by Judy Blume
She kept her eyes closed. He was naked next to her and she was naked, though she didn’t remember stepping out of her skirt or pulling down her half-slip—what did it matter…sweet Jesus, nobody told her it would feel this good to have his hands stroking her there. Someone else was singing now and the cat was purring louder, the cat was moaning, or wait—was it her? Yes, those sounds were coming from her. She felt something pushing against her, then slipping inside her. And she wanted it, she wanted it. Then a short, quick pain—did she cry out? Maybe, but she didn’t say stop. She didn’t say no. Her body tensed…what if, what if…But soon he stopped moving and let out one deep groan, and something warm was on her belly. Warm, like a dollop of thick sauce. He wiped it up with his underwear then kissed the spot where it landed as if it were sacred ground.
Natalie
Natalie lay against the pillows in her bed at Elizabeth General Hospital. Nurse Kirkegaard, who her parents had hired as her private duty night nurse, watched over her. Natalie was supposed to be sleeping but she never slept, not if she could help it. She was weak and tired but sleep was out of the question. She had a needle in her arm attached to a tube. “Just fluids to keep you hydrated,” Nurse Kirkegaard explained.
“I want to go home,” Natalie said.
“I know,” Nurse K said, “and you will, as soon as you’re able to eat, as soon as you’re strong enough.”
“I’m very strong,” Natalie told her. “I can dance for hours without getting tired.”
“Oh, you’re a dancer?”
“Yes.”
“My daughter is an actress. Maybe you’ve heard of her? Phyllis Kirk.”
“Your daughter is Phyllis Kirk?” Now the nurse had Natalie’s full attention. Phyllis Kirk was famous. The magazines were always running stories about her. Everyone knew she was from Elizabeth, had gone to Battin High. Everyone knew her mother was a nurse at Elizabeth General but Natalie never dreamed this nurse, who was middle-aged and stout and not beautiful, could possibly be her mother.
“She changed her name from Kirkegaard to Kirk,” the nurse explained. “It’s a stage name.”
“I’m going to have a stage name, too.”
“Natalie is a lovely name,” Nurse K said. “Look at Natalie Wood.”
“Yes, but I don’t want people to confuse me with her. I was thinking of Ruby.”
“Like Ruby Keeler, the tap dancer?”
“No, like Ruby Granik.”
“The girl who was killed in the plane crash?”
“You know about her?” Natalie was surprised. She would never have expected Nurse Kirkegaard to know anything about Ruby.
“My daughter met her a few times.”
“Really? Ruby knew Phyllis Kirk? She never mentioned that.”
“You knew Ruby?” Nurse K asked.
“Yes.”
“A tragedy.”
“Yes.” Natalie looked out the window at the night sky and thought about changing her name to Ruby Night. Ruby Skye. Ruby Starr. But she wasn’t sure Ruby would want her to use her name. She yawned.
“How about a bedtime snack?” Nurse K asked. “I could make you a strawberry milk shake.”
“I’d just throw it up,” Natalie said. “It’s better when I don’t eat because I really don’t like throwing up. I wish they’d figure out what’s wrong with me so I can go home.”
“Tomorrow you’ll have some tests.”
“I’m so cold,” Natalie said. “I’m cold all the time.”
Nurse K pulled another blanket over her, to stop her shivering. “Am I going to die?”
“You’re going to get well.” Nurse K smoothed Natalie’s hair, which had been falling out. Natalie had collected it and stuffed it into an envelope. You could see patches of her pink scalp.
“Did you know Phyllis had polio when she was a girl?” Nurse K asked.
“What? No.”
“But she overcame it and so will you.”
“You think I have polio?”
“No,” Nurse K said. “I’m just saying that if Phyllis could get better, you can, too. And I’ll let you in on a secret. Phyllis is up for a leading role in a very big picture opposite Vincent Price. It’s going to be the first 3-D movie.”
“What’s 3-D?” It sounded like a bra size.
“I’m not sure myself but it’s a very big deal. You have to promise to keep this to yourself.”
“I promise,” Natalie said. “I have a secret, too, but I can’t tell you.”
“You might feel better if you did.”
