Learning to Swim

by Cheryl Klam

  “I saw your mom last night,” he announced out of the blue.

  My eyelids started twitching. “Barbie?”

  He nodded. “After I had dinner with my dad, I went to a party on the beach. There were a lot of people from the club there.”

  I imagined my mom dancing in her bra and under-pants, or something else that would ruin my life forever. My eyelids twitched faster.

  “It's the first time I ever talked to her,” he said. “She seems nice.”

  I knew that I should have accepted this as the compliment it was intended to be and moved on. But instead I blurted out, “She's crazy.”

  So much for eloquent and profound.

  He raised his eyebrows. I thought I could see the hint of a smile.

  “I mean, not certifiably insane but, well, she's very different from me.”

  “How so?”

  Wrap it up, I cautioned myself. “She has affairs with married men.” Yep, that ought to do it.

  “Married men?” he repeated incredulously.

  I picked up a stray twig and began playing with it absentmindedly. “That's why we move so often. Every time a relationship breaks up, she wants to start fresh. At least, that's how she justifies it.”

  Keith kept his gaze on me. “How often have you moved?”

  “Fourteen times.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, so every year you go to a different school?”

  “Almost. This is the first time I can remember that I'm actually going to be attending the same school two years in a row.”

  Keith stretched his legs out and leaned back on his arms. “That's got to be tough. My mom and I moved to D.C. when my parents separated and I was in middle school. I still remember how weird it was to walk into the cafeteria and see all these people hanging out and talking to each other and realize that I didn't know a single person. There wasn't one familiar face.”

  “Story of my life,” I said, breaking the twig in half.

  “Have you thought about where you want to go to college?”

  “In state, that's for sure.” I told him about the small but growing tuition fund that my mom and I had set up. I put in seventy-five percent of my Tippecanoe earnings and she matched it, even if it meant she had to work an extra shift.

  “That's nice that your mom's helping you.”

  This comment irked me. I rarely thought of Barbie as being helpful. “Yeah, but what's not so nice is that she's threatened to walk with my money if I don't go to college. She told me she would just use it to take herself on a really nice long vacation—sans yours truly.”

  He chuckled. This irked me too. Barbie's dysfunction was rarely funny.

  “So you think that's amusing?” I asked.

  Keith took his foot and tapped it against mine. Magically, I wasn't irked anymore. “I don't mean to laugh. Really, Stef, it just sounds like she wants to make sure you have a better life than she's had.”

  I already knew this, of course. And now that I thought more about it, it was sweet that he had made my kooky mother's threats about absconding with my hard-earned money sound sane.

  “Have you thought about what you might want to study?” The sun was dropping every minute, but it was still warm. Keith's swim trunks were almost dry.

  “Psychology. I feel like I've been my mom's therapist for years.”

  Keith let out another laugh. This time I was happy I was the cause of it. “No kidding.”

  “Yeah, it would be nice to actually get paid for my work. And to have patients who actually listen to my advice.”

  His eyebrows rose again. Adorable. “Your mom doesn't listen to you?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” I said, shaking my head. “If she did, our life would be a lot different.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, for one, she wouldn't be working as a cocktail waitress. She could've gotten about ten degrees with all the time she's wasted on dead-end relationships.”

  He grinned. “You seem like you've got it together, Stef. I know your life can't be easy, working and going to school like you do. But I think it's cool. You're like Alice in that way. You don't need money to be happy.” He glanced out at the bay. “Maybe you can give me pointers. Up until now, I've only had to pay for all the incidental stuff at school, like books and stuff, and my dad has paid for everything else. But as he informed me a couple weeks ago, nothing comes for free.”

  I must've looked confused, because he said, “He's willing to pay as long as I study law or medicine.” All of a sudden he cupped his hands together and opened them. He had caught a lightning bug. How cute/gross! “The problem is, I don't want to be a lawyer or a doctor. I want to be an entomologist.”

  The fact that he was holding a bug should've been a clue, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “I want to study bugs,” he added.

