by Sheila Cole
Mom says that I shouldn’t mind Grandpa stopping me when I’m playing and telling me to do it over. He’s very critical, but he means well. She’s sorry she didn’t understand that when she was my age. She gave up the cello because she couldn’t take his criticism. She thought it was because she had no talent. She didn’t realize you need honest feedback in order to improve.
Once I asked her if she was sorry she quit. She laughed and said she didn’t think she was ever as good as me, but she enjoyed playing and sometimes wished she had kept up with it.
“Well, you married Daddy and had us and became a secretary,” I reminded her.
She nodded. “That didn’t mean I had to stop playing the cello,” she said.
I know you really have to be good to become a professional like Grandpa. But I think that’s what I want to do.
Wednesday, June 19
Today we found the perfect dress for me to wear to Cousin Susie’s wedding. I wasn’t going to try it on because it was a size too big and way more than we can afford. But Mom insisted and it fit like a glove. It’s gorgeous. Sleeveless, with a boat neck that comes down low in back, in a dusty rose that always looks good on me. I can’t wait for Peter to see me in it.
Mom said that since we’re already spending a lot of money to go to the wedding, she wants us to look nice. It’s going to be a major event. Susie’s going to have four bridesmaids and Mark will have four groomsmen. And there’ll be a flower girl and a ring bearer, too. Grandpa has arranged for a brass choir to play as people are seated. There will be two hundred people at the reception. Daddy says it’s costing Aunt Vera and Uncle Bela a fortune.
I’d love to have a big wedding like that. I want to walk down the aisle wearing a gown with a long, long train and lots of lace and tulle that make you look like you are floating in a cloud. But I know Daddy won’t go for that. He says Uncle Bela can afford to give Susie a big wedding because he’s not in construction and he hasn’t been hit by the recession and he didn’t have to pay for her to go to college. I suppose I would rather go to college than have a big wedding.
Will Peter and I ever get married, I wonder? I can’t imagine loving anyone else as much as I love him. It would be heaven to live with him. Sometimes I daydream about it. I hear his footsteps as he comes home from work in the evening and run to open the door for him, and then he catches me up in his arms and kisses me, really kisses me, so I go all soft, melting into him.
Thursday, June 20
I got a B in French, which is better than I expected, and a D in geometry, which is really bad. I could have had an A in French, though, if I hadn’t been so distracted that I bombed the final.
I still haven’t had my period. It’s never been this long before. If I don’t get my period by next week, I’m going to take one of those home pregnancy tests when we’re in the hotel in Chicago. I can’t believe this is happening to me. Mom will kill me.
Showed Mom my report card. “This isn’t very good, Valerie,” she said, as if I didn’t know already. Then she asked me what I planned to do about the D. “It isn’t for me—it’s for you,” she said.
I feel awful when she talks to me that way. I wish she would just yell and scream. When she asks me what I’m going to do about it, she makes me feel even worse. At least she can’t blame Peter for this. She knows I’m more serious about school since I started going with him. He gets mostly A’s. He’s going to Harvard or Stanford. His parents have been planning for him to go someplace like that for college ever since he was little, and even before that. Peter says it’s the only thing the two of them agree on.
Friday, June 21
Hurray! School’s out! And the wedding in Chicago is next week. It will be fun, but I wish I wasn’t going to be away from Peter. Lately he is all I think about. It is like an obsession. He’s in my mind all day. At night he’s in my dreams. I really have to try to balance it out. What will I do when he goes away to college?
I’m so wrapped up in Peter, I’ve been neglecting everybody else. Nick is mad at me. I can tell because he doesn’t come and sit on my bed and talk to me like he used to. I know we hardly do anything together since I started going out with Peter, and he probably thinks I don’t care about him. I do, though. I know it’s weird, because most people hate their little brothers, but I really love Nick. And then there’s Carrie. The other day she said straight out she thinks I only have time for her when Peter is busy. I don’t know, maybe it’s true. But we still have great times together, like today.
