Me: Remember?
Sunny: Oh, yeah.
Me: Well, I was thinking we should talk.
Sunny: About what?
Me: About, you know…
Sunny: (More silence. She is not going to make this easy for me. Isn’t going to help me out the least little bit. Once again, I do not say what I want to say, which is, “Sunny, for god’s sake, you’re my best friend. At least you used to be. We know each other better than anyone else does. At least we used to. Don’t you want to be friends again? I miss you. And you need a best friend.”)
Me: Sunny?
Sunny: Yeah?
Me: Don’t you want to talk?
Sunny: Look, I’m kind of busy right now.
Me: (I think, Well, we can talk about that.) Oh? What are you doing?
Sunny: Just…stuff.
Me: (Sighing.) Sunny, don’t you think we should at least talk before we go to see Jax?
Sunny: No.
Me: Okay, see you.
Sunny: ’Bye.
Friday night 2/26 9:50
I tried not to cry after I hung up the phone. I didn’t want to give Sunny the satisfaction. But then I realized she’d never know if I cried, and anyway, I couldn’t help it.
What is wrong with Sunny? Why doesn’t she want to make up and be friends again? I’m trying to keep in mind the things Carol told me, but they aren’t helping much.
Okay, Sunny. You’ve had your chance.
I think Ducky is going to have to separate us in the car. Put me next to him in the front and Sunny directly behind me so that we can’t see each other. Then I’ll play Ducky’s tape player really loudly so nobody will be able to talk. (Often Ducky’s tape player doesn’t work, so maybe I’ll bring a backup system.) I am not going to let Sunny ruin Pierre and the concert for me.
Saturday morning 2/27 9:22
I tried to forget about Sunny but she kept me up all last night. I could hardly sleep. I have an idea. I’ll call Ducky and suggest that somebody else drive Sunny to the concert.
What a good idea. I’ll call him now.
Saturday morning 2/27 9:28
When I told Ducky my idea about sending Sunny in a separate car, he said, “Why would I do that?”
Good question. Hmmm. Why would he?
I had to come up with a stupid answer and then change the subject.
Saturday morning 2/27 9:31
It has just occurred to me that I don’t even have permission to ride in Ducky’s car. I still haven’t talked to Dad and Carol about the concert.
Saturday night 2/27
I think I’ll call Ducky again to talk to him about Sunny and the concert. I don’t think I introduced the subject in a well-thought-out manner this morning.
Later Saturday night 2/27
Boy, does Ducky sound depressed. Really awful, actually. He was in such a good mood this morning, and tonight it’s like I’m talking to a different person. (How do I wind up with all these moody people?)
Here is my conversation with Ducky:
Ducky: Hello?
Me: Hi!
Ducky: Hi, Dawn.
Me: What’s going on?
Ducky: Not much. I just got home.
Me: (I look at my watch. It’s, like, almost 10:00.) Yeah? Where were you? (I’m not nosy, just curious.)
Ducky: Out scoring dinner.
Me: What?
Ducky: There’s no food in our fridge. Well, practically none. Just condiments. And there was nothing in the freezer except ice. So I went out to get something to eat, but at each place I’d decide I didn’t want the food there. So I drove around forever before I finally settled on fried rice.
Me: That was your entire dinner? Fried rice?
Ducky: Yeah. Nothing else appealed to me. I went to KFC first and decided I didn’t want chicken. Then I went to Wendy’s and decided I didn’t want a hamburger. Then I went to Poppy’s and decided I didn’t want pizza.
Me: (All the time Ducky is talking I know I should be feeling sorry for him or something, but what I can’t help thinking is how nice it must be to have your own car.)
Ducky: (Continuing.) Then I went to IHOP, but I didn’t want pancakes. I was just about to give up and go home to eat mustard and ice cubes when I drove by the Lotus Garden and suddenly I decided I just had to have fried rice. Vegetable fried rice. So I got fried rice and a fortune cookie and came home.
