Just Like a Musical

by Veen, Milena

“No,” I said, drawing an invisible tree on the double-pane window. “I just still can’t believe that Sarah’s dead. It just wasn’t an option.”

  “So maybe it’s good that Mrs. Wheeler hadn’t searched for her daughter,” he said.

  “I think so.”

  “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met,” he said.

  “Black looks good on you,” I said, looking at his swollen black eye. “You should wear it more.”

  The bus we were in was only going to Oklahoma City. I wasn’t delighted to see that place again. The good thing was there was an evening bus to Albuquerque. We only had to spend about three hours in Oklahoma City.

  The city looked just the way we’d left in the morning – big and comatose. I guess that is how big cities look to the travelers on a late Saturday afternoon. It was the last day of April. It was my seventeenth springtime. It was my first love with black eye and a broken nose sitting by my side. That bus station in Oklahoma City looked just like in a Jim Jarmusch movie – abandoned and washed-out. And suddenly, it was a movie. Someone was waving to us from across the street. It was a man in a brown corduroy tuxedo.

  “Oh my God, it’s Mr. Gibbon!” I screamed.

  “Mr. Gibbon?” Joshua said. “Am I supposed to know him?”

  “No, I met him while you were in the hospital,” I answered.

  “Rita!” Mr. Gibbon shouted crossing the street.

  “Rita? Oh, no… is your name Rita?” Joshua said, desperation resonating in his voice.

  “Relax,” I laughed. “It’s just the name he gave me.”

  Mr. Gibbon kept us company until the bus arrived at 10:13. He told us about the golden age of Hollywood, actors he drank with, and actresses whose husbands were not so happy about him messing around. He told us that his son called him that morning and promised he was going to visit him soon with his wife and children. It was hard to say goodbye to Mr. Gibbon. Some people just stick to your heart even though you only spent a couple of hours with them and you know you will never see them again.

  “Have a safe trip,” he said when we climbed aboard the bus, raising his flask filled with water.

  There are three things I love about Oklahoma City: ice cream, the brown street dog, and Mr. Gibbon in a tattered corduroy tuxedo. That’s enough, I think.

  It was strange to watch the road from the safety of the bus seat, knowing that no one will throw you out and that you will be wherever you should be just when you are supposed to be. The bus stopped at the Elk City gas station. My phone rang.

  “I got a call from the hospital today,” my mother said.

  The cold breeze crawled up my spine. I thought it was something with my grandmother Julie.

  “I had left them our phone number in case… you know,” she said. “Well, she has no one else.”

  I realized she was talking about Mrs. Wheeler. Another wave of cold surged through my body. My mother was silent on the other end of the line.

  “Is she dead?” I asked, grabbing Joshua’s hand.

  “No, but she had another heart attack. They don’t think she will wake up this time. I’m sorry, dear.”

  My mother’s voice was deep and pensive. I realized that I hadn’t asked her how she was, not even once since I left home.

  “How are you, Mom?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “I just can’t wait to see you, my little girl”

  I could almost hear the tears running down her face.

  “Me too, Mom,” I said. “I really miss you.”

  And I did. I missed her so much that I was almost willing to forgive her for telling me that Santa doesn’t exist when I was six. Almost.

  We had just entered the bus when my phone rang again. Unknown number. And guess what? For the first time in my life, it didn’t scare the shit out of me.

  “Hi, Ruby, where are you?”

  It was Sarah.

  “We are somewhere near Elk City, I think,” I answered, squeezing Joshua’s shoulder.

  “Can you wait for me there? I’m coming.”

  ***

  “Stop the bus!” That’s what I always wanted to say, only in my daydreams there was a handsome guy running behind, screaming, “I love you!”, and we were in Paris. But this was even better, because the handsome guy was right beside me. We jumped off the bus into the darkness of Elk City, Oklahoma.