Dianne and Carrie and I got a ride over to South Coast Plaza with Dianne’s sister. None of us had any money, so we were just looking.
Carrie walked into the hat store and in her terrible French asked the saleslady, “Avez-vous le nouveau chapeau de Zozo?” which is a line from a silly song we learned in French class. The lady didn’t understand, and Carrie asked her if she had any pillboxes. When the saleslady brought her the hat, she put it on and with a perfectly straight face turned to us to ask, “Vhat do you tink, mes chéries? Is dis de one for Pierre?”
I cracked up. Dianne kept whispering to us, “Let’s get out of here.” But Carrie wouldn’t leave until we tried on every hat in the store.
I saw this really cute shirt at the Limited. I can’t ask Mom to buy anything right now because Daddy’s business is bad. They are trying to hide it and not scare us kids, but I can tell Daddy’s depressed because he’s been drinking. Although he’s not a drunk or anything, he has been drinking a lot. Sandy and I talked about it when she called last week. She said he’s always like this when he doesn’t have enough work. Still, it worries me.
She’s going straight to Chicago from San Francisco and then we’ll all fly home together—one big, happy family.
We leave tomorrow. Still haven’t gotten it. I’m going to have to get the test. Damn, I’m sharing a room with Sandy. How will I hide it from her?
Oh, please, God, please let me get it before we go.
Tuesday, June 25
The plane made me feel barfy. I hope it’s just my stomach and nothing else.
It was a real shock to see Grandma. She’s changed so much since the operation. Mom says she’s a lot better than she was, but I could see that it was a real effort for Mom not to cry the whole time we were there. I’m going to try and go over to Grandma’s every day so I can be with her.
The wedding is Saturday. It’s the first time in years that Mom’s whole family and all of their kids have been together. We’ve been to a different house every night for dinner. They all serve this fattening Hungarian food that you have to eat to be polite. I don’t think they have ever heard of low fat or low cholesterol in Chicago.
People keep calling me Sandy, even though she’s three and a half years older than me and in college and she’s beautiful. Now that she’s back from school, she’s Miss Perfect. She never does anything to make Mom and Daddy mad. I used to hate her because she has Mom’s tiny nose and I wish I had it. Mine is like Daddy’s and comes straight down from my forehead like the Statue of Liberty’s. But Peter thinks it has character. He loves it. Anyhow, I can’t understand how people could get us mixed up. We’re so different.
I was going to talk to Sandy, but I decided not to. She thinks she knows everything. And she’s so bossy to Nick and me—like on Sunday, Aunt Vera was serving dessert and she wouldn’t let her give me any. She said I was getting fat. And then on Monday, when I said I didn’t want to go window-shopping with her because I wanted to take a nap before dinner, she asked me if I was practicing for the role of Sleeping Beauty. I can’t believe I ever missed her. What a bitch!
On the other hand, Daddy is being great. I think he’s trying to keep us out of Mom’s way so she can spend all her time with Grandma. Yesterday when Mom went with Grandma to the doctor, he took me and Nick to this Chinese restaurant for lunch. It looked like a dump, but the food was wonderful. Then we went to this music store that had everything, and he said we each could choose one thing. I picked Rachmaninoff’s Second,
even though I don’t think I’ll be able to play it. It’s so romantic.
Today we went sailing on Uncle Bela’s boat. Daddy let us all take turns steering the boat. We were going fast, and the boat was keeling until I was almost in the water. Sandy was screaming, “It’s going to turn over. Stop, Daddy! Stop!” But Daddy just laughed.
When it was Nick’s turn, he almost sailed us right into a big tour boat. Daddy kept yelling at him, “Turn your tiller. More to starboard, away from you, more, more.” We would have rammed into the other boat if Daddy hadn’t grabbed the tiller away from him at the last minute. The captain of the boat waved his fist at us. Nick and I thought it was hilarious. Sandy was furious and said she’d never get in a boat with us again.
