by Mary Amato
I would have gone and had a great time, but then the universe served up the squid.
In bio, we were ending the semester with a unit on dissection, and that afternoon, we were greeted by the pungent smell of formaldehyde, and trays on our tables bearing dead brown squids. Immediate hysterical gagging and laughing all around. I was fine with it at first. I had no problem slicing into the flesh with a razor-sharp scalpel, pinning open the creature, and locating the heart, stomach, intestines, ink sac, and other miscellaneous organs.
But then while we were washing up, Ms. Feinstein walked over to her computer and projected the Shedd Aquarium Web site on the SmartScreen and gushed about their free lecture series and showed us the Shedd’s schedule of events. There it was: Keanu Choy, winner of the Loire Award for Marine Research, was giving a talk in conjunction with a special seahorse exhibit on Saturday, April 15.
My teacher went on to show us her own photos that she’d taken scuba diving in Florida over winter break. Several other people jumped in with tales of their scuba experiences, and I felt as if I’d been sucked into the Bermuda Triangle. Suddenly, everyone in Illinois was into scuba diving. It made me want to eject my lunch from the anterior cavity, otherwise known as my stomach.
Ms. Feinstein caught me on the way out. “Sometimes, kids get hit after they’re all done dissecting,” she said, obviously thinking my distress was due to being grossed out by the squid. “Splash some water on your face and you’ll be fine.”
That’s how life works. You don’t hear much about scuba diving until you don’t want to hear about scuba diving and then it’s everywhere.
As soon as we were dismissed for the day, I sat on the bench outside the school’s front entrance and called Fin. It was cold again; even though the sun was shining, the bench was a giant ice cube. He answered on the third buzz.
“Fin, I can’t go to Chicago.”
“You have to. Hayes is meeting me at my locker and we’re going to come find you. Where are you?”
“I can’t go. Feinstein mentioned Keanu Choy in class and the whole thing made me sick.”
“What did she say?”
“He’s doing a free lecture, and the Shedd is so wonderful, and everything is beautiful under the sea, blah, blah, blee. I’m holding down my vomit.”
Background voices and locker slams were all I heard in the phone.
“Fin, did you hear what I just said?”
His breath came out in a sigh. “You are perseverating on this Keanu Choy connection, which might be a total fiction, Minerva. You need to go ask your mom right now.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
“Because it makes sense.”
“I can’t — ”
“If you don’t, I’m going to find a new best friend,” he said.
“Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not being mean, I’m exhibiting tough love.” More locker noises and then his voice: “You have two choices. Go home now and ask her. Or come with us, have fun, and then talk to her as soon as you get home.”
“I can’t do either of those.”
A pause. Then he asked, “Do you want me to tell Hayes I can’t go?”
I sat there, staring at the dead grass under the big, bare tree, my fingers freezing. I didn’t want to be that girl, the one who is so needy she prevents her best friend from having fun. “Go,” I said. “Tell Hayes I got sick.”
“You sure you don’t want to come?”
“Yeah — ” My voice caught on itself. “Fin?”
“Yeah?”
“If you dump me, I’m going to shrivel up and die.”
I could hear his eyes smile. “I’m not dumping you for anybody, sweetcakes,” he said. “I will always love Minerva. I would follow her to Persia,” he sang in the most heart-melting, lullaby voice.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
12
AUNT JOAN & THE TRUTH
IN CASE YOU didn’t know, giving your best friend your blessing to frolic with a new, nicely dimpled friend while you are wrestling with fear makes for an excruciating evening. That day, I rushed to the music store after school, hoping the bearded guy wouldn’t be there so I could play my uke, which would have calmed me down. No such luck. I walked home. Slowly. When my mom arrived from work, I tried and failed to think of a way to bring up the subject. After dinner, I sat on the couch in the living room, feigning interest in a movie, while she began her seasonal redecorating campaign.
