by Lance Rubin
“Okay,” I say. I’ve finished all my cereal and now I’m sipping up the remaining milk (I don’t wanna waste a single bit of my Life). I keep at it, my shoulders hunching the way they always do when I’m in an uncertain situation. It’s like my body’s involuntary defense mechanism.
Mom looks around, like she’s worried the place is wiretapped, before leaning closer to me. “It’s about Daddy.”
I relax a little, knowing the something she wants to talk about isn’t related to me, but a new thread of terror weaves into my body. Is Dad’s ALS progressing faster than they realized?
“How do you think he’s doing?” Mom continues, and, much to my surprise, I can instantly tell she’s not asking as a test or anything. It’s a genuine question.
I rest my spoon in the empty bowl. “I mean, not great. He has a cane.”
“I mean more like his emotional state. Does he seem okay to you?”
“Oh,” I say. Mom and I have been known to discuss our own emotional states from time to time, but never my father’s. “I guess. I’m always expecting him to seem more sad or down, but he still makes a lot of jokes. Which seems like a good thing.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about. You know how Daddy used to act and do comedy but then gave it up when we moved to Jersey?”
“Of course.”
“I was just thinking…” Mom takes another look behind her to the stairs, I guess making sure Dad isn’t about to walk into the room. “Maybe he’d want to do that again.”
“Act?”
“Well, no, the comedy part. Like do stand-up.” Mom is looking at me like she just pitched her invention on Shark Tank. “Do you think he would want to do that?” Why are you asking me? I want to shout.
But I also get it. As far as my dad and comedy go, I’m a knowledgeable source. Or I should be. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe.”
“Just because,” Mom tries to explain, “he may be running out of…If that’s something he still wants, I just want him to know I support him doing it.”
I stare down at the last drops of milk in my bowl. I blink a lot. In saying those three words—running out of—it was like Mom pointed at the elephant next to the breakfast table, the one I’ve been diligently ignoring every day.
“You could just ask him,” I say without looking up. It comes out harsher than I intend.
“No, I know,” Mom says. “But I don’t want him to take it the wrong way, and I thought if he’d ever mentioned something like that, then—”
She’s stopped short by the sound of Dad slowly coming down the steps. Mom walks over, grapefruit spoon in hand, to ask if he needs help.
“I’m good,” he answers, his voice husky as usual. His new normal.
“Okeydoke.” Mom comes back into the kitchen, holding the serrated spoon a little tighter than when she left. She grabs the Brita out of the fridge and pours herself and Dad glasses of water, not looking at me, leaving no bread crumbs of the conversation we had moments ago.
“Morning, Banana,” Dad says as he walks into the room.
RUNNING OUT OF TIME.
“Hey, Skipper,” I say, and get up to take my bowl and spoon to the sink as Mom sits back down. I am overwhelmed.
“I hope you don’t think you’re excusing yourself right as we’re about to have a family breakfast,” Mom says.
I did think that, but only because I didn’t want Dad to see my eyes all teary. “Chill out, lady,” I say. “I’m just putting my stuff in the dishwasher.”
“Don’t call Mom lady, lady,” Dad says.
“Don’t call your lady Mom,” I say.
“Touché.”
I grab a waffle from the freezer to stall a little more before I have to sit down. “Anybody want a waffle?”
“Sure, why not?” Dad says.
I grab another and pop them both into the toaster, hovering nearby while its orange-red coils make the waffles not cold.
“You know, it dings for a reason,” Dad says.
“Yeah,” I say, “but by the time I sit, it’ll be ready, so I might as well just stay here.”
“Suit yourself,” he says.
Mom digs into the second half of her grapefruit.
Dad takes a big glug of water.
The toaster dings.
This isn’t tense at all.
I bring the waffles and the maple syrup to the table, feeling good that I’m no longer on the verge of tears. Immediately after I sit, Mom says out of nowhere, “Russ, what was that bit you used to do in your stand-up routine about mannequins?”
“Ha, what?” Dad says.
“No, I was just trying to remember because it was so funny.” I can tell Mom is nervous. She’s testing the waters to see if she should bring up her idea. “Something about mannequins?”
“Oh yeah,” Dad says, confused but flattered, “it was a bit where I wondered who decided to put nipples on mannequins. Like, what was the moment when someone thought, You know what would help us sell even more clothes? Giving these plastic dummies nipples!”
“Ah yes,” Mom says, smiling.
“And then,” Dad says, starting to get excited as the memory comes back to him, “I would talk about this time when I saw a nippled lady mannequin in a store window and felt very aroused. Even though she was headless. It made me question my entire existence. Like Is my type actually women who are decapitated?”
“Ha, that’s right,” Mom says, laughing in this way that isn’t completely genuine, like maybe the bit isn’t as funny as she remembered.
I, meanwhile, am thinking that it’s kind of misogynistic.
“Yeah, I had some good material back then,” Dad says, his eyes sparkling with nostalgic pride. It makes me think Mom is even more of a genius than the mannequin nipple inventor because she’s somehow managed to create the exact segue she was hoping for.