  A nonchalant How interesting would've been an appropriate response. Instead, I said, “I love bugs!” Me. The one who screamed whenever a bee flew near, the one who had never met a spider she hadn't squashed.

  “You do?”

  I looked into those glimmering eyes and nodded.

  He furrowed his brow. “You're an unusual girl.”

  “What exactly do entomologists do?” I was trying hard to act as though I was really interested, like, Hmmm, maybe I'll forget about this psych stuff and become an entomologist instead!

  “There are different kinds. There's forensic entomologists, the guys you see on TV who can determine when a person died by the bugs on the corpse.”

  Or maybe I wouldn't.

  “But most entomologists study insects that are beneficial or harmful to humans,” Keith explained. “For instance, there's a study going on right now with this form of beetles. They can eat battery acid and turn it into a substance that is harmless. Think of how great it would be if we could cultivate bugs that could eat some of the products that are just overflowing in our landfills.”

  I absolutely loved the fact that he was a smartie. “That would be great,” I said. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Change my major. I'll figure out a way to pay for it myself.”

  I also absolutely loved the fact that Keith felt okay about being poor. Well, maybe not poor, but poorer. It leveled the playing field a bit.

  “Come here.” He stood up and offered me his hand. “I want to show you something.”

  He pulled me to my feet and led me through the beat-down grass and up a craggy path lined with reeds. We walked in silence, surrounded by the almost deafening hum of crickets. We got to the top of the bluff and stopped on a precipice overlooking the bay. “My mom used to take me here as a kid,” he said.

  “It's beautiful,” I said.

  “There's a swim meet tomorrow night in Easton.” He hesitated as the smile faded from his mouth. “Watching the pros might help you pick up the strokes much easier. If you want to go, I could take you.”

  Did I want to go to a swim meet with him? Did birds fly? Did hearts beat? Did I love bugs?

  Then I remembered something. An obligation that I couldn't get out of. And a disease that I just couldn't afford to catch.

  “I can't,” I said. “It's bingo night.”

  Keith didn't say another word. And neither did I. We just stood there, watching our moonlit reflections wiggle in the current of cloudy water.

  11

  Steffie Rogers's most shocking moments (from least to most):

  When I thought my bra size had increased. (Turns out Barbie had thrown my bras in the dryer by mistake.)

  When I passed chemistry.

  When Keith offered me free swimming lessons.

  When I found out that after years of hating broccoli—I actually liked it.

  When my mother said that a married man had asked her out and she had turned him down.

  When I ate what I thought was a piece of chicken and it turned out to be frog legs. Disgusting!

  When I turned down an opportunity to attend a swim meet with
the man of my dreams to play bingo.

  Obviously, I was not easily shocked. But turning down a date (official or not) with Keith to play bingo was a topper.

  Not that I didn't enjoy the bingo nights. I did. In fact, they were usually the highlight of my life. But that was just the point. I went nearly every other week. How often did I have an opportunity to go to a swim meet? But it was too late for regrets. I had to focus on the positive. Like the fact that even though I was totally into Keith, I had not thrown my friends over just because I had gotten a better offer. (Like Barbie would've done.) I was not a fair-weather friend. Nosiree. And I was fairly certain Alice would appreciate my sacrifice.

  “What!” Alice's friend Doris said as we finished our first round of food at the China Buffet. “You passed up a date for a night of bingo and Chinese food with a bunch of old ladies?”

  I glanced at Alice for support. “Maybe you should give her some of your Xanax, Dor,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “It wasn't a date. It was a swim meet. Besides, he has a girlfriend.”

  “Mora,” Doris said, as if the mere word was distasteful. She finished chewing a mouthful of fried rice before saying, “Don't get me started on her.”

  “Isabella said they've been having problems for a long time,” Alice's other friend, Thelma, added.

  “Isabella, Isabella, Isabella,” Doris said. “Can we have one conversation without bringing up the Coopers’ maid?”

