The Time Telephone

by Connie Lacy

  *

  I was sitting on my bed with my laptop open when Grandma got home around eight. She never stayed out late, which, I had to admit, suited me fine. I didn’t really like the idea of being alone in the house all night long. Kieran’s suggestion came back to me – that I try to talk with her. I could always talk with my mom. But talk with Grandma?

  My mother and grandmother were nothing alike – that’s for sure. I remembered Mom saying to Grandma once “Come on, Mother, have a little joie de vivre!”

  She knocked and then poked her head in the door.

  “Did you guys have a good time?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yeah, we went for pizza at Mellow Mushroom.”

  “Good. I like Kieran.”

  “Grandma, what does ‘joie de vivre’ mean?”

  I didn’t mean to ask that question. I should’ve just Googled it but it just popped out of my big mouth, and I pronounced it right too – zhwah duh veevra.

  “It means enjoying life, zest for life,” she said. “What made you think of that?”

  Should I tell her the truth? Should I try to talk with Grandma like Kieran said?

  “That’s an expression your mother used,” she said. “That was one of her strong suits – enjoying life. Grabbing the gusto, she used to say.”

  She looked down and sighed.

  “She used to say to me: ‘you should grab the gusto, Mother.’ Or ‘you need a little more joie de vivre.’ But, you know, it’s not that simple. I couldn’t just ‘grab the gusto.’”

  “Why not?”

  How I managed to be so blunt, I don’t know.

  She sighed again and opened the door all the way.

  “I couldn’t just do whatever I wanted to.”

  “Because you had to take care of me while she grabbed the gusto.”

  “Because I had responsibilities.”

  Her forehead was locked in that ever-present furrow. It was like there was a bolt screwed into her forehead, right between the eyes. It was covered over with makeup so you couldn’t see the bolt itself. But it was there, giving her a pained look. Like maybe she was seriously short of serotonin. That’s what the girls said at school about someone they thought was a bitch.

  “Libby told me I was an ‘enabler,’” she said, still standing in the doorway. “Meaning I enabled her to live that lifestyle by acting as her backstop. I was always there to take care of you so she was free to do as she liked. That’s Libby’s theory.”

  I thought about it. Could it be true that it was Grandma’s fault that Mom left me behind?

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “I think it’s possible my support might’ve contributed to your mother’s lifestyle. But, you know, parents help their adult children every day and it doesn’t cause them to…”

  “To abandon their own child,” I said, closing my laptop.

  “Abandon is a harsh word.”

  “If the shoe fits….”

  She was on the verge of saying something but I didn’t give her time.

  “Grandma, if you could go back in time and change anything in your life, what would you change?”

  “You mean something about how I raised your mother?”

  “Well, anything,” I said.

  Of course, that was exactly what I meant, but I didn’t want to sound so self-centered. It might be helpful to know her theory on why Mom turned out the way she did.

  “Something I would change. Hmm. I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. That’s a difficult question.”

  “It could be more than one thing,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, chuckling, “I’m sure I could come up with a whole list of things I’d like to change.”

  I was looking for ammunition because I sure as hell had to figure out how to change my mother’s mind.

  She started to ease out the door.

  “Oh,” she said, pausing in the doorway. “Wanted to ask you what you think of Carl.”

  Which caused my antenna to go up, especially since she appeared to be blushing.

  “He’s nice. Why?”

  “Well,” she said, hesitating, “he asked me this afternoon if I would consider marrying him.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, like I said, he’s a nice guy.”

  “I think so too. But, there’s no hurry.”

  She smiled, giving me a dreamy look I’d never seen before, and then pulled the door closed behind her.

  ~Six~

  The sisters

  Monday at school was vile. I mean, even more than usual, because of what happened at lunch.

