Blue Plate Special (17 page)

and read
ariel,
cover to cover.

some lines i can’t figure out,

but i like the way the words connect,

the sounds they make inside my head.

when i’m finished,

i feel melancholy.

the
daddy
poem especially

filled me with so many thoughts—

of my own daddy,

who i wish i could’ve met,

of jeremy,

about to become a daddy

to a baby who isn’t even his.

i turn to look at him,

parked in front of a football game,

sipping a coors.

except he seems

a million miles away.

jeremy, is everything okay?

he steadies the remote

and lowers the volume.

i was remembering when

i turned thirteen and my dad

got us tickets to see a bills game.

man, was he psyched.

i swallow hard.
you miss him?

he nods, pauses.

but i miss my mom even more.

she, like, takes all this shit for anxiety,

and i worry i’m making her more nuts

than she already is on account

of not knowing where i am.

a long, hulking silence follows.

it slithers and crawls through

our room, belly down,

sucking up the last bit of air.

finally, jeremy continues.

maybe after the baby’s born

we can go back for a visit.

i know this is important to him

because the bills score a touchdown

and he watches me, not the screen.

whaddaya think?

my life is here now,

but i can’t break

his little-boy heart.

i pick up
ariel,

a connection to the new life i have,

deciding i’ll read it once more.

sure, we’ll go.

* * *

the next day,

the northern lady’s back,

same time, same table.

as i walk toward her

carrying a spot with a twist

(diner-speak for tea with lemon),

she looks up, quoting a poem from
ariel
—

the one where kindness carries tea

and steam circles it like a wreath.

that’s from
—she starts and

i finish,
from the poem
kindness.

she smiles.
so you’ve read
ariel?

i smile back.
yeah—i mean yes. twice.

after she finishes eating,

she folds her napkin on her plate,

leaves me a generous tip,

stands and pushes in her chair—

something no one ever thinks to do.

as she glides through the door

a wind whips across the parking lot,

lifting the rusty vacancy sign

that hangs from a pole outside.

screech, screech, screech,

it claps against a cloudless sky.

that lady is just like the breeze,

appearing straight out of nowhere.

T
here’s no sign of Mom in the cafeteria
, which irks me. I know this visit is rough on her, but leaving me to fend for myself is kind of thoughtless. She’s not the only one affected here.

Not knowing what else to do, I wander outside again. The sky’s a brilliant blue and the foliage is brighter than fire. Olivia calls autumn colors hyper-hues. She says they look like they’re cranked up on Jolt cola.

I glance around, making sure Shane’s bike isn’t parked in the shrubs. That he’s not lurking somewhere, waiting to push my buttons so I can turn into a head case again. When I’m convinced I’m alone, I return to the bench I sat on earlier.

A bird chirps in a nearby tree, and a familiar ache crowds my heart. My Missing Dad ache, which shows up in moments like these—when talking with Mom isn’t an option. Hearing what happened with Shane this afternoon would put her over the edge. But Dad might understand. Or at least not completely freak out.

My eyes land on the spot where I tackled Shane. And there, shaded by a nearby shrub, is my phone. Which I’m obviously developing some serious issues with.

I glare at it, wishing it weren’t mine. Hesitantly, I stand to pick it up.

I flip it open.
8 MISSED CALLS
.

ShaneShaneShaneShaneShaneShaneShaneShane.

I power it off and stick the phone in my pocket, telling myself that—since I forgot to pack the charger—it’s wise to save on the battery.

* * *

When I return to Green Mountain’s room, I expect to find Mom there, asking me where I’ve been. But she’s not. There’s a person in the second bed, though. I catch a glimpse of her through the small space where her privacy curtain doesn’t close. She’s old with wild, wiry white hair.

“Find your ma?” Green Mountain asks.

“No,” I answer, sitting down.

She tips her head toward her new neighbor. “Colon cancer. She’s going into surgery tomorrow.”

The curtain ripples as Wild Hair smacks it. “Mind your own damn business!”

We both stifle a laugh.

“Why don’t you tell me about yourself,” Green Mountain says. “What grade are you in?”

“I’m a junior.”

“You a good student?”

I shrug. “I guess. My schedule’s hard this year. I’m taking three AP classes.”

“AP?” she repeats.

“Advanced Placement. If I pass the exams, I might get college credit for the classes.”

“That so? Where do you wanna go?”

“Brown’s my first choice. Smith is my second. If I don’t get accepted, I’ll probably go to Hudson Hills University. That’s where Mom got her bachelor’s.”

She looks shocked. “Your ma went to college? How’d she swing that?”

“Mom works at HHU. With her employee discount, tuition was super cheap.”

“I wanted to go to college,” she tells me. “Never got to, though. I got pregnant with your ma during my senior year of high school.”

“What would you have majored in?” I ask her.

“Nursing.” She glances out the window then back at me. “How about you? What’ll you study in college?”

“Probably psychology. Mom and Aunt Lee both think I’d make a good therapist because I’m intuitive and I read people well.”

Her eyes narrow. “How’d you wind up with an aunt? Your ma and her boyfriend were only children.”

