I Love You, Michael Collins

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  I wasn’t sure that was the case. From the tone in her voice when I’d spoken with her, I didn’t think she felt like she ever had to talk to him again.

  “But what about me?” I said. Because, selfish as it sounds, that really was the big thing. My mom was already gone. Who knew when, if ever, she’d be back? Having lost one parent already, I couldn’t lose the other one. Okay, so maybe he isn’t much of a parent in a lot of regards. He needed to be told how to do the dishes. He didn’t know how to tuck me in. He bought TV dinners—well, that part wasn’t so bad. But at least he is something and he has been learning real quick. I just couldn’t lose him, too. Without the two of them, what would I have left?

  “You’ll stay here,” he said, “with Bess.”

  “Bess?” I couldn’t keep the scorn out of my voice, and I know he must have heard it there. But surely, even he knew: Bess was no solution to anything.

  “She is sixteen,” he said.

  “With both cars gone,” I pointed out, “it’s not like she can take me anywhere if there’s an emergency.”

  “What kind of emergency?” For the first time, he seemed to consider this possibility.

  “How should I know?” I threw up my hands. “Stuff does happen!”

  “Then call Eleanor. As a matter of fact, call Eleanor anyway after I leave. Have her come and stay with you.”

  “Eleanor can’t come. She won’t. Eleanor has a job.”

  “Eleanor is a secretary. It’s not like the world is going to stop spinning if she comes in late every now and then or even misses a whole day.”

  I wasn’t sure Eleanor would agree with his assessment of her importance, or lack of importance, but even I could see that she might be the only game in town.

  “Could you call her for me?” I asked.

  “I don’t have time for that right now, sweet pea. I need to get on the road. I just want to get to your mother.”

  “But what about food? What if Eleanor can’t come right away?”

  “Good point,” he said. He handed me some bills. “I’ll go to the bank on my way out of town.”

  As much as I’d tried to stop it, this was really happening. And now, having made up his mind, I could see by the way he picked up his suitcase abruptly, he was clearly itching to be gone.

  “How long will you be?” I said, hurrying after him as he strode toward the door, making me feel like the little dog scampering around the big dog like you see in all those cartoons. He went right out the door and I followed after, still the little dog.

  “I don’t know, sweet pea,” he said, stopping just long enough to turn and kiss me on the forehead before spinning away once again. “Be good for your sisters!” he called over his shoulder before climbing into the car.

  “Will you call at least?” I shouted.

  But it was too late.

  The car door was shut, the ignition had been turned on, and then he really was gone.

  I waved at the disappearing car. Then I looked down at the money in my hands. Forty dollars. It was more money than I’d ever held in my life. But how long would it last me? How long would it need to?

  I hurried inside and shut the door, ashamed of myself for shouting in the driveway and giving the neighborhood reason to talk about us.

  Then, thinking about what my dad had said, I looked for Eleanor’s number taped to the side of the phone and dialed it.

  “Mamie!” she said, sounding surprised to hear from me. “You just caught me heading out the door on my way to work! What’s up?”

  I told her about Mom leaving two nights ago.

  She wasn’t surprised at that. “About time,” she said.

  I told her about Dad leaving to go after Mom. She was back to being surprised. “I never would’ve guessed he had it in him,” she said. “But who’s staying with you?”

  I told her Bess was. Then I told her what Dad said, about the world still spinning if she was late to work or even missed a day—and here I added “or more.”

  That’s when she said, “Isn’t that just like him?” Sometimes people say that about another person with affection in their voice—I know, because I’ve heard it said that way, and I’ve even thought it before about Buster—but this wasn’t one of those times. “Tell you what,” she added. “You should be fine with Bess today. Do you have enough food?”

  I put down the phone long enough to check the cabinets and the freezer. I still had Froot Loops. And I usually had lunch at Buster’s house.

  “Uh-huh,” I told her, once I’d picked up the phone again.

  “Great,” she said. “Tomorrow’s Friday. I can come by then. Fridays aren’t so busy at work in the summer. And with the moon launch and everything, no one’s doing much work anyway. So I’ll see you tomorrow. Bess can’t do too much damage in one day. Be good, squirt!”

  And then she was gone, too, before I could say anything else or even thank her.

  So I went upstairs to Bess’s room. For the second day running, I shook her awake before her usual time.

  “What is it?” she said, groggy, staring with one eye shut at her alarm clock. “Are men leaving for the moon again?”

  I told her about Dad leaving, to go after Mom.

  “You woke me up for that?” she groaned.

  “He said for you to watch me,” I told her.

  “Well,” she said, “what do you usually do this time of day?”

  Of course she wouldn’t know. She was always sleeping this time of day.

  “I usually go over Buster’s house,” I told her.

  “Then do that.” She pulled the pillow over her head to let me know she was done with me.

  So that’s what I did. I went to Buster’s house.

  But first I stopped at the phone in the kitchen. I thought I should call my mom, tell her what was going on here. She’d said I could call her at Aunt Jenny’s anytime. But if I told her my dad was on his way to her, maybe she’d take off? I didn’t want that.