Nick said he wouldn’t have hit it. He only wanted to see how close he could come. He would have turned away at the last minute. I thought Daddy was going to bawl Nick out, but he just took over and didn’t let Nick take the tiller again.
It was fun. Daddy says if we really want to learn how to sail, he’ll take us out in the harbor at Newport Beach. They rent boats there. I would love to go sailing with Peter. Only five more days until I see him again. I wish I were in his arms right now.
Wednesday, June 26
I bought the home pregnancy test kit this morning on my way over to see Grandma. I was terrified. They were on the shelf right under the partition for the area where they fill prescriptions, and I know the druggist was watching me. I grabbed a test and walked to the register. I thought someone might say something or give me a look, but no one did. I just paid for the test, put it in my backpack, and walked out.
I know the man behind the desk was watching me. I could feel his eyes on me the whole time I was waiting for the elevator. It made me feel real self-conscious. As soon as I was in the room, I put the kit in with all of my dirty clothes where no one will look. I don’t want to take it now because Sandy will be back any minute and I might still get my period.
Thursday, June 27
I practiced with Grandpa today, and now I understand why Mom quit. He was working with me on my bowing and kept yelling, “More tone, more tone, louder.” It was exhausting. He really is hypercritical. He kept stopping me and making me play every passage over again. Whenever I messed up, he shouted, “No! No! Not that way!” Then he would do it so I could hear how it was supposed to sound.
Afterward, when we were having tea with Grandma, Grandpa told me that if I want to be a violinist, nothing should matter to me right now except my music. It has to come before everything. “None of this sex business,” he said. “All of your energy and passion should go into your music if you want to be good. Save the sex for later.”
I had a hard time keeping a straight face when he said that. But I have to admit he’s probably right that I’m going to have to concentrate and work on my playing if I want to make it.
Friday, June 28
The duet with Grandpa this evening was a giant success. I was good. Even Grandpa, who hardly ever says anything good about anyone’s playing, said so. Daddy was crying, though he’d never admit it. He said he just had something in his eye.
Oh, please, dear God, let me not be pregnant. It would hurt Mom and Daddy so much.
Saturday, June 29
I’m pregnant! The test was positive. I did it in the bathroom this morning when Sandy went to help Susie get ready. My hand was shaking so badly I could hardly read it, but it was pink, pink for positive. What am I going to do? I can’t be pregnant. I’m only fifteen!
I took off all of my clothes and looked at myself in the mirror. My breasts are big, bigger than they have ever been, and feel heavy and hard. My nipples are darker, too. My stomach is not as flat as it used to be, either, and it will get bigger.
I can’t go to the wedding. I can’t face them.
I told Mom I had a headache and came upstairs to the room after the reception started. I just wanted to die. I went out on the balcony and I climbed over the rail. I stared down twenty-three stories to the street in front of the hotel. I wanted to jump, but I couldn’t do it. I climbed back onto the balcony and sat there for hours. Then everyone from the reception came pouring out of the hotel. The crowd parted, and the bride and bridegroom rushed out, holding hands. Everyone was crowding around, throwing rice at them, and they were ducking and laughing. Mark opened the car door for Susie. She stopped to throw her wedding bouquet into the crowd and then got into the car. Mark leaned down and kissed her before he closed the door.
I’ll never be in a scene like that now. You don’t have big weddings when you’re pregnant. You just get married, if you’re lucky. But Peter won’t want to get married because he has all these plans for what he’s going to do—like college and med school. I don’t know what to do. Soon everyone will know.
Monday, July 1
Why doesn’t he call? I called him as soon as we got home yesterday and left a message. What if he stopped loving me while I was gone? What if he found someone else, like Sarah? Even though he says he’s not interested, she’s beautiful and she wants him. He can’t like Sarah. I need him. He has to love me. He can’t leave me to face this by myself. It’s his fault. I wouldn’t be pregnant if it wasn’t for him.
