Do-Overs

by Christine Jarmola

  I was texting my mom before Stina could finish her generous offer of the loan of her most favorite accessory. Ding went my phone. My mom had texted me back. Yes, my purse was there. She’d keep it safe for the next two weeks until I came home for Christmas. Ding came her next answer. No she would not drive it the three hours to school. I could just use one of my ten other purses.

  Two weeks. I sat on my bed stunned. Until three months before I never even imagined the ability to redo life’s mistakes. Without it I felt like a Greek god who had become mortal. How could I cope? I was afraid to leave the safety of the dorm without my trusty friend. I didn’t have six hours to spare from studies and finals to drive home and get the eraser. I tried to figure out the math. If I did over part of the time, it wouldn’t make any difference. A six-hour round drive was still a six-hour round trip, no matter how magical my school supplies were.

  “Woe, you must really be attached to that purse. You look like you lost your best friend,” said Stina with a nervous giggle. I must have had a scary, tragic look on my face. It was time to get a grip. I could survive a short time in the present. I’d just have to be very careful where I went. What I did. Who I talked to. Oh crap! That had never worked for me before. I doubted it would work then.

  -22-

  Being Mortal

  Once Again

  Of course I overslept the next morning and headed out for class in the first thing I could find to throw on—dirty yoga pants and a hoodie. I was such a fashion statement in the making. I slunk into Señora Aburrida’s class five minutes late realizing I had the wrong notebook.

  “Señorita Lambert. Buenos días. ¿Porque estás tarde? ¿Siempre estás aquí temprano?”

  I had no idea what she was saying. I just smiled and said, “Sí.” Half of the class died laughing. The other half looked as confused as me. When I had had my little pink friend I had gotten into the habit of waiting until someone translated and then rewound class so I could look like I understood. To be honest I wasn’t learning much Spanish, just how to be quick on the draw with the redos.

  Things progressed in much the same pattern throughout the day. Perhaps I had grown just a little codependent on my pink helper? I had become lazy at watching what I did or said as I could always fix my mistakes. For the next week and six days (not that I was counting, of course) I would have to be ever vigilant.

  After my disaster of a Spanish class, I headed back to the dorm in hopes of a quick shower and clothes that didn’t smell of a two-week-old workout. Hurrying, as I didn’t have much time for a miracle transformation, I didn’t see him coming until we were face to face. Sweet Mother of Pearl, he looked good. I didn’t. Nowhere to hide. No way to change things. But it didn’t matter as “Morning,” was all Al Dansby said and then he walked on by.

  I pondered that encounter for the rest of the day and then the night. What had that one word meant, “Morning.” By the next day at lunch Stina, Rachel, and I had analyzed and dissected that brief encounter to every subatomic particle.

  “I think he was just embarrassed about standing you up for your coffee date,” was Rachel’s diplomatic hypothesis.

  Stina kept insisting, “You looked so bad, he didn’t recognize you.”

  “But he sounded miffed. Or almost disappointed. He was the one who didn’t show up, not me. What would he have to be all huffy about? He didn’t sit there for eighteen minutes and then have that skanky Taylor come in. . .” Oops. Had I said too much? Taylor had only come in the first reality not the second because in the second I never went. Fortunately everyone was too busy hypothesizing on Al’s “morning” that they weren’t listening to me anyway.

  “Maybe he had just been running late. He said he had a meeting. They always go over,” said Rachel still trying to be the peacemaker.

  “But then he could have asked someone if they saw you. How long would he have expected you to wait?” countered Stina.

  “Maybe he sent word with someone and they couldn’t find you,” said Rachel.

  Or maybe they did find me, but being the warm fuzzy soul that she wasn’t, she didn’t tell me. Was it just me, or had Taylor made a point of talking loudly about Al and Butch when she knew I was there? Could she be so deceitful that if Al had asked her to tell me he was running late, she wouldn’t tell me? Yes, yes she could. Then all of the sudden I had another epiphany. I had shown up the first time. But then I did it over and I never went. Maybe he came later and I wasn’t there. Originally I had talked with Taylor, which I had almost just blurted out to my friends, but then I hadn’t. She could have reported back to him that I wasn’t there. And ironically she was telling the truth. Anyone he might have asked would have reconfirmed that I wasn’t there. With my little flick of an eraser I had changed from being the stood-up-y to the stood-up-er and probably had erased any chance of being asked out for coffee with Al Dansby ever again.

