by Dyan Sheldon
Carver looks over at the car, but it is already going down the drive and there is nothing to see but the backs of heads. He turns to Josh. “Who?”
“That new girl. Jena Capistrano.”
“You mean the one with the My Little Pony hair thing going on?”
That’s what comes of having sisters; Josh just thought it was pink. He nods. “That’s her.”
“I didn’t know you knew her.” Carver doesn’t look shocked now, he looks curious. Possibly suspicious.
“I don’t know her. She’s in my language arts class.”
“And?”
Possibly very suspicious.
“And nothing. I ran into her the other day when I was walking the Minamotos’ dog. Well, actually, it wasn’t like I ran into her, it was more like Georgia O’Keeffe ran up a tree on the Capistranos’ lawn and I had to go after her.” He explains about Jena’s father and the ladder and her offering him a drink. “So that’s how I got to know her. Kind of.”
Getting to know her being the operative words. Josh is even less a fan of Rodgers and Hammerstein than he is of the Beatles, but there seems to be something about Jenevieve Capistrano that reminds him of songs he barely knows and never liked. The show tune “Getting to Know You”, of which he can sing exactly twenty-one words (though he has no idea how he knows that many of them), is the song that played in his head all the way home on the afternoon he climbed down the Capistranos’ ladder to spend half an hour in the Capistranos’ kitchen.
“You sure know how to impress a girl,” says Carver. “What are you planning to do next? Go down her chimney?”
It’s an idea. If he weren’t afraid of finding Jena’s father waiting for him with a loaded gun he might actually consider it. Because the pathetic truth is that he doesn’t know what to do next. The half-hour or so that he spent with her was easy. They talked effortlessly; he made her laugh. The fact that she obviously enjoyed his company made him fearless – and, even if he’s the only witness to it, pretty entertaining and charming as well. But it was like something out of a fantasy. One in which the young, hapless hero climbs a tree and finds himself in a magical kingdom where things he’s only dreamed about exist. Now, however, he is in the real world again – and doesn’t know how to get back.
But, if nothing else, Josh now knows a lot more about Jenevieve Capistrano than he did before. He knows that her father was an army officer and that she’s lived in half a dozen states and three other countries. “It’s not nearly as interesting as you think,” said Jena. “It just means I know a little bit about a lot of places, but no place really well.” This time it’s going to be different. Her father – the General, as she calls him, because people called him that so much when she was little that she thought it was his name – took early retirement and a desk job. “It’s just too bad it was my mom dying made him do that,” said Jena. “She would’ve liked Parsons Falls.”
Josh’s father had a heart attack; Jena’s mother was hit by a truck. Which makes them both half-orphans. Jena said she hoped they had more in common than that. “You mean besides the possibility of both of us being related to Genghis Khan?” joked Josh. Jena said, “Genghis who?”
But it turned out she was right: they did have more in common than the death of a parent in an automobile and a twelfth-century Mongolian warrior. Not a lot more, maybe, but more than the casual observer might suppose. She’s never heard of Robert Johnson, but she does like Star Trek and loves old movies. She discovered them both when she was in a new place and had nothing to do but watch TV. And her favourite soft drink is cream soda – which Josh is sure would be his if he drank soda.
They got on well. Like friends – or people who could be friends. But where does he go from here? And how does he get there? He wishes someone would write a book, DATING FOR ABSOLUTE DUMMIES. Advice on what to say, what not to say and what to do if you don’t have the nerve to ask someone out but think you might like to. Probably someone has written it. Not that that helps him. He can’t buy it online for fear that his mother would find out. She uses his computer; she’d be bound to notice the barrage of ads for similar products that follows any purchase. She’d want to know what he’s up to – she may look like a regular mother, but she has the mind of a secret agent. The bookstore at the mall is also out. He only shops at the mall if the alternative is death by stampeding cattle, but even if he were desperate enough, it’s too risky. With his luck he’d be waiting to pay when Tilda Kopel walked in and saw him; it’d be all over the school before he finished counting his change. And he can’t very well go to the library and take it out under the gimlet gaze of Mrs Batista, either. She knew him when he was reading Dr Seuss. She also knows his mother; well enough to say something to her. Which would make his mother think that it’s time for another talk about sex, birth control and sexually transmitted diseases. He isn’t sure he could survive another one. No, Josh is on his own, a solitary explorer in a dark, uncharted land. A dark uncharted land that is heavily guarded and patrolled.
