“Gram, I know how much you wanted me to play the violin because it’s been in your family like forever but I stink at it and it’s just not for me and I’m sorry because I want you to be proud of me even if I don’t play the violin like you wanted me to.”
“Sarah, slow down,” Grandma said. “Come here and sit with me.”
I followed Grandma to the couch. She eased herself down into the flattened cushion. I could tell that her knee was bothering her.
“Knee OK?”
“Just a little arthritis. Nothing to worry about. Now, let’s talk about the violin.”
“I stink at it and I wanted to be good at it for you but I don’t like it and—”
“Stop, my sweet child,” Grandma said. “First, it’s true. I wanted you to play the violin, but I thought you wanted to play it, too. And, if you don’t, you can stop. The last thing I want is for you to do something you really don’t want to do because you think it’s expected of you. If I told you to jump out our fifth-floor apartment window, would you?”
I shook my head no.
“I’m old, Sarah. I’m not going to be around forever.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Well, it’s true. You got to learn to make your own choices and not decide something based on what you think I want.”
“But what if I make the wrong choice?” I asked.
“That’s part of growing up. Heaven knows I’ve made plenty of wrong choices. But when you make a wrong choice, learn from it. If you fall, get up. That’s what we Ross girls do. We keep going because it’s all we can do. You can’t go back and change the past, but you can learn from it and make better decisions in the future.”
“So you’re not mad?”
Grandma kissed the top of my head. “I’m not mad. And, I’ll be honest, I’m not gonna miss that screeching. It gave me a headache. I think I’ve taken more aspirin this past year than I’ve taken my entire life. I happen to know the neighbors will be happy, too.”
We both laughed and I realized that Miss Wagaman was right. Sometimes grown-ups are pretty smart. They figure things out way before kids do. And the things we fear aren’t nearly as scary as we imagine them to be.
Elizabeth picks Olivia up after school to drive her to the dance studio. She’s now in company at the dance academy, which means practices four times a week, a lot for a ten-year-old. Olivia eats the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Elizabeth has packed along with a yogurt. She decides to save the banana for later.
“How was school today?” Elizabeth asks.
“OK. Everyone was talking about being in the band.”
“I see.”
“Mom,” Olivia says. “I don’t think I want to play the flute after all.”
Elizabeth glances at Olivia. “But just last night you wanted to. What changed your mind?”
“Well, I thought about what Dad said. About me always wanting to try all these different things and how I need to make sure it’s what I want to do and not do it because everyone else is doing it.”
“And?”
“And what I love most is dancing. So, I’m going to stick with dancing and work on it and be the best dancer I can be.”
Elizabeth reaches over and squeezes Olivia’s hand. “I’m so proud of you, Libby.”
“You are?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth says. “My little girl is growing up.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
Elizabeth smiles. “It’s a very good thing.”
Chapter 17
Olivia drags her purple suitcase out of her walk-in closet that looks like a mini department store. She has so many clothes that you can’t even see the racks they hang on. Boxes and boxes of shoes are stacked along the sides and purses of every sort spill out of a red plastic tub in the corner. The wire shelf that hugs the closet walls is packed with stacks of sweaters and sweatshirts and other clothes that didn’t fit on the racks. It’s piled high with so much stuff that the weight is making the bracket connecting the shelf to the wall come loose. I see the screw has worked its way out and I wonder if Olivia sees it.
Olivia looks at the list of things she’s supposed to pack for the week-long dance camp she’s attending in New York City. She’s never spent more than two days away from her parents and she’s worried about getting homesick.
She packs all of her dance gear and some shorts and tops.
Elizabeth walks in. “Don’t forget your swimsuits. There’s a pool at the complex.”
Olivia sighs. “I’m going to need two suitcases. It’s never all going to fit in one.”
Elizabeth returns with a burgundy and black floral bag. It’s one of the smaller pieces in her designer set. “Here, you can use this. All of your dance gear should fit in it and then you can use your suitcase for everything else.”
Olivia removes the dance gear from the purple suitcase and puts it into the floral bag. “Did you go to camp when you were a kid?”
Elizabeth smiles. “Church camp.”
“Was it fun?”
“Loads. And I’m sure you’ll have fun, too.”
“But what if I get homesick?”
“Libs,” Elizabeth says. “You can call anytime you want. That’s why we bought you a cell phone. And we’ll be up at the end of the week to see the closing performance. You’ll be just fine, sweetie.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
I went to church camp once and hated it. I got a full scholarship to go so it didn’t cost Gram a dime. She thought I’d have a lot of fun. I didn’t.
I had just gotten my period for the first time the day before I left. Even though Grandma had talked to me about it and I had read a book about it and saw a film in school, I freaked when I went to the bathroom and saw blood.
Grandma wasn’t home at the time, and I didn’t know where she put the “special stuff” she had bought for when the “big day” arrived. So I rolled toilet paper into a big ball and stuffed it in my underwear. Then I lay on my bed and cried until she came home.
