"Umm, yeah?" I had no idea what was going on.
"Dude, you saved that girl from the lake, you’re like a hero, man!" He was looking at me with awe and excitement and turned around to tell everyone in the kitchen that I was there. I don’t know if he actually did end up telling his fellow workers if he had seen me, because I bailed. In two seconds I was back at the table, head down, wishing I was home in bed. Or that my turtle shoulders would work.
"You owe me four dollars, coward." Johnny plopped my fries and soda down in front of me. I ignored him.
"What is going on?" I asked, revolted by what the guy behind the counter had said. And by the look of adoration in his eyes.
"You’re a hero, man. Have you not been listening to us? Everyone at school has been talking about you." Isaiah’s smile widened as Johnny spoke, and it wasn’t an innocent smile. It was an evil one. In fact, they were all wearing evil smiles. I half expected evil mustaches and bowler hats to appear.
"I’m surprised you didn’t know," Isaiah said.
"I’ve been in Whitefish," I said, miserably.
"Ah man, don’t worry about it, someone will do something stupid enough and people will think it’s amazing and they will forget all about you!" Michelle nudged me and I felt a little better.
"Speaking of stupid, I saw your father," Johnny said brightly, with an air of sarcasm in his voice.
"Yeah?" Oh joy. An even more unwelcome subject of conversation. They were really pulling out the big guns.
"Yeah, he was at the grocery store, buying some health crap and looking like he had cleaned up a little, probably trying to get you back again."
I was sure he was right. For some reason my dad hated my guts when I was around but tried hard to get me back when I was gone. I didn’t understand the guy. I really didn’t want to go back. I felt comfortable at my grandma’s. I wasn’t afraid of what I was walking into every day when I got done with school. I felt happier, and safer. I realized that, in less than two weeks, it’d turned into home.
"I should get going," I said to the table, “my grandma didn’t even know I was leaving the house."
“Oh my word! Look at the time!” Isaiah said in a fake, falsetto woman’s voice.
"Me too, actually, my mom said I needed to be home at a reasonable hour." Johnny played along with Isaiah and pretended to be shocked when he looked up at the clock. "We are going to see my sister tomorrow in Billings, big trip." I always liked Johnny’s family. He had normal parents who were very nice and accommodating. That’s probably why he was a little bit more chipper than the rest of us.
"Dude, call us,” they all encouraged me as we walked into the parking lot. Johnny kept walking with me, “Seriously, dude, we‘ll come and see you or plan something next time you’re in town." He nodded encouragingly as he climbed into his Ford. Another visible sign of his parent’s love.
"Yep." I crawled into my little car that was probably going to die on the way home. I turned the music up high so I wouldn’t have to think on the long ride home. My brain was on overload. I zoned out.
My car didn’t die. Before I knew it, I was chugging up the street. I tried to ease the car into the driveway, willing it not to make too much noise. It was uncooperative, as usual. But I doubt anyone noticed. It was late. And cold. At least it wasn’t raining anymore.
I fumbled with the keys in the dark for a minute before I figured it out. I wasn’t used to walking in this late. Or early. I couldn’t wait to fall asleep. My bed was calling to me.
Light from the street flooded the interior of the house as I opened the front door. From the blaze of the streetlamps, I could see my tiny grandmother, curlers in her hair, sitting up straight in a chair, in the dark. Thunderous.
6. SICK (AS A DOG)
I got a stack of fresh, homemade waffles the next day. They were technically lunch, I guess, because I woke up at 1:17 in the afternoon. My grandma sat across from me at the kitchen table with a weary look on her face, although the curlers were gone.
The night before, she had spanked me. An honest to goodness spanking.
I, of course, kept a repentant face on the whole time it was happening. Even being that the situation was the most hilarious of my life, I was able to keep a straight face. I knew how much it meant to her.
