Summer Girls, Love Boys

Home > Other > Summer Girls, Love Boys > Page 4
Summer Girls, Love Boys Page 4

by Norma Fox Mazer


  What? Yes, I know what ground rules are.

  Yes, I’m listening. I don’t have to look into your big baby blues every second to listen.

  I know you’re just trying to do your job—All right, all right, I’ll try. But if your ground rule is for me to answer the questions, my ground rule is for you to stop asking if I know what every other word means! Yes, you do. What am I angry about? Nothing! Who says I’m mad? I don’t care what you say it sounds like, I’m not mad about anything. I want another ground rule! You don’t tell me what I am! Like angry, or unruly, or—

  Yes, I’ll answer your questions, I said I would. I keep my word. Do you?

  Okay! It’s a deal, Mr. Seal. Go ahead. Shoot. Ask me anything.… Jayne? Tell you about Jayne? Do we have to—

  Okay, okay, I know. You ask, I answer.

  Jayne. She was my sister. That’s all.

  A memory? Any memory? Just start anywhere? I don’t know where to—I told you, she was a brat, a real pest, a baby who bugged me. Made me crazy sometimes. Like how? Like when I got a bike for my birthday. I was nine. Thought I was so grown up. They gave me a two-wheeler. Right, Jayne was four. She had a trike of her own. But she had to learn to ride my two-wheeler, or nothing. She must have fallen a million times. Skinned her knees, bloodied up her hands. Almost knocked out a tooth.

  Everybody told her, Quit, you’re too little.

  She didn’t quit. She learned to ride. The seat was too high for her. She didn’t care, she stood up on the pedals. No, I wasn’t proud of her. What for? After that I had to share my bike with her. Every time I wanted to ride, she’d be on it. My mother would say, Share and share alike.

  No, they didn’t. Said she was too young. Said bikes were too expensive. Said when she got older, and more careful.

  I don’t know. Maybe next year they would have.

  What? It was a Raleigh. She messed it up. Full of scratches. Dents. She banged it up a million times. Never used the kick stand, just let the bike drop on the ground. She never took care of anything. In our room—Yes, same room. We live in an apartment—two bedrooms. I keep begging my parents, Let me sleep in the hall! My mother says, Nothing doing.

  Why do I want to—Because Jayne is such a slob. Never picks up her clothes or books or—Can we talk about something else? Is the time up yet? I’m—I’m sort of tired … don’t want to talk anymore.

  Wednesday? All right. Ten o’clock? Keen, jelly bean. I’ll be here.

  Here I am again.

  Yes, I’m ready. Yes, I remember our ground rules. Do you? You’ve got more to remember than I do.

  What?

  Go through my anger? I told you I’m not—

  You want me to understand what?

  The steps of sorrow? Ah, ha ha. Where do they lead to? Is it just one flight? Can I run up them, or do I have to walk slowly, like a lady? That’s what Mrs. Christmas told me yesterday. Sara Gorelick, ladies don’t run, they walk. What’d I do? I laughed. What would you do if someone—Oh, it’s no good asking you, anyway, guys never get told stuff like that. Lester Coleman, gentlemen don’t run, they walk. Can you hear it?

  We’re getting off the subject?

  Oh, right, right, back to the steps of sorrow. Take ’em two at a time, gang.

  Look! There’s no rule that I can’t make jokes. Lots of things are jokes. Oh, I forgot, you like tears better than laughing, right?

  I’m being recalcitrant? Wow-ee, that’s a mouthful. Uh, uh, uh, can’t ask if I know what it means! Ha! But—I’ll tell you this. If you were my dad, instead of that you would have said, Sara, you’re acting like a regular little jackass. Ha, guessed it right, didn’t I?

  Sure, I’m in good spirits today. The sun is shining and I ate my Rice Krispies this morning. Yippee. Only pretty soon, if I have to go on listening to this lecture about the three steps of sorrow, I might feel like throwing up my snap, crackle, and pop.

  Hey. Did I make you feel bad?

  I didn’t mean anything. Just joking around.

  Oh. You’re just thinking of where to start this morning. Whew. Had me fooled for a minute there. I thought the talking question machine was running down. No such luck, huh?

  Tell you about Jayne? Again?

  All right, again!

