by Rachel Cohn
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never goes through my stuff. She is too busy making money playing cards and reading old folks' tarots.
Ash was spilling out of the fairy costume that she will go schiz if you try to make her take off. She stood in the driveway waving her rhinestone fairy wand at me, dressed in pink tights, pink leotard, pink tulle skirt, with a rhinestone tiara on her head and a pink Kool-Aid moustache over her mouth.
I poked her pudge stomach as I breezed by her. "Don't touch my baby fat!" she called after me.
If I actually considered myself to be part of this family, I would say we are a family of complete freaks.
"It's not baby fat," I said back. "It's those Twinkies you keep hidden under your bed that no one besides you and the rats who crawl under your bed know about."
Don't tell me who's in fucking trou-trou-trouble. Nancy is so totally preoccupied with Ash's weight that I hoped she would want to be done with yelling at me as quickly as possible so she could raid the sugar stash under Ash's bed.
"Shut up!" Ash said.
"No, you shut up," I said back.
Nancy was standing in the hallway waiting for me. She pointed at Ash and said, "What have I said about that cursing, Ashley? You belong in bed, Little Miss Princess. And I had better not find any food under that bed when I come up in a few minutes."
Ash ignored our mother and remained standing at the door, through which some serious San Francisco Bay chill was whipping in.
"Close the door!" Josh yelled as he rode the stairway banister down into the hallway. "Burr-ito!"
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"That's my expression," I reminded him. My expression via Shrimpilicious.
Sid-dad was nowhere to be seen, but I could smell his cigar wafting in from the study, his nightcap martini surely at his side.
"Thank you, Fernando," Nancy said, and she actually sounded like she meant it for once.
I was not going to thank Fernando. Not only did I introduce him to his new psychic advisor, Sugar Pie, but I personally didn't appreciate being hauled away from my brotherly Ocean Beach paradise by a big broody Nicaraguan who wouldn't even let us stop for donuts before he drove me back home.
Plus in the car, he told me how could I break my parents' hearts over and over again. A lot Fernando knows.
'Are you happy, Cyd Charisse?" Nancy said as Josh and Ash ran around the hallway screaming and chasing one another. "Chaos reigns in this house, and once again you are the cause."
Uh, excuse me, but if I had been left in peace Chez Babe Brothers, this so-called chaos scene in the middle of the night would never have taken place.
"I am thinking about becoming legally emancipated," I announced. I am sixteen now and it is time we start talking seriously to one another, like adults. "You can expect a call from my lawyer in the morning."
I started to stroll up the stairs when I felt Nancy yank the back of my sweater to pull me back downstairs.
"That could be construed as child abuse in a court of law!" I snapped at her.
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Nancy's face was all blotchy and furious when I turned around to face her. "I will not tolerate your fresh mouth any longer," she said, trying to stay calm.
"Little Hellion," Sid called from the study. "In here. Now."
I turned my cheek to Nancy, who followed me into the study.
Leila came to take my half-sibs back to bed. She shot me a look of pure hatred and for a second I almost felt bad. Leila hates to be woken up in the middle of the night. She has a hard time falling back asleep. I promised myself I would bring Leila some tea in bed after I dealt with the Sid and Nancy situation. I figured bedside tea service from an actual almost-waitress like myself was the least I could do for Leila.
I stood before Sid, who was actually wearing a smoking jacket as he smoked his cigar. I had to admire his style.
He was giving me a look of such disappointment I had to look away from him. I looked past him to the bookcase filled with all his favorite memorabilia: framed pix of me, Josh, and Ash; his college baseball glove; and the trophy we won together for winning the father-daughter potato sack race at his company picnic a few years earlier. Next to the trophy was the baseball we always used to throw together when I was little and just getting used to our new home in San Francisco, before Josh and Ash were born. Back then, Sid-dad used to come home from work early to play catch with me and read books with me; later, when I played Little League, he sometimes sent Fernando to take me to his office after school, and then Sid-dad and I would go over to this park near his office and hit balls and play catch. You throw
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like a girl, he used to tease me. And I would always remind him, I am a girl.
"Da ...," I started to say, but he cut me off lickety-split.
"Sit down," he said. When I hesitated, he announced, "Now!" and my butt hopped onto the leather sofa like that, almost like it was separated from my body and had a mind of its own.
Nancy stood at the door, wiping her nose with a Kleenex and trying to choke back tears.
"I don't get what the big deal is," I said.
"That's right you don't," Sid said. "But it's a very big deal, spending the night at that boy's ."
"But we weren't even having sex!" I protested.
There is such a thing as being too helpful with giving out information.
Sid-dad is very bald, so blushes on his face appear very obvious. Almost-daughters who throw like girls aren't supposed to grow up and have sex.
Sid did not look me in the eyes when he said, "You were out without permission and when you promised your mother you'd be home by eleven. You have abused the new trust we have tried to place in you and shown nothing but contempt for our good faith in you."
Good faith wha? I crossed over my leg and dangled my ankle around before announcing, "I've spent the night there before and you've never noticed or cared."