Ducky was in such a weird mood. I couldn’t tell whether this story was supposed to be funny or just sort of pitiful, so then I didn’t know whether to laugh or make sympathetic noises. And then I didn’t know whether to bring up the issue of Sunny. But I had to bring it up sometime. I couldn’t keep not bringing it up or Sunny and I would end up together in the backseat of Ducky’s car for sure.
Me: Ducky?
Ducky: Yeah?
Me: I really need to talk to you about something.
Ducky: (His mouth is full of either vegetable fried rice or the fortune cookie.) Okay. (He sounds uncertain.)
Me: Well, it’s Sunny. And the concert.
Ducky: Dawn…
Me: But it’s so uncomfortable being with her.
Ducky: Daw-awn. (Now he sounds annoyed.)
Me: But it is! Uncomfortable, I mean.
Ducky: Look, all you have to do is sit in the same car with her. The concert is going to be really crowded. You know that. You don’t have to be anywhere near her if you don’t want to be. They seat you at a table, but then you can get up and walk around. Okay?
Me: But she’s so mean to me lately. (I know I sound like a baby. I can’t help it.) I want to be friends with her, Ducky. I really do. I keep trying. I’ve tried talking to her. And she calls me Pollyanna or she won’t talk to me at all. Why won’t she make up with me?
Ducky: (He sounds softer now.) Dawn, I don’t know. I’m glad you’re trying, though. I want you guys to make up. I want all my friends to be happy. That’s really important to me.
At this point, I keep my mouth shut for a moment. I know this is true. After what happened to Alex, Ducky must be sort of desperate for all his friends to be happy. But that’s a lot of pressure. I’m beginning to feel that I can’t tell certain things to Ducky for fear of worrying him or at least disappointing him. My silence continues while I think all this stuff over.
Finally…
Ducky: You are going to come to the concert, aren’t you?
Me: (First thinking about all the trouble Ducky went through to surprise us with the tickets and then imagining myself in the car with Sunny.) Oh, man…(Ducky is silent. I now imagine Pierre.) Of course I’m going to come to the concert. Are you sure Sunny can’t ride in someone else’s car?
Ducky: (Laughing.) Right. I’m going to drive to your house, pick you up, wave to Sunny next door, and call, “Your ride’s on the way. Sorry you can’t come with us, even though we have room, but I wanted to work out something more complicated. See you at the concert.”
Me: (Now I’m laughing.) Okay, okay. I’ll be big about this.
Ducky: Great.
Me: Now I just have to convince Dad and Carol to let me go.
Ducky: What? You still haven’t gotten permission?
Me: Not exactly. I mean, no.
Ducky: And you put me through all this when you don’t even know if you’ll be coming with us?
Me: Oh, I know I’ll be able to come. I just have to do a little planning.
Ducky: You have less than a week.
Me: That’s plenty of time.
Ducky: I hope so.
Me: ’Night, Ducky. I’ll see you on Monday.
Ducky: ’Night, Dawn.
Sunday morning 2/28
I feel that I’ve been a little too good lately. I need to do something daring. Or at least fun. Hmm. I think I’ll call Maggie.
Sunday night 2/28
Maggie and I spent the day together. Maggie is SO much more fun now that she’s eating again. Before it was always, like, “Oh, no, I can’t eat that.” Or, “Oh, no, I can’t eat dinne
r.” She might as well have added, “Are you crazy? I just ate dinner last week.” Which, horrifyingly, was sometimes practically the truth. She was no fun shopping or at a party. Even at school when she started skipping lunch and she wasn’t even IN the cafeteria, Amalia and I found ourselves sitting around discussing Maggie’s absence and what it could mean. We were always discussing Maggie and her weight and her appearance and the horrible tiny meals she’d eat, when she ate at all.
But now that Maggie’s getting some help, she’s eating again. And she’s not so obsessed with food. We can go to a restaurant and she can order like a normal person instead of discarding absolutely every item on the menu because it has too many calories and then ordering a small bowl of lettuce leaves or something.