“You were so funny,” Mom says.
“Thanks,” Dad says, finally digging into his waffle.
“Do you ever think about…?”
Dad chews as he looks at her. “What?”
“You know…Giving it another go?”
“Stand-up?”
“Yeah.”
Dad looks to me then, like Do you have any idea what she’s talking about? and I kind of lift my shoulders and eyebrows at the same time like I’ve heard worse ideas.
“Uh,” he says. “I don’t think someone who’s literally having a hard time standing up should do stand-up.”
Mom laughs, this time genuinely. “See? You already have the first joke of your set.”
Dad can’t help but smile at this, all skepticism suddenly draining away. It reminds me of myself when Evan—excuse me, my boyfriend—laughs at any of my jokes. “I see what you’re doing,” he says.
“You love stand-up so much,” I say. Seeing the way Dad’s gotten fired up talking about his old material, I’m fully on board with Mom’s plan.
“Sure, I love watching it,” Dad says. “But my days of doing it are way in the past.”
“Only because I was born and you had to stop. If I didn’t exist, maybe it would still be in your present.”
“That’s not even true,” Dad says. “I also stopped because it was really hard and soul-crushing.”
“But aren’t you a little curious?” Mom asks. “You’re older and wiser now.”
“And sicker,” Dad says in a way that’s ten percent joke layered on top of ninety percent pain.
“That too,” Mom says, her eyes locked on the table.
“So, wait.” Dad looks from Mom to me, then back to Mom again. “Is this something you two have been planning for a while? To ambush me and get me to return to stand-up?”
“It’s not an ambush,” Mom says. “It was just an idea.”
“I haven’t he
ard about this till now,” I say.
“Well,” Dad says, staring past us at the oven. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Considering I had zero investment in this plan as recently as ten minutes ago, I’m surprised to realize how excited I am that he hasn’t outright rejected us.
20
So I’m someone’s girlfriend. I got the official fax.
It’s Monday, the first day back at school since my date with Evan, the first day interacting in person as boyfriend and girlfriend. It’s kind of surreal. We talked for two hours last night. That’s the longest I’ve ever spoken into a phone.
“So…,” I said. “I saw you called me your ‘gurl.’ ”
“Hell yeah I did,” he said. “Is that okay?”
I wished we’d talked about it first, but I didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a downer. So instead I overcompensated with “Oh yeah, totally!” and sounded really into it. I’m not good at this.
“Sweet,” he said. “I already told my mom you’re my girlfriend. Hope that’s all right.”
“Oh sure,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure if it was sweet or disturbing. “I already told my stuffed turtle you’re my boyfriend. Hope that’s all right.”
“Is he jealous?”
“Nah, we already worked through all that in third grade, when I was crushing on my teacher, Mr. Lee.”
“TMI, girl.”
As I get off the bus this morning, Evan is there to greet me, immediately taking my hand in his. I’m so used to finding Leili and Azadeh first thing, but they aren’t here yet, and Evan is already walking into the school, which means I am too.
He walks me to my locker and makes jokes over my shoulder as I gather all the books I need.
“Hey, I had an idea,” he says. “Why don’t you do the announcements with me?”
My heartbeat quickens. I’m sure I’ve misheard him.
“That way we get to hang out longer.” He flashes me one of his patented puppy dog grins. “And look, I’m even asking first!”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, consent is important.” I was trying to be funny, but it ended up sounding kind of serious.
“Right,” Evan says, not really sure what to do with that. “So, you down?”
A river of classmates flows past us.
Of course I’m down. I couldn’t be more down. I can’t believe it took him this long to ask again.
“Sure,” I say.
We hold hands as we walk to the office, the student population rapidly thinning as the clock ticks closer to homeroom.
“Oh, hello,” white-haired Ms. DiMicelli says as we enter. “You brought the angry dog girl again, wonderful.”
“Hi,” I say. “It’s actually Winnie.” Really gotta put an end to this Dog Girl business.
“Hi, Ms. DiMicelli,” Evan says, once again a sweet, all-American kiss-ass. “Winnie’s doing the announcements with me today.”
“You have approval from Mrs. Costa, I presume?”
“Of course!” Evan says, though I have no idea who Mrs. Costa is and I’m sure he hasn’t asked for her approval.
“Then it’s fine with me,” Ms. DiMicelli says, her attention already shifting elsewhere as she speaks into a phone at a fast, urgent clip.
“Welcome back,” curly-haired Ms. Moore says from her desk without looking at us as we weave our way over to the PA system.
Evan takes down the sheet of paper with the announcements on it and examines it. “So, you want to just alternate every other one?”
“Uh, sure, whatever you want,” I say. This time Evan’s kindly informed me what’s going to happen, but I still feel overwhelmed. Couldn’t he have asked me about this during our epically long phone call last night?
“Should we make out between announcements?” he asks, I hope quietly enough that the secretaries haven’t heard.
I just stare at him. I can’t tell if he’s kidding.
