Almost every day that week there was another Robertson incident. He’d catch up with me somewhere, in the hall or outside on the steps, and say something like, “Cats purr before they die, Emily Beth. It’s a scientific fact.” And then, with me off guard, he’d move in, rumple my hair, pat my shoulder, or put his hands around my waist.
I’d say, “Robertson, hands off, please.”
And he’d say, “But Emily Beth, I love you.”
And I’d say, “Robertson, don’t say it. Don’t think it. Forget it!”
He’d smile and back off—for the moment. The next day or the next hour, or sometimes in the next minute, he’d be back again, watching for me in the halls, swooping down on me, getting his arms around me. I know it sounds like he was just being affectionate. But it was something else. It was possession. He acted as if I were his, as if he could do anything he wanted, pick me up, put me down, turn me around, rumple my hair, whatever, just because he “loved” me.
I got so I dreaded seeing him. What made it really weird was that when he acted normal, I liked him. He could be a very sweet nice guy. One day it was raining and he gave me a ride home on his bike. He acted perfectly. We talked in a friendly way. I thought, Good! That’s out of his system!
But the next day, he saw me in the hall and came straight for me, and it started again. The grabbing and squeezing. He gave me a little shove and push, back and away, like I was his favorite rag doll.
“What am I going to do about him, Bunny?” I said, as we were leaving school. “He’s getting out of hand.”
“You have to tell him, Em. If you don’t, you can’t expect him to change. You have to set the limits and make it really clear. My father says everybody is entitled to their own space. He says sometimes people don’t act right, just because they don’t know what the limits are.”
Bunny’s father is a psychologist, so Bunny knows a lot about these things, too. She’s been a help to me lots of times. (One funny thing, though, is that sometimes she and her father have the biggest fights in the world.)
“So I’m supposed to just tell Robertson, cool it, or something?”
“Just say what you feel. Tell him how you feel when he grabs you. Give him the word straight, Em.”
“What if he doesn’t listen?” I said nervously. “You know the way he talks.”
“He’ll listen,” Bunny said. “People are much better at listening than you think.”
The next day I tried to do what Bunny said. We were in the cafeteria again. This time, we went up to Robertson and sat down at his table. I put on my glasses, just to make the point that I was dead serious. “I want to talk to you, Robertson.”
“Great! I want to talk to you, too! You’re going to Picnic Day, aren’t you?” He stared at my glasses. “You do look cute in those things! Wear them to Picnic Day.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m happy I’m going to be seeing you at Picnic Day,” he went on, as if he didn’t see me every single day.
“The whole school goes to Picnic Day,” I said. “You’ll see everybody there.” I thought that might get him in the right mood to understand what I wanted to tell him about limits.
“I just want to see you!” He rumpled my hair.
I jerked away. “Don’t do that!” I almost shouted.
“Robertson,” Bunny said quickly, “Emily wants to explain something to you.”
“Right,” I said.
“About the picnic?”
“No!”
“Robertson, Emily wants to explain how she sees your relationship.”
He looked happy. He put down his sandwich. “I’m listening, Emily Beth.”
“Robertson—” I cleared my throat. “Now, you know I like you, but there are limits to what—”
“I like you, too.” He slid closer to me on the bench.
“Stay right where you are! What I came here to say is, we’re friends, and friends don’t go around mauling each other.”
“Of course not.”
“Friends talk to each other.”
“We talk a lot,” he said happily.
“You’re not hearing me. Let me tell you again. We’re friends, but that’s it. Just friends. Which means we respect each other. We don’t pummel each other.” I looked at Bunny. She nodded encouragingly and mouthed the word space. “We give each other space,” I said.
“Got it,” he said.
But from the look in his big brown eyes and the way he was leaning into me, I knew he hadn’t.
Chapter 19
Neither my mother nor I had mentioned Mr. Linaberry for a while. But every once in a while, I’d see signs around our apartment that he’d been there. Like finding the loose tiles in the bathtub replaced. Or the crack in the living room wall fixed. Or the bad burner on the stove turning red hot one morning when I switched it on. I could never forget about him. Even if I didn’t see him, he was always there, living right below us or working out back in his welding shop.
