I shoved two suitcases into the trunk of Dad's BMW Saturday morning, excited about our big weekend in Victoria. I thought we were headed straight for the Canadian border, but he pulled into Denny's parking lot in Des Moines.
"Why are we stopping here?"
"Oh, let's eat here and talk." As he fidgets with his coffee cup, I count the streaks of gray in his thinning hair, waiting for him to bring up the subject I dread. Sylvia.
"A penny for your thoughts." He asks that, but never waits for my reply. "Dusty," his eyebrows pucker as he stares at me, "I want to discuss your attitude. Concerning Sylvia."
"My" attitude? I try not to let my voice get an edge to it, hoping we can reach an understanding of some kind.
"There wouldn't be a problem if she would only stop calling me Elizabeth. I hate it."
"She doesn't do it to irritate you," Dad keeps looking at his watch, then sipping his coffee while I finish my French toast.
"It's her attitude, Dad." Before I can say anymore, he jumps on me.
"It's your attitude. You act as if she were invisible when she's talking to you."
"Dad! are you listening to me? I told you I've asked Sylvia to call me Dusty, but she goes right on calling me Elizabeth, so I don't answer her."
"So why make such an issue of it?" He squeezed my hand, smiling at me. "Sylvia's right. You should go by Elizabeth. You don't want to start high school with a childish nickname, and you might as well start the change-over now. It'll be easier for everyone."
Another one of those little hurts to be filed away. My nickname meant a lot to me, and I thought the specialness of it meant something to him, too. It was no use trying to make him see my side of it, because I think he stopped listening to me somewhere at the beginning. "Well, anyway, Dad, I hope we can have high tea at the Empress Hotel---Tanya said it was the highlight of her trip and I want to do that, for sure, okay?"
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Princess, I'm real sorry, but I can't get away all weekend. I just can't."
My breakfast turned to cement. "Dad!" I wailed, "you promised!" He frowned and motioned me to be quiet, but I wasn't going to let it go that easily. "I bet you'd have the time if I were Sylvia," I said in a fierce whisper.
"Oh, calm down. We'll do it another weekend." He glared back at me, then suddenly relaxed. "Would you like to go pick out a new dresser right now?" He looked as though he thought it might make up for the lost weekend, this token offer of his.
"Oh, sure. Why not?" I said, imitating him when he's being sarcastic. I drank the last of my lukewarm chocolate, not certain if I hated him a little bit or a whole lot. "I'd like to get another star kit to paint constellations on the ceiling. Could we do that, Dad?"
"Sure, we'll do it sometime soon." He must have anticipated me, for he added, "But not today."
It seemed I was getting pretty good at tucking little hurts away, in a hidden pocket near my heart, but somehow it didn't seem worth the effort to stay mad at him. We spent all afternoon selecting an unstained cedar chest of drawers and bedside tables. We were both zapped after wrestling everything into my bedroom. I could tell Dad didn't really want me to stay the night and actually, I didn't mind spending Saturday night at home just watching TV with Frank while my Mom painted in oils on canvas in the back room.
I spent the last weekend in October with Dad. And Sylvia. Friday night, we went miniature golfing, which wasn't too bad, considering we ate hot dogs and drank soda pop for supper. I kind of enjoyed the evening and hoped we might do something like drive to the ocean Saturday, but Dad had an important project and was gone all morning. At breakfast, I told Sylvia about how Dad and I were going to decorate the bedroom.
"Elizabeth, let's do it and surprise your Dad." She even winked!
"Ah, well," I hedged, "I think he wanted to do it with me, you know, quality time with his daughter and all that."
She looked at me for a long minute, then lit up. "Oh, Elizabeth! I bought you something special---for all your help." She sort of laughed, like she felt awkward giving me the tiny box with a porcelain figurine of a unicorn.
"This is really pretty, Sylvia. Thanks." Knick-knacks are not my style, but I was flattered. I was afraid to pick it up, it looked so delicate. The shimmery white coating on it glistened in the cool morning sunlight that fell across the table where we sat facing each other. "I'll put it center ring on top of my dresser." I smiled extra long and hard.
I took the little unicorn to my bedroom and looked at it in the palm of my hand for a long time. I turned it upside down to see if there was as sticker on it, thinking maybe I could get a matching one sometime. Sure enough, there was a sticker. From the Empress Hotel.