“Sarah,” Grandma called. “I’m home. Come and help me with the groceries.”
I walked out to the kitchen.
“What’s wrong?” Grandma asked. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
I ran into Grandma’s open arms and sobbed. She hugged me and kissed the top of my head. “Shh. Nothing can be that bad.”
“I. I. I got that thing you said I would get.”
Grandma pulled back so I was at arm’s length and she could see my blotchy face and looked me in the eyes. “Your period? You got your period?”
I nodded.
“Oh, sweet child,” Grandma said. “It’s OK. It’s just part of growing up. Did you find the stuff I bought?”
“I couldn’t remember where you put it.”
“It’s in the bathroom in a box on the bottom shelf.”
I went to the bathroom, found the box, pulled out the wad of toilet paper and unwrapped a maxi-pad. Grandma tried to show me how to use a tampon later that night, but it was no use. It hurt too much.
“Take them along just in case,” Grandma said. “You can’t swim unless you can get one of these in you.”
My luck I happened to go to church camp the hottest week of the summer. It was a blistering ninety-three degrees most days and everyone spent as much time as possible in the cool pool fed by a nearby spring. And, of course, they couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to go swimming. I gave them a million excuses. I think the girls knew the real reason, but the boys were totally clueless.
So while they were swimming, I was under a shady weeping willow reading. It was the most miserable week of my life.
Olivia spends her days shuffling from one air-conditioned studio to another. She studies hip hop, jazz, Broadway and lyrical dance, rotating between the studios and instructors. At night, she participates in team competitions, like team cheers or dance trivia, or individual competitions, such as the Dance Idol night.
“Hi, Mom,”
she says when she calls the first night. “How’s Daisy?”
“Missing you. She’s been looking all over the house for you. How’s it going?” Elizabeth asks.
“OK. I miss Daisy, too. And you and Dad.”
“Have you made any friends?” Elizabeth asks.
“Not really. The girls here aren’t like the girls at home.”
“What do you mean, Lib?”
“I don’t know. They’re just different. And a lot of them have been attending this camp for the past few summers so they’ve been friends for a while.”
“So you’re the new girl, huh?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yes. I guess that’s it. Just feeling a little left out. And I overheard one of the girls making fun of my bag.”
“The one I gave you for your dance stuff?”
“Yes,” Olivia says. “She called it a Grandma bag.”
“Hang in there, Lib,” Elizabeth says. “Being away on your own without any friends isn’t easy. But just be yourself, and you can call me anytime.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Olivia says. “I did learn some new moves today. And I’m about ready to leave to go to flexibility, strength and leaps night. And I’m excited about that.”
“Great. I hope you have fun and I can’t wait for you to show me everything you’ve learned.”
“Is Dad home?” Olivia asks.
“He’s working late, but I’ll tell him you called.”
“Tell him that I love him and I’ll talk to him soon. Oh, and tell him I loved his surprise.”
“Surprise?” Elizabeth asks.
“Yeah. There was a special delivery waiting for me when I got here. It was a box filled with my favorite snacks and a huge stuffed ballerina bear that said princess on it.”
“That’s your dad,” Elizabeth says. “I’ll tell him. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Ever since I’ve recorded Olivia’s moments, I’ve noticed that her family is never stingy with the “I love you”s or hugs and kisses. In fact, they might go a bit overboard. I’ve never been around a family that is so demonstrative. I know that Grandma loved me, but even she didn’t say it as much as Olivia’s parents say it. Nor as much as Olivia’s grandparents say it or as much as her aunts and uncles say it. It seems like everyone is in love with everyone else to the nth degree. There is so much love in this family that it reminds me of how little I had.
I remember the time Grandma found my diary and read it. I was at the kitchen table doing homework when she walked in.
“Do you really feel this way, Sarah?”
I looked up. She was holding my black houndstooth diary.
“Well, do you?”
I stood up. “I can’t believe you read my diary.”
“It’s not like I went looking for it. It was open on your bed. I went to take off your bed sheets to wash them. I had to pick it up.”
“You didn’t have to read it.”
“Well, I did. Is this how you feel?”
“I was angry when I wrote that.”
“Angry about what?”
“You grounded me.”
“I grounded you because you lied about not going to school. And I will ground you again if you ever lie to me again. I’ve told you over and over that the worst thing you can do is lie to me. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
I looked down at the red brick linoleum floor. I knew what I wrote would hurt Grandma. Deep inside, I wanted to punish her for grounding me. Make her feel like crap. And, I purposely left the diary on my bed hoping she would find it and read it. Looking back, I was immature. I knew that a surefire way to hurt Grandma was to write that she didn’t love me. I knew that it would be like stabbing her in the heart. What is it about teenage angst that makes us do such horrible things to those we love?
Olivia and the other dancers dress for their big show. Olivia peeks out from the left stage wing. A steady stream of parents and siblings and grandparents walk through the back doors, program in hand, looking for seats.