Anyway, I called Maggie and she said she didn’t have any plans today, so we asked her dad’s chauffeur to drop us off at Harmon’s. We sauntered in there like we were going to look around that department store forever, but the second her car had disappeared we ran down the street and soon we were headed toward the Square. Dad and Carol can’t stand the Square. They think the kids who hang out there are Trouble, like the ones in the “River City” song in The Music Man. Dad calls them punks and constantly reminds me of the dangers of marijuana. Ha. If only he knew what those kids really do. But Maggie and I weren’t going to hang with the kids. We were more interested in the stores on the streets around the Square. You can get anything in them—leather clothes, ripped clothes, incense, hair dye. And you can get any part of your body pierced.
Maggie and I poked around and bought incense, and I bought an incense holder. Then I considered dyeing my hair black, but Maggie talked me out of it. Finally we went into this little restaurant, the one called the Tea Shop. You can buy an awful lot more than tea there, and I don’t mean just food.
Later Sunday night 2/28
My hand was about to fall off. I had to stop writing for awhile.
Maggie and I didn’t go into the back of the Tea Shop, which is where the interesting things happen. We sat at a booth by the front window. I ordered a veggie burger and Maggie ordered a salad—but a good, big, healthy salad with cheese and olives and stuff in it in addition to the vegetables. She even put some dressing on the salad and she ate almost the whole thing.
While we were eating I said, “I have to find a way to make Dad and Carol let me go to the concert next weekend.”
“They won’t let you go?”
“No, they haven’t said that yet. But they’re going to when they realize that the concert is in a club and that liquor will be served and that Ducky is driving us and it’ll be late at night.”
Maggie made a face. “Yikes,” she said.
“I know.”
“I’ll help you. I’m good at this sort of thing.”
“I know that too.”
“Okay. First of all, be as honest as you can without telling the whole truth. That way, your dad and Carol can never say that you kept anything from them…exactly.”
“For instance?”
“For instance, tell them the concert is going to be held in a club, not at a concert hall, and that ordinarily you’d get carded before you go in, but that this concert is open to all ages. They should figure out the liquor thing.”
“Somewhere, in the backs of their minds,” I added.
“Right. And later, if it’s an issue, you can say, ‘But I told you it was going to be held at a club.’”
“Okay.”
“Then, of course, there’s always begging, wheedling, promising, bribing, and bargaining.” (I grinned.) “Although you don’t have to try them in that order, and you have to be subtle about some of them.” Maggie swallowed a radish and smiled at me.
The waitress (crew cut, green streak on top of head, two nose rings, five earrings in one ear, other ear naked, leather tank top, miniskirt) asked us if we wanted anything else. Maggie and I ordered tea so we could sit and talk a bit longer.
We made a list of how I could approach the concert with Dad and Carol. Here’s the list:
1. Tell them about the concert and how badly I want to go. Don’t tell them everything, but don’t lie either. Impress upon them how much trouble Ducky went to in order to get the tickets.
2. If they say no, try begging.
3. If they still say no, try wheedling.
4. If they still say no, start making promises. (Like, I promise to wear my seat belt, to make Ducky stick to the speed limit, and to call the moment we get to the concert.)
5. If they are uncertain, try bribing them. Tell them which chores I’ll do if they let me go.
6. As a last resort, try bargaining, but I may have to compromise the evening if I do.
Maggie and I hung out at the Square until 15 minutes before we were going to be picked up. Then we raced back to Harmon’s. When the limo arrived, we were standing in front of the store looking exhausted from window shopping. (We had put our bags containing the incense and stuff into old Harmon’s shopping bags that we’d hidden in our purses before we left.)
I plan to try #1 on the list tomorrow at dinner.
Monday night 3/1
Here is our conversation from dinner (clearly I am going to have to move on to #2 on the list, probably later tonight):
Dad, Carol, Jeff, and I sit down at the table. Gracie has just had a big snack of milk and is crawling around on the floor where we can keep an eye on her.
Dad: So, did everybody have a good day?
Jeff, me, Carol: Oh, yes, sure, yup.
Jeff: My math teacher is a bonehead.
