“So what career would you have,” I asked, “if you could switch?”
“Stewardess?” she said, like it was a question. But the way she answered so quickly, I knew she’d given this some thought.
“Stewardess?” I was surprised. “But isn’t that just like waiting on other people all the time, too, only in a different way?”
“Well, yeah,” she conceded. “But you also get to see the world. You get to fly.”
It seems like everything these days is about leaving the ground and getting up in the air. Me, I’ve never been on a plane before. But I’ve seen ads for airlines in my mom’s magazines—Eastern Air Lines, TWA, Pan Am—and sometimes, in addition to the planes, there are pictures of glamorous stewardesses in their uniforms. Those uniforms always look so neat and crisp, and the stewardesses always look so confident and excited, like they know they’re going places.
“I guess that could be okay,” I said.
“It could,” Eleanor agreed.
“So why don’t you still try?” I said. “To be a stewardess, I mean.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe I still will.”
“You know,” I said, remembering something I’d read during my trip with Buster to the library, “Michael Collins, after seeing John Glenn on Mercury Atlas 6, decided to become an astronaut, but he wasn’t accepted right away, and yet he just kept trying until he was. So you see, sometimes these things just take time.”
She seemed a little surprised at my speech. All she said was “Huh,” but it was the kind of “Huh” that told me maybe I’d given her something else to think about that hadn’t occurred to her before.
“Just ignore the others in the office,” I advised, referring to her problem with the other secretaries again, “and focus on the one.”
After that, we drove the rest of the way to the A&P in silence, the breeze through the open windows ruffling our hair.
When we got to the A&P, my headache over all the choices returned. Of course, I’d been to the supermarket with Mom, more times than I can count, but it’d never been up to me to do the deciding.
“What do you want to get?” Eleanor asked, pushing the empty cart.
All those aisles, all those decisions—it was too much for me.
Eleanor must have seen some of what I was feeling in my face, because she said, “Why don’t we start with the cereal?”
That was a relief. When we were in the cereal aisle, though, even that felt like too much. I couldn’t pick between the should of Cap’n Crunch and the want of Froot Loops, so I finally wound up getting both.
“What else?” she said.
I couldn’t think of anything so she said, “How about some more frozen dinners?” She sighed as she pushed the cart toward the frozen food aisle. “Those are easy and convenient.”
She took a whole bunch of boxes from the freezer case, and it was a little thrilling, seeing the quantity of selections there.
And then I had an idea, and an even bigger thrill came into me, washing the headache away.
“Can I get some chicken?” I asked, excited.
“What?”
I didn’t answer. I knew where the chicken was kept, in the poultry department, and I made straight for it, Eleanor trailing behind me with the cart.
“Mamie,” she said as I tossed a package of chicken in the cart, “do you even know how to cook chicken?”
I ignored that question, too, instead tapping my finger against my lower lip, just like adults always do when they’re thinking.
“Now, then,” I said. “Where do they keep the soup…?”
I found the Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup and tossed in a can.
Then I remembered red Jell-O, followed by cocktail franks, and the white cake mix and white frosting mix. I even read the directions on the backs so I’d know what other ingredients I might need. I didn’t think I needed any new blue dye, figuring that dye’s not something you run out of real quick and that we probably still had some at home left over from the Fourth of July, and red from Christmas, too—I was planning to do something special with my cake. I didn’t know how long my dad’s forty dollars needed to last me and, even giddy as I was feeling, I didn’t want to waste any of that forty dollars that I didn’t have to. Then I remembered potato chips and the fixings for dip, too, because you can’t have a party without dip.
We circled the aisles of the supermarket so many times as I remembered different things that eventually Eleanor said, “Do you even know what you’re doing, squirt?”
I did. Outside the frozen food case, I’d had a grand idea, which was this: My mom had wanted to have a Moonwalk Party on Sunday. My dad had said no. My mom left. My dad went after her. But you know what I realized? A Moonwalk Party is still a terrific idea. So I would throw one myself on Sunday, even if my parents weren’t home. I’d make the special chicken and the other special foods, and we’d have our own Moonwalk Party, just me and Eleanor and Bess. If Bess insisted, Vinny could come. And Buster, he could definitely come, if his mom would let him. Plus Campbell—she’d be real happy about that chicken.
Just because my parents weren’t there, it didn’t mean that everything had to stop, and it was my responsibility to see to it that things kept going, like by having the Moonwalk Party we should have been having in the first place.
But I couldn’t tell Eleanor this, not without ruining the surprise. So when she asked me her question—“Do you even know what you’re doing, squirt?”—I just stared blankly back at her. I figured if I did that long enough, kind of like in a staring contest but being sure to look as dull and stubborn as I could, eventually she’d just get disgusted or bored, one or the other.
“Fine,” Eleanor said, clearly giving up on me and my unusual food selections. “At least let’s pick out something well rounded. What do you like to eat that I might be able to cook for you?”