I left the unicorn in the box with the lid on it. I didn't touch it again, wouldn't even look at it if I could help it. But it sat there in the middle of my dresser, reminding me of the weekend that should have been mine with Dad. I sat on the bed, reading a mystery anthology on the electronic reader Dad had given me for Christmas, but my mind kept wandering.
When we were a real family, it seemed like it could never be any other way. My friends were always telling me, "Dusty, you're so lucky!" and I guess I believed them. Like I believed in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny; then one day you find out you've been had.
Just like the stupid sci-fi stories I read, I used to imagine myself as a veterinarian aboard a space ship journeying to a distant galaxy, light years away from the Milky Way and Earth. My parents would be with me, too. Dad would find a way to put his management consultant ideas to work and Mom would have an art gallery on board the starship. Or maybe by that time, they'd just want to sit and watch old movies and talk about the "good old days".
I turned off the reader, my mind too stretched out of shape to hold any more words or anymore dreams.
When Dad came back at lunchtime, he stayed awhile in the living room talking with Sylvia. Eventually, he came into my room.
"Hi, Princess. You're kind of quiet." He stood there with a big, stupid grin on his face.
I sat up, cross-legged. "You and Sylvia went to Victoria, didn't you?"
His grin disappeared. He didn't answer right away. "Yes, we did. That was a while ago, and it was spur of the moment."
"You lied to me." I don't think he heard me, maybe because my voice was too soft and mushy. But my guts roiled and felt like lava about to erupt. I couldn't trust my voice anymore.
"I haven't forgotten my promise, but I wanted to take three days with you, not just an overnight stay." He sat down beside me. "How about if I get a season ski-pass as one of your Christmas presents and maybe we could ski on a week day during Christmas vacation at Crystal Mountain, if we get any snow this year."
I just sat and looked out the window at bobbing boats. When I thought my voice wouldn't crack, I answered. "Slinky's invited me to go to Disneyland with them New Year's week." I wanted him to ask me to stay with him all of Christmas vacation, maybe take me to Disneyland himself.
"Sounds like a good deal, kid," Dad seemed real pleased to be off the hook, "but I want you to make plans to be with me Christmas Eve." He smiled, holding in his secret, waiting for me to get excited, then whispered, "I'm going to give Sylvia an engagement ring. She doesn't know it, just you and her parents know. Don't you think that'll surprise her?"
"What!?" I croaked. "How can you? You haven't even known her that long, Dad." He might as well give me a one way ticket to the moon. I was about to protest more, but he silenced me with a look.
"Long enough," he snapped, and added in a hoarse whisper, "Keep it a secret, will you?"
Yeah, I'd keep it a secret. The best way I know how: I wouldn't think about it. I didn't want to be around him, near him or ever speak to him again.
I told myself that it didn't matter, and mentally shut the lid down on the hope chest that had all my special dreams inside. "I don't feel all that great. Would you take me home?" I really did feel kind of sick.
"Look, honey, the three of us could go to Vancouver. We'll go to Stanley Park and Granville Island and make it our special weekend."
"No, thanks, Dad." I gathered up my things, ignoring him sitting there watching me, not saying anything more to him on the way home.
Mom was surprised to see me. "What's the matter, Dusty?"
"Nothing." I dropped my things on the floor. "Everything."
She came over and hugged me. I burst into tears. "I hate him! I hate him with all my heart!"
"Do you want to talk about it?" She smoothed away the tears.
"He doesn't care about me! All he thinks about is that stupid Sylvia!" I pushed away from her. "I wish he'd move to Antarctica." Suddenly, I felt drained and empty and I wanted to forget about Dad and Sylvia and lies and used to be. "Can I ask Frank to come over tonight?"
"Sure, if you want. I have work to do in the back office."
I sent Frank a text and he immediately replied that he would be over after dinner, about seven. I wish he could have brought a DVD to watch, other than reruns.
During a dead spot between programs, I had a chance to talk with Frank. "Hey, Frank," I plopped a can of root beer into his hands. "Do you miss your Dad?"
