by Susan Juby
My mom considers herself quite the environmentalist, so she tried to start a discussion about the earth as an educator, but Aubrey told her, “Sometimes sorry is just not enough.” When Mom got mad, he made a big show of being eventempered and told her that it wasn’t his fault she felt guilty. Then she stomped off to sit in the car.
That left me and MacGregor and Aubrey to walk up to the double waterfall attraction. I was a bit worried that Aubrey would chain himself to a tree or something to protest what he was now calling “the zoo-merization of the wilderness.” It was obvious that he was really into the new word, because he put it in just about every sentence.
“I think it’s up to us young people to refuse to contribute to the zoo-merization of the wilderness.”
“Look at all this zoo-merization.”
and
“Zoo-merization is bad.”
Even MacGregor was starting to look pained. Aubrey went so far as to say that he thought the rainbow from the waterfall’s spray was zoo-merizing nature’s beauty. I couldn’t follow what he was talking about at all, but because I am Codependent No More, I just ignored him and, taking MacGregor, turned around to go and sit in the car with my mother. Unfortunately Aubrey followed. Given his social skills, I’m beginning to wonder if Aubrey was educated at home.
The nature events weren’t going well, so Mom skipped Item 2.4 (Option 1): Short Hike to the Glacier and told us we were going straight on to Item 2.5: Eat Picnic Lunch Outside Smithers History Museum. Lunch was standard my-mother fare—eggplant dip, sprout sandwiches, and some crappy-looking organic apples with brown spots from not using enough pesticides. We had to eat in the car because it started raining. Tensions ran high. Aubrey said he needed meat with a meal to feel like he’d actually eaten. Mom said that didn’t sound “congruous” with the rest of his beliefs and that most people who care about the environment are vegetarian. Aubrey replied that hippies have been forcing their outdated morality on everyone for years and he, for one, was tired of it. Mom said that the holes in his worldview were so big you could “drive a truck through them,” and he said “I’ll never pander to the vegetarian fascists,” and Mom told him that we (me and him) were a match made in heaven and made us get out of the car. Then she drove away. She made poor MacGregor get out too, which wasn’t really fair, but I guess she wanted him along to make sure no teen sex happened.
So the three of us went into the museum to escape the rain. At least the regular history museum, unlike the Igloo, didn’t have any stuffed animals. It’s actually pretty good considering it’s only one room. The stuff in it isn’t really all that interesting or anything, mostly pieces of horse harnesses, a couple of farming tools, quilts, and some old photos, but if you cleaned all the old crap out, it would be the nicest house in town, with its wood floors and high ceilings and all.
I kind of like the museum because it feels old and secure. But Aubrey thought it was lame and upset the curator, Mrs. Morgan, by telling her that if she was a little less traditional in her approach, the museum could be more successful. She asked him what he meant, and he told her about some artist who did a sculpture of Jesus peeing and couldn’t she try to get in some important exhibits like that. Mrs. Morgan told him that she was running a museum and not an art gallery, and he told her that her “tendency to make small-minded distinctions” was what kept the museum from being a cultural influence in a town that “badly needs it.” Then she asked us to leave, even MacGregor, who she knows and likes because he has helped her with a few exhibits.
So we headed home. I held on to the lunch bags with both hands so I wouldn’t have to hold Aubrey’s hand. I was feeling pretty codependently sick of him. As I write this I’m hiding in my room.
I’m going to have to be boyfriendless. Aubrey is interfering with my burgeoning career as a critic. I can hardly criticize at all when he’s around. He makes me feel like saying nice, positive things just to contradict him. That can’t be healthy. Someone should tell Aubrey that critical people should speak only infrequently. That way it really means something.
Later
Aubrey drove off after dinner. I think he left because my dad told him it was “probably not a good idea to stay any longer.” I was pretending to be sick and wouldn’t come out of my room. MacGregor had disappeared into the swamp, and Mom had gone off to some folk-festival excuse-to-drink event. So I guess Dad thought he should say something to Aubrey after they ate dinner together.
