Not Suitable For Family Viewing

by Vicki Grant

  Mom.

  She might have walked here. Swum here. Maybe even come here with the “ring” boy.

  I stop. I look around. I can’t picture it. Beaches for Mimi have lounge chairs and waiters and access to the Internet. She’s not the seal/sandpiper type at all. You’d think spending time in a place like this would do something to you. Would show.

  It doesn’t.

  Levi goes, “Tired?”

  “Uh, no,” I say. “I was just, like, looking. It’s nice.”

  He turns to the water. His face is all squinted up from the glare. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s pretty awesome. I never get tired of it.”

  He rubs his hands through his hair, then starts walking again. I follow a bit behind. We’re alone. There’s not a soul on the beach. I can’t help looking at his back, his shoulders. He’s like a triangle or rhombus or something. He’s not all gross and bulgy like those Mr. Universe mutants. He’s muscly but kind of slim too. I didn’t think he’d be that slim. On the ladder he was just this scary blur.

  I feel like one of those sick guys flipping through the dirty magazines at the back of the store. I try to look away but my eyes keep slipping back, taking another peek.

  Yeah, okay. He’s strong. So what? He’s not perfect. There’s this bony knob on the top of each of his shoulders. He’s got tan lines from wearing a T-shirt all the time. There are a couple of chicken pox scars on his neck.

  He swings a hand over his shoulder and scratches. One of his nails is purple as if he slammed it with a hammer. You can see big white half-moon cuticles on each of his fingers. The muscles in his other arm tense up when he finds the itchy part. I can see them all, like he’s a picture in a biology text or something. How does someone get like that?

  He turns around and catches me staring at the line that kind of swoops down the middle of his back.

  I go, “Uh…”

  He goes, “Yeah?”

  I go, “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You look like you were going to say something.”

  “Um…well, no. Not really.”

  He tilts his chin down and goes, “Just say it.”

  “I don’t know…I was just wondering what you do, I guess. I mean, like, for work. You know. When you’re not at school. Kay said you had a day off so, like, I figure you must work.” Why can’t I just shut up?

  “Our family’s got a woodlot, so I work there.” He keeps one hand on his chest while he talks. I don’t look at it. “Other than that, I do handyman stuff for people. Nothing fancy. You know, joe jobs. Pushin’, shovin’, liftin’—that kind of thing.”

  I remember him pulling that suitcase of mine into the car and my stomach jumps.

  “Oh,” I say.

  How stupid is that.

  “I bet you’d be good at it.”

  He laughs. “That’s me, all right. Strong body, weak mind.” He makes a muscle and sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth. “Duh.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” I said. “I just meant…” There’s no way out of this.

  “Yesss…”

  “I don’t know what I meant.” I turn away. “Are we almost there?”

  He laughs again. “If you’d quit stopping we would be. You anxious to get there or something? I can take you the fast way if you want.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  He grabs my hand and starts running. Like, I mean, burning down the beach.

  I’m screaming, “What are you doing? What are you doing?”

  “You wanted to go the fast way!”

  I can’t breathe. I’m running too hard. My legs can barely keep up. They’re flopping around behind me as if I’m one of those goofy albatross birds coming in for a landing. This is ridiculous. I’m trying to be mad but I can’t. I start to laugh. I wish I’d worn my sports bra. I put one arm across my chest to keep my boobs from knocking me unconscious.

  Just when I’m sure I’m going to trip and/or die, Levi throws himself down on the beach. I almost land right on top of him. I have to spit sand out of my mouth. I sit up and punch him on the shoulder a few times but he just laughs and laughs and laughs. I flop down on the beach. We both lie there with our eyes closed for a while, trying to catch our breath.

  “Phew,” he says. “Good thing I’m used to pulling heavy objects.”

  I, like, gasp. I can’t believe he said that.

  He goes, “Just kidding!” and gives me a little shove.

  I don’t laugh. He doesn’t notice.

  He sits up and claps his hands to get the sand off. “Okay,” he says. “Time for our swim!”

