by Zoe Fishman
“We watched Tanisha just like we would watch any other kid at the pool!” I yelled. Was I going to have to defend us to everyone? “The black thing wasn’t even an issue! The issue was that we knew she couldn’t swim because she came with a group of other kids who couldn’t swim.”
“Or was it that you knew she couldn’t swim because she was black? And you were ticked off that a bunch of nonswimming black kids came to the pool and disrupted the day, so you said, screw it, I’m going to let my mind wander?” Dad replied, using what must have been his courtroom voice.
“All right, Johnny Cochran, take it easy,” said David.
“Look.” My dad sighed heavily. “I’m just telling you what’s going to happen—what people are already thinking. What these parents may claim in court. Not everything is so—”
“Black and white?” I finished smugly.
“Simple. This is a complicated issue. At the pool and beyond, obviously. There’s already commotion about the neighborhood changing. This is only going to fuel the fire.”
“We wish you had called us,” said Mom. “We could have at least voiced our opinion and maybe given you a different perspective.”
“Jesus, do you think we should call you every time we have a problem?” yelled David. “Every time something goes wrong? We’re not kids anymore.”
“This qualifies as more than just a problem, David,” said Dad. “This is serious.”
“Why can’t we concentrate on the fact that Ruth saved a kid’s life today and worry about the other shit when and if it happens? You’re the most negative people I’ve ever met in my life. No wonder we’re so fucked up.”
“What the hell does that mean?” asked Dad.
“It’s always a worst-case scenario with you. Always.”
“David, that’s called being a goddamn grownup!” screamed Mom suddenly, surprising everyone with the force of her conviction. We stared at her. “You have to plan for the worst and hope for the best. It’s being a parent! It’s having a career! It’s living life responsibly! I am so sick of this entitled bullshit attitude from both of you.”
“Whoa!” I said. “Where is this coming from?” I scooped my foot under Maddie’s warm belly.
“I just—your father and I, that is—we just care very much about you, and when you make decisions without thinking about the consequences, we worry.” She paused. “And David, we just feel like we don’t know you at all anymore.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You never talk to us, and you used to.”
“Mom, what does that have to do with what happened today?” he asked.
“Easy. The old David would have saved Tanisha,” I answered angrily. “And the old Ruth would have just, I dunno, stuck her thumb up her ass and watched.” I stood up.
“Ruth, sit down,” ordered Dad. “Let’s not turn this into something petty.”
“Now my feelings are petty! Great.”
“You shouldn’t take it so personally,” said David quietly. “I don’t really talk to anyone anymore.”
“Is everything okay?” asked Mom. I sat down, defeated.
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
“Honey, are you depressed?” asked Mom.
“Nah. I’m just in a funk.”
“You don’t need a reason to be depressed, David. It just happens sometimes.”
“Marjorie, he said he’s not depressed,” said Dad. “Leave the kid alone.”
“Okay, as long as you know that we’re here, and that we love you,” said Mom. “And Ruth of course, you too. We love you more than anything. No matter what.”
“And we’re so proud of what you did today,” said Dad. “Really and truly.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, embarrassed.
“All right, are we done now?” asked David.
“Yes, we’re done. But if you hear from Tanisha’s family at all, let me know. I want to be involved. As a lawyer, and also as your father. Okay?” We pushed our chairs back and stood up without responding.
“Okay?”
“Okay,” we drawled in unison.
I closed my door and sank onto my bed. What a day. I stared at the ceiling, too tired to take off my bathing suit but irritated by the fabric’s pull across my body. It had dried completely—all evidence of my plunge into the pool now erased. I wondered what Tanisha was doing at this exact moment. Was she still in the hospital? Was she home? Where did she live? Was her mother plotting the pool’s demise, as my father feared?
I got under the covers. My stomach roared at me angrily. When was the last time I ate? I looked at the clock. It was 8:07. The day had been lost in a blur of emotion. Hanging out with David post-storm had been so nice. So real. And then the consequences that my parents seemed to spend so much time worrying about finally presented themselves. How lucky was I that I had abstained from smoking David’s weed? How lucky was Tanisha? My phone beeped, signaling a text. I pulled it out of my bag. Chris.
Heard about the pool. You okay, Superwoman?
I smiled. This was the smallest town in the world.
Yeah, fine. Helluva day.
I attempted to take off my tank top, shorts, and bathing suit without actually getting out of bed. With some squirming and stretching, it wasn’t so hard. Maybe I really was Superwoman.
We on for tmrrw?
Oh right, our date.
I think so. No, def. Def yes.
Cool, see you at 8?
Cool.
Was it right to go on a date when something so serious had just happened? I mean, what was the alternative? To sit at home and mope? I was going.
I placed my phone on the nightstand and curled into the covers, checking my stomach for pliable flesh. I thought of Tanisha, asleep in her room while Mary paced their living room and wondered what to do; my parents watching TV listlessly as their worry simmered silently; David face down on his bed next door, blocking out the guilt that I hoped was haunting him; Chris sipping a beer and maybe thinking about me, or the me he thought I was. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes.