“No.” Natalie looked out the window again. “I tried telling my best friend but she didn’t believe me. Either that or she thought I was crazy.”
“Well, I’d believe you. Keeping secrets locked up inside isn’t healthy. It can make you sick.”
“You think that’s why I’m sick?”
Nurse K took her hand. “Close your eyes and I’ll sing you the same lullaby I used to sing to Phyllis when she was scared and couldn’t sleep.”
“But I don’t want to sleep. If I do I might never wake up.”
Gaby
Gaby welcomed her passengers aboard the first of two sections of the flight to Miami, due to leave at midnight. The second was scheduled for departure forty-three minutes later.
The passengers’ names were on a seating chart, making it easy for Gaby to greet each one by name once they were seated. Mr. Venturini and Mr. Griffiths, friends headed to Fort Lauderdale for a week of fishing, asked if they could change seats. They wanted to sit together up front but had to settle for two in the same row at the rear of the plane. At least they didn’t make a fuss about it. A priest, Father Good, sat at the emergency exit. He looked young and strong. He could handle it if he had to. Gaby wondered if he’d become a priest because of his name.
She had seen a married couple kissing goodbye at the gate. “See you in Miami, darling,” the husband had said. Now the wife, sitting in the second row, explained to Gaby that she and her husband were celebrating their tenth anniversary but they never traveled on the same plane. This was nothing new to Gaby. Many couples flew separately. That way, if something bad happened, the children would be left with at least one parent. Some of them even divided the children, the wife flying with one, the husband with the other. Gaby wondered if she’d do the same. She didn’t think so. She was no Nervous Nellie. She was a professional. Besides, flying was safer than driving.
She hung up the passengers’ coats and handed out magazines. Neither of the two honeymoon couples wanted anything to read. They’d probably smooch all the way to Miami or else fall asleep from the stress of the wedding and arrive too tired to fully enjoy their wedding night. Not that Gaby was anyone to comment on that.
It was too late for a dinner flight. She’d be serving just a midnight snack and a beverage. Many of her passengers would sleep all the way to Miami. She’d probably have to tap their shoulders to wake them, saying, We’ve arrived, sir.
She delivered the paperwork to the cockpit. The captain was in the left seat, copilot in the right, flight engineer in the jump seat. He was engaged to one of the stewardesses from Gaby’s class. All three were gentlemen. She’d flown with them many times. They kept their hands to themselves, which was more than she could say about some crews. She had to laugh when she thought about her fantasy pilot, Scotty Champion—if he existed she hadn’t met him yet. And now that she knew something about a pilot’s life she wasn’t interested in marrying one—someday, when she was ready to get married, that is.
“Miss,” one of her passengers, an anxious older woman in an aisle seat, called, “when can I use the restroom?”
“Do you need to use it?” Gaby asked.
“No. I’m just thinking ahead.”
“After we take off and reach our cruising altitude, you’ll be free to get up and use the restroom.” Gaby smiled, trying to reassure her, betting this was her first flight.
“It’s my first time flying,” she told Gaby. “I’m visiting my son and da
ughter-in-law. They have a new baby.”
“That’s lovely, Mrs. Iverson,” Gaby said. The passengers loved it when she called them by name.
Mrs. Iverson held up a tiny sweater she was knitting. “Do you think babies need sweaters in Miami?”
“I’m sure they do. I’ve worn sweaters, myself, especially in the evening.”
She gave Mrs. Iverson two years, max, before she, too, made Florida her home. When Mrs. Iverson reached for Gaby’s hand, Gaby let her hold it. “The weather’s perfect all the way down,” she said in a reassuring voice. “You’ll get to see the moon. You just relax and breathe through your nose.” Mrs. Iverson nodded. Gaby patted her hand. “It will be so smooth you’ll probably fall asleep and when you wake up you’ll be in Miami.”
—
SHE HANDED OUT silver wings to the children, always a big hit, and a deck of playing cards to anyone who wanted them. A mother and her teenage daughter took a pack. “Gin?” the mother asked her daughter, as she shuffled the cards.
“You know I always beat you,” the daughter said.
