16 Things I Thought Were True (10 page)

“No. Not all the topics are sad. Go, Adam,” she commands.

He clears his throat. “Really?”

“Really,” she growls.

He's quiet for a minute. “Okay. Um. When I was twelve, my best friend, Dillon, had a birthday party. He decided to invite all the guys in our entire class, including the fricking asshole bully, James. He hated my guts. Dillon told me not to worry, so I pretended to believe him. The night of the party, we were in the basement waiting for pizza. We were playing video games and listening to music. James came over and started ripping into me and another guy sitting by the TV, Cameron. Cameron was a nice kid, just kind of overweight and quiet.

“We both sat there taking his shit, pretending not to mind, until James started punching Cameron in the stomach. Over and over and over. For no reason. And everyone just laughed along with him or looked away and said nothing.

“I tried to say something, but he turned and lifted his fist, so I shut my mouth. And then he grinned, knowing he was getting away with being a dick and I wasn't going to stop him. He loved that I didn't do anything. His expression was so happy. A few days later, I told my parents and they called Cameron and James's parents.”

Adam presses the window down as if the story fouled up the air in the back of the car and he needs fresh air.

“So what happened?” Amy asks.

“James beat the shit out of me. He punched me and I bled. I'd never been beat up before. Or since,” Adam says and sighs. “It wasn't very fun.”

“That's terrible.” My heart stings for twelve-year-old Adam. I watch him, trying to imagine what he looked like at that age.

“Yeah. No one, not Dillon, not even Cameron, wanted to hang out with me after that. I became the narc.” He lifts his shoulder. “Whatever. I got over it. The next year we went to junior high and I made new friends. But the thing I was sorry for was that I never did anything while he was punching Cameron. I was just so glad it wasn't me at the time. But I ended up getting beat up anyway. I wish I would have stood up to him.”

“Did you know that lots of famous people were bullied when they were young?” Amy says. “Tom Cruise was bullied for being dyslexic.”

“Bullies smell out sensitive kids like spammers sense unfiltered blogs,” I say.

Amy and Adam stare at me. “I thought of a time when I did get embarrassed. Want to hear it?” Amy says.

“Yes!” Adam and I say at the same time.

“My mom caught me masturbating,” Amy blurts out. “She walked in on me in my room.”

My mouth drops open. “Amy!” My hands fly up to cover my eyes. My whole face is on fire.

“What? It's not like you've never done it before.”

I peek at her through my fingers, and she glances in the rearview mirror at Adam. “And especially you.”

“What,” he asks, “is that supposed to imply?”

I look back and he has his hand over his mouth, trying to conceal his laughter.

“You're a guy,” Amy says.

“Why thank you,” he tosses back.

“I heard four out of ten women prefer it to actually having sex,” she adds.

“Well, thank God for the other six,” Adam quips.

“Amy,” I say, “is there any topic off limits to you?”

She's quiet for a minute, as if she's really pondering it. “Yeah. Maybe one or two,” she says.

I can't even imagine. A giggle starts building in my belly. I try to suppress it, but the more I do that, the harder it is to stop. Amy looks sideways at me and frowns, but the urge travels up and bursts out of my nose and mouth. I laugh and laugh, as if I've been holding it in for days. I laugh until my stomach hurts and my cheeks are sore and I'm too weak to go on.

Amy and Adam laugh with me. And when it finally dies down, I close my eyes, smile, lean my head against the side window, and breathe; it feels like I've lost a few pounds of weight in my stomach.

“Holy fudgsicle sticks!” Amy screams.

My eyes open. I stare ahead and groan.

7. The only thing crying the blues gets you is good lyrics for a country song.

#thingsithoughtweretrue

The line of cars waiting for the ferry crossing is long and deep. Amy pulls up and sighs. “I hope we can get on.”

“What do you mean hope? We might not get on? Are you serious? I thought you made a reservation with your dad's MasterCard?”