  What did she look like. Skinny, sort of dirty blond hair, freckles. Right, right, we don’t look anything alike. She’s like my mom, I’m like my dad. Pretty? I don’t know. Cute, I guess. My mom would send me to the store for milk and bread. And Jayne would say, Can I come with you, Sara? Can I come with you, Sara? Just to shut her up, I’d say, Okay! She talked so much. Just like you. Blah, blah, blah, she never ran out of stuff to talk about. You think I have a big mouth …

  People would look at her and say, Your little sister is adorable. Those freckles! And they’d smile and pat her on the head. She was real jumpy about her head being patted. One time a man in the supermarket said, Hello, little girl. And he goes to her head, pat pat pat. It really set her off. Leave my head alone, she yelled.

  She just couldn’t stand the feeling of being bonked on the head. Nobody ever asked her. They just figured, She’s a kid, so that gives them the right to smack her on the head.

  Yes, I think adults run the world. Don’t you? Kids don’t have anything to say about anything …

  Maybe we could do a better job. Maybe we’d be a whole lot more fair. What do I mean by that? Can’t you figure it out? Give you an example? Sure! That man who ran into Jayne. What happened to him? He didn’t even have his license taken away. And he was drinking. Drunk. Yes, he was. I smelled it on him. He got out of his big car. Big black Chrysler. Jayne was lying there in the road, and I smelled it on him. I smelled it on him!

  What?

  Yes, I know. I know they said it wasn’t his fault. But they didn’t even say about him drinking when he went to court. Do you think that’s fair? Yes, I was there. We all were. Me, Mom, and Dad. We heard the judge. We heard everything. They didn’t ask me, no. Because I’m just a kid, maybe. Or maybe because of who he is, his name—

  What’s that got to do with—?

  Are you kidding? His name is the same as Senator—What? He’s his brother. That’s right, his brother, and he should be in jail. I would have put him in jail. When I’m a judge, I won’t care who anybody is. I won’t care if the President’s brother comes in my court. I’ll just listen to the facts and I’ll make everybody tell the truth!

  There’s the bell. Good-bye!

  Hi.

  No, I don’t feel like sitting down today.

  There’s no place to walk here. How come your office is so small? It looks like they made it out of a closet. They did. This really used to be a closet? Tacky!

  So what’s your question today?

  Do I dream about Jayne?

  Boy, you know how to pick ’em. I bet you put in lots of time thinking up these questions. Am I going to ans—Okay, okay. Answer: I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes. I don’t want to talk about that.

  All right! I’ll keep my promise! What do you want to know? A dream I had about her? Okay, I dreamed we were on a horse together. Satisfied?

  You’re not.

  All … right. I’ll tell you more. A big white horse. And we were galloping across a field.… I don’t know what kind of field! Does it matter? A field, just a field, ordinary, with flowers and bees and things.

  I don’t know why I dreamed that. You just dream things. No, we never had a horse. Jayne wanted one, though. She was horse-crazy. Her side of the room was all covered with horse pictures. Once, when she was about six, she begged Mom and Dad to get her a horse. My mother said even if we could afford it, which we couldn’t, where would we put it?

  And Jayne says, In the backyard.

  What a dodo. Our backyard is just about big enough for the clothesline.

  So, next, Jayne says, I’ll keep him in the bedroom. I’ll get a pony and he can go at the foot of my bed.

  We were all laughing. Zowie! Did that make Jayne mad. Her eyes are sort
of greenish, and when she gets mad, they go all dark, and then her face gets bunchy and red, looks like her freckles are going to jump right off her skin.

  My mother says, Someday your face is going to freeze like that, Jayne, and then you’re going to be one strange-looking kid. And Jayne goes, Ha! Ha! Very funny! Boy, that’s really funny! And then my father gets into the act. Don’t be fresh to your mother.

  And Jayne goes Ha! Ha! again, right in his face. Which is big dumbness. You can say lots of stuff to my mother. But my father—no. So he gets mad and gives her a whup on the behind.

  No, she didn’t cry. You couldn’t make that kid cry. Not that way. She’d cry if she found a dead animal. One time she found a mouse that a cat killed. It was stiff, with blood on its neck. Jayne picks it right up and puts her hands around it, like she’s going to warm it up and make it live again.

  I go, Come on, Jayne, it’s dead. Put it down. It’s full of germs.