  “No,” I say.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I’m not going swimming.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He’s finally picking up the vibes. “Why?”

  I don’t say anything. I sit up. I look away. I want to go home.

  He groans. “Oh, come on. You’re not mad about that ‘heavy object’ joke, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You are too!”

  “Yeah, well, that’s because it’s not a joke.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I look right at him. I want to make him squirm. “Why would you make fun of a heavy person’s weight?” He’s not as nice as he thinks he is.

  He goes, “At the risk of repeating myself, what are you talking about? Or should I say, who are you talking about?”

  He knows who.

  “Who’s heavy around here?” he says.

  I hate him.

  He stands up. “You can’t be serious. Please tell me you don’t honestly think you’re fat.”

  This is humiliating. Why do I always do this to myself? Running along the beach, I was almost liking him. I should have known this was coming.

  He leans down until his face is right beside mine. I think he’s going to whisper something in my ear. I’d swat him, only I’m afraid that would just encourage him.

  He doesn’t whisper in my ear. He takes my glasses off and puts them on the sand.

  I go, “Hey!”

  Before I can figure out what’s happening, he puts one hand behind my back and the other under my knees and picks me up.

  I can’t help it. My arms go around his shoulders.

  I say, “What are you doing?”

  He’s smiling. “Who are you talking about?” he says. He makes it sound like this is just a normal little chit-chat over cappuccinos.

  I glare at him.

  He goes, “O-kay, then. You leave me no choice…” He throws me up in the air and catches me.

  I squeal. I can’t believe he did that! I grab onto his neck. That cracks him up. I take my arms away and cross them on my chest.

  I say, “Will you please put me down?”

  He goes, “Gladly—just as soon as you tell me who you’re talking about.”

  I go, “Shut. Up.”

  He throws me up in the air again. He makes this big Ooof sound when he catches me. “Wow,” he says. “You weigh a ton.”

  I try to look mad.

  He goes, “Jeez…I don’t know how many more times I can do this. Would you mind just telling me who you’re talking about before my arms break off?”

  I give him one of those you’re a jerk smiles. He throws me up in the air again.

  He goes, “Oh boy. I think I’ve had it. This is killing me.”

  “Good,” I say, but I kind of don’t mean it. “You can put me down, then.”

  He says, “I will,” but he doesn’t. He starts walking into the water.

  “What are you doing?” I say.

  “I’m putting you down.”

  “Where?”

  “In the water.”

  “No! I’ll get all wet!”

  “No wonder you got into Harvard! You’re a very smart girl. Not everyone immediately makes the connection between ‘water’ and ‘wet.’”

  I have to clench my teeth to keep from smiling. I can feel the col
d hovering over the water. Where’s this warm current he was talking about? I start making these stupid peeping sounds every time a wave laps up closer.

  “Look,” he says in this Mr. Reasonable voice. “I’m just trying to be helpful. You must be exhausted carrying this huge weight around all day. I mean, it’s tiring me out and I’ve only had it for a couple of minutes. The water will make you feel lighter. It will ease your poor overburdened bones.”

  I laugh and then I hit him because I’m mad I laughed.

  The waves splash up and soak my ass. I squeak and try to lift myself out of the way. It’s like I’m trying to scramble up onto his shoulder or something.

  He’s going, “Down, girl! Down, girl!” and laughing.

  I’m laughing too. This whole thing is ridiculous.

  Levi takes a few more steps and says, “Okay, my fat little friend, the time has come. You’re going for a swim.”

  I go, “No!”

  I clamp my lips together like a Muppet and shake my head. I practically crush his neck. He tries to pull my arms apart but I won’t let him.

  “Gee,” he goes, “I thought it was all blubber but there must be some muscle in there too. You’re strong.”

  “You’re horrible,” I say.

  He looks me right in the eyes. “And you’re stupid,” he says. “You don’t really think you’re fat, do you?”

  I don’t know how to answer that. Why don’t we just stick to the fun stuff?