  I was sitting there minding my own business, reading Jane Eyre while I ate. That way I didn’t look like I wanted company. Not that it was my idea of a fun read. I just felt obligated because A) my grandmother had bought it for me and B) I told Mrs. Cook I would do my next book report on it. But it was long, boring and depressing. Jane was in this horrible boarding school for orphan girls, treated badly, freezing half to death. Grandma kept telling me it got a lot better once Jane left school. I didn’t know if I’d make it that far.

  I heard some girls squealing. It was Rikki and her girlfriends waltzing into the cafeteria like they owned the place. Which they did.

  And that reminded me of another problem. My big mouth. I didn’t know what was the matter with me lately. I kept opening my mouth and letting lame-brained things spill out. Like at breakfast the day before.

  Me and Grandma were eating bagels and pineapple cream cheese. She was reading the Sunday paper and I was looking at the Macy’s ads.

  “So, have you made any friends at school?” she asked, with no warning whatsoever. “Besides Kieran, that is.”

  I was taken off guard, you know. I started to say “no” but thought better of it. Part of me wanted to go back to my old school. I missed what I used to have with Caitlyn, Becca and Zoe. Just for a second I considered telling Grandma how miserable I was. But for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to tell her all that. Besides, even if I was back at Walker, I wouldn’t be in the mood to have a good time. I didn’t really want to laugh and go to some stupid concert. I didn’t want to fix each other’s hair in Zoe’s bathroom while we talked about who she was currently drooling over, or practice the latest dances in Caitlyn’s basement. And texting my old friends about nothing in particular, like the old days? Nope. Or exchanging smart-ass selfies? No way. And, besides, they’d made it pretty clear that our friendship was history.

  “There’s one girl,” I said. “Rikki and I sit together sometimes at lunch.”

  Which wasn’t a total lie.

  “Maybe you should invite her over,” she said.

  Now I’d done it. There was no way I could invite Rikki over. She’d never want to come to my house. Rikki Washington wasn’t my friend. I didn’t have any friends anymore. No one at school talked to me. Except Kieran.

  “Maybe,” I said, hoping that would satisfy her. “I think I’ll go to Macy’s this afternoon so I can get some new shoes.”

  I had succeeded in changing the subject but I knew my grandmother would bring it up again sometime.

  “Hey, girlfriend!” Rikki called.

  I looked up like I hadn’t noticed her coming.

  “How ya doin’?” she asked, her white teeth sparkling like she was under stage lights or something.

  I tried to imagine myself asking her over to my house. Like what on earth would we do together? What had Becca and I done when she came over? Listen to music. Watch movies. Play video games. Skate at the park. Go to the mall and the movies and swimming. We messed around doing our nails, surfing the web and talking about boys. But you had to be friends with someone to do that stuff. You couldn’t just invite a stranger over and hang out. You had to have something in common. There was no way I could ask Rikki over.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Good, good,” Rikki said. “And me? Oh, thanks for asking. I’m great, just great.”

 
; Which made me feel like a steaming dog turd.

  “Well, if it isn’t Rikki Tikki Tavi!” It was the voice of a tall, good-looking guy about to sit down at the next table, his plaid boxers peeking over his waistband. “Come on over here. This chair right here next to mine would like for your fine self to sit in it!”

  He and two of his buddies grinned at each other in a knowing way. I recognized him as one of the boys on the basketball team. Everybody called him Dunk.

  “I don’t hang out with anyone whose diaper shows,” she said.

  His buddies busted out in a big har har har.

  Rikki laughed too, then rolled her eyes.

  “Not my type,” she said. “Mind if we join you?” she said to me, waving her girlfriends over.

  Her friends converged on my table like a swarm of bees following their queen. Rikki sat down across from me and the other girls surrounded us. Counting Rikki, there were six of them. All of them wore big earrings and had sparkly fashion nails, except for one. Rikki’s nails were long and squared off and had a silver flower design over bright pink polish. Her long braids were pulled back in a ponytail. She was sickeningly beautiful, as usual. The other girls were good-looking too. But there was something special about Rikki. She was obviously the leader of the pack.

