Rufus + Syd

by Julia Watts

  In the car, we resume our posts—Josephine and Cole in the front seat, Syd and I in the back. Somewhere along the way home Syd and I fall asleep, our heads together, holding hands: it was a long, hard week.

  Syd

  IT’S SIX o’clock, and I’m at my post at the stove. This time I’m browning ground beef for tacos, the kind from a mix. I had the best time in Atlanta, but I’ve been extra sad since we got back. I guess it’s like that old saying about how are you gonna keep ’em down on the farm once they’ve seen Paree. Now that I’ve seen a real city, Vermillion seems even worse, which I wouldn’t have thought was possible.

  I’m sad too, because I keep thinking about Tara wanting me to move to Atlanta with her. Realistically, I know this wasn’t going to happen anyway, but somehow I keep thinking, what if it had? What if she chose me over drugs and we moved to Atlanta and she got a job and worked on her music and I got a part-time job and started college and we lived together and went to shows and museums and clubs? Somehow I keep torturing myself with what-ifs even though I know better. If Tara and I had stayed together, it would’ve just amounted to me playing Didi all over again.

  When Mom comes in and plops down in the kitchen chair to take off her shoes, she says, “My God, I’ve got a splitter of a headache.”

  “Take a couple of ibuprofen,” I say, opening the refrigerator to get out the lettuce and cheese.

  “It wouldn’t help.” She rubs her temples. “It’s because of me quitting smoking.”

  I’m so surprised I drop the lettuce. I’ve never known Mom to even try to quit. “Since when are you quitting smoking?”

  “Since this morning. And let me tell you… the Hair Affair ain’t the place to be. Darlene lights one cigarette off the butt of another.”

  “Well, I’m really proud of you,” I say, sliding the tray of taco shells into the oven. “If there’s anything I can do to help make it easier, just let me know.” It’s my first happy thought all day to imagine a house that doesn’t smell like an ashtray and shopping trips where we don’t have to skimp on food so Mom can have her carton of cigarettes.

  “Thanks, Buttercup. You can make sure you keep a pot of coffee on. It seems to help a little. And get rid of all the ashtrays in the house. I don’t want to look at anything that makes me think of smoking. Even though what I’m doing all the time is thinking about smoking.”

  “Will do,” I say, setting two glasses of Kool-Aid on the table. “So what was it that finally made you decide to quit?”

  She shifts in her seat a little. “Well, I went to the doctor this morning, and he said I need to make some changes to be healthier.”

  Mom took me to the doctor every once in a while when I was little—for shots and sickness—but I can’t remember the last time she went to the doctor on her own account. Suddenly I’m scared, and I have to sit down. “Are you sick?”

  “No, Buttercup.” She smiles, but it looks like she’s trying too hard. “I’m healthy as a horse. Well, as a horse who smokes, anyway. I’ve got some news, though. It’s nothing bad.”

  Somehow Mom assuring me she’s not sick hasn’t done much to untie the knot in my stomach. “Okay.”

  “Buttercup, I’m pregnant.”

  I wouldn’t be any more shocked if she told me she was from another planet. “You’re what?”

  She laughs. “You heard me. It just hasn’t soaked in yet.”

  “But how—”

  “The usual way, I reckon. You need me to run through The Talk again?” Her tone is so casual and jokey, it’s almost like she’s enjoying this.

  “So was it some guy you picked up at Buckner’s?”

  She shrugs. “Could’ve been. More likely it was this guy that came into the shop one day. He was selling meat off a truck. We got to talking, and he asked me what I was doing for dinner that night. You had something going with Rufus, so I went out with him to Buckner’s. We had steaks and a few beers and kind of ended up playing around in the back of his truck.”

  I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. “You had sex in a meat truck?”

  She laughs. “Sure, why not? I don’t know how I ended up with such a prude for a daughter.”

  I let this one pass. “And you didn’t use protection?”

  “No, it was just kind of a spontaneous thing.”