  He goes, “You do. I can tell. What? You want to look like a boy or something?” He pops his eyes out at me. “Good thing you’re pretty, because you’ve got a serious mental problem. Luckily, I know the cure.”

  “Yeah, right,” I say. “Okay, Dr. Freud, what do you prescribe?”

  “It’s called shock therapy.” I laugh. “Ooh…I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “It’s very effective,” he says. “I’ll show you.”

  Then, with me still in his arms, he falls backwards into the freezing water.

  24

  Monday, 1 p.m.

  Mimi: The Magazine

  The Summer Love Issue. It’s hotter than ever out—but it’s not global warming. Love is in the air. Make the most of it. Mimi shows you how!

  I fly up out of the water with my mouth wide open and my eyes bulging. I must look like that kid in Home Alone. In my entire life, I’ve never been so surprised or so cold or—so cold. That’s all I am. One-hundred percent cold. I start to run ashore. I can feel the arches of my feet curling in on themselves like someone’s pulling them closed with a drawstring. Levi grabs me by the T-shirt.

  “Ah-ah-ah. Not yet. I promised Kay you’d go swimming.”

  “I…I…did!”

  “That’s not swimming. That’s dunking. There’s a difference.”

  I don’t have time to argue. A wave knocks me off my feet. I come up sputtering with hair all over my face. Levi laughs.

  I push him as hard as I can. He goes under. I start to run ashore again.

  He comes after me. I don’t have a chance. He picks me up, runs back out and throws me in.

  This time, I swim underwater as long as I can. When I come up, I see him looking around in a panic. He must think I drowned.

  I go, “Yoo-hoo! Over here!” He gives me this I’m going to murder you look and starts dolphin-diving toward me. I take off. I’m a pretty good swimmer. By the time he catches me, we’re both too tired to do anything except splash each other in the face a few times. We catch our breath and just sort of hover around for a while. His hair’s all slicked back like he’s an old-fashioned magician or Ralph Lauren model or something. It makes him look really grown-up. He has a very straight nose.

  “You’re shivering,” he says.

  “Surprise, surprise,” I say. He takes my hand. I sort of float toward him.

  He looks at me for a while, then says, “Your eyes are exactly the same colour as the water.”

  I don’t know how to react. I let go of his hand. I turn away. I say, “Um. Do you want to go in now?”

  There’s a pause as if he’s going to say something, then he just nods. “Yeah, okay. Sure. If that’s what you want.”

  I don’t answer. I catch the next wave. We bodysurf in to the beach. It’s so much fun I drag him out to do it again.

  25

  Monday, 2 p.m.

  You, You and Mimi

  “Love in a Lunchbox.” Guest chef and culinary historian Chris Filliter sheds new light on the humble sandwich. Is tuna fish on white really the food of love?

  I peel off my wet T-shirt and shorts. Seeing me in my bathing suit might give him second thoughts about me not being fat but I’m so cold I don’t care. It’s the only way I can get warm. We sit on one towel. He puts the other one around my shoulders. He dries himself off with his shirt.

  “Hungry?” he says.

  I nod. He opens his mouth to say something. I go, “Don’t even try.”

  He says, “What?”

  “You were going to make a fat-girl joke.”

  He sighs and hands me a sandwich. “Am I really that predictable?”

  “Yes.” I take a bite. It’s a classic old-lady tuna sandwich—squishy bread, crunchy lettuce, lots of Miracle Whip. I don’t know what I’d think about it normally, but right now, it’s delicious. I sit with my knees pulled up to my chest, eating, shivering, looking out at the ocean. My life is suddenly perfect. It’s scary.

  Levi rubs my back. “Cold?” he says.

  I can’t look at him. “Un-huh,” I say. “Sorta.” He rubs harder and edges a little closer to me. I lose the ability to eat. I’m either really cold now or really hot. I can’t tell which.

  He takes his hand away. I suck my breath in. Why did he do that? Did I do something? I look at him.