Then, one day, when we had a half day so teachers could go to a conference, I came home and found him in our kitchen with Mom. I’d come rushing in, not thinking about anything special, just calling Mom. Then I saw the two of them. They were eating lunch, that’s all they were doing, but it felt like something else to me. They were sitting elbow to elbow, and Mom was still in her bathrobe.
I didn’t like it. I didn’t like Mr. Linaberry being there. I didn’t like the pizza on the table. Or the coffee they were drinking. Maybe my face got red. It seemed to be burning. Mr. Linaberry nodded to me. I dropped my books on the counter and went to the refrigerator.
Mom said, “Hello, sweetheart, I forgot … half a day. Hungry?”
“No.” I was, though. I poured a glass of juice and gulped it down.
“Plenty of pizza. We can’t eat all this …”
“I don’t want any.”
Mr. Linaberry stood up. “I’ll go now. You can eat. It’s okay.” He almost smiled at me. My face was burning more than ever.
Mom walked with him into the living room. I heard them talking to each other, murmuring. I imagined they were standing by the door, standing close. Maybe Mom was slumping a little because she was taller then Mr. Linaberry. What were they saying? Were they talking about me? I sat down at the table and sniffed the pizza. It smelled delicious, but I didn’t touch it.
Mom came back. She poured another cup of coffee and sat down across from me. “If you want to say something, say it,” she said.
“What?”
“I don’t know. Say whatever it is.”
“I don’t have anything to say. You say it.”
“Why didn’t you talk to Len?”
“I don’t have anything to say to him.”
“You could just be polite, say hello, how are you, nice weather we’re having, thanks for fixing the light in my closet.” She sipped her coffee and stared at me over the rim of the cup.
My hand went to the pizza, then I snatched it back. I didn’t want that pizza!
“Emily—can’t you accept … that Len is my friend?”
I looked down. “I don’t know.”
“Why not? Why is it so hard?”
“He’s ugly,” I burst out.
Mom looked like I’d slapped her. “I can’t believe I heard you say that.”
I couldn’t speak. I felt ashamed. What I’d said was shallow and superficial. Was that me? A shallow, superficial person?
“Do you want to take it back?” Mom said. “I’m giving you a chance to take that back.”
I started breathing hard. I still couldn’t speak.
“You’re immature,” Mom said. “I didn’t realize …”
I kept biting my lip so I wouldn’t cry. How could Mom say that? I took care of the kids all the time, I cleaned the house, I shopped, I cooked supper, I did anything she asked me to do. And I worked and earned money, too! “I’m responsible,” I choked out.
“Yes, you’re responsible. I don’t deny that. But you’r
e emotionally immature.” Her voice was dry and hard.”
I pushed back my chair and ran to my room. I was panting, and then I was crying. I hated what she said. I hated that she said it to me. It was as if all the things I did for her didn’t mean anything. My thoughts raced. Why did I have to live here with her? I wished I was somewhere else, with my father or with Bunny, anywhere but here! Mom didn’t love me anymore. I lay across my bed, willing myself to stop crying. And I did. Didn’t that prove how wrong she was about me?
I heard her come into my room. I lay still. She sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on my back. “Emily.” It was hard for me not to burst into tears again. “You hurt me … very much … with your attitude.” Her voice was low. Suddenly I rolled over, flung myself against her and held on, as if I were Wilma’s age. I was babbling and crying. I felt so sorry. I felt so bad.
Mom stroked my hair. “I know … I know …” She held me for a long time. She kissed me. “I know you don’t mean to be hurtful.”
“No, no!”
“I know it … I know you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. Tears again. “I won’t be like that anymore. I promise.”
“That’s okay, don’t promise anything. Just … be yourself. Be Emily.”