As I’d walked in the door, this tiny little woman came stomping over like a herd of elephants. She grabbed my upper arm in her version of a firm grip, which I could barely feel, and hit me as hard as she could right on my butt with her little bony hand. Totally unlike my dad’s drunken swings, grandma’s midnight swat really touched me, and filled me with a good dose of guilt. I saw how concerned she was.
In fact, I realized as I sat at the table the next morning, it was the first time I had ever been spanked. I’d been hit plenty of times, but properly disciplined? No, that was the first time. Who would have thought that my first ever spanking would have occurred at the age of seventeen by a woman who was half my size? I think she would have placed me over her knee if I wouldn't have crushed her.
This morning, she was looking at me with a new kind of concern. My suspicion that the homemade waffles were more than just made on a whim was confirmed when she spoke: "David, I'm sorry I got so upset last night," she spoke with measured resolve, "I was just scared you'd left and I didn't know where you were."
Job done, she dipped an uneaten bite of waffle in syrup for the sixth time, eyes welling up the tiniest bit. We were both awash in guilt, now.
"Grandma, I shouldn't have stayed out so late." I flattened my hair against my eyes. Look at me, having a rational conversation with an adult about boundaries and rules. Will wonders never cease? My grandma smiled at me over her waffles. Then she slid a black cell phone on the table and pushed it over to me. I looked at it, not believing what I saw.
"What is this?" I could hear the shock in my own voice.
"It’s a microwave, sweetie." She took an actual bite of her waffle, smiling as she chewed. "I got a plan for us this morning, I thought we could join the 21st century."
Now it was official, my grandma was cool. She kept going after another bite of real food.
"You know, since you are here until you are eighteen, or whenever you’re ready to leave, I figured it would be smart to have a way for us to contact each other in case we need to. For instance, when I stay out with the bridge club until the wee hours of the morning."
"Thank you, Grandma." I picked up the phone and turned it over in my hand.
"Oh, hunny," she patted my hand clumsily. She’d gone out of her way to solve a problem and keep the peace. It meant a lot to me. I think that I would have learned a lot from her if I had been allowed to live with her earlier in my life.
My way of solving problems was simple: ignore them.
"Don't go and use all your minutes the first day," she smirked at me over her coffee.
"Oh yeah, calling all my girlfriends!" I cracked a grin at her. Suddenly the taped-up piece of paper with Lucy’s phone number seemed to weigh a ton of bricks in my wallet. I wondered when was too early to call her. When would she start to feel rejected again? She had made it clear that she was interested in me, and expecting me to call. I didn't understand why, but I wasn't going to try to talk her out of it. I just had to figure out when. Waffle-time didn’t seem appropriate.
I also vaguely wondered when I became the guy who was trying to time first phone calls perfectly.
"David," my grandmother put her coffee cup down on her kitchen table meaningfully, interrupting my brilliant planning session, "did I ever tell you about the time we went and got you from the hospital?"
"No," I straightened up.
"Well, I was at your parent’s house for dinner that night and the phone rang. I swear to you, it was a loud ring; it scared each one of us. Your mother went to pick up the phone and she screamed. Just screamed a loud shriek I’d never heard from her before."
A giant smile spread across my grandma’s face, like she was remembering something that made
her very happy. "We went running into the kitchen thinking something horrible must have happened. She was still on the phone, crying and shaking.” Grandma shook her head and looked down. "She looked at us and said, ‘they have a baby for me; it’s a boy!’”
"Who had a baby for her?" I asked, my heart racing.
"The adoption agency. The one Julia had decided to go with was geared toward teens who couldn’t keep a baby. It was a place that counseled the teens and gave them options other than abortion." She was watching me closely.
“So my parents were young?" I asked her, trying not to act like I cared.
"They were. I only met them the once, in the hospital."
"You went with my mom to the hospital? Did my father go?" I was having a hard time breathing. The waffles were getting a lot of attention. I just knew there were hidden 3D pictures in there if I could just stare hard enough.
