Millicent Min, Girl Genius

by Lisa Yee

  MOM’S DIFFERENTIAL DIAGNOSIS — BRAIN TUMOR

  Headache

  Sometimes

  Vomiting

  Yes

  Fatigue

  Yes

  Seizure

  Not Yet

  Blurred Vision

  Yes

  Mental Change

  Yes

  Mom tires easily, and Dad is acting all strange around her, as if she is fragile and going to break. I pretend not to notice.

  My final for my poetry class is to write a thesis on a poet whose life reflects ours. I have selected Sylvia Plath, the talented, sensitive, intelligent but lonely and misunderstood young poet who committed suicide at the age of thirty.

  After class today, Professor Skylanski and I had a long discussion about Ms. Plath. As we walked toward the parking lot, she must have sensed that I was contemplating more than figurative language. “Millicent?” she asked as she searched for her keys. From the outside I could see that her VW was littered with coffee cups. “Is there anything else on your mind?”

  I chuckled and assured her that I had nothing on my mind. That my mind was a blank slate, an empty vessel, a dry well, devoid of conversational topics except for poetry. Though Professor Skylanski looked unconvinced, I urged her to leave so she would not be late for her lunch date.

  As her vintage Volkswagen sputtered away, I waved and watched until it turned the corner. Then I tried to figure out what to do next. I could not go home right away. I was supposed to have volleyball, but I didn’t feel like facing Emily. Plus, Maddie and my parents still think I have dinner at Emily’s every Friday night. So I hung around campus instead. All day.

  The place clears out pretty fast before the weekend. The few students who were left looked like they were getting ready to be someplace else. I wasn’t hungry, so for lunch I sat in the cafeteria and nursed a chocolate pudding. I ate it with a fork to make it last longer.

  At the library, the bank of computers sat empty as the Rogers College crest bounced around the screen. It was rare that no one was there, so I took advantage of the situation. I got online and researched famous females who grew up without mothers. The list includes the Brontë sisters, Marie Curie, and Madonna.

  Afterward, I made a couple more laps around campus. I counted the buildings, and then the stairs. A small pebble lodged in my shoe, but I didn’t bother to take it out even when it started to hurt.

  As the afternoon wore on I spied Debbie and Craig goofing off on the grass, pushing each other, then hugging. Debbie spotted me. “Millie! Hi, Millie, come join us,” she shouted as Craig tackled her and playfully covered her mouth.

  I pretended I couldn’t hear her.

  All these years I’ve waited to go to college thinking that once I was there, everything would change. Everything would be better and I would finally find a place where I fit in. It is a cruel joke on me then that college is just like high school, only bigger.

  It was starting to get dark and I had nowhere to go but home. I could see my parents through the window. They were getting ready for dinner. My father sat my mother down and then served her meal. When I saw him kiss her, I turned away to give them their privacy.

  I watched the sun set from my tree, reading as long as the light would let me. As dusk began to fall, Max’s father drove into his driveway and honked the horn. Max and his mother rushed outside. In the passenger seat of the sports car was a new yellow bike. Max hugged his father, and then hugged the bike, and then hugged his father again while his mother looked on, smiling.

  My stomach made unattractive grumbling sounds. Luckily, I had my emergency Snickers bar in my briefcase. Even after eating it, my stomach felt empty.

  Long after Max and his parents had gone inside, I climbed down my tree. My parents were eating popcorn in front of the blue glow of the television set. “What are you doing home?” Mom asked. She was in a giddy mood since Lucy was trying to say “Vitameatavegamin.” I Love Lucy is Mom’s favorite show, after Jeopardy!. “I thought you were staying at Emily’s tonight.”

  “No, just for dinner,” I said, rushing to my room. “I told you that.”

  “Did you?” she asked. As I shut the door I overheard Mom tell Dad, “I think I’m losing my memory now.”

  I won’t even mention volleyball, except to say that Emily shouldn’t have been standing there if she didn’t want me to run into her.