  “Like spontaneous combustion?” I say. “What are you planning to do about it?”

  “I’m having the baby, of course, the same as I did when I found out I was pregnant with you,” Mom says, using her hurt voice. “You’re acting like this is a bad thing.”

  “Because it is! You probably don’t even know Meat Truck Man’s last name, so he’ll be no help. We barely have enough money for rent and groceries, and then there’ll be doctor’s bills and hospital bills. Once the baby’s here, you’ll have to pay for daycare.”

  Mom smiles like the Mona Lisa. “But see, I’ve got it all figured out. By the time I have this baby you’ll be about ready to graduate. I was thinking that during the day you could stay home with the baby while I work. And nights you can drive to Dothan to take your classes at the Beauty Institute. By the time the kid starts school, you and me could be running our own salon.” Her tone is so calm and sure that it’s infuriating.

  “And you just decided this without consulting me?”

  “I’m consulting you right now.” I can tell she’s hurt that I’m not jumping up and down with excitement at this point.

  “And what if I say no?”

  Her eyes well with tears. She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “You can’t say no to me, Buttercup. We’re all the family each other’s got.”

  Before I can answer, a horrible stink fills the room. Black smoke is billowing from the oven. I jump up, open the oven door, and coughing, pull out the black, charred taco shells. I slam the tray down on the stove and burst into tears. How am I supposed to take care of a baby when I can’t even make tacos out of a box? And why is all this crap my responsibility anyway? I turn off the oven and open the kitchen’s tiny window.

  Then Mom is standing behind me with her arms around my shoulders. “It’s okay,” she says. “I wasn’t even hungry. Lately I’ve not been up for much but Saltines and Sprite.”

  I turn around to face her. “You don’t really think I’m crying about the tacos, do you?”

  “Of course not.” She reaches out and tucks my hair behind my ears. “You’ve been through a lot. This is a lot to take in, especially right after you just broke up with your boyfriend.”

  “I never had a boyfriend.” I don’t know why I blurted it out. Maybe because Mom just dropped a bombshell, I feel like turnabout’s fair play.

  Mom’s brow crinkles in what’s either concern or confusion. “You mean you lied to me? So all those nights you had dates you really just hung out with Rufus or something? Buttercup, just because I’m kind of boy-crazy don’t mean you have to be too. You didn’t have to pretend to have a boyfriend just to try to impress me.”

  I take a deep breath. “Maybe we’d better sit down.”

  In the living room, Mom sits next to me on the couch. Once she’s settled, I say, “I didn’t lie about having a relationship. I lied about having a relationship with a boy.”

  Mom reaches over to the coffee table with a shaky hand, but of course, her cigarettes aren’t there. “Sydney Jane, what are you trying to tell me?”

  I have to dig down deep to find the words. “I had a relationship with a girl. She was kind of a messed-up girl, so it didn’t work out. But I liked her a lot… like you like guys a lot.”

  Mom’s face turns hotter pink than her shirt. “Well, just because she was a messed-up girl, you don’t have to be one too. You’re just confused.” She reaches out to touch my hand but then draws it back like she’s afraid of catching lesbian germs.

  “I’m not confused. I know what I feel.”

  Mom gets up and starts pacing. “Well, I picked the wrong damn day to give up cigarettes, that’s for sure.” She looks
at me like I’m someone she’s never seen before. “You know what it is? It’s peer pressure. You spend all your time with Rufus and he’s gay, so he gets you to thinking you’ve got to be gay too.”

  I can’t help rolling my eyes. “It’s not like you can get pressured into being gay like you can get pressured into drinking beer or trying pot. And even if you could, Rufus would never pressure me. He’s never done anything but accept me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t have to pressure you. Maybe you like him so much you decided you wanted to be just like him.” She finds a dirty, broken cigarette, puts it in her mouth, and lights it. “Just two puffs, that’s all I’m having. Just two puffs to settle my nerves.”

