Dad said something about it not having to be a flop. Mom turned her back on him and walked out the door while he was still talking.
By the time Dad and I climbed into the limo, Mom had opened the car bar and was dropping ice into a tumbler of scotch.
Dad sat across from her. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink before the evening begins, Eileen, dear. Do you?”
Mom took a gulp of her drink and said sarcastically, “Hayden, dear, I think it’s a splendid idea.”
I didn’t want to be in the limo. I didn’t want to go to the benefit. I didn’t want to be with my parents. I thought, I could just jump out right now and run into the house. They can’t make me go. Then I pictured the animals in the shelter and Laddie’s loving, trusting eyes. I had been working on the benefit too. I had to go. Especially if Mom was drinking.
And drink she did.
When she poured her second drink, Dad said, “Eileen, I want you to stop this right now.”
Mom kept pouring and replied, “Hayden, I want you to mind your own business right now.”
As I wrote that, I had the strangest thought. Did I sound like that when Justin was trying to get me to eat? No. I was angry, but I didn’t yell. Besides, Mom and drinking is the opposite of me and eating. Mom is out of control. I’m taking control of my life. She’s doing something that’s bad for her. I’m doing something that’s good for me.
I just wish I hadn’t been so rude to Justin. Even if he was pushing me to eat, I didn’t have to bark at him.
By the time Mom was pouring her third drink, Dad couldn’t even look at her. He complained about LA. traffic and wondered if there was any way to get us to the hotel faster. We pulled up in front of the hotel as Mom finished her fourth drink.
As I climbed out of the limo behind Dad I heard him say to himself, “I’m going to have that bar taken out.”
“You should have done it a long time ago,” I mumbled.
I know he heard me. His back stiffened, but he didn’t say anything.
When we walked into the hotel, Dad headed over to a big producer buddy of his and Mom headed for the bar.
I looked around. The dog and cat posters were hanging just the way I had imagined them. “They look perfect,” a friendly voice said. It was Janice. Lana was behind her. They told me I looked beautiful.
“You’ve lost some weight,” said Lana. “It’s becoming.”
At that moment I was incredibly proud of myself. This was my reward for not eating a greasy Juanita’s Burrito. At least I can do something right.
“Where’s your mother?” Janice asked.
I didn’t want to tell Mom’s friends that my mother had gone straight to the bar, so I said I didn’t know.
Janice said I had been a great help with the benefit.
“You’ve done a lot of filling in for your mother,” added Lana. “We’re really grateful to you.”
I wondered if they’d still be friends with Mom after the benefit.
As they went off to look for Mom, I heard Janice say, “She’s a nice girl but…”
I couldn’t hear the rest, but it’s easy to imagine. “She’s a nice girl, but too bad she’s so unattractive.”
The next person I saw was Piper. She was standing with a friendly-looking dark-haired man and pointing to the poster of Laddie. I had the happy thought that he might adopt Laddie.
When the man left, I ran to Piper. “Laddie’s photo looks great,” I said. “Was that man interested in adopting him?”
“I don’t know,” she said. And walked away.
I felt awful. I wished I could disappear.
I saw one of the volunteers from the shelter head in my direction. I hid behind a big plant before he spotted me. After he passed by, I decided to get a diet soda. As I headed toward the bar, I noticed that Mom was there. I gave up the soda idea fast.
I looked around and wondered what I should do next. There was another half hour of mingling before dinner and the auction.
I noticed Dad with a group of his buddies. He signaled for me to join them. But I didn’t want to listen to him schmoozing. And I certainly didn’t want to be the subject of his bragging. Maggie is a great musician. Next time you come by she’ll play for you.
I caught Dad’s eyes and pointed to the other side of the hall, as if I had something important to take care of.
I did. I had to avoid Piper, who was coming toward me.
I pushed through a crowd of gorgeous, glamorous people and made my way to a corner of the room. But Piper had followed me.
“I’m sorry I walked away before,” she said.
Why was she apologizing to me? I was the one who had walked out on her.
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I told her. Tears came to my eyes. I couldn’t help it.
Don’t cry, I ordered myself. Don’t cry.
And I didn’t.
“I came down on you pretty hard,” Piper said. “But I’m worried about you, Maggie. You seem to be losing a lot of weight awfully fast. Have you been dieting? You might want to talk to someone—a doctor, or a counselor—about it. They can be a big help.”
I wanted to tell Piper to mind her own business. But I couldn’t. Not when she was trying to be nice to me even though I hadn’t been nice to her. “I’ve been watching what I eat,” I replied.
A waiter approached us with a tray of cheese sticks—one of my former food passions. They smelled good. Piper took a bunch. “We can share these,” she said as she piled them on a napkin.
They smelled familiar and good.
I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I was hungry. I thought, If I eat a cheese stick I’ll have to eat less at dinner. But that’s okay. Mom said the hotel food was terrible. I’d rather have a cheese stick than a piece of overcooked chicken.
I reached for a cheese stick. As I was about to pick it up, another thought came into my head. Cheese sticks are fattening. If I eat one, my diet will be over. I’ll gain back all the weight I lost.