  Stanford and I have returned to our early days of tutoring where I try hard to teach him and he tries hard to deflect anything I say. Now that he’s no longer out to impress Emily with his reading prowess, he’s morphed back into a lump.

  I made a chart to track the progress of our tutoring sessions. It resembled an EKG where the patient has died. Miraculously, the corpse spoke up. “I tried calling her, you know,” Stanford muttered as he drew pictures of basketball hoops on his arm with a ballpoint pen.

  “Here, use this,” I said, handing him an indelible ink Sharpie. “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. I couldn’t go through with it. I hung up when she answered the phone. Emily seemed so angry the other day.” He went back to drawing on his arm, this time adding little balls with the marker I gave him.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I said, “did you actually read The Outsiders before you gave it to Emily?”

  Stanford stopped drawing long enough to glare at me. “Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t,” he answered. “That’s for me to know and for you not to find out.”

  It’s amazing how the days drag. If it weren’t for the regularity of my summer school class, I don’t know what would become of me. Professor Skylanski and I are developing a good friendship. Every day after class I walk her to her car and we talk poetry and literature and politics. I only have my college class three days a week. I wish it were more. I wish I had school twenty-four hours a day.

  After today’s class I went to visit Maddie. She was sitting in the kitchen with Julius, her wooden dragon. On the table were two plates of cookies and a pitcher of lemonade, as if she were expecting me.

  “How did you know I was coming?” I asked, looking for a safe spot to park my briefcase. There were open boxes everywhere. The place looked like a giant rummage sale.

  “I didn’t,” Maddie replied. She poured my lemonade into a tall frosty glass and handed it to me.

  “Then why do you have two plates of cookies? You weren’t feeding them to the dragon, were you?” I joked.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “One plate for me, one for Grandpa.” Maddie filled up her glass, took a sip, and then added four more spoonfuls of sugar.

  I wondered if she was getting senile. That would explain a lot of things. “Grandpa’s gone,” I said gently.

  “Then it’s a good thing you came by to eat the cookies,” Maddie said, giving me a wink. “Are you here to tell me the truth about Emily?”

  “You know that we’re not speaking?”

  “I know that something’s wrong,” she said.

  “Just tell me, tell me what to do,” I groaned. I bit into a Lorna Doone shortbread cookie. There’s something comforting about Lorna Doones. They seem so substantial, like they won’t ever disappoint you.

  Maddie took a slow sip of lemonade. “I can’t. Soon I will be feng shui-ing Buckingham Palace, and you will have to make decisions on your own.”

  It was the first time ever that my grandmother hasn’t weighed in with her opinion on a subject. I looked at Maddie to make sure she was okay. She seemed fine. The pendant with Grandpa’s ashes was around her neck. She touched it from time to time and it seemed to comfort her.

  “You have the power to make things right. But you must also be the one to decide what to do,” she said, sounding very Kung Fu-ish.

  I wondered if I had the power to make my mother better. I hesitated, wanting to ask Maddie about Mom, not even sure if she knew.

  “How are things with you, Maddie?”

  “Oh! Everything
is fine. I got my passport today. Here, look. Don’t I look pretty?” It was a nice photo. She looked happy. I never look good in photos, I always look so serious. The best pictures of me ever taken are the ones with Emily in the photo booth.

  “And is everything fine with everyone else?” I asked, hoping that would open up a candid conversation about my mother and her demise.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never mind,” I said, reaching for another Lorna Doone. If Maddie knew about Mom, she probably wouldn’t be planning a trip to Europe. Knowing her, she’d be moving in with us.

  “Maddie really needs to go on this trip,” I overheard Mom telling Dad. “It will be good for her. You know, give her some closure.”

  “Shouldn’t we tell her?” he asked. “She’d want to know.”

  “No, not just yet,” my mother said. “Besides, the doctor said not to say anything to anyone, just in case something changes. It’s better that she doesn’t know right now. I wouldn’t want her to cancel her trip on my account.”