What? Sure, she’d said she’d come over and then she’d said she’d take me shopping. But adults had let me down so much lately, I hadn’t dared let myself hope for much beyond that. But now, not only had she come to stay with me, she was also going to cook something for me other than TV dinners? This was such a revelation, I just said in my excitement, “Anything. Anything at all that you would like to make for me, I am sure I would love to eat it.”
I must say, I had not planned on that involving salad.
But you know what, Michael Collins?
The way she made it later on, it was good. At the A&P, she went back for another package of chicken. Then she added lettuce and a bunch of vegetables to the cart. I asked her not to forget the green goddess dressing, but she said she was going to get some other ingredients and just make her own dressing.
After we got home, we unloaded the bags of groceries from the car and I put the phone back on the hook. Then we put away the TV dinners in the freezer and the rest of the things I’d picked out. Right then and there, Eleanor roasted that chicken she’d bought. Afterward, she refrigerated it. Many hours later, she shredded it and spread the pieces over the top of the salad she prepared, and poured her own dressing over it. And let me tell you, salad with cold chicken on it makes for quite a refreshing meal in the summer.
We ate it in the dining room, like it was a special occasion, late in the afternoon, which seemed early to me for dinner, but I wasn’t about to complain. We used the good dishes and silverware. Even Bess was there. I guess with Eleanor in the house, Bess felt bound by family dinners again. Or maybe she just liked having Eleanor around. It was a lively meal.
Mostly, the other two talked. Bess talked about Vinny, and Eleanor talked about a new man she is dating. Talk of dating—I didn’t really have anything to contribute to that. But still, I felt very grown-up and lively myself, just listening to the two of them.
At one point, Eleanor said again the thing she’d said to me on the phone the day before, about not being surprised that our mom had left, and Bess agreed with her.
“Why do you keep saying that?”
I asked, starting to feel mad at them.
“Because it’s true.” Eleanor shrugged.
“They’ve always had discussions,” I said. “I see no reason why it should be any different this time.” I said that more because I wanted it to be true than because I actually believed there was any chance it was.
“I don’t think she’s ever been happy,” Eleanor said.
“How can you say that?” I said.
“Because it’s true,” she said again with another shrug. “When she and Dad both dropped out of college to get married, she was pregnant with me…”
I must confess, Michael Collins, however Eleanor finished that sentence, whatever anyone else said for a while, I didn’t hear it. I was too shocked.
It’s a funny thing about parents. When they’re your own, you tend to see them the way you’ve always seen them, meaning how you’ve known them in your lifetime and nothing else.
So, sure, I knew my parents had both been to college for a while and that neither had finished. But I’d never really thought much about what they were like before me. I certainly had never thought about what they were like before Eleanor. And I’d definitely never done the math and come up with them both leaving college early because of Eleanor.
I came back into the conversation on Bess saying, “I guess she always wanted more.”
“What more?” I said.
“Just more,” Eleanor said. “She wanted to finish college. She wanted to be more.”
I thought about that, how after knowing my mom for ten years, I’d never seen that about her. But then, I started wondering about my dad, too. Maybe he’d wanted to finish college, too? Maybe, at one point, a part of him had wanted—and maybe still did want—more?
And yet he’d obviously never given Eleanor or Bess that impression, not like my mom had. As for me, all I could ever remember him saying was stuff like “A man’s job is to take care of his family” or “A man’s job is to put food on the table and a good roof over his family’s heads.” But maybe he, too, would have wanted more if he had had a choice in the matter?
It was too much to think about at once, so I was grateful when Eleanor—elegant Eleanor!—let out a loud belch and we all just broke up laughing. In a tense moment, it is amazing how useful bodily functions can be as an icebreaker.
The three of us did the dishes together, laughing the whole time, with Campbell lazily weaving her way in and out among our feet. But the last dish was hardly dried and put away when there came a car horn, which is the telltale sound of Vinny.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Eleanor called after Bess.
“Out,” Bess said. “With Vinny.”
“Not tonight you’re not,” Eleanor said.
“I’m not?” Bess said.
“How can you?” Eleanor said. “Who will stay here with Mamie?”
The panic I immediately felt took the good feelings I’d had since Eleanor arrived that morning and knocked them clear away.
“You’re not staying?” I said to Eleanor. Suddenly I remembered something. Back at the A&P, when we went to put the grocery bags in the trunk, the trunk had been empty. I guess I’d been so excited at all the things we bought, and at the idea of the Moonwalk Party, I hadn’t noticed enough at the time to think about what it might mean, that Eleanor didn’t have a suitcase.
“I’ve got a date tonight,” Eleanor said.
“But you’ll come back after that,” I said, “won’t you?”
“I can’t,” she said. “I have plans all weekend and my own life. And coming back here, even for a few days, would be a step backward. Besides, my bed here’s too small for me now.”
I didn’t really know what she meant by that. Seemed to me, she was still the same exact size she’d been when she moved out.
But I knew my mom had supported Eleanor when Eleanor decided to get her own place. It was what Eleanor wanted, and it was what my mom wanted for her. I supposed I should want it for her, too.
