Ruby Unscripted

by Cindy Martinusen-Coloma

  That’s no illusion.

  “I ate on the drive down and can’t eat all of it.”

  I open my mouth, but no words come out. What do I say to my brother, watching TV and eating a sandwich? That I’m furious at him for abandoning me?

  I am angry at him for leaving us—me, Mac, Mom. But I also want to say that I miss him. I don’t want to feel angry, don’t want to make him guilty. I want us to go do something, maybe drive to the beach Frankie took me to and drink coffee as the sun goes down.

  Carson and I have always fought a lot, but sometimes we have more fun with each other than with most anyone else. He’s the only one who understands certain things, even if we don’t really talk about them. We’re not the type of brother and sister to sit and share our feelings. It’s enough just to sit beside each other or go somewhere with the music loud. Or to have each other in the same house.

  “What?” he asks, all Carson-irritated-like.

  “I didn’t even see your truck.”

  “Probably ’cause I had to park blocks down the street.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  “I didn’t either. But Kate told Allen that you and Mom and Mac were upset that I’m staying with Dad and Tiffany. Oh, and your friendly voice mail.”

  “You just didn’t show up. That was pretty shocking. Suddenly you’re living with Dad, after we all thought we’d be together.”

  “This is a nice warm welcome,” he says and leans back on the couch.

  I flop down beside him, suddenly angrier than I’ve been the whole time I’ve been missing him.

  “Wanna go to the mall later?” he asks, and I catch a small smile on the corners of his lips.

  This is Carson’s apology, and my anger quickly dissipates.

  “Well, yeah,” I say sarcastically, and then we both smile. “What about tomorrow after I work?”

  “Austin and I are going to a Giants preseason thing in the morning.” He raises his eyebrows with a smile at that.

  “So that’s why you came down?”

  “No, I came down because I missed you.” He grabs my head and starts rubbing it, and I fight him off.

  I pick up the other half of his sandwich and take a bite.

  “How’s Dad?”

  “Annoying.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story. He didn’t want me to come down, let’s just say that.”

  “How’s everyone else up there?”

  “Fine, but you better call that little friend of yours.”

  “Which one? Why?”

  “Kate. She likes this senior from another school. It’s some big secret.”

  “Kate hasn’t told me about any guy. She liked Derek or Chad last I heard.”

  “That was days ago. It’s all changed in Kate’s world. Girls are so weird.”

  “I’d better call her then.”

  “Their parents went to some bluegrass festival in Oregon for the weekend. She’s staying with that girl you don’t like.”

  “Meegan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the heck is going on?”

  Meegan is the last person I like Kate around. Then I remember how Kate hasn’t really been talking to me. I’d thought it was because I was too busy, that she was angry at me over it.

  “Hey, how do you like the new school?” Carson asks with a smirk.

  “Yeah, thanks a lot. Deserting me to the likes of Ro-day-o Drive or the OC. I think I saw a girl who was on My Super Sweet Sixteen.”

  “Really?”

  “No, but it wouldn’t surprise me.” I notice he’s watching The Godfather, and it’s paused on the scene when Sonny gets rubbed out.

  “You can handle it better than me. Now that you’ve been there, can you imagine me at that school? Mom told me it’s larger than Shasta College.”

  “It might be. But you might like it. They offer a lot of cool classes. Way more than Cows 101 at home.”

  “Oh, so you’re gonna diss your old school now that you’re a big-city girl.”

  I give him a look and take another bite of sandwich. “Why aren’t you in school?”

  He smiles. “Oh, I’m exploring colleges in the Bay Area.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, it’s about time you got here. Let’s do something fun this weekend.”

  “Yeah, sure. I should get on the road early Sunday though.”

  My mouth is full of bread, lettuce, tomato, roast beef, and avocado. It keeps me from commenting on his departure. So this is how it’s going to be now?

  I nod toward the TV. “Haven’t you seen this enough?”