“I did. But we're late. Sometimes you miss the boat. Like, literally.”

“No! We can't miss this ferry!” My leg bounces up and down. We have to get on. I can't be late. I hate bad omens.

Amy and Adam trade whale facts, oblivious to the freaking out inside my head. “Humpbacks sing to attract mates,” Adam says.

“Good thing you're not a whale,” Amy answers. “Your singing voice kind of sucks.”

Adam throws a potato chip at her head. The space in the car shrinks, and I roll down the window, watching parents playing with a toddler outside the car, swinging her up in the air, each holding a hand. The dad is laughing and the mom's head is thrown back, soaking up sun. I hope they drop the baby on her butt.

We have to make this ferry. I can't deal with a blip in my plans. I can't handle it. I can't.

“You can see lots of humpbacks near Whidbey Island,” Amy is saying. “My dad took me to Whidbey a couple of years ago. We took a day off work and school and went on a whale tour.” She smiles for a moment, remembering. The image of her and a dad who would do something like that makes my eyes water.

“Have you seen the video of the humpback whale breaching in front of a fishing boat by Whidbey?” Amy asks me.

I glare at her, but she reaches for a Cheezie, takes one out, and then turns to Adam.

“A pod of orcas was spotted near Whidbey Island a while ago. I'd love to see that.” She keeps gnawing on her Cheezie and I'm tempted to rip it from her fingers and throw it out the window.

“Do you know why they're called killer whales?”

“Is there someone we can talk to about the ferry?” I mumble.

“I think there's a guy over there talking to people,” Adam says, and I look to where he's pointing.

“They're carnivores and great hunters, the best in the ocean. They'll eat almost anything in the water, even other whales. And they can weigh up to six tons.” Amy's oblivious to the explosion gaining force in my head.

“Lots of seafood to keep up that figure,” Adam says.

“They can live to be eighty years old.”

I reach for the door. “I have to go and find out what's happening.” I'm not excited about making waves but dread not getting on the ferry even more.

I hurry toward a youngish, uniformed BC Ferries attendant with an unfortunate hairline. He doesn't even look at me when I ask about getting on the ferry and point at Amy's bright yellow Mazda in line. “Sorry, you're not making this one,” he says, glancing toward her car. “You won't be able to board until morning. If you had a reservation, you won't lose your ticket. You can use it tomorrow, but the last car going on ends right there.”

We're parked several behind the one he points at.

I stare at the car.

No
.

“But I'm going to find my dad, and I've never met him and I don't have much time…”

“I'm sorry, miss,” he says.

And then I lose it.

In seconds, I'm a big, snotty, wet mess. “We c-cccc-cccan't….mmmm-mmmmisss.” My bottom lip quavers. I can't breathe properly. The attendant looks around as if he hopes someone will save him and pats me on the arm, but the storm won't easily pass. Tears I've been holding in for years pour out.

“I don't know what I can do given it's past boarding time,” he tells me but his voice breaks.

“My ddd-ddad…”

“Come on, miss.” The attendant takes my arm and walks me back to Amy's car, holding me like I'm a little old lady he's helping across the street. He walks me to the passenger side, opens the door, and sticks his head down.

“I'll wave you through,” he says to her. “Drive over to the left and I'll show you where to pull on.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I'm blubbering, but he pats my arm and runs, hurries off as if he can't get away from me fast enough.

Amy and Adam don't say anything, but Amy starts the car and follows his directions. As she pulls ahead, another attendant, an older and more important-looking one, steps in our path. The arm patter walks over to him and they chat, and then they both turn and look at me, and I awkwardly wipe under my nose and then wave. The arm patter walks back to the car.

Amy rolls down her window. He bends down.

“My supervisor doesn't want to allow you on.”

I whimper, but he holds up his hand. “He's going to let you on this time because I said you had an emergency and I told you I'd let you proceed. Never again.”