  And she goes, Listen, Sara, listen. I can feel its heart. And she wants to bring it home and take care of it. Yeah, she did it. Sneaked it into the house and kept it for two days until it started to stink and my mom found it.

  Sometimes I could persuade her to do things, but mostly, no. Nobody could. She’s just stubborn. Like the time Mom cut my hair. Wanted to cut Jayne’s hair, too. Oh, no, you don’t, Jayne says. Oh, no, you don’t.

  And she’s backing away, holding her hair like Mom was going to chop it off right to the roots. So Mom and I both try telling her how cute she’ll look.

  She says, Who cares! I want my hair!

  Then we say stuff like how much easier it will be to comb and all that. And Jayne says, I love my hair!

  And she runs into the bathroom and locks the door and won’t come out until Mom promises, sacred word of honor, not to cut her hair.

  My father says we all let her get her own way too much. I sure agree with him! That brat can be stubborn, and dumb, too.

  Like what?

  Like once she jumped into a lake from a second-story window. Because somebody dared her. My mom said she could have been ki—Is that dumb enough for you? Can we change the subject now?

  Games? Sure we played games together. Just dumb kid stuff. You don’t want to hear—

  You do.

  You are the most curious person I ever met. You are a real big B brain picker.

  Games. Right.

  Umm … one we played was lying on our beds and walking our legs up the wall to see who could go the highest. Jayne always won, because she would walk herself up until only the back of her head was on the bed.

  You want more? Whew. You’re never satisfied. Okay, we played our-favorite-room—telling about this room we’d have if someone left us a million dollars and we could buy anything we wanted. Uh-huh, Jayne always puts a horse in her room. It’s one of her favorite games. She goes, Can I go first, Sara? I have to go first, Sara! Sara, if you don’t let me go first—! Bugs me crazy.

  What? What?

  There’s some confusion in me—? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

  I what? … Sometimes I talk as if Jayne is still alive? I don’t know what you mean. I’m just telling you things. You ask, I tell. Like I said, Keen, jelly bean.

  Why are you so picky anyway? What if I do talk about her as if—

  Yes, I hear you. I’m listening. I understand. I’m not stupid! You think I don’t want to face facts.

  No, I didn’t say I don’t want to face facts. I said that’s what you—Oh, what’s the use? Forget it!

  No, I AM NOT GETTING MAD. AND I AM NOT GETTING UPSET. Do you have to keep ASKING me that?

  Are you kidding? Mad because Jayne died. Mad at Jayne? That would be super dumbness, wouldn’t it?

  If you want to know if I’m mad at anybody, it’s you, Mr. B Brain Picker. Yes, you make me mad. You make me see red, white, and blue! How mad do you make me? THIS mad! THIS mad! THIS MAD THIS MAD THIS MAD THIS MAD!

  What? Did it feel good banging my fists on your desk? Why should it feel good? I hurt my knuckles. My throat is sore. No, it’s all right. Leave me alone. Can I go now? You don’t want to talk to me anymore, do you?

  That’s true, Mr. Rue. I don’t want to talk to you anymore. How much of this do you think I can stand? Nothing personal. You said I should say what I felt, honestly. So I’m saying it. GOOD-BYE! And If I never see you again it’ll be too soon for me!

  Heigh ho, Mr. Snow.

  You mad at me?

  I didn’t think so.

  I’m right on time today.

  Yes, it’s a beautiful day. Uh-huh, very warm. No, I don’t mind sitting down. Here on the windowsill okay? I like it better, is why. If you turn around … see, no big desk between us. More equal—

  Why did I use that word? What word? Equal? I don’t know. Just said, More equal.

  What does it remind me of? Oh, boy, picking my brains again.

  Oh, okay, I’ll humor you. One and one equals two.

  More? Great.

  Are-you-egual-to-the-task-we-are-all-created-equal-in-the-eyes-of-God. What’s this all about, anyway?

  Am I equal to the task of saying Jayne is de—

  Why should I say that? What difference does it make? I know she’s—I know what happened—

  I told you … I can say it if I want to!

  I-just-don’t-want-to.

  What? You want me to say it anyway? Just to prove—Big deal! My sister is …

  Why do you want me to say it?

  No, I am not afraid to say it! MY SISTER IS DEAD.