  She sucks that cigarette like it’s the one thing that can save her. But just like every other quick fix she tries—another disastrous hairstyle, another night of drinking, another random hookup—it’s only making things worse. “Mom,” I say, taking the cigarette out of her hand before she can have a third puff, “you like Rufus.” I grind out the cigarette on the ashtray. “Why is it okay for him to be gay but not okay for me?”

  “Because,” she says, a sob choking her, “Rufus is not my kid!”

  “What, and I have to be ‘normal’ because you’ve given me such a normal upbringing?”

  “Now Sydney Jane, that’s not fair. You know I’ve done the best I could with you.”

  “Well, you’re not being fair either. If you were fair, you’d want me to be the person I really am.”

  Black mascara tears streak down Mom’s face. “But I do want you to be who you really are.” Her voice, angry before, now just sounds sad. She sits back beside me on the couch. “And when I look at you, I see you how you really are. You’re not some ugly girl who has to mess around with other girls because no boy would ever look at her. You’re pretty and you’re smart and you’re going to be able to have what I’ve never had—a husband who takes good care of you… kids with two parents to take good care of them.”

  “What if I’d rather have a wife and kids?”

  Mom shakes her head. “Honey, that ain’t a family. That’s like two little girls playing house. But you’re not gonna be a little girl. You’re gonna be a woman.” She fishes her cigarette back out of the ashtray and lights it. “Let me tell you what I’m thinking. The other day I gave this woman a perm, and she was telling me about how her husband’s a Christian counselor. He works with kids that are into drugs, kids who’ve gotten pregnant, kids who think they’re gay. She gave me his card.” She runs a finger under her eyes. “See, I blame myself for this a little too. I should’ve got you to church more. But maybe we’ll both start going. It’ll be good for the baby too. I’ll give this counselor guy a call tomorrow—”

  “You think he’ll straighten me right out, huh?” I get up off the couch.

  “You just need somebody to talk to. A man to talk to. You’ve never really had a strong man in your life. Being raised by a single mom, it’s made you turn to women—”

  “So you’re a shrink now? Mom, there’s nothing wrong with me. I will not go see some Bible-banging Christian counselor who wants to pray away the gay.”

  Over the years, I’ve seen this expression—the flashing eyes, the clenched jaw—when Mom’s been mad at one of her boyfriends. This is the first time I’ve ever seen the look aimed at me. “The last time I looked, you hadn’t turned eighteen yet, missy. For eleven more months anyway, what I say goes. You will see this counselor, and he’ll help you grow up so you know what the right thing to do is.”

  I’m so mad I can barely catch my breath. “Which I guess means going to beauty school and taking care of you and taking care of your baby.”

  Mom nods tearfully. “That’s right. You can even think of him as your baby too.”

  When did I say I wanted a baby? “Why? I wasn’t the one who went and got knocked up.”

  Mom stands up. “Sydney Jane, you take that back!”

  “I won’t,” I say. “And I won’t take back being gay either. And I won’t waste my own life paying for somebody else’s mistakes!”

  I grab the car keys and slam the door behind me.

  “WE CLOSE in twenty minutes,” the old lady behind the desk at the public library says when I rush in, probably looking deranged.

  “I just need to look up a couple of things on the Internet. School project,” I add, hoping she’ll take pity on me.

  After twenty minutes of frantic searching, I look up to see her standing over me. “Time to go?” I ask.

  She nods. “This is why you shouldn’t wait till the last minute to do your assignments,” she says.

  I’m tempted to tell her that the last thing I need today is a sermon from another adult, but instead I say, “It’s okay. I’ve got what I need.”

  From the library, I drive straight to Rufus’s house. When his mom answers the door, she sucks in her breath a little. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve come over without calling first or because my face is a mess from crying.

  “Hello, Syd,” she says, pasting on a smile.

  “Hi, Mrs. Snow. I’m sorry to just drop by like this, but could I talk to Rufus for just a minute?”

  “Of course. I’ll go get him.”

