by Lisa Yee
I can’t believe she’s doing this to us. Every mile we drive is a mile farther away from you. That’s why this letter journal is so important. It’s like I’m writing you letters that you’ll get all at once. I got the idea from Mrs. Buono when she told the class to keep a journal over the summer. I thought, instead of writing “Dear Diary,” why not write “Dear Dad”? I know you’re traveling and super-busy, but you can read it when summer’s over and you have more time. Then you’ll know what I’ve been up to and you won’t have to worry about me.
At our last stop, I bought a pack of gum, some peanut brittle, and a map of the United States. When we get to California, I’m going to put the map on my wall and mark all the places you will be visiting during your Talky Boys comeback tour. That way I can keep track of you. I wish, I wish, I wish I could be on the road with you instead of Mom. But I know. You told me, “Life on the road is tough when you’re in a band.” I totally believe it. It’s torture being here with Mom and we’re not even trying to sing or harmonize or anything. I hate her.
Love,
Emily
JUNE 9
Dear Dad,
It seems like every ten miles Mom pulls off to the side of the road and consults her maps and her AAA auto club books. She’s put Post-its on every page. “I think this side trip will be worth it, don’t you?” she asks, without waiting for my answer, and then she turns off the road for another sleep-inducing museum.
This is not a trip, it’s a bore-Emily-to-death ride. Only Mom calls it “A&E’s Americana Adventure.” Overnight she’s gone from mute to nonstop yakking. She keeps saying, “This is so fun. Isn’t this fun?”
Uh. No.
I’m glad TB is riding in the car with me. Mom says that I’m a little old to be dragging around a teddy bear, but I don’t care. TB is my friend and he needs me.
Yesterday at the Johnny Appleseed Museum, some grungy barefoot guy wearing a name tag reading “Johnny A.” came up to me, said, “Welcome to Ohio!” and offered me an apple. I didn’t take it. Later, Mom said I was rude. I was not rude. I’m just not an apple person, okay? If I ate one, choked, and spit it up, that would be rude.
To make up for my “lack of consideration,” Mom made a big deal about joining the Johnny Appleseed Society. Then when Johnny A. offered her a complimentary basket of apples, she said, “Oh! They look lovely,” and proceeded to talk to him about apples for AN HOUR. Luckily, there was a honey exhibit nearby, and I passed the time by staring at the bees trapped between two panes of glass. I knew how they felt.
This afternoon, Mom kept singing, “Get your kicks on Route 66!” It wasn’t funny the first time she sang it, so why would she think I’d want to hear it seven hundred more times? When we stopped at the Amish Interpretive Center in Illinois, Mom started running around the gift shop in her gray velour tracksuit with an Amish bonnet stuck on her head.
“Here, Emily, you try one on!”
I wrapped myself up in a quilt and ignored her.
How did the pioneers do it? Did they have to ride with their mothers? There’s no way I’m going to make it to California.
Love,
Emily
JUNE 12
Hey Dad,
So get this. We’re in Missouri at the Museum of Independent Telephone Pioneers, and Mom grabs one of the old-fashioned phones and “calls” me. When I wouldn’t pick up, she pokes me and says, “Emily, answer the phone!”
Why? Why should I answer the phone when she’s standing right next to me? The museum was Mom’s idea of a good time. A building full of clunky telephones the size of cash registers. Fascinating.
Do you think you’ll ever get a cell phone again? Are you having a better time now that you’re “out of the rat race”? Wait. Don’t answer. Dumb question. Of course you are. Everyone knows you hated selling houses. I’m glad your band decided to reunite. Maybe someday, Nicole and A.J. and I will reunite. Maybe you and Mom will too. Just a thought.
The Boot Hill Museum in Kansas was much better than the telephone museum. I liked looking at the old posters of outlaws. Some of them were actually kind of cute. I wonder what it would be like to have a cowboy boyfriend. Would he take me to the mall on a horse? Would he wear his hat in a movie theater? Would he pay for dinner with gold nuggets?