He popped the tab, then quickly slurped the foam, which left a mustache on his upper lip. "No, not that much. 'Course, my folks have been divorced since I was five, so I don't remember much before then."
"Well, you see him, don't you?" I reached over and zig-zagged my finger through his foamy mustache. "He's still your Dad and all."
"Yeah, once a month he signs a child support check and writes my name at the bottom. I guess you could say he knows I exist."
"Don't you spend vacations with him?" My stomach was tied in knots, like my life depended on his answer.
"He's got his other family and frankly, my dear, I can't stand the little brats, so I don't see him that much." Frank looked at me and I must have looked pretty shaken up or something because he tried to make it seem like a joke. "Hey, we live in a disposable society--pampers, snotty tissue and kids. Just toss one out and get another to replace it. I got lucky and my Mom married an all right kind of a guy. He's a little nuts on the 'you pull your weight around here' routine, but he's nice enough. I mean, let’s face it, he lets me drive his car. To the store and back. But," he shrugs and puffs his lips, “I’m only seventeen and The Law says I can’t have passengers for six months, drive at night, or use a cell phone or a wireless device. But I can call on a wireless device if I am in an accident!” He waves his hands around. “Rah! Rah! Wowza!”
What Frank said made me feel a little better. "Yeah it's been a lot more work for me, too." Lately I had to do some of the cooking and housework because my Mom's career suddenly "took off" and her paintings have been in demand.
"Did you," I pushed around the last kernels of popcorn in the butter, searching for the right words, then blurted out, "ever catch your parents lying to you?"
He snorted and shook his head. "Yeah." He looked me over, I guess maybe my emotions wrote a term paper all over my face, because his voice got real gentle. "It's like they want you to believe they can do all, be all, for you, Dusty. They try to make everything all right, and sometimes it isn't but they can't say it like it is, so they try to tell you it isn't, and yes, they lie to you." He looks at me like he's just explained the quantum theory or something. "It's not like a personal issue, know what I mean? They do it cause they think you don't need to know all the truth, all the time, you can't handle it or something. It's up to you to level with them and tell them you know what's happening and pretty soon they start telling you what's for real." He pushes me sideways. "But ya gotta be able to handle it, Rusty-Dusty."
I batted his hand, hard. "I'm not afraid to hear the truth, Frankenstein."
He snagged my wrist. "Take my word for it, kid," he looks mean, like a gangster, "don't get whacko, if you don't wanna know the real story."
"How did you feel about your Mom getting remarried?"
"You don't have to like it, Sweetheart, but you have to live with it." He squeezed my wrist, but not enough to hurt. "If you know what's good for you, you won't make waves, get my drift?"
I jerked my hand away and turned to watch the end of "The African Queen". Most times Frank leaves at nine to catch a bus home, but tonight my Mom has offered to drive him home.
"See ya, Dusty," he waves to me as he and my Mom head out the door.
"Have a nice time tomorrow at the Science Fair with Ginny," I flap my hand in farewell, laughing out loud to have caught him off guard. He didn't figure I'd know about him asking Ginny out, but news travels fast through the grapevine, and I'm usually the first to find out on Facebook.
Except about my own best friend. I called Slinky Sunday morning and asked her to go bowling with me.
"Ah," she stalled, "I can't Dusty."
"Well?" I know she's not telling me something she ought to. "Spit it out."
"Jorge asked me to go to the Pacific Science Center, and I said I would."
"Oh." Not real original, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. I guess I wasn't too surprised, since she had been making up all sorts of excuses lately to linger at her locker as Jorge walked by on his way to football practice. "Hope you have a good time. Guess I'll see you seventh period tomorrow."
"Dusty!" Slinky chirped, "why don't you ask Frank and we'll all go together?"
"I've got too much homework, all due tomorrow. Call me later, I want to hear all about this big date of yours."
"You don't have to be mad about it, Dusty." Slinky accusing me of being mad!
"I'm not, okay? If you don't want to call me, fine, don't! Don't have a good time! I try to be nice and you get all weirded out!"
"Dusty Elizabeth Conner!" Slinky yelled. "You're my best friend, but you've no right to be mean to me!"