Me: He is? Why?
Carol: It isn’t nice to call people boneheads.
Jeff: Even if they are boneheads?
Dad: This salad is deLIcious.
Carol: Hearts of palm.
Me: I have some news. (Everyone looks at me.) It’s…well, it’s really fanTAStic! I am so excited!
Jeff: What is it? What is it?
Me: Ducky invited me to the Jax concert. Actually, he invited Amalia and Sunny and me. He got four tickets. Isn’t that cool?
Jeff: (Nearly falling off his chair.) You’re going to the JAX concert? Whoa. Oh, man, you are SO lucky! The Jax concert. Man…man…I didn’t really think you’d get to go.
Dad: When and where is the concert?
Me: This Friday night. In North Palo.
Dad: How are you going to get there?
Me: Ducky’s driving.
Carol: What time is the concert?
Me: Jax comes on at about eleven, but the warm-up act starts earlier. Around ten, I think.
Dad: (Choking a little.) So you won’t even be leaving here until nine or so? (He glances across the table at Carol and they exchange a meaningful look.)
Me: I don’t know exactly what time we’ll be leaving, but yeah, probably around nine. Maybe earlier if we go out to eat first. (This has never been discussed, but I add it brightly because it sounds good.)
Dad: Carol and I will have to talk this over.
Later Monday night 3/1
After this disappointing dinner I called Maggie.
“Okay. On to number two,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
I got my chance less than an hour after dinner. Dad and Carol were in the living room playing with Gracie, and Jeff was doing his math homework. (I’m not sure, because I didn’t ask, but I think the math teacher is a bonehead because of the length of this particular homework assignment.) Anyway, it was a nice, quiet moment, so I took it as an opportunity to try begging. Also, to drive home the point about Ducky.
“Dad, Carol,” I began, “Ducky went to a lot of trouble to get these tickets. And we didn’t ask him to get them for us. It was, like, a surprise. He wanted to surprise us. It means a lot to him. To be able to take us, I mean. He wanted to treat us. You know what a hard time he’s been through. Alex and everything. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”
Carol nodded sympathetically. But Dad said, “I understand all that
, Dawn. But we can’t make decisions based on your friends’ situations.”
Since this did not sound very promising, I decided to move right to #3, wheedling, before Dad could even continue.
“Dad,” I said, “I consider you and Carol very enlightened parents.” (I know Carol loves it when I refer to her as a parent rather than as a stepparent.) “And,” I went on, ignoring the fact that Dad was clearing his throat and trying not to look at Carol, “I know you won’t be swayed by the fact that the Winslows are letting Sunny go and Amalia’s parents are letting her go. I know you’ll just stick to the facts. And at least take Ducky’s desperate situation into consideration. He’s…vulnerable right now. But he’s also an excellent driver. And the most responsible sixteen-year-old I know. Just very needy. He needs his friends. And I know how you two feel about being loyal to friends. It’s practically a family value.”
I paused to see what sort of reaction I was getting. It was interesting. Dad and Carol didn’t say no. But they didn’t say yes. I think I’ll wait for them to make the next move. If they don’t make it by tomorrow night, though, I’ll move on to #4.
Cafeteria, Tuesday 3/2
I forgot to mention yesterday that Sunny’s mom came home from the hospital again. When I returned from school an ambulance was in the Winslows’ driveway. At first I panicked. I ran inside, calling for Carol. She and Gracie were out, but Mrs. Bruen was there, which was just as good. (Mrs. Bruen is like another mother to me.)
“Mrs. Bruen!” I cried. “There’s an ambulance next door!”
Mrs. Bruen looked up from the pasta she was fixing for our dinner. “It’s okay, Dawn,” she said. “Mrs. Winslow just came home.”
“In an ambulance? She had to ride in an ambulance?” This seemed very odd. If she was sick enough to need an ambulance, why was the hospital letting her go?
Mrs. Bruen nodded. “She’s pretty sick, honey.”
Diary Three: Dawn, Sunny, Maggie, Amalia, and Ducky Page 4