There was a silence in the room that felt good. My pronouncement was news to Sid and Nancy. They hadn't realized I had been sneaking in and out. I had gotten one over on them.
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Fifteen
Apparently, I am no longer going to be getting one over on Sid and Nancy. Apparently, now they are going to notice everything I do, and they are going to care, big time. I am grounded for, like, ever.
1 can't work at Java the Hut any longer. I can see Sugar Pie once a week, but only because Fernando intervened and told Sid and Nancy they really need me at the home.
But now I have to spend as much time cleaning bathrooms at the home as I do visiting with Sugar Pie. Fernando's Revenge.
Oh, and now that I no longer have a job that pays me, I will not be able to afford that lawyer who might have taken care of the whole emancipation thing.
I am confined to this House Beautiful that looks like it should be a museum instead of a home where people live and breathe. From my room overlooking Pacific Heights and the Marina, I can see straight to the old prison island of Alcatraz. Did you know that prisoners who were marooned on Alcatraz could actually hear from their prison cells the voices of people in San Francisco laughing and having a good time, carried over by the strong Bay winds? I'm now calling my room Alcatraz. It is my desolate island where I can see people outside laughing and having a good time and I am sure they are all allowed to spend the night at their boyfriend's without being put on lockdown.
Everyone is walking around the house like it is a mortuary. Even the hyper-sibs are weirding out. Everyone is
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trying to be super nice to me, like they are afraid I will totally go postal in my new equation of 1 + Gingerbread = Alcatraz princess room. We're all whispering to each other and saying "please" and "thank you" all the time like we are strangers. After the night of screaming and slamming doors and tears, no one wants to break the peace.
I do. But I am biding my time.
Sid and Nancy have forbidden me to see Shrimp until the new school year starts. They said we all need a cooling-off period. I d
on't know what they are so afraid of. If they had any sense, they would know he is a dream boyfriend. And it's not like I am some vestal virgin. The headmaster from boarding school made sure they knew that. I guess Nancy likes to practice what they call "revisionist history" in my social studies class, because she is trying to lock me up like there is still something sacred left in me that's worth saving.
Josh and Ash are following me around the house like puppies. They are not used to me being home so much. But no amount of Josh doing Pee Wee Herman impressions or Ash braiding my hair and letting me use her Jell-0 stomach for a pillow when we are watching videos can cheer me up.
I need a Shrimp.
I need a Wallace and stories of Australian-Indonesian lovers. I need Delia doing plies all around the espresso machines.
I NEED A JAVA THE HUT COFFEE! BAD!
The only thing to do in Alcatraz is play Helen Keller. When I was little, Nancy used to read me this book all about how Helen was blind and deaf and survived like every obstacle to become this inspirational person. I would like to
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be an inspirational person, so late at night, when everyone is asleep and I would rather be snuggling up with Shrimp, I put a blindfold over my eyes and earplugs into my ears to drown out the sounds of the Bay winds, and I clutch Gingerbread to my heart and we walk around the puke princess room feeling the hard walls and pressing our cheeks against the cold window panes. Learning how to suffer without sight or sound will hopefully one day lead us down an inspirational path.
Helen was not mute but I am trying to be. I am not speaking to Nancy except when 1 have to. When we brush past each other in the mornings, I mumble, "Excuse me," and continue on my way. On my way to nowhere, that is, wandering around this huge boring house where Leila does not even care when I try to join her in the kitchen and explain to her the difference between a latte and a cappuccino. It's all about steamed versus foamed milk and the kind of drinking glass you use, I try to tell her, but she's all French-Canadian Zut alors! and she says, I have a job to do all day long, get out of the way.
Leila is furious at me because now Nancy is home all day long watching me like a hawk, which means she is in Leila's hair all day long, Leila do this, Leila do that . I offered Leila help to do this and that but she said, Non . I guess if I were Leila I would be mad at me too.
Only Gingerbread understands. She agrees that we are going to have to figure out a way to emancipate ourselves. We are thinking of adopting smoking habits, since that will at least occupy some of our time. Plus, smoking habits will really annoy Nancy.
Unfortunately, neither of us likes when our hair smells
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like smoke, so we are trying to work out a compromise.
Gingerbread is having native urges. She wants to see real-dad, Frank.
Sid-dad has been coming home from work early, trying to coax me outside to barbecue with him or throw the baseball around. He wants me to "participate" in the family. I told him I'm not hungry and I don't like playing sports anymore, but thanks anyway. One time he came into my room with a special cappuccino he had bought on the way home for me. I asked, Is it a dry capp? and he said, Huh? and I said, You know, with extra foam and he said, Huh? and I said, I'm not really into coffee anymore either, but thanks. Again.
Nancy came into my room and said, 'Are you going to grace us with your presence at dinner tonight, Miss I'm Too Good to Eat with My Family?"
"Sarcasm is as sarcasm does," I said back. Forrest Gump is Nancy's favorite movie. That tells you everything you need to know about my mother.
Nancy stood at the door to my room, not one hair out of place.