As she was putting away winter-themed knickknacks and setting out valentine-themed ones, she found Aunt Joan’s birthday card behind an end table and held it up. “Did you send Aunt Joan a thank-you letter?”
The no that was all over my face was the least of my worries.
She stopped and looked at me. “That is not the right attitude, Minny. I was going to call her tonight, and now I’ll be embarrassed. It’s already the beginning of February. You’ve had plenty of time.”
I was about to say something when a window opened in my mind, allowing a new thought to fly in: Aunt Joan would know about Keanu Choy. The realization was obvious and big and strangely shocking. It was as if an ostrich had flown into the room. Unaware, my mom went on with her lecture about courtesy and gratitude while she set a trio of fat red candles and a garland of foil hearts on the coffee table and hung up a red wooden sign saying: LOVE IS HOME.
Keeping my eyes on the television and my voice under control, I promised to write a thank-you.
After a few more minutes of decorating, she took the tub of valentine decorations upstairs, and when I heard the low murmuring of her voice, I knew she was on the phone.
I walked upstairs. She was in the bathroom, phone in one hand, replacing the white star-shaped Christmas soaps in the dish with red heart-shaped ones.
“Mom,” I whispered. “Is that Aunt Joan? I want to say thanks.”
She mouthed: That is so nice, and then she said, “Hold on, Joan; Minerva wants to say hi.”
I took the phone. “Hi, Aunt Joan. Thanks for the dough. Sorry I didn’t send a thank-you.”
“Hi, Minerva,” my aunt said. “Good to hear your voice. You sound older, girl!” Her voice always surprised me because it sounded like my mom’s and altogether different from my mom’s at the same time. “You got snow?”
“Did. Not now.”
“Snowing here like there’s no tomorrow.”
While she began telling me a story about their truck getting stuck — she always had a story — I gave my mom one of those looks like You know Aunt Joan, this is going to be a while, and I made a sign-language gesture that I was going to get something to drink. Then I nonchalantly headed downstairs with the phone while my mom kept decorating.
I laughed about the truck story until I got to the kitchen, which was far enough away for some sonic privacy, and then I said: “Hey. I have to do this genealogy report for school. You know, on immigration and everything. I was just wondering … about my dad.… Is he Hawaiian or Japanese or what?” I took a breath and tried to sound casual. “I mean, with a name like Keanu Choy, I wasn’t sure.”
There was a split second of hesitation. “Is — is your mom finally talking about this, Minerva? She had a no-talking policy about Keanu for years.”
The sound of his name coming out of my aunt’s mouth sucked all the oxygen out of the room.
“Yeah.” I tried to laugh. “We’ve talked. It’s just not her favorite subject.” I opened the sliding glass door in our kitchen, stepped onto our dark, cold deck for air, and closed the door behind me.
“That’s the understatement of the year,” she said. “Listen, I never really hit it off with Keanu. He was a real go-getter and had a high opinion of himself, if you know what I mean, but that’s not a crime.”
“Yeah. My mom told me everything, but I just forgot if she said he was from Hawaii or what,” I said. The trick was to keep the conversation going.
“Hawaii. He had relatives in California,” she said. “So when he got
that job offer out there, I knew it was over. I thought your mom should try to at least work out the custody with him, but she wouldn’t budge, and he wouldn’t budge. And when that whole Disneyland thing happened … I think that was a clincher.”
“Yeah,” I said carefully, facing the house so I could see if my mom was coming. “My mom said Disneyland was a clincher.…”
Aunt Joan sighed. “Do you remember that? You were so little.”
“I remember bits and pieces,” I said.
“I’ll never forget that call from your mom … and the tears.…”
“Yeah,” I said as if I knew the whole story. “She was really upset.”
“I was in Chicago then, do you remember? You were so cute on the way to the airport, so excited about going. Your mom was pretty darn sure that once he saw the two of you again, he’d come back.”
“So Disneyland was her idea. I always wondered why we went there. We never did any other big trips except to see you.”