  “Whatcha readin’?” she asked.

  I held the book up so she could see the cover. I had mixed feelings, you know – afraid on the one hand I’d be labeled a bookworm, but I also thought it might be cool to have a reputation as an intellectual.

  Rikki nodded.

  “Good book. Very romantic. It gets really exciting.”

  I was surprised she knew anything about it. Then she leaned towards me.

  “Listen, Megan. I want you to hang out with me and my friends.”

  This was too weird to be believed.

  “But…”

  “No buts,” she said. “We’re gonna make you our honorary black sister.”

  All the girls laughed as Rikki wagged her head from side to side like this was the most brilliant plan she’d ever hatched.

  “But…” I started.

  “No buts except for the one you’re sittin’ on,” she said.

  More laughing.

  “Bottom line – pun intended – you need some friends, girl. And we need to expand our group to include other ethnicities. It’s a perfect partnership!”

  The girls cheered their approval.

  “See, we’ve been accused of being insulated, you know. Like we’re totally into black culture. So we decided we’re going to create a new multi-racial sisterhood. It’ll be a blast.”

  I felt like sliding down in my chair and crawling under the table while they laughed and slapped their hands together in high fives. If I did it quickly maybe they wouldn’t notice I was gone till I was out the door. To be anointed a charity case by the in-crowd was too insulting to bear. I was trapped. It seemed like everyone in the lunchroom was staring at me.

  “First thing we need to do is introduce everyone,” Rikki continued. “Megan, this is Alicia.”

  Alicia reached across the table from her spot next to Rikki to shake my hand. I hesitated, still considering whether I should bolt.

  “Glad to meet ya,” Alicia said, a warm smile on her face like she really meant it.

  I extended my hand and she pumped it.

  “And this is Amber,” Rikki said.

  “Welcome to the sisterhood,” Amber said.

  I kept a small smile cemented on my face and tried my best not to show how bizarre I thought the whole thing was.

  “This is Sakia,” Rikki continued.

  “The best singer in the school,” Sakia said as she gave my hand a big shake.

  The other girls hooted.

  “This is Imani,” said Rikki.

  Imani, sitting next to me, smiled and nodded.

  “Welcome,” she said quietly.

  “Imani’s going to be in the Olympics someday,” Rikki said. “She’s the fastest runner you’ve ever seen in your life. A bullet on ballerina legs.”

  More cheers.

  “And, this is Courtney. She’s the brain of the group,” Rikki said.

  “I’m just not boy crazy like the rest of you felines,” Courtney said.

  “Boy crazy?” Sakia and Amber shouted together.

  Courtney smirked. She was the one without the fancy nails, I noticed.

  “And this is Megan,” Rikki said dramatically. “Our new sister.”

  I waited to see what she would say about me. Like “Megan’s famous network correspondent mother got blown up in Afghanistan.” But she didn’t say anything. She must’ve already told them about me. This must be like a Girl Scout project. You know, adopt an orphan girl and help her make friends. Maybe they were working on merit badges for citizenship.

  “Can we eat now?” Alicia asked.

  “Dig in,” Rikki said.

  I took another bite of spaghetti.

  “We’re going to have lunch, do some shopping and hang out Saturday at Lenox,” she said. “Meet us on the lower level of the food court about noon. And wear black and white. We’ll all be wearing black and white, you know, to symbolize the multi-ethnic sisterhood. And bring some money. You could use some new duds.”

  This sounded like an order. I opened my mouth to tell her there was no way I could come but decided not to say anything. Did Rikki actually think that I – Megan McConnell – could dress sexy like they did and be part of their group?

  Sexy sister, come out and boogie tonight.

  High heels and low-riders, tight on your thighs.

  Navel ring, toe ring, anklet, all right.

  Strutting at the mall, flirting with the guys.

