On the right were shelves that held a
microscope, slides, scales, and even a Bunsen burner. I saw chemistry sets and shelves and shelves of reference books. What didn't he have? I wondered.
"You see?" Helga said. "He has a laboratory in his room."
"It's not a laboratory. I have a few things to develop my interests," he said defensively. "I want to get into genetic research someday."
"I don't even know what that means:' Helga said.
He frowned and shook his head. "You know what this is?" he asked me, pointing to what looked like a Tinker Toy.
"Yes," I said. "It's a model of DNA."
"Right!" he said, his face becoming more animated than it had been since we met.
"What's DNA?" Helga asked.
"It has to do with genetics," Bernie said quickly. "You want to look at this? I put this together myself," he told me, and I drew closer.
"Don't you have a CD player or something in here?" Helga asked.
"No," he said quickly.
"Well, how do you listen to music?" she demanded. "I listen on my computer when I want to listen to music:' he said, and turned his back on her.
"This is like being back in school," she complained. "Not one movie poster, not one rock star poster, just all this . . . this educational stuff."
"It's very good:' I said, nodding at his model. He beamed with pride.
"Come on, Crystal," Helga said. "I'll show you the rest of the neighborhood. Maybe Fern Peabody is home. She's going steady with Gary Lakewood, and she always has good stories to tell."
"I've got some interesting slides:' Bernie said, ignoring her. "I just got them yesterday. They're from human embryos."
"Really?" I said.
"Ugh," Helga said. "Do they smell?"
"Of course not," Bernie snapped. "You should pay more attention in science class."
"Boring," she sang. "I'm going," she threatened. Bernie held his hand on his microscope and looked at me.
"I'm staying," I said. I knew I should probably go with her to meet more of the neighborhood kids, but Bernie's projects really intrigued me.
"I knew it," Helga said. "Peas in a pod. I'll talk to you later' she threw back at me as she left Bernie's room.
He smiled. Then he brought his microscope to the desk and hurriedly set things up. "Sit right there," he said, pointing to his chair.
He slipped in the slides and began to talk about them as I gazed through the microscope. It really was like being at a class lecture, but I didn't mind. Some of it I knew, but most of it I didn't. He was so excited about having an audience, he went on and on and then brought out some other slides. I got so involved I didn't realize the time until I glanced at the clock by his bed.
"Oh, no," I said. "I'd better get home. I didn't tell my mother I was leaving. I didn't think I'd be away this long, and it's ten minutes past dinner?'
"Right," he said with disappointment. He looked at the clock. "I don't eat dinner at any set time. I eat when I'm hungry."
"What about your parents?"
"They usually go out or eat at different times," he said.
"You never eat together?"
"Sometimes," he said as he put away his slides.
"Thanks for showing me everything," I told him as I walked to the door.
"Sure," he said.
He followed me out and down the hall.
"Maybe I'll see you again," I said, turning back to him just before leaving.
"Okay," he said. "Any time you want."
"Thank you," I said, and started away.
"Oh," he began.
I paused. "Yes?"
"I forgot. What's your name again?"
"It's Crystal," I said.
"I'm Bernie," he said.
I wanted to say, "I know, I remember your name. How could I not remember your name?" But he closed the door before I could add a word.
I hurried down the sidewalk. When I reached the house, I saw that my book was missing from the arm of the chair. It put a small panic in me because I realized Thelma had come looking for me. I quickened my steps and practically ran into the house.
"There," Karl said, hearing the door close and stepping out of the living room. "She's back, and she's all right."
I looked in and saw Thelma, her eyes
bloodshot, her face pale. She was clutching her skirt and twisting the material anxiously.
"Oh, Crystal. I was sure something terrible had happened to you. When I walked out there to call you in for dinner and all I found was your book . . ."
"I'm sorry," I said both to Karl and to her. "A girl came by to introduce herself, and then we went for a walk and it took longer than I thought it would. We stopped to visit Bernie Felder and . . ."
"When I saw that book and the empty chair," Thelma continued, not listening to my explanation, "all I could think of was Heart Shell by Amanda Glass. That's the story about the little girl who was kidnapped and brought up by another family. There's a scene just like this. They find her children's book on the grass by her little chair. It's not until she's a young woman that she returns to her real parents."
I just stared.
"Well, she wasn't kidnapped," Karl said calmly, "so put all that horror out of your mind, Thelma."
He turned to me. "Next time, Crystal, please let us know where you are going," he chastised firmly.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think I'd be that long. I got too involved with Bernie Felder's slides. I never saw so much stuff in someone's house and . ."
"It's all right. Dinner is a little late, but it's all right. Let's forget about it, Thelma, okay?" He looked at his watch. "There's no sense in wasting any more time over it."
"Right," she said, taking a deep breath. "It's all right." She smiled. "I'm just happy you're back," she said, as if I had been away for ages. "That's what the mother said in Heart Shell. I' m just happy you're back."
She hugged me as if she was afraid that if she ever let go, I'd disappear. I felt very confused. I was happy that someone cared so much about me, that someone could be sad and distraught just with the fear of my being gone, and yet I had to wonder. When Thelma looked at me, whom did she really see?