  -23-

  Just Six More

  Six more days until Christmas break started and I hadn’t had too many major catastrophes. Just four tests left to do and OKMU’s annual Christmas dance to attend. Then I was off for the next four weeks to eat fudge and recuperate.

  “So, what are you going to wear?” Stina asked for the third time. “I’m wearing this little black dress I borrowed from the K’s. Not sure which one it actually belongs to. Don’t think they know anymore. They’re all the same size and they seem to just have a community closet. Maybe you could go find something down there?”

  A school-wide dance was still a novelty to me. (Dorothy, you ain’t at the state school anymore.) I hadn’t made plans to go. Since it was my first year at OKMU, I hadn’t realized that it was the social event of the year.

  “No date. No dress. I think I should just stay here and study. I have finals all next week. I need to study,” came my insecure, self-pitying reply.

  It didn’t work with Stina. “Grow-up girlfriend. WWJAD?”

  “What would Jesus Do?” I asked very confused, as I don’t remember Jesus ever going to a Christmas dance even though it is His birthday.

  “No, silly. What Would Jane Austin Do? Or Emily and Charlotte Bronte? Make your heroes proud. Be a real woman. Go without a man.”

  “Easy for you to say. You have a date,” came my whiny reply.

  “And so do you,” said Rachel to the rescue as she came in our room. “My date, Trevor, has a brother, Will, who is coming to visit for the weekend and needs a date. I know it’s last minute, but we can double. It’ll be fun.”

  “Moldy cheese and stale crackers, I’ve hit the bottom of the loser barrel. A last minute blind date!”

  “It will be fun,” Rachel insisted.

  Stina joined in. “He can’t be too bad. Trevor’s a sweetheart. Everyone loves Trevor. I’m sure his brother is great too.”

  “It will be fun. We’ll be together,” Rachel kept insisting.

  ***

  Oh yeah, it was fun. Nobody ever bothered to mention that he was sixteen and still in high school. Now four years between the ages of twenty and twenty-four isn’t a big deal, between forty and forty-four is nothing. Between sixteen and twenty? The Grand Canyon. So there I stood next to Mr. High School, zits and all, trying to make a conversation that didn’t make me sound like a geriatric asking the kiddy about what he wanted to be when he grew up,

  I’d spent the day trying to study for a Spanish exam that I knew I was going to fail, while Olivia and Stina tried to work a miracle on me. They did a fairly good job as fairy godmothers. I had on Olivia’s emerald green, perfect for a Christmas dance, Free People flowy gown. Stina had put my hair in some amazing bun-like creation, with just the right amount of wispy hairs loose. A look in the full-length mirror and I was delighted. Maybe it was a good thing that Rachel and Stina had convinced me to go to the dance after all. I felt like a princess until the toad showed up with his brother.

  As they had said, Trevor was a sweetheart of a guy. Notice no one ever described him as handsome, because he wasn’t. A little overweight.
A computer nerd. But with such an outgoing fun personality, he was liked by all. His brother was his spitting image sans the fun personality and the liked by all. Whoever said “two out of three ain’t bad” never met my date.

  “Ain’t there no beer here?” were his first words entering the dance. “I thought that college parties always had kegs.”

  “I’m sure there is some hidden somewhere, but aren’t you sixteen?” I gently reminded him. I was not about to get arrested for encouraging the delinquency of a minor.

  “Freak,” (Okay he didn’t really say freak, but there are some words I just won’t repeat.) “What kind of college party ain’t got no beer?”

  “A classy one,” came Trevor’s reply. “For once Will, just shut-up and have some fun. I didn’t bring you here to get plastered. You could have done that at home standing out in a cow pasture with your so-called friends.”