When Aubrey knocked on my door, I told him that I thought I had the flu and asked him what the symptoms of the Ebola virus were. I figured that spewing black bile onto someone or gushing blood from every orifice, known to us virus fans as “bleeding out,” would be enough to keep Aubrey away. He’s pretty paranoid. I felt sort of bad, but I really needed to reestablish my borders.
So it looks like we aren’t going out anymore. My hand-holding, girlfriend-being days are over. The whole boy-girl love thing is another area in which I am an island. I’m not sure how this development affects my list. I mean, do I have to reinstate Life Goal No. 4? I don’t think so. Our boy-girl interaction probably ran its natural course. It doesn’t have to be long-term to count. All I can hope is that someone from school saw Aubrey and me together so word gets out that I’ve got dating experience. No one needs to know about Aubrey’s personality. He looks good, and in a situation like this, that’s what’s important.
THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL
August 24
Well. Everything is back to normal. No more Aubrey to be irritated by. I, for one, am devastated. My time as a significant other was short-lived but intense. It was nice to be anxious about something other than being killed by Linda and going back to school, which is probably the third most hostile environment on earth after the deep ocean and Everest.
This may be a good time to take to my bed with depression. Dad does that frequently, and so do a lot of the women in the books I read. It sounds like a good way to handle problems. Sort of like lying down in the middle of the road and refusing to move. Freeing.
August 25
My mom came into my room last night while I was having my depression. She gave me a book about girls’ bodies and how the world makes it hard for girls to accept themselves and how in the old days they weren’t allowed to do much and had to wear a lot of underwear but at least they had drawing lessons and got to learn another language. Mom told me that she hoped the book would make me feel better. Actually, it just made me feel confused.
The book said that in modern society girls are “terrorized” by media images of female perfection and by unrealistic expectations about their bodies. It also said girls are led to believe that they are valuable only as sex objects for boys. I don’t think I’m suffering from that particular delusion. I’m an object of ridicule, maybe, but that’s about it.
Mom is always giving me these feminist books, and some of them are pretty good, but where I really learn about women is from her. The whole feminism thing is one area where I sort of respect my mom. She used to have this friend, not one of the folk-festival babes but a regular, working-in-the-office-at-the-mill type woman. This woman, Debbie was her name, used to come to our house after her logger husband would beat her up. Mom was actually pretty cool about it.
She would listen and ask Debbie what she wanted to do. You could tell that if she had started off telling Debbie to ditch her loser husband, Debbie would have just left, but Mom worked her around to the idea of changing things slowly. I can’t really explain what it was she said to Debbie that I liked. I guess it was just that she was really gentle and respectful. If that’s feminist, it’s something I can get behind.
Debbie left her bad husband quite a while ago, and now she’s married to a new guy. He’s supposed to be okay. She never comes over anymore, though. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s embarrassed. It’s too bad. I liked her more than most of Mom’s other friends.
I should probably add “become practicing feminist” to the Life Goals list. I wonder if it inv
olves anything other than being nice to other females. I can do that. Although it will be a challenge with some of my mom’s friends.
I am almost ready for some new Life Goals since I’m knocking them out of the way like a championship bowler. Let’s review:
LIFE GOALS LIST
1. Decide on a unique and innovative career path (to get helping professionals off my back).
1. a. Get part-time job in preparation for said career path? Too much like work? (Should be outside family home.)
2. Increase contact with people outside of immediate family. (Not friends, necessarily, but at least superficial interaction of the “Hi, how are you?” variety with people who are not home-based learners and do not attend the Teens in Transition Club.) (May have been accomplished with Aubrey. Although if anyone is a candidate for the club, it’s him. Review in a week.)
