“You don’t need to do everything all the time, Rylee. That’s called being spoiled.”
Okay, that was totally unfair. Grimly, I remember feeling a real tantrum begin a-brewing. . . .
My grandma smiled down at me. “Why do you want to go on those big old high flyin’ things anyway, honey?” Her face was, in fact, truly interested. Even now I remember having a thought like a flash—my mom doesn’t get it, but maybe Gram-Mer does.
“GramMer—I wanna fly!” I told her.
I could see GramMer looking up to the thing and back to me and me feeling hope flowing warm like a shower, pouring over my head all down to my little preschooler butt. “Please-please-please, GramMer! Pull-lease, Gramcracker!!”
“Rylee!” It’s my mom, good ol’ hurt-feelings patrol guard, sounding scandalized. “Rylee Marie! That is a bad word! I have told you not to call her that!”
“Why not? GramMer likes it! She told me I was cuuuuute!” I wail because of the unfairness.
I saw my mom flash my grandma a look of apology. I remember my grandma saying to her, “It’s okay if she calls me that, Teresa. It’s pretty clever she thought that up all by herself, especially at her age. I do think it’s cute.”
But Mom was insistent. “No, it’s not appropriate for her to call you that!”
I distinctly remember my grandma looking down at me with her eyebrows raised, like, “Alrighty then,” and then she gave me a furtive look of solidarity and a wink, like, “Well, in that case, it’s just going to be our little secret.”
Which still didn’t get me up inside those pods and I was feeling like I didn’t have any choice except meltdown, when all of a sudden I was up—in the air, and weightless and screeching in surprise.
Uncle Riley had come up behind me and grabbed me by my ribs and thrown me into the air.
“Wheeeeeee!” I yell in delight as his strong hands grab me around the middle and launch me into the stratosphere again. Then he catches me and lowers me gently to the earth.
My dad and Uncle Riley have come back from the coin toss and heard what we were saying.
I turn around. My dad is standing there. His eyes are bright and hopeful. He’s actually won one of those coin-toss games. My dad is holding a gigantic stuffed Scooby-Doo. It’s huge! He holds it up.
“Looky here!” he says to my mom. “Found a little something for you guys.” He’s both hesitant and so proud. Even holding him high, Scooby hangs down past my dad’s knees. Dad is offering him in an eager way, like something really special.
And I totally agreed! Omg, sign me up! Are you kidding—a Scooby-Doo the size of a baby elephant?! Of course I thought it was awesome!
Then my mom ruined it.
“You can’t just give one, Ovid. You need to go win another for Paul before he has a fit.”
We all look at Paul, who is a chubby toddler completely sprawl-crashed in the stroller. He is sacked out—paralyzed with sleep. It seems kind of ornery of my mom to say he’s about to have a fit.
Besides, I was a good sharer. I was super protective of him, my only baby brother. I still am.
The effect on my poor old dad was instant. He like sagged immediately and his eyes lost their sparkle of hope. He was shut down, in this way only Saint Teresa could create. Even at four years old, I felt bad for him. My mom was kind of being a jerk. She was making him think his win was a fail.
“Yeah, I should have thought of that myself. . . .” he said ruefully and trailed off. I could see he was feeling sad. Since I was pissed at my mom anyway, I took his side.
“It’s okay, Dad, I don’t care—I’m too big for Scooby-Doo! It’s okay—Paul can have him!” I remember I informed him as I glared at my mom.
“Yeah?” my dad immediately took the offered opportunity. “Okay, Rylee Marie, you good kid, then you get to do something else, instead! You got anything you want to do?”
“That!” I told him and pointed up. He looked up and saw the capsule looming overhead.
“Ohhh,” he said, like a moan, as he stared at it blankly. He audibly gulped.
I probably didn’t mention he wasn’t too keen on heights either.
It was the one way my parents were compatible.
Dad looked up and squinted, pondering the idea. Then my mom did too. Then everyone did.
We all stood gawking like a bunch of peckerwood tourists, which—guess what?
We were!