  “Want another sandwich?” he says. He opens one of the waxed paper packages and peers inside. “I think it’s chicken.”

  I shake my head. I’ve only managed to eat two bites of the one I’ve got.

  He looks at my unfinished sandwich and lifts his eyebrows way up. He puts his hands on either side of my waist and squeezes.

  He says, “I don’t know how you manage to keep any meat on your bones…”

  All I can think of is how flubby I am. I go to push his hands away.

  He says, “You eat like a bird!”

  I’ve got one hand on his hand. I’m looking him in the face. I forget about how fat I may or may not be. Suddenly all I can think about is “Eat Like a Birdie.” Should I tell him? Would he believe me? Would it ruin everything? People are never the same once they know I’m Mimi’s kid.

  He’s looking at me too. He’s waiting for me to say something.

  I go, “Uh…” I’m not sure what comes next.

  He lets go of my waist and moves back.

  “Oops. Sorry,” he says. “Was that a touchy subject? I didn’t mean anything by it. Frankly, it was just another cheap excuse to get my hands on you…” He pulls his head back and checks me out. “You’ve got a really small waist, you know.”

  I can’t help myself. “You mean, compared to everything else.”

  “Yeah,” he says.

  I knew it was too good to last. “Gee, thanks,” I say.

  He leans back on his elbows. “That’s good, Opal! Small waist. Big…other things.” One side of his mouth smiles. “I hate to break it to you but that’s the way the male mind works.”

  My heart makes one big thump as if it just ran headfirst into my chest bone. I have to turn away. Did he actually say that to me? I bite my mouth closed so I don’t smile or laugh or, I don’t know, squeal or something.

  Then, out of the blue, my heart slams into my chest again.

  I’m an idiot. Why am I falling for this? I know what’s going to happen. He’ll say what he needs to say. He’ll act like he cares. He’ll dump me. Same old, same old. Just a variation on the pattern I got used to with those girls at school, with Selena—with Mom, come to think of it.

  I can still feel wher
e he was touching me. Hot orange palm prints sort of throb away at my waist as if I’m a victim on CSI.

  Neither of us talks for a long time. I don’t feel happy any more, but after a while I don’t feel particularly bad either. That’s just the way things go. He probably didn’t mean what he was saying anyway.

  “Last chance,” he says. He waves a waxed paper package in front of me. “Speak up or I’m eating it!”

  I’ve been holding my sandwich so tight that my fingers have pinched through. I shake my head in the most neutral way I can. I’d like to get through this with some dignity.

  “Oh-oh,” Levi says. “Did I step over the line there?”

  He’s lying on his side, one hand propping up his head. The skin on the inside of his arm kind of sticks out where the muscle is. It’s really white and smooth.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about that again.”

  “No,” I say. “It’s not that.” I pick some grains of sand off my leg.

  He sits up. “Then what is it?” He’s sort of smiling at me, concerned, waiting.

  I don’t care what all those other people did or what they thought about me. I get this sudden urge to trust him. Wouldn’t everything be perfect if I could trust him?

  He puts his hand on my back again. “Is something wrong?”

  “Um,” I say.

  I turn to tell him—tell him my real name, who my mother is, that stuff about the ring, everything—but his face is right there, just inches away. He could use a shave and he’s got these little gold lines kind of radiating out from his pupils and there’s still the purple ring from where I punched him and he goes, “What is it?”

  I say, “I…I need to go to the bathroom.”

  26

  Monday, 3 p.m.

  You, You and Mimi (rerun)

  “Surviving a Home Invasion.” Hostess extraordinaire Nicole Kelly shows Mimi how to deal with unexpected, unwanted and even unwashed visitors.

  I chickened out. Fine. Probably just as well. After all, I promised myself I wasn’t going to tell anyone about Mom.

  But did I really have to say I needed to go to the bathroom?

  Could I not have come up with something else? Anything else? I’ve got a stomach ache. The Mob’s after me. I’m worried about money/global warming/my breath.