“No. She said Disneyland was his idea. And then you guys get all the way out there and … how could he not show up? Who would do that to a wife and a three-year-old daughter? Just not show up? Not pay for it? Say, oh, I changed my mind. And don’t get me started on child support. I’ve been telling her she should sue his pants off. He’s got the dough.”
The deck seemed to be tipping. “I know, but my mom has wanted nothing to do with him.”
“You got that right. When she told me about the new wife and stepdaughter, I knew that was the last straw for her. Evidently, he’s got the money to support them.”
All the blood rushed from my head. I had the strange feeling that I was falling, but I was still standing.
Wife and stepdaughter.
“Listen, that school project sounds like a bunch of bull honkey,” Aunt Joan went on. “Just write in whatever you want and don’t worry about it. I know I’m not supposed to say this kind of thing, but ninety-nine percent of what you have to do in high school is a complete waste of time.”
I tried to laugh it off, and began to shiver, shoeless out there on the deck, my thin socks useless, suddenly overcome by the cold.
“Look. Your mom and I are very different, but we’re both Watsons. We like to talk, but we don’t go deep. You know what I mean. But if this stuff is really on your mind, you should try to talk about it with her. I know it’s hard, but you should try.”
Through the glass door, I saw my mom walk into the kitchen. She noticed me and gave me this look like, Who talks on the phone outside in winter?
“Yeah,” I said quickly. “It’s not a big deal. It just came up because of the genealogy thing. Like you said, it’s a waste of time.”
“Hey, when are you coming to the ranch again for a visit?”
My mom opened the door.
“I don’t know. I’ll ask.” I smiled at my mom. “Aunt Joan wants to know when we’re coming out for a visit.”
My mom rolled her eyes.
“Tell that mom of yours to get both your butts out here this summer.”
“Okay, Aunt Joan.”
My mom took the phone and resumed her conversation with Aunt Joan, pulling me inside. I was worried that Aunt Joan would tell her what we were talking about, but my mom launched into a whole thing about a recipe, and the conversation ended normally.
While I was in a daze of epic proportions, I made up a story about how Fin and I had a project to work on and how we were meeting downtown and, no, I didn’t need a ride, and I grabbed my coat and walked out the door. At the end of the block, I called him. He and Hayes were just getting off the train — they had stayed downtown to eat — and he could tell by the sound of my voice that I was in trouble, and he said he could meet me at the Pan Asia Café to talk.
“Alone, please,” I said. “And don’t tell Hayes that there’s anything wrong. And please don’t tell me anything about the fun you had.”
Fin had no money left and I had a total of two dollars in my pocket, so I ordered a Coke, and the waitress gave us an annoyed look.
As soon as she was gone, I let it out. “My dad is Keanu Choy. He isn’t a drug dealer or a convict. He’s a hotshot Hawaiian scientist with a high opinion of himself.” I went on to explain about the phone call with Aunt Joan.
“So he met your mom when he was an intern at the Shedd Aquarium?” Fin asked.
“Then he left us, moved to California for a job, and never looked back because he’s a go-getter. A guy who goes to get stuff. A guy who goes to get ahead.”
“Then he moved back here?”
“The aquarium offered him a big kahuna job and he couldn’t pass it up, being the go-getter that he is, and by then he had found himself a lovely new family.”
“You’re kidding?”
“A wife and stepdaughter.”
“Son of an unbelievable biscuit.”
“Yep. He is here now, with them.”
“What are you going to do?”
My anger was turning into exhaustion. “First, I need to forget about him and move on with my life. Second, I have to quit Get Happy.”
“Why?”
“Because Cassie reminds me of him.”
“What does Cassie have to do with it?”
“She is a recreational scuba diver and member of his SOS club.”
“What?”
“I didn’t tell you before, but I found out on her blog. They’re Save Our Seahorse buddies. They’re saving the world one seahorse at a time. He encourages her and all his followers by posting positive comments on their sites with lots of exclamation points!”
“You are freaking kidding me.”