3. Learn to drive a car (but not our car, because I do have my nonexistent reputation to consider).
4. Some sort of boy-girl interaction? (Possibly best left until after high school. Maybe best left until middle age.)
5. Publish paper comparing teenagers and chicken peer groups (in LANCET or other respected publication?).
6. Read entire LORD OF THE RINGS series Prologue to THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING to prove that early, parent-assisted reading of THE HOBBIT was not just an aberration, and I really am advanced for my age. (Do not dress like the characters.)
7. Develop new look. (Like career choice, must reflect uniqueness. Must also be at least semipresentable, not just sad.)
8. Go back to high school. (Leave the warmth and safety of home-based learning atmosphere. Do it to save the career and self-esteem of counselor.)
9. Become practicing feminist. (Find out what it entails besides being nice to other females. Subscribe to MS. magazine or other feminist magazine?)
August 26
Today was a seriously bad day, even by my standards. Getting fired by my own mother was actually the best thing that happened to me today.
I guess Corinne recovered enough from the Buddhist Temple Blend incident to use the phone, so she called up my mom at work and told her that I was not ever to come back, and that I should be gone by this afternoon. I knew something was up when I heard Mom stuttering into the phone.
“She did what? Oh my. Yes. Oh my. I am really sorry. Yes, yes. I can…. Yes. No, I understand. Complaints? Everyone? Oh dear. I am really so sorry.”
I heard that and I just knew from the tone of her voice and defeated posture and everything that the call was about me. So I went back to alphabetizing the Danielle Steeles that wouldn’t fit on the shelf.
After the call, Mom headed out to the car to do some stress-relieving exercises. I always know when she is really upset because she goes out to the car and plays this tape with all these different kinds of jungle animal noises on it, like monkeys and cheetahs and elephants and parrots, while she squeezes sand-filled balls with her hands. It looks terrible. I wish she would do it someplace more private than the car. In fact, I wish she would take up jogging like the other mothers, but apparently this ball gripping is the only thing that makes her feel better. It’s called jungle balling, and she said she was taught it by some breakaway sect of rolfers, and that it helps her to get in touch with her primitive self.
Anyway, after Mom came back into the store, all jungled out, she asked me to come over to the metaphysics section, which she is convinced is the most peaceful section in the store. Margaret must have known what was going on, because I could see her trying to keep customers corralled in the meditation section.
“I just had a talk with Corinne,” Mom began.
So I said, “Oh yeah.”
Mom was trying to keep one stern eye on me and one on the customers who kept breaking free of the meditation section and heading toward the metaphysics corner. She began performing breath of fire, the breathing technique she uses when she needs to focus. Why she didn’t just fire me in the back room like a normal boss is beyond me.
“Alice, you should know that Corinne’s health may have been seriously jeopardized by your stunt with the incense.” Snort. Snort.
I shrugged.
“What were you thinking? What could possibly explain your actions? Carelessness? Because I’d hate to think it was intentional.” Snort. Snort.
I shrugged again, still at a loss for anything to say, other than I was as mystified as anyone by my behavior.
By this time there were about four customers standing as close as possible to make sure they didn’t miss a thing. One particularly idiotic woman stood watching us like we were some kind of community theater act, nodding every time my mom spoke. She only stopped when Mom snarled, “Get away” at her. Then she actually had the nerve to look offended. Margaret started calling out specials in the arts and crafts section in an effort to get people away from the scene of my disgrace.
A few more snorts and Mom got to the point.
“You realize I have to let you go now.” Snort, snort. “I don’t have a choice. I can’t believe you’ve put me in this position.” Snort, snort.
“So I’m fired?”
“Yes. You’re fired. I, your mother, am going to have to let you go.”
“Fired?”
“Alice, don’t be obtuse. Not now.”
Mom looked drained.
“I’m going to go get some lunch and run some errands. You might as well head home as soon as you finish helping Margaret.” She gritted her teeth. “Corinne said she’d prefer you weren’t here when she comes to close up.”
