by Justin Sayre
“Oh, come on!” I laugh. “You’re fine.”
Sophie shushes me again, and this time she’s right.
“I just want to be a little normal somewhere. Is that so terrible?” Ducks pleads.
“Yes,” I say. “There’s no such thing. Everybody is different and screwed up and crazy and beautiful for it. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true. Normal isn’t real. It’s something that’s supposed to make you feel weird for being yourself, and that’s all you’re ever going to be. You’re fine. Normal is nothing.” I get really close to the stall door as I say this, and I feel Ducks getting closer on the other side too. The lock clicks, and Ducks walks out, red-faced from all the crying, and smiles at us both. We don’t hug. We just smile at one another and walk out the door.
On the walk home, I laugh to myself. Ducks didn’t come out of the closet, he just came out of the stall. He’d think that was so mean if I told him, so I just keep it to myself.
Chapter 17
It’s a long walk home, but the three of us laugh a lot. Ducks is happy again for the first time in a long time, and we all laugh in ways that we haven’t been able to, because the truth is, we don’t get to be this free with one another all the time. “Free” might be the wrong word to use, but it’s not when you feel it. It’s that feeling when everything around you is fine and the only thing you have to do is be with the people you love, and walk. All the other stuff in the world, all the things you fight about, or you worry about, and all the people who make all the other things that they think are more important than this, falls away. These complications just don’t matter. And they shouldn’t. I’m much happier when they don’t. When we get to 7th Street again, I hug Ducks a little harder than I would normally and wave a couple of times before I start my walk home. I’m still in that “free” bubble, but the minute I get home, the bubble pops.
“You don’t know how to answer a phone?” My aunt Debbie says as soon as I open the door. I am in trouble, and all the stuff that didn’t matter a minute ago is about to be the most important stuff in the world. “Between you and your mother, I don’t know who’s worse. I already had a bat mitzvah and I’m here to help you but nobody seems to want the help. I mean, do you want to have a terrible day?”
Rosalinda actually agrees with her for a minute, which makes me furious, but I don’t have the time to get into that, I just start saying I’m sorry and calming down the whole room. It takes about fifty apologies and excuses to get my aunt to calm down and finally tell me what she needs me to do. Hannah even helps me out, by being her cutest possible self and distracting us both from the silly game of getting around Aunt Debbie’s tantrum and my apologizing for causing it.
When she does finally get down to it, Aunt Debbie has everything pretty much planned already, all laid out in a fancy binder with pictures and tables all marked out. She hands me paper after paper with all the information about my special day, which seems less and less like mine with every sheet.
“I think the theme is really great. Did you see the plans for the step and repeat banner?” Aunt Debbie smiles. She hands me a sheet with a woodland canopy in front of a backdrop from Final Fantasy. “I got a man to blow up a still from the game, and he says it’s going to look great.”
I try to hold back how excited I actually am. I say, “That’s great. What’s it for?”
“For pictures. There’s going to be one photographer just taking pictures there for most of the party. My friend Eileen said everyone loves a photobooth, but when I saw I could get that backdrop, I thought that’s ten times better than a photobooth. Don’t you think?”
“I do. I absolutely do. But one photographer there? It sounds like there’s more than one.”
“Well, of course! The other one will be in the hall with the videographer,” Aunt Debbie replies like the question smells bad to her. She starts in about the DJ, and the elves with spiky hair who will get people dancing and hand out prizes. She asks if there are any special songs I would like played when I walk in, and I’m so overwhelmed by the rest of it that I don’t know what to say. Aunt Debbie writes that down on the list of things that she needs me to do over the week.
The list goes as follows:
Pick entrance music
Decide on mini cupcakes or doughnuts (For the dessert bar)
Decide on the sushi station (The BBQ station, carving station, and pasta bar are already good to go.)
Where do you want to have your hair done on the day?
Makeup? (Aunt Debbie says, “Just something light for the picture, we don’t have to get you tarted up.”)
Decide on how you want to thank everyone for coming, and especially what you want to say to Bubbe and Zayde
Chair practice (There’s this thing where, at the party, they lift you up on a chair and parade you around the room, and it’s supposed to be nice, but it can often be totally terrifying. When my cousin Shelley got lifted up, she was so happy and smiling that she forgot to close her legs and everyone saw up her dress. That’s a big reason why Aunt Debbie wants me to do the practice run.)
Pick the song you want to dance to with Mom and Dad
FIND A DRESS
Start a pile of thank-you notes now, so you can get them out to everyone two weeks after (A lot of people will give me money as a present and I have to write a note to each to say thank you. Aunt Debbie’s trying to help me get a jump on it.)
“And one last thing, I talked to the caterer, and he’s not sure what kind of tater tots you want,” Aunt Debbie says right before she closes her binder. I tell her again, the cafeteria kind, and she smiles and says, “That’s not a real thing, but I’ve made the impossible happen before.”