“You’ll be fine, squirt,” she said, giving me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Bess’ll look out for you.”
Then she was gone.
I didn’t even get a chance to tell her about the Moonwalk Party. Maybe she’d have stayed then. I’d have told her my secret, if I thought it would get her to stay.
And then it was just me and Bess and Campbell, plus Vinny once Bess had gone outside and explained to him that he and Bess needed to stay here with me tonight.
Eleanor had said it would be fine. I wondered if, when she said it, she’d pictured Bess and Vinny smooching on the couch all evening long while I tried to listen to reports of you and Apollo 11 on the TV. So much smooching—I suppose it was fine for Bess and Vinny, but it wasn’t so great for me.
Oh, well.
At least I still have Bess.
Sincerely yours,
Mamie
Saturday, July 19, 1969
Dear Michael Collins,
When I sealed up yesterday’s letter, I thought, Holy moly! as Buster would say, because I tell you, it seemed like I might need an even bigger envelope than the large ones I’ve been using, but somehow I managed.
Today, the newscasters and Buster say that you will reach the moon, or at least enter its orbit, so I know it must be true. You must know it, too.
But here is something you don’t know, can’t know, because there are no newspapers or newscasters where you are. There is a man named John Fairfax. He just landed his rowboat in Hollywood Beach, which is near Miami, which is in Florida. He left from a place called Gran Canaria, an island off the northwestern coast of Africa, on January 20 of this year. For one hundred and eighty days, he has been at sea on a rowboat named Britannia that is only twenty-five feet long. He is the first person ever to row across an ocean solo, which means by himself.
Buster says that when you reach the moon today, that you will be in its orbit and that, eventually, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin will leave you by yourself when they go down in the Eagle to take their walk on the moon, which I hope they get to do. When Buster told me this, I thought that, while they were descending and taking their walk, you would be the loneliest man in the world, all by yourself, orbiting the moon, waiting for them to come back, which I hope they will.
But think about what I just told you, Michael Collins. John Fairfax spent 180 days at sea—one hundred and eighty days at sea!—on his lonesome. And yet he survived. It just goes to show that whenever you think you are the loneliest person on the face of the planet—or off it!—there is still yet someone more lonely than you. It is a marvel. It is a marvel and a wonder that anyone survives this world of ours.
But I didn’t learn about John Fairfax until later today. Earlier, a bunch of other stuff happened. And once again, much of it was not good.
It started out good, though! When I woke in the morning and remembered again that both my mom and dad are gone and also remembered that, even though she’s usually a lot better than Bess, Eleanor hadn’t stayed with me either, I told myself I didn’t care. I told myself today would be a good day and that I had the excitement ahead of me of planning the Moonwalk Party.
At the thought of that, I raced through my morning routines, not even giving any thought to which cereal I grabbed. Whichever box my hand touched first, that was fine with me.
Okay. It was Froot Loops.
As soon as I was done, I called Buster. It had been over a day since I’d seen him, which is some kind of record for us in the summer unless one of us gets sick or goes on vacation, and I didn’t want him to worry that today would be the same as yesterday. But I also wanted him to know that I would be a little later than usual meeting up because I had some things to do first.
“What kind of things?” he asked.
Buster wasn’t being nosy. It’s just that, with best friends, you can ask each other anything. You can also not answer if you don’t want to, no explanation necessary, which is a mighty fine feature. But you can always ask.
Up until then, I�
�d managed to keep my Moonwalk Party a secret. For an entire day, I’d kept it. But now I found myself wanting to share it with Buster—and anyway, wouldn’t he need his mother’s permission to come over and watch with me tomorrow night?—so I did.
Buster’s excitement at my announcement was satisfying.
“Holy moly! You mean you’re going to do the cooking yourself?” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Holy moly! Will you need me to bring anything?”
I was about to say no, but then I thought of something.
“Do you think you could maybe bring some Tang?” I said.
Yesterday, at the A&P, I’d been so wrapped up in getting food for the party, I hadn’t even considered beverages, and there was nothing in the house, not even any Hi-C. Sure, we could drink water, but that would hardly be festive.
“Boy, can I!” Buster said, sounding excited to have something to contribute. “Who’s coming to the Moonwalk Party?”
“Well, my mom and dad are still gone.” Already this was sounding more like a list of who wasn’t coming than who was, but still I felt compelled to add, “And Eleanor just came and went, too—”
“Wait. She’s not there anymore? What kind of cavalry is that? Then who’s looking out for you?”
I said that Bess was, and for once, someone didn’t point out to me how useless that was. Maybe that’s because he realized that, right then, she was all I had.
“I’m sure she’ll be here,” I said, “probably Vinny, too.”
“That’s okay, then.”
“So there’s no need to say anything to your mom about my parents being gone,” I made sure to add.
“I won’t. I still have to ask her if I can come, but I’m sure she’ll say yes. So what are you doing now?”
I Love You, Michael Collins Page 9