Uncle Riley caught my eye. “You really think you want to do that? All the way up there like that? Are you a dang bird?”
“Yeah!” I said. I can still remember the blazing enthusiasm that infused me. “I’m a BIRD!”
“Well, so am I!” my uncle cheered. “Let’s do it then!—you too, Mom!” he said to GramMer. “It’s gonna be fun! Come on!” He grabbed our hands and we scurried over to stand in the line to fly.
We climbed the stairwells and loaded in. The little pod rolled smoothly onto the launching scaffold and off—into thin air! I remember gasp-laughing because of the weird mix of fear and bliss.
“Look, there’s your mom and dad!” Uncle Riley pointed to the little bright blobs on the ground. I could see them waving up to us. I waved back.
“Hey, guys!” Riley yelled, like they could hear us. I looked over to my grandma.
“Have you noticed what convincing actors they’ve become?” I asked her. It was a phrase I’d picked up but never used. I even said it with the same inflection I’d heard it.
This was something I remember I used to do when I was too little to actually know things; I’d hear whatever on TV or wherever, and then go launch it on someone—usually my mom—and observe their reaction. I had heard this on Mom’s daytime show, when this lady says it about this couple who were totally miserable and faking getting along. I was on the couch next to my mom and I heard her snort in derision. When I asked her why, she said that was a good way of saying people were pretending to like each other when they really didn’t. I remember I found her remark worrisome. Even as a four-year-old.
Anyway, I remember GramMer and Uncle Riley both kind of jumped in response and looked at each other. Because I was smart and cagey even then I knew I had accidently just said something controversial. I also knew they were about to say something controversial in return. But if they thought I could understand what they were saying they wouldn’t say it. So I stared out the window and waved at my mom and dad and Baby Paul in the stroller, like a clueless lil’ knucklehead. I’d already figured out that worked with Mom; if she thought I wouldn’t get it or wasn’t listening, she would say all kinds of complicated, interesting stuff.
“Is that what they’re doing, Rylee?” GramMer asked me, sorrowfully. “Are they acting?”
She watched my tiny little ant-parents below, her face wistful. I can remember relating to her tone of voice, even though I was so young, and thinking my mom’s face and voice would be like that too if I was sad.
“Yup,” is all I said, to make her keep talking. I kept my eyes on the rides across the fairgrounds and on the purple mountains’ majesty. I could see snow-topped Mount Rainier peeking at me.
“Rylee?” my grandma asks me gently, “do you know what that means if someone says that?”
“Yes!” I say, emphatically. “It means they fight and pretend to not!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them shrug like, “she got that right!” and shake their heads. I felt like they might say more if I kept staring out the window. So I did.
And they said a lot. Though they waited till they thought I was absorbed by the view again.
“Ach.” GramMer’s sigh was a groan. “They both just break my heart.” She murmured it under her breath to Uncle Riley, who nodded. I knew better than to ask what she meant, because even the best grown-ups tend to bullshit little kids and I didn’t want that, so I just kept listening. I also kept waving to my crew below like a maniac, like I was in another time zone and couldn’t hear nothin’!
“I just wish they could both see how ni
ce the other one is,” Uncle Riley whispered back. “It sucks to be around when they are both sniping at each other constantly. Dang!”
Even as young as I was, in my mind I was like, Right?! You think it’s hard! You try to live with ’em for a while, why don’tcha?! GramMer lowered her voice even more.
“I wish she could dial down the insistence on her whole church thing. It’s really too bad that it’s such a deal breaker for her. I’m impressed at how seriously she takes being a good person, but wow.”
“Yeah, well, why’d he marry such a God girl, then?” Uncle Riley replied quietly. “He knew what she was like and what she believed by the time he proposed.” He shrugged when my grandma looked over at him dolefully.
“Mis—”she started to say and then caught herself, looking over at me.
I carried on faking like I couldn’t see or hear them, and continued waving like an unhinged baby sea monkey as we slowly passed over them. “Hi, Paul! Can you see me?!” I couldn’t be less uninterested over here!