Me or the girl in Heart Shell?
4 Casting Call
Thelma felt better at dinner after she started to tell me about her soap opera. Because I was still feeling guilty for what I had done, I pretended to be interested in the story and the characters. However, it seemed silly to me that people fell in and out of such passionate love affairs so easily, that people betrayed each other despite how long they had known and trusted each other, and that children could despise their parents so much. For Thelma, however, what happened on the soaps was gospel. It was as if some biblical prophet wrote the scripts.
To some extent, I couldn't blame her. Most of the leading men seemed godlike, perfect. The women were glamorous even when they woke in the morning. When I innocently asked if we were to believe they went to sleep wearing makeup, Thelma said when someone is that beautiful, she always looks as if she's wearing makeup.
"I never met anyone that beautiful," I remarked, and she laughed in such a way it made me feel as though I were the uninformed one.
"That's why they're my special people," she said. "See why I like to watch my soaps?" I suppose it was all right to watch them, I thought, as long as we remembered that life wasn't really like a soap opera. Our lives weren't filled with dramatic events, and people rarely felt as passionate about anything as they constantly did on that small screen.
"What happened between Nevada and Johnny Lee touched my heart," she exclaimed toward the end of dinner. She smiled, and tears filled the deep furrows around her eyes. Then she looked at Karl and reached for his hand.
Karl glanced at me when she put her hand over his. He looked uncomfortable, but he didn't stop her or pull away,-and I wondered what sort of love life my new parents shared. In all of the pictures of them that were in the house, they looked so formal, Karl always s
tanding stiffly, Thelma always looking as if she was afraid she would make a terrible social mistake.
Later in the evening, I discovered just what sort of a romantic life they had. I had gone up to bed before them as usual. When I left them in the living room, Karl was reading Business Weekly and Thelma was watching a videotape she had made of a recent soap she had to miss so she could keep a dentist appointment. I finished reading my book and felt a little tired. Once again, I apologized to Thelma for giving her a scare earlier, and I promised I would never do anything like that again,
"You're so sweet to say that, dear. Karl and I knew from the moment we set eyes on you that you were a responsible young lady and things like this wouldn't happen often, if at all. All is forgiven," she said with an unexpected, theatrical air, her voice rising, her arms sweeping the air in an over-the-top dramatic gesture. Even Karl lowered his magazine and gazed at her with concern for a moment.
She held her arms out for me, and I went to her so she could embrace me, rocking back and forth as she spoke in a chantlike voice. "We must be good to each other, kind and considerate and loving. You have suffered so much, my little darling, and my life has been so empty without you. The love we all have for each other is almost holy. Always, forever and ever, always fit us into the corners of your life. Do you promise, Crystal? Do you?"
"Yes," I said, not sure what it was I was promising to do.
She sighed deeply but still held on to me. "Thelma," Karl said gently, "the child is tired and wants to go to bed."
"Yes, to bed," she said. "Good night, dear. Good night, good night, good night," she sang in my ear, and kissed me on the top of my head.
"Good night," I told them, and went upstairs.
Could it be, I wondered, that someone really did need me more than I needed her? No one had ever held me like that, much less held me that long, and although female staff members at the orphanages had kissed me occasionally, those kisses were quick smacks of their lips, almost like little pats on my cheeks and forehead. I felt nothing, no love, no deep concern. No, I thought, despite all her faults, Thelma did make me feel wanted, and what was more important than that?
I had just closed my eyes and tucked the blanket under my chin when I heard soft footsteps in the hallway. Then, in a voice I almost didn't recognize, I heard Thelma calling. It was confusing. I had to sit up to listen harder.
"Johnny Lee," I heard. "Please, please forgive me. Please, don't hate me."
At first, I thought she was simply repeating lines she loved from the show she had seen, but then I heard Karl say, "I don't hate you. I could never hate you, Nevada."
"I want to give myself to you," she said. "I want to give myself to you like I have never given myself to anyone, Johnny Lee."
"I know. I want you, too," Karl said.
There was a silence and then the soft sound of footsteps. I went to the door and opened it a crack to peek out. There they were in the hallway, kissing fully on the lips. I was mesmerized. Karl put his left hand under Thelma's blouse.
"No," she said, pulling back.
"Why not?" he asked, raising his voice.
"It doesn't happen like that. Nothing like that happens until she cries," Thelma said.
He pulled his hand out from under her blouse and held her hips.
"Okay, okay," he said. "I forgot."
"You're ruining it," she accused.
"I said I forgot."
"Start over," she commanded.
"What? Why?"
"You've got to start over," she insisted.
"That's silly, Thelma."
"Don't call me Thelma!" she exclaimed. "You're ruining it!"
"All right, all right. I'm sorry. I'll start over."
He turned from her, and I closed the door softly soneither of them would see me spying. My heart was pounding so hard, however, I was afraid they would hear the thumping in my chest. I listened.
Karl went down the hallway and closed a door. Then he opened it.
"Nevada," he called.
I opened my door again. Thelma was standing with her back to me now. She turned slowly, her face so different. She really looked as if she was on some sort of stage.