“Maybe tonight’s my lucky night,” the mother said, laughing.
So far, no drunks. That was good news. A late-night flight meant drinking at the bar in the departure lounge before boarding, which could translate into trouble on board.
Tomorrow Gaby could lie on the beach all day, soaking up the winter sun. Never mind what her mother said about the sun ruining her skin. How would her mother know? She’d never sunbathed. She’d never been to Miami.
One more time down the aisle checking to make sure the passengers had their seat belts fastened. She turned off the dome lights and switched on the night-lights. Most passengers kept their reading lights on, except for the ones who were already asleep or planning to be asleep.
Gaby didn’t like sitting in the rear jump seat, facing away from the passengers. She preferred to keep an eye on them. But rules were rules, and she strapped herself in for takeoff. The wheels of the four-engine DC-6 lifted off at 12:18 a.m., carrying fifty-nine passengers, a crew of four, and 2,953 pounds of mail, baggage and air-freight parcels.
The plane climbed to what she thought was 1,000 feet or less. One of the engines didn’t sound right. Gaby had been on other flights where engines had conked out but this was different. It made a horrible sputtering sound. She couldn’t be sure but it might have been two engines, because besides the sputtering noise, she heard what sounded like firecrackers. The plane dropped one hundred feet, and with it her stomach. The captain put full force on the power but the plane kept losing altitude.
Right then, she knew they would crash.
Christina
Christina rested her head on Jack’s shoulder as he drove her home. She was already late, half an hour past curfew. She’d better have a good story ready for Mama. She’d tell her there was an accident on the road and she and her friends were stuck in traffic, waiting for the tow truck to remove the cars. She was never late coming home without calling to explain, so she hoped Mama would give her some leeway. How could she call when she was stuck on Newark Avenue? she’d say.
She felt herself drifting off when, suddenly, a big silver ship sailed by so low she swore she could see inside, swore she could see the passengers, their faces pressed against the windows. She wasn’t sure at first if she was dreaming. She hoped she was dreaming. But no—she was wide-awake now, pointing to the sky as Jack swerved to the side of the road. The noise was thunderous. “What is it?” Her voice sounded as if it was coming from far away. And why was she asking, anyway? She already knew. She’d seen it before.
Jack shouted, “It’s going down.” He revved up the engine, and followed the plane’s path, which seemed to be heading for Westminster. “Jesus!” he cried, nearing Janet Memorial, as the plane fell from the sky. “Mason!”
Natalie
Nurse K had dozed off but not Natalie. She was looking out the window when something flashed in the sky. “What was that?”
“What?” Nurse K asked, awakening.
“In the sky. Didn’t you see it?”
“No, dear. Now turn away from the window. Concentrate on something warm and beautiful. Do you like the beach?”
“Yes. I love going down the shore.”
“Close your eyes and pretend that’s where you are. Can you feel the warm sand under your feet?”
“Yes.”
“And the sun on your back?”
“Yes.”
“Dip your toes in the ocean. The water is very warm today.”
“Should I swim?”
“Only if you want to. Only if the ocean is where you’d like to be.”
Phil Stein
Phil was walking Fred before hitting the sack. School tomorrow, then a day off for Lincoln’s birthday. Usually when he kept Fred overnight Fred did his stuff, and that was it until morning. But tonight Fred broke away, dragging his leash behind him, racing in and out of hedges. Phil chased him, catching glimpses of his red and yellow doggie sweater, as Fred jumped over low shrubs, scooting in and out of yards. What was wrong with that dog? “Damn it, Fred! Come back here.” Phil heard a terrible noise, so loud his hands went to his ears. He looked up and saw a plane. Not again, please, God, not again. A loud explosion. The flames shot up. What are you doing to us, God? “Fred…Fred!” Phil cried, terrified that he’d lost the dog, terrified of what was happening. All at once the neighbors were out of their houses, coats thrown over their nightgowns and pajamas. Everyone was running, running toward the burning, mangled mess. He caught a glimpse of his parents. Until then he’d never seen his mother run. Didn’t know she could. He gave one more anguished cry. “Fred!”