  “Never enough, never,” he says in a Godfather voice. “Mom says there’s no satellite TV yet, so I brought a bunch of movies. It’ll be classic movie weekend.”

  “What kind of classics?” I ask and then remember the flyer for the film group tonight.

  “Planet of the Apes, The Birds, Spiderman 1,” he says with a smile.

  I pick up a pile of DVDs and hold up The Shawshank Redemption, Vertigo, and Simon Birch.

  Simon Birch. “Did you hear about Little Tony Arnold?”

  “Yeah,” my brother says solemnly. “Weird. Who’d ever guess? But it made me think of that movie, so I brought it for Mac—I think he’s old enough.”

  “You might cry again if we watch it,” I tease, but I know I’ll cry if I watch it, just thinking of Little Tony dead and in some coffin at the funeral home. Or maybe he’s already in the ground.

  “Shut up.”

  Mom calls from another room, “Don’t say ‘shut up.’”

  We laugh, and it’s like normal again. For a few days anyway.

  The clothes Frankie drops off aren’t the usual hand-me-downs. Quite a few shirts, pants, and jackets still have the tags on them.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask in amazement. Except for a few items, they are exactly what I’d buy if I had the money.

  “They would’ve gone to some charity, so why not to poor little Ruby?”

  “I’m not finding that joke funny.”

  “Oh, but you do. You know you do.”

  Though he just barely comes in the door—he has an orthodontist appointment, though his teeth look perfect—Frankie says again how he loves our house. As in loves, like hyper, exciting, flamboyant loves. He wants the full tour next time—when he was here before, he was more focused on impressing the parents. Carson meets him a bit grudgingly. And then, like a whirlwind that comes and goes, Frankie is gone.

  “Who was that?” Carson asks with a frown on his face.

  “Frankie,” I say cheerily.

  “Why are you hanging out with him?”

  “I like him. And he brought me clothes.”

  He’s shaking his head. “Don’t let being here change you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? I would’ve hung out with Frankie in Cottonwood.”

  “Dad wouldn’t let you.”

  “Dad lets me do whatever I want.”

  “Why would you want to hang out with a gay guy?”

  “He was the first person to be nice to me. He’s my only friend so far.” I stand with my hands on my hips, the boxes of clothing on the floor before me.

  “Well, nice first friend.”

  “He’s been more fun than half my friends in Cottonwood.”

  “What’s wrong with Cottonwood suddenly?”

  “What’s your fear about being around a gay guy? He won’t make a pass at you.”

  Carson gets that super-angry quiet that means I’ve pushed too far.

  “I’m going to look at my new clothes.”

  “Yeah, go do that.”

  “And by the way, every place we live ends up changing us.”

  “Whatever.”

  I know my brother will get over it quickly. He always does. I’ll come down in an hour or so and we’ll watch movies all night, maybe go to the mall as well.

  The clothes, three boxes full, are amazing. I lay them out all over my room. Everything I try on fits me. I
t’s like a fashion miracle.

  This could be an answer to prayer, couldn’t it? But I didn’t end up praying about it after all. Mom might have. Or maybe God hears us without our even asking, reminding us that He’s there.

  Then why does He seem so far away lately?

  My fault?

  His fault?

  Maybe He’s not even there.

  But my two most immediate needs are being met—friendship and clothing. Frankie, my new gay friend; London, my apparent friend in the making; and Frankie’s boxes of clothing are definite miracles. They do say that God can use anyone and anything.

  After a long night of movies, I wake up, and I’m crying. Moonlight streams through the balcony, which is what makes me know I was dreaming—the discovery of which is a relief, like thinking something bad has happened to someone and finding out it’s not true. My pillow is damp from the tears.

  But the dream wasn’t bad or sad, not really.

  Pulling the covers up to my chin, I picture the scene that’s probably more memory than dream. We were driving in my dad’s old Chevy. Mac wasn’t born yet, or at least he wasn’t there. Dad was driving, Carson and I were in the middle sharing a seat belt, and Mom was on the other side. We were driving somewhere far, because it felt like we’d been on the road forever. We went through a drive-thru and Dad was being goofy to the teller, who was laughing. Carson was saying, “Dad, don’t. That’s embarrassing.” Mom was laughing a little.