Aunt Debbie gives me the list and kisses me on the forehead before she leaves. “Next time, answer a text. I love a visit, but I’d prefer an answer. I live in Connecticut, for God’s sake.” She sounds annoyed, but she’s smiling so I know I’m pretty all right. I thank her about fifty times before she leaves and mean each and every one of them.
Hannah’s in bed before Dad gets home, and even though I’m yawning, I try to tell him all the details about the party before I head to bed myself. I didn’t think I could be so excited about this party, but now that it’s all laid out, it seems so friggin’ cool I almost can’t wait. He gets a little excited too, because truthfully, it’s the first time I’ve actually seemed happy about the whole thing and I think that’s all my dad’s ever wanted.
I go to bed shortly after that. Even though I’m still excited about the party, I fall right to sleep. For a while. For some reason, and I really can’t figure it out, I wake up in the middle of the night and I’m just dying for a glass of water. I was even thirsty in my dream, which was something about a bus and Elmo, but like an Evil Elmo who wasn’t evil to me, but a badass to other people, and I asked him for something to drink, but he didn’t have anything so now I’m awake. I wake up and walk to the bathroom, but on the way I see that the light in the kitchen is still on. I head down the stairs, just to turn it off, and see Mom is in the kitchen sewing up a raw chicken.
“Hey, Elles, what are you doing up?” She smiles.
Mom does this when she’s nervous about something. It’s how she practiced sewing people up in medical school, and even though she’s now a very accomplished surgeon, when she’s nervous or just trying to think, she cuts up a chicken and then sews it back together. It’s her way of de-stressing, I guess.
“I was just thirsty. What about you?” I ask as I come down the stairs.
“Oh, just a big surgery. And things aren’t a lot easier around here.”
It’s weird because I know she’s talking about fighting with my dad, but she’s never been so upfront and honest about it with me, and I don’t know if I’m even supposed to know. “Sometimes you just want to get something right, you know.”<
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“Yeah, I guess.” I smile.
“I heard you’re pretty excited for your party. You’re going to have to thank your aunt Debbie until she’s allowed to plan your wedding, you know that, right?”
We both laugh because we know it’s true. It’s nice to talk like this, but it’s new and I’m just as nervous that it’s going to end as I am that it’ll keep going.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do more. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m just not any good at that stuff. Your dad and I got married in a courthouse. It almost killed your bubbe. You don’t mind that I haven’t planned the whole thing, do you?”
“No,” I reply.
“You didn’t get the best mom, Ellen. You got a great surgeon. If you ever have a heart problem, I know how to fix that. But I’m not good at a whole lot else, and I’m sorry for that. I’m very sorry for that. You deserve a whole lot better,” Mom says, sewing up the last of the chicken.
I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t want her to feel like this, but I do want her to know that I need her around, and if I just say she’s wrong and that she’s the perfect mother or something like that, then I’m not really telling the truth either. The truth lives somewhere else and it might be too early in the morning for either of us to find it.
She puts the chicken in the refrigerator with a note to Rosalinda to ignore the stitches, they’re sterile, and to cook it for sandwiches tomorrow. She turns off all the lights and walks me up to bed. She kisses me outside my door and starts to walk down toward her and Dad’s room, but when I get in my room, I hear her turn around and go downstairs to sleep on the couch.
Chapter 18
I definitely think they’re getting a divorce. They’ve been fighting a lot and she’s never around and I know how much that bothers my dad because it bothers me almost as much. I don’t think I can say anything or know how to say anything that won’t start a whole fight. I don’t think any of us could really handle that at this point. Hannah knows something is definitely up. She asks me why they’re so upset all the time and what’s going to happen. I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t know what the answer is myself.
Mom’s been home for two weeks now, and we still barely see her. That isn’t unusual, but this time it seems different. It feels like she’s hiding. Like she thinks she’s in trouble, and I guess from how much they’re fighting, she is. I think she’s staying away from home because it’s easier. It feels like she’s avoiding us. Now, if I did that, she’d tell me to show up and get it over with. No matter how bad it is, you only make it worse by ignoring it. I don’t know why it’s different for her. Unless it’s something else. Maybe she’s getting ready to leave us altogether and she’s just testing it out. The not knowing is so much worse. My mind just goes all over the place trying to figure out what’s going on. And I’m doing it all alone.
“You’re still not wearing the bras we bought?” Sophie asks me in gym. She’s at least nice about it, and keeps her voice down, but I hate that she asks at all.
“No,” I answer. “It is gym, I feel like I can wear a sports bra to play sports.”
“I know, but you’re not wearing them during the week either.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“Come on, Ellen. I see you. I have eyes.” Sophie laughs.
“And those eyes are glued to my chest. Do you need to come out to me too?” I say, trying to make her laugh, but she doesn’t. She smirks and lets me know with a look that I can joke all I want, but eventually we’re going to have to talk about this. I have a lot on my mind, much more important things than what’s going on with my chesticles.