  So what can you do in Elk City, Oklahoma while you are waiting for your seventy-eight-year-old friend’s granddaughter who has just blown you off right to where you came from but then changed her mind? Find a local weirdo. Or wait at the gas station until he finds you. Well… at least if you look kind of weird yourself, like Joshua and I that night. He approached us with tiny, carefully balanced steps and his hands stiffly raised in the air. He looked at us with crossed eyes and said, “I’ve seen Yeti, you know.”

  “Here in Oklahoma?” Joshua asked.

  “Yes, but tell no one,” he whispered, looking around like somebody was following him.

  “Are you sure it was him? Isn’t it too hot for him here?” Joshua said.

  “No, he has the ability to remain cold even when it’s hot outside,” the man said. “I saw him right there behind old Monroe’s. You see, she believes me,” he said pointing his finger at me.

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I certainly didn’t want to offend him. And really – who says Yeti can’t live in Oklahoma, or his distant relative at least? What I learned on this trip was that everything was possible. Weren’t we waiting for Sarah to pick us up after she refused to take my phone number a couple of hours earlier? I smiled at the weird guy.

  “He wanted to shake hands with me,” he said. “But his hands were so big that I had to give him my foot.”

  The guy who met Yeti left us after half an hour. He probably went to find the Loch Ness Monster. We sat on the sidewalk.

  “Hey, Ruby,” Joshua said, messing with his shoelace.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you believe in insanity?”

  “Well, I’ve never thought about it really,” I said. “Do you?”

  “No. I think that people who are called insane are just different. I mean, everyone is different from others in some way. And maybe they just see the world in a different way. It doesn’t mean that it’s a wrong one. As long it’s genuinely theirs.”

  “So we’re kind of like them,” I said.

  “Come here, my little lunatic,” he laughed and dragged me closer.

  Our lips met under the neon gas station lights. My chest shivered with beauty.

  Sarah came around midnight in her cherry red Ford. When we jumped in, the radio was playing “Rambling Man” by Hank Williams.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I don’t even know why I’ve decided to come,” Sarah said the next morning while we were having breakfast in a snack bar near Albuquerque.

  “I have to tell you this, Mrs. Cogger,” I said. “Your grandmother… Mrs. Wheeler had another heart attack. There may be a chance that she won’t wake up anymore.”

  A light shadow crossed her face. A vein on her forehead popped out and her mouth tightened into a thin line.

  “She had to leave me without a word, didn’t she? Just like she left my mother,” she said.

  For a moment I thought that she was going to jump into her car and rush off back to Guthrie. But she only took a sip of orange juice, swallowed it slowly, and then carefully looked at the glass.

  “This glass is dirty,” she said. “But you don’t notice it unless you take a close look. It’s just like everything else in life. You don’t get the whole picture until you come near.”

  When we finished breakfast, Joshua suggested that he drive so Sarah could get some sleep; she had been driving for eight hours straight.

  “It’s only a two-hour drive, you know,” I said when Sarah fell asleep in the back seat.

  He looked at me as if he hadn't understood what I was talking about.

  “To Los Angeles,” I said. “And there are also trai
ns every couple of hours.”

  “Let’s not talk about it now, okay?” he said.

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear, of course. I wanted him to tell me that he would visit me every single weekend, that he would send me love letters every day, and that he would eventually come to live in Los Angeles because he couldn’t stand to be far from me. I guess that was a selfish thing to ask for since I was the one who was leaving. He must have noticed how worried I was, because he looked at me with the most tender smile and said, “You know I won't let you go so easily, don’t you?”

  I watched Sarah in the rearview mirror. She looked like a big, unprotected child. Why didn’t she look for Mrs. Wheeler? Did she feel unwanted herself? Can the feeling of forlornness creep in so deep under your skin that you pass it on to your child just like you would pass on a genetic disease? I suddenly felt the strong desire to wake her up and tell her everything Mrs. Wheeler had told me that sorrowful night, the night after the afternoon I spent watching a B-horror movie with some strange guy who had midnight-blue eyes – the guy now sitting right beside me. I wanted to tell her how much Mrs. Wheeler wanted her mother, how many sleepless nights she had spent imagining her growing up, how many tears she had cried over her.