  And then we had our food, but it wasn’t burgers. It was Chinese takeout, but dream-fashion, we’re eating with our chopsticks without any trouble at all. And the truck is warm, someone turned on soft music, the night is upon us, and we’re driving, going somewhere, anywhere, but going there together. Carson and I are safely tucked between our parents, Mac is a future coming to us, and everything is good and peaceful.

  I hate those dreams.

  Now it’s like my body is afraid of sleep, despite the fact that my mind keeps telling it everything’s fine. My body doesn’t believe my mind, and so I toss and turn.

  Finally I get up and turn on my desk light, then pick up Aunt Betty’s gift and hop back beneath the covers. A journal for my thoughts. So why not this one? And so I write.

  Maybe it’s from all the movies we watched tonight and all the film stuff lately, but I can picture these ideas as scenes in a movie. Maybe it’s from Kaden reminding me of that screenwriting workshop. What was it he said that I didn’t want to hear? Truth. That sometimes we should stick with something and let it find us.

  I write, “Guy sitting on bed with laptop. Night.”

  The possibilities from there are endless.

  Maybe I’ll turn it into a horror with something smashing through the window.

  Or a romance where he’s writing the story of a lost love. Oh, that’s sort of like Moulin Rouge. It could be a comedy. Hmm, I can’t think of anything funny tonight. A bucket of water falls on his head. No, that’s about as funny as a sad dream.

  A suspense film could have a stranger pop on with an IM threatening the guy’s secret love. How does the stranger know he’s in love with her?

  Or the phone could ring—it’s a woman, crying out for help.

  I snuggle down in my covers and release a long, open-mouthed yawn. And as the ideas come one after another, I write and think and travel toward sleep with the images surrounding me.

  chapter fourteen

  “We’re here to pick you up, but we want milkshakes!” Mac says as he races into the Underground with Carson following.

  “It’s only three o’clock. I’m not off for another half hour.”

  Carson smiles one of his happier smiles. He must have enjoyed the Giants today. “That’s why we came for milkshakes. And so I could see Aunt Jenna,” he says just as I hear a cry of excitement from the kitchen.

  Aunt Jenna races toward Carson and envelops my brother in a big hug.

  I make chocolate milkshakes, and Aunt Jenna tells me to have one with them. It’s a slow time, so she visits for a while, then leaves us to drink our milkshakes and let Mac tell jokes.

  “There were these three fifth graders in an airplane . . .”

  Sometimes it’s easy not to actually listen to Mac, since he talks continuously.

  “Do you get it?”

  We’re silent a moment, and then Carson laughs, which makes me laugh, which always happens when Carson laughs. It makes me happy to see him happy, though I don’t know why this is.

  “You get it?” Mac keeps saying.

  This is how it would be. This would be normal if Carson still lived with us.

  But I’m trying not to let what if and if only and would be take over what is. This is something Natasha said to me earlier today. I told her that my brother was visiting and that I wished he wouldn’t go back.

  She nodded, and I could tell she had something to say, so I asked her. With a divorce and a second husband’s death behind her, she said that she can’t live in what might have been or what would be.

  “I missed a lot of years wishing my life were something else. Now I try to take the gift of today and as many tomorrows as are given to me and do all I can in that time.”

  If I were to write what I’ve been given today, chocolate milkshakes with my brothers would be the first thing I’d put down.

  In the evening we work on the house, unpacking and cleaning. Carson works on his apartment, for when he comes down to visit or when other company comes. He talks about bringing some of his friends to go deep-sea fishing or sailing with a friend of Austin’s.

  Then we go out for late-night Chinese, and I think of my dream from last night.

  “You didn’t really tell me what’s going on with Dad,” I say to Carson, realizing that I haven’t talked to my father in over a week.