Tuesday, July 2
He called. His grandmother had a stroke. He is staying with his grandfather. I didn’t say anything, but he could tell something was wrong. I said I couldn’t talk about it on the phone. I’d tell him when he got back on Thursday.
I don’t know how I’ll make it till then.
Today was my first day at the nursery. It was okay, considering.… We were so busy, I didn’t have time to think about anything.
Wednesday, July 3
Went to work. Dianne and I played tennis after work. She won. I’m really not very good. I wonder why she even plays with me. She wanted me to come over and go swimming afterward. I said I couldn’t. My breasts have gotten so big, I’m popping out of my bikini and I’m afraid she’ll notice. I wonder if people can tell yet. I can’t stand this. I wish Peter were here.
Thursday, July 4
Everyone went to the Jacobsens’ Fourth of July party except me. I told them I didn’t want to go. Daddy grumbled about it, but Mom said I’d ruin it for them if they had to force me. Peter came over right after they left. I was so scared, I started to cry when he walked in the door.
All the color left his face as soon as I told him. He didn’t want to believe me and he asked me again, hoping, I guess, that I would say I was just joking. He looked like he was going to cry when I said I was serious. “You have to do something, Val,” he said.
That got me, and suddenly I was yelling at him, “You have to do something about it. It’s your fault. You wanted to do it.”
I was sorry the minute the words were out of my mouth. We sat there without saying anything. Then he got up to go. He said he’d figure something out.
He started for the door. All at once he turned around and grabbed me up in his arms and held me to him so tight I could feel his heart pounding against me. We stood there holding each other for a long time. I don’t know how long. I wanted to do it because then I’d know he loved me. But he didn’t. He was shaking and he just wanted to be held.
I felt empty and sad when he left. I looked through the photo albums. There was a picture of Daddy and me climbing over Piute Pass in the Sierras last summer. Daddy thinks I’m his sweet little girl, his princess. What will he think of me now?
Suddenly I had to get out of there. I couldn’t stand being in the house—their house—anymore. I took my bike, just riding around, going nowhere. That was me, going nowhere—I didn’t realize I’d swerved into a car until I hit the pavement.
The driver of the car stopped. He was shouting at me, “Are you crazy?” The woman who was behind him got out of her car. “It’s not my fault,” he said, pointing at me. “She rode into me.”
“Oh, shut up. Can’t you see she’s hurt?” another man said, rushing up behind her. He put his arm around me and
made me sit down on the curb and told me his wife was calling an ambulance.
I said I was okay, but no one was listening to me, and I was afraid that the ambulance was going to come. I grabbed my bike and took off before anyone could stop me. The front fender was bent out of shape, and it scraped the tire all the way home.
Mom and Daddy made a fuss when they got home and saw me. I told them I hit something on the road and fell. And they believed me, their dear, good little girl. I hate myself. I wish I were dead.
Saturday, July 6
Peter and I drove to the park this evening to talk about it. It was another bad scene. When we got there, we saw all of these homeless people. There must have been sixty of them in the parking lot—all ages, even kids. They stood around in small groups of twos and threes. Usually, with that many people in one place, there’s a hum, but it was quiet, so quiet.
A truck pulled into the parking lot, and they all crowded around it. The people in the truck had a bullhorn that echoed so I couldn’t catch what was said, but it must have been an order to line up, because that is what they did. Then someone opened the gate of the truck and began handing out food.
There was this girl who was fifteen or sixteen, my age. She was carrying a baby in one arm and had a dirty bedroll slung on her back. She didn’t seem to be with anyone. Did she run away? Was she kicked out of her house because of the baby? Will they kick me out?
After the people left, Peter and I got out of the car and walked down the hill to the swings. I asked him if he’d told anyone about it. He said no. I didn’t believe him. He got all upset and said I was being crazy. “If we don’t do something about it soon, everyone will know. So what does it matter who I told? It was only my cousin Beth. She won’t tell anyone.”