  I felt for my notepad in my back pocket but decided not to pull it out with everyone watching.

  “I don’t know if I can make it,” I said.

  “Come on. You can make it if you want to.”

  Which summed it up precisely.

  “So, tell us what you’re into,” she said.

  I took a quick bite. It wasn’t great spaghetti but tolerable once I picked the bits of meat out of the sauce. And chewing gave me a few seconds to figure out what to say. I wasn’t an athlete. I quit soccer when I was twelve. I gave up the violin when I realized that a mediocre violinist was worse than no violinist at all. I thought of myself as a poet. I loved stringing words together in a way that made me feel like an artist. But I wasn’t about to share all that.

  “Photography,” I said.

  It sounded just right. Artistic. Professional. Mature. And most important – I didn’t have to answer “nothing.” I didn’t want them to think of me as a loser on top of everything else. There was pride to consider, after all.

  Of course I knew almost nothing about taking pictures except that you held a camera or a phone, looked through the viewfinder and pressed the button. Then you posted your pictures so everyone could tag each other and “like” them or make witty comments. Something I actually used to do.

  So why did I say photography? Because it was the only thing that popped into my head. Kieran had said he was a photographer. Maybe he could teach me a few things, enough to bluff my way with this gaggle of honking geese.

  “No kidding?” Rikki said. “I’m a photographer too.”

  “Yeah, she’s even taken pictures for the school paper and the yearbook,” said Courtney.

  “And her dad teaches photography,” said Alicia.

  “He even has a darkroom in their house,” Sakia added.

  “Really?” I said, forcing a smile as my stomach knotted up.

  “Do you print your own pictures?” Rikki asked.

  Oh sure, I thought, like I should paint myself further into this stupid corner.

  “No, but I’m thinking of taking a class sometime.”

  “I shoot a lot of black and white,” Rikki said. “Digital and film. My dad taught me how to print my own pictures.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “Maybe yo
u can come over sometime and we can work in the darkroom together,” she said.

  I kept the smile on my face as I gathered my stuff.

  “Sounds great,” I said. “Uh, I’ve got to stop by my locker before class. So, I’ll see you guys around.”

  “Saturday,” Rikki said emphatically.

  They all waved and then resumed some heavy duty chitchat as I escaped to the hallway. The institutional green cinder block walls had never looked so attractive before. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Kieran sitting in the chair I had just vacated, talking with Rikki. They were both smiling like they were kidding around about something. What the hell? But I scooted into the hallway before they could see me staring. How did they know each other? They couldn’t be in any classes together, could they?

  And then there was this twitch in my stomach when I remembered the plan for the mall outing. I couldn’t go to the mall with them. I was going with Grandma and Kieran to the farmhouse. It was urgent that I use the time telephone again. I had to save my mom. And if I was lucky I might even succeed in making her want to be a real mother to me. She could still have a career and raise a daughter too. Lots of mothers did it. Becca’s mother was a researcher at the CDC, for Pete’s sake! Caitlyn’s mom was a personal trainer at the “Y.” Zoe’s mom was a teacher. And, jeez, my own grandmother had managed to raise me while working as a judge. It could be done!

  ~Seven~

  Photography 101

  “The wire goes through a hole to the crawl space under the house,” Kieran explained.

  We were walking home from school at a pretty good clip. A cold snap had moved in overnight making it feel like winter again. The clouds were like an ugly cinderblock wall – not a ray of sunshine could peek through. I couldn’t wait till I was a senior so I could get a parking spot at school, even if I did live only a few blocks away.

  “But whether it’s hooked up to anything, I can’t tell,” he continued. “I’d have to crawl under there to get a close look and I value my life too much for that. But if I take a flashlight with me Saturday, maybe I can see something, you know, just by looking from the end of the house.”

  Was this important? Did I really need to know if the phone was connected or not? Didn’t matter. Either way, this was some kind of magic. Maybe it was a miracle especially for me to save my mother.