  When Rufus comes to the door, I’m so glad to see him I hug him—it’s probably a too-long, too-tight crazy person hug, but he doesn’t let go until I do. Once we’ve pulled apart, he says, “Syd, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know where to start. Could you ask your parents if we could go for a drive? I need to talk to you in private.”

  “I’ll be right back.” A couple of minutes later, he’s closing the front door behind them. “They said it was okay as long as I’m home by ten.”

  In the car I say, “I can’t really talk about this while I’m driving, or I’ll be too upset to concentrate. Let me find a place to park first.”

  “Okay,” Rufus says. “My heart is pounding.”

  “It’s all right,” I say. “I mean, it’s not really, but it will be.” That’s about all the reassurance I can manage right now.

  Near Rufus’s neighborhood is the pitiful Vermillion City Park, a patch of scraggly grass with a few picnic tables and a truly depressing playground. I park in a spot in front of the empty swings.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “My mom is pregnant.”

  “What?” Rufus’s eyes are wide.

  “Please don’t make me say it again.”

  “Isn’t she kind of old for that?”

  “She’s only thirty-four. Lots of women don’t even start having babies until they’re in their thirties.”

  Rufus nods. “I guess it’s just that my parents are so old, and then well, you just don’t suddenly become a big sister at the age of seventeen.”

  “Apparently I do.”

  “Who’s the father?” Rufus has my hand now, and his touch makes talking easier.

  “Some random dude who was just passing through. My mom’s specialty. The thing is—” I swallow hard. “—she’s decided that it’s my job to help her raise this kid. That I’ll take care of the baby while she works and then I take night classes at the beauty school in Dothan.”

  “She doesn’t get to decide that.”

  “Well, she thinks she does. She thinks I owe her.”

  Rufus is holding my hand in both of his. “Just because she gave you life doesn’t mean she gets to take it away from you.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. “That’s how I feel too. Oh, and by the way, I told her about Tara and me.”

  His eyes widen again. “Syd! You’ve had quite an evening, haven’t you? Why did you decide to tell her?”

  “I don’t guess I really did decide. I was mad. I just kind of blurted it out… it was like we were trading confessions or something.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “Not well. She thinks I’m confused, that I’ve latched on to women because I’ve never had a dad. She’s ordering me to see a Christian counselor to get ‘cured.’”
/>   “Really? Somehow I thought your mom would be cooler than that.”

  “I didn’t. See, it’s one thing to giggle with the gay boys in your hairstyling class, but it’s quite another to have a dyke for a daughter. Mom likes things to be nice and easy so she doesn’t have to think too hard. She may not look or act like your mother, but they’re not as different as you think.”

  “They don’t like to be challenged.”

  “Exactly.”

  We’re quiet for a few minutes, watching the sky darken, then Rufus asks the inevitable question. “What are you going to do?”

  I squeeze his hand. “Rufus, I’ve got to get out of here. Away from Vermillion, away from Mom. Away from that nutjob Christian counselor who wants to pray me into heterosexuality.”

  Now the look on Rufus’s face isn’t just shock. It’s worry. And fear. “But how—”

  “I stopped at the library to use the computer before I came to see you. A Greyhound ticket from Dothan to Chicago costs one hundred and thirty-two dollars. I’ve got some money saved from working in the shop. I’ll get the rest together somehow. I have to.”

  Rufus grabs both of my hands and holds them tight. His blue eyes stare into mine. “Take me with you.”

  “I want to,” I say, a sob choking me. “More than anything, I want to. But here’s the problem. When I was surfing the net, I looked up the Georgia law about teen runaways. If you take off when you’re seventeen, the cops won’t come looking for you, even if your parents beg them to. But Rufus, you’re fifteen, and as overprotective as your parents are, they’d have the cops on our tail before we were out of the Vermillion city limits.”

  Rufus sniffs, then nods. “You’re right. But Syd, I honestly don’t know if I can go on here without you.”

  Now we’re both crying. “I know it’ll be hard. But if we want to make this work, we have to minimize our chances of getting caught.”