“That’s totally a joke,” he says three long seconds later. “Wow, would you have been down to do that?”
“Of course not, you maniac.”
The homeroom bell rings. Evan gets the Ms. DiMicelli nod, then turns to me. “You want to be the one to do the Pledge?”
“Of Allegiance?” I ask.
“Do you know another one?”
“Okay, sure, I’ll do it,” I say. “Is it written on the paper?”
“You don’t know the Pledge of Allegiance?”
“Time to get started,” Ms. DiMicelli says, and now Ms. Moore is actually looking up from her work for once, to see what the holdup is.
“Sorry about the delay,” Evan says, pushing the button and directing everyone to please stand for the Pledge. I assume this means he’s going to do it, until he throws me a nod and an inquisitive look. I nod back. I got this. I can do this.
So what if I can’t remember a single word of a pledge that I’ve recited every school day of my life?
My hands are shaking. My brain is a blank canvas. Evan is staring at me. I should have started by now.
Isn’t Pledge the name of a cleaning spray?
I put my right hand on my chest, in the hopes that it will trigger my memory.
“I…” Pledge! It’s a pledge! “…pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.” The sentence comes out in a garbled rush. Evan puts up a hand, like Slow it down. I nod and then realize I have no idea what comes next.
I will never again take the PA person’s Pledge guidance for granted.
I give Evan my Panic Eyes. I can’t tell if a few seconds have gone by or a whole minute, but he seems to be getting a huge kick out of it. He’s trying not to laugh as he attempts to help me, mouthing the beginning of the next line. Antu! Antu!
“Antu?” I whisper.
And to, he mouths emphatically.
“And to!” I say. World’s most atrocious game of charades.
Evan nods, and suddenly the rest of the Pledge is unspooling from my mouth, as if the knowledgeable brain cells have finally gained control of the ship’s helm. Evan is silently applauding me, which feels earned, as it seems like a small miracle that I made it through.
Then he dives into the announcements and, as discussed, we alternate. Evan spices his up with his little jokes and asides, but I’m too nervous to do anything except dryly read the words in front of me. I sound boring even to myself.
Be funny, I think. Be funny be funny be funny.
But then we’ve made it down to the bottom of the paper, and when I glance at the other side, it’s blank. Evan concludes with a “Have a stupendous day, everyone!”
He pushes the button, and the school is no longer able to hear us.
I had my shot and I blew it.
I beefed the Pledge of Allegiance.
“I couldn’t remember it,” I say. “I couldn’t remember the Pledge.”
“Aw, I know,” Evan says, wrapping me in a hug and kissing the top of my head. “That was pretty hilarious, but I bet nobody even noticed. I get it, you were nervous.”
“Maybe next time you want to study up on the Pledge first, sweetie,” Ms. Moore says. “Or print out a copy for yourself.”
I’m too mortified to respond.
But then I realize: I would have been prepared if someone had thought to inform me it would be happening.
“It’s not a big deal,” Evan says. I can’t begin to articulate the mix of shame and anger and sadness that’s swirling inside me, so I put my head down and walk out of the office.
“Hey, wait.” Evan catches up to me in the lobby, which is silent, since first period is about to start. “What’s— Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” I say without stopping.
Evan walks quickly to keep up with my pace. “Is this because of the Pledge? It really
wasn’t that big a deal!”
I shrug. I’m embarrassed that I’m so frustrated, and that he’s seeing me so frustrated, and I just want to be in homeroom, no longer having this conversation.
“Can you at least tell me what’s wrong?” Evan asks. “You seem kinda mad or something.”
I stop in the middle of the hallway. I grip my backpack straps.
“I’m fine,” I say.
“Okay…,” Evan says, one eyebrow up. “So what’s the problem?”
Hmm. If we really are in a relationship, I should be able to tell him some version of the truth, right?
“I just…” Evan is giving me a wary look, like he’s worried he’s not going to like what I’m about to say. “I wish I had more time to— Like, I wish you’d told me about the Pledge last night so that I…”
“But it’s the Pledge. I figured you would know it.”
Well, I didn’t, okay? I want to shout. Because I guess I’m stupid about some stuff!
“I know,” I say. “I get…I get nervous sometimes.”
“Aw, girl, I’m sorry,” Evan says as he hugs me. He’s trying to be sweet, but it’s not what I need right now.
“So maybe…,” I say, the words sliding out almost involuntarily. “Maybe you don’t always need to throw me into these situations. It always feels like you’re testing me or something.”
Evan pulls back from the hug, his arms still on my shoulders. “What does that mean?”
His surprised reaction makes me suddenly question if maybe I’m the one overreacting. “No, I don’t know, like…last time we did the announcements. You didn’t tell me I would be a part of it until a second before it happened.”
Evan looks wounded, dropping his arms. “I already told you, I was trying to surprise you. I knew you’d be great.”
“No, I know, but…” I’ve never had a boyfriend before, maybe this is just what it’s like.
“Everybody loved what you did on the announcements that morning.” I can’t help but hear it as a contrast to this morning. “And I thought you felt good about it too.”