Miri
Miri awakened to the sound of thunder, but thunder in February? She ran into Rusty’s room, gently shook her. “Mom…did you hear that? What was it?”
“What?” Rusty said, taking off her sleep mask, pulling out her earplugs. “Hear what?”
“I don’t know. It sounded like thunder.”
“It’s nothing, honey. Go back to sleep.”
Miri padded down the hall to her bedroom, telling herself it was nothing. She was safe, Rusty and Irene and Uncle Henry were safe. Mason was safe. Safe from his crazy father, who’d chased him with an ax. At the sound of a car starting up, Miri pulled back the curtain of her front window in time to see Henry peeling out of the driveway, taking the corner so fast he skidded, the tires screeching. Something wasn’t right. She felt it in her gut.
She picked up the kaleidoscope from the top of her dresser and got back into bed, holding it first to her right eye, then to her left. Was there a difference? Not really. It was beautiful and calming either way.
Mason
Mason sat on his bed, facing the windows of the senior boys’ dorm, thinking about Miri. He’d had an early supper with Jack. Burgers at Mother Hubbard’s, then apple pie. Jack wanted to know about him and Miri. Wanted to make sure he wasn’t moving too fast, that he knew the rules.
He more or less told him he’d never known anyone like her, so sweet, so trusting. He didn’t say anything about their game of Trust. That was private, between him and Miri. He still couldn’t believe he’d told her about his mother and about his father chasing him with an ax. Until now, only Jack knew. But it was his idea to play Trust, wasn’t it? He must have known he’d tell her, must have wanted to tell her, to prove he trusted her, the way she trusted him. And now, as he sat at his window in the dorm at Janet, that was what was killing him. Because all the time he was living a lie. What if she found out about Polina? What was he supposed to do then?
Polina had volunteered to keep Fred overnight back in September, before he’d ever met Miri. She took him and Fred home with her to the two rooms on Williamson Street where she lived with her three-year-old kid, saying Fred could stay there. She unbuttoned her dress, showed him her breasts. You like? she asked. You think I’m pretty?
Yeah, and yeah.
You like to touch?
Oh, yeah. Keep aski
ng. Please don’t stop.
But she stopped when the kid came in and Fred barked. And the kid, who hardly spoke English, laughed. Doggy?
No, that’s a story he’d never tell. A story that has no end, because every week he’d gone to her place until the crash destroyed their house. Every week. And sometimes he was thinking of Miri when he did it. And sometimes he wasn’t thinking at all—he was just pumping her and it felt so good. She didn’t want anything from him, only that, only to say she was pretty and he liked her. Easy to say because it was true. He was careful. He got a package of rubbers. He wasn’t taking any chances. She was his first and she was a good teacher. She didn’t have to say much. Just took his hand and put it where she wanted it. Took his dick and guided it where she wanted it, which was where he wanted it, too.
—
AS HE STARTED getting ready for bed, he felt the house shake, then heard the earsplitting roar of a plane. A few of the other boys woke up and ran to the window. In the clear moonlit night, they saw it heading straight for them. He and the other boys fell to the floor, flattened and braced themselves. Mason made it partway under his bed. But instead of smashing into Janet, the plane must have hit something else and seconds later it crashed into their playing field, taking down the swings, the softball backboard. One explosion followed another. Mason didn’t stop to think—he raced outside in an adrenaline rush and charged across the field to what was left of the plane, its fuselage ripped apart. Three of the other boys followed. He pulled out a young woman hanging upside down in her seat. “I’m the stewardess,” she cried. “I have to help.”
“Okay, sure,” Mason told her, “but first we have to get you out of here.” He carried her in his arms while she kept insisting, “I have to help…” He got her out just before another explosion, handed her over to one of the other boys, then rushed back to the plane. He freed a girl trapped under her seat, and threw her over his shoulder. “My husband,” she cried. “I’m not leaving without my husband. We just got married.” Mason handed her down to another of the boys, then went back to find the husband buried under debris, and barely alive, if that. They were working as a team now. The boys from Janet and the other rescuers, police, firemen, nurses. He pulled out another victim, and another. An arm came off a corpse. A baby was charred and dead.