  “Later,” he says, glancing at Mom.

  A feeling of longing comes over me, and then I try instead to enjoy this right now. A time with Mom, Austin, Mac, Carson, and me—it’s rare. And who knows, a few years from now, I might dream about this and miss it terribly.

  But I will call my dad tonight too.

  “I don’t want to get up,” I tell Mac when he announces that breakfast is ready. The day awakens with a dread like the fog lingering around the house.

  “Mom is cooking bacon, eggs, hash browns, and French toast with coconut syrup.” He licks his lips. “It’s our last breakfast with Carson for a long, long time.”

  A shadow of sadness washes over Mac’s young face. His hair is messy, and he’s in pajamas that only little kids should wear—Carson will no doubt tease that Mac is too old for the tight blue-with-yellow-moons top and bottoms. I forget how skinny Mac’s legs are, little-kid skinny, and it makes him look like a cute big-headed grasshopper.

  “So come down, ’kay?”

  “’Kay,” I say, but I pull the covers over my head.

  At breakfast Austin announces, holding a bite of French toast midair on his fork, “Let’s go to the beach.”

  “But Carson has to leave soon,” Mom says.

  “No, I can stay longer. It’s no big deal.”

  This brightens everyone up.

  An hour later we’re at the beach instead of church. I must admit, I was actually looking forward to church, to “trying out” the one Kaden attends. But Carson says he won’t be back for a month, so this is better. Mom packs a ton of food, and after breakfast and Chinese, I wonder if I’ll fit into those new clothes of mine tomorrow.

  Above the silver waters the fog lingers, but it’s not too cold, and the sky is slowly fading from gray into patches of blue. The waves come in a steady rhythm to roll and fold, then stretch themselves across the sand. Mac and Carson play catch with a Nerf football. Austin tries to fly a kite but finally gives up. Mom gets up from the sand castle she was making and brushes the sand off her jeans. They walk hand in hand down the beach toward some craggy rocks.

  After all the food I’ve been eating, I should play football or go for a run or something, but this heavines
s keeps me resting on the blanket. Running my fingers through the sand, I sift through the cool top layer to the cold underneath, making parallel lines like a Japanese garden.

  Usually I’d draw pictures in the sand or wishes or the name of my current crush. Ruby loves . . .

  I think of Nick. But I don’t love Nick. I don’t even really like him. I haven’t thought of him, wondered about him, or talked to him in days.

  When I was thirteen, I thought I loved a guy who worked at my dad’s hardware store. And there have been some strong emotions for Chad Michael Murray and Orlando Bloom, as well as real-life crushes on a few guys at school, which were usually reciprocated. Those ended for various reasons.

  But right now I wouldn’t write Ruby loves or even Ruby likes about anyone.

  Dad wasn’t home when I called the night before. The answering machine said, “You’ve reached the home of Steve and Tiffany Madden,” which conjured a strange anger. There was no mention of “Carson, Ruby, or Mac.” Though it isn’t my home. But it is my dad’s.

  And Carson lives there. Carson and my dad.

  And me, Mac, and Mom live together with Austin. I should be thankful for this, for today. But somehow I can’t be.

  A sadness prevails like the fog prevailing over the sunny day, even if the sky promises to turn blue once again. Not long ago I was at this same ocean with Frankie, and the world stretched before me all hopeful and wonderful-like.

  The waves roll and stretch, roll and stretch, as they do with faithful eternal consistency.

  All I feel now is a great sense of looming unrest. What will become of us all?

  ME: We need to talk soon, but I can't right now. Carson is about to leave.

  KATE: It's like we're becoming strangers, and we always promised to be BFF.

  ME: I know. So let's talk tonight.

  KATE: K. L8r G8r

  Carson and I carry his bag and a few boxes out to his truck and then stand outside in the falling darkness. He was supposed to leave in the morning, but he keeps delaying.

  “I can’t believe we won’t ever live together anymore,” I say, no longer caring if that hurts his feelings.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”