He would happily have spent the whole afternoon in the Capistranos’ kitchen getting to know Jena, but her father had other ideas. There was still half a glass of apple juice in front of Josh when the General marched in. He’d ditched the gardening gloves, but he still wore the scowl. Apparently Josh hadn’t made a very good first impression.
“Dad!” At least one of them was glad to see him. “You haven’t been introduced. This is Josh Shine.” She turned the spotlight of her smile on Josh. “This is my dad—”
“General Capistrano,” said her father.
Should he salute? Probably not. Stand up? To do what, sit down again? He was too far away for a handshake. A headshake would have to do. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
The second impression was no improvement on the first. The General also nodded, but didn’t suggest by word or expression that he was pleased to meet Josh.
“I’m sorry about climbing your tree, but the dog…”
The General, however, was no longer looking at Josh, which had the effect of making him disappear. “Came in for my lunch,” he said to Jena, and looked from her to the clock on the wall.
This statement was followed by a silence so awkward it was virtually tripping on its own feet and knocking over everything not nailed down.
“Gosh, is that the time?” Josh stood up. “I better get going.”
The last thing Jena said when she showed him out was, “It was really nice talking to you.”
And she hasn’t talked to him since. She waves. She smiles. When he or someone else says something funny in class, she looks his way. But except for a quick nod or low “Hi!” if they pass in the hall, not a word has been exchanged. How could it be? She’s always with Tilda Kopel; part bodyguard, part white noise. He can tell from the way Tilda glares over his head (the closest she’s ever come to meeting his eyes) that she doesn’t approve of even that little communication between Jena and him. If he could get Jena alone for just ten minutes, then maybe they could pick up where they left off. He’s been praying all week that Tilda would catch the flu that’s been going around, but her immune system seems to be as strong as her ego.
Josh comes out of the music store, slipping the harmonica box into his satchel. He can’t wait to get home to try it out, and starts to stride up the street when, suddenly, there’s Jena, coming out of the deli. She sees him at the same second that he sees her, but though he stops short, unsure what to do next, she hurries towards him. “Josh! Hi!”
He says, “Hi!” And then, because he’s been caught off guard and can’t think of anything else, says, “Your hair doesn’t have any pink in it any more.” Just in case she hasn’t noticed.
“I washed it out.” She holds up one hand. “Now the only pink on me is my nails.” The same shade as Tilda Kopel’s, though this is not something Josh would be likely to notice. “The hair was just a spray. It was the thing to do at my last school but Tilda says it’s way passé.”
He liked it, but what does h
e know? His mother still trims his hair.
Jena says she’s really glad she ran into him. She enjoyed talking to him the other day.
“Me, too.” Out of the corner of his eye, he looks for Tilda Kopel. She has to be around here somewhere, ready to pounce. “I never get a chance to talk to you at school. We’re always rushing off to class or whatever.” The whatever being Tilda, of course.
Jena shrugs. “I guess that’s why they call it school. Because of all the classes.”
“And here I thought it was because of all the fish,” says Josh.
There’s a second’s time lapse between the joke and her laughter. “You have such a different sense of humour to most people I know.”
“That’s what they said about King Henry the Eighth,” says Josh, and she laughs again.
She thinks he’s really funny. “Nobody’s ever made me laugh so much. Except on TV or in a movie.” And then, while he’s convincing himself that she means this in a good way – that she’s laughing with him, not at him – she suggests that they go to Hava Java for a coffee. “We deserve it. End of the week chill-out.”
Which must mean that Tilda Kopel isn’t going to suddenly pop out from under a manhole cover or Jena would be chilling out with her.
He doesn’t fight the temptation to look behind him as if she must be talking to someone else. “Hava Java?” He makes a thinking-about-it face.
