by Jillian Dodd
On the breakfast bar, I find a note from Phillip’s mom.
It says, Had some errands to run. Back by two.
Four hours by myself.
What am I going to do?
Normally, I would relish having four hours of peace and quiet, or I would call and have Jake come over. But now? Well, Jake—although he did come to the visitation and was very polite—isn’t an option, and I don’t think I can relish the quiet.
I’ll just feel lonely and start thinking about my parents.
Plus, I’m feeling edgy. Like I need to do something.
Like I can’t sit here alone.
Maybe I’ll go to school today. At least there’s always a lot going on there. I’ve been feeling edgy since the funeral. It’s weird, when I’m at home—home being Phillip’s house for the time being—I feel like I need to go and do something. Then when I get there, all I want to do is come home. I feel like I should be out looking for something.
Unfortunately, I’m afraid what I’m looking for can’t be found.
I can’t have my parents back.
If I hurry and get ready, I can be at school in time for AP English. It’s my favorite class. We’ve been reading the play Our Town. The main character, Elizabeth, dies, but she doesn’t want to leave the living. One of the most important lines in the book, the one I quoted at the funeral is, “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it—every, every minute?” The quote is Elizabeth’s way of saying we should put more emphasis on the value of daily life. After dying, she finds out that life’s not just about special events or occasions. It’s about seeing the wonder in daily life and not wasting opportunities.
You know, like stopping to smell the roses.
I wonder if I have been too busy living life.
Did I take my parents for granted? Probably, a bit. But as we tried to show at the funeral, my parents’ philosophy on life had been to work hard and play hard. And we always did. Even when we were working on a project, like staining the fence, which is a really horrible job, we had fun. My parents always did a lot with me. Dad helped coach my soccer and basketball teams and always had time to play with me in the back yard. Mom stayed at home, and there were often warm cookies and milk waiting for me when I got home from school. I loved coming in the door after school and trying to guess what she had baked, based on the smell. She always talked to me about my day and gave me great big hugs for no reason. And they both told me they loved me, a lot. I think they lived life fully.
I make a promise to myself to try and always do the same.
And I guess that means getting back to living.
So I go to school. I manage to sign in at the office without attracting any attention and am early to class, the first one here. I slide into my desk and open my notebook. None of my good friends are in this class. They think it’s stupid to work so hard your senior year, but I’m getting college credits for the class, so I think it’s worth it. Besides, the teacher is great and even though the class work is difficult, she has a way of making it fun. I also love it because we read novels, and I love to read.
Because most of our class time is spent discussing the novels and because there are only eleven kids in the class, Mrs. Reece will often let us have class outside or in the commons area. A few weeks ago, we talked her into going to the bowling alley for lunch and checking out a slice of life in Westown. It was really fun.
The first bell rings and the students slowly file in.
A man walks in and stands up front.
Great. Substitute teacher. That means today’s class will be completely worthless. I so should have stayed home. What was I thinking?
After the tardy bell rings, the substitute, whose dress and actions are very stiff and formal, introduces himself as Mr. Gustafson.
He starts in a droning voice, “Today we are going to talk about the essays you will be writing regarding the play, Our Town, by Thornton Wilder. Mrs. Reece says that you have discussed how this play shows a slice of life, circa 1922. For your essays, you will write about a slice of your own life. Mrs. Reece wants us to use this class time for brainstorming, which will help you decide what to write about in your essays. I’m going to ask each of you to share a slice of your life with the class. We’ll cover sports, home life, friends, family, weekends, dates, etc. Let’s start with something easy. Who would like to volunteer to tell the class about their weekend? Share a slice of your life? Anyone? Anyone?” he asks hopefully, looking around.
Of course, no one raises their hand because they know however they tell it, their weekend will sound boring and lame. And no one wants to be that. But my insides are squirming for entirely different reasons. Obviously my weekend was anything but boring, but I’m darn sure I don’t want to share it. So as he walks around the desk and grabs the seating chart, I’m pleading in my mind, Please don’t pick me, please don’t pick me.
“Well, if there are no volunteers,” he says, “I will pick someone. Let’s see, how about Miss Reynolds? Stand up please and tell us about your weekend.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I don’t stand up, but say, “Um, I really didn’t have a typical slice-of-life weekend. Could you choose someone else?”
“Nonsense. Please stand up,” the sub says. The class becomes dead silent.
I still don’t stand up, but say, “Um, how about I tell you about a different slice-of-life weekend?”
“No, I would like to hear about this weekend.”
He’s being difficult, so I say with a pissy voice, “I thought the whole point of this exercise is to show the typical and mundane goings on in life. I’m telling you my weekend wasn’t typical. It was anything but.”
I mean, it’s not that most of the class hasn’t heard about my weekend. I’m sure there’s some great gossip going around and if it wasn’t all about me, I would probably want to hear it, but there is just so much involved, and I’m not sure I can get through it without a breakdown.
“Miss Reynolds, you are being insubordinate and just plain stubborn. Even if your weekend wasn’t typical for you, I’m sure others have had similar experiences. We are all friends here.”