“Oh, Aunt Lee’s the woman Mom works for at the university. She’s not really my aunt, that’s just what I call her. We couldn’t be any closer if we were related.”

She nods. “You got a boyfriend?” she asks me next. Then quickly, she adds, “Or a girlfriend? Sorry, I don’t mean to assume. My bingo buddy, Thelma, the one who smuggled in the you-know-what?”—she points to the closet—“she’s a lesbian. Came out of the closet two years ago on her forty-seventh birthday. She says us straights make too many assumptions. So I’m cool with the whole gay thing. Just in case.”

“Thanks.” I smile. “I’ve got a boyfriend, actually. Shane.”

My left eye starts to quiver. I rub it until it stops. But as soon as I take my hand away, the twitching starts up again.

“What’s the matter?” she asks me.

“Oh. It’s just this weird thing my eye does sometimes when—”

“That’s not what I mean. When you said your boyfriend’s name, your face went all funny.”

I rub my eye again. “We had a fight a little while ago.”

I hadn’t planned to tell her that. The words just fell out. Immediately, I feel a surge of paranoia. I glance under Green Mountain’s bed—like I’m afraid Shane’s hiding there, weighing every word.

“Did Shane come along with you and your ma?”

There’s no way I can admit what happened—that Shane put a tracking device on my phone and followed me here. It’ll sound like he’s stalking me or something. “Um, no”—I dig in my pocket and hold up my cell—“we had a fight on the phone.”

I suck at lying. I probably look guilty as hell.

Her eyebrows knit together, and I get a feeling she knows there’s more I’m not telling her. When she changes the subject, I’m relieved. “I had a boyfriend in high school, your ma’s father. I lost over fifty pounds for him.” She pats her large, round stomach. “Unfortunately, I found ’em again.”

“Where’d you guys go on dates?” I ask her.

“Movies. The Drive-in. The arcade.”

“Did you have proms?” As soon as I ask, I want to kick myself. It sounds like I’m saying she’s ancient.

“Sure. Except we rented dinosaurs instead of limos.”

I laugh. I can’t help it.

Green Mountain laughs too, guffawing so hard she snorts.

“Quiet down over there!” Wild Hair shouts.

Green Mountain sticks her tongue out at the curtain. Then she reaches into the drawer on her nightstand, holding out a small cylindrical tube. It’s five or six inches long, made of woven pink and
blue wicker, with an open hole on each end. “My boyfriend won this for me playing Skee Roll. Ever see one?”

“No.” I lean in, interested. “What is it?”

“Chinese handcuffs.” She slides her finger into one hole, directing the opposite end toward me. “Here.”

I copy her, slipping a finger inside. “Now what?”

She tugs her end backward. The pink and blue strands clamp down on my knuckle. “Gotcha!” she says, triumphant.

I attempt to pull my finger out. But I can’t. I try a second time. A third. I’m stuck.

My mouth is suddenly dry. I lick my lips. Swallow. Try a fourth time. A fifth. Harder. I can’t get free. “Let me go!” I blurt out.

But she doesn’t. She just watches me, grinning.

My heart kicks into overdrive. My pulse pounds in my ears. “I mean it—let me go! Now!”

She finally gets it. That I’m freaking out. “Lean in,” she tells me, and I do. The tube loosens its grip. My finger slides out effortlessly.

Collapsing back in my chair, I stare up at the ceiling squares.

I feel Green Mountain watching me. “You okay?”

When I smooth my hair back, my scalp is damp with sweat. “I’m fine. Why?”

“Well, you’re shaking, for one thing. And your face is white as these bedsheets. Something tripped your switch, big time.”

Suddenly, I feel exposed. I picture Mom’s closed door the night of the Phone Call, wishing I had my own to duck behind. But since I don’t, I put the vibe out instead: Do not enter. I slide my chair away from the bed. When it comes into contact with the wall, I focus on the hallway. The nurse’s station. The bright florescent lights that flood the long ivory corridor.

Changing the subject, Green Mountain asks me, “Did your ma
ever tell you how her father died?”

“In a car accident,” I answer, still staring into the hall.

She reaches into her drawer again. I turn to look as she removes a strip of black-and-white photos. There are four of them, printed vertically on a paper the size of a bookmark. “Well, since we’re strolling down memory lane together”—she holds them out for me—“this is him and me in high school. Only picture I have of us.”

I take the pictures from her and study the images, shocked that Green Mountain was so, well, skinny. She looks more like I imagine Mom might have looked as a teenager.

“Only time in my life I was thin,” she says, reading my mind. “I’d always gotten picked on for my size and, well, other things…” She tugs on her sweater sleeve. “But when I met him”—she smiles down at the boy’s face—“for the first time ever, it mattered to me how I looked. Then, after he died…” Her voice trails off.

“You stopped caring again?”

She looks away. Nods. “Uh-huh.”

I study the boy. He’s got wire-rimmed glasses and spazzed-out hair and needs braces, but obviously none of that matters. Because it’s clear the skinny girl who is my grandmother and the boy who is my grandfather are in love. Majorly.