"No, he was at work that day. It was the middle of the week." She spoke like mentioning him left a bad taste in her mouth. I could relate.
"I spent the night with your parents so I could go to the hospital in Billings with your mom the next day," she started saying, but I interrupted her.
"My birth parents live in Billings?" I was shocked that no one had ever mentioned that to me.
"Well, I don't know if they do now, but I assume they did when they were pregnant with you."
Pregnant with me. That was a strange statement. I never thought about how I had been with my mother before, even if I was just forming inside of her. She had cared for me at one point, even if that meant not aborting me.
"Anyway," my grandma continued, starting to collect our plates as she spoke, “we saw you for the first time in the baby nursery in the hospital. You were bundled all up and so little. I think you weighed a little more than five pounds. You were so cute, David. Your hair was fuzzy and your features were already so strong."
She bent her head and looked at me like a mother looks at her child, with love and concern. A look I had always craved. "You were the only one not moving or making a noise, like you didn't want anyone to notice you."
"So, did you meet them?" I wanted details. I wanted seventeen years’ worth of details.
"I did.”
"What were they like?" I looked up at her, not able to keep the desperate tone out of my voice.
"Your mom was beautiful, David. She had blond hair. She had big dark eyes, sad eyes. She was young, they both were. Their parents had to sign all the papers for them because they were still minors."
After a long pause I asked, "What about my birth father?"
"Your birth father, he was...he looked sad. He looked like a young boy who had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He asked that we didn't bring you in the room with us. I don't think he wanted to see you because he didn't really want to give you up."
Someone had wanted me. I felt like my brain was going to explode.
"Why did he, then? I mean, if you love someone can’t you just work it out?" I was frustrated with this person I didn't know, who had wanted me but not kept me. I had been frustrated with him my whole life, I think.
My grandma’s face was so sad. "I don't know, David. I really don't know. He was so young. I think they were fifteen or sixteen.”
We sat in silence for a minute.
She kept going, speaking slowly, thinking about every word, “David, I think that it shows great love that he was willing to give you what he thought was a better life."
The truth of that statement made me mad. It made me long even more to be with them, someone who loved me so much, they were willing to give me up.
I wondered what my birth father would have thought about the guy who’d raised me.
Grandma interrupted my thoughts before they got too depressing, "Your birth mother named you, did you know that?" She tried to keep the conversation going, "she wanted us to name you David Anthony. She said David was her father’s name. She told us that you had his nose."
I thought about my long narrow nose. It was strange to think that I looked like someone. I know that sounds crazy, but I had just never met anyone that I looked like before.
"What about Anthony?" I felt like I already knew the answer, even as I asked.
"It was your birth father’s name.” I exhaled heavily. I knew it. She paused for a second, looking off into the distance, “Anthony is a good name; it means ‘Worthy of Praise.’ I think it’s a good name for you."
I didn't answer. I never thought much about my name, or what it meant. I knew I wasn’t currently worthy of praise, given the spanking I’d received the night before. My frown unfolded into a grin as I remembered it. Then another question occurred to me.
"What does David mean?"
She smiled. "Friend," she was so happy to tell me, "your whole name means ‘friend who is worthy of praise.’"
"Yuck." I was not able to help myself.
Grandma laughed and put her elbows on the table. "Yeah, you’re right, sweetheart. Everyone jumps into a frozen lake of ice to save perfect strangers."
"Ugh, Grandma, please stop."
I really hated the subject of Lucy and the lake. It was this new dooms cloud that hung over my head. ALL THE TIME.
"Yes, of course. I shouldn't talk about my amazing grandson and his daring rescue--"
"Stop, please," I interrupted her, trying hard to make it sound like I was serious. Not joking.
"Ok, ok. Sorry.”
I had more questions as I cleared the table of dishes.
"What did my dad look like?"
She looked at the ceiling, trying to recall an old memory.