  My phone rang. Sarah’s face crumpled, but her eyes remained closed.

  “It’s your mother,” I told Joshua. “Will you take it?”

  “No, you answer,” he said. “I can’t talk while I’m driving.”

  I knew that wasn’t the only reason, but I didn’t want to argue.

  “You got a letter from Ryan Whitman. Do you know someone by that name?” I said when Joshua’s mother hung up.

  “Ryan Whitman!” he shouted, braking suddenly.

  “Who’s Ryan Whitman?” Sarah said, rubbing her eyes.

  “He’s the agent I sent my screenplay to,” Joshua said, grabbing my phone. “Moron! Oops, I’m sorry, Mrs. Cogger. He’s not a moron, it’s just…”

  “You kids!” Sarah said, sinking into the back seat again.

  A splash of red spread across Joshua’s face as he listened to his mother’s words.

  “He offered me representation,” he said, tossing me back my phone.

  “Oh, that’s great!” I shouted, throwing myself around his neck.

  Sarah opened her left eye.

  “You kids,” she repeated and nodded off again.

  “I guess that’s a start, right?” Joshua said.

  I’m a dreamer. The boundaries between reality and reverie are slippery in my world. One word, one sluggish stream of sunlight, and I’m there, on the other side. I closed my eyes, leaned back in my seat, and the images began to pop up in my mind, just like in a movie. I saw myself in my lovely apartment in Los Angeles. The doorbell rings. I run to the door barefoot, look through the peephole and see Joshua with a suitcase in his hands. He wraps his arms around me. I make room for his things in my closet… our closet. His toothbrush next to mine. Lazy afternoons by the ocean. My reflection in his eyes.

  “Is Ruby sleeping?” I heard Sarah whisper. “Maybe we could take a break here.”

  I opened my eyes and we were in Flagstaff. It felt almost like home.

  ***

  You know those letters that people write to their future selves? Well, here is mine.

  May 1, 2011

  Dear Ruby-in-the-future,

  I’m writing you from Interstate 40, somewhere in Arizona. You’re probably in your little house by the sea, watching an old movie or eating corn tortillas. Have you quit putting a ton of mayonnaise on everything you eat yet? Is your boyfriend (or husband, maybe) lying with his head on your lap? Does he call you a moron sometimes?

  I just wanted to remind you of some things, in case you forgot. These are very important things, most of them life-saving, so read very carefully.

  You have probably learned by now that life is cruel and mean, and it has traps set for you around every corner. But there’s much more to it than that. Remember the day you met Mrs. Wheeler under the Californian sun? And how about the moment when your first love told you that he loved you, there in the middle of the desert? I’m sure that you’ll find many more examples from the future that I haven’t seen yet which will lead you to the ultimate truth about life: life is wonderful. Don’t you ever forget that.

  If you ever get the chance to enter a time machine and relive your younger years, don’t make any big changes, please. However, I beg you to go to 2008. On your way out of the house, on a freezing July evening, tuck up your shirt and show your mother your naked belly. It will make her freak out, and you will feel great.

  Just a few more things. Don’t dye your hair; it’s beautiful the way it is. Don’t believe what fortune tellers tell you, especially if they mention the red bird. Red birds equal broken nose. And never, never make a wish when you see a shooting star.

  That’s all for now, old fart. We are only a couple of miles from home, so I’d better get prepared for Mom’s priceless lessons.

  I guess that we’ll never meet since you will always be a few steps ahead of me, but let’s keep this correspondence going.

  I hope to hear from you soon.

  Yours,

  Ruby-in-the-present

  Chapter Eighteen

  It was half past midnight when my mother opened the door.

  “Oh, my girl!” she screamed, throwing her hands around my neck like she was going to smother me.

  “I love you, Mom,” I mumbled into her hair.

  “Come on in, all of you! I’ve made a cake,” she said, shaking hands with Sarah and Joshua.

