“That was before Bubbie got sick again.” I wait for their reaction. Maybe this time they’ll get it.
“I don’t understand.” Now she puts the bread down. “She has, who knows how many months of chemo to complete.” She looks at my father but continues to talk to me. “I planned to go down every few weeks. She has Joyce.”
“I need to be with Bubbie. I want to be there every day. When she is sick or tired. When she needs help.” I take breath. “I will stay and take care of Bubbie and go to school in January.”
“I don’t like this idea,” Mom says.
Dad sips his coffee instead of gulps. “I don’t know if the deferment is a good idea or not,” he says. “But staying in California for that long? I think it’s sweet to want to stay and care of Bubbie, but what else will you be doing?” He looks at my mom.
Then Mom explodes. “Stan, she is not deferring.” Finally, she looks at me. “You are not deferring. I’m calling Emerson tomorrow to straighten this out.”
This is so ridiculous. When are they going to get it? I stand up. “You know what? This is crazy. I’ve been losing sleep and getting all panicky again over this for the past few weeks and for what? For what reason? Fear of disappointing you? And now here I am full blown disappointing you both and I did not fall apart or die. I am still here. And so are you guys.” I think of Susan’s opening lines to her speech. Welcome to the last day of childhood. “I’m an adult now, Mom. You guys have to let me make my decisions, without trying to guilt me into doing what you want.” And with that, I walk my adult self out of the living room, and they don’t follow.
. . . . .
The rest of the week is terrible. We don’t talk about anything. They don’t help me pack for California. Mom doesn’t volunteer to iron and fold my underwear, t-shirts, or jeans to keep them from wrinkling in the suitcase. Dad doesn’t help me get my luggage out of the attic. They stand in the kitchen when I talk to Bubbie about my plan to stay and even when she asks to talk to them to make sure it’s okay, they shake their heads and say, “You’re an adult.” It’s terrible.
And that’s exactly what made me pick up my cell phone and scroll through to Justin’s name. A little girl sits and pines away for the boy she wants. An adult woman calls him. Faces the reality of whoever he is today.
“Maddie?”
“Justin?”
Awkward pause, but I forge ahead because I want this...whatever happens. “So, I just wanted to…um…” God what do I want to say? “I guess I want to just say ‘hi’.” Smooth.
He laughs. “Hi.” Pause. “I’m glad you called. It was hard to talk last time.”
Another awkward pause.
Pause. “How’s your grandmother?” I had told him the whole story briefly at the end of our last conversation.
“She’s managing…Doing chemo now. She came for graduation.”
“That’s good, uh, that she’s okay.”
“Yeah,” God this is a lot harder than I thought. “Where are you now?”
“I’m in California. A little jet lagged, actually.”
We laugh. Less awkward now.
“Yeah…” I’ve never heard Justin awkward and now I’m hearing a little hint of nervous. “I wanted to tell you that I had this whole plan, you know to try to see you again. That’s why I emailed you back in November. But when you didn’t answer and then Mom decided to sell the house, and I don’t know, I think I also chickened out because it’s like, how can I just show up at your house when we haven’t talked since last year.” He stops.
I want to say, you mean when we kissed in my car and it was amazing? And you said I still love you but I’m still an ass and I can’t be with anyone and I confessed that I couldn’t be with anyone either…because I still thought of you and then I never heard from you again.
My heart beats fast. I can’t find my voice. I don’t say any of that because the past is over, and I don’t want to cling to it right now. Instead, I say what I want to: “It’s going to be so good to see you again.”
“So good,” he says.
Silence but it’s not awkward. At all.
“I guess I’ll see you...soon.”
“Yeah, bye Maddie.”
“Bye, Justin.”
. . . . .
The morning before I’m due to leave, I wake up early, so early that I don’t hear the sounds of coffee grinding or Mom padding around in her walking shoes before heading out for her morning power walk.
I put my sneakers on for a run because I won’t be able to run probably for the week. The kitchen is dark, and the sun is rising outside. I can see the stripes of pink through the window above the sink while I drink water and eat a cereal bar.
I leave out the side door and just trot down the driveway. The air smells sweet and damp. I pass my mother’s plantings in the center of our circular driveway and when I turn out of the house and pass it, I look back and view the work my mom has done on it over the years. The gardens, the re-staining of the shingles. The stone wall. We may not be the biggest house on the block, but it is the prettiest.
I run enough to return home drenched in sweat and as soon as I enter the mudroom I peel off my shorts and tank top and walk in my underwear to my room. I check my watch. 7:30. Mom should be up and getting ready for her walk and Dad might even be contemplating a run…He’s back to watching his carbs this week. I stretch quickly and then shower. When I come out, Mom is in my room, suitcase opened and refolding some of my shirts.
She looks up at me and tears up. I walk to her and put my arms around her shoulders. We just hug while she cries.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
I reach for the box of tissues on my nightstand. “Thanks.”
She pulls a tissue out and blows her nose. I reach around and tuck the shirt back into the suitcase and rezip it and then sit on the bed. “Mom, you have to trust me.”