14
“So, you’re going out with Chris tonight,” my dad said to me as I flipped through TV channels at the speed of light.
I looked up. “Mom told you?”
“No, it was on the local news actually.” He sat down beside me on the couch.
“Very funny.”
“Right after the segment on the latest whereabouts of the Crichton leprechaun. Did you know he opened his own hair salon?”
“Daaaaaaaaaaad!” I shoved him playfully.
“I like your hair like that.”
I reached up to touch it. “What, you mean giant?” After an hour of trying to blow-dry it into submission, I had finally started all over again and just let it be. The current cloud of curl and frizz that sprung from my head was going to be pulled back as soon as it dried.
“It’s not giant. It’s nice. It’s who you are. I don’t know why you would want it to look like someone else’s hair.” I sat forward to get a glimpse of the kitchen clock. It was 7:52.
I cleared my throat. “I wasn’t sure if I should go tonight, considering everything that happened yesterday, but then I thought, why not? It’s not like somebody died.”
“No, it’s not. Thanks to you.” He patted my knee. “Does David know that the two of you are going out?”
“I haven’t really had a chance to mention it to him. Well, I guess that’s not true. I just didn’t feel like mentioning it to him. In case it was weird or something, you know?”
“Are he and David still friends? I haven’t seen him around this summer at all.”
“I dunno. I think Chris mentioned that David hasn’t been returning his phone calls for a while.”
“Huh.” He paused. “Does David seem distant to you too?”
“David always seems distant to me. We barely speak now.
You know that.”
“I know. I hate it.”
“Join the club.”
“He’s always been pretty forthcoming with us, though, you know? Pretty eager to share. But this year—I dunno. He’s changed. Your mother and I have been pretty worried. And then, with this whole ‘blind spot’ business . . . it just seems so unlike him to be asleep at the wheel like that.”
“You mean for Tanisha to go under on his watch?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Well, last night he pretty much admitted that he was depressed, Dad. You dismissed it immediately.”
“Did I?” We watched the muted television together in silence. Two housewives stuffed into velour sweat suits sipped chardonnay from bejeweled wineglasses. “I guess I did,” he admitted quietly. “I got too angry and lost control.” He sighed. “The thing is, I want to help him, but I don’t know how. Just like I want to help you. Between the two of you, and now this near-drowning business, your mother and I are going to our early graves.”
I heard a car pull up in the driveway and froze. “He’s here,” I whispered. I sprang off the couch to check myself out in the bathroom mirror for the millionth time. As I pulled my hair back and twisted it into a bun, the doorbell rang. My heart was racing. You look pretty, Ruth, I whispered to my reflection. You’re not fat. I took a deep breath and switched off the light.
I heard voices in the kitchen. Male voices. I walked tentatively down the hall. Wait, was that David’s voice? I rounded the corner to find the three of them—Chris, David, and my dad—in an awkward huddle.
“Hey, Ruth,” said Chris. He stepped out of the huddle to kiss me on the cheek. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.” I looked up to find David watching with a look of befuddlement on his face.
“You two are going out?”
“Uh, yeah, man. I’m taking your sister to that bluegrass benefit downtown,” Chris sheepishly explained.
“Get the fuck out.”
“David—your mouth,” interjected my dad.
David ignored him. “Wow. You two are going out. On a date.” He nodded. “Okay, well, Chris, thanks for asking me if I felt weird about it or anything. That was really cool of you.”
“I tried to, man, but you didn’t return any of my phone calls.”
“Ruth, have a nice time,” said David, now ignoring Chris as well. His eyes were glazed over, the sparkle completely dulled. I realized that he was high. He left us in the kitchen.
“Well, that was fun,” said Chris.
“Yeah, a blast.” I cleared my throat and looked at my dad, who smiled wistfully.
“Have fun tonight, guys.” He opened the door, and we filed through. “Home by midnight, please.”
“Dad, midnight?” I turned around to look at him incredulously.
“One o’clock and not a minute later.”
“Yessir,” answered Chris. My dad nodded and closed the door behind him. Alone with Chris, I felt a little dizzy. I half expected him to change his mind, jump in his Jeep, and drive away. He took my hand instead, and opened the door for me. I climbed in awkwardly.
“You okay?” he asked, as he started the engine.
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, what can we do?”
“Your brother has been acting strange for a while now,” he said, backing out of the driveway. “We used to talk all the time, but this year he pretty much disappeared. I’d leave him messages, and nothing. I even went over to Mercer once with some buddies of mine, and you know, he didn’t even call me back to meet up. It really bummed me out.”
“How’d he act tonight when you just showed up at our door?”
“Oh, like everything was normal, you know? Like we just saw each other yesterday. I guess he assumed I was there to see him.” He smiled.
“Yeah, I mean, why wouldn’t he?”
“The look on his face when it was clear that I was there to see you instead was pretty priiiiceless,” Chris said, dragging out the vowel.
“Ya can’t blame him, I guess. We probably shoulda told him.”