I dropped my hand by my side and looked up.
Piper was staring at me.
I guess I had been looking at the cheese sticks and thinking about them for awhile.
“Are you sure you don’t want one?” she asked in a soft voice. She sounded so kind.
I almost blurted out, I do want one, but I can’t. I just can’t do it.
But that would have made me sound like an idiot.
“Piper Klein,” a voice called.
An elderly woman was hurrying toward us. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“A big-time donor,” Piper whispered in my ear. “I have to go.”
She handed me the napkin of cheese sticks and was gone. When a waiter passed me with a tray of empty glasses I put the cheese sticks on the tray and hid in the bathroom until dinner.
At long last the lights dimmed, and people began finding their seats in the dining room. Mom sat at the head table. I sat with Dad and some people he hoped would invest in his next film project. Dad noticed I didn’t eat my salad (too much dressing) or the potatoes, which were drowning in cream sauce. He said I wasn’t eating enough lately and that my dress was hanging on me. I told him that I would buy some new clothes that fit. He said that wasn’t the point.
I don’t get it. He wants me to look perfect so he can show me off to his friends. Then he criticizes me for losing weight.
I decided he was upset about Mom and taking it out on me.
Before the auctioneer started the auction, Mom made a speech thanking her committee. Unless you knew her, you wouldn’t know she’d been drinking. To me she sounded half asleep. She also tripped a little on her way back to her table. I thought I heard Dad mumble, “Close call.”
People spent a lot of money on the auction items. The benefit was a success. Thanks to everyone on the benefit committee, except Mom.
The ride home was awful. Mom poured herself another drink. Dad picked up the phone and made a couple of business schmooze calls. But the three of us didn�
�t say a word to one another all the way home.
I was glad Zeke wasn’t there. For his sake.
Everything is so confused in my mind. I know it’s wrong, but I’m beginning to hate my parents.
At home Dad went to his room and I came up here to mine. Mom is still downstairs. I’m sure she’s drinking.
I hate it here.
And I hate myself.
Sunday 8/2
4:30 A.M.
I don’t know where to begin. I’ve been crying for hours. If I write maybe I can finally stop.
I know it’s just a statue, but it meant so much to me.
I have one of the wings on my desk. The rest of the statue is in tiny pieces.
I’m going to try to write down what happened from the beginning.
I was still awake when I heard a big crash from the family room. I knew Mom was down there drinking. I was afraid she’d hurt herself, so I ran out of my room.
Dad had heard the crash too. He pushed past me on the stairs to get to the family room first.
When I got there I saw the broken statue and Mom staggering around. There were broken pieces everywhere.
“The angel statue!” I cried. “You broke it.”
“What was that stupid thing doing in the middle of the room anyway?” she slurred.
What Mom was calling “that stupid thing” was my favorite thing in the whole house. Sometimes, when I was a little kid and upset about something, I would talk to the angel.
Now the angel and child were in a thousand pieces on our family room floor.
“Eileen!” my father shouted. “Don’t move. You’ll cut your feet.”
Mom was in her stocking feet. Dad’s feet were bare. I was wearing slippers with hard soles.
“I’ll get her,” I told him.
“Be careful, Maggie,” he said.
I stepped carefully through the glass and reached for my mother.
She told me to leave her alone.
“There’s glass everywhere,” I told her. “You’ll hurt yourself. Let me help you.”
“Get ahold of yourself, Eileen,” my fathered ordered, “or I’ll call the police.”
My mother laughed at my father. It was a horrible laugh. But she let me guide her to the bar stool.
She sat down and I went to the closet for a broom.
My father shook a finger in my mother’s face. “This has gone too far. You’d better straighten yourself out, Eileen.”
“I’ll tell you what I’d better do, you cold fish,” she said. “I’d better have another drink.”
She reached for a bottle that was on the bar. He grabbed it away.
“I’m not going to let you destroy yourself,” he said in a controlled, angry voice. “Or this family. It’s time you admit that you have a serious problem.”
“I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM!” she shouted.
She got off the stool and left the room.
I thought my father would run after her, but instead he turned to me. “And you,” he said in the same angry voice. “I don’t even know you anymore. Quitting jobs left and right. And not eating. This crazy dieting has to stop. You have a problem too, young lady.”
“I don’t have a—” I began to say.
I stopped myself. That was what my mother said about her drinking. And she has a problem. But I’m not like my mother. Or at least I never want to be.
I didn’t know what to say to my father, so I didn’t say anything.
He was staring at me as if I were a stranger. “What happened to my beautiful, talented, kindhearted daughter?” he asked sadly. “What’s happening to my family?”
I was really angry at my mother at that moment—I still am—for making Dad so sad. But what bothers me more is that I’m disappointing him too.
I used to feel that I could make up for some of Mom’s shortcomings, that I could be better than her. That I could make Dad happy. Now I know that I can never be good enough for him.