  Before leaving the house, I took the phone off the hook. I knew what would happen then. I’d hear the dial tone; then after that went on for a bit, it would be replaced by a string of loud beeps, after which: silence, even though the person calling would still get a busy signal.

  It’s not that I wanted my mom to get a busy signal if she called, far from it. But my parents always say that when no one is going to be home, you should leave the phone off the hook so if people call they’ll think someone is home tying up the line. My parents say if you don’t do this, if some bad person calls and no one answers, they may decide that since no one is home, it’s okay to come to your house and steal all your stuff. My parents always take the phone off the hook when no one will be home, whether we’re going to Lake George for a whole week or if my mom’s just running out to the grocery store for a few items, because you can never be too careful.

  Of course, Bess was home. But everyone knows Bess won’t get up to answer a ringing phone until at least noon.

  When I got to Buster’s house, Mrs. Whitaker let me in and, I must say, it was satisfying, how excited she was to talk to me about the moon launch yesterday. At my own house, you’d think that nothing extraordinary had happened at all. Well, except for both my folks leaving.

  “Isn’t it amazing, Mamie,” she said, “to think that right now, those brave astronauts are rocketing toward the moon?”

  I allowed that this was true, and I meant every single word of it.

  “I suppose you’re here to see Buster,” she finally said.

  I allowed how that was true, too, and she pointed me toward the basement.

  What a strange day this was turning out to be. Already, I’d had more conversations with different people and for longer than I ever usually did on any given summer day.

  Once I was with Buster, though, it was odd. It was odd because in just one short spin of the Earth, so much had changed for me. When you have a best friend, and perhaps you know this already, you have to tell him when something important happens in
your world, like I should have told Buster from the beginning about how I was writing to you.

  So I told him about how my mother left two days ago, only this time I finally told him why, and then I told him how my dad had now left, too.

  “Wow, Mamie,” he said. “Just wow!” Only he didn’t add “Holy moly!” because I guess he knew this wasn’t something I was excited about. “What are you going to do?”

  I told him how my dad had said that it was okay, that I would be with Bess.

  “Aw, Bess.” He waved a hand. “Bess is no use.”

  And here is something else about best friends, Michael Collins, although maybe you already know this, too: They always know stuff like this. They always know what’s what and what matters in your life.

  “You know,” he said, “if I tell my mom what’s going on, I’m sure she’ll say you can stay with us.”

  And just like that, relief at having shared my problem with a friend turned to sheer terror.

  “Please don’t do that!” I said.

  “How come?” he said, puzzled.

  But how could I explain? How could I explain that even now, with both parents gone, I felt like I wanted—no, needed—to stay in my own house?

  “It’ll be fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Eleanor’s coming tomorrow.”

  “Oh!” he said, clearly relieved on my behalf. “Why didn’t you say something before? If Eleanor’s coming, then everything’s fine!”

  I wasn’t about to tell him, not now, but everything felt far from fine.

  “Then you won’t tell your mom?” I said, still feeling anxious about it.

  “Not if you don’t want me to, I won’t,” he said, and he made the “Scout’s honor” gesture, even though neither of us has ever been a Scout.

  Then he asked if I wanted to play astronauts, and I said I did, and he asked if I could go get Campbell to be Buzz, and I did, which was not easy because Campbell is just getting fatter and lazier by the day.

  And so the three of us played at being you three astronauts, getting closer and closer to the moon.

  Sincerely yours,

  Mamie

  Friday, July 18, 1969

  Dear Michael Collins,

  Last night, after a TV dinner, I tucked myself into bed. It was a little lonely, yet somehow I managed.

  Bess was home, but she was on the phone with Vinny all night, which is as good as no one being here. Without parents around to stress to her the importance of family dinners, she didn’t even bother to eat with me. I tried telling her to get off the phone in case one or both of our parents were trying to call, but she wouldn’t listen.

  Once I was there in bed, alone in the dark except for Campbell, for the first time all day I had a chance to think and then all sorts of thoughts began flooding in.

  When my dad left and after I’d been upset in the driveway, I’d called Eleanor, woken up Bess, went to see Buster, came home, and did the things I had to do around the house, like taking care of myself and feeding Campbell and watering the tomatoes in the garden. Maybe another person would’ve panicked more or for longer, seeing her dad’s taillights come on at the stop sign and then him pulling away. But what choice did I have? The grown-ups weren’t acting like grown-ups—if you ask me, they were both acting like crazy little kids—and someone had to make sure things went on happening like they’re supposed to around here.

  Perhaps you understand what this is like, Michael Collins. Really, you of all people must know. An emergency happens—you have a fire on your F-86—what do you do? Do you start to panic? Break out into tears? No. Of course not. You react immediately. You start flipping the switches that need to be flipped, you follow proper procedure, you pull the cord on the parachute if you have to, you do whatever needs to be done, putting one foot in front of the other without taking time to actually think about the real emergency, because that’s the one thing you don’t have: time. So you go on autopilot because that is the only choice you have to survive. You understand that, right?

  But then, once the immediate danger has passed, all the emotion comes.