“Besides, the General’s working late tonight.” Jena makes an I-know-I’m-being-silly-but face. “I don’t want you to think I’m a baby or anything, but I don’t like to be in the house by myself for hours and hours. It kind of creeps me out.” She gives him a smile that practically melts his bones. “I’d rather hang out with you.”
I’d rather hang out with you… This isn’t something he ever expected to hear from Jenevieve Capistrano (or anyone like her) but he’s not about to argue. Never mind trying out his new harmonica. He wouldn’t say no to her if the ghost of the renowned blues harp player Paul Butterfield were waiting at home to give him a lesson.
“Sure.” Amazingly enough, he still has the power of speech. “Sounds good to me. I’m always up for chilling out at the end of the week.” As if.
Hava Java is where the popular kids go; needless to say, he’s never been there before.
Jena picks a table by the window. “I really am glad I ran into you,” she says as soon as they sit down. She takes up a packet of sugar. “I’ve been wanting to apologize.”
Whatever it is she’s responsible for – global warming, species extinction, another futile war – he forgives her.
“For what?”
She puts the sugar back and looks at Josh. “For my dad. The way he acted the other day. He can be a little heavy-handed sometimes. He’s not really used to being a single parent.” She picks up a different sugar packet this time. “Since my mom died he’s kind of overprotective. You know, ’cause I’m all he’s got.”
Overprotective as in, if he wanted to kill an ant he’d use a tank. Josh is all his mother has, but she tries to ignore him as much as she can.
“It’s okay, Jena.” Josh laughs. “If I were your dad I wouldn’t like me, either.”
It was supposed to be a joke, but Jena winces. “It’s not that he really dislikes you…”
Which is the same as saying he doesn’t really like Josh. Just wait till he gets to know him.
“Because I was in his tree? Is he holding that against me? It wasn’t really my fault – and I did say I was sorry. It’s not like I’m a tree-hugger or anything like that.” Can the General possibly know that his best friend is Carver, dedicated hugger of trees?
“Oh, I know you’re not. And I’m sure he knows it was just … you know … one of those weird things that happen…” Though, obviously, not to General Capistrano. “But it’s not just the tree.” Her eyes are on his hands. “You know … my dad’s kind of straight army.” And expects everyone else to be straight army, too; especially if they’re friends of hers. “And, you know … you have a ponytail.”
It’s a very small ponytail. More a My Little Pony tail. You’d think he’d be okay with that. “You had pink hair.”
“That was just a fad. He could live with a few streaks now and then.”
“Right. So that’s why he doesn’t like me? Because I tie my hair back? Is that a crime somewhere?” Thank God he hasn’t seen Josh when he holds it back with a hair band.
“No, of course not. It’s just, you know, odd. Kind of hippie.”
“Hippie? The Founding Fathers wore their hair tied back.” Though not with hair bands. “They weren’t hippies. You’ve never seen a picture of Jefferson in a tie-dyed T-shirt.”
She doesn’t laugh; maybe he’s stopped being funny. “Well, no…” She’s on her third sugar packet. “But also … you know … he noticed the yoga mat.”
“The yoga mat?” A right the Founding Fathers with their ponytails forgot to put in the Constitution. “What made him so sure it wasn’t a rifle?” You can bear arms but not yoga mats.
This time he does make her laugh again. “Because if it was a rifle my dad would’ve shot you out of that tree.”
Here’s a valuable piece of information that could come in very handy in future encounters with the General. Don’t do anything to provoke him.
“So what’s wrong with the yoga mat?”
“Nothing. Not really. I think it’s cool you do yoga. Totally. You’re the only guy I’ve ever known who does it.” Obviously, she’s never met Sting, rock legend and yogini. “Only, you know … my dad doesn’t think it’s very masculine. Not like qi gong or kung fu. He can tell you’re not military material.”
A man as perceptive as he is opinionated and large.
“You mean you’re only allowed to talk to trained killers? Isn’t that a little limiting?”
She tugs on her hair. “Oh, you know what I mean. The General thinks boys should be clean cut and play football and stuff like that. You’re a little—”
“Short?” guesses Josh. “Bent-nosed? Pointy-eared? Near-sighted?”
“Oh God…” Suddenly her laugh sounds like an itch. “I wasn’t being critical. I wish I’d never said anything.”