“We were supposed to go out on a date the night he died. I’d planned to tell him I was pregnant. Never got to, though. Driver ran a red light”—she claps her hands together, and I jump—“barreled straight into him.”

I hand the photos back. “That’s terrible.”

“I wish I could go back in time,” she continues. “Keep him on the phone a little longer. Or tell him I had homework and couldn’t go out. Anything to keep him from crossing that intersection
when he did.”

When I glance toward the hall again, Mom’s standing in the doorway. “Where have you been?” I ask her.

She crosses the room and leans against the arm on my chair. Her coat smells like the outdoors with a hint of something else mixed in. Coffee beans, maybe. “When I couldn’t find you,” she says, “I went for a walk. I got a tea at Starbucks down the block and planned to bring it back here, but then I ran into a friend from high school, Carol Ann. Her husband, Dan, has a job here selling insurance. They just had their
fifth
kid.”

Mom goes on and on. When she comes up for air, I whisper, “TMI.”

“Oh.” She glances at her mother, who’s glancing back at her. Their eyes connect. Quickly Mom turns away, staring out the window at the sky, which has turned a silvery gray. “So,” she asks her mother, “how long will they keep you here?” Her words sound stiff, like she’s imitating an automated phone voice.

“Not much longer, now that my blood pressure’s back to normal. Or as normal as it gets with me.” Green Mountain squints at Mom. “How’s
your
blood pressure?”

“Actually it runs a little low.”

“Good.” Green Mountain says.

“How did the exam with your doctor go?” Mom asks her.

She shrugs. “Okay, I guess. He put me on Tamoxifen. And he wants to start me on chemo, in case the cancer’s anywhere else.”

A silence spreads over the room. It’s loaded with an electrical charge, reminding me of the static before a storm that always makes my arm hairs prickle. Minutes pass, feeling like hours.

Green Mountain smoothes her sweater sleeves.

I wipe dust off the toes of my Mocs.

Mom glances at her watch. “Ariel, I never got to call your aunt Lee. I’m sure she’s home by now. Could I borrow your cell phone?”

“Mom…” I say, talking quietly out of the side of my mouth. “…You just got back. Don’t you think you should visit for a while first?”

“Well, whaddaya know?” Green Mountain says, louder than necessary. “I’m missing
General Hospital
. You two don’t mind, do you?” As she points the clicker at the TV I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s beating Mom to the punch—putting her second to a soap opera before Mom can put her second to a phone call.

As the sound from the television fills the room Wild Hair swats the curtain again. “Turn that thing down!” she snaps. “I’m trying to sleep over here!”

* * *

Mom and I trek outside. She collapses on a bench, and I flip my phone open. Power it on. Hand it to her.

Nibbling her lip, Mom presses Aunt Lee’s number. Then she waits.

“Oh, Lee,” she breathes out, “I’m so glad to hear your voice.”

Mom listens intently, nodding. “Not all that well. It’s very stressful. Yes, she’s my mother, but we’ve been strangers for sixteen years. I hardly know what to say.”

A breeze whistles through the trees, and a leaf lands in Mom’s hair. I reach over, picking it free.

After several minutes, Mom says, “Ariel? Sure, she’s right here.” Mom passes me the cell. “Aunt Lee wants to talk to you.”

I take the phone from her. “Hi, Aunt Lee.”

“Hi, sweetie. How are you holding up?” I hear papers shuffling.
I’ve seen Aunt Lee in action. She can never just sit and talk.

“Okay, I guess. I had a really bad headache, but she, um—my grandmother—she gave me some Excedrin, and it helped.”

“Good. A headache’s the
last
thing you need at a time like this. What’s your grandmother like?”

Mom taps my knee, pointing toward the parking lot. “I need to get something from the car,” she whispers.

I nod, watching as Mom walks away. “She’s all right. I know she was a terrible mother when Mom was growing up, but, well, she hasn’t exactly had an easy life.”

More paper shuffling. “Really? What has she told you?”

“Like how she lost all this weight in high school for her boyfriend. But then he was killed in a car accident before she could tell him she was pregnant.”

There’s silence on the other end, and I’m thinking maybe I’ve lost her. But when I check the face of my phone it’s lit, and I have plenty of bars. “Aunt Lee?”

She clears her throat. “Sorry, Ariel. I’m here.”

“Aunt Lee, my grandmother, she, um…she has these horrible scars.”

“Well, sweetie, she couldn’t very well have a mastectomy without them. She’ll probably want to consider reconstructive surgery.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. When the nurse was taking her blood pressure, my grandmother’s sleeve was pushed up, and I saw her arm. It looked like she might have gotten burned or something.”

More silence.

Finally, Aunt Lee says, “What’s your grandmother’s name, Ariel?”

“It says M. Murdock on her door.”

“That couldn’t be her, then,” she mumbles, like she’s thinking
out loud. “Unless, of course, she married someone else after her boyfriend died…” In her regular voice, she asks me, “What does the M in M. Murdock stand for?”

“I don’t know.” I glance across the parking lot at Mom, who’s rummaging through our trunk for something. “Aunt Lee? Are you there?”