  And for me, lying there in bed, that’s when I began thinking: What if my dad is wrong? He seems to think he can patch things up quickly, like putting a Band-Aid on a skinned knee. But what if he can’t? And what if my mom isn’t just mad for now but mad forever—is it really possible that she will never come back?

  That’s when a dreaded word entered my brain and that word is

  Divorce.

  Sure, I’ve heard of people getting divorced before. But those were always made-up characters like Michael and Claire on As the World Turns. Or celebrities, like last year, Frank Sinatra the singer got divorced from Mia Farrow the actress after just two years of marriage, which my parents said was no surprise, since their age difference was about the same as that between Delores Doyle’s parents. Or like John Lennon from the Beatles getting divorced by his wife, Cynthia, last year, so now he’s with Yoko Ono.

  The girls at school are gaga over the Beatles, always talking about which one they like best, Paul or John. If I had to choose, I’d go for George Harrison. Maybe Ringo. But really, I prefer the Rolling Stones. Bess belongs to the Columbia Record Club, and albums come to the house every month, so I have had a lot of opportunity to compare the two.

  But those people I mentioned? The ones who’ve gotten divorced lately? All made-up people or celebrities. No one on my street has ever gotten divorced. No one’s parents in my class at school have ever gotten divorced, not even Delores Doyle’s.

  Divorce.

  Is such a thing possible?

  Could it happen to my parents?

  And if it did, what would happen to me?

  That’s what occupied my mind last night.

  Today I couldn’t play with Buster right away because Eleanor arrived bright and early, without even calling first, but that was okay. I was just plumb relieved. She didn’t come in hauling a suitcase, but that was okay, too. I figured she had it in the trunk of her car.

  I hadn’t realized how completely alone I’d been feeling, even with Bess and Campbell asleep in the house, until I saw Eleanor come through the door.

  Sometimes it amazes me how little I see of Bess, given we live under the same roof. My mom says having a teenager is like living with a ghost, one you never see unless she needs money. Of course, Eleanor hadn’t been that way—at least, not according to my parents—but Bess certainly is. I wonder what I’ll be like when I am a teenager.

  “Where’s Bess?” Eleanor asked right away.

  I pointed toward the ceiling. “Still sleeping.”

  “About what I expected,” she said. “So I’m here. What do you need me to do for you?”

  I wanted to tell her that what I really needed right about now was a hug. But I didn’t want her to think I was just some baby. So instead, I said, “I don’t know.” I thought about it. “Could you take me food shopping?”

  “Let’s see what you need…” She started going through cabinets, opening the freezer and fridge. The cereal boxes, when she shook them, were almost empty and I guess she wasn’t impressed by that lone remaining TV dinner, because she said, “Looks like you need everything, squirt. Come on, then.”

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “I need to call Buster and tell him I won’t be available to play this morning.”

  So that’s what I did.

  “Can you come later?” he asked when I told him.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. Then I explained how Eleanor had arrived. “So you really don’t have to worry about things and me anymore,” I said. “Everything’s just fine now. I have adult supervision.”

  “The cavalry has arrived!” he shouted, laughing.

  “Exactly,” I said, laughing back.

  After hanging up, I lifted the receiver off the hook and set it down.

  “What are you doing?” Eleanor asked. Before I could explain about keeping the house safe from criminals, she re
ached out and ruffled my hair. “So responsible. Mom and Dad sure have you well trained. But Bess is home.”

  I gave the only response to that a person could, raising both eyebrows at her as high as they could go.

  “You’re right,” she agreed, laughing. “Everyone knows Bess won’t answer a phone before noon, and sometimes not even then.”

  I grabbed the money that my dad left me, and we went.

  It was a good thing that Eleanor had kept the windows to her car open. You may not know this, spending most of your time in rocket ships and such, but if you get into a car in the summer without rolling down the windows first, it is like a bath of steam flowing out at you, and then when you close the door it is like an oven.

  “You be thinking about what you want to get at the A&P,” Eleanor said.

  Right then it occurred to me that we should have made a list first, like Mom always does, because as soon as she said that, I felt knocked over. I wasn’t used to having it be up to me what to get at the supermarket and thinking ahead to all the choices made my head start to hurt, so instead I asked her about her work.

  “I suppose Dad’s right for once,” she said. “It’s not the most important job in the world, but at least it pays the rent.”

  “Do you like it?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s all right,” she said. “Some of the other secretaries, though, they can be a little mean.”

  “Well, do you have at least one friend there?” I asked.

  She thought about this for a while. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I do.”

  “You’re all right, then,” I said. “You know, you only need the one.”

  She thought about this for a while, too. Finally, she said, “I suppose that’s true,” and then she smiled.

  That made me feel good. It made me feel good that I had pointed out to her something about the way the world works that she may not have noticed before.

  “If it’s only all right, though,” I asked, “don’t you ever think about doing something else?”

  “Sure,” she said. “But when I first elected to go to secretarial school, it seemed like a good idea. Most of my friends from high school got married right after graduation. And even the ones who didn’t? The ones who went on to college? They were just doing it until they met the right guy. Me, I thought I was choosing a career. But it turns out that you’re mostly just waiting on someone else. And now that I’ve moved out, I have bills to pay, and the choices don’t seem so many.”