Like he’d know.
I seriously doubt there are any others that have had a weekend like mine. In fact, I’m sure of it. I’m also getting mad at this man.
Very mad.
“Stand up now and tell us about—”
Suddenly, Ricky Leeman stands up behind me and says, “I’ll do it. Let’s see, on Friday we had a track meet . . . ”
“Mr. Um . . . ” the substitute says, consulting the chart again, “ . . . Leeman. Sit down.”
But Ricky doesn’t sit down. He leans up from behind me and says quietly, “JJ, you don’t have to do this. Just leave. Come on, I’ll go with you.”
Ricky surprises me. He’s being so kind, but risking getting into serious trouble. The sub is furious at him.
The class is murmuring a bit; they know he’s about to blow.
I mean, this man is supposed to have an education of some kind; you would think he’d have a clue that something is up.
But no. He’s too puffed up on power to take a look around him.
“That will be enough. You all had plenty of chances to volunteer, and I’m in charge of this class. I will not tolerate such a blatant lack of respect. Mr. Leeman, if you do not sit down and stop the interruptions, you will go to the principal’s office.”
“Can I go to the Principal’s office?” Part of me wants to run away, but now, because my insides are boiling mad, part of me kind of wants to tell this idiot all about my slice.
Just for shock value.
“Absolutely not. You will stay here. Please begin. Now, Miss Reynolds.”
“Fine.”
The grief inside me is suddenly gone and all that’s left is anger.
“Where should I begin? Well, like I said, this weekend was so not typical.” I roll my eyes. “Thank God. I don’t think I could live through another o
ne.”
“Teen angst,” the sub interrupts, “I like it so far.”
Smart ass. Well we’ll see if you say that when I’m done.
“Well, let’s see, I go to a party where I get dumped by my boyfriend. Needless to say, that upset me and I was going to leave, but then a guy friend of mine shows up, told me not to leave and, well, kissed me.” I can’t help but smile a little smile about that. It was the one bright spot of the whole damned weekend. “Okay. So ex-boyfriend sees me kissing said friend and tries to humiliate me in front of everyone. When that doesn’t work, he starts a fight. Another friend drags me out of the party and back to town. We stop to get gas and his cell phone rings. It’s his dad who, believe it or not, has been looking for me. It seems that my parents were in a car accident.” I swallow hard. “We speed through town and get pulled over by the police. Luckily, it’s a nice Westown officer, who drives us to the Med Center.”
I glare straight into the evil substitute’s eyes and smile an obviously fake smile as I continue, “When we get there, I find out that my mom is dead. Oh, and my dad dies a few hours later.”
I can feel the tears wanting to come, but I push them back.
Just stay mad, I tell myself.
“That is not very funny, Miss Reyn . . .” he starts to say.
I look at him and smirk. Told you!
I interrupt the idiot and say, “You’re very right. It is so not funny. But it’s the truth.”
“And that,” I say with a curtsey to the class, “is a slice of my life.”
I grab my books and storm out the door.
I can hear the teacher ask the class if it was true.
I hear him mutter, “Fu*%”, before the door closes.
I stomp in an angry daze out to the empty commons area, sit down, and let out a big sigh. Ricky Leeman is on my tail. He sits down, puts his arm around my shoulder, and says, “God, what an asshole. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. So do ya think the sub liked my slice of life?”
“Well he dropped the f-bomb in front of the class, so I’m guessing not. I don’t think we have to worry about him coming back.”
“I appreciate what you tried to do in there and, well, no offense, but how come you’re being so nice to me?”
“Um, well, I feel really bad about what happened to your parents and, well, I’m kinda in charge of you this period.”
“In charge of me?”
I don’t like the sound of that.
“Well, yeah, I mean I am the only guy from the team in AP English, but I would’ve volunteered anyway.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“Uh, um . . . I take it you didn’t hear about the meeting?” He grimaces.
“Evidently not. Enlighten me, please.”
“Um, well, maybe I wasn’t exactly supposed to tell you that,” he says, suddenly nervous. “You know what? I think I’m gonna go get Phillip. That’s what I’ll do. You stay here.”
He gets up, but sees Phillip heading down the hall toward us.
Phillip rushes over. “Shelby came and got me out of study hall. What are you doing here? Are you okay? Do you want me to take you home?”
Being mad is much easier than feeling sad, so I say in a perturbed voice, “No, Phillip, what I want is to know what’s going on around here.”
Ricky touches my arm. “Hey, I’m gonna go. Sorry about your parents, JJ.”
Chicken.
“Uh, thanks, Ricky, I really appreciate what you did.”
I turn to Phillip. “Phillip? I asked you a question.”
“Oh, it’s not a big deal or a big secret or anything. We were just kind of keeping it quiet because Danny knew you’d react like this because you’re stubborn and hard-headed.”
“Danny?” I shake my head, trying to understand. “What does Danny have to do with this?”
“Well, he sort of met with the football team.”
“The football team? Why?”
“Well, not everyone—mostly just the seniors and a few juniors, and well, Coach and Mazer too.”