She isn’t the only one. If they keep this up the General isn’t going to be alone in thinking that Josh is substandard. Before he completely loses every drop of confidence he has, Josh volunteers to get their drinks. She wants a cappuccino and a banana-split brownie with two forks – they’re so good he just has to try it. He decides not to mention his lack of enthusiasm for both bananas and chocolate.
She stares at the tray as he sets it on the table. Curiously. As if she was expecting something else. “What’s that in your cup?”
“Tea. It’s the ancient drink of the Chinese, believed to have medicinal properties.”
“Wow.” He can’t tell if she’s impressed or simply astonished. “I didn’t even know they had tea here.” She peers into his cup as if it might be filled with grubs. She sniffs. “What kind of tea is that? It smells funny.”
“It’s green tea.” He hands Jena her cappuccino. “With jasmine.”
“Green tea? Really?” She couldn’t sound more astounded if he’d told her it was yak milk. “You don’t drink coffee?”
“It’s against my religion.”
“Really?”
“No. I just don’t like it.”
“See, that’s another thing the General would think is weird.”
Tea, yoga and enough hair to wrap an elastic band around. It’s amazing Josh’s mother lets him go out by himself.
“That I don’t drink coffee?” The General’s spectrum for normal behaviour is clearly a small one. “Is that what he thinks I am? Weird?”
She answers the question he didn’t ask. “But I don’t. I don’t know anybody like you.”
He thinks she means this in a good way. Hopes; hopes she means it in a good way. “That’s not the same as weird?”
“Of course not! It just means you’re different
. You know, to the people I’m used to.” If her smile were an ocean he would definitely drown. He would probably drown if it were a puddle. “My dad has all these rules. Rules for every occasion. It’s like everything has to fit in a box. And I get it. I understand why.”
He doesn’t say, Really? You do? Could you explain it to me? He nods as if he gets it, too.
“But I think you’re kind of cool.”
“Only kind of?”
“Cool and funky.”
Funky is absolutely good. Bluesmen are supposed to be funky. And cool. Eat your heart out, General Capistrano. Go put that in a box.
He sits across from her, sipping his tea and wielding his fork, not worrying about what chocolate does to his skin or whether or not the eggs were free-range or came from chickens who lived short, miserable lives in tiny cages – which he would be if Carver were here. So this must be what it’s like to be an average teenager, hanging out in the trendy coffee bar eating cake sweet enough to make your teeth scream. Another song he doesn’t like and didn’t know he knew pops into his head: “If My Friends Could See Me Now”. Though not Carver; Carver would be in the kitchen, checking out the eggs.
Jena does most of the talking.
Josh is used to talking to the guys. Movies. Games. School. Funny stories. Music. TV shows. Bulletins on hunger. Families and extraterrestrials. How many species go extinct every day, how much plastic is in the oceans and the ethics of artificial intelligence (Carver); the difficulties of intergalactic colonization, conspiracy theories, arthouse vs Hollywood movies and whether or not Martin Scorsese is past it (Sal). None of them are really into cars or motorcycles, but they make up for that with conversations on bicycle maintenance and space travel. Indeed, if you don’t count Josh’s mother, Ramona is the only other female he’s ever conversed with regularly and at length – and Jena, of course, is nothing like Ramona. Ramona’s interests are eclectic, to say the least – ranging from the history of clothes and the development of music to barro negro pottery and The Simpsons. When they were up at the Minamotos’ cabin last summer, he and Ramona had a two-hour discussion one evening about anchorites. It was interesting at the time – she knew a lot more about them than he would have thought – but it wasn’t what most people would expect from a teenage girl. Jena, however, talks about regular, everyday things – movies and TV shows he’s never watched, bands and singers he’s never heard of, books he’ll never read – never once mentioning an obscure composer or the Coen brothers or the latest scientific report on the effects of habitat destruction. She does, like Ramona, mention the school play – but, unlike Ramona, she loves Bye Bye Birdie. Jena has to be the most normal person he knows. Which is something else he likes about her. Normal people don’t usually gravitate towards him. He doesn’t wonder why she does.