“No. Every time I see Cassie, I’ll be reminded of him. I need to move on with my life. I think my mom is right. He isn’t worth the time of day. I’m just going to forget about him. I don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want you to pressure me into contacting him.”
“On one condition.”
“What?”
“You can’t quit Get Happy.”
“I have to.”
“If you quit, it will mean that you’re missing out on something good because of him. It’s like giving him the time of day.” He squeezed my hand. “Think of me. I would be missing out on fun with you because of him. And you’re going to buy your uke with the first paycheck.” He raised his eyebrows.
“But Cassie will induce projectile vomiting.”
“Pretend she isn’t there,” he said. “You don’t have to spend time with her. Just the rides to and from the gigs. Who cares if she’s buddy-buddy with the seahorse people?” He slid the Coke in front of me. “Come on, Min. Drink from the river of life. Drink from the cup of vigor and vim. Do not let this guy rain on your parade. Do not let this guy ruin your life.”
I had to smile.
The waitress came and asked us again if we wanted anything.
When she left, Fin admitted that he had looked up Keanu Choy after I first told him of my suspicions. “There is one positive here,” he said. “At least you know you have good genes.”
“They’re not good genes,” I said.
“He’s gorgeous and smart and successful. They’re good genes.”
“They’re mean genes.”
He crushed a napkin into a ball and threw it at me. “Min, you don’t have mean genes.”
“I have a couple.”
“We all have a couple. Except maybe Joy Banks. She has gosh-darn sweetie-pie genes.”
I felt tears coming on and didn’t want to cry, so I started to swear. Fin lunged across the table to give me a hug and said, “Say, ‘fudderudder’!”
I laughed and swallowed back my tears and then I took a big gulp from the cup of vigor and vim.
13
EMBRACING MY NEW LIFE
I HAD A FLURRY of songwriting, filling page after page in my songwriting journal. Twice after school, I went to Tenley’s Music Store and got to play my new songs on a real uke because the bearded guy wasn’t there. On the third day, he rose from the
dead and was sitting behind the counter when I walked in. Needless to say, I turned around and hightailed it out of there.
Thank goodness for cookie-tin ukes. At least I had something to hold. In the privacy of my room, I strummed air and sang my heart out.
SALT
I am the salt
In the water,
A far cry from sweet.
I am the salt,
And it’s all your fault.
I am the salt in the sea.
You got a boat.
Think you own the sea.
Want to sail here
And say hello to me?
You’re still a nobody.
Don’t try to hold me. Oh, no.
Don’t try to own me. Oh, no.
Don’t you try to know me.
Waves throw castaways
On the sand:
Broken seashells
And rusted cans—
That’s what you mean to me.
And I won’t waste time
Thinking of you,
Won’t chase the tide
Of that deep and bonny blue.
I am the salt
In the water,
A far cry from sweet.
I am the salt,
And it’s all your fault.
I am the salt in the sea
In the sea.
14
BREAKTHROUGH GIG
AS YOU KNOW, time does not stop to allow you to ponder the flotsam and jetsam of your mind. When you’re a working girl, you have to put on your wig and your tail and get to work, gosh darn it.
Fin was right. I could tune Cassie out. Another week flew by and it was time for another set of Get Happy parties. I was especially excited because after this one, we were getting our first paychecks.
The day began with a pep talk from Joy and helpful advice on how to guarantee a tip.
“Flirt with the parents!” Cassie chimed in.
“Cassie!” Joy exclaimed.
“Not gross flirting. Just things like, ‘Wow, I love your window treatments.’ ”
Fin and Hayes laughed. “That’s brilliant,” Fin said.
We piled into the van. Cassie had insisted I take the front seat, and she climbed in next to Hayes, telling him about how she was going to spend spring break in Aruba, showing him beach photos of her last trip on her iPhone, blah, blah, blah, finding little reasons to squeeze his thigh from time to time, the whole of which I witnessed in the makeup mirror.