So that was it. Fired by my own flesh and blood. No longer would I carry on the family tradition of being exploited in the local New Age/secondhand bookstore. I couldn’t help thinking that Mom and Corinne would be sorry when all the thieving hippies got up to their old tricks without me there to stop them. Margaret came over and asked if I was okay. I told her I was fine and was just going to finish up some sorting in the back and get my things.
I’d thought lots of times about what my first firing would be like, and was a bit disappointed that I didn’t have, like, any family photos and plants to put in a cardboard box to carry through the office while all the other desk jockeys looked on sadly and maybe a bit enviously. That is another reason retail sucks. It is hard to make a big exit. Once you are gone, you are as forgotten as any old customer.
I finished sorting fast because I felt sorry for Margaret, who looked quite concerned for me and everything. I decided to leave the mirrors I had brought in for surveilling, just in case Margaret decided to take over security. It was my grand and noble gesture. Maybe it wasn’t all that grand, but it was fairly noble if you think about it. I said goodbye when I left, and she smiled and said something about a path winding around or something like that, and though it sounded pretty profound, I didn’t get it and it would have spoiled the moment to get her to explain it.
When I stepped out of the store into the sunlight, I looked across the street and there, standing right outside the post office, were Kevin, Jack, and Linda. I said a little prayer that they hadn’t seen me and made a split-second decision to take advantage of Death Lord Bob’s invitation to come by anytime to hang uselessly around the club. I walked as quickly as I could, afraid to look behind me. Don’t run, I counseled myself. I made it to the end of the block when I heard the footsteps behind me.
“Hey, loser girl.”
I started to sweat and could feel the red spots bloom on my face. When I turned around, Linda was standing so close, I could smell her breath. Her drug and alcohol treatment hadn’t been very successful, judging from the smell and her bloodshot blue eyes. Up close Linda was just this feather-haired, acid-washed little demon. It was amazing how scary someone that small could be.
I said another little prayer that she wouldn’t do anything to me in public.
Kevin and Jack stood behind her, beside themselves with excitement at the prospect of violence. They said I was going to die. I remember thinking that it was just my luck to
get killed after I finally got my hair together. I felt a bit out-of-body-ish as Linda started in on her routine.
“Hey, you little bitch. Where you been hiding? Your mommy’s not going to save you this time.”
Kevin and Jack stood on either side of her with their arms folded. Once in a while Kevin said, “Yeah, bitch” or “Ha ha.” Jack just stood looking angry.
I felt like I might throw up and wondered if that was a recognized self-defense technique. I just stood, knees locked, hoping not to keel over.
Linda shoved me by the shoulders. I don’t know what kind of spineless sissy I am, but I didn’t even put my arms up or try to protect myself at all.
“Look, the stupid bitch won’t even hit me.”
Shove.
“What are you supposed to be, anyway? Still think you’re a gremlin?”
At this Kevin and Jack burst into high-pitched peals of nervous laughter.
“You look even stupider than you did in first grade. You’re so ugly. I’ll wipe that look off your face.”
Then she slapped me. I couldn’t believe it. It was a shocking feeling. The realization hit me that I was going to get beaten up—not just my psychological person, but my actual physical person was going to get it this time. Then a flurry of crazy blows came at me from all directions, and every one seemed to connect with my face. It didn’t feel like my face, though—it felt like someone else’s. I could hear her fist connecting with my head from what sounded like a great distance. And that useless pair of flailing arms didn’t belong to me either. Good thing too, because if they had, I would have been very disappointed in them. My big rubber lips flapped around and my head snapped back and forth as she hit me. How did she get so fast? Were there any boxing scouts in the crowd? I was being beaten to death. Help.
And then it stopped.
When I looked up, Linda was being held by the Tragic Hot Dog Guy. He’s a small man, but he somehow seemed to be holding her off the ground, probably to try to avoid her wildly kicking legs.