“Thank you, sir. You are very kind,” Amy says and drives slowly around the other cars in line. When we reach the bridge to the boat and pull on, she toots her horn. I shrink down in the seat.

“Never underestimate the power of a girl in tears,” she says.

I mop my face up with the bottom of my shirt as Amy parks the car in the last row onboard the ship.

“I'm going to see a humpback. This is on my list,” she says as she puts the car in park.

I wonder how long her list is. I bet she writes things like that down and that she has awesome notebooks filled with her thoughts. I had a blog for a while but deleted all my posts after the video when viral. I climb out of the car and go to the trunk to get the windbreaker I tossed in. I wait while Adam and Amy grab clothes. Amy pulls on a bright yellow raincoat over her clothes. Her raincoat reminds me of a picture book that Jake used to read to me when I was younger. Jake used to read to me all the time. Josh and Mom prefer the television.

“I'm kind of a nutcase, right?” The stress from earlier is gone. “I don't feel as embarrassed as I should.”

Amy turns to me. “It got us on the boat. And it's not like I haven't seen anyone cry before.”

“Yeah, but not quite like that!” Adam teases, but he bumps his hip against mine as we head out of the parking area and up the stairs. We go all the way to the top deck and find an empty bench with room for all three of us. The seat gives us a great view of the dark water in front of us. It's spraying and chilly, and I'm glad I have the windbreaker on top of my hoodie.

Amy starts up a conversation with a little boy with auburn curls sitting directly behind us. He's sitting beside a woman I assume is his mom. Amy and the boy are debating whale sightings. I smile, listening to Amy's animated conversation.

“Have you ever seen a whale?” he asks Amy.

“Lots. Never a Canadian whale. But I will today,” she tells him. “And so will you.”

“A Canadian whale?” the boy says. “Whales don't have nationalities.”

“When I see it in Canada, it's a Canadian whale.”

“There's no guarantee we'll see a whale,” the mom says. “It's best to go on an actual tour if you want to see whales. And we're going to visit Grandpa, not whales,” she says to the boy, patting his arm.

“My grandma died and my grandpa moved to the island with his girlfriend,” the copper-haired boy tells Amy. “This is our first visit. My mom doesn't like his girlfriend. She was Grandma's nurse.”

“TJ,” the mom says. “We don't have to tell everyone our family's business.”

“She's my friend,” TJ says and smiles at Amy.

Amy nods as if the two of them have known each other for years. She smiles at the mom and shrugs. “My dad always says the same thing.”

“I don't have a proper set of boundaries,” says the boy. “It's going to be the death of my mom.”

“Mine too,” says Amy.

The mom frowns at Amy, clearly not as charmed as her son is. “We won't see a whale from this ferry.”

“Oh. We'll see one,” says Amy, her voice full of conviction.

I lean back on the bench and stare off at the ocean, tuning out the boy and Amy. Even though there are people on almost every free space on this boat, with the huge ocean stretching out ahead of us, I feel alone. I'm getting closer. I tilt my head back, and chilly sprays of water land on my face.

“You okay?” Adam says softly.

I open my eyes but leave my head tilted back and nod once, not really convincing myself. I look into Adam's eyes, and I'm consumed by a huge rush of desire. I close my eyes again so he won't see it. Unrequited love may be my specialty.

“This is a huge deal,” Adam says quietly.

“I know.” I press my lips together. My courage is slipping as the ship takes us closer to the island.

“It's gutsy,” he says.

I open my eyes, my misplaced lust dulled by the reality of what we're approaching. “Not gutsy. I'm scared shitless,” I admit. “It's stupid. What if this is the wrong way to do this? Confronting him in person? The signs seem to say maybe I should have called.”

“I think the signs are saying it's the right thing to do. You knew how to change that tire. You got us on the ferry on time.” He glances toward the ocean. “I don't think you're stupid at all.”

The ship horn blasts, and Amy screams and then giggles hysterically with her new little friend.

We sit quietly and stare out at the water.