She corners me after gym and tells me that I’m coming to her house tonight, No Matter What. Sophie’s never really like this, and even as I try to think of a thousand excuses, she bats each and every one away and tells me to meet her after last period and we can all walk to her house. I try to get out of it with Hebrew school, but she just says to come after.
“What about Allegra?” I plead, thinking of any excuse.
“Do you want to bring her?” Sophie asks, pushing me to trap myself. “I’m fine if she comes.”
I’m trapped and she knows it. I almost think about bringing Allegra. That would show Sophie. Fight a little fire with a little brat. I’m not warming up to Allegra. I don’t think that’s possible for us, but I do wonder what it would be like to bring her. I could get out of whatever Sophie is cooking up for me with Allegra there. I know that. Allegra wouldn’t let the night be about anything else but her. Maybe, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but just maybe Allegra is my only hope.
I hate that. I hate being in this situation. I wish I could just be honest with Sophie about why the thought of coming over and getting lectured on my boobs just makes me want to throw up. I wish I could say this to her, and somewhere I know I could. She’s Sophie. She’s not a monster. But I also know that no matter how much I push her away, even about this, she’s going to keep coming back. The more I put it off, the worse it will get.
I feel trapped for the rest of the day, waiting for the last bell to ring, but I know that it doesn’t mean that I’m out of anything, I’m only in deeper. At the end of the day, I’m grabbing my bag from my locker as slowly as I possibly can, as if that will help. I get real stupid when I don’t know what to do. It isn’t until I turn on my phone that suddenly there’s an excuse staring right at me.
It’s a text from Charlie.
Hey
Charlie almost never texts, or at least doesn’t start texts. He’ll respond, but for him to text me first is weird. When I get his “Hey,” I know it means a lot. Something’s wrong. I want to be a good friend to Charlie. I want to be a good friend to Sophie too, but one involves me being a helper and the other is about me getting helped. I would rather be than get. So, I’m going to go to Charlie’s. I might even skip Hebrew school.
Allegra walks up to me, talking about how funny Jake is, and how much she likes him, and that right there is enough to cement my decision to go. I can text Noah later anyway.
“Hey, I actually can’t walk up with you today. I have to be somewhere else.”
“So, what?” Allegra stops. “You’re, like, just not going?”
“No. I can’t. I have something else to do,” I answer. Now I’m in a hurry, trying to get out and away from her and all the rest of this as fast as I can.
“So, you’re skipping.” Allegra smiles. “Well, I want to come with you.”
OH my GOD! WHY?! This is me being punished. You try to get out of a little Hebrew school, just to go and talk with a good friend who needs you, though he’d never really figure out to ask for that, and yes, you’re trying to get out of a dress-slash-bra-slash-personal-growth session with your best friend, but why do I have to be cursed like this?
“Nope,” I answer back. I almost bop her in the nose it’s so final, and walk off without another word. The funny thing is, as I’m walking out I can feel Allegra’s confusion behind me. She’s mad, but not enough to follow me. She wouldn’t do that, and luckily for me, I make it out onto the street and down to the subway before she leaves the hallway.
Charlie lives on the other side of the park, in a part of Brooklyn where all the houses are made of wood and most of the people have cars. It looks like a different part of the world, and it almost feels like one too. It’s a place that looks cozy, where it’s almost always quiet. Charlie fits in a place like this. I text him when the train goes aboveground that I’m coming over and he types back, Ok. I text Sophie too, telling her I’m not coming over, that I’m spending some time with Charlie, and she responds with the same two letters, but with a completely different meaning.
Charlie’s mom answers the door in a sports sweatshirt like always, wiping her hands on her hips because she’s always cooking something, and smiles as she pulls me into the house. She’s one of the few people
I know with one of those real New York accents. You just don’t hear them anymore, and half the time I’m over I just want to sit with her in the kitchen and listen to her talk.
“Oh, hey, Elle, honey, come on in. Hey, Charlie, honey, Ellen’s here!” Charlie’s mom yells up the stairs. “You want a Coke or something? I’m making dinner if you’re sticking around.”
I tell her I hope so, as Charlie gets to the stop of his stairs, smiling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in a while. I run up the stairs to him as his mom laughs behind us and says she’ll bring up snacks in a minute.
“Hey,” Charlie says as soon as we throw ourselves into his room.
“That’s all you got today?” I smile, and Charlie smiles back. It’s this strange thing between Charlie and me, where we know exactly what we mean at every moment. There’s never really a misunderstanding between us. Maybe’s it’s all those nights on the battlefield, blowing up aliens and getting so much of a chance to talk to each other without having to look to see the other’s reaction. You get a lot more said.
“You didn’t have to race over here. Nothing’s wrong.” Charlie smiles, and lies a little, but knows I know it.
“You put out the bat signal and I show up. What’s going on with you?” I ask.
“It’s nothing. I just . . .” Charlie always “justs.” He starts these long stories with how he “just” wants things to be different or how he “just” can’t wait until he’s in high school in Manhattan, or how he “just” wants to go to college and become a civil engineer or a psychologist. He’s always just, but it’s usually never that simple.