  Alice and I exchanged a glance. Doris and Thelma were the odd couple of the island. Although they'd been best friends since the first grade, they were opposites in every way. Doris was thin; Thelma was fat. Doris was blond; Thelma wore a giant red wig. Doris was loud; Thelma was quiet. And of course, Doris was upper-middle-class and Thelma was filthy, stinking rich.

  “Girls,” Alice said loudly, breaking up the fight before things got ugly. “We should finish up and go.”

  “Is that all you're eating?” Doris looked at Alice's plate.

  But the question was rhetorical. We knew there was absolutely no chance that Alice (or any of us, for that matter) wouldn't go back for seconds, thirds, and fourths. Because that was what we did. We'd get tiny portions and then go back for “a little bit more.” And then a little bit more. And then just another bite (after all, we might as well get our money's worth). There was a lot of talk about how we weren't going to eat lunch the next day, and sometimes we'd even talk about how we weren't going to eat lunch or dinner. And then we'd go back and get dessert.

  “I'm just not that hungry,” Alice replied.

  We all sat there, too stunned to reply. Doris broke our silence. “You'd think you were the one in love, instead of Steffie.”

  My ears perked up. How did we get back on that subject? I looked at Alice for help, but she was studying her noodles as if they had suddenly turned into a plate of worms.

  “I think they put too much pepper in here,” Alice said, horrified.

  “Then go get another plate,” I suggested.

  Alice shook her head, just like I knew she would. Alice hated to waste food. One thing I learned from sharing so many meals with Alice was that I needed to finish whatever was on my plate. She wouldn't actually force-feed me, but if I didn't gobble everything up, she'd just look so upset that I'd will myself to finish. It was kind of confusing because my mother encouraged me to do just the opposite. “It's a great way to manage your weight,” Barbie had once said. “Don't deprive yourself of anything, just take two bites and throw the rest out.”

  “I just can't get over the fact that our little Steffie is in love with Mora's boyfriend.” Doris shook her head and chomped down on a piece of broccoli. A tiny piece of it got caught in her dentures. “My, my, my.”

  “I'm not in love with anyone's boyfriend.” I jabbed at my egg roll with my fork.

  “I can't eat this,” Alice said as she began to cough. She tapped her chest and said, “It's so peppery, I can barely breathe.”

  “Then go get something else,” I repeated, mildly annoyed. I mean, I knew Alice hated to waste food and all, but hello? Didn't she notice that I was getting the third degree? I could have used some assistance.

  “I never understood what Keith saw in Mora in the first place,” Doris said. She spent a lot of time at Tippecanoe playing Yahtzee and gossiping with a group of widows Alice called the Gold Rush Girls (because they were around at the time of the gold rush—ha!).

  “No one did,” Thelma added as she sipped on some wonton soup.

  “Why did they put all that pepper in there?” Alice groaned. “They ruined it!”

  Doris ignored Alice. “I say: Good for you!” she exclaimed.

  Thelma applauded.

  “For the last time,” I said. “It was a swim meet. Not an invitation to the prom.”

  Everyone just stared at me. Everyone but Alice, who was still looking at her plate.

  “If he asks me again, I'll go.” I took another bite of lo mein.

  “Ifhe asks again,” Thelma said.

  “What do you mean, if he asks?” I choked on a noodle.

  “Well, you did turn him down,” Doris said. “And you know men. Their egos are—”

  “Fragile,” Thelma interrupted.

  I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe these wacky old broads were right. Maybe Keith would never ask me out again. Ever. “What do you think, Alice?” I asked. “Do you think he'll ask me out again?”

  But Alice wasn't paying attention to me. She was fiddling with her chopsticks, looking as if she might cry.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I'm sorry, girls,” she mumbled. “But I think I'm going to go home.”

  “But we haven't even played bingo yet!” I said.

  “I know, but I…” She stopped and looked at me. “I'm just feeling a little tired tonight.”

  “But Alice, it's bingo night,” I whined.

  “You don't have to go home by yourself,” Doris said. “We can all go. We don't have to play bingo.”