  For the first time in my life, I wish I didn’t know so much.

  This afternoon I found myself in front of the Rialto. It’s a Wonderful Life was playing. That’s what’s so great about the Rialto. They play Christmas movies in the middle of summer, murder mysteries on Valentine’s Day, and every Halloween there’s a special midnight showing of High Noon.

  “It makes no sense,” I recalled telling Maddie as we watched Charlton Heston race around in a chariot last Labor Day. “That’s why it makes perfect sense,” she said before shushing me.

  It’s a Wonderful Life had already started by the time I sat down with my bucket of popcorn. It’s a good movie. I’d seen it before. My favorite part is when Clarence gets his wings.

  As the film ended I read the credits. Maddie and I always read the credits. “These people have worked so hard to entertain us, it’s the least we can do,” she says. When the lights came up and I rose to leave, I saw my father sitting alone in the back row.

  “Millie,” he said haltingly. “You’re supposed to be with Emily.”

  “You’re supposed to be at work,” I said.

  We walked out together and circled the block before either of us spoke.

  “I didn’t get the job,” Dad confessed. I stopped mid-step and looked at him. A poster of Jimmy Stewart loomed large over his shoulder. “I just said I got the job so you and your mom wouldn’t think I was a total loser.” He looked so sad.

  “You’re not a loser,” I protested. “But I don’t get it. You mean you’ve been pretending to go to work all this time?”

  “Pretty silly, huh? It’s just that I don’t want your mom to worry too much. Not now with …” His voice trailed off as I held my breath. “Hey … what happened to Emily?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Emily who?” I tried to joke. I continued walking so I wouldn’t have to look at him. For all his goofiness, my father can be kind of intense sometimes. “Emily’s not speaking to me,” I finally confessed. “She found out that I’m a genius and is mad at me.”

  “She’s mad because you’re a genius or because you didn’t tell her you were a genius?” he asked. Dad was starting to sound like my mother or, even worse, Maddie. When the three of them start sounding the same, I know I am in big trouble.

  “She says it’s because I didn’t tell her.”

  “When did she find out?” When I told him it was the last time she slept over at our house, he barked, “Millie, that was almost two weeks ago! You’ve carried this around with you all this time? Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I was afraid,” I said. I felt small, like when I was three and broke Dad’s compass while plotting a new path across the North Pole. Afraid to tell him what happened, I hid the compass in the freezer where it went undiscovered until Mom defrosted the refrigerator several months later. “I didn’t know what you’d say,” I blubbered. “I thought you’d say ‘I told you so’ or think I was just a big disappointment.”

  My dad stopped walking and faced me. I tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let me. “Millie,” he said, sounding parental. “We love you no matter what and we’d never, ever think you were a disappointment. If you can’t talk to your family, who can you talk to?”

  I met his gaze. He looked so sincere. “You’re right, Dad,” I said. “If you can’t talk to your family, who can you talk to?”

  “Point well taken,” he said. “Come on, let’s head home. I think we both have some explaining to do to your mother.” He hesitated, then added, “And Millie, one more thing.” I waited. “You talk to Mom first, okay?”

  “Sure, Dad,” I promised as I hooked my arm though his.

  *

  Even though it was the middle of a weekday afternoon, my mother was in the kitchen sitting on the floor eating Rocky Road ice cream straight out of the container. She was supposed to be at work and obviously wasn’t expecting Dad and me to be home either. When Dad cleared his throat, she let out a little yelp. Trying to hide the ice cream behind her back, Mom explained, “I wasn’t feeling well, so I left work early today. Why are you two here …?”

  Mom was not the least bit surprised when I told her that Emily knew the truth and had dumped me. In fact, she said she wondered why it had taken so long for me to fess up. It is hard to fool that woman. She possesses mom-dar, which is an extremely powerful version of radar that the United States government would be wise to employ.