“Mis-fitted,” GramMer went on, softly murmuring to Uncle Riley. “Really too bad; two wonderful people who are just goddamn terrible together. They were both so lonely when they met . . .” She sighed heavily. “I wish I could just give them a love potion.”
I remember at the time thinking that if anyone knew magic, it would be my grandma. She had sparkly amethyst eyelids and she swore and I knew that was really bad, but it was so exciting! If my mom was her mom GramMer would be in SO much trouble! I continued listening and looking out, drawing Xs and Os in my foggy breath on the thick, blotchy window.
The gondola ride went into its scaffolding on the other side of the fairground and you could either get off and go down the spiral stairs to the carnival rides, or stay on and continue soaring over Puyallup for the trip back. We signaled to the dude that we were staying so he shoved us back like a side of beef, into the outgoing line. We curved around on a track and swung out again into the wild blue yonder. It gave me the same feeling as the ride over—so much fun it almost made me want to cry! I can remember feeling that complex emotion for the first time, and being confused that I wanted to ride in the sky so much but even so, it was still a little terrifying.
I guess I was four when I realized that sometimes getting your heart’s desire is also hella scary.
My grandma sighed. “Well, gawd love ’em—and you too, Riley. Are you being real, real careful, all the time?”
“Yas, ma’am!” he drawled, goofing. “I stay indoors and play Ping-Pong in the AC!”
“Yeah, I wish,” grumbled my grandma. She hugged him tight as he sat beside her on the seat. “Don’t forget you’re my tiny baby! With giant cloth diapers! You and your brother both! Always!”
Riley laughed and I laughed too—before I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be following their conversation! Dang it!
“Aha! I thought so!” GramMer yelped. “I thought I saw you eavesdropping!” She laughed hard and reached out to grab me and put me into her lap. She gave me a little squeeze and so did Uncle Riley.
It was the first time I ever heard the word eavesdropping. The sound made me visualize autumn leaves falling. I wasn’t sure if she was referring to the weird, fluttery, happy-sad emotion I was feeling or the pictures I had drawn with my finger and my breath.
The next morning I’m lying in my bed when Leo gets a text. She fishes around for her phone and reads it. She laughs.
“What?” I ask.
“Shane! He says he’s got all the parts for the deer hunter. What does that mean?”
“Ha! The van! He named it The Deer Hunter, like the movie! That’s hilarious! Text back: ‘thanks, One Shot!’”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a line from the movie. Dude only took one shot and if he missed, that deer got to live. It’s an awesome movie—about how bad war sucks. Meryl Streep and Robert De Niro, when they were hot.”
Leo texts back. In a second another message comes back: Pretty AND witty!!!!!
She reads it aloud, smiling.
“Hee-hee.” She closes her phone.
I close my eyes and try not to feel so gougy. It’s amazing how they bring it out in me.
While we get up and dress, I hear my dad leave. When we are having breakfast I hear the truck return. He’s back. Raven is with him. Great.
I go sit in GramMer’s living room. I don’t greet them when they come in. I pretend not to notice.
She skips in. She’s wearing a sparkly purple tutu. (Omg, in spite of myself—it’s so cute.)
I don’t change expressions. I pick up a book. The better to ignore you with, my dear.
She runs around, and gets the stuff she plays with out of a drawer. She totally knows her way around GramMer’s house. Her sparkly shoes light up with every step.
GramMer comes in. Raven runs to her.
“GramMer!!” she yells.
Oh . . . so she uses the name I INVENTED for my Gram-Mer: Grandma + Marie = GramMer, pronounced “grammar.” Like what they used to call grade school in the olden days.
“Lil’ Raven!” GramMer shouts back as she picks her up and throws her in the air. My grandma is strong. I get that from her too. GramMer throws her into the air again.
I watch from the corner of my eye. I see Raven trying to get my notice. Good luck.
Beau and Leonie come into the living room from the kitchen. They sit down. Leo smiles at Raven, who then sidles up to her. She stares at Leo admiringly.