She sighed but didn't blow up. Prozac is really working for her, she really is trying. Calmly, she said, "Leila made your favorite, macaroni and cheese."
'Are you going to make Ashley eat grilled fish and rice, and not let her have dessert?" I asked.
"That's not your business," Nancy snapped back. 'Ashley has a weight problem that could affect her socially. You will never understand. Not everybody is as metabolically blessed as you and can eat anything they want."
I was tempted to make a very crude comment about
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certain male species nonfood items which I have metabolized, but Gingerbread shushed me.
"She's six," I said. "She should not be on a diet. And she is such a bossy girl that you don't have to worry about her at school. The kids in her school are all too scared not to be her friend."
I think it is pretty sad that my little sister wakes up in the middle of the night to sneak food from the fridge when she thinks everyone is sleeping because she is hungry from the dinner Nancy didn't let her finish. When I hear Ash late at night, I let her come into Alcatraz and we drink pretend tea from Gingerbread's tea set and eat mini-Nestle Crunches. Then we jump on the bed and dance to mind-altering techno-pop to burn the cals even though we hate that kind of music.
Nancy said, "She's fifteen pounds overweight. That's extremely unhealthy for a six-year-old. You're not a parent, Miss Know-It-All. Don't tell me how to raise my child."
I'm not sure whether I hurt or help Ash's case by defending her to Nancy so I changed the subject. "I bet my real father would not imprison me like this," I said.
Nancy shook her head and I could tell she wanted to explode at me. Instead she said, "Be careful what you wish for," and walked away.
"Gingerbread and I will eat your LifeSavers for dinner!" I called after her.
I have to respect her for this. When Nancy rounded the corner and didn't think I could see her any longer, she flipped me the bird behind her back.
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Sixteen
Just when I thought I was going to have to start a whole new sports game called Extreme Boredom, a miracle came into Alcatraz, thanks to my new best friend Delia.
Delia called my mom and said she was a part-time dance instructor at my high school, and she had noticed what a natural I was, and would Nancy consider enrolling me in her summer workshop at a little dance studio in Ocean Beach?
Well, Nancy said, she is grounded, but maybe this would be good for her. She's driving me nuts sulking all over the house. She was named for a famous dancer, you know.
The only problem was that Delia actually expected me to dance.
"Your name is Cyd Charisse!" she said when I arrived for my first lesson. "You have to learn how to dance!"
I was grateful that after dropping me off Fernando's Revenge had gone to the home so he could shoot dice with Sugar Pie and her pals. Having a gloomy Nicaraguan's glares melted by hysteria at watching me try to get jiggy on the studio dance floor would be too much to bear after my incarceration.
"Please don't tell me you want me to wear one of those leotards and wear leggings and act like some kind of dancer girl wannabe," I said to Delia.
"Someone has come to my little dance class with a bad attitude," Delia said. "Someone seems to have forgotten
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who sprung her from being grounded for the rest of the summer."
"Someone," I said, almost shouting, "HASN'T BEEN CAFFEINATED IN OVER A WEEK!"
Right on cue, Shrimp emerged from the dressing rooms carrying a hot double shot mocha with extra whipped cream, just the way I love. I didn't know whether to throw my arms around him or gulp first.
I chose the coffee. I have my priorities.
We all three sat on the giant wood floor, looking at our reflections in the giant mirrors. Delia was yammering on and on about tap versus modern for our first lesson, but I tuned her out to soak in Shrimp while I had the chance. I wanted to imprint into my memory every inch of his face and body to take back to the long days and nights in Alcatraz.
Shrimp sat by my side with the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. The platinum spike at the front of his head was a little longer and the roots darker than the last time I'd seen him, and his eyelashes, reflected in the afternoon sun peeking through the f
og outside the dance studio windows, looked tinted with gold.
As the Java the Hut mocha with extra whip lushed its way through my bloodstream, I suddenly felt like I actually did want to dance. A zigzag combustible whoo-hoo freedom ride nas-tay kinda dance a la Shrimp 'n' Cyd aka porno Fred 'n' Ginger, and I wished Delia, cute as she was with her masses of orange frizzy hair piled on top of her head and her zebra-print tights, would ditch the joint.
Maybe I am just a sex maniac after all.
Shrimp had some whipped cream on his upper lip and
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I just couldn't help myself. I leaned over to lick it off, but Shrimp looked into my eyes and knew what was on my mind. He quickly darted his eyes toward Delia and then turned his head to the side, so I wound up giving him an innocent eskimo kiss on the cheek.
That gesture sort of pissed me off.
What did he think I was going to do, bust a move on him right in front of Delia? He just looked so tasty and smelled like mountains of coffee beans, who could not want to lick him? But I am a proper girl and it would have been a proper lick.
"We have missed you at the coffeehouse!" Delia said. She babbled into espresso-fueled overdrive. 'All the regulars are asking for you. We have a new girl working your hours named Autumn. Pretty girl but what a disaster! She can't figure out the espresso machine, breaks glasses all the time, always forgets customers' orders, but she's Shrimp's surfing friend and you know how Wallace likes to hire the kids from Ocean Beach."