She nods and balls the tissue up.
“I know what I’m doing.” Even though I still have doubts, they don’t need to know.
She nods again and opens her mouth but can’t stop crying. I hug her again and tears creep in, a few fall when I close my eyes and say, “I love you, Mom. And I’ll call you at every stop.”
“My baby.” She moves away and wipes her eyes and then mine. “Now, let’s get you some coffee and snacks for the ride.”
. . . . .
My father waves to Peter and Larry as they pull into the driveway. Larry pops out quickly and strides over to my father. They shake hands and introduce themselves.
“Do you have a clean driving record?” My mother furrows her brow.
“Yes ma’am. Not even a speeding ticket.” She nods but crosses her arms.
“Let’s load your luggage into the car.” My dad grabs my enormous duffle bag.
We all busy ourselves with rearranging the bags in the trunk.
Larry slams the trunk shut and turns to my parents. “We will take good care of Maddie.”
I sigh and remind everyone. “Maddie doesn’t need taking care of.” I hug Dad and then Mom, who hands me my favorite pillow. I take it and whisper thank you. “Seriously, I’m fine. I have my Rescue Remedy right here.” I hold it up. This makes them both laugh.
After I slide into the backseat, I lean out the open top of the car, “Love you guys.”
They wave and that’s when I have to turn away and tell Larry to go because I don’t want them to see me cry.
Chapter Five
Hit me baby one more time!
In the backseat of Larry’s car wind blows my hair all over the place while “Lady B’s”, as the boys refer to Britney
Spears, electronically enhanced voice echoes out of the topless car.
“I love this song!” Larry fist pumps the open air with one hand, holding the wheel with the other.
Peter holds an invisible microphone to his mouth and sings, “Keep on dancin’ till the world ends…”
Then together they duet, “Whoooaaaaoooaaa….”
Larry switches hands and beats up the beat again chanting, “Lady B is in the house!”
My hair wraps around my mouth and nose, hiding the tears and the scowl that’s growing bigger and bigger by the beat. I hug my pillow to my chest. Day 2 of Road Trip from Hell Featuring Britney Spears’ Greatest Hits.
“What is this one? Oh, God. It’s Hit Me Baby One More Time. Why do I know the name of this song?” I groan.
“I shouldn’t have let you go! Show me how you want it to be… tell me baby ‘cause I need to know! My loneliness is killing me… and I must confess I still believe…” Larry sings at the top of his disturbingly deep voice.
“Still believe!” Peter in falsetto.
“Ouch, Peter!” I cover my ears.
Peter struts as best he can in the front seat.
“When I’m not with you I lose my mind…”
“Open your eyes, Larry! You’re driving for god’s sake!”
“Give me a sign!” Peter grabs the wheel and grins back at me.
“Great,” I mutter. “We’ve escaped death by smashup but not Britney.”
“Hit me baby one more time!” Larry pops his eyes wide at me.
My hair sticks to my salty wet cheeks. Up above me, in the open air, the summer morning sky cloudless, dry, and not too cold. Pop music and falsetto boy voices block out thoughts that keep trying to invade my mind. Bubbie. Sickness. Hospitals. Justin…the buildup of wanting to be with him and now it’s about to happen. We pass the “Welcome to Des Moines, Iowa” sign. Around us, flatness abounds, endless in all directions. But the new geography doesn’t sustain me, and my thoughts wander back to confusion. Bubbie. Death. Sadness. Justin. Life. Kissing. Happiness. Confusing. Smashing into the guardrail. Zak. Justin. What if Justin’s car wrapped around a telephone poll? Bubbie, bald, frail from chemo. Gone. Poof. Life over. No second chance.
My stomach rumbles. I peek my head between the two front seats and say, “I gotta eat something.”
. . . . .
We stop at a gas station that has a sign on the door that says in red KRISPY KREME DOUGHNUTS. Larry shuts off the car and gets his wallet out. “I’m going to get some gas. You guys go get some food,” he says.
Peter and I go crazy and buy half a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts—no jelly—a liter of Diet Dr. Pepper, and a bag of pretzels. The guys already ate all of the food Mom had packed us, not even leaving me a crumb of a scone.
Peter brings the food to the car, and I go to the bathroom. I come out of the single toilet restroom, the air smells of gasoline and the sun is bright. I go back to the car and see that the roof is now on. I drink from the liter of Dr. Pepper. Peter watches me and then says, “You look like shit. Come sit and in the front and listen to bad music with me.”
“No, Maddie and I need to bond. I’ll keep driving with Maddie in the front. You can tackle the Lord of The Rings trilogy in the back seat.” Larry rolls his eyes. “And do it now ‘cause I don’t want you reading that shit in California. We have to look cool on the beach together and that shit will ruin my rep.”
“What rep? No one knows you?”
“But they will.”
. . . . .
Larry opens with, “My brother died when I was only eleven. He had leukemia.”
And I respond with:
“Wow.” Is all I come up with because I think all the hours in the car have gone to my brain.