She had to get ready for work. I got up and made her lunch. I wrapped her sandwich carefully. I thought about putting a note in the bag. Dear Mom, maybe you’re right about me. I’m going to grow up more. I’m going to try hard not to be emotionally immature. Love, Emily. I didn’t write the note. Instead, I put in two cookies and an apple.
Chapter 20
Every year our school goes on a picnic just before the Thanksgiving weekend. The whole school is bussed over to Indian Falls. While we were outside waiting for the buses, Robertson came over to me, took my arm and, breathing in my face, said in his excited way, “I’ll see you at the picnic, Emily Beth!” He had to go on a different bus with his own class.
“Thank goodness for that,” Bunny said. “He is a pest, isn’t he?”
“Understatement of the year,” I said. We got on the bus.
Bunny yawned. “I don’t know why they make us do this.”
Last year, we had a great time at the picnic. We horsed around and made jokes and ate so much food we were ready to burst. It was sort of your basic cold weather, food, and games picnic, where you hop around to keep yourself warm while you’re stuffing your face, go off to play softball, then hop around some more and stuff your face some more and laugh a lot about stupid things. We loved every minute of it.
This year’s picnic should have been just as good, but right away we felt it wasn’t. For one thing, the food didn’t seem as fabulous. Hot dogs and chips were, well, hot dogs and chips. Not exciting. For another thing, the weather was so warm it was more like summer than fall. And for a third thing, the whole idea of the picnic was striking Bunny and me both as just a little bit juvenile.
“I mean, what’s the point?” I said, after we’d rambled around the park for a while without really getting into the picnic mood. “School spirit? We have enough of that.”
“Maybe we’re getting too old for this stuff,” Bunny said.
I linked my arm with hers. “Look at Mr. Cooper; he hasn’t put down his megaphone since we got off the bus.”
We both listened to Mr. Cooper, our gym teacher, for a minute. “PLEASE DEPOSIT TRASH IN THE BASKETS. WE DO NOT WANT TO LEAVE A BAD IMPRESSION OF OUR SCHOOL.”
Bunny rolled her eyes. “Did you see him outside at the fire drill the other day? Same thing. He loooves that megaphone.”
“He talks to us like we’re six years old.”
“I know,” Bunny said. “And it’s really annoying. I feel so much more mature this year. Don’t you?”
“Definitely.” I thought of what my mother had said about me. Emotionally immature … What if Bunny agreed? That would be awful.
Mark Shroeder came along just then and asked Bunny if she wanted to play basketball with him and some other guys. “Sure!” she said eagerly. Then she sort of backed off and looked at me. “Oh, well … maybe not. Emily and I—”
I gave her a shove. “Go! I’ll see you later.”
She went in one direction and I went in the other. I don’t ever mind being alone. It gives me a chance to think about things. Sometimes, I do get sad, like when I think about my father and mother not being married anymore, but sometimes I just feel tranquil. That was how I was feeling then. I walked for a while on a footpath. Mr. Cooper’s voice grew faint. The trees were all nearly bare. I stood next to a tree and tried to be as still as it was. The whole world seemed quiet and utterly peaceful.
Then I heard the thump of footsteps and, a moment later, a familiar voice. “Emily Beth!”
“What are you doing way out here, Robertson?” I said, without even turning around.
“Roaming aimlessly.” He walked over to me with an innocent expression. “Imagine meeting you! What are you doing?”
“Enjoying nature.”
“How do you do that?” He took out a jackknife and flipped it into the air.
“You listen to the wind in the trees. You look up in the sky. You’re quiet and—” I almost screamed. “Robertson! Don’t do that!” He had started carving on the trunk of the tree. “You’re mutilating the tree!”
He blinked. “I just wanted to put our initials—”
“No! That tree is a living being!”
He smiled at me. “I bet you think the tree has feelings.”
“What if I do?”
He grabbed me and sort of shook me back and forth. “You’re so cute, Emily Beth.” Maybe he meant to be affectionate, but he rattled my teeth! I walked fast down the path, back to the main picnic. I knew Robertson was right behind me.