The final performance at the end of the week always draws a crowd. The dancers get a chance to show off the new skills and routines they’ve learned throughout the week.
Olivia is about to perform her first dance. Her modern dance instructor introduces the piece, explaining the origins of modern dance and the influence of such great dancers and choreographers as Martha Graham.
Olivia enters the stage barefoot, wearing a simple black Lycra jumpsuit. I know how much Olivia loves modern dance. Even though she’s not yet a teen, she understands how to connect with her innermost emotions and how to convey these emotions through movement and expression.
All week, her dance instructor has challenged her to get in touch with an emotion, to choose a subject close to her heart. Olivia has. She hasn’t told anyone what it is, but I know.
She’s chosen abandonment, a feeling she would never share with her parents. But she’s never quite understood why her birth parents didn’t want her. There’s an aching deep in her heart that longs for answers to questions she’s too afraid to ask.
When the melancholy music starts, Olivia begins. Her movements marry the music. She bends and twists and throws herself on the stage in despair. The sophistication of her dance surprises everyone, even the instructor, who notices that Olivia has incorporated some new moves she’s never seen before. When she’s done, the crowd stands and applauds. They know they’ve just witnessed something special.
Like Olivia, I had questions, too. I never felt abandoned, but I always longed for love. I had Grandma’s love but I wanted more. I wanted more people to love me, to really care about me. It was like being thirsty and never getting enough water to quench your thirst. That was how I felt about love. I had some, but never enough. So, if I were to choose an emotion to focus on in a modern dance, I’d choose desperate for love.
When Olivia gets home from dance camp, there’s a surprise waiting for her.
“Close your eyes until I tell you to open them,” says Elizabeth, holding onto Olivia’s arm and guiding her down the hall toward her bedroom.
Tom waits with the video camera inside Olivia’s room. He wants to capture her reaction. While Olivia was away at camp, they hired a designer to completely redo her bedroom, changing it from a little girl’s room into a teen’s.
“OK. Now.”
Olivia opens her eyes. Her hands cup her mouth and her eyes start to water.
She walks inside and turns one hundred and eighty degrees. The brown and blue tones add sophistication to what has become a contemporary space. There’s a sitting area with a brown sofa, flanked by blue chairs. A flatscreen TV is mounted on the facing wall. The bedroom furniture is all new – the white of her childhood replaced with a rich cherry. The four-poster bed is draped in a sheer fabric.
Elizabeth notices Olivia’s expression. Olivia looks as if she’s about to cry, but it’s not the type of cry that comes from being happy. It’s more like the type of cry that comes from being upset.
Tom is still recording Olivia.
“Dad and I thought that it was about time you had a more grown-up room, a space where you could also hang out with your friends,” Elizabeth explains.
“What did you do with my old furniture?” asks Olivia, her lips trembling.
“Donated it to charity.”
“But I didn’t want new furniture. I liked my old furniture.”
“We thought some little girl would get some use out of it.”
“But, but I thought you were going to let me do this?”
Tom stops recording. “Don’t you like it, Lib?”
“Yes. It’s great. But that’s not the point,” Olivia says. “We talked about this and you were going to let me redo my room. Now it’s all done the way you wanted to do it, not the way I wanted to do it.”
Elizabeth and Tom look stunned. They thought Olivia would be happy. It never occurred to them that she wouldn’t be.
One night Grandma came home with a new bedspread.
She found it at Goodwill and it had never been opened. It was a black and white zebra stripes trimmed in hot pink. It was the coolest bedspread I had ever seen. The tag said Pottery Barn.
“Oh, Gram, I love it.”
“Thought it was about time to get rid of that ratty Barbie bedspread,” Grandma said. “That thing’s so old it’s threadbare in spots.”
Grandma never knew it, but I looked the bedspread up online. There were tons of accessories you could buy to go with it. A switch plate. Lampshade. Pillows. Rug. I imagined what my room would look like if I had all of those things. I thought it would be the coolest teen room ever.
But the bedspread was as close as I got to a bedroom makeover. Even so, I thought I was probably the happiest kid in the world.
Chapter 18
“What are you girls giggling about?” Elizabeth asks.
Olivia and Emma are in the back seat texting each other. They are going to the junior high dance.
Elizabeth stops at a red light and glances back. “Are you texting each other because you don’t want me to know what you’re talking about?”
The girls each flash a mouth full of braces with pink rubber bands and wires.
“Well, it’s secret stuff,” Olivia says.
“Yeah, Mrs. K. Secret stuff,” Emma says.
“There was a time when you two told me everything. Guess those days are coming to an end.”
They pull into the school parking lot and join the line of cars crawling to the front door to drop kids off.
“Remember,” Elizabeth says. “Dad will pick you up at nine unless you call and want picking up earlier.”
The girls giggle again.
“Thanks, Mom,” Olivia says. “And thanks for the new outfit.”
“Have fun,” Elizabeth says. “And remember what we talked about. No risqué dancing. If other kids want to dance like that, let them. But you better not.”
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