"Johnny Lee," she said, and wiped her cheeks. I could see she was crying real tears. "Please, please forgive me. Please, don't hate me."
"I don't hate you. I could never hate you, Nevada."
"I want to give myself to you," she repeated. "I want to give myself to you like I have never given myself to anyone, Johnny Lee."
"I know. I want you, too," Karl repeated his lines just as he'd said them before.
He stepped up to her, and they embraced but did not kiss. This time, he kept his hands on her hips. She started to cry, her whole body shaking. He embraced her and held her against his chest, kissing her hair, her cheeks, and then holding her head up softly so he could kiss her lips.
Then his hand returned to the bottom of her blouse and moved up over her breast again She moaned.
"Will it be different tonight, Johnny Lee? Will it be going to the moon and back?"
"Just like I promised," Karl said. He lowered his right arm around her waist, and they turned toward their bedroom. Thelma laid her head on his shoulder as they walked toward their room. I watched until they disappeared inside, the door closing softly behind them.
I didn't want to eavesdrop on them, but curiosity was like a magnet drawing me toward the wall between our two bedrooms. I put the tips of my fingers against it. Their voices were muffled, as were Thelma's sobs. I brought my ear to the wall and closed my eyes.
"Oh, Johnny Lee," she said. "Touch me everywhere this time. Do what you promised you would do. Make my body sing!'
"I will."
They were quiet, but I heard the distinct sound of the bedsprings. Her moans grew louder, longer. There was a combination of moans and cries that made me even more curious. Was lovemaking painful as well as pleasureful? Why wasn't he crying out, too?
Finally, after a long, loud cry, everything grew silent. I listened for a while longer and then retreated to my own bed. Was that the way it was supposed to be? I knew every scientific detail. I could describe the hormones, the movement of blood, even the nerve impulses, but the emotions were so confusing. Sex was one thing, but sex with love was supposed to be another.
Suddenly, I heard a door open and some more whispering. I got out of bed and went to my own door again.
"Good night, good night, parting is such sweet sorrow . . ."
They both laughed.
Karl was in the hallway looking back at their bedroom. He blew a kiss. He was fully dressed.
"I wish you could stay," Thelma said.
"So do I."
"Someday."
"Someday," he said, and turned. I stepped back as he walked past my bedroom. I heard Thelma close her door.
I wish you could stay? Where was he going? What did this mean?
For a long moment, it was very quiet. Then Karl's footsteps echoed down the hallway as if he was deliberately trying to be loud. I opened the door again and watched him walk past to their bedroom. When he opened the door, I heard him say, "You still up, Thelma?"
"I couldn't sleep," she replied, "so I decided to read a little, but I'm tired now."
"Good. It's bedtime," he said, and entered the bedroom, closing the door.
I put my ear to the wall and listened. I heard water running in their bathroom sink and a toilet flush. Neither of them spoke for the longest time, and then I heard Karl say, "Good night, Thelma."
"Good night, Karl."
All was quiet. I returned to my bed, but I didn't fall asleep for quite a while. How could adults be like children, playing games and pretending? What would love be like for me if it ever happened to me? What sort of a man would find me attractive, or would no man find me attractive and I would be forced to imagine a life, too?
How I wished I had a big sister or a close friend, someone in whom I would be unafraid to confide, someone I could trust with
my deepest hidden secrets. That was what was truly wonderful about family, I thought. When you had one, you didn't have to keep all of your troubled feelings and fears simmering under a pot. You could go to them and be unafraid to lift the lid. You could help each other and keep each other from being afraid.
Wasn't that the most important thing?
Of course, the next morning, I said nothing about what I had seen and heard Thelma and Karl do the night before. I felt guilty for spying on them anyway. Karl had made plans to return home from work early so he, Thelma, and I could go shopping for things I would need at the start of school the next day. At first, he was just going to tell Thelma where the best places were and have us go ourselves, but she complained that this was a family thing and he should be a part of it. He thought about it and agreed.
"You have to forgive me:' he told me. "I'm not used to thinking like a parent. Of course I'll be here. Of course I want to be part of everything important."
I know he tried to relax and make it seem like fun, but it just wasn't in his nature to treat purchasing as anything less than a serious project. Thelma had made a list of clothing, and I had made a list of school supplies. Karl took our lists and researched
everything. He knew exactly where the best prices were for every item. Colors, fashions, and styles played the least role. Our shopping was planned efficiently, down to where we would eat dinner and even what was the best food value.
"A family," Karl explained as we ate, "is really a small enterprise, a business venture, a partnership. The more that's planned, the better it will be."
"Karl even planned our wedding and
honeymoon so as to take advantage of some good specials, didn't you, Karl?" Thelma said proudly.
"Yes. It was off-season, after Labor Day, the best time to find good values."
"But was it someplace you wanted to go?" I asked.
"If it's a good value for the dollar, it's where I want to be," Karl replied. "People pay more for the things they want and need because they don't do the necessary research and planning."
"Karl has even bought our final resting places and has our funerals arranged, don't you, Karl?" Thelma said. "He did it shortly after we got married."
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