  Her appearance changed when she noticed Joshua’s bandage and a bruise under his eye.

  “What happened to you, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Yeah, what happened to you? I’ve never asked you that,” Sarah said.

  Joshua’s hand reached for his ear.

  “He just fell down the hotel stairs,” I said. “He’s a bit clumsy.”

  There are moments in your life when you can feel the past slowly fading away, but the future still looks like a far-flung, blurry place, and you’re just effortlessly floating in the present, soaking up its scents and shades. Those are the moments of clarity, the moments that remain etched in your mind for a long time or forever. I clearly remember the constellation of all the things around me the moment I was crossing that threshold: a piece of Sarah’s flowery blouse on the right, Joshua’s elbow on the left, mom’s smiling lips in front of me, street lights interfering with the subtle vibrations of her voice. When I laid my foot on the other side of the threshold, I knew that nothing would ever be the same.

  “This cake is delicious, Mrs. Fields,” Joshua said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a paper napkin and winking subtly. “I should get going, though. It’s pretty late.”

  As soon as the door closed behind me, I felt the monster of longing growing inside me.

  “I guess you’re both tired,” my mother said. “I’ll take you to your room, Sarah. The bathroom is down the hall.”

  “I’ll stay for a little longer,” I said, watching the two of them disappearing behind the living room door.

  I glanced around the house where I had spent my whole life, the house which I was about to leave in a couple of months. I saw a six-year-old Ruby sitting on the carpet with her legs under her, watching cartoons. I saw her when she was twelve, squeezing that awful pimple on her chin. I saw her sitting by the phone table, waiting for her father to call her on the morning of her fourteenth birthday.

  “Mom, why did you tell Dad everything?” I asked her when she came back.

  “What do you mean – why? Because he’s your father, of course.”

  “Yeah, an invisible father.”

  “He’s your family, Ruby.”

  “You’re my family, Mom,” I said, taking both her hands. “And him… we’ll see about him. Are you mad at me?”

  “No,” she said. “I was at first, but now I’m just happy that you got home safely. But no surprises li
ke that anymore, okay?”

  I felt her warm tears on my neck as she hugged me.

  “Oh, Ruby, why don’t you put on socks?” she said, letting go of my shoulders and looking at my feet. “It’s not that warm.”

  I guess I’ll just have to put up with questions like that forever. And I don’t really mind. Not anymore. Those are just words. And words can’t harm you when they come from someone who truly loves you.

  “I’m all right,” I said, smiling, “I can take care of myself. I’ve just come from a place a thousand and a half miles away, you know.”

  “Sometimes I just forget how much you’ve grown,” said my mother, slightly shaking her head. “But you’ll always be my little girl.”

  When I entered my room, my bed was already made. I cracked open the window to get some fresh air and noticed that the light in Mrs. Wheeler’s house was still on. I wasn’t inclined to go there and shut it off. In some strange way, I felt that shutting the light off would be the same as accepting her upcoming death, and I still wasn’t prepared for that.

  Taking the cell phone out of my purse, I threw myself across the bed. Should I call him? He’s probably fallen asleep already. And just as I stretched to put the cell phone on the nightstand, it rang.

  “Were you sleeping?” I heard Joshua whisper.

  “No, I can’t sleep,” I said. “I just can’t stop thinking about everything.”

  “Me neither. Anyway, I just called to wish you goodnight.”

  “Anything else?” I chuckled.

  “Yeah.”

  Did I expect some words of love? Of course I did. What girl wouldn’t expect them?

  “You left your dirty socks in my backpack,” he said.

  “I love you, too. See you tomorrow.”

  I closed my eyes, and the scenes of the previous days started scrolling under my eyelids like a conveyor belt.

  ***

  “Is your friend coming, too?” my mother asked, slamming the car door shut.

  “No,” I said, “he’s at work. And he’s my boyfriend, by the way.”

  My mother’s face creased into a little frown, but she didn’t say a word.

  “He’s a really nice boy,” Sarah said, smiling at me.