  I sensed a reoccurring family conversation and thought that it would be a prudent moment to walk over to see the K’s, giving Trevor and Will some quality brother time.

  The K’s all looked fabulous. Who would have known that just two hours before they were all frantically changing and re-changing their dresses for the optimal wow factor.

  “Yes Kaylee, your cleavage looks alluring without looking slutty,” Kasha was saying as I approached.

  “Hey Lottie, you look awesome,” they turned in unison and said. It was always scary when they did that one combined mind thing.

  “So how is the blind date?’ Kyra asked. “Is he a hunk?”

  At that moment I felt a clammy hand on my bare shoulder that started to work it’s way down my back. I tried to step away and bumped into Kyra.

  “Hey, babe,” (Did he actually just call me babe, like some lamo seventies movie?) “Thought I’d lost you. Now who are these luscious ladies?” asked Will, AKA my date from hell.

  I spent the next hour dodging groping hands and cliché dialogue. It was time to fake a headache and leave the party. Hiding behind one of the numerous Christmas trees decorating the ballroom, I was desperately devising an excuse to leave, without my date. Glad we hadn’t driven there, as heaven only knows what he thought he could get off a college woman in a car.

  “Do you always hide behind the shrubbery?” came the voice of my daydreams and my nighttime fantasies. There he stood, looking straight at me. I think he had a suit on. I’m sure he was dressed. But I couldn’t take my eyes off of his magnificent green eyes. There was a twinkle there that wasn’t just the reflection of the Christmas tree lights.

  “I was just admiring,” your eyes almost came out of my mouth. Quick save. “I was just admiring the ornaments on the tree,” I said never looking at the tree.

  “Yes, they are amazing,” he responded, not looking at the tree either. Then he smiled that mischievous but shy little boy smile that made my toes curl and other parts do unmentionable things. “I love Christmas. And Christmas trees.”

  “And ornaments.” Was it me or had time simply frozen around us as we were partaking in the most wonderful, stimulating, witty conversation I had ever heard?

  “I’m glad to have found you here tonight,” he broke eye contact. I could breath again. “I wanted to talk with you about the other night at the library. . .”

  “Hey, date! There you are. ‘Bout never found you over here behind this here tree,” interrupted Will as he flung a proprietary arm around my shoulder.

  Al’s beatific smile disappeared. “Oh sorry,” he stammered. “I see you’re busy. Well, Merry Christmas,” he wished me with all the joy of Scrooge before he spent the night with the ghosts of Christmas past/present/future.

  Back home in a red purse in my closet was a simple eraser that could fix the entire situation. But it was back home in a red purse in my closet and not in my hand. Instead, I watched helplessly as he walked away. The room was a swirl of colorful dresses, sequins, and Christmas decorations. All I saw was his retreating black suit. It simply couldn’t get any worse.

  But it did.

  What was Taylor of the long legs doing? She was dangling some sort of greenery over Al’s head. Mistletoe. No, she couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. But she did. And he did too. And it wasn’t any little peck. Then there were cheers and catcalls.

  The party was over for me.

  Merry Christmas Lottie Lambert. After I had blown my chance with Mr. Dansby it turns out he definitely wasn’t gay after all.

  -24-

  Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

  Not

  “I thought the new school was supposed to make her happy,” came Jennifer’s voice through our adjoining wall. All these years and those two still didn’t acknowledge that I could hear everything they said from their room to mine.

  “She seemed happy at Thanksgiving. Maybe she F’d her finals,” answered Jessica. “Bummer she didn’t meet some hunk and fall head over heels and forget the loser from OU.”

  “Hey is that my nail polish? I didn’t say you could use it. Ooo but it does look great,” said Jennifer, distracted by shiny fingernails. That’s the Double J’s. Sweet girls, but easily off task where shiny objects, or nails, were involved.

  Wake-up call to Lottie. It was time to quit moping around the house. I hadn’t realized I was such a downer. Time to put on a happy face. My mom had worked too hard to make Christmas Christmas for me to ruin it.