  There! Are you satisfied now? God! I hate you. No, don’t touch me! Leave me alone! Leave me alone. I’m going now. I’m going!

  Hello?

  Should I, ah, come in?

  Hi.…

  I’m quieter than usual? No, I’m not. I’m like this lots of times. I just haven’t got anything special to say.

  I’ve been feeling—okay.… Sure … okay …

  What?

  Do I realize … ten minutes? I haven’t said anything for ten minutes? Just been sitting here?

  Daydreaming, I guess.

  No, nothing special. Just about something that happened once. You probably don’t want to hear. I mean, you’re more morbid. You like to tune in on funerals and accidents and …

  Now I sound more like myself? Old Sassy Sara? How come you smile when you say that?

  Oh. Uh. Well, I like you, too. But don’t go getting a big swelled head about it. You’re not the only grown-up in the entire world that I like, you know!

  And I don’t even like you that much, anyway.

  Oh, back to that.

  It was something that happened on Halloween. The Parks Department had a fair. You wouldn’t be interest—You would be. Okay, if you insist.

  Well, there was this fair, like I said. And I wanted to go, and Mom said I had to take Jayne. I didn’t like that. Callie and I wanted to go alone. We already took Jayne out trick-or-treating. She was seven—it was last year. She says, Oh, please take me, Sara! I’ll be good! I promise. I’ll give you my stuffed kangaroo.

  Big deal. Just what I wanted, her stuffed kangaroo that she still chewed on when she sulked.

  Yes, I took her. I had to. There was this huge crowd in the park. Booths selling popcorn and candy apples, and a beauty contest booth, and this one place where you went in, got a slimy trickle down your back, and then a skeleton jumped out at you. We went in there. It was crazy. We were screaming and laughing. We did some more stuff, but all Jayne wanted was to go over to the greased pole. I had to yell at her every two minutes to stick with me and Callie.

  Then one time I turned around and she was gone. The greased pole, naturally. Because they promised anybody who climbed to the top a pony. Free.

  Uh-huh, they greased the flagpole in the middle of the park.

  Oh, sure, you could get your legs around the pole, and start climbing, but not far. You’d slide right down, ’cause you couldn’t get a grip with your hands. And meanwhile you get covered fro
m head to toe with grease!

  But that’s where Jayne was. No, not watching. Climbing. She’d go up and she’d slide down. And she’d go up again. I yelled at her to come down. She didn’t even look at me. Just kept trying. And this humongous bunch of people are watching her. Jayne, come down, I yelled again. And she yells back, Sara, I got to climb this pole!

  And she’s wriggling up like a monkey. And sliding down.

  She just kept trying. And trying. I don’t know how long. A long time.

  People were clapping for her, saying stuff like, Go, Freckles! Way to go, kid! Stuff like that.

  You wouldn’t believe what she looked like when I finally dragged her home. Jeans, shirt, face, hair, arms—everything, total grease.

  You dumb kid, I said. I’m yanking her along by the hand. Why didn’t you come down when I called you? Wait till Mom sees you!

  And she goes, I could’ve climbed that pole if you didn’t make me come down, Sara!

  Make her! I go, You are stupid. Nobody could climb that pole. Why do you think they said they’d give a free pony?

  Shut up, she goes. Sara, you’re an ass! Then she sort of jumps on me, gets me all greasy, too, and pounds on me and yells, Shut up, Sara! Shut up, Sara! Keeps saying that. Shut up, Sara! Shut up, Sara!

  Then we get home and my mother yells at me. I told you to watch her, Sara! I thought I could depend on you! I thought you had sense!

  She got Jayne cleaned up and we went to bed. After a while Jayne goes, Sara?

  And I go, Don’t talk to me!

  And she goes, My feet are cold. Can I get in bed with you? And before I can say anything, she’s out of her bed and in my bed, pushing me over and strangling me with her arms around my neck. Her hair still stinks of grease. So I shove her away. But I can’t shove her off me. So we fall asleep that way, and—and—

  What?

  I am not crying. Don’t look at me!

  No, I don’t need tissues. Keep your stupid tissues! Why did you get me talking about—Oh, no.

  All right, I’m crying. Are you happy now? You made me—Just leave me … just leave me … Jayne … she left me … oh no, no, no, no … no … noooo …

 

‹ Prev