“Look! A whale!” Amy yells.

There's a flurry of yelling and pointing around us. I stare across the water. There's no whale in sight.

“No fair. I wanted to spot the first whale.” The auburn-haired little boy starts to cry as the cool wind blows his hair around.

Amy turns to him. “Oh dear. I think I made a mistake. You keep looking!”

He sits up taller, and his mom's expression softens a little. He intensely scans the water and I watch with them, inhaling gulps of moist fresh air into my lungs. We're all quiet as we watch the ocean in front of the ferry, even Amy. There's nothing except waves. Once in a while, something catches my eye, but when I peer closer, there's nothing.

“LOOK!” the little boy yells. It's the most gleeful sound I've heard in a long time. “WHALE!”

My eyes scan the water, and there he is. A giant whale breaks through the surface, as if he's performing for us, and executes a turn in the air, and while my eyes widen and my mouth opens, he flips around and is back in the water.

“Wow!” Adam's the first one to recover his voice and he shouts and then laughs. The sound is as joyous and free as the little boy.

I smile, staring at the water, wishing I'd been able to get it on camera to post to my friends. The boy's mom claps her hands together while he bounces up and down, talking a million words a second. I glance at Amy. She's still. A tiny smile turns up her lips, and when she catches my eye, she grins. “I knew it,” she says. “I knew we were going to see one, but I had no idea he was going to show off so spectacularly.”

Her gratitude warms my shivering insides. I forget the picture I could have posted and realize that it's a gift. Real life doesn't always need to be posted online. I can remember this moment without a photo.

In some crazy way, it feels like this is exactly what Amy planned. “Thank you,” I say to her and breathe out. In that second, I realize that even if my dad turns out to be a colossal asshole and a huge disappointment, this will not be a wasted trip. I'm going to make it through this.

Amy smiles as if she understands me, and I stare at her, drinking in her true beauty. It shines from inside all the way through the bright yellow hood she has pulled over her head. She's brave enough to be who she is. She embraces her inner weird and flies her freak flag with all she's got. And for once, I'm smart enough to see what a wonderful thing it is.

“It's amazing, isn't it?” Adam says.

I nod, knowing we're talking about different things, but knowing he sees what I saw too—Amy, wide-eyed and optimistic, exuding wonder and joy, and able to shamelessly be herself.

Everyone around us settles, and Amy turns to the boy and shares more whale facts from her head. I relax against the bench, allowing the views and the smells as we pass by the Gulf Island to fill some of the holes inside me. In spite of myself, in spite of the thoughts racing and competing for attention in my head, I am calm.

I don't speak again until the ferry lands in Saanich. Amy hugs the little boy who's staying on deck to catch a bus into Victoria. We stand to begin our rush to the car, back to real life.

“Bleck. It stinks in here.” Amy opens her window to let air inside.

“It does,” I say. My serenity floats off into the air outside the car. “Like junk food and feet.”

Adam and Amy debate whose feet smell worse as we drive off the ferry and bump over the grated dock. My heart thuds hard when the car touches Pat Bay Highway. Amy's GPS announces that we have a twenty-minute drive to the hostel, and my stomach jumps and breaches and twists, like the humpback whale in the ocean.

Amy is talking, but I can't tune in or focus on what she's saying. My head is spinning and trying desperately to avoid where we are, yet at the same time, I look around me, drinking in the breathtaking beauty. The sun is shining and welcoming. Fresh air blows through the open windows of the car. It's visually and fragrantly delicious.

“We made it,” I whisper. And once again, I'm a little girl looking for her daddy—a daddy who vanished on purpose and doesn't want to be found.

My phone bings that I have a new text.

My mom again.

I text Jake.

He texts back a minute later.

I turn off my phone and tuck it under my leg. Jake said she's fine. This isn't about her, I remind myself. This is about me. Finding my dad. Seeing him in person. Whatever she has to say can wait until I get home.