“He was a totally healthy kid until he was seven and I was five. I watched him slowly die for six years. At the very end, I said to him, ‘I’ll take care of your model airplanes.’ He was obsessed with model airplanes. He couldn’t talk so he just gave me a thumbs-up sign.”
I put a hand to my mouth because cry-baby Maddie is about to blow again.
Larry just sits and stares straight ahead. He doesn’t cry but hands me some napkins that had been tucked into the pocket on the door. I hold it to my nose, as that’s the leakiest orifice on my face.
Then Larry puts his hand on my leg and squeezes it. “I’m sorry.”
I glance back at Peter, but he’s got his ear buds in and is reading Lord of The Rings.
Larry and I are silent for a few minutes and I say, “My grandmother has colon cancer.” When he doesn’t say anything, I continue. “That’s why I want to stay out there with her. You know, to help out.”
“Yeah, Peter told me the whole deal.” He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “But listen, don’t paint this romantic vision in your head of you putting a cold washcloth on her head or you fixing her meals in bed. You pushing her in a wheelchair in the park. You think you will feel good about helping her and you will feel useful. But you won’t. You will feel horrible. Just know what you are getting into.”
“She’s not in a wheelchair nor is she dying. She’s got a good chance of making it, that’s what the doctors say.” I twist my hair into a bun and wrap my scrunchie around it.
“Yeah, they all say that. But the good ones, they’ll tell you the truth.”
Before I can even find a good response, he launches into:
“What’s with this Justin guy?”
“Larry, I appreciate what you are trying to do, aggressively therapize me, but contrary to whatever kind of crazy Peter told you I was, I’m actually pretty good, so if we could stick to a more give and take type of conversation, that would be awesome.”
“Yeah, absolutely.” He looks at me sideways and gives me a thumbs-up.
Now we seem to have nothing to say. Might as well shoot an arrow in the dark, as Bubbie says. “Are you excited about the summer?”
“Yeah, opportunity to really let my gay out.”
“You can’t do that at home?”
“Hell no!”
“Why?”
“Parents are so-called Christians.”
I digest that and then ask, “How are you even doing this whole thing?”
“My parents are rich so-called Christians, and therefore, give me things to keep me out of their way. Money, credit cards, a car. They think I’m just taking a road trip and visiting friends. They have no idea that I’m driving out here to finally see the Mecca for gays…or that I’m one of them. They don’t care what I do as long as I don’t get arrested or wind up in the hospital…Or come out of the closet to them. Being a criminal and being gay are the same thing to them.” He adjusts the rearview mirror. “Anyway, oh look at sleepy head back there. Passed out from the boring world of midgets and elves.”
I look back and Peter’s head is tucked into his chest and his book open on his lap. “Peter’s a light weight traveler. Car rides of just a half hour knock him out. Surprised he lasted this long.”
“Got to add that to my need-to-know list about Peter.”
“You have a need-to-know list?”
“Sure…any prospective fellow, friend or lover, of mine needs a full interrogation/ investigation before anything can happen.”
Peter mentioned that Larry was “quirky” and since we haven’t all hung out that much together, I guess I’m getting my schooling now. I call Larry quirky and slightly paranoid with a dose of who-gives-a-shit-I’m-doing-what-I want.
What should be on my need-to-know list about Justin?
Chapter Six
“We too
k a wrong turn.”
I open my eyes. For a few minutes, I look out the window of the backseat at the trees whizzing by. Maybe it’s just my arrogant East Coast attitude, but does the Midwest really all look the same? I sit up and crack my neck, yawn and stretch, and then just sit dumbly. I look at the car clock. It is 7 a.m.
Through the rearview window Peter sees me. He has worried-Peter look.
“We took a wrong turn.”
I rub my eyes and mumble, “Uh, huh.”
“A really, really wrong turn.”
Bantery Larry is quiet, so I stop rubbing and try to focus on Peter’s face in the rearview mirror.
“We’re in Kansas,” he announces.
When I don’t reply, he cracks, “There’s no place like home, Dorothy.”
To which Larry responds, “Golly, Aunty Em. I didn’t even click my heels together.”
They look at me like, “Tag! You’re it.” But all I can say, is:
“I’m starving.”
Peter glances at Larry. “Looks like Dorothy needs a refuel.”
“And we gotta make it to Emerald City!”
“Enough!” I bark. “Feed Dorothy…NOW! And actually, we don’t need to make it to the Emerald City because we shouldn’t be in effing Kansas!”
Larry turns back and holds up his California Road Trip Handbook with his finger in between the pages. “We are actually just two hours off route.” When I don’t show any change of expression he adds, “And there’s a diner coming up soon.”
When we finally get to The Egg Shack, I’ve forgiven the boys of their driving blunder since they’ve agreed to pay for my meals the rest of the way. The Shack is an actual shack, with—no kidding—about fifteen trucks parked around it. It’s almost 9 a.m. My stomach has been moaning so loud that Larry asked if I had shit my pants or something. I’m too hungry and still a little zoned out to banter and just grunt at him.
Till it Stops Beating Page 14