This is mind-boggling.
“Why?”
“Well, Danny knew he’d have to go back to Lincoln right after the funeral. He felt like he was abandoning you and worried about how you’d do when you came back to school. He just wanted to make sure you’d be okay and that someone was around if you needed anything.”
Most of me wants to throw a fit and scream, I can take care of myself, but the other part of me feels grateful and loved. Because, awwww, that was really, really sweet of Danny. That’s how my life has been this week. An emotional roller coaster. Two stupid sides to every feeling I have. I think I liked myself better when I just thought my side was always right.
“You know what, Phillip? I do think I wanna get out of here. I'll see you at home later. I shouldn’t have come here today. And I’ve been lucky: I haven’t run into Jake.”
“Uh, yeah. Danny might have had something to do with that too.”
I arch an eyebrow at him.
“Fine.” He rolls his eyes at me. “He invited Jake to the meeting and told him, in no uncertain terms, to leave you alone. That’s the other thing the guys are supposed to make sure of.”
I sigh. I need to get out of here.
“I’m gonna sign out.”
I almost get out of school without being seen by the faculty, but when I round the corner, I run smack dab into Principal Mazer.
Crap. I suppose I’m going to get in trouble for my insubordination to a substitute teacher.
But Mazer surprises me by giving me a hug. “JJ, I’m surprised to see you here. We didn’t expect you until Monday. Everything going alright so far?”
“Um, uh, there was a little incident in AP English. I want to apologize in advance, and when you hear about it, um, just know he pushed me.”
Principal Mazer looks confused by my statement, but I don’t elaborate. I just say, “If it’s alright, I think I am going to leave now.”
“Sure, honey, feel free to come and go as you please for a while, and if there is anything you need, let us know. All of us around here care about you.”
“Thanks. That means a lot to me.” My standard funeral response, but I can’t seem to come up with anything better.
Phillip tells Mazer that he’s leaving with me.
“Follow me,” Phillip bosses me, as I get in my car.
I follow Phillip’s car in a daze. Pretty soon we are at the Westown Park. We park and get out of our cars. Phillip grabs my hand and leads me to the swings.
I sit down on a swing and am pleasantly surprised when Phillip starts pushing me.
I close my eyes and enjoy swinging. I love how swinging makes my stomach feel all fluttery. Then I remember once when I was little, telling my mom that I’d been swinging so high I thought my feet had touched heaven.
I swing higher and point my toes upward.
I hope they still can.
Phillip is swinging beside me now, and I realize this is exactly what I needed. I don’t know how he does it, but Phillip always seems to know exactly what I need.
Come to think of it, enjoying a ride on a swing is very much like stopping to smell the roses.
I hope my parents are proud.
Because I grew up around Danny and Phillip, I discovered the truth about the male language very early in life. What I learned is there are three basic responses that most guys will use when shouldered with the major task of having to answer the question, How do I look? by the fairer sex.
Although I have never confirmed it, I am convinced that boys are taken aside in school, probably in fifth grade when the girls watch the film about getting their periods, and are taught the following three responses:
You look like shit. (Translation: You look bad. Just go back to bed and start over tomorrow. I really shouldn’t be seen with you like this.)
You look fine. (Translation: You look good enough to be seen with.)
You look ho
t. (Translation: I want you.)
They also must teach them there is only one acceptable variation to these responses and to use it sparingly. The variation is simple. They just throw a “really” into the sentence. The following are examples I have witnessed:
JJ, you REALLY look like shit. (Translation: You must be very hung over, or sick, or having an extremely bad hair day. I really don’t want to be seen with you.)
REALLY, JJ, your hair looks fine. (Translation: Your hair looks the same to me as it always does, even though you spent an hour fixing it, so stop messing with it and let’s go because you look good enough to be seen with.)
And…
(Insert cheerleader’s name here) looks REALLY hot. (Translation: I REALLY want her.)
So when Danny shows up at my door and says these five simple words—you might think with my insider knowledge, I would have expected them—I’m truly surprised!
“Jay, you look really hot!” he exclaims, looking me over from perfectly done hair to perfectly painted toe.
Now, normally, I would be excited by this compliment because it’s not something I typically hear.
But what I’m thinking is, my God, I have spent, like, the following:
$400 dollars and months of shopping, which is still not a pastime I find enjoyable, on a fabulous halter dress in a beautiful, stretchy, coral fabric with coral and silver beading. This dress actually makes me look like I have hips.
$60 on a special bra, so I’d show no straps.
$120 on a pair of high-heeled, strappy silver sandals with rhinestones. (And yay, even in five- inch heels, Danny’s still taller than me, unlike my previous date, Mr. Unfaithful.)
$78 on a silver clutch, that is only big enough to hold some lip gloss and a cell phone.
$60 on a silver gossamer wrap, in case it gets chilly. (Okay, so I have absolutely no idea what gossamer is either. But Lisa said that’s what it’s called and she should know. All I know is that it’s a very sheer fabric that has no chance in hell of ever keeping me warm.)