“You’re pretty,” Raven tells her.
Leo dimples up and pokes Raven gently in the stomach like she’s the Pillsbury doughboy.
“So’re you.”
“I can read!”
“Yeah?”
“Want me to read you a book?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Okay! Which one?” Raven runs to her stocked bookcase.
“Um . . . the pink one.” Leo probably never had a book read to her in her life.
“Um . . . which one?” Raven looks at like one zillion pink books.
“Pink with mermaids?” Leo qualifies.
“Ohhh . . . Little Mermaid’s Pet Seahorse. ’Kay!” She grabs it and climbs up on the sofa beside Leonie. “Her name is Waverly.”
“Oh. I thought it was Aria or something.”
“No—not Ariel; Waverly is her pet seahorse!”
“I see.” Leo smiles down at her as Raven explains.
They start reading the book. Raven can seriously read. Well, at least she’s smart. It would be worse if she wasn’t, I guess. I see her looking over to see if I’m paying attention. Quickly, I avert my gaze to my book again.
No, missy, sorry. This is one person who is not going to fall all over you.
The book goes on and freaking on. I roll my eyes. Eventually, stealthily watching them, I see Raven lean against Leo and whisper loudly:
“I wish you were my big sister.”
Exactly as my dad walks into the room. Raven stops what she’s doing and runs to him. He grabs her and also throws her up into the air.
Apparently the little brat spends a lot of time aloft.
“What’s shakin’, Stinkpatooty?” My stupid dad hollers as he slings her skyward.
Okay, I know this is hella stupid, but I totally lose it. That was my special name! I don’t care if it IS stupid to the point of being brain-dead—those are my memories she’s wrecking and I wasn’t expecting to hear everybody just squalling THAT name!
I huff involuntarily. My dad looks at me. You can see he has no clue.
“Both my stinkpatooties are here: Raven and Rylee Marie!” he shouts and grins happily. Idiot!
I stand up carelessly, leaving the book I’ve been fake-reading wide open on the floor.
“My name is Rylee, just Rylee!” I snarl. “I dropped the ‘Marie’ when I was like five, Dad!”
I stalk out.
Behind me I hear Raven say: “Rylee’s mean.”
I slam the door behind me. But first I let The Bomb run
through.
We’re goin’ on a walk.
When I get back everyone is gone except Leo. She’s in our room.
She’s texting. Her giggles reach me before I open the bedroom door....
“What?” Though I know already.
“Omg, he’s sooooo corny! He just said I ‘should be careful because they trap foxes up here!’ Sooooo adorable! What should I say?”
“Yeah . . . so adorable. Tell him ‘thanks for the 411! I’ll be real careful of my pelt!!!!’”
“Oooohh, okay . . . that sounds kind of sexy . . . what’s a pelt?” She’s already texting.
“It’s the fur they skin off animals that are trapped. Pelts used to be traded like money. They—”
I stop. Yep: she’s not listening. Oh, well, for the record, I’m against trapping . . . wearing fur is cruel.
I flop wearily onto the bed.
Leonie reads Shane’s latest text aloud: “I think I’m falling for the girl with a pelt.”
I sigh.
“Tell him ‘no falling while flying!!!!’”
Clickity-click go her stick fingers. Then she sits and snickers to herself.
“I’m the whole package,” she repeats softly, reading his reply.
Resignedly, I retreat to the sanctuary of my squishy pillow.
When I wake I am alone and the sun is shining. The clock says 7:13 so I assume that means p.m.
When I wander out on the back porch I see Beau. He’s texting. It’s all anyone does anymore.
He looks up.
“Hey there, sleepyhead!”
“Hey,” I say grumpily. “How’s Kurtis? Has he judged any prize turds lately?”
Beau yelps with amusement and shakes his head no. Whether he means “no, it’s not Kurtis,” or “no, just average turds lately” is unclear. I stay nasty-tempered. This trip has been such a bust! Beau can see the thundercloud embedded over my head. He stops snickering. He pats the bench seat beside him.
Rusty Summer Page 16