Dad suddenly exclaimed, “She must have a bottle in her room.” As he ran from the room he told me to leave the mess, that Pilar would clean it up in the morning.
But I didn’t leave it for Pilar. I wanted to sweep up the remains of the angel and child myself. It was a ritual of respect for all that that statue had meant to me.
I started crying when I picked up the angel wing.
I’m still crying.
7:30 A.M.
The phone woke me up a little while ago. I listened to the answering machine to find out who was calling me so early in the morning.
“Hey, Maggie,” said the voice. “What’s going on? Why don’t you write to me? Why don’t you call me? I know you’re there. Pleeease pick up.”
It was Zeke. I suddenly missed him very much. I wanted to talk to him.
As I picked up the receiver, I reminded myself that he was just a little kid. That I shouldn’t let him know how bad things are at home. And, most of all, that he shouldn’t come home. He was much better off at camp.
I said hi. Then I told him that I hadn’t answered his e-mail or phone messages because I was really busy with the benefit.
He said he wished he’d been there and wanted me to tell him about it.
“Zeke Blume,” I said, “you hate benefits. How come you’re so interested in this one?”
He hesitated and then said, “Well, you know, because of how Mom got after that run in the rain last year. Remember?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I remember.”
I felt tears gather in my eyes again. I missed Zeke. I wanted so much to talk to him about what had happened last night. But he’s my little brother and I also wanted to protect him.
Should I tell him? I didn’t know what to do.
“Maggie,” he said in a scared voice. “Are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Oh,” he said with a sigh of relief. “I thought you’d hung up on me.”
If I were Zeke and Zeke were me, would I want him to tell me about Mom? I knew the answer was yes.
“Well, Mom’s been drinking again, Zeke,” I said.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” he said in a sad voice.
“I want to come home, Maggie,” he said. “Tell Dad. Tell him he has to let me come home or else—”
I interrupted him. “Zeke, camp will be over in a week. We’ll all be here when you come home. And the problems will be here too.”
“Problems?” he said. “What else is going on? You mean, like Dad being gone all the time?”
“Yes. And I sort of have a problem too.”
I realized as I said it that I do have a problem. Not a huge problem. But a problem.
“What kind of problem?” Zeke asked in a small voice.
“An eating problem,” I said. “It’s hard for me to eat after being on a diet. I’m a little confused about food.”
“Do you have that thing where people get really skinny?” he asked. “That ‘ant-or-ex’ thing.”
I didn’t want to say the word out loud. So I didn’t correct Zeke’s pronunciation. I just said, “It’s not a huge problem. Anyway, I just want to say that I miss you, Zeke. And I am glad that you’ll be home soon.”
“I shouldn’t have gone to camp,” he said.
I realized that my eleven-year-old brother thought that if he hadn’t gone to camp, he could have kept Mom from being a drunk, Dad from being an absent husband and father, and me from staying on a diet too long.
“Oh, Zeke,” I pleaded, “don’t, for even an instant, think you can keep bad things like this from happening. I was here. I couldn’t keep Mom from drinking. We’re not miracle workers. We’re just kids.”
“I guess. But I can help you, Maggie. I know I can.”
“You can help me by staying at camp,” I told him. “And then coming home and being the great brother you’ve always been.”
“Can I call you every day until I come home?” he asked.
“Every day,” I said.
I heard reveille being played a
t the tennis camp. It was the trumpet signal to wake up the campers. My brother, who hates to get up in the morning, had snuck out of his cabin early to call me.
“You better go,” I said. “Before they think a bear stole you in the night.”
“Okay. I’ll call you tomorrow morning. Same time.”
“Same time,” I agreed.
“And Maggie, I’ll tell you a secret.”
“What?”
Zeke whispered into the receiver. “I sort of like tennis.”
“Thanks for telling me,” I said with a laugh. “How about dancing?”
“Yuck!” he shrieked.
I was smiling through tears when I hung up the phone.
Our family may have a lot of problems. But Zeke isn’t one of them.
BROKEN (WINGS)
How do angels
know when you need them?
Do they stay and watch your every move
Or are they on call?
Did I forget
to call you, angel?
I didn’t know I was in danger
that I was becoming a stranger
To myself.
Now you are gone.
I hold your broken wing
and wish you could be whole again
A child’s wish.
If I don’t have my angel
Who will save me?
© Maggie Blume
I think I’ll work on that poem. It’ll never be a song lyric. Too personal. But it expresses how I feel.
Amalia: Diary Two
California Diaries
Ann M. Martin
Contents
Wednesday 9/23
Thursday 9/24
Friday 9/25
Saturday 9/26
Sunday 9/27
Monday 9/28
Tuesday 9/29
Wednesday 9/30
Thursday 10/1
Wednesday 10/7
Thursday 10/8
Friday 10/9
Saturday 10/10
Wednesday 9/23
Study hall
Nbook, you are not going to believe what magazine I have in front of me.
Teen’zine.
I hate Teen’zine. 99% of the articles are about guys and zits. (“How to Tell Them Apart” might be a truly useful piece.)
Diary Two Page 18