  My mother also took Dad’s news rather well, considering that he lied to her every morning when he left and then lied again at night when he returned. “So you haven’t been going to the office all these weeks?” she asked, looking a bit mystified and more than a little annoyed. He started to say something but found himself without words.

  Mom struggled to stand. “Whoa, I have to absorb this,” she said, handing Dad the empty ice-cream container. “This one’s a biggie.” After a few moments of staring at the dirty dishes in the sink, she asked, “Why, Jack? Why would you go to all that trouble to make us think you had a job?”

  I looked at the two of them and knew that the right thing to do would be to leave the room. It was clear that my parents wanted their privacy. However, I couldn’t bear not knowing how it would end, so I pulled up a chair and opened a bag of Cheetos.

  “Jack, I’d love to hear your explanation,” Mom said. Her cool, even tone had a menacing effect.

  Dad stumbled over his words as he tried to explain himself. Then he stood behind me and said, “Claire, I love you so much. I was embarrassed when I didn’t get that big job. I meant to tell you, but as the days wore on it got harder and harder.” I nodded vigorously, knowing what he meant.

  As my father sputtered on, I watched my mother’s face. A whole range of emotions flashed before me, starting with anger, then confusion, and finally ending with sadness.

  “I’m your wife, your partner,” she finally said. “If you thought I’d be upset with you for not getting that job, then you don’t know me very well.” Mom began to cry. “We promised to love, honor, and cherish each other in sickness and in health….”

  Dad stepped forward and hesitated before putting his arms around her. When she hugged him back, I could see his body relax. “I will never lie to you again,” he whispered as he stroked her hair. “I am so sorry.”

  With my parents all lovey-dovey, I felt it best to get out of their way. It was inevitable that they would kiss at any moment and I didn’t want a front-row seat. Still, I needed to talk. So I went to see the one person I had left.

  Maddie was practicing yoga. She resembled a pretzel. “I am so glad to see you, Millie,” she said. “If you hadn’t come along, I might have been stuck here forever.”

  As I helped her unwind her legs, I told her what I was planning. “Very wise,” Maddie noted, stretching her arms overhead. “You have nothing to lose by apologizing and everything to lose if you don’t.” She attempted a scorpion pose, though it looked more
like a series of donkey kicks.

  As I bid her farewell, she called after me from her semi–upside-down position, “Millicent, before you apologize to Emily, make sure you know what you are apologizing for.”

  I nodded, pretending to know what she meant.

  “And one more thing,” she hastened to add. “Sometimes it’s better to be liked, than it is to be right.”

  Even though I knew what needed to be done, it didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous. I waited a day so I could rehearse what I was going to say. I wanted everything to go “just so.”

  In order to ensure privacy, I took the phone into the hall closet. Calling from my room would be too risky. One never knew when the urge to do laundry would come over Mom. She was acting so strange.

  I reprogrammed the speed dial and hit #4.

  “Hello? Hello?” Emily answered. “Is anyone there?”

  “Hi, it’s me!” Though I felt tense, I tried to sound cheery.

  “Me who?”

  “Millie, silly.”

  There was a long silence and I wasn’t sure if she was still there. At last, Emily asked, “What do you want, Millicent?” Her voice was ice-cold.

  Since my cheery locution didn’t have the effect on Emily that I had hoped for, I tried logic. “Well,” I began. “I just thought that unless we both could afford the airfare to The Hague and the International Court of Justice, which of course is the principal judicial organ of the United Nations, our dispute —”

  “Millicent, what are you blabbing about?”

  This time the long silence came from my end of the telephone. Finally, I said softly, “I want to be friends again.” (At this point I referred to the notes I had prepared, just in case.) “I’m sorry for whatever misunderstanding there was. I’m sorry you cannot comprehend my being a genius and a senior in high school …”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” Emily said with a deep exaggerated sigh.

  I could hear Alice in the background asking, “Who is it?”