I stood with the phone in my hand and counted to ten, just so I wouldn't lose my temper. "I didn't mean to be mean to you, Slinky, all right? I've got a lot of homework and I have to keep my grades up, so I'm working at it. I'm being serious, like you're always telling me to be. Now, really, have a good time and call me when you get home because I want to know if you had a good time today. Because you're my best friend."
The silence on the other end of the line made me wonder if I had gone too far, laid it on too thick, so that Slinky might really get ticked off and never speak to me.
But she didn't sound mad at all. "Okay, I'll call you. Maybe around seven?"
"Wonderful," I hung up, feeling left out of everything, everyone's life. Dean and Fran were volunteering at the Science Center and I had opted out.
I'd like to throw all my schoolbooks into the trashcan. It didn't seem to make much difference if I studied or not, I couldn't seem to pass a test if my life depended on it. Mom said she wasn't worried, that when I made my mind up to snap out of it, I would. Like I knew what she was talking about! I didn't understand the bit, either, about how anger is making me want to fail. I know that really, I don't want to fail; it's too embarrassing when you've been a straight A student forever.
I tried not thinking about my Dad, instead concentrating on my homework. Then, zap! it struck me. Homework would be my excuse!
The following weeks, every time Dad called I told him that I had to do extra credit projects to salvage my grades. It worked. He stopped calling me and I got low B’s instead of D’s.
I had more time to spend with Fran and Dean; even Annie joined us for a long weekend with my Mom down at the beach over Thanksgiving weekend. We splashed around in the waves and made one huge sand castle that collapsed under its own weight.
Slinky also worked real hard, getting above-average grades and Jorge as a steady. I needed the time to study, at least that's what I kept telling myself on the Saturdays while Slinky flitted around the football field, practicing routines as a new cheerleader.
Dad turned himself into Super Dad before Christmas. He started by sending me a dozen small roses with a note asking if we could be friends again. I thought it was dumb. I didn't want to be friends with my father. Then he made a big deal out of taking me to the "Nutcracker" ballet, just the two of us, and a fancy dinner besides. I guess you might say I can be bought, but at least the horrible sadness I had been wrapped up in for weeks went away.
I didn't see Frank before Christmas. It probably was just as well that I didn't come out and ask him if he liked me, you know, as a friend or if he thought he might like me like a girlfriend, because those kind of questions can be pretty hard to answer and I really didn't want to know anyway, if he didn't like me as a guy likes a girl. The next time he wanted to come over, though, I had a lot to discuss with him, and it wasn't about him and me.
Sylvia asked me to be in her wedding! "What I am going to do, Franko? I don't like her. Besides, I'm too old to be a flower girl."
Frank looked nice in his sapphire blue cotton tee shirt and acid-washed jeans. "So tell her you're too old to be a flower girl." He's grown so tall these last few months, I hardly recognize him, but he's still the same smart-alec Frank.
"So just tell her!" I mimic him, voice cracking and all. "I thought you were the expert."
"No, Fluffy-Duffy, I was never asked to be a flower girl." He flips my nose and sneers at me.
I pinch him on the arm as hard as I can, but he doesn't even flinch. "You're full of all sorts of good advice, aren't you?"
"So go elsewhere and get the truth." He turned his attention back to the television. "I don't know what to tell you."
That's my life: just when it seemed like things were going all right, it bottomed.
I was sure my Dad would get me the star stencil kit, but he gave me an iPod, which everyone assumed I'd like. Only I really wanted the star stencil kit so I went out and bought it myself with money I had earned babysitting and doing yard work jobs with Dean and Fran. But I hadn't the opportunity to do my room at Dad's condo, or spend much time with Dad without Sylvia talking constantly about their upcoming wedding. She waved that stupid engagement ring around like it was the Hope diamond, instead of a tiny, little piece of rock that needed a magnifying glass to show it off.
And being with Slinky's a real treat. All she does is ask me zillions of questions about The Wedding. "Wow! A big blow-out! Sylvia's going to be the most beautiful bride! And your Dad and her are such a cute couple. Aren't you excited?"
"Not really." I take a long look at my friend, the stranger seated next to me. Maybe our friendship's history. But even so, I promised her that I would ask my Dad to invite her to the wedding on June 25th, the weekend after school lets out. And wouldn't you know it, he said, Yes”, and Sylvia was thrilled.
No comments:
Post a Comment