Mom and I drank sarsaparillas and she even bought me a purple cowboy hat. When I’m not wearing it, TB uses it as a bed. Later we stopped at Central City Ghost Town in Colorado. We walked around the cemetery and I read all of the grave markers. It was fun in a creepy sort of way. Some families all died at the same time. Others died on different dates but were buried near each other. Lots of people were buried alone.
“Did you ever wish we had a big family, Emily?” Mom asked.
“I never thought about it,” I lied. I’ve always wanted a sister.
“I’ve often wondered what it would have been like if you had a sibling. Maybe things would have been easier for you.”
I didn’t ask what she meant. I was too busy looking at the graves and wondering where I would be buried now. In New Jersey? In California? Near you? Near Mom?
Alone?
Love,
Emily
JUNE 14
Hi Dad,
Even with all of her maps and schedules and checklists, Mom keeps getting lost. It’s not like her. Usually she knows exactly where she’s going. Still, even when it’s clear we’re lost, Mom just plows ahead and pretends like nothing is wrong. She’s gotten really good at pretending.
Mom and I have finally found a system that seems to work well for both of us. During the day, I sleep while she drives, and at night she sleeps while I watch television or read my Betty & Veronica comics in the motel. The only time we’re both awake is when Mom drags me to see museums and monuments, or when we’re eating. Patty (that’s what I call Mom’s car) looks like a dumpster and smells like rotting apples. Mom doesn’t keep her car clean like you do. It is so great that you have the same kind of car that one of the Beatles had. Remember when you got that car? It was right after the divorce was final. You said, “Emily, you can pick the color.”
And I said, “Purple!”
“Purple? I thought you’d pick red.”
“I like red too,” I told you. And that’s how Spidey (that’s what I’ve named your car) got to be red.
So today, Mom and I were arguing over who ate the last Mint Milano when suddenly we both gasped. Right smack in front of us was the Grand Canyon. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Mom slowed Patty down. (Normally she speeds, so this was significant.)
“Over 1,200,000 acres,” she whispered.
I had a hard time imagining that. But then, math is my worst subject. After refueling at the snack bar, Mom and I hiked up a trail. It looked like it went on forever. As usual, she was acting weird and kept asking how I was feeling. Finally we stopped to rest at a shady place under a tree. The view was amazing.
“Honey, I know the divorce has been difficult for you,” she began as she sat down on a rock. “But in time you’ll see it’s for the best.” I didn’t answer. Instead, I just watched her making circles in the dirt with a twig. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” she continued, “and I’ve come to a big decision.”
I looked up. Maybe we were going to turn around and head home. Maybe I was on a hidden-camera television show and this was all just some sort of joke.
“What is it?” I held my breath.
“Well, you’re getting older …” She hesitated before blurting out, “I think it’s time you called me ‘Alice’! ”
“Alice???”
“Yes?”
“You want me to call you by your first name?”
“I want us to be closer. Perhaps you’ll feel more comfortable calling me Alice. Maybe we can be friends.” She looked pleased with herself.
“Alice …”
She leaned forward and brushed the bangs from her eyes. For the first time I not
iced gray hiding in her brown hair. Her hair’s too long for a mom. “Yes, Emily, what is it you want to tell me?”
“Alice, you’re sitting on a pile of ants.”
As Mom — I mean Alice — hopped around, I walked to the edge of the cliff. The Grand Canyon seemed to go on forever. There was a rail to keep people from falling, or jumping, or throwing someone off. I considered all three.
Tomorrow I see our new house. I’ll bet it’s going to be really ugly. It makes me sad to think of you in your cramped little apartment. You call it a “studio.” I call it a shoebox. Even though you have your own place, I sort of thought that maybe you’d move back to our Allendale house. You could even turn my room into a music studio. I really don’t think we should sell the house. Will you at least think about it?
Love,
Emily
JUNE 15
Dear Daddy,
We finally, finally arrived in Rancho Rosetta, California, just as the sun was setting.