"He was good looking. Better than average. Your mom was beautiful, but there was nothing incredibly special about her beauty. But your father looked like he could have been a child model. I remember his green eyes more than anything. Same color as yours, I think.” I instinctively brushed my hair over my eyes.
“I mean I don't see your eyes all that often, David, but I imagine yours are very similar to his. He had thick black eye lashes. He was tall. He looked older than sixteen."
Nothing about what she was saying sounded like anyone that looked like me, except for the green eyes and the thick eye lashes. I certainly wasn't good looking. When I thought of myself I saw a drowned Chucky doll with black hair.
She was quiet, and I got busy in the little kitchen, cleaning up the breakfast remnants. It was so weird to suddenly feel like I had belonged to someone. Like there were people that I looked like. And my adopted mother had wanted me. Up until now, I guess I’d never been able to believe that there was someone who dreamed about me while I was in a uterus. Even if it hadn’t been my birth mother, there was a real woman out there once who had wanted me.
There was only one picture of Julia, my adopted mother, in my father’s house. It was a picture of the two of them when they were dating. There were no wedding pictures and none of me and her. In the grand scheme, it didn't matter what she looked like. But I guess since I never got to know her personally her appearance was all I could identify with, because that is all that I knew of her.
"Can I be excused?" I remembered to ask from the kitchen. It was something I had learned within the first day or so of living with Grandma, that polite people ask to leave a room. Who would have known?
I could hear the amusement in her voice, "Yes, dear." She followed me into the kitchen, carrying the remaining dishes to the sink, where I was finishing up. I put my hand on the back of my head and stopped to talk to her but I couldn't think of anything to say. At least, I couldn’t form what I was feeling into words, but I really wanted to try.
"Grandma, um…" I ummed a little more. I closed my eyes. I probably looked like it hurt to open them. It almost did.
"Thanks for, you know…" I looked down at the towel in my hands and then patted my hair down again. I actually felt sick, like I was going to throw up.
"Anytime dear.” Her bony hand patted my shoulder as she left the kitchen.
"Yeah.
" I stood alone in the kitchen for a moment, not feeling like I expressed myself the way I wanted. But, realizing that was the story of my life, I just turned around and went to my room.
I sat down on my bed, with my new cell phone in my hand, and pulled out Lucy’s phone number. The sight of the tape-job cued my breakfast to start crawling back up my throat. What was the big deal? I had talked to this girl a couple of times, we had even kissed, kind of.
I opened the phone, then closed it. I had to figure out why exactly I was calling her. Did I just want to hear her voice and talk with her, did I want to make plans to see her again? Did I want another shot at the lighthouse? The answer was yes, to all three. But how do I even do that? I didn't want to get on the phone and sound like an idiot who had no idea what he was doing. But there was almost no way to avoid that. I had never called a girl, ever. Well, I had talked to Michelle a few times on the phone, but she didn't count.
"Ok man. It’s ok. You can do this." I was close to actually throwing up, but I fought it. How could one person be such a wimp? I briefly considered writing a few things down, in case my mind went totally blank. Then I reasoned that the only thing lamer than being afraid to call is having a script when I call.
I opened the phone and smoothed out the crinkled paper. I forced my fingers to dial the numbers. Slowly but surely I was going to call this stupid girl.
"Hello?" I heard a sing song voice. I didn't know if it was Lucy or her mom. It sounded young, but more mature than I was used to.
"Um, can I, ah, talk to Lucy...uh please?" Classy. I swallowed back waffles and syrup.
"This is her...is this David?" She sounded hopeful and that made me feel a little better. Until I realized she was waiting for an answer.
"Hello?" I heard again. She was puzzled. I was stunning her with brilliance. Silent brilliance.
"Yes, hi. It’s David. Hi." I am a smooth operator. Nothing like a good “hi” to knock a girl’s socks off.
"Hey, I am so glad you called me! I was just thinking of you." Thankfully, she sounded happy, like always. She had a way of making me feel like I was the only person in the world.
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