“THIS IS A SCHOOL ACTIVITY,” Mr. Cooper was calling through his bullhorn. “A COMMUNITY VENTURE. YOU KIDS WHO ARE TENDING TO GO OFF IN PAIRS, COME ON BACK.”
Did he mean me … and Robertson? My whole head got hot.
“Emily Beth, Emily Beth! Want to play softball?” Robertson was at my elbow. “We can be on the same team. You want to practice your batting stance? I can give you some tips.” He didn’t wait for my answer, just got behind me, put his arms around me, and started breathing hard.
“Robertson!” I walked away again. He was behind me again. I walked faster. So did he. “Please don’t follow me,” I said.
“I’m not following you.”
“What do you call it?”
“I just happen to be walking in the same direction you are, Emily Beth.”
Oh. And we just happened to be talking in front of a little wooden building with a sign that said WOMEN.
I went in. When I came out, he was still hanging around. I pretended not to see him and went looking for Bunny. I found her coming off the basketball court. “Did you win?” I said.
She put her thumb and forefinger together. “What have you been doing?”
I told her about Robertson following me. “Everywhere, Bunny! I’m lucky he didn’t go with me into the bathroom.”
“That boy needs to be taught a lesson,” she said. “I have an idea.” She started whispering in my ear. Robertson was standing a little ways away, staring at us. “So what do you think?” she said.
“I don’t know … do you really think it’ll work?”
“What have we got to lose?” Bunny said. Then she crossed her eyes, made monkey paws, and answered herself. “Just our dignity!”
We started giggling.
“What’s so funny?” Robertson called.
“Ahh! You want to know? You’re curious? Come with us,” Bunny said in her confident way. “We’re going to take a walk.” She led the way along the Red Trail down into the ravine. I was behind her, and Robertson was behind me.
“Robertson!” Bunny called over her shoulder. “You know what they say? You have to kiss a lot of frogs to find a prince.…”
“What?”
“YOU HAVE TO KISS A LOT OF FROGS
TO FIND A PRINCE,” I repeated in a loud voice. I sounded like Mr. Cooper.
“What does that mean? No, don’t tell me, I can figure it out.”
“Sure you can,” Bunny said. “Okay, we’re stopping here.” She pointed to a big flat stone. “Sit down, Robertson. Emily and I want to find out if you’re a prince or a frog.”
He got it. He sat right down, held his face up, and looked expectantly at us.
“Is this really going to work?” I whispered to Bunny.
“Who knows,” she whispered back. “Might as well try, though. We got him here!” She started mussing up Robertson’s hair, really pawing her way through it. “You’re so adorable,” she shrieked, leaning herself all over him.
Robertson looked a little dazed. Before he could say anything, I joined in. I grabbed him by the ears. Bunny and I were both all over him, patting and pulling at him like he was Play-Doh, pinching his cheeks and scrubbing our hands over his face and down his shirt. “Hey, hey,” he said.
Hey, hey? Our idea had been to show him what it felt like to be manhandled or, in this case, womanhandled. He was supposed to learn a lesson. He was supposed to realize that being grabbed made you feel like a thing, like a non-person. He was supposed to say Riiiight! I’ll never grab again! He wasn’t supposed to sit there with a big moony smile on his face, saying, Hey, hey!
“Hey, hey, yourself, you adorable thing,” Bunny said.
I almost died when I saw what she did next.
She got her arms around his neck and kissed him, big wet kisses all over his face. Then she rubbed his belly!
“Your turn,” she said to me. She was breathing hard.
What could I do that was any better than what she’d done already? I kissed him, too, pressing my lips against his. But I knew everything was backfiring, because he was kissing me back enthusiastically. Any minute now, he’d say, More, more!
I moved away. “Forget it, Bunny. It isn’t working.”
I don’t even know if she heard me. She flung herself at him, practically dived into his arms. She’s pretty big, almost as big as Robertson, and she knocked him over, right off the rock, onto the ground. Then, I don’t know who did what first, but in a blink of a second his arms were around her and hers were around him, and they were kissing. And kissing. And kissing.
E, My Name Is Emily Page 8