Our house looks like it could be in a magazine. It’s huge! My new room is big enough for me to do two cartwheels in it. Plus, there’s a walk-in closet. Our stuff hasn’t arrived yet, which is too bad. I think it would be fun to ride my bike through the house.
Alice’s master bedroom has a Jacuzzi in the bathroom, and my room connects to my own bathroom! There’s a ton of counter space and the bathtub is really deep. TB and I are sitting in it at this very moment, but there’s no water. That gets turned on tomorrow. Right now my room is white, but Alice says I can paint it. It will be purple, what else?
Alice has claimed the spare room for her office. The den would be perfect for air hockey or the pool table you’ve always wanted, but when I brought it up, Alice just scratched the ant bites on her leg and stared off into space. This house is so much bigger than the one in Allendale. I’m not sure why we need so much space. The backyard is smaller than our old one, though. I really miss our backyard and how it just seemed to go on forever into the woods. I haven’t seen any deer here, but there are plenty of palm trees, just like you’d imagine they’d have in southern California. We even have one in the front yard!
Today we explored the town. It’s sort of like Allendale, where you can walk everywhere, except here there are lots of new stores and restaurants mixed in with funky old ones, and you wouldn’t believe how clean it all is. There’s this brand-new Super Target with everything in the world in it including — get this — sushi. And there’s Benny’s Doughnut Palace where you can decorate your own doughnuts. Plus, all the cars look new and everyone’s lawn is green like a television commercial.
For dinner tonight we went to this place called Stout’s Coffee Shop. It sort of reminds me of Twoheys, with red booths, checkered tablecloths with glass over them, and plastic covering the menus. I ordered blueberry pancakes, hash browns, and eggs over easy, in your honor. I wanted to order black coffee too, but Alice wouldn’t let me. I didn’t tell her that whenever you took me to Twoheys, you always let me sip your coffee. That’s one of our secrets!
The waitress was really nice. She reminded me of A.J.’s Grandma Jane, except she had rings on every finger and a small butterfly tattoo on her arm.
“Do you have any questions?” Libby asked, motioning to the menu.
“Actually I do have a couple,” Alice said, before launching into a billion questions about the town and the people and the city council…. Libby barely had time to answer before Alice asked her something else. I hate it that Alice is always prying. It’s embarrassing. “I’m a journalist,” she says. “It’s my job.”
Yeah, but 24/7?
“What do people like to do around here?” Alice reached for her second buttermilk biscuit. Stout’s has the best biscuits.
“Well, there’s a really nice mall.” Libby smiled at me as she adjusted the hairnet over her bun. It looked like she had a giant chocolate doughnut on top of her head. “They just redid it. I’d hang out there myself, if I ever got any time off. And if you’re into sports, basketball is big in this town. Does your daughter like volleyball? The girls’ volleyball league is taking sign-ups right now.”
“Emily’s never been very athletic” — gee, thanks, Alice — “but people change, so you never know.”
As Alice and Libby kept blabbering, I poked a hole in my eggs and watched the yolk ooze out. Could my life get any more boring?
I wonder what A.J. and Nicole did today. I’ll bet they went to the movies and then to Twoheys for hot-fudge sundaes. I want to call them, but our phones still aren’t hooked up, and Alice claims it’s too expensive to use her cell phone because “roaming charges can really add up.”
Now that I’m in Rancho Rosetta, it’s finally hitting me that I won’t see you until Thanksgiving. I don’t know if I can wait that long. At least this letter journal is making me feel like we’re still connected. I think about you all the time. I hope you think about me too.
Love,
Emily
JUNE 17
Hey Dad!
The movers arrived today, so I finally, finally, finally have furniture in my room. All that was in here before was my suitcase and the map of the United States on the wall. I put a red sticker on Allendale, New Jersey, since that’s where we both left from — only you’ll be returning at the end of summer.
TB and I are very happy to be sleeping in our own bed tonight. As usual, we are taking the top bunk. It’s very private up here, plus we like the view.