“Well, I really did call him a few times. I had seen him at the pool that day I asked you out, but I hadn’t spoken to him in so long, you know? The timing seemed off. To tell him that we were going out, that is.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Well, what’s done is done, I guess. I’ll apologize to him later. Or not.” We stopped at a light, and he turned to smile at me. He smelled like suntan lotion and aftershave. Tony had always smelled like cigarettes and hot sauce. He liked to drizzle it on everything he ate.
“How are you doin’ after the accident?”
“I’m okay, I guess. Sort of still shaken up. The whole thing was so surreal. And now, who knows what’ll happen.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Oh, you know, like legal stuff. Her mother may sue the pool.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, no shit.”
“But you saved her. I don’t get it.”
“Well, yeah, but she could make a fuss about the fact that it even happened at all. She went under in David’s blind spot.”
He whistled. “Man. I hope she doesn’t sue. Sounds like that could be a big ole mess.”
“Egg-zactly.” I stared out the window. My nerves had subsided a bit.
“You like bluegrass?” he asked.
“I’m not so familiar with it, to be honest. But what I’ve heard, I like.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty authentic. None of that weepy country tear in my beer shit.”
“How’d you get into it?”
“My dad left all these records behind, and one day I just flipped one on,” he answered. Chris’s dad had left his mom when he and David were in middle school. I vaguely remembered my parents talking about it in hushed tones when it happened. I’d seen his dad once or twice before then, in the stands at their Little League games, but we had never formally met. He had Chris’s eyes, and they walked the same way—shoulders back, hands in their pockets, with a bit of a shuffle. Chris had seemed the same to me before and after his dad took off, but then again, my perspective was impossibly one-dimensional. Chris was an Adonis meant for worship, not character study.
“You have a record player?”
“I do.”
“Where do you live, anyway?”
“Well, get ready to swoon, girlie. This guy still lives with his mama.” He laughed uncomfortably.
“Oh.” I paused to consider this. “Well, it’s not like you’re forty or something and still living at home. You’re just a junior in college. And your school is here, so why not?”
“You don’t have to try to make me feel better, you know.” He reached over and touched my thigh, sending a current of electricity through my leg. “I know it’s lame. I’m tryin’ to save money, though, and it’s just my mom in that big ole house, so there you have it. I basically have the whole second floor to myself.” He laughed. “Look at me tryin’ to make it sound better than it is! Tryin’ to impress you.”
He was trying to impress me? My face felt hot. “So you and your mom must get along pretty well, huh?”
“We do. She’s really cool. Respectful of my space and stuff.” He backed into a parking spot. “But I’m not a mama’s boy, I swear.”
“You sure about that?” I teased.
“Okay, maybe just a little.” He turned the engine off with a playful smirk. “Just a touch.” I laughed and reached for the door handle.
“Uh uh!” He reached across me and stopped me from opening the door. “I don’t know what them Yankees have been teachin’ you, but around here we open the doors for ladies.”
I smiled. “Oh, because we’re too dainty to handle it ourselves?”
“No, ma’am. Because it’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” He winked at me and got out of the car. I thought of all of the doors th
at had been shut in my face and all the lines at school I had been skipped in front of. The South had its benefits. He opened my door and took my hand.
Chris Fuller was holding my hand. I looked around nervously at first, and then proudly as I straightened my shoulders and owned the moment. Damn right he was holding my hand.
“Hey, Chris!” said a pair of very large breasts attached to a very blond head at the door of the bar.
“Hey, Larissa. This is Ruth.” He gestured to me.
“Hi,” I offered.
She cocked her head and batted her turquoise eyelashes. “Ruth? You’re David’s sister, right?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“How is that boy?” She accepted Chris’s money and stamped his hand with a Rebel flag. She motioned to me to put my right hand out. I held it limply in front of me as I gazed inside at the bras hanging from the ceiling and the giant papier-mâché cowboy boot in the center of the room. Not exactly the United Nations.
“He’s all right,” I answered.
“You tell him I said hey, okay?” She winked at me, revealing gold eye shadow that stretched all the way to her brow bone.
“Sure thing.” We made our way inside.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Larissa Rogers.”
“She’s very reserved.”
“Yeah, a real lady.”
We sidled up to the bar. “Okay, I know the decor here is less than glamorous, but don’t be scared.”
“I ain’t scared!” I wrinkled my nose at him. “Who do you think you’re dealin’ with, anyway? Some Yankee snob?”
“Oh, I know who I’m dealin’ with. Ruth Wasserman. The best rebound retriever this side of the Mississippi.”
“Very funny.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “What’s with the stamp?” I held up my left hand and examined it. “The Rebel flag? Really?”
“I know, it’s stupid,” he agreed. “It’s just kitschy, though. You know that.”
“Is it, though? Some people around here really think that this flag is a symbol of the South’s glory days. You know, like those dumb frat boys who hang them in the back windows of their trucks. Or the rednecks who fly them from their little shanty camps on the banks of the Escatawba.”
