mama.
“Keziah—” Mama began.
“Oma won’t let me in!”
“Where’s your key?”
“I don’t know. I forgot it in the house.” I tried to squint through the curtain at the hall table, but the sheer fabric obscured my vision.
Mama moaned. “What’s wrong with you? Where’s your head at?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out her voice.
“Please, can’t you just call Oma and ask her to let me in?” Tears burned my eyes.
Mama sighed. “Yes, I’ll call her.”
We hung up and a moment later, the house phone rang. I couldn’t hear what was said, and I couldn’t see Oma. My cell phone buzzed.
“Hello?” The caller ID said it was Mama.
“Why couldn’t you have remembered your key? I’m going to have to call Uncle Jan. He has a key. He’ll come over and let you in. Keziah, why do you have to make things so difficult—”
I snapped my cell phone shut and leaned against the door, my forehead pressed against the frosted glass. Tears scalded my cheeks. Why did Oma do this to me? It wasn’t fair. My whole life couldn’t surround Oma and dementia. If Oma was normal, she wouldn’t care if I went out with my friends.
The phone rang inside the house. I pressed my ear against the glass, straining to listen.
“Yes,” came my grandmother’s garbled response. “She’s here. No, you don’t have to call the police. She’s right here. Yes. Bye, Jan.”
I banged my fist against the door. Uncle Jan had called instead of coming over. He wouldn’t come over now that Oma had told him everything was fine.
I sat down on the porch steps even though the snow was cold. My pants were already soaked, what did a little more wetness matter?
I dialed Uncle Jan’s house line, but his line gave me the busy signal. I considered throwing my phone at the magnolia tree, but that wouldn’t do any good.
“Keziah?”
I blinked away tears to peer down the yard. Michael stood in his driveway with a bag of trash. I grabbed the railing to stand up, heedless of the icy snow biting my hand. As I walked down the sidewalk, it felt as if I floated. This wasn’t real. Oma hadn’t locked me out in the cold.
Michael met me at the drivewa
y. “What’s wrong, honey? You been crying?” He brushed the pad of his thumb across my cheek, obscuring the tears.
He was so warm. I squeezed my eyes shut against a fresh onslaught of tears, and then words tumbled out of my mouth.
“I didn’t want to, but Meg said I should, so I went out to eat her and her friends. The food was awful, and then we were supposed to see a movie, but instead they wanted to go to their hideout thing. Now Oma’s mad because I guess she forgot where I was, or I wasn’t supposed to leave the house, or something. So now she’s locked me out. My mom’s mad at me, and Uncle Jan doesn’t care.” Breath rushed out.
“Aw, don’t cry, babe.” He cupped my frozen face in the palms of his hands.
They were such big hands, so warm. I leaned into his grasp with a moan.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Come on over to my place to warm up. You can call your uncle, okay? He seems like a nice guy.”
“He is nice, he just…he just doesn’t care.” I’m surrounded by borderline neglectful adults.
“We’ll get him to care, then. Come on.” Michael stepped away from me.
I stood in the driveway watching him glide over the snow, a specter dressed in black.
“You coming?” He stood on the stone stoop, the screen door propped against his back. His hand rested on the doorknob.
I hesitated before I nodded.
****
I am twelve years old. We are at my cousin’s wedding in Virginia, and the temperature is ninety degrees.
I stand beside a pond filled with goldfish. Phebe is in her stroller next to me, and I help her learn to count by pointing out the fish.
“One,” I say. “Two. Three.” The goldfish keep swimming, so the total will be inaccurate, but Phebe is too young to care.
She claps her hands, giggling.
Oma stands with my cousin, his wife, his parents, her parents, and her grandparents.
“Get closer,” the photographer says. They do, and he snaps a picture. “Only two more. We want to make this perfect.”
Someday, that will be my husband and me. Oma will stand beside us and beam like that, happy for me. I will move on to a new life with her at my side.
The Goat Children Page 20