Alice got all weirded out because some boxes are missing. “How can they just disappear? HOW CAN THEY JUST DISAPPEAR?!!!” She covered her mouth with both hands. “I am so sorry,” she sobbed. “It’s just that, I had everything so organized, they were numbered, and cataloged, I had lists … I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The movers just walked away, shaking their heads. I felt totally humiliated.
It’s boxes, boxes everywhere, except the box with her lists in it is missing. It will take us forever to find anything. Luckily, “Emily’s Most Important Things” showed up. I checked to make sure everything was still there: my Elmo tape recorder, the photo of the three of us in the teacups at Disneyland, my baby blanket, Alice’s big paisley scarf, your Members Only jacket, and that bottle of shiny rocks from the State Fair.
The first room Alice got all set up was her office. Well, not totally set up, but her desk looks exactly the same as it did in Allendale with her pens and paper and everything just so. That weird crystal flame she won last year is sitting on her bookshelf along with her ten billion other awards, and she’s already working on her computer. What a surprise.
I asked her about e-mail again.
“No, Emily, we’ve been over this before.”
“Well then, can I have my own computer?”
Alice did one of her famous sighs and stopped typing mid-word. “Not until you prove that you can be more responsible. You do know you are not to touch my computer, right?”
I can’t believe she’s still holding that against me. How was I to know that “Delete This” was an article about spam? I thought I was doing her a favor! Remember how hard you laughed? And when you said, “I’ve told you a million times, you need to back up your files,” Alice locked herself in the bathroom for two hours. Well, at least now we each have our own bathroom.
“But if I had a computer, I could e-mail Dad and connect with A.J. and Nicole on OurSpace.”
“Emily, you know your father sold his computer when he quit his job. And as for OurSpace, didn’t you read that article I wrote about the dangers of the Internet?”
“Alice …”
“Not now, Emily. Not now.”
If not now, then when?
XOXO,
EE
P.S. Guess what I listened to today? “The Emily Song”! I kept playing it and rewinding, playing it and rewinding. When I play your song, it’s like you’re right here next to me. I could listen to it all day!
JUNE 18
Dad,
; HELP!!!
My life in Rancho Rosetta is over before it’s even begun. Alice has signed me up for volleyball!!! She knows I hate sports, so that must mean she hates me.
“Emily, this will get you out of the house. You said you wanted to meet people, plus the physical activity will be good for you —”
“Right. I said I wanted to meet people, not make a fool of myself trying to hit a ball over a net.”
“Emily! This is not open to discussion….”
I tuned her excuses out and tuned in to Mongo Bongo in my head. I still can’t believe you once opened for them. They’re like rock royalty, even though they’re really old now and look ridiculous wearing those shiny tight pants. I saw a documentary about them the other day on RockStar TV. Someday, they’ll be doing a documentary about the Talky Boys! Ooooh, I hope they interview me. I’ll say, “Dave ‘the Dude’ Ebers is the best singer in the entire world!!!”
How’s your tour going? I’ll bet you’re getting tons and tons of new fans every time you take the stage. I told this to Alice last night, but she got all spazzed out and her lower lip started shaking. So I asked her about global warming and she calmed right down and launched into this brain-numbing lecture I couldn’t understand. It really doesn’t matter. I don’t listen to Alice. When I tuned in to her rant again, I tried reasoning with her about this dumb volleyball thing, but she’s so stubborn.
“Alice, volleyball just isn’t my thing.”
“Emily, it wouldn’t hurt you to try something new.”
“Alice, I am trying something new. I moved here, didn’t I ? ”
“Emily, we all have to do things we don’t want to do sometimes.”
“Alice, why do I have to do things I don’t want to do ALL THE TIME?”
Alice pushed her chair away from her desk. “Emily, there’s no need to get hysterical.”
“ALICE, I AM NOT BEING HYSTERICAL, I AM BEING HONEST! I DON’T WANT TO PLAY VOLLEYBALL, I DON’T WANT TO LIVE IN RANCHO ROSETTA, I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE AT ALL, AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!”