  I hadn’t had a chance to talk with Mr. Dansby before I left. He seemed to have dropped off the planet after his passionate display with skank girl. I only caught a glance of him once and wished I hadn’t. He was busy trying to cram Taylor’s luggage into the back of his tiny Miata. Mission accomplished and then the two of them drove off into the sunset. And I climbed into my reliable old Camry and headed for home.

  “Hey Lottie Bug,” came my mom’s voice, drawing me back from my sad reverie. “I’ve got to run to the mall for two more gifts I forgot. Go with me. We’ll have fun.” And we did. It’s hard to stay unhappy around my mom at Christmastime. She kept me as busy as a mother of sextuplets without a reality show for the next two weeks. We shopped and lunched. We wrapped gifts and delivered cookie baskets. We gathered around the piano and sang Christmas carols and then drank hot chocolate by the fire. Home was good. Maybe I was just the normal middle child, but my mom could make even normal children feel special.

  By New Year’s Eve, I was tired. Over the holidays I had seen every relative ever invented, except the one I needed, Aunt Charlotte.

  “Mom, I think I’m going to skip the church’s New Year’s party.”

  “Are you okay, Lottie? You’re not getting sick are you? I heard that the neighbor boy has strep. I saw you out there talking with him two days ago. I hope you don’t have strep. Although if you have to be sick that is a good one to get, because you can get an antibiotic and be well in just twenty-four hours.”

  “Whoa, mom. I’m not sick. Just tired. Maybe a little melancholy.”

  My sweet, loving, intuitive mother nodded. “I understand. After a while it gets old being the one with no one to kiss at midnight. Been there done that. But it will happen,” she said giving me a hug. “I thought I’d never meet your daddy. I was an old maid of twenty-two when he finally came along.” She laughed. “But, I’m glad I waited. He was worth the wait. And you’ll see. When the right one comes along he’ll be worth all those lonely midnight countdowns.”

  But what if he had already come along? Maybe even a few times. But I had done it over to the point it would never happen.

  ***

  The weeks before Christmas had been full of activities and festivities. After the new year began everyone went back to their old routine. Jason had only come home for Christmas Eve and Day and then went back to his apartment in Norman. For all practical purposes he no longer lived at home. The Double J’s had to go back to their last semester of high school on the second of January. They were not pleased that their break had ended so abruptly, but were over-the-moon excited about finishing high school. They couldn’t wa
it to head off to OU the next fall. Dad was back at work. I’m not sure if he ever mentally left it. Mom was between jobs at the moment. Her current plan was to become an interior decorator. She had taken a few classes at the local junior college. It was a phase. Before that she had taught school, worked in a bank, ran a tutoring agency, worked in a daycare, sold make-up, even cleaned houses while putting my dad through his MBA. I asked her when I was little why she changed careers so much. Usually I got some vague answer about being bored, or wanting a higher salary. Once when I was twelve I asked again, and demanded a real answer.

  “Do you really want to know Lottie? Why do you want to know?” She had answered my question with questions.

  “You seem pretty good at so many things, but you never seem to stick with it until you get really good at it,” I answered and then realized as usual, I had hurt her feelings. “I’m sorry mom. I didn’t mean that you aren’t good at things, it’s just that . . . Well,”

  “It’s okay Lottie Bug. You’re very perceptive as usual. To be honest, I’m not sure what I want to be. Okay, that’s not totally true. I know the one thing. But it’s not culturally acceptable.”

  Oh no. My mom wanted to be a stripper or worse. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know anymore, but I had to ask. “What?”

  “What I really wanted to be was a mother. You know like June Cleaver -- please tell me you’ve heard of her.” All I could give her was a blank look. I didn’t think that she went to our church and I knew there was no Mrs. Cleaver at school. “Okay, bad example. Let me explain. Once upon a time. . .” That earned her a very teenagerish eye roll. “Women got married, had babies and then stayed home and took care of them. Sometimes that was wonderful. Sometimes that was very hard, because they didn’t have money, or they didn’t like the whole motherhood gig. Women couldn’t get good jobs. Mothers in bad marriages had to stay in them because there was no way they could earn a decent living and take care of their kids.”