  I had turned down an opportunity to hang out with Keith for this?

  “No,” Alice insisted. “Please stay and have fun. I'll be perfectly fine.” Then she turned to Thelma and said, “Would you mind driving Steffie home?”

  “Maybe some more iced tea would perk you up,” I suggested helpfully to Alice.

  She shot me a weak smile as she rose from the table. “Win a round for me tonight, okay? I'll see you tomorrow at work.”

  As Alice walked out, I put down my fork, suffering from a sudden sense of déjà vu.

  “What was that all about?” I asked Thelma.

  Thelma just shrugged. “That's Alice for you.”

  But that wasn't Alice. At least, not the Alice I knew. I was going through kind of a hard time here. I needed her. Why would she just up and leave because she was feeling tired? And suddenly I realized where all that déjà vu was coming from. This was something Barbie would have done.

  “Well,” Doris said in a forced cheery voice. “Should we check out the desserts before we go?” But even though they had some really good-looking trifle desserts (I loved vanilla pudding and I loved yellow cake— especially when they were mixed together), I had only one serving.

  After dinner, the three of us piled into Thelma's fancy schmancy black Lincoln sedan and drove to the bingo hall. It definitely was not as good as being with Keith, but as I had mentioned, I liked bingo. Each player donated one dollar to the winner's till, and there were always at least a hundred people, so this was serious business. I'd had amazing luck and had won five games out of the twenty we'd played.

  The three of us staked out a spot as the ladies talked about Roy Gilroy, the bingo director. A small man with a walrus mustache, Roy was the Keith McKnight of the Alice generation. Roy took his seat on a director's chair and began pulling letters out of the big black box in front of him. When Alice, Doris, Thelma, or I won, it was a big deal, but if we lost, it was a really big sucktastic deal. And wouldn't you know it, w
e lost. Every single one of us.

  Unfortunately for me, my night was about to get worse. Much worse.

  Because when I walked into my apartment, I was welcomed home by the sight of my mother making out with none other than Ludwig van Beethoven.

  12

  She was standing in the main entrance, hungrily kissing him as if his lips were covered in Cheesy Nacho Hamburger Helper. I knew I should've just been thankful that they both had their clothes on. Unfortunately for them, however, I wasn't feeling grateful.

  “Steffie!” Barbie untangled herself and tucked her almost sheer black blouse into her snug jeans. “You're back early!”

  Ludwig was tall and attractive, with blue eyes and thick black hair peppered with gray. He kept his cool, nodding as I gave him the once-over. “You must be Steffie,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  I thought about dissing him and shoving my hand in my pocket, but unfortunately, I thought about it after I had already shaken his. I was relieved to discover that he had a nice firm handshake, not clammy or sweaty.

  “I'm Tom,” he said, stopping short of giving his last name.

  “Hi,” I said tersely.

  He let go of my hand quickly. “I should get going.”

  “I'll walk you out,” my mom said while escorting him to his car.

  I felt my face go hot. Sure, there had to be a first time for everything, but did I really have to meet one of my mother's boyfriends that night? I was having a hard enough time with my own love lunacy problems.

  “So how was bingo?” my mother asked, reappearing a few minutes later with her blouse untucked once again.

  It was as clear as Scotch tape that Barbie was an optimist. Case in point: thinking that there was a chance of my not mentioning that I had just interrupted a giant smooching session was damn near crazy optimistic.

  “It sucked,” I replied.

  “Oh no!” Barbie was trying to act disappointed, but it was such a big crock. My mom hated my bingo nights. At first she'd thought it was kind of funny that I was playing bingo at the senior center, but then when I started really getting into it, she began to get annoyed. On bingo nights, she'd started offering to take me to the movies or out to dinner at the Red Lobster (I had a thing for their hush puppies) just so I'd cancel. But it hadn't worked because, as I'd explained to her, I needed to make my own friends. She'd replied that she wanted me to make my own friends too, which was why she didn't like to see me hanging out with a bunch of “grandmas.”