by Judy Blume
Tears came to Puffin’s eyes. “I do remember how I felt when my parents were divorced. It was just terrible. And even now that they’re back together, I hate it when they fight.”
“You see?” Michelle said. “That’s what I’m talking about. Teenage marriages hardly ever work.”
“My parents weren’t teenagers when they got married,” Puffin said, walking across the room and looking out the window. “That dog, Lucy, is digging a hole in your garden.”
“She likes to dig.”
“What’s it like, having Sara here?”
“We’re surviving.”
“I’m an only child. That’s why I want to start young and have a bunch of my own.”
“Have you thought about giving the baby up for adoption . . . I mean, if you’re dead set against abortion?”
“Please don’t call it a baby!” Puffin said, turning around. “Please just refer to it as my pregnancy.”
“Okay,” Michelle said. “Have you thought about an adoption for your pregnancy?”
“I would not be able to give up my pregnancy for adoption. Not to brag or anything, but no family could give it as much as mine. It would have trust funds from the day it was born. It would have everything. So adoption is out of the question. We’re the kind who might adopt, but not give up for adoption. Do you see what I’m saying?”
“Well, then . . .” Michelle said, sighing, “it sounds as if abortion is the only answer.”
“Won’t you please try to talk Stuart into marrying me? We’d have plenty of money. He wouldn’t have to worry about supporting me or the pregnancy. He could still go to college if he wanted to and we’d go with him.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I guess I didn’t think you would.” Puffin zipped up her vest. “Will you come with me to the clinic?”
“If you want me to.”
“Will you call and set up the appointment for me?”
“When do you want to go . . . tomorrow?”
“Whenever.” They walked to the front door. “You know something, Michelle? I used to think you were too serious, that you never had any fun, but now I wish I was more like you. I wish that I knew all that you know.”
Michelle put her arm around Puffin’s shoulder and was surprised by how small she seemed. “I don’t know everything,” she said.
“Maybe not . . . but you know enough.”
Michelle accompanied Stuart and Puffin to the clinic. Stuart had been pale and edgy that morning. He’d snapped at Sara at the breakfast table, telling her to keep her goddamned dog out of the kitchen. Sara had left the table in tears.
He did not say a word to Michelle while they sat, side by side, in the outer office of the clinic, waiting for Puffin to have her abortion. And when Puffin came out, smiling bravely, it was Michelle who hugged her first, asking if it had hurt. Puffin shook her head and held Michelle’s hand. Stuart just stood there, like a zombie. Then he drove them to Puffin’s house, where Michelle heated up a pot of soup. They sat with her all afternoon, watching over her as she dozed. When Clare came home they explained that Puffin had come down with a virus that was going around school.
“Not again,” Clare said. “We just got over the flu.”
“This one only lasts forty-eight hours,” Michelle explained. “Maybe even less.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
That night Stuart came to Michelle’s room. “Thanks for coming with us today.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
“You won’t say anything to Mom, will you?”
“No.”
“Good. Puffin wanted to tell the whole world, but I convinced her not to.”
“Do you love her, Stu?”
“I thought I did, but now I don’t know. The idea of spending the rest of my life with her scared the shit out of me. She had all these plans for us, like how we’d fix up our house and where we’d go on vacations.”
“Do you feel bad about the baby?”
“What would I do with a baby, Michelle? I don’t even know where I’m going to college.”
After Stuart left Michelle thought about how, in Margo’s day, you couldn’t just go out and get an abortion. If you got pregnant then you had to get married. And it was that fear, that fear of pregnancy, that kept girls virgins. Except, of course, Margo had slept with this one boy, James.
Suppose Margo got pregnant now? Michelle thought. Even though she was forty, it was still possible. God, what an idea! Margo, pregnant. Would she have an abortion or would she and Andrew get all sentimental and decide to get married and have the baby? That would certainly change things. She had worried when her father had married Aliza that they might have babies too, but so far they hadn’t. And Michelle was glad. She didn’t think either of her parents should have more kids. They should just try to do a better job with the two they already had.
During Christmas vacation one of Freddy’s friends had come over to visit. He had three screwed-up teenagers from his first marriage, but now he was married again and his new wife was pregnant. This time I’m going to do it right, he’d told Freddy. I know a lot more about raising kids now. Forget the permissive stuff. What they need is authority. Bullshit! Michelle thought. What they need is love.
Even if Margo and Andrew did get married there was no guarantee that they would stay married. Look at that fight they’d had on the night of Early Sumner’s dinner party. They had come home around one a.m., shouting. Mainly it had been Margo doing the shouting. Andrew had just kept repeating, “You’ve got it all wrong. She was just being friendly.”
“Friendly!” Margo had yelled, slamming their bedroom door so that their voices were muffled. “She had her hand on your thigh. You call that friendly?”
“What was I supposed to do?” Andrew asked.
“You could have removed her hand. You could have walked away from her. For Christ’s sake, Andrew, you’re a grown man. You know the difference between friendly and flirtatious.”
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?” Andrew said. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“No . . . being here isn’t enough. I need to be able to trust you.”
“I didn’t fuck her. I didn’t even want to.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about needing to trust you not to hurt me. I’m talking about needing to be able to depend on you emotionally.”
So, something had happened at the party, Michelle had thought. Somebody, probably Early Sumner, had put the make on Andrew, and Andrew had responded, leaving Margo feeling hurt and betrayed, not to mention jealous.
Early Sumner was old, more than fifty, but she had an interesting face. It looked carved. She was very thin and always wore black leather pants, big shirts, and amber beads, each one the size of a golf ball. She gave a lot of money to the library and the museums. Once a month she would drop by school to see who might be free to do some odd job around her house. She paid five dollars an hour. She never chose any of the girls though.
Whatever had happened Margo had been steaming. Michelle kept listening even though she was frightened.
“Men, you’re all the same,” Margo was shouting. “You’re all babies with big egos. You’re all such pushovers.”
“And you’re all so goddamned insecure.”
“Who’s insecure?”
“What do you want from me?” he asked. “Don’t you know what I’ve been going through? Don’t you know what a hard time this is?”
“It’s a hard time for me too,” Margo said. “Taking on the responsibility of another child and all the family problems that come with it. Not a day goes by without a phone call about either B.B.’s mother or B.B. herself. Jesus, Andrew, I’m so sick of Goldy and her stroke and B.B. a
nd her breakdown I feel like I’m going to have one or the other myself. I’ve been afraid to tell you how tense I am because I know you are too. But here I am trying to help Sara feel at home and trying to think of your needs and her needs and my children’s needs and my work, and my own needs have gone right down the drain . . . and yes, I’m feeling a little resentful because I needed a night out so badly and this is what I get from you!”
Michelle felt a lump rise in her throat, a lump as big as one of Early Sumner’s amber beads. She wanted to run down the hall, to fling open their bedroom door, and shake them by the shoulders, yelling, Stop this stupid fighting. Stop it right now, before you ruin everything!
She realized then, for the first time, that she did not want Margo and Andrew to split up. She liked them together. She liked having Andrew in the house, in spite of Sara. It made her feel good. It made her feel as if she were part of a family.
“Come on, Margo . . . come on . . . I’m sorry,” Andrew said, softly now, so that Michelle could barely hear him. “I just wanted to have a good time, that’s all.”
“I wanted to have a good time too,” Margo said, crying, “but you acted as if I wasn’t even there. I felt invisible . . .”
Michelle understood what Margo meant. Sometimes she felt invisible herself. And she would have to pinch herself to make sure she still existed.
A FEW DAYS LATER, when Sara and Michelle were the only ones at home, Sara knocked on Michelle’s bedroom door.
“Yeah?” Michelle called. She was still reading The Bell Jar.
“It’s me, Sara.”
“Come in . . .”
“Hi,” Sara said, standing in the doorway.
“Hi.”
“Could I, uh, borrow one of your, uh, Tampax?”
“Yeah, sure. They’re in the bottom cupboard in my bathroom,” Michelle said, without thinking. She was at this really interesting part of the book, where Esther was just getting out of the hospital. But then it suddenly dawned on her that this was Sara’s first period, so she looked up and said, “First time, huh?”
Sara turned red and nodded.
“You need some help?”
Sara shrugged.
“You know how to use Tampax?”
“Jennifer showed me once.”
“Well, go try and if you can’t get it up call me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Sara was locked in the bathroom for twenty minutes. Finally, Michelle knocked on the bathroom door. “You okay?”
“I think I got it up, but I’m not sure. It feels like it’s going to fall out.”
“Try again, with another one. Put some Vaseline on the tip before you shove it up.”
“Where’s the Vaseline?”
“In the bottom . . . where the Tampax is . . .”
“Okay, I see it.”
“You want me to come in and help you?”
“That’s okay. I’ll try it again.”
Sara came out ten minutes later. “I think it’s up there this time.”
“You shouldn’t feel anything. It should be comfortable.”
“It’s pretty comfortable,” Sara said. And then she smiled shyly.
Oh, she was so pathetic, Michelle thought. So young and so pathetic. “The first time I got it,” Michelle told her, “I was almost fourteen and I was at this sleepover with six other girls and I didn’t want to tell any of them it was my first time so I just kept shoving Kleenex in my pants until I got home and then I told my mother and she was so excited she cried and that night we went out to dinner to celebrate.”
Michelle saw the hurt come into Sara’s eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about your mother.”
“That’s okay.”
“Well, if you need any more help just ask me.”
“Thanks.”
Michelle went up to the kitchen then and baked a chocolate cake. When the icing cooled she wrote Congratulations, Sara across the top.
36
SARA STILL HAD NOT HEARD from her mother, but she had talked to Dr. Arnold, her mother’s doctor. Sara had been scared that once she heard Dr. Arnold’s voice she wouldn’t be able to think of a thing to say. So she had rehearsed her first question over and over in her mind. And then, when Dr. Arnold came on the line, Sara had said it. “Exactly when will my mother be better?”
“That’s hard to say,” Dr. Arnold answered, as if Sara’s question was just ordinary. “She’s improving, but very slowly.”
“Should I keep on writing to her?” Sara asked.
“Yes,” Dr. Arnold said. “Your letters mean a lot to her.”
“Then how come she doesn’t write to me . . . or call?”
“She’s not ready to communicate, Sara.”
“What does she do all day?”
“Well, she’s begun to go out for walks and that’s a very good sign.”
“What else?”
“She watches TV.”
“Mom never watches TV. She says it ruins your mind.”
“She’s watching now.”
“Which shows?”
“Whatever’s on in the lounge.”
“Like Happy Days and M*A*S*H?”
“Sure.”
“Does she laugh?”
“No,” Dr. Arnold said, “she doesn’t laugh.”
“Will you tell her that I’m coming to see her as soon as school’s over, unless she’s better before then?”
“I’ll tell her. And when you come down I’ll introduce you to my daughter, Mimi. She’s your age.”
Sara did not tell Dr. Arnold that she didn’t want to meet Mimi. Mimi would feel sorry for Sara, knowing that her mother had had a mental breakdown. Mental breakdown. That was such a weird expression. Sara imagined all these little pieces inside her mother’s brain coming apart and spinning around. They would have to be put back together, like a puzzle, before her mother would be well again.
Sara thought it was good that her mother’s doctor was a woman. Her mother was always saying, Never hire a man if you can find a woman who can do the same job. Women are so much more dependable, Sara. Women take their responsibilities seriously.
Sara found out about her own responsibilities the night they came home from the movies to find that Lucy had raided the pantry. She had dragged at least a dozen boxes of food into the dining room, hiding them under the table. She had chewed up parts of each box so that cookies, crackers, cereal, and spaghetti lay all over the floor. “Looks like Lucy had a great time tonight,” Stuart said, and he and Michelle laughed.
Sara laughed with them until Margo looked at her as if she was as guilty as Lucy.
“Clean it up, Sara,” Daddy said.
“But . . .” Sara began.
“No buts,” Daddy said. “Lucy is your dog. You’re responsible.”
And so Sara cleaned up the mess by herself.
If they were a real family, like the Brady Bunch, Sara thought, everyone would have helped her. But they were just people who happened to live in the same house. They had responsibilities, but no feelings.
Sara was learning more about them every day. She understood that Margo was responsible for Stuart and Michelle, that she was responsible for Lucy, and that Daddy was responsible for her. Which got Sara to thinking that if anything happened to her father she would be all alone. Margo wouldn’t want her. Margo had only taken her in and painted her room purple to please Daddy. But Margo didn’t really care about her. Sara had suspected as much, but she was still disappointed to find out it was true. She heard it from Margo herself on the night that Margo and her father had had their big fight.
Jennifer had slept over and they’d gone to bed right after Saturday Night Li
ve. Sara was just about asleep when she heard a door slam. At first she wasn’t sure what was happening. Then she heard Margo’s voice, followed by her father’s. They were shouting at each other. Sara lay very still, pretending to be asleep. She hoped that Jennifer was already asleep and would not wake up, would not hear Margo and her father arguing. There was a lot of talk about loyalty and betrayal before Sara heard her own name.
“Sara!” Daddy said. “What has this got to do with her?”
“Having another child in the house means added responsibilities,” Margo said. “I can’t pretend that she isn’t here just because she’s yours.”
“I can pack my bags and leave,” Daddy shouted. “If that’s what you want, just say so. If it’s too much for you having Sara here . . .”
“Don’t yell at me,” Margo said. “I need to be able to be honest with you. If I can’t be honest about the way I feel . . . if I can’t discuss it . . .”
“Do you want me to go?” Daddy asked.
“Do you want to go?” Margo said.
“Sometimes,” Daddy said. “Sometimes I want to get the hell out of here and just sail off to Bali.”
How could he? Sara thought. How could he want to sail away without her? Unless he meant that he wanted to sail away with her. Yes, maybe that was it. Oh, that would be nice. Just the two of them, sailing off to Bali, wherever that was. She wouldn’t have to go to school or anything. And she wouldn’t have to share him with Margo either.
“Sometimes I wish you would just sail away,” Margo said, “. . . sail right out of my life the way you sailed into it.”
Sara could tell that Margo was crying.
“But then I think of life without you,” Margo continued, “and I know that isn’t what I really want.”
“What do you want?” Daddy asked. “What the fuck do you want?”
“I want the closeness